The Betrayal of Mary, Queen of Scots

by Kate Williams

  It was not uncommon for foreign princesses to lose all their attendants from home, but it was hard. Mary was not even six and set to be separated from the only friends she knew. Antoinette also judged Mary’s clothes, lovingly and carefully assembled to show off the best Scots craftsmanship, to be poor quality. New French clothes were needed. Everything about the little queen was to be French now, from her clothes to her friends, even her speech. Scotland, her old home, was quickly being rubbed out.

  Antoinette thought the Scots rough, dirty and unwashed. She could only tolerate Janet Stewart, Lady Fleming, whom she thought clean at least, which was fortunate, for Mary of Guise sent word that she wished her daughter to retain her governess.

  There was no such mercy for the four Marys. Their parents had hoped they would be received at the French court, make alliances and possible marriages there. Instead they were sent off to the Dominican Royal Priory at Saint-Louis at Poissy, even Mary Fleming, whose mother remained with the child queen. This was a highly regarded priory and the four Marys would receive an excellent education, but their mistress would grow up dancing at the French court and they were summarily excluded.

  The Duchess of Guise approved of her little granddaughter, whom she judged pretty, intelligent and set to be a great beauty in adulthood. Mary also met her half-brother, Duke François, Mary of Guise’s first child, left behind with her parents, and he declared her an excellent sister.

  On the final journey, Mary’s grandmother was firm with her: she was told to speak French and given the rudiments of the language. Finally, they arrived at Saint-Germain, the beautiful palace in the fresh country air that was the usual home of the royal children. The palace had been so assiduously cleaned and prepared in expectation of her coming that the royal children were not in residence. Henry II was determined that his daughters would be friends with Mary – a difficult demand given that she had deposed them from their positions. She, whom the king called ‘ma fille, la Royne d’Ecosse’, would walk ahead of the French princesses because she was already a queen and would be the dauphine. For many courtiers, this was a shocking act – a blood princess of France was, in their estimation, much greater than a queen of a backwater such as Scotland. But the king was convinced otherwise, and he was backed up in this by his mistress, Diane de Poitiers.

  Catherine de’ Medici had little power over the king, but what she did have inhered in her children. Diane had encouraged the king to procreate, for such was his duty, and she was kind to his offspring. Nevertheless, to see Catherine lose a little power because Mary was advanced was good for Diane’s position.

  The young queen was given a new friend, Princess Elisabeth, two years younger at three, a good-natured and playful child, who was welcoming to Mary. Also in the nursery was Claude, only eight months old. Mary was introduced to the dauphin, who was nearly five. Though rather small and weak, he was an intelligent and kind-hearted little boy and the two seemed to take to each other well. The king, who met Mary that November, decided she was the most perfect child and spent hours talking to her. Lady Fleming, keen to hold on to her position in the French court, noticed that the king had also been paying her some attention. Diane de Poitiers had been ill and Lady Fleming, at forty-six, was just the type of mature lady he liked.

  Unfortunately for Mary, the power over her life was not in the hands of Lady Fleming or those who accompanied her, but the endlessly machinating family of her mother, the Guises. Mary was in court as the feted, powerful queen – but under all the gold and dazzle, she was a sacrifice to Guise ambition.

  By the end of the year, Mary appeared to have learned enough French to get by and it would be the language she wrote in and spoke for many years. She was everybody’s pet at court. She was given the finest clothes of all the children, with gowns of gold damask and bonnets of silver, fur edging, velvet and taffeta and so many jewels that she needed three bronze chests to hold them all. She and the dauphin were close friends and danced together beautifully at a court wedding, much to the displeasure of the English ambassador. Mary and Francis were dutiful children who recognised that playing together and talking together was a certain way to please the adults around them. But they were also genuinely fond of each other. For Mary, who had been moved about so early in her childhood, her new life was one of safety and pleasure. The royal children had their own establishment and shifted between the great royal castles with all their nurses, servants, tutors, assistants, furniture, toys and dozens of pets. Henry II, in captivity, had sometimes only had the company of a little dog and he never wished his children to be so deprived, so they were provided with countless dogs, pet birds and other small animals, along with horses for exercise and even a pair of bears.

