Mary Stuart (38 page)

To Elizabeth this insistence was welcome. She wanted the world at large to know that she personally had no desire to make an end of Mary Stuart, but that the English nation urged upon her the necessity of carrying out the sentence. The louder, the plainer the condemnatory voices, the better. Then she would be given a chance of performing a great aria of clemency and humaneness upon the world stage and, ever a play-actress, she made the most of her opportunity. She fervently acknowledged receipt of the exhortation of parliament, humbly thanking Almighty God that by His will she had been delivered from deadly peril. Thereafter, speaking in louder tones, she addressed the wider world and the tribunal of history, wishing to disclaim responsibility for Mary Stuart’s fate.

“Although mine own life hath been in such deadly peril, I avow that nothing hath distressed me more than that one of mine own sex, of equal rank and birth, and so nearly akin to me by blood, should have been guilty of so great a crime. So far am I from being moved by malice that, immediately after the disclosure of certain traitorous proceedings against myself, I wrote to her privately to the effect that if she would make avowal of her guilt to me in a private letter everything could be settled quietly. I did not write to her this-wise in order to lure her into a trap, since I already was fully informed as to anything she could admit to me. But now, when matters have gone so far, even now, if she would openly admit her penitence, and if no one any longer were in her name to push her cause against me, I would willingly pardon her, were no more at stake than my own life, and not the safety and welfare of my realm. It is for your sake and that of my people that I wish to go on living.” Then comes a frank admission that her hesitation is determined by her dread of the verdict of history. “For we princes stand, as it were, upon a stage, exposed to the prying glances of the world. The slightest speck upon our raiment is noticed, any weakness of ours is quickly recorded, so that we must be sedulous more than others that our actions shall always be just and honourable.” For this reason she begged parliament to excuse her for not coming to an immediate decision, seeing that “it is my wont, even in matters of far less moment, to deliberate long before coming to a final decision.”

Was this rigmarole truth or falsehood? Both; for, to repeat, Elizabeth was bipolar. She wanted to be freed from her adversary, but at the same time desired to pose before the world as magnanimous and clement. Twelve days later she sent to Cecil to enquire whether it would not be possible to spare Mary Stuart’s life while safeguarding her own. Once more the Privy Council and parliament assured Queen Elizabeth that there was no other way out of the difficulty than Queen Mary’s execution. Now let us hear Elizabeth once more. This time her words have the unmistakable ring of truth. “I am this day more in conflict with myself than ever before in my life, as to whether I shall speak or be silent. Were I to speak and to complain, I should play the hypocrite; were I to remain silent, all your pains would have been lost. It may seem strange to you that I should complain, but I must avow it hath always been my innermost wish to find some other way of achieving your safety and mine own welfare than the one that is proposed … Since, however, it hath now been determined that my safety cannot be secured in any other way than by her death, I am profoundly mournful that I, who have pardoned so many rebels and have passed over so many acts of treason in silence, should be compelled to show cruelty towards so highly placed a princess.” Reading between the lines, we can see that she is only asking to be over-persuaded. But, ambiguous as ever, she cannot utter a clear Yes or a plain No, for she concludes with the words: “I beg you to content yourselves for the nonce with an answer which is no answer. I do not withstand your opinion, I understand your reason and I beg you to accept my gratitude, to excuse my inward doubts and not to take it amiss that I send you an answer which is no answer.”

The voices on the right have spoken. They have clamoured Death, Death, Death. But the voices on the left, the voices accordant with the best promptings of her heart, were also speaking loudly. The King of France sent a special envoy to talk of the common interests of monarchs. He reminded Elizabeth that by defending Mary’s inviolability she would be defending her own; he exhorted her not to forget that the first rule for one who wished to reign well and happily must be to avoid bloodshed. He reminded her that the right of hospitality was sacred among all nations. Elizabeth must not sin against God by touching the head of an anointed queen. Since Elizabeth, playing the game of shilly-shally as usual, would reply only with half-assurances and ambiguous utterances, the tone of the foreign envoys grew louder. What had at first been no more than request became imperious warnings, and then open threats. Elizabeth, however, trained by nearly three decades on the throne in the intricacies of political life, had fine hearing. When addressed in this emotional way, she listened for only one thing, to learn whether, in the folds of their togas, the diplomatists had hidden commissions to break off relations and declare war. She was quick to perceive that behind the loud and blustering words there was no clash of arms, that neither Henry III nor Philip II was prepared to draw the sword and to let slip the dogs of war as soon as the axe fell upon Mary Stuart’s neck.

Thus she was content to shrug her shoulders at the diplomatic stage thunder of France and Spain. She had, doubtless, to show more caution in thrusting aside another objection, that of Scotland. For if any one on earth should regard it as a sacred duty to prevent the execution of a queen of Scotland in a strange land, it was James VI, since the blood which was to be shed ran in his own veins, since the woman whose life was to be taken was she who had given him life, his mother. Not that James was likely to be stirred by filial affection. Having become Elizabeth’s pensioner and ally, it seemed to him that the mother who denied his royal title, who had invoked maledictions upon him, and had tried to sell his heritage to foreign monarchs was nothing but an obstacle in his path. Directly he heard of the discovery of the Babington conspiracy, he sent congratulations to Queen Elizabeth; and when the French ambassador, seeking him out engaged in his favourite occupation of the chase, begged him to use his influence on his mother’s behalf, young James replied angrily “
qu’il fallait qu’elle but la boisson qu’elle avait brassée
”—that she must drink the potion she had brewed. He declared that he recked little “how closely she might be imprisoned, and whether all her base servants were hanged.” The best thing would be that in future she should confine her attention to praying to God. It was no affair of his, and, in actual fact, the hard-hearted son refused for some time even to send an embassy to London. Not until his mother had been condemned to death, and nationalist feeling blazed up over Scotland because the Queen of a foreign land was about to slay their own anointed monarch, did the young man realise how poor a figure he would cut if he remained inactive. For form’s sake, at least, he must do something. He would not, indeed, go so far as the Scottish parliament demanded, and declare his intention to make war on England should the execution take place. Still, he sat down at his writing desk, penned energetic, menacing dispatches to Walsingham and sent an embassy to London.

Of course Elizabeth had expected this protest. Here, likewise, she did not take it at its face value, but listened for the fundamental tone. The deputies of James VI consisted of two groups. The official ones, those who stood in the public eye, made reiterated and loud demands for the annulment of the death sentence. They rattled their swords, breathed threatenings and slaughter, and those among them who were Scottish nobles displayed the fervour of genuine patriotism. They did not suspect that, while they were voicing these menaces in the royal reception room, behind the scenes another agent, a confidential representative of James VI, had been admitted to Queen Elizabeth’s private apartments, to negotiate with her, on the quiet, about a very different matter, which was far more important to the King of Scotland than his mother’s life, namely his recognition as heir to the English throne. We learn from the French ambassador, who was well informed as to what was going on, that this secret envoy of James VI had been commissioned to tell Elizabeth that, if James was uttering loud threats, this was done only “for his honour and reputation”. Elizabeth should not take his violence “in ill part”. Thus Elizabeth was plainly told what was probably no news to her, namely that James VI, far from being outraged at the prospect of his mother’s execution, was prepared “to digest it” if only there were held out to him the enticement of a pledge or a half-pledge of his succession to the throne. The negotiations that now went on were of a most unsavoury character. Mary Stuart’s chief enemy and her only son drew near together, being both moved by the same dark purpose, for both secretly wished Mary Stuart to be swept out of their path, provided only that the world should not know with what feelings they were animated. They wanted her dead, but had, before the public eye, to behave as if their most heartfelt wish were to protect her. In reality Elizabeth was not trying to preserve her “sister’s” life, nor James VI his mother’s, each of them being only concerned to keep up a good appearance “on the world stage”. James had long since shown plainly enough that he would make no difficulties for Elizabeth though the worst should happen, thus giving her a free hand for the execution of his mother. Before Elizabeth sent Mary to her death, Mary’s son had sacrificed her.

Elizabeth now knew that neither France nor Spain nor Scotland, nor anyone else in the wide world, would trouble her in earnest should she decide that “the matter must come to an end.” There was only one person who, perhaps, might still save Mary Stuart—Mary Stuart herself. She need merely sue for pardon, and it is probable that Elizabeth would have been satisfied with this triumph. At the bottom of her heart she was waiting for such an appeal, which would salve her sore conscience. Everything possible was done during these last weeks to break Mary’s pride. As soon as sentence had been passed, Elizabeth told Sir Amyas Paulet to inform the prisoner of what had happened, whereupon this arid and sober-minded official, who was all the more repulsive for his impeccability, took the opportunity of affronting the condemned, who for him was nothing more, now, than “
une femme morte sans nulle dignité
”—a dead woman without any dignity. He clapped his hat on his head and sat down in her presence, showing the stupid malevolence of one who takes delight in another’s misfortune; he ordered his servants to tear down her canopy of state which was decorated with the arms of Scotland. Her attendants refused to obey the jailer’s orders, and when Paulet made his own menials do the dirty work, Mary hung up a crucifix where the arms of Scotland had been, in order to show that a higher power than Scotland was watching over her. To every dictatorial affront she was ready to reply with a moving gesture. “They threatened to slay me if I do not ask for pardon,” she wrote to her friends, “but I reply that if they have already determined upon my death, they may consummate their injustice when they please.” Let Elizabeth murder her; so much the worse for Elizabeth! Better a death which would humble her adversary before the tribunal of history, than acceptance of a feigned clemency which would invest Elizabeth with the halo of magnanimity. Instead of protesting against the death sentence or begging for grace, as a sincere Christian she meekly thanked God for all His mercies. But to Elizabeth she replied proudly as one queen to another: