Read Mary Queen of Scots Online
Authors: Antonia Fraser
Mary Queen of Scots (102 page)
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To be compared in eloquence with the famous passage of Edmund Burke on Marie-Antoinette as dauphiness, written over 200 years later.
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It is thought that this effigy was modelled from a death mask taken shortly after the execution by the surgeons at Fotheringhay. The death mask from which this effigy was taken cannot, however, be identified with the Lennoxlove death mask, discovered at Holyrood Palace in the last century. This, although beautiful, is clearly the mask of a much smaller woman. It measures seven inches long and 4¾ inches across, to be compared with the Westminster Abbey monument which is nine inches by seven inches across. (Queen Elizabeth’s monument, also taken from a death mask, measures 8 inches by 8 inches and portraits confirm that she had a much broader face than Mary.) Nor can the Lennoxlove measurements be explained by wax shrinkage: Mr Wismark of Madame Tussauds told the author that a two-inch shrinkage would destroy portraiture altogether, ¼ inch being the maximum for which allowance could be made. In any case the Lennoxlove mask bears only a superficial resemblance to the queen of Scots: the mouth and setting of the eyes are quite different; the nose is blunt at the end in profile, lacking any sort of aquiline finish, and in front view looks almost
retroussé
; the width of the jaw is remarkable in a small face, and quite unlike the bone structure shown in all Mary’s known portraits. The Lennoxlove face is also thin, lacking the fulness upon which every observer at Mary’s execution commented, and which is present, for example, in the face on the Westminster monument.
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But Philip was allowing himself to be deluded. Although Mary had twice confided England conditionally to Philip, if James failed to become a Catholic – in her will of 1577 and in her letter to Mendoza of May 1586 – no such clause existed in the last testament which Mary made on the eve of her death at Fotheringhay, and no other will has ever been found, supporting his claims.
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In any case, it is clear from the contemporary accounts, that Mary went to her death serenely, rather than in the bitter mood which might have led to a last minute official disinheritance of her son.
§
In 1913 two small notices were placed privately on the railings surrounding the block of masonry; one, at the instance of the Richard
III
Society recorded his birth in the castle in 1452; the other, affixed by the Stuart History Society, commemorated Mary Queen of Scots’ death in 1587. More colourful were the visits of an eccentric Jacobite sympathizer, at the turn of the present century, who used to make an annual pilgrimage from Edinburgh to Northamptonshire on the anniversary of the queen’s death to lay a wreath at Fotheringhay. Unfortunately, in his enthusiasm for the cause of Mary Stuart, he used such violent language about the existing British royal family that his visits had to be discouraged by the then owners of the site.
AppendixThe English and Scottish Versions of
the Long Casket Letter
1. The contemporary English copy of the long (second) casket letter was made by the clerk at the Westminster Conference, December 1568. Calendar of Scottish Papers, Vol. 2, Appendix 2, pp. 722ff. (An ellipsis of four dots represents a gap left in the original; an ellipsis of three dots represents words torn off or worn from the original.)
