Mary Stuart (4 page)

But in Mary Stuart's case, pride, which was an essential trait in her make-up, prevented her from accepting a minor part. High-hearted and passionate by nature, she refused half-glories and petty positions. Better to be accounted nothing, better to be dead, than to be an underling. For a space she thought seriously of retiring to a nunnery, of eschewing worldly prerogatives, of forfeiting her rights and privileges, since she could not be the leading lady of her court. But life was still too seductive a business for a girl of eighteen to go against the dictates of her innermost being and give up its allurements for ever. Besides, it was possible that the lost crown might yet be compensated for by the acquisition of another, and no less resplendent, one. The Spanish ambassador was even now suing for Mary on behalf of Don Carlos, the heir to two worlds; the court of Austria was simultaneously undertaking secret negotiations; the Kings of Sweden and of Denmark were offering her throne and hand. And was she not, as ever, a queen in her own right; was she not Queen of Scotland and the Isles? Then there was the neighbour crown of England which might fall to her at any moment. Incalculable possibilities lay around the girl-widow now ripening to the full beauty of womanhood—though henceforward she would have to grab what she could get. Gone for ever the days when treasures dropped into her lap like gifts from the gods. Henceforward she would have to fight a lone hand, would have to seize what she wanted by the manipulation of the arts of diplomacy, using her utmost skill, exercising patience. But with such an abundance of courage, with so much loveliness at her command, with youth to warm her blossoming body, why should she not venture on the boldest game? Resolute and greatly daring, Mary Stuart marched forth to battle.

Granted, it would be hard to bid farewell to France. She had lived twelve years at this royal court, in this beautiful, wealthy, happy land that seemed more like home to her than Scotland, which had by now become no more than a vague memory of childhood. Here, in France, dwelt her mother's relatives, who cherished and guarded her; here were the many palaces and castles wherein she had passed any number of cheerful hours; here lived the poets who had sung her praises and who had so well understood her; here she was surrounded by the knightly courtesies which rendered life so charming, the gallant chivalry which suited her taste so admirably. She put off her departure from month to month, hesitant in spite of urgent messages from her homeland. She visited her relatives in Joinville and in Nancy, was present at the coronation of her ten-year-old brother-in-law, Charles IX, in Rheims cathedral. Perpetually she found fresh excuses for postponing the journey, as though she harboured a premonition of its finality. It was as if she were waiting for some sign that would spare her the dreaded separation from France and the voyage home.

For no matter how inexperienced a girl of eighteen may be in affairs of state, it is undeniable that Mary Stuart must have been convinced that a very hard test was awaiting her so soon as she set foot on her native soil. Since her mother's death, the Protestant Lords of the Congregation, her fiercest enemies, had gained the upper hand, and they were at no pains to hide the fact that they did not want a Catholic, a believer in the Mass and other idolatrous practices, to return to the land. They brazenly declared (and the English ambassador eagerly conveyed the news to London) that the Queen's journey to Scotland must be postponed for a few months longer, and, were it not that it was their duty to obey, they would not be much put out if they never saw her again. They had, as a matter of fact, been intriguing on the quiet, proposing that the Queen of England should marry the Protestant James Hamilton, Earl of Arran, who was the next heir to the Scottish throne, thus bartering the crown to Mary's rival, a crown that was unquestionably Mary Stuart's by right of succession. Nor could she place any greater confidence in her own half-brother James Stuart, who, as envoy from the Scottish parliament, sought Mary out in France “to know her mind”. His relations with Elizabeth were dubious, and some even suspected that he was in the English Queen's pay. The only way for Mary to put an end to these intrigues was to be on the spot herself, and with proverbial Stuart courage defend and maintain her rights to the Stuart throne. Determined not to lose a second crown within a year of losing the other, full of dreary foreboding and heavy at heart, Mary Stuart obeyed a summons which had not proceeded from loyal hearts and which she obeyed while half doubtful as to its honesty.

Before returning to her native land, Mary Stuart could not but be aware that Elizabeth had no reason and still less any inclination to make things easy and smooth for a rival who was only awaiting her death to step into her shoes and mount the English throne. With cynical candour, Elizabeth's minister, Cecil, supported every aggressive act on the part of his sovereign, saying: “The longer the Scottish Queen's affairs remain in disorder, the better for Your Majesty's cause.” The animus aroused by that painted claim to the throne of England was still fresh and vigorous. True, the Scottish estates and lords in Edinburgh had drawn up a treaty with England wherein it was clearly stated that Mary Stuart “for all times coming” undertook to recognise Elizabeth as the rightful tenant of the English throne. But when the document reached Paris and was placed before Mary for signature, she and young Francis refused to ratify it or to have anything to do with it. Renunciation was not in Mary's blood, especially since her claim had officially been incorporated in her husband's coat of arms. Never would she be able to lower the standard once it had been raised. For political reasons she might consent to not making a display of her pretensions, but in the innermost sanctum of her heart Mary Stuart had an iron determination never to yield in this matter.

Elizabeth could not tolerate such ambiguity; for her the question must be settled with an outright Yes or No. Acting on behalf of Mary, the Scottish Queen's representatives in Edinburgh, said Elizabeth, had already signed the treaty, thus committing their sovereign to the undertaking, and compelling her to acquiesce. The English monarch would not be satisfied with a secret agreement; what she needed was a public and binding pronouncement, a document which should leave no door open for misinterpretation. Every refusal on Mary's part suggested that she still laid claim to Elizabeth's possessions; that, in addition to the Scottish throne, she felt herself entitled to ascend the English. Elizabeth, whose sympathies lay more in the direction of the Protestant cause, knew only too well that half her realm was still passionately Catholic in sentiment. A Catholic pretender to her throne meant, therefore, not merely a danger to her public office, but likewise a menace to her private life. For safety's sake she must have Mary's signature to the before-mentioned treaty, and it was sound policy on her part that she should not relax in open hostility to the Scottish Queen so long as the latter refused to sign. She felt her position insecure, felt that she was no true queen, until her rival had made public acknowledgment and had abdicated all immediate claims to the English crown.

None would venture to deny that right was on Elizabeth's side in the quarrel. Unfortunately she put herself in the wrong by trying to settle a political conflict of such magnitude by adopting petty and unworthy methods. When women enter the field of politics, they are often tempted to wound opponents with pinpricks and to envenom rivalries by the use of personal invective. In this instance Elizabeth, despite the width of her political vision, fell into the fault peculiar to her sex when faced by such circumstances. Mary was proposing to travel home by sea, but asked for a “safe conduct” should sickness or rough weather make a landing on English soil desirable. Was not this demand a fairly plain proffer of a desire for a friendly personal talk with her cousin—a talk which might smooth away their differences? To grant the safe conduct would have been no more than a formal act of courtesy, since anyhow the sea route was open. Elizabeth's response was to say that she would grant no safe conduct so long as Mary had not placed her signature at the foot of the Edinburgh treaty. In the hope of coercing the Queen she thus wounded the woman. Instead of making a magnanimous gesture or if necessary going to war, she had recourse to a personal affront.

So far the conflict between the two cousins had been more or less masked; now all veils were wrenched aside, and with hard, hot eyes one proud woman confronted the other. Mary Stuart summoned the English ambassador to audience, and addressed him with passionate disdain:

This was a threat in good earnest, strong rather than wise, for before ever setting foot in Scotland Mary Stuart already allowed it to be known that, if constrained to fight Elizabeth, she would carry the war over the border and onto English soil. In courtly words the ambassador drew Mary's attention to the fact that these many difficulties and misunderstandings had arisen because she bore the arms of England diversely quartered with her own and used notoriously the style and tide of the Queen his mistress. To which Mary answered in spirited protest:

Though the method of expression was quite friendly, beneath the outer semblance of amiability the ambassador detected another threat. When, wishing to smooth matters over, he urged Mary to clear unpleasantness out of the way by fulfilling her representatives' pledge and signing the Edinburgh protocol, Mary was evasive, as always when this thorny point came up for discussion. She did not actually decline to sign the treaty, but promised to consult her estates after her arrival in Scotland. The English ambassador, however, paid her back in her own coin, and remained as evasive as she, refusing to commit himself or his mistress in the matter of the succession. Whenever negotiations took a critical turn, and it became evident that one queen or the other would have to cede a particle of her rights, both women became insincere. Each hung on to her trump card, grimly and resolutely. Thus the game was protracted indefinitely, and must inevitably lead to a tragical issue. Of a sudden Mary broke off the discussion concerning her safe conduct; it was as if a cloth had been torn across, producing a harsh and rasping hiss.

For the first time in her life Mary Stuart put force, self-determination, and resoluteness into the words she spoke. As a rule she had proved herself to be of an affable, easy-going, frivolous and laughter-loving nature, more enthralled with enjoyment and the beauty of life than with a fight; but now she showed herself to be hard as iron, defiant, daring, for she was faced by an issue involving her personal pride, while her rights as Queen were likewise being questioned. Better by far to die than bend to another's will. Better royal folly than pitiful weakness. One who challenged her queenly dignity touched the very nerve of her life. In moments like this she became truly great and, woman though she was, she showed a man's knightly strength. The ambassador sent an express to London, reporting that his mission had not met with success. Elizabeth thereupon, with her usual suppleness and shrewdness where politics were concerned, yielded the point, and dispatched a passport to Calais forthwith. It arrived two days behind time, for Mary had meanwhile decided to undertake the voyage even though this might mean an encounter with English privateers in the Channel. She infinitely preferred running a risk and experiencing grave discomfort to accepting a favour at the price of humiliation. Elizabeth had missed a splendid opportunity. Had she, on this occasion, acted with magnanimity, had she welcomed as an honoured guest the young woman whom she had reason to fear as a rival, she might have swept the whole of this dangerous conflict out of her path. Alas that reason and politics so seldom can step hand in hand along the same road! May it not be that the dramatic events in the history of mankind arise solely from a failure to seize possibilities?