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    <Metadata name="Content">biography of Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603) by Edward Spencer Beesly, 1892</Metadata>
    <Metadata name="Page_topic">biography of Queen Elizabeth I (1533-1603) by Edward Spencer Beesly, 1892</Metadata>
    <Metadata name="Author">Marilee Mongello</Metadata>
    <Metadata name="Title">Secondary Sources: Queen Elizabeth by Edward Spencer Beesly, 1892: Chapter IV</Metadata>
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    <Metadata name="dc.Subject">Tudor period|Others</Metadata>
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&lt;table border=&quot;0&quot; cellpadding=&quot;3&quot; width=&quot;100%&quot; height=&quot;667&quot;&gt;
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    &lt;p align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;7&quot;&gt;Queen Elizabeth&lt;br&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/b&gt;
    &lt;font size=&quot;4&quot;&gt;by Edward Spencer Beesly, 1892&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
    &lt;img border=&quot;2&quot; src=&quot;_httpdocimg_/eliz1-ermine.jpg&quot; width=&quot;400&quot; height=&quot;478&quot; alt=&quot;'The Ermine Portrait' of Elizabeth I, c1585, by Nicholas Hilliard&quot;&gt;&lt;p align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
    &lt;i&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;2&quot;&gt;'The Ermine Portrait' of Elizabeth I, c1585, by Nicholas 
    Hilliard;&lt;br&gt;from the &lt;a href=&quot;_httpextlink_&amp;amp;rl=0&amp;amp;href=http:%2f%2fwww.marileecody.com%2feliz1-images.html&quot;&gt;Portraits of Queen Elizabeth I&lt;/a&gt; website&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/td&gt;
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  &lt;blockquote&gt;
    &lt;font face=&quot;Times New Roman&quot;&gt;
    &lt;div align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;
      &lt;b&gt;CHAPTER IV&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br&gt;
      &lt;b&gt;ELIZABETH AND MARY STUART: 1559-1568&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;WHEN Elizabeth mounted the throne, it was 
    taken for granted that she was to marry, and marry with the least possible 
    delay. This was expected of her, not merely because in the event of her 
    dying without issue there would be a dispute whether the claim of Mary 
    Stuart or that of Catherine Grey was to prevail, but for a more general 
    reason. The rule of an unmarried woman, except provisionally during such 
    short interval as might be necessary to provide her with a husband, was 
    regarded as quite out of the question. It was the custom for the husbands of 
    heiresses to step into the property of their wives and stand in the shoes, 
    so to speak, of the last male proprietor, in order to perform those duties 
    which could not be efficiently performed by a woman. Elizabeth's sister, 
    while a subject, had no thought of marrying. But her accession was 
    considered by herself and every one else to involve marriage. If the nobles 
    of England could have foreseen that Elizabeth would elude this obligation, 
    she would probably never have been allowed to mount the throne. Her marriage 
    was thought to be as much a matter of course, and as necessary, as her 
    coronation. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Accordingly the House of Commons, which met a 
    month after her accession, immediately requested her to select a husband 
    without delay. Her declaration that she had no desire to change her state 
    was supposed to indicate only the real or affected coyness to be expected 
    from a young lady. There was no lack of suitors, foreign or English. The 
    Archduke Charles, son of the Emperor and cousin of Philip, would have been 
    welcomed by all Catholics and acquiesced in by political Protestants like 
    Cecil. The ardent Protestants were eager for Arran, and Cecil, till he saw 
    it was useless, worked his best for him, regardless of the personal 
    sacrifice his mistress must make in wedding a man who was not always quite 
    sane and eventually became a confirmed lunatic. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Not many months of the new reign had passed 
    before it began to be suspected that Elizabeth's partiality for Lord Robert 
    Dudley had something to do with her evident distaste for all her suitors. To 
    her Ministers and the public this partiality for a married man became a 
    cause of great disquietude. They not unnaturally feared that with a young 
    woman who had no relations to advise and keep watch over her, it might lead 
    to some disastrous scandal incompatible with her continuance on the throne. 
    Marriage with Dudley at this time was out of the question. But within four 
    months of her accession, the Spanish ambassador mentions a report that 
    Dudley's wife had a cancer, and that the Queen was only waiting for her 
    death to marry him. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;About the humble extraction of Elizabeth's 
    favourite much nonsense was talked in his lifetime by his ill-wishers, and 
    has been duly repeated since. He was as well born as most of the peerage of 
    that time; very few of whom could show nobility of any antiquity in the male 
    line. The Duke of Norfolk being the only Duke at Elizabeth's accession, and 
    in possession of an ancient title, was looked on as the head of his order. 
    Yet it was only seventy-five years since a Howard had first reached the 
    peerage in consequence of having had the good fortune to marry the heiress 
    of the Mowbrays. Edmund Dudley, Minister of Henry VII. and father of 
    Northumberland, was grandson of John, fourth Lord Dudley; and 
    Northumberland, by his mother's side, was sole heir and representative of 
    the ancient barony of De L'Isle, which title he bore before he received his 
    earldom and dukedom. In point of wealth and influence, indeed, the favourite 
    might be called an upstart. The younger son of an attainted father, he had 
    not an acre of land or a farthing of money which he did not owe either to 
    his wife or to the generosity of Elizabeth. This it was that moved the 
    sneers and ill-will of a people with whom nobility has always been a 
    composite idea implying, not only birth and title, but territorial wealth. 
    Moreover his grandfather, though of good extraction, was a simple esquire, 
    and had risen by helping Henry VII. to trample on the old nobility. After 
    his fall his son had climbed to power under Henry VIII. and Edward VI. in 
    the same way. Lord Robert Dudley, again, had to begin at the bottom of the 
    ladder. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;No one will claim for Elizabeth's favourite 
    that he was a man of distinguished ability or high character. He had a fine 
    figure and a handsome face. He bore himself well in manly exercises. His 
    manners were attractive when he wished to please. To these qualities he 
    first owed his favour with Elizabeth, who was never at any pains to conceal 
    her liking for good-looking men and her dislike of ugly ones. Finding 
    himself in favour, and inheriting to the full the pushing audacity of his 
    father and grandfather, he professed for the Queen a love which he certainly 
    did not feel, in order to serve his soaring ambition. Elizabeth, it is my 
    firm conviction, never loved Dudley or any other man, in any sense of the 
    word, high or low. She had neither a tender heart nor a sensual temperament. 
    But she had a more than feminine appetite for admiration; and the more she 
    was, unhappily for herself, a stranger to the emotion of love, the more 
    restlessly did she desire to be thought capable of inspiring it. She was 
    therefore easily taken in by Dudley's professions, and, though she did not 
    care for him enough to marry him, she liked to have him as well as several 
    other handsome men, dangling about her, &amp;quot;like her lap-dog,&amp;quot; to use her own 
    expression. Further she believed--and here came in the mischief --that his 
    devotion to her person would make him a specially faithful servant. &lt;/font&gt;
    &lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;We know, though Elizabeth did not, that in 
    1561, Dudley was promising the Spanish ambassador to be Philip's humble 
    vassal, and to do his best for Catholicism, if Philip would promote his 
    marriage with the Queen; that, in the same year, he was offering his 
    services to the French Huguenots for the same consideration; that at one 
    time he posed as the protector of the Puritans, while at another he was 
    intriguing with the captive Queen of Scots; whom, again, later on, he had a 
    chief share in bringing to the block. But we must remember that very few 
    statesmen, English or foreign, in the sixteenth century could have shown a 
    record free from similar blots. Those who, like Elizabeth and Cecil, were 
    undeniably actuated on the whole by public spirit, or by any principle more 
    respectable than pure selfishness, never hesitated to lie or play a double 
    game when it seemed to serve their turn. William of Orange is the only 
    eminent statesman, as far as I know, against whom this charge cannot be 
    made. When this was the standard of honour for consistent politicians and 
    real patriots, what was to be expected of lower natures? Dudley's conduct on 
    several occasions was bad and contemptible; and he must be judged with the 
    more severity, because he sinned not only against the code of duty binding 
    on the ordinary man and citizen, but against his professions of a tender 
    sentiment by means of which he had acquired his special influence. I have 
    said that he was not a man of great ability. But neither was he the 
    empty-headed incapable trifler that some writers have depicted him. He was 
    not so judged by his contemporaries. That Elizabeth, because she liked him, 
    would have selected a man of notorious incapacity to command her armies, 
    both in the Netherlands and when the Armada was expected, is one of those 
    hypotheses that do not become more credible by being often repeated. Cecil 
    himself, when it was not a question of the marriage--of which he was a 
    determined opponent--regarded him as a useful servant of the Queen. I do not 
    doubt that Elizabeth estimated his capacity at about its right value. What 
    she over-estimated was his affection for on, he had a chief share in 
    bringing to the block. But we must remember that very few statesmen, English 
    or foreign, in the sixteenth century could have shown a record free from 
    similar blots. Those who, like Elizabeth and Cecil, were undeniably actuated 
    on the whole by public spirit, or by any principle more respectable than 
    pure selfishness, never hesitated to lie or play a double game when it 
    seemed to serve their turn. William of Orange is the only eminent statesman, 
    as far as I know, against whom this charge cannot be made. When this was the 
    standard of honour for consistent politicians and real patriots, what was to 
    be expected of lower natures? Dudley's conduct on several occasions was bad 
    and contemptible; and he must be judged with the more severity, because he 
    sinned not only against the code of duty binding on the ordinary man and 
    citizen, but against his professions of a tender sentiment by means of which 
    he had acquired his special influence. I have said that he was not a man of 
    great ability. But neither was he the empty-headed incapable trifler that 
    some writers have depicted him. He was not so judged by his contemporaries. 
    That Elizabeth, because she liked him, would have selected a man of 
    notorious incapacity to command her armies, both in the Netherlands and when 
    the Armada was expected, is one of those hypotheses that do not become more 
    credible by being often repeated. Cecil himself, when it was not a question 
    of the marriage--of which he was a determined opponent--regarded him as a 
    useful servant of the Queen. I do not doubt that Elizabeth estimated his 
    capacity at about its right value. What she over-estimated was his affection 
    for herself, and consequently his trustworthiness. Sovereigns--and 
    others--often place a near relative in an important post, not as being the 
    most capable person they know, but as most likely to be true to them. 
    Elizabeth had no near relatives. If we grant--as we must grant--that she 
    believed in Dudley's love, we cannot wonder that she employed him in 
    positions of trust. A female ruler will always be liable to make these 
    mistakes, unless her Ministers and captains are to be of her own sex. &lt;/font&gt;
    &lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;On the 3rd of September 1560, two months 
    after the Treaty of Leith, Elizabeth told De Quadra that she had made up her 
    mind to marry the Archduke Charles. On the 8th, Lady Robert Dudley died at 
    Cumnor Hall. On the 11th, Elizabeth told De Quadra that she had changed her 
    mind. Dudley neglected his wife, and never brought her to court. We cannot 
    doubt that he fretted under a tie which stood in the way of his ambition. 
    Her death had been predicted. It is not strange, therefore, that he should 
    have been suspected of having caused it. Nevertheless, not a particle of 
    evidence pointing in that direction has ever been produced, and it seems 
    most probable that the poor deserted creature committed suicide. A coroner's 
    jury investigated the case diligently, and, it would seem, with some animus 
    against Foster, the owner of Cumnor Hall, but returned a verdict of 
    accidental death. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Anyhow, Dudley was now free. The Scotch 
    Estates were eagerly pressing Arran's suit, and the English Protestants were 
    as eagerly backing them. The opportunity was certainly unique. Though 
    nothing was said about deposing Mary, yet nothing could be more certain than 
    that, if this marriage took place, the Queen of France would never reign in 
    Scotland. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;At her wits' end how to escape a match so 
    desirable for the Queen, so repulsive to the woman, Elizabeth had announced 
    her willingness to espouse the Archduke in order to gain a short 
    breathing-time. Vienna was at least further than Edinburgh, and difficulties 
    were sure to arise when details began to be discussed. At this moment, by 
    the sudden death of his wife, Dudley became marriageable. If Elizabeth had 
    been free to marry or not, as she pleased, it seems to me in the highest 
    degree improbable that she would ever have thought of taking Dudley. But 
    believing that a husband was inevitable, and expecting that she would be 
    forced to take some one who was either unknown to her or positively 
    distasteful, it was most natural that she should ask herself whether it was 
    not the least of evils to put this cruel persecution to an end by choosing a 
    man whom at least she admired and liked, who loved her, as she thought, for 
    her own sake, and would be as obedient &amp;quot;as her lap-dog.&amp;quot; When nations are 
    ruled by women, and marriageable women, feelings and motives which belong to 
    the sphere of private life, and should be confined to it, are apt to invade 
    the domain of politics. If Elizabeth's subjects expected their sovereign to 
    suppress all personal feelings in choosing a consort, they ought to have 
    established the Salic law. No woman, queen or not queen, can be expected 
    voluntarily to make such a sacrifice. Her happiness is too deeply involved.
    &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;In the autumn, then, of 1560, when Elizabeth 
    had been not quite two years on the throne, she seriously thought of 
    marrying Dudley. It is difficult to say how long she continued to think of 
    it seriously. With him, as with other suitors, she went on coquetting when 
    she had perfectly made up her mind that nothing was to come of it. Perhaps 
    we shall be right in saying that, as long as there was any question of the 
    Archduke Charles, she looked to Dudley as a possible refuge. This would be 
    till about the beginning of 1568. It seems to be always assumed, as a matter 
    of course, that Cecil played the part of Elizabeth's good genius in 
    persistently dissuading her from marrying Dudley. I am not so sure of this. 
    If she had been a wife and a mother many of her difficulties would have at 
    once disappeared, and the weakest points in her character would have no 
    longer been brought out. It ended in her not marrying at all. I am inclined 
    to think that another enemy of Dudley, the Earl of Sussex, showed more good 
    sense and truer patriotism when he wrote in October 1560:-- &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;blockquote&gt;
      &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;&amp;quot;I wish not her Majesty to linger this 
      matter of so great importance, but to choose speedily; and therein to 
      follow so much her own affection as [that], by the looking upon him whom 
      she should choose, omnes ejus sensus titillarentur; which shall be the 
      readiest way, with the help of God, to bring us a blessed prince which 
      shall redeem us out of thraldom. If I knew that England had other rightful 
      inheritors I would then advise otherwise, and seek to serve the time by a 
      husband's choice [seek for an advantageous political alliance]. But seeing 
      that she is ultimum refugium, and that no riches, friendship, foreign 
      alliance, or any other present commodity that might come by a husband, can 
      serve our turn, without issue of her body, if the Queen will love anybody, 
      let her love where and whom she lists, so much thirst I to see her love. 
      And whomsoever she shall love and choose, him will I love, honour, and 
      serve to the uttermost.&amp;quot; &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;/blockquote&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Perhaps I may be excused for expressing the 
    opinion that the ideal husband for Elizabeth, if it had been possible, would 
    have been Lord James Stuart, afterwards Earl of Moray. Of sufficient 
    capacity, kindly heart, undaunted resolution, and unswerving rectitude of 
    purpose, he would have supplied just those elements that were wanting to 
    correct her defects. King of Scotland he perhaps could not be. Regent of 
    Scotland he did become. If he could, at the same time, have been Elizabeth's 
    husband, the two crowns might have, in the next generation, been worn by a 
    Stuart of a nobler stock than the son of Mary and Darnley. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;When Mary Stuart, on the death of her husband 
    Francis II., returned to her own kingdom (August 1561), she found the 
    Scotch nobles sore at the rejection of Arran's suit. Bent on giving a 
    sovereign to England, in one way or another, they were now ready, 
    Protestants as well as Catholics, to back Mary's demand that she should be 
    recognised as Elizabeth's heir-presumptive. To this the English. Queen could 
    not consent, for the very sufficient reason, that not only would the 
    Catholic party be encouraged to hold together and give trouble, but the more 
    bigoted and desperate members of it would certainly attempt her life, lest 
    she should disappoint Mary's hopes by marrying. &amp;quot;She was not so foolish,&amp;quot; 
    she said, &amp;quot;as to hang a winding-sheet before her eyes or make a funeral 
    feast whilst she was alive,&amp;quot; but she promised that she would neither do 
    anything nor allow anything to be done by Parliament to prejudice Mary's 
    title. To this undertaking she adhered long after Mary's hostile conduct had 
    given ample justification for treating her as an enemy. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Openly Mary was claiming nothing but the 
    succession. In reality she cared little for a prospect so remote and 
    uncertain. What she was scheming for was to hurl Elizabeth from her throne. 
    This was an object for which she never ceased to work till her head was off 
    her shoulders. Her aims were more sharply defined than those of Elizabeth, 
    and she was remarkably free from that indecision which too often marred the 
    action of the English Queen. In ability and information she was not at all 
    inferior to Elizabeth; in promptitude and energy she was her superior. These 
    masculine qualities might have given her the victory in the bitter duel, but 
    that, in the all-important domain of feeling, her sex indomitably asserted 
    itself, and weighted her too heavily to match the superb self-control of 
    Elizabeth. She could love and she could hate; Elizabeth had only likes and 
    dislikes, and therefore played the cooler game. When Mary really loved, 
    which was only once, all selfish calculations were flung to the winds; she 
    was ready to sacrifice everything, and not count the cost--body and soul, 
    crown and life, interest and honour. When she hated, which was often, 
    rancour was apt to get the better of prudence. And so at the fatal 
    turning-point of her career, when mad hate and madder love possessed her 
    soul, she went down before her great rival never to rise again. Here was a 
    woman indeed. And if, for that reason, she lost the battle in life, for that 
    reason too she still disputes it from the tomb. She has always had, and 
    always will have, the ardent sympathy of a host of champions, to whom the 
    &amp;quot;fair vestal throned by the west&amp;quot; is a mere politician, sexless, coldblooded, 
    and repulsive. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;In 1564 Mary, as yet fancy-free, was seeking 
    to match herself on purely political grounds. She was not so fastidious as 
    Elizabeth, for she does not seem to have troubled herself at all about 
    personal qualities, if a match seemed otherwise eligible. The Hamiltons 
    pressed Arran upon her. But he was a Protestant. He was not heir to any 
    throne but that of Scotland; and, though a powerful family in Scotland, the 
    Hamiltons could give her no help elsewhere. Philip, who, now that the Guises 
    had become his protégés, was less jealous of her designs, wished her to 
    marry his cousin, the Archduke Charles of Austria. But this prince, whom 
    Elizabeth professed to find too much of a Catholic, was, in the eyes of 
    'Mary and her more bigoted co-religionists, too nearly a Lutheran; and she 
    doubted whether Philip cared enough for him to risk a war for establishing 
    him and herself upon the English throne. For this reason the husband on whom 
    she had set her heart was Don Carlos, Philip's own son, a sort of wild 
    beast. But Philip received her overtures doubtfully; the fact being that he 
    could not trust Don Carlos, whom he eventually put to death. Catherine de' 
    Medici loved Mary as little as she did the other Guises, but the prospect of 
    the Spanish match filled her with such terror that she proposed to make the 
    Scottish Queen her daughter-in-law a second time by a marriage with Charles 
    IX., a lad under thirteen, if she would wait two years for him. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;On the other hand, Elizabeth impressed upon 
    Mary that, unless she married a member of some Reformed Church, the English 
    Parliament would certainly demand that her title to the succession, whatever 
    it was, should be declared invalid. The House of Commons was strongly 
    Protestant, and had with difficulty been prevented from addressing the Queen 
    in favour of the succession of Lady Catherine Grey. Apart from religion 
    there was deep irritation against the whole Scotch nation. Sir Ralph Sadler, 
    who had been much employed in Scotland, denounced them as &amp;quot;false, beggarly, 
    and perjured, whom the very stones in the English streets would rise 
    against.&amp;quot; When Elizabeth was dangerously ill in October 1562, the Council 
    discussed whom they should proclaim in the event of her death. Some were for 
    the will of Henry VIII. and Catherine Grey. Others, sick of female rulers, 
    were for taking the Earl of Huntingdon, a descendant of the Duke of 
    Clarence. None were for Mary or Darnley. Mary's chief friends--Montagu, 
    Northumberland, Westmoreland, and Derby--were not on the Council. &lt;/font&gt;
    &lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Parliament and the Council being against her, 
    Mary could not afford to quarrel with the Queen. Elizabeth told her that she 
    would regard a marriage with any Spanish, Austrian, or French prince as a 
    declaration of war. Help from those quarters was far away, and at the mercy 
    of winds and waves: the Border fortresses were near, and their garrisons 
    always ready to march. Besides, whichever of the two she might 
    obtain--Charles IX. or the Archduke--she drove the other into the arms of 
    Elizabeth. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;But there was another possible husband who 
    had crossed her mind from time to time; not a prince indeed, yet of royal 
    extraction in the female line, and, what was more, not without pretensions 
    to that very succession which she coveted. Henry Lord Darnley, son of 
    Matthew Stuart, Earl of Lennox, was, by his father's side, of the royal 
    family of Scotland, while his mother was the daughter of Margaret Tudor, 
    sister of Henry VIII., by her second husband, the Earl of Angus. Born and 
    brought up in England, where his father had been long an exile, he was 
    reckoned as an Englishman, which, in the opinion of many lawyers, was 
    essential as a qualification for the crown. He was also a Catholic, and if 
    Elizabeth had died at this time, it was perhaps Darnley, rather than Mary, 
    whom the Catholics would have tried to place on the throne. Elizabeth had 
    promised that, if Mary would marry an English nobleman, she would do her 
    best to get Mary's title recognised by Parliament. To Elizabeth, therefore, 
    Mary now turned, with the request that she would point out such a nobleman, 
    not without a hope that she would name Darnley (March 1564). But, to Mary's 
    mortification, she formally recommended Lord Robert Dudley. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;This recommendation has often been treated as 
    if it was a sorry joke perpetrated by Elizabeth, who had never any intention 
    of furthering, or even permitting, such a match. But nothing is more certain 
    than that Elizabeth was most anxious to bring it about; and it affords a 
    decisive proof that her feeling for Dudley, whatever name she herself may 
    have put to it, was not what is usually called love. Cecil and all her most 
    intimate advisers entertained no doubt that she was sincere. She undertook, 
    if Mary would accept Dudley, to make him a duke; and, in the meantime, she 
    created him Earl of Leicester. She regarded him, so she told Mary's envoy 
    Melville, as her brother and her friend; if he was Mary's husband she would 
    have no suspicion or fear of any usurpation before her death, being assured 
    that he was so loving and trusty that he would never permit anything to be 
    attempted during her time. &amp;quot;But,&amp;quot; she said, pointing to Darnley, who was 
    present, &amp;quot;you like better yonder long lad.&amp;quot; Her suspicion was correct. 