  Mary was taught Latin, Italian, Spanish, as well as practising French composition, dancing, needlework, singing and the lute. She would never possess the genius of Elizabeth I, but she was hard-working and quick-witted and pleased her tutors. In religion, she was purely Catholic: Mary of Guise had instructed that her daughter hear daily Mass and she had both her faithful prior of Inchmahome and her own French chaplain. In France, she was given her beautiful Book of Hours, now in the National Library of Russia, probably one of many, but this she kept for her whole life. She wrote upon it when she was twelve, ‘Ce livre est à moi, Marie Reyne’.2 The Book of Hours, unused before, gives us Mary’s voice throughout her life – and her desire to survive.

  Aged seven, Mary wrote to her grandmother that she had ‘joyful news’, the ‘Queen my mother’ had written to say that she would be coming to visit and ‘she will be here very soon to see you and me’. It was ‘greatest happiness which I could wish for in this world, and indeed I am so overjoyed about it, that all I am to be thinking about now is to do my whole duty in all things and to study to be very good’.3

  Mary of Guise wished to see her family, hopeful that a personal visit would press them into helping her seize the regency from Arran. If she was going to launch such a complicated campaign, she would need money to gift to supporters, as well as for herself, so she could give the correct image of riches. Arran, of course, was the man in charge of the treasury as regent, and, quite simply, she was poor. She brought with her a collection of Scottish gentlemen whom she needed favours for, including the Earls of Huntly and Cassilis. She landed at Dieppe and met the court, then at Rouen for a festival, on 25 September 1550. Mother and daughter were delightedly reunited and spent every possible moment together. They rode with a court procession, which held banners of Scottish castles, making clear the alliance to all. Mary and her daughter visited the Guises, spent time with Mary’s son, fifteen-year-old François, and travelled with the king and his huge retinue – to Tours, Angers and Nantes. The little Queen of Scots was perfectly happy.

  Mary of Guise’s presence was less pleasing to the king, however, for she constantly importuned him for money and he soon grew weary of her and tried to encourage her to return to Scotland. In the same year, Mary Fleming declared she was pregnant by the king – and was quickly packed off home. For Diane, a pregnancy was a step too far. The Scots were becoming, to the king, one giant headache. He began to negotiate the marriage of his eldest daughter, Elisabeth, Mary’s great friend, to Edward VI, despite the complaints of the Pope that he would excommunicate Elisabeth if she married the English king. Henry paid no heed. He would push his way into England on two fronts, with both daughter and daughter-in-law.

  In the autumn of 1551, after a year in France, Mary of Guise finally embarked on her return. Her son accompanied her to Dieppe, but on the journey sickened and died. She was devastated – as was young Mary, who had lost a kindly older brother and friend.

  Mary of Guise still had to leave – the weather would be too rough for travel in winter and she was expected at the English court. Her daughter was heartbroken to see her go and clung to her. It had been the happiest year of her childhood.

  In England, Mary of Guise visited Edward VI and was well received – another point in her favour for gaini
ng the regency. On her return to Scotland, she found the question of religion was ever more divided. Archbishop Hamilton, brother of Regent Arran, led those who wished for Catholicism, while the Earl of Argyll headed up those who wanted reform. James Stewart, Mary’s half-brother, was behind him. Mary of Guise gathered her supporters, and at the end of 1553, Henry II agreed to ask Arran to give up his regency. Luckily for Mary of Guise, he had managed to annoy and alienate a large swathe of nobles with his tedious arrogance – and they were only too happy to depose him from his role.

  Mary, by now aged just twelve, also signed an order sent to her in France requiring him to give up his position. Seeing he had lost much of his support, Arran resigned and Mary of Guise became regent. But, afraid both of England – now ruled by Mary I after Edward VI’s death – and the resurging power of the Hamilton family, she patronised Protestants in an attempt to counterweight the influence of Arran’s brother, Archbishop Hamilton. The reformed religion in Scotland proceeded fast – and by 1556, John Knox, fiery reformer and preacher, had been welcomed into the country. He had fled to England in 1549 and in 1551 was appointed chaplain to Edward VI. When he returned in 1556, he found much more interest in Protestant ideas, notably from James Stewart, Mary’s half-brother. He wrote to Mary of Guise suggesting she start the Protestant Reformation, but she ignored the letter and he promptly went back to Geneva.