Being gon from the place where I had left my harte, it may be easily judged what my countenance was, consydering what the body may, without hart, which was cause that till dynner I had used lyttle talke, neyther wold any body advance him selfe therunto, thinking that it was not good so to doo. Fowre myles from thence a gentleman of the Erle of Lennox cam to made [
sic
] his commendacions and excuses unto me, that he cam not to meete me, because he durst not enterprise so to doo, consydering the sharp wordes that I had spoken to Conyngham, and that he desyred that I wold com to the inquisition of the facte which I did suspecte him of. This last was of his own head without commission, and I tolde him that he had no receipte against feare, and that he had no feare, if he did not feele him selfe faulty, and that I had also sharply aunsweared to the doubtes that he made in his lettres, as though ther had bene a meaning to poursue him. To be short: I have made him hold his peace; for the rest, it weare to long to tell you. Sir James Hamilton cam to meete me, who told me that at another tyme he went his waye when he hard of my comming; and that he sent unto him Houstoun, to tell him that he wold not have thought that he wold have followed and accompany him selfe with the Hamiltons. He aunsweared that he was not come but to see me, and that he wolde not
follow Stuard nor Hamilton, but by my commandement. He prayed him to go speake to him: he refused it. The Lard Lus, Houston, and the sonne of Caldwell, and about xl hors came to meete me, and he told me that he was sent to one day a lau from the father, which shuld be this daye, against the signing of his own hand which he hathe; and that knowing of my comming he hath delayed it, and hath prayed to go see him; which he hatt refused, and swearith that he will suffer nothing at his handes. Not one of the towne, is come to speake with me, which makith me to think that they be his, and then he speakith well of them, at leaste his sonne. The King sent for Joachim, and asked him why I did not lodge nighe to him? and that he wold ryse sooner, and why I cam, whither it wear for any good appoynment that he cam, and whither I had not take Paris and Guilbert to write, and that I sent Joseph. I wonder who hath told him so muche, evin of the mariage of Bastian. This bearer shall tell you more upon that. I asked him of his lettres, and where he did complayne of the crueltye of som of them, he saide that he did dreme, and that he was so glad to see me that he thought he shuld dye. Indeede that he had found faulte with me…. I went my waye to supper, this berer shall tell you of my arryv … praied me to com agayne, which I did, and he told me his grefe and that he would make no testament but leave all unto me, and that I was cause of his sicknes for the sorrow he had that I was so strange unto him, ‘And’ (said he) ‘you asked me what I ment in my lettre to speake of cruelty: it was of your cruelty who will not accepte my offres and repentance: I avowe that I have don amisse, but not that I have always disavowed: and so have many other of your subjectes don, and you have well perdonid them, I am yong. You will saye that you have also perdonid me many tymes, but that I returne to my faultes. Many not a man of my age for want of counsell, fayle twise or thrise, and mysse of promes, and at the last repent and rebuke him selfe by his experience? Yf I may obtayn this perdon, I protest I will never make faulte agayne, and I aske nothing but that we may be at bed and at table together as husband and wife. And if you will not, I will never rise from this bed. I pray you tell me your resolution heerof; God knowith that I am punished to have made my God of you, and had no other mynd but of you: and when I offende you som tyme, you are cause thereof, for if I thought whan any body doth any wrong to [me] that I might for my refuge make my mone therof unto you, I wold open it to no other. But whan I heare any thing, being not familiar with you, I must keepe it in my mynde, and that troublith my wittes for anger.’ I did still answear him, but that shall be to long. In the end I asked him why he wold go in the English shipp? He doth disavow
it and swearith so, but confessith to have spoken to the men. Afterward I asked him of the inquisition of Hiegate? He denyed it till I tolde him the very woordes, and then he said that Minto sent him word that it was said that som of the counsayle had brought me a lettre to signe to putt him in prison, and to kill him if he did resiste, and that he asked this of Minto him selfe, who said unto him that he thought it was true. I will talke with him tomorrowe upon that poynte: the rest as Wille Hiegate hath confessed, but it was the next daye that he cam hither. In the end he desyred much that I shuld lodge in his lodging; I have refused it. I have told him that he must be pourged, and that could not be don heere. He said unto me, ‘I have hard saye that you have brought the lytter, but I would rather have gon with your selfe.’ I told him that so I wolde myselfe bring him to Cragmillar, that the phisicians and I also might cure him without being farre from my sonne. He said that he was ready when I wolde, so as I wolde assure him of his requeste. He hath no desyre to be seene, and waxeth angry whan I speake to him of Wallcar, and sayth that he will pluck his eares from his head, and that he lyeth: for I asked before of that and what cause he had to complayne of … the Lordes, and to threaten them? He denyeth it and sayth that he had already prayed them to think no such matter of him. As for myself: he wold rather lose his lyfe than doo me the leaste displeasour. And then used so many kindes of flatteryes so coldly and so wysely as you wold marvayle at. I had forgotten that he sayde that he could not mistrust me for Hiegates wordes, for he could not beleve that his own flesh (which was my selfe) wold doo him any hurte (and in deede it was sayde that I refused to have him lett blud) but for the others he wold at leaste sell his lyfe deere ynoughe: but that he did suspecte no body, nor wolde, but wolde love all that I did love. He wolde not lett me go, but wold have me to watche with him. I made as though I thought all to be true, and that I would think upon it. And have excused my selfe from sytting up with him this night, for he sayth that he sleepith not. You never hard one speake better nor more humbly, and if I had not proofe of his hart to be as waxe and that myne weare not as a dyamant, no stroke but comming from your hand, could make me but to have pitie of him. But feare not, for the place shall contynue till death. Remembre also in recompense therof not to suffer yours to won by that fals race that wold doo no lesse to your selfe. I think they have bene at schoole togither, he hath allwais the teare in the eye. He saluteth every man evin to the meanest, and makith much of them, that they may take pitie of him. His father hath bled this daye at the nose and at the mouth: gesse what token that is! I have not seene him, he is in his chambre. The
King is so desyrous that I shuld give him meate with my own handes, but trust you no more there where you are than I doo here. This is my first journay, I will end tomorrow. I write all, how little consequence so ever it be of, to the end that you may take of the wholle that that shall be best for
you to judge.
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I doo here a work that I hate muche, but I had begon it this morning. Had you not lyst to laughe, to see me so trymly make a lye, at the leaste, dissemble? and to mingle truthe therwith? He hath almost told me all on the bisshops behalfe and of Suderland, without touching any word unto him of that which you had told me, but only by muche flattering him and pr[essing?] him to assure him selfe of me, and by my complayning of the r … en the wormes out of his nose.
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You have hard the rest. We have tyed to with two false races, the goodyeere untye us from them. God forgive me, and God knytt us togither for ever, for the most faythfull couple that ever he did knytt together. This is my fayth, I will dye in it. Excuse it, yf I write yll, you must gesse the one halfe, I can not doo with all, for I am yll at ease, and glad to write unto you when other folkes be asleepe, seeing that I cannot doo as they doo, according to my desyre, that is betwene your armes, my deere lyfe, whom I besech God to preserve from all yll, and send you good rest as I go to seeke myne till tomorrow in the morning, that I will end my bible. But it greevith me that it shuld lett me from wryting unto you of newes of myselfe, so much I have to write. Send me word what you have determinid heerupon, that we may know the one the others mynde for marryng of any thing. I am weary and am asleepe, and yet I cannot forbeare scribling, as long as ther is any paper. Cursed be this pocky fellow that troublith me thus muche, for I had a pleasanter matter to discourse unto you, but for him. He is not muche the worse, but he is yll arayde. I thought I shuld have bene kylled with his breth, for it is worse than your uncles breth, and yet I was sett no neerer to him than in a chayre by his bolster, and he lyeth at the furder syd of the bed.
The message of the father by the waye:—
The talke of Sir James Hamilton of the ambassade—
That that the Lard a Luss hathe tolde me of the delaye.
The questions that he asked of Jochim of my state, of my companye, and of the cause of my coming, and of Joseph.
The talke that he and I have had, and of his desyre to please me, of his repentance, and of th’interpretation of his lettre of Will Hiegates doinges and of his departure, and of the L. of Levinston.
I had forgotten of the L. of Levinston, that at supper he sayd softly to the Lady Rivees [Rires] that he dronk to the persons that I knew [if] I wold pledge them. And after supper he said softly … I was leaning upon him and warming myselfe—‘You may well go and see sick folkes, yet can you not be so wellcom unto them, as you have this daye left som body in payne, who shall never be meary till he have seene you agayne.’ I asked him who it was? he tooke me about the body, and said ‘One of his folkes that hath left you this daye.’ Gesse you the rest.