    Melville had secret instructions to procure permission for Darnley to go to 
    Scotland. However, he answered discreetly that &amp;quot;no woman of spirit could 
    choose such an one who more resembled a woman than a man.&amp;quot; &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;How was Elizabeth to be persuaded to let 
    Darnley leave England? There was only one way to disarm suspicion: Mary 
    declared herself ready to marry Leicester (January 1565). Darnley 
    immediately obtained leave of absence for three months ostensibly to recover 
    the forfeited Lennox property. In Scotland the purpose of his coming was not 
    mistaken, and it roused the Protestants to fury. The Queen's chapel, the 
    only place in the Lowlands where mass was said, was beset. Her priests were 
    mobbed and maltreated. Moray, who till lately had supported his sister with 
    such loyalty and energy that Knox had quarrelled with him, prepared, with 
    the other Lords of the Congregation, for resistance. Elizabeth, and Cecil 
    also, had been completely overreached. A prudent player sometimes gets into 
    difficulties by attributing equal prudence to a daring and reckless 
    antagonist. Elizabeth, as a patriotic ruler, desired nothing but peace and 
    security for her own kingdom. If she could have that, she had no wish to 
    meddle with Scotland. Mary, caring nothing for the interests of her 
    subjects, was facing civil war with a light heart; and, for the chance of 
    obtaining the more brilliant throne, was ready to risk her own. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Undeterred by Elizabeth's threats, Mary 
    married Darnley (29 July 1565). Moray and Argyll, having obtained a 
    promise of assistance from England, took arms; but most of the Lords of the 
    Congregation showed themselves even more powerless or perfidious than they 
    had been five years before. Morton, Ruthven, and Lindsay, stoutest of 
    Protestants, were related to Darnley, and were gratified by the elevation of 
    their kinsman. Moray failed to elicit a spark of spirit out of the 
    priest-baiting citizens of Edinburgh, and the Queen, riding steel cap on 
    head and pistols at saddle-bow, chased him into England. Lord Bedford, who 
    was in command at Berwick, could have stepped across the Border and 
    scattered her undisciplined array without difficulty. He implored Elizabeth 
    to let him do it; offered to do it on his own responsibility, and be 
    disavowed. But he found, to his mortification, that she had been playing a 
    game of brag. She had hoped that a threatening attitude would stop the 
    marriage. But as it was an accomplished fact she was not going to draw the 
    sword. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;This was shabby treatment of Moray and his 
    friends, and to some of her councillors it seemed not only shameful but 
    dangerous to show the white feather. But judging from the course of events, 
    Elizabeth's policy was the safe one. The English Catholics--some of them at 
    all events, as will be explained presently--were becoming more discontented 
    and dangerous. The northern earls were known to be disaffected. Mary 
    believed that in every country in England the Catholics had their 
    organisation and their leaders, and that, if she chose, she could march to 
    London. No doubt she was much deceived. In reluctance to resort to violence 
    and respect for constituted authority, England, even north of the Humber, 
    was at least two centuries ahead of Scotland, and, if she had come attended 
    by a horde of savage Highlanders and Border ruffians, &amp;quot;the very stones in 
    the streets would have risen against them.&amp;quot; It was Elizabeth's rule--and a 
    very good rule too--never to engage in a war if she could avoid it. From 
    this rule she could not be drawn to swerve either by passion or ambition, or 
    that most fertile source of fighting, a regard for honour. All the old 
    objections to an invasion of Scotland still subsisted in full strength, and 
    were reinforced by others. It was better to wait for an attack which might 
    never come than go half-way to meet it. An invasion of Scotland might drive 
    the northern earls to declare for Mary, which, unless compelled to choose 
    sides, they might never do. Some people are more perturbed by the 
    expectation and uncertainty of danger than by its declared presence. Not so 
    Elizabeth. Smouldering treason she could take coolly as long as it only 
    smouldered. As for the betrayal of the Scotch refugees, Elizabeth never 
    allowed the private interests of her own subjects, much less those of 
    foreigners, to weigh against the interests of England. Moray, one of the 
    most magnanimous and self-sacrificing of statesmen, evidently felt that 
    Elizabeth's course was wise, if not exactly chivalrous. He submitted to her 
    public rebuke without publicly contradicting her, and waited patiently in 
    exile till it should be convenient for her to help him and his cause. Mary, 
    too, though elated by her success, and never abandoning her intention to 
    push it further, found it best to halt for a while. Philip wrote to her that 
    he would help her secretly with money if Elizabeth attacked her, but not 
    otherwise, and warned her against any premature clutch at the English crown. 
    Elizabeth's seeming tameness could hardly have received a more complete 
    justification. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Mary had determined to espouse Darnley, 
    before she had set eyes on him, for purely political reasons. There is no 
    reason to suppose she ever cared for him. It is more likely, as Mr. Froude 
    suggests, that for a great political purpose she was doing an act which in 
    itself she loathed. A woman of twenty-two, already a widow, mature beyond 
    her years, exceptionally able, absorbed in the great game of politics, and 
    accustomed to admiration, was not likely to care for a raw lad of nineteen, 
    foolish, ignorant, ill-conditioned, vicious, and without a single manly 
    quality. One man we know she did love later on--loved passionately and 
    devotedly, no slim girl-faced youngster, but the fierce, stout-limbed, 
    dare-devil Bothwell; and Bothwell gradually made his way to her heart by his 
    readiness to undertake every desperate service she required of him. What 
    Mary admired, nay envied, in the other sex was the stout heart and the 
    strong arm. She loved herself to rough it on the war-path. She surprised 
    Randolph by her spirit:--&amp;quot;Never thought I that stomach to be in her that I 
    find. She repented nothing but, when the Lords and others came in the 
    morning from the watches, that she was not a man, to know what life it was 
    to lie all night in the fields or to walk upon the causeway with a jack and 
    a knapscap, a Glasgow buckler and a broadsword.&amp;quot; &amp;quot;She desires much,&amp;quot; says 
    Knollys, &amp;quot;to hear of hardiness and valiancy, commending by name all approved 
    hardy men of her country, although they be her enemies; and she concealeth 
    no cowardice even in her friends.&amp;quot; Valuable to Mary as a man of action, 
    Bothwell was not worth much as an adviser. For advice she looked to the 
    Italian Rizzio, in whom she confided because, with the detachment of a 
    foreigner, he regarded Scotch ambitions, animosities, and intrigues only as 
    so much material to be utilised for the purpose of the combined onslaught on 
    Protestantism which the Pope was trying to organise. Bothwell was at this 
    time thirty, and Rizzio, according to Lesley, fifty. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;In spite of all the prurient suggestions of 
    writers who have fastened on the story of Mary's life as on a savoury 
    morsel, there is no reason whatever for thinking that she was a woman of a 
    licentious disposition, and there is strong evidence to the contrary. There 
    was never anything to her discredit in France. Her behaviour in the affair 
    of Chastelard was irreproachable. The charge of adultery with Rizzio is 
    dismissed as unworthy of belief even by Mr. Froude, the severest of her 
    judges. Bothwell indeed she loved, and, like many another woman who does not 
    deserve to be called licentious, she sacrificed her reputation to the man 
    she loved. But the most conclusive proof that she was no slave to appetite 
    is afforded by her nineteen years' residence in England, which began when 
    she was only twenty-five. During almost the whole of that time she was 
    mixing freely in the society of the other sex, with the fullest opportunity 
    for misconduct had she been so inclined. It is not to be supposed that she 
    was fettered by any scruples of religion or morality. Yet no charge of 
    unchastity is made against her. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;When Darnley found that his wife, though she 
    conferred on him the title of King, did not procure for him the crown 
    matrimonial or allow him the smallest authority, he gave free vent to his 
    anger. No less angry were his kinsmen, Morton, Ruthven, and Lindsay. They 
    had deserted the Congregation in the expectation that when Darnley was King 
    they would be all-powerful. Instead of this they found themselves neglected; 
    while the Queen's confidence was given to Catholics and to Bothwell, who, 
    though nominally a Protestant, always acted with the Catholics. The 
    Protestant seceders had in fact fallen between two stools. It was against 
    Rizzio that their rage burnt fiercest. Bothwell was only a bull-headed, 
    blundering swordsman. Rizzio was doubly detestable to them as the brain of 
    the Queen's clique and as a low-born foreigner. Rizzio, therefore, they 
    determined to remove in the time-honoured Scottish fashion. Notice of the 
    day fixed for the murder was sent to the banished noblemen in England, so 
    that they might appear in Edinburgh immediately it was accomplished. &lt;/font&gt;
    &lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Randolph, the English ambassador, and 
    Bedford, who commanded on the Border, were also taken into the secret, and 
    they communicated it to Cecil and Leicester. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;It is unnecessary here to repeat the 
    well-known story of the murder of Rizzio. It was part of a large scheme for 
    bringing back the exiled Protestant lords, closing the split in the 
    Protestant party, and securing the ascendancy of the Protestant religion. At 
    first it appeared to have succeeded. Bedford wrote to Cecil that &amp;quot;everything 
    would now go well.&amp;quot; But Mary, by simulating a return of wifely fondness, 
    managed to detach her weak husband from his confederates. By his aid she 
    escaped from their hands. Bothwell and her Catholic friends gathered round 
    her in arms. In a few days she re-entered Edinburgh in triumph, and Rizzio's 
    murderers had to take refuge in England. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;But if the Protestant stroke had failed, Mary 
    was obliged to recognise that her plan for re-establishing the Catholic 
    ascendancy in Scotland could not be rushed in the high-handed way she had 
    proposed as a mere preliminary to the more important subjugation of England. 
    At the very moment when she seemed to stand victorious over all opposition, 
    the ground had yawned under her feet, and, while she was dreaming of 
    dethroning Elizabeth, she had found herself a helpless captive in the hands 
    of her own subjects. The lesson was a valuable one, and if she could profit 
    by it her prospects had never been so good. The barbarous outrage of which, 
    in the sixth month of pregnancy, she had been the object could not but 
    arouse widespread sympathy for her. She had extricated herself from her 
    difficulties with splendid courage and clever-ness. The loss of such an 
    adviser as Rizzio was really a stroke of luck for her. All she had to do was 
    to abandon, or at all events postpone, her design of reestablishing the 
    Catholic religion in Scotland, and to discontinue her intrigues against 
    Elizabeth. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Her prospects in England were still further 
    improved when she gave birth to a son (19 June 1566). Once more there was 
    an heir-male to the old royal line, and, as Elizabeth continued to evade 
    marriage, most people who were not fierce Protestants began to think it 
    would be more reasonable and safe to abide by the rule of primogeniture than 
    by the will of Henry VIII., sanctioned though it was by Act of Parliament. 
    There can be no doubt that this was the opinion and intention of Elizabeth, 
    though she strongly objected to having anything settled during her own 
    lifetime. But she had herself gone a long way towards settling it by her 
    treatment of Mary's only serious competitor. Catherine Grey had contracted a 
    secret marriage with the Earl of Hertford, son of the Protector Somerset. 
    Her pregnancy necessitated an avowal. The clergyman who had married them was 
    not forthcoming, and Hertford's sister, the only witness, was dead. 
    Elizabeth chose to disbelieve their story, though she would not have been 
    able to prove when, where, or by whom her own father and mother had been 
    married. She had a right to be angry; but when she sent the unhappy couple 
    to the Tower, and caused her tool, Archbishop Parker, to pronounce the union 
    invalid and its offspring illegitimate, she was playing Mary's game. The 
    House of Commons elected in 1563 was still undissolved. It was strongly 
    Protestant, and it favoured Catherine's title even after her disgrace. In 
    its second session, in the autumn of 1566, it made a determined effort to 
    compel Elizabeth to marry, and in the meanwhile to recognise Catherine as 
    the heirpresumptive. The zealous Protestants knew well that the Peers were 
    in favour of the Stuart title, and they feared that a new House of Commons 
    might agree with the Peers. To get rid of their pertinacity Elizabeth 
    dissolved Parliament, not without strong expressions of displeasure (2 January 1567). Cecil himself earned the thanks of Mary for his attitude on this 
    occasion. It cannot be doubted that he dreaded her succession; but he saw 
    which way the tide was running, and he thought it prudent to swim with it.
    &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;It was at this moment that Mary flung away 
    all her advantage, and entered oh the fatal course which led to her ruin. 
    Her loathing for Darnley, her fierce desire to avenge on him the insults and 
    outrage she had suffered, left no room in heart or mind for considerations 
    of policy. She would have been glad to obtain a divorce. But the Catholic 
    Church does not grant divorce for misconduct after marriage. Some pretext 
    must be found for alleging that the marriage was null from the beginning. 
    This did not suit Mary. It would have made her son illegitimate, and would 
    have placed her in exactly the position of Catherine Grey. A mere separation 
    a toro would not have suited her any better, for it would not have enabled 
    her to contract another marriage. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;When Mary's reliance on Bothwell grew into 
    attachment, when her attachment warmed into love, it is impossible to fix 
    with any exactness. Her infatuation presented itself to him as a grand 
    opening for his daring ambition. A notorious profligate, he loved her--if 
    the word is to be so degraded--as much or as little as he had loved twenty 
    other women. What, however, he desired in her case, was marriage. A more 
    sensible man would have foreseen that marriage would mean certain ruin for 
    himself and the Queen. But he was accustomed to despise all difficulties in 
    his path, being intellectually incapable of measuring them, and believing in 
    nothing but audacity and brute force. Husband of the Queen, why should he 
    not be master of the kingdom? Why not King? When such an idea had once 
    occurred to Bothwell, Darnley's expectancy of life would be much the same as 
    that of a calf in the presence of the butcher. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;The wretched victim had alienated all his 
    friends among the nobility. Some owed him a deadly grudge for his treachery. 
    Others had been offended by his insolence. To all he was an encumbrance and 
    a nuisance. Several, therefore, of the leading personages were more or less 
    engaged in the compact for putting him out of the way. Moray, Argyll, and 
    Maitland offered to assist in ridding Mary of her husband by way of a 
    Protestant sentence of divorce, on condition that Morton and his friends in 
    exile should be pardoned and recalled. The bargain was struck, and Mary 
    assented to it. Nothing was said about murder. No one had any interest in 
    murder except Mary and Bothwell, whose project of marriage was as yet 
    unsuspected. At the same time, if Bothwell liked to kill Darnley on his own 
    responsibility, as no doubt he made it pretty plain that he would--why, so 
    much the better. It relieved the other lords of all trouble. It was a 
    simple, thorough, old-fashioned expedient, which had never been attended 
    with any discredit in Scotland, and had only one inconvenience --that it 
    usually saddled the murderer with a blood feud. In the present case Lennox 
    was the only peer who would feel the least aggrieved; and he was in no 
    condition to wage blood-feuds. Anyhow, that was Bothwell's look-out. &lt;/font&gt;
    &lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;So obvious was all this that it was hardly 
    worth while to observe secrecy except as to the exact occasion and mode of 
    execution. Many persons were more or less aware of what was going to be 
    done; but none cared to interfere. Moray was an honourable and conscientious 
    man, if judged by the standard of his environment--the only fair way of 
    estimating character. But Moray chose to leave Edinburgh the morning before 
    the deed; and thought it sufficient to be able to say afterwards that &amp;quot;if 
    any man said he was present when purposes [talk] were held in his audience 
    tending to any unlawful or dishonourable end, he spoke wickedly and 
    untruly.&amp;quot; The inner circle of the plot consisted of Bothwell, Argyll, Huntly, 
    Maitland, and Sir James Balfour. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;That Darnley was murdered by Bothwell is not 
    disputed. That Mary was cognisant of the plot, and lured him to the 
    shambles, has been doubted by few investigators at once competent and 
    unbiassed. She lent herself to this part not without compunction. Bothwell 
    had the advantage over her that the loved has over the lover; and he used it 
    mercilessly for his headlong ambition, hardly taking the trouble to pretend 
    that he cared for the unhappy woman who was sacrificing everything for him. 