  The Queen Regent Mary gave France more power in Scotland. She appointed Frenchmen to oversee the treasury and the Great Seal and as comptroller, as well as allowing the French ambassador, Henri Cleutin, excessive say in court and even an occasional voice on the Privy Council. These were the men she trusted, and she relied on them and her Guise relations for advice. But these roles were highly prized by Scots aristocrats (the position in the treasury was a particularly lucrative one) and there was much discontent. In 1557, a group of Protestant lords, including the Earl of Argyll and the Earl of Morton, had signed an agreement opposing young Mary’s marriage to the dauphin and banded together in the ambition of making Scotland a Protestant country. The French dismissed the reports as the comings and goings of minor lords.

  The Guises were satisfied. Mary had gained power in Scotland and their little future dauphine was performing her duties to perfection. As reported by the Cardinal of Lorraine, her uncle, she ‘increases daily in dignity, goodness, beauty, wisdom and virtue, that she is the most perfect and accomplished in all things honourable and virtuous as is possible’. Mary also charmed her future father-in-law. ‘The King takes such pleasure in her, that he spends his time well in talking with her for an hour and she is as able to amuse him with pleasant and rational conversation as a woman of five and twenty.’4 Catherine de’ Medici was more dubious about Mary but she admired her efficacy at embroidery. Catherine, often excluded from affairs by her husband, who gave all his attention to Diane de Poitiers, focused her razor-sharp intelligence on her children, in the hope of gaining influence through them. Being kind to Mary, she realised, could please both her son and the king. For, even though Mary of Guise was a problem and the Scots lords hanging around the court loud, rough and undesirable, the king was gleeful about his bargain.

  Mary, acutely intelligent and with a child’s eagerness to help, never tired of trying to please the king and befriend the little dauphin. She and Francis diligently practised dancing, in expectation of the grand balls that would follow their wedding. In the evenings, they would play cards together and she often won. The dauphin was pale, thin and constantly prey to coughs, colds and respiratory infections but he was a young man of great affections and he was genuinely devoted to Mary and very loving to his siblings and parents. He cast her as his romantic prize in masques or little plays. Mary was very attentive to the dauphin and seemed to bring him out of himself. She was proud of her good effect on him. Childhood friends, fond of her fiancé’s family and siblings – Mary had the best possible start for royal marriage.

  Mary, Elisabeth, Claude and the dauphin were joined by more children in the nursery. The French king had invaded the Lorraine and taken Charles III, its nine-year-old ruler, to be brought up at the French court. A little prince, Louis, was born in 1549 but died in the following year. Catherine de’ Medici was almost constantly pregnant. Charles was born in 1550; Henry in the following year, just before Mary of Guise returned to France; Marguerite, born in 1553; then yet another Francis, two years later. Mary loved children and enjoyed moving between palaces with her little royal relations. But in 1554, when Mary was twelve, Catherine de’ Medici decreed her rather pleasant childhood was at an end. Now they were approaching adulthood, it was determined that Mary and the dauphin should spend more time at court, to learn proper statecraft and be correctly supervised. Mary was given her own establishment (after some tedious arguments over it between the Guises and the king). There, she became more prone to Guise influence – on her first night, she invited the Cardinal of Lorraine for supper.

  Mary’s expenses were much greater, for she had to be properly clothed for court functions, and there were many arguments about money between her governess, Mme de Parois, the replacement for Lady Fleming, and the king’s comptrollers, as well as the Guises. Everything finally blew up over gowns: Mary wished to give her old gowns to her Guise relations, her servants and to a nearby nunnery – but Mme de Parois said they were hers. The resulting fallout made Mary ill – she even wrote to her mother saying it had nearly killed her because ‘I was afraid of hearing through these disputes so many false reports and cruel things said of me’.5 She suffered from fainting, dizzy spells, headaches and stomach problems, all probably brought on by nervous exhaustion and anxiety. Her uncle Guise blamed her fainting and stomach aches on overeating and childish greed – but there was more to it than that. Her feelings of mental stress were not just thanks to the dreaded Mme de Parois. Lady Fleming, now attending Mary of Guise in Scotland, had been trying to come back, to see her beloved king, and introduce him to his son – but Diane de Poitiers and Catherine de’ Medici refused her permission. Still, the king sent tokens of favour to Lady Fleming and later gave favour to her son, who was legitimised and given positions of honour.

  Now she was growing into adulthood and living at the court, Mary saw how she was surrounded by jockeying for power, factions and plots. Her Guise relations pushed her to gain concessions or positions that she could not. She even signed a set of blank sheets of paper at their behest – an unwise move, for any possible treaty or declaration could be written in above, but she had no choice. Mary missed her mother, and no one was coming to help her. She had to make her way on her own.

  At about this time, Mary shