CHAPTER X.

ELIZABETH UNMOVED BY HER CAPTIVE'S APPEALS.

Reading the history of Mary's prison life in England, one is surprised at the frequent expressions of hope in Elizabeth's good will which are found in her letters. How she could continue to hope in one who had repeatedly deceived her is difficult to explain, except on the supposition that she was constitutionally incapable of believing that misery such as hers could fail to awaken sympathy in the heart of a woman. There can be little doubt, however, that she believed considerably less in Elizabeth's friendship than she professed. But the absence of all well-founded hope, except through the favourable action of Elizabeth, led her to employ every subtle means in her power to induce her "good cousin" to break the fetters of her captivity, and restore her once more to liberty. Still, she did not always restrain her actions within these diplomatic lines; she was human,--noble and courageous, it is true, but only human--and the desire of freedom, the sense of the injustice she suffered, and the pains of her illness, occasionally broke forth in angry and impassioned language. But she never lost the consciousness that she was a Queen, nor did she hesitate, when mild and guarded language proved vain, to speak with bold and dignified straightforwardness, that seemed almost designed to challenge the direst resentment of her royal captor. Her letter to Elizabeth, dated from Sheffield, November 8th, 1582, is a good specimen, both of her plain, outspoken style, and of her insinuating pathos, and likewise witnesses the clearness and vigour of her mind, despite long years of bodily and mental suffering. The document is lengthy, and I shall omit those paragraphs which I may consider of lesser interest to the reader:--

"Madam,--

"Upon that which has come to my knowledge of the last conspiracies executed in Scotland against my poor child, having reason to fear the consequence of it, from the example of myself; I must employ the very small remainder of my life and strength before my death, to discharge my heart to you fully of my just and melancholy complaints, of which I desire that this letter may serve you, as long as you live after me, for a perpetual testimony and engraving upon your conscience; as much for my discharge to posterity as to the shame and confusion of all those who, under your approbation, have so cruelly and unworthily treated me to this time, and reduced me to the extremity in which I am. But, as their designs, practices, actions and proceedings, though as detestable as they could have been, have always prevailed with you against my very just remonstrances, and sincere deportment; and as the power which you have in your hands, has always been a reason for you among mankind, I will have recourse to the living God, our only judge, who has established us equally and immediately under him for the government of his people.

"I will invoke to the end of this, my very pressing affliction, that he will return to you, and to me (as he will do in his last judgment), the share of our merits, and demerits, one towards the other. And remember, Madam, that to him we shall not be able to disguise anything by the paint and policy of the world; though mine enemies, under you, have been able, for a time, to cover their subtle inventions to men, perhaps to you.

"In his name, and before him sitting, between you and me, I will remind you, that by the agents, spies and secret messengers sent in your name into Scotland while I was there, my subjects were corrupted and encouraged to rebel against me, _to make attempts upon my person_, and, in one word to speak, to emprise and execute that which has come to the said country during my troubles. Of which I will not at present specify other proof than that which I have gained of it by the confession of one who was afterwards amongst those that were most advanced for this good service, and of the witnesses confronted with him. To whom, if I had since done justice, he had not afterwards, by his ancient intelligences, renewed the same practices against my son, and had not procured for all my traitorous and rebellious subjects, who took refuge with you, that aid and support which they have had ever since my detention on this side (i. e., in England); without which support, I think, the said traitors could not since have prevailed, nor afterwards have stood out so long as they have done.

"During my imprisonment at Lochleven, Trogmorton counselled me on your behalf to sign that demission, which he advertised me would be presented to me, assuring me that it could not be valid. And there was not afterwards a place in Christendom where it was held for valid, except on this side, where it was maintained, even to have assisted with open force, the authors of it. In your conscience, Madam, would you acknowledge an equal liberty and power in your subjects? Notwithstanding this, my authority has been by my subjects transferred to my son, when he was not capable of exercising it.

"When I was escaped from Lochleven, ready to give battle to my rebels, I remitted to you, by a gentleman, express a diamond jewel, which I had formerly received as a token from you, and with assurance to be succoured by you against my rebels; and even that, on my retiring towards you, you would come to the very frontiers in order to assist me, which had been confirmed to me by divers messengers. This promise coming, and repeatedly, from your mouth (though I had found myself often abused by your Ministers), made me place such affiance on the effectiveness of it that, when my army was routed, I came directly to throw myself into your arms, if I had been able to approach them. But while I was planning to set out to find you, there was I arrested on my way, surrounded with guards, secured in strong places, and at last reduced, all shame set aside, to the captivity in which I remain to this day, after a thousand deaths which I have already suffered for it.

* * * * *

"In the meantime my rebels, perceiving that their headlong course was carrying them much farther than they had thought before, and the truth being evidenced concerning the calumnies that had been propagated of me at the conference, to which I submitted, in full assembly of your deputies and mine, with others of the contrary party in that country, in order to clear myself publicly of them; there were the principals,[#] for having come to repentance, besieged by your forces in the Castle of Edinburgh, and one of the first among them poisoned, and the other most cruelly hanged, after I had twice made them lay down their arms, at your request, in hopes of an agreement which God knows whether my enemies aimed at, I have been for a long time trying whether patience would soften the rigour and ill-treatment, which they have begun, for these ten years particularly, to make me suffer. And accommodating myself exactly to the order prescribed me for my captivity in this house, as well in regard to the number and quality of the attendants, which I retain, dismissing the others; as for my diet, and ordinary exercise for my health, I am living, even at present, as quietly and peaceably as one much inferior to myself, and more obliged, than with such treatment, I was to you, had been able to do; even to deprive myself, in order to take away all shadow of suspicion and diffidence from you, of requiring to have some intelligence with my son, and my country, which is what, by no right or reason, could be denied me, and principally with my child; whom, instead of this, they have endeavoured by every way to persuade against me, in order to weaken us by our division.

[#] Secretary Maitland and the Laird of Grange, whose defection from the Regent's party has already been mentioned.

"It was permitted me, you will say, to send one to visit him there, about three years ago. His captivity then at Stirling, under the tyrrany of Morton, was the cause of it; as his liberty was afterwards, of a refusal to make the like visit. All this year past I have several times entered into divers overtures for the establishment of a good amity between us, and a sure understanding between these realms in future. To Chatsworth, about ten years ago, commissioners were sent for that purpose. A treaty had been held upon it with yourself, by my ambassadours and those of France. I even myself made, concerning it, the last winter, all the advantageous overtures to Beal that it was possible to make. What return have I had thence? My good intention has been despised, the sincerity of my actions has been neglected and calumniated, the state of my affairs has been traversed by delays, postponings and other such artifices. And, in conclusion, a worse and more unworthy treatment from day to day, anything which I am compelled to do in order to deserve the contrary, my very long, useless and prejudicial patience, have rendered me so low that mine enemies, in their habits of using me ill, think this day they have the right of prescription for treating me, not as a prisoner, which, in reason I could not be, but as some slave whose life and whose death depend only upon their tyrrany.

"I cannot, Madam, suffer it any longer; and I must in dying, discover the authors of my death, or, living, attempt, under your protection, to find an end to the cruelties, calumnies and traitorous designs of my said enemies, in order to establish me in some little more repose for the remainder of my life. To take away the occasions pretended for all differences between us, clear yourself, if you please, of all which has been reported of you concerning my actions; review the depositions of the strangers taken in Ireland; let those of the Jesuits last executed be represented to you; give liberty to those who would undertake to charge me publickly, and permit me to enter upon my defence; if any evil be found in me, let me suffer it, it shall be patiently when I shall know the occasion of it; if any good, suffer me not to be worst treated for it, with your very great commission before God and man.

"The vilest criminals that are in your prisons, born under your obedience, are admitted to their justification; and their accusers, and their accusations, are always declared to them. Why, then, shall not the same order have place towards me, a Sovereign Queen, your nearest relation and lawful heir? I think that this last circumstance has hitherto been, on the side of my enemies, the principal cause of it, and of all their calumnies, to make their unjust pretences slide between the two, by keeping us in division. But, alas, they have now little reason and less need to torment me more upon this account. For I protest to you upon mine honour that I look this day for no kingdom but that of my God; whom I see preparing me for the better conclusion of all my afflictions and adversities past."

Reverting to the injustices to which her son was then subjected by traitors in Scotland, she exhorts Elizabeth not to give countenance to their actions, and proceeds in the following amazingly naive manner:--

"I shall be contented then, only at your not permitting my son to receive any injury from this country (which is all that I have ever required of you before, even when an army was sent to the borders to prevent justice from being done to that detestable Morton), and that none of your subjects directly or indirectly intermeddle any more in the affairs of Scotland, unless it is with my knowledge, to whom all cognizance of these things belongs, or with the assistance of some one on the part of the most Christian King, my good brother; whom, as our principal ally, I desire to make privy to the whole of this cause, because of the little credit that he can have with the traitors who detain my son at present.

"But, Madam, with all this freedom of speech, which, I foresee will in some sort displease you, though it be the truth itself, you will find it more strange, I assure myself, that I come now to importune you again with a request of much greater importance, and yet very easy for you to grant, and release to me. This is, that having not been able hitherto, by accommodating myself patiently so long a time to the rigorous treatment of this captivity, and carrying myself sincerely in all things, yea, even to the last, that could concern you a very little, to gain myself some assurance of my entire affection towards you; all my hope being taken away by it of being better treated for the very short time which remains to me of life; I supplicate you, by the honour of the sorrowful passion of our Saviour and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, again I supplicate you, at once to permit me to withdraw myself out of your realm, into some place of repose, to search out some comfort for my poor body, so wearied as it is with continual sorrow, and with liberty of my conscience to prepare my soul for God, who is calling for it daily."