    He in fact cared more for his lawful wife, whom he was preparing to divorce, 
    and to whom he had been married only six months. Mary was tormented by 
    jealousy of her after the divorce as well as before. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;The murder of Darnley (10 February 1567) was 
    universally ascribed to Mary at the time by Catholics as well as Protestants 
    at home and abroad, and it fatally damaged her cause in England and the rest 
    of Europe. In Scotland itself--such was the backward and barbarous state of 
    the country--it would probably not have shaken her throne if she had 
    followed it up with firm and prudent government. She might even have 
    indulged her illicit passion for Bothwell, with little pretence of 
    concealment, if she had not advanced him in place and power above his 
    equals. There was probably not a noble in Scotland, from Moray downwards, 
    who would have scrupled to be her Minister. The Protestant commonalty 
    indeed, who with all the national laxity as to the observance of the sixth 
    commandment, were shocked by any trifling with the seventh, would no doubt 
    have made their bark heard. But their bite had not yet become formidable; 
    and in any case they were not to be propitiated. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;What brought sudden and irretrievable ruin on 
    Mary was not the murder of Darnley, but the infatuation which made her the 
    passive instrument of Bothwell's presumptuous ambition. The lords, Catholic 
    and Protestant alike, allowed the murder to pass uncondemned and unpunished; 
    but they were furious when they found that Darnley had only been removed to 
    make room for Bothwell, and that they were to have for their master a noble 
    of by no means the highest lineage, bankrupt in fortune, and generally 
    disliked for his arrogant and bullying demeanour. The project of marriage 
    was not disclosed till ten weeks after the murder (19 April 1567). Five 
    days later, Bothwell, fearing lest he should be frustrated by public 
    indignation or interference from England, carried off the Queen, as had been 
    previously arranged between them. His idea was that, when Mary had been thus 
    publicly outraged, it would be recognised as impossible that she should 
    marry any one but the ravisher. In this coarse expedient, as in the clumsy 
    means employed for disposing of Darnley, we see the blundering foolhardiness 
    of the man. The marriage ceremony was performed as soon as Bothwell's 
    divorce could be managed (15 May). Just a month later Mary surrendered to 
    the insurgent lords at Carberry Hill, and Bothwell, flying for his life, 
    disappears from history. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;The feelings with which Elizabeth had 
    contemplated the course of events in Scotland during the last six months 
    were no doubt of a mixed nature. At the beginning of 1567, her seven-years' 
    duel with Mary appeared to be ending in defeat. The last bold thrust, aimed 
    in her interest if not by her hand --the murder of Rizzio--had not improved 
    her position. It seemed that she would soon be obliged to make her choice 
    between two equally dreaded alternatives: she must either recognise Mary as 
    her heir or take a husband. From this unpleasant dilemma she was released by 
    the headlong descent of her rival in the first six months of 1567. But all 
    other feelings were soon swallowed up in alarm and indignation at the 
    spectacle of subjects in revolt against their sovereign. As tidings came in 
    rapid succession of Mary's surrender at Carberry Hill, of her return to 
    Edinburgh amidst the insults and threats of the Calvinist mob, of her 
    imprisonment at Loch Leven, of the proposal to try and execute her, 
    Elizabeth's anger waxed hotter, and she told the Scotch lords in her most 
    imperious tones that she could not, and would not, permit them to use force 
    with their sovereign. If they deposed or punished her, she would revenge it 
    upon them. If they could not prevail on her to do what was right, they must 
    &amp;quot;remit themselves to Almighty God, in whose hands only princes' hearts 
    remain.&amp;quot; &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;This language, addressed as it was to the 
    only men in Scotland who were disposed to support the English interest, was 
    imprudent. In her fellow-feeling for a sister sovereign, and her keen 
    perception of the revolutionary tendencies of the time, Elizabeth spoilt an 
    unique opportunity of placing her relations with Scotland on a footing of 
    permanent security, of providing for the English succession in a way at once 
    advantageous to the nation and free from risk to her own life, and lastly, 
    of escaping from the constant worry about her own marriage. She had seen 
    clearly enough what might be made of the situation. Throgmorton had been 
    despatched to Scotland with instructions to do his best to get the infant 
    Prince confided to her care. Once in England, she would virtually have 
    adopted him. She would have possessed a son and heir without the 
    inconvenience of marriage. To a Parliamentary recognition, indeed, of his 
    title she would assuredly not have consented. It would have made him 
    independent and dangerous. But if he behaved well to her, his succession 
    would be more certain than any Act of Parliament could make it. Mary, if 
    released and restored to power, would no longer be formidable. If she were 
    deposed or put to death, Elizabeth would indirectly govern Scotland, at all 
    events, till James should be of age. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;This splendid opportunity Elizabeth lost by 
    her peremptory and domineering language. The old Scotch pride took fire. The 
    Anglophile lords, who would have been glad enough to send the young Prince 
    to England, could not afford to appear less patriotic than the Francophiles. 
    Throgmorton's attempt to get hold of James was as unsuccessful as that of 
    the Protector Somerset to get hold of James's mother had been twenty years 
    before. He was told that, before the Prince could be sent to England, his 
    title to the English succession must be recognised; a condition which 
    Elizabeth could not grant. Her claim that Mary should be restored without 
    conditions was equally unacceptable to the Anglophile lords. They might have 
    been induced to release her if she would have consented to give up Bothwell, 
    or if they could have caught and hanged him. But such was her devotion to 
    him, that no threats or promises availed to shake it. It was in vain that 
    they offered to produce letters of his to the divorced Lady Bothwell, in 
    which he assured her that he regarded her still as his lawful wife, and Mary 
    only as his concubine. The unhappy Queen had been aware even before her 
    marriage--as a pathetic letter to Bothwell shows--that her passionate love 
    was not returned. Two days after the marriage, his unkindness had driven her 
    to think of suicide. But nothing they could say could shake her constancy. 
    &amp;quot;She would not consent by any persuasion to abandon the Lord Bothwell for 
    her husband. She would live and die with him. If it were put to her choice 
    to relinquish her crown and kingdom or the Lord Bothwell, she would leave 
    her kingdom and dignity to go as a simple damsel with him; and she will 
    never consent that he shall fare worse or have more harm than herself. Let 
    them put Bothwell and herself on board ship to go wherever fortune might 
    carry them.&amp;quot; This temper made it difficult for the Anglophile lords to know 
    what to do with the prisoner of Loch Leven. They were disappointed and angry 
    that Elizabeth, instead of approving their enterprise, and sending the money 
    for which, as usual, they were begging, should treat them as rebels, and 
    even secretly urge the Hamiltons to rescue Mary by force. The Hamiltons were 
    in arms at Dumbarton. They wanted either that the Prince should be 
    proclaimed King, with the Duke of Chatelherault for Regent, or that Mary 
    should be divorced from Bothwell and married to Lord John Hamilton, the 
    Duke's second son, and, in default of the crazy Arran, his destined 
    successor. With Argyll, too, disgust at Mary's crime was tempered by a 
    desire to marry her to his brother. Lady Douglas of Loch Leven herself, for 
    whom Sir Walter Scott has invented such magnificent tirades, desired nothing 
    better than to be her mother-in-law. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;The prompt action of the confederate lords 
    foiled these schemes. By the threat of a public trial on the charge of 
    complicity in her husband's murder, or, as her advocates believe, by the 
    fear of instant death, Mary was compelled to abdicate in favour of her son, 
    and to nominate Moray Regent (29 July 1567). Elizabeth would not recognise 
    him; partly from a natural fear lest she should be suspected of having been 
    in collusion with him all along, partly from genuine abhorrence of such 
    revolutionary proceedings. The French Government, on the other hand, casting 
    principle and sentiment alike to the winds, courted his alliance. He might 
    keep his sister in prison, or put her to death, or send her to be immured in 
    a French convent: only let him embrace the French interests, and an army 
    should be sent to support him --a Huguenot army if he did not like 
    Catholics. But Moray turned a deaf ear to these solicitations, and waited 
    patiently till Elizabeth's ill-humour should give way to more statesmanlike 
    considerations. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;The escape of Mary from Loch Leven (2 May 
    1568), and the rising of the Hamiltons in her favour, were largely due to 
    the unfriendly attitude assumed by Elizabeth to the Regent's government. 
    After the defeat of Langside (13 May) it would perhaps have been difficult 
    for the fugitive Queen to make her way to France or Spain. But it was not 
    the difficulty which deterred her from making the attempt. Both Catherine 
    and Philip, later on, were disposed to befriend her, or, rather, to make use 
    of her; but at the time of her escape from Scotland, she had nothing to 
    expect from them but severity. Elizabeth was the only sovereign who had 
    tried to help her. Moreover, Mary had always laboured under the delusion 
    that because most Englishmen regarded her as the next heir to the crown, and 
    a great many preferred the old religion to the new, she had as good a party 
    in England as Elizabeth herself, if not a better. During her prosperity, she 
    had made repeated applications to be allowed to visit the southern kingdom. 
    She was convinced that, if she once appeared on English ground, Elizabeth's 
    throne would be shaken; and Elizabeth's unwillingness to receive the visit 
    had confirmed her in her belief. If she now crossed the Solway without 
    waiting for the permission which she had requested by letter, it was not 
    because she was hard pressed. The Regent had gone to Edinburgh after the 
    battle. At Dundrennan, among the Catholic Maxwells, Lord Herries guaranteed 
    her safety for forty days; and, at an hour's notice, a boat would place, her 
    beyond pursuit. Her haste was rather prompted by the expectation that 
    Elizabeth, alarmed by her application, would refuse to receive her. To 
    Elizabeth the arrival of the Scottish Queen was, indeed, as unwelcome as it 
    was unexpected. For ten years she had governed successfully, because she had 
    managed to hold an even course between conflicting principles and parties, 
    and to avoid taking up a decisive attitude on the most burning questions. 
    The very indecision, which was the weak spot in her character, and which so 
    fretted her Ministers, had, it must be confessed, contributed something to 
    the result. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Cecil might groan over a policy of letting 
    things drift. But it may be doubted whether they had not often drifted 
    better than Cecil would have steered them if he might have had his way. To 
    do nothing is not, indeed, the golden rule of statesmanship. But at that 
    time, England's peculiar position between France and Spain, and between 
    Calvinism and Catholicism, enabled her ruler to play a waiting game. This 
    was the general rule applicable to the situation. Elizabeth apprehended it 
    more clearly than her Ministers did, and she fell back on it again and 
    again, when they flattered themselves that they had committed her to a 
    forward policy. It was safe. It was cheap. It required coolness and 
    intrepidity--qualities with which Elizabeth was well furnished by nature. 
    But it was not spirited: it was not showy. Hence it has not found favour 
    with historians, who insist that it ought to have ended in disaster. As a 
    matter of fact, England was carried safely through unparalleled 
    difficulties; and, when all is said, Elizabeth is entitled to be judged by 
    the general result of her long reign. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Mary's arrival was unwelcome to Elizabeth, 
    because it seemed likely to force her hand. To do nothing would be no longer 
    possible. The Catholic nobles and gentry of the north flocked to Carlisle to 
    pay court to the heiress of the English crown. It was not that they believed 
    her innocent of her husband's murder. The suspicion of her complicity was at 
    that time universal. But they supposed that it would never amount to more 
    than a suspicion. They did not expect that the charge would ever be formally 
    made. They were not aware that it could be supported by overwhelming 
    evidence. Later on, when the proofs were produced, they had already 
    committed themselves to her cause, and were bound not to be convinced.
    &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;If the attitude of these Catholics be thought 
    to indicate some moral callousness, it may be fairly argued that it was less 
    cynical than that of Elizabeth herself, who, while not unwilling that Mary 
    should be suspected, would not allow her to be convicted. Steady to her main 
    purpose, though hesitating, and even vacillating, in the means she adopted, 
    she still adhered, notwithstanding all that had lately taken place, to her 
    intention that Mary, if her survivor, should be her successor. Like all the 
    greatest statesmen of her time, she placed secular interests before 
    religious opinions. She was persuaded that the maintenance of the principle 
    of authority was all-important. Nothing else could hold society together or 
    prevent the rival fanaticisms from tearing each other to pieces. For 
    authority there was no other basis left than the principle of hereditary 
    succession by primogeniture. This principle must, therefore, be treated as 
    something sacred--not to be set aside or tampered with in a short-sighted 
    grasping at any seeming immediate utility. To allow it to be called in 
    question was to shake her own title. Already, in France, the Jesuits were 
    preaching that orthodoxy and the will of the people were the only legitimate 
    foundation of sovereignty. Few English Catholics had learned that doctrine; 
    but they would not be slow to learn it if the hereditary claim of Mary was 
    to be set aside. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;If Mary had been content to claim what 
    primogeniture gave her--the right to the succession--there would have been 
    no quarrel between her and Elizabeth. But it was notorious that she had all 
    along been plotting to substitute herself for Elizabeth. Never had she 
    cherished that dream with more confidence than when the Percys and Nevilles 
    crowded round her at Carlisle. In her sanguine imagination, she already saw 
    herself mistress of a finer kingdom than that which had just expelled her, 
    and marching, at the head of her new subjects, to wreak vengeance on her old 
    ones. She seemed likely to be no less dangerous as an exile in England than 
    as a Queen in Scotland. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;/font&gt;&lt;font style=&quot;font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif&quot;&gt;
    &lt;font face=&quot;Times New Roman&quot;&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Elizabeth had now reason to regret the 
    unnecessary warmth with which she had espoused Mary's cause. To suppose that 
    she had any sentimental feelings for one whom she knew to be her deadly 
    enemy is, in my judgment, ridiculous. Elizabeth was not a generous 
    woman--especially towards other women; and in this case generosity would 
    have been folly, and culpable folly. She did not hate Mary--she was too cool 
    and self-reliant to hate an enemy--but she disliked her. She was jealous, 
    with a small feminine jealousy, of her beauty and fascinations. The 
    consciousness of this unworthy feeling made her all the more anxious not to 
    betray it. And so, at a time when she did not expect to have Mary on her 
    hands, she had been tempted to use language implying a pity, sympathy, and 
    affection which assuredly she did not feel, and which it would not have been 
    creditable to her to feel. Petty insincerities of this kind have usually to 
    be paid for sooner or later. She had now to exchange the language of 
    sympathy for the language of business with what grace she could; and she has 
    not escaped the charge, certainly undeserved, of deliberate treachery. It 
    was awkward, after such exaggerated professions of sympathy, to be obliged 
    to hold the fugitive at arm's-length, and even to put restraint on her 
    movements. But no other course was possible. No sovereign, at any time in 
    history, has allowed a pretender to the crown to move about freely in his 
    dominions and make a party among his subjects. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Wince as she might, and did, under the 
    reproach of treachery, Elizabeth was not going to allow her unwise words to 
    tie her to unwise action. Only one arrangement appeared to her to be at once 
    admissible in principle and prudent in practice. Mary must be restored to 
    the Scottish throne; but in such a way that she should thenceforth be 
    powerless for mischief. She must be content with the title of Queen. The 
    real government must be in the hands of Moray. Thus the principle of 
    legitimacy and the sacredness of royalty would be saved, and the English 
    Catholics would be content to bide their time. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Cecil, for his part, was also anxious to see 
    Mary back in Scotland; but not as Queen. Though regarded in Catholic circles 
    as a desperate heretic, he was really a &lt;i&gt;politique&lt;/i&gt;, a worldly-minded 
    man--I mean the epithet to be laudatory--and he would probably have admitted 
    in the abstract the wisdom of Elizabeth's opinion--that it was of more 
    importance to England to have a legitimate sovereign than a gospel religion. 
    But he was not prepared to submit frankly to the application of this 
    principle. His personal prospects were too deeply concerned. It was all very 
    well for Elizabeth to lay down a principle in which she might be said to 
    have a life-interest. She was thirteen years his junior; but she might 
    easily predecease him; and, with Mary on the throne, his power would 
    certainly go, and, not improbably, his head with it. It was not in human 
    nature, therefore, that he should cherish the principle of primogeniture as 
    his mistress did; and, as far as his dread of her displeasure would allow 
    him, he was always casting about for some means of defeating Mary's 
    reversion. Her sudden plunge into crime was to him a turn of good fortune 
    beyond his dreams. If he could have had his will she would have been 
    promptly handed over to the Regent on the understanding that she was to be 
    consigned to perpetual imprisonment, or, still better, to the scaffold.