* * * * *

"Your prison, without any right or foundation, has already destroyed my body, of which you will shortly have the end, if it continues there a little longer; and my enemies will not have much time for glutting their cruelties on me; nothing remains of me but the soul, which all your power cannot make captive. Give it, then, room for aspiring a little more freely after its salvation, which alone it seeks for at this day, more than any grandeur of this world. It seems to me that it cannot be to you any great satisfaction, honour, and advantage, for mine enemies to trample my life under foot, till they have stifled me in your presence. Whereas, if in this extremity, however late it be, you release me out of their hands, you will bind me greatly to you, and bind all those who belong to me, particularly my poor child, whom you will, perhaps, make sure to yourself by it.

"Two things I have principally to require at the close; the one that, near as I am to going out of this world, I may have with me, for my consolation, some honourable church-man, to remind me daily of the course which I have to finish, and teach me how to complete it according to my religion in which I am firmly resolved to live and die.

"This is a last duty which cannot be denied to the most mean and miserable person that lives; it is a liberty which you grant to all foreign embassadours; as also all other Catholick kings give to your embassadours the exercise of their religion. And even I myself have not hitherto forced my own subjects to anything contrary to their religion, though I had all power and authority over them. And that I in this extremity should be deprived of such freedom, you cannot, with justice, require. What advantage will redound to you, when you shall deny it to me? I hope God will excuse me if, oppressed by you in this manner, I do not render to him any duty but what I shall be permitted to do in my heart. But you will set a very bad example to the other Princes of Christendom, to act towards their subjects with the same rigour that you shall show to me, a Sovereign Queen, and your nearest relation; which I am, and will be as long as I live, in despite of mine enemies."

Here she enters upon a justification of her conduct in view of a charge which had been brought against her, namely, that contrary to her promise, and without the knowledge of Elizabeth, she had entered into certain political negotiations with her son in Scotland. She reviews the circumstances of the case, indicates her own and Elizabeth's respective practices, and then refers to her cousin's consideration "which of us has proceeded with the greatest sincerity." Finally she closes her lengthy letter with the following appeal:--

"Resume the ancient pledges of your good nature; bind your relations to yourself; give me the satisfaction before I die that, seeing all matters happily settled again between us, my soul, when delivered from this body, may not be constrained to display its lamentations before God for the wrong which you have suffered to be done me here below; but, rather, that being happily united to you, it may quit this captivity to set forward towards him, whom I pray to inspire you happily upon my very just and more than reasonable complaints and grievances.

"At Sheffield, this 8th of November, one thousand five hundred and eighty-two.

"Your very disconsolate, nearest relation, and affectionate cousin,

"MARIE E."

But no appeal, however deeply it might possibly touch the heart of the Tudor Queen, could turn her from that one purpose which, in her ever-changing policy, remained forever fixed, of preventing the possibility of Mary's returning to public life. With all her unwomanly qualities, however, it cannot be presumed that she was always insensible to the pathos of her captive's language, or even to the better impulses of her own heart. She was not, as certain tyrants seem to have been, cruel from the mere love of inflicting pain. The fierce outbursts of anger and the arbitrary commands with which she overawed Parliament when other means of carrying her point failed, did not prevent her from being sincerely interested in procuring the happiness of her people; and it is not wholly without cause that she has received, from a portion of her subjects, the title of "Good Queen Bess." But woe to him who stood between her and her interest. Her ambition would not be thwarted by any inconvenient delicacy or dictate of conscience. Whether in her more peaceful hours she practised "modest stillness and humility," is irrelevant to the present question; it is beyond doubt however, that when the blast of jealousy, suspicion, or hatred, blew in her ears she knew how to "imitate the action of the tiger." It must in truth be admitted that her position in relation to the Scottish Queen, was a difficult one; but it should, in equal truth, be admitted that her own dishonesty was cause of the most part of her trouble. To have within her realm the one whom a large portion of her subjects considered by right Queen of England, and through whom the Pope and the Catholic powers hoped to see the island restored to the obedience of the Holy See, was eminently calculated to make her life uncomfortable. She was conscious that she was an object of hatred to many who had power to do her no end of mischief. But she must have foreseen these troubles when she elected to detain Mary a prisoner. At any rate she must soon have learned that so long as she chose to be the jailer of the most beautiful, accomplished and renowned woman in Europe, she could not hope for a peaceful career. Who so foolish as to think that Mary would not use all her energy to regain her liberty, or that powerful parties at home and abroad would not make the captive's cause their own? Certainly not the crafty Elizabeth. Yet a simple act of justice--the release of the prisoner whom she unjustly and ungenerously detained--would have removed the cause of half her anxieties. Elizabeth's troubles, therefore, were voluntarily assumed, and were part of the price which she was content to pay for the gratification of having in her power the woman and queen whose superior beauty, and title to the throne of England, had long before aroused her undying hatred. It is childish and ridiculous for historians to excuse Elizabeth's harshness on the plea that Mary's plotting and intriguing rendered severe treatment necessary. The same argument would justify the bandit in maltreating his victim who would be so ungrateful as to attempt escaping from his custody.