    &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;In order to carry out her plan, Elizabeth 
    called on Mary and the Regent to submit their respective cases to a 
    Commission, consisting of the Duke of Norfolk, the Earl of Sussex, and Sir 
    Ralph Sadler. Mary was extremely reluctant, as she well might be, to face 
    any investigation; but she was told that, until her character was formally 
    cleared, she could not be admitted to Elizabeth's presence; and she was at 
    the same time privately assured that her restoration should, in any case, be 
    managed without any damage to her honour. Moray received an equally positive 
    assurance that if his sister was proved guilty, she should not be restored. 
    The two statements were not absolutely irreconcilable, because Elizabeth 
    intended to prevent the worst charges from being openly proved. Her sole 
    object--and we can hardly blame her--was to obtain security for herself and 
    her own kingdom. She did not wish the Queen of Scots to be proved a 
    murderess in open court; but she did desire that the charge should be made, 
    and also that the Commissioners should see the originals of the casket 
    letters. Any public disclosure of the evidence might be prevented, and some 
    sort of ambiguous acquittal pronounced, on grounds which all the world would 
    see to be nugatory: such, for instance, as the culprit's own solemn denial 
    of the charge; which was, in fact, the only answer Mary intended to make. 
    What was known to the Commissioners would come to be more or less known to 
    all persons of influence in England, and would surely discredit Mary to such 
    a degree that even her warmest partisans would cease to conspire in her 
    favour. Mary herself (so Elizabeth hoped), when made aware that this 
    terrible weapon was in reserve, and could at any moment be used against her, 
    would be permanently humbled and crippled, and would be glad to accept such 
    terms as Elizabeth would impose. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;The Commissioners opened their court at York 
    (October 1568). But they had not been sitting long before Elizabeth 
    discovered that Norfolk was scheming to marry Mary, and that the project was 
    approved by many of the English nobility. Their purpose was not, as yet, 
    disloyal. They thought that, married to the head of the English peerage, and 
    residing in England, Mary would have to give up her plots with France, while 
    her presence would strengthen the Conservative party, which desired to keep 
    up the old alliance with Spain, and looked for the re-establishment sooner 
    or later of the old religion. This scheme, though not disloyal, was 
    extremely alarming to Elizabeth. Norfolk was nominally a Protestant. But she 
    had placed him on the Commission as a representative of the Conservative 
    party, believing that, while he would lend himself to hushing up Mary's 
    guilt, his eyes would be opened to her real character. Yet here he was, like 
    the Hamiltons, Campbells, and Douglases, ready to take her with her smirched 
    reputation, simply for the chance of her two crowns. It was not a case of 
    love, for he had never seen her. He seems to have been staggered for a 
    moment by the sight of the casket letters, and to have doubted whether it 
    was for his honour or even his safety to marry such a woman. But in the end, 
    as we shall see, he swallowed his scruples. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;On discovering Norfolk's intrigue, Elizabeth 
    hastily revoked the Commission, and ordered another investigation to be held 
    by the most important peers and statesmen of England. The casket letters and 
    the depositions were submitted to them. Mary's able and zealous advocate, 
    the Bishop of Ross, could say nothing except that his mistress had sent him 
    on the supposition that Moray was to be the defendant: let her appear in 
    person before the Queen, and she would give reasons why Moray ought not to 
    be allowed to advance any charges against her. To make no better answer than 
    this was virtually to admit that the charges against her were unanswerable.
    &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;It was thought that she was now sufficiently 
    frightened to be ready to accept Elizabeth's terms, and they were 
    unofficially communicated to her. Her return to Scotland was no longer 
    contemplated, for Moray had absolutely declined to charge her openly with 
    the murder or produce the letters unless she were detained in England. But 
    in order to get rid of the revolutionary proceedings at Loch Leven she 
    herself, as it were of her own free will, and on the ground that she was 
    weary of government, was to confer the crown on her son and the regency on 
    Moray. James was to be educated in England. She herself was to reside in 
    England as long as Elizabeth should find it convenient. It was not mentioned 
    in the communication, but it was probably intended, that she should marry 
    some Englishman of no political importance, in order to produce more 
    children who would succeed James if, as was likely enough, he should die in 
    his infancy. If she would accept these conditions the charges against her 
    should be &amp;quot;committed to perpetual silence;&amp;quot; if not, the trial must go on, 
    and the verdict could not be doubtful (December 1568). &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;A woman less daring and less keen-sighted 
    than Mary would assuredly, at this point, have given up the game, and 
    thankfully accepted the conditions offered. They would not have prevented 
    her from ascending the English throne if she had outlived Elizabeth. But 
    that was a delay which she had always scouted as intolerable, and she was 
    one to whom life was worth nothing if it meant defeat, retirement, even for 
    a time, from the public scene, and the abandonment of long-cherished 
    ambitions. Moreover her quick wit had divined that Elizabeth was using a 
    threat which she did not mean to put into execution. There would be no 
    verdict--not even any publication to the world of the evidence. Guilty 
    therefore as she was, and aware that her guilt could be proved, she coolly 
    faced &amp;quot;the great extremities&amp;quot; at which Elizabeth had hinted, and rejected 
    the conditions. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Perhaps even Mary's daring would have 
    flinched from this bold game but for a quarrel between Elizabeth and Philip, 
    to be mentioned presently. Hitherto Philip, much to his credit, had declined 
    to interfere in Mary's behalf. To him, as to every one else, Catholic as 
    well as Protestant, her guilt seemed evident. She had been only a scandal 
    and embarrassment to the Catholic cause. But if there was to be war with 
    England, every enemy of Elizabeth was a weapon to be used. Accordingly he 
    now began, though reluctantly, to think of helping the Queen of Scots, and 
    even of marrying her to his brother Don John of Austria. With the prospect 
    of such backing it was not wonderful that she declined to own herself 
    beaten. &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font size=&quot;3&quot;&gt;Elizabeth's calculations, though reasonable, 
    were thus disappointed. The inquiry was dropped without any decision. The 
    Regent was sent home with a small sum of money, and Mary remained in England 
    (January 1569). &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;/font&gt;&lt;hr&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;left&quot;&gt;&lt;font style=&quot;font-family: Times New Roman&quot; size=&quot;2&quot;&gt;From &lt;i&gt;
    Queen Elizabeth&lt;/i&gt; by Edward Spencer Beesly.&amp;nbsp; Published in London by 
    Macmillan and Co., 1892.&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;/font&gt;
    &lt;font face=&quot;Times New Roman&quot; size=&quot;2&quot;&gt;
  &lt;/blockquote&gt;
&lt;/blockquote&gt;

    &lt;p align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
    &lt;a href=&quot;_httpextlink_&amp;amp;rl=1&amp;amp;href=http:%2f%2fenglishhistory.net%2ftudor%2fbeeslychapterfive.html&quot;&gt;to Chapter 
    V: Aristocratic Plots: 1568-1572&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;
    &lt;a href=&quot;_httpextlink_&amp;amp;rl=1&amp;amp;href=http:%2f%2fenglishhistory.net%2ftudor%2fmonarchs%2feliz1.html&quot;&gt;to the Queen 
    Elizabeth I website&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp; /&amp;nbsp;
    &lt;a href=&quot;_httpextlink_&amp;amp;rl=1&amp;amp;href=http:%2f%2fenglishhistory.net%2ftudor%2frelative%2fmaryqos.html&quot;&gt;to the Mary, 
    queen of Scots website&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;p align=&quot;center&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;_httpextlink_&amp;amp;rl=1&amp;amp;href=http:%2f%2fenglishhistory.net%2ftudor%2fsecondary.html&quot;&gt;
    to Secondary Sources&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt;
    &lt;/font&gt;
  


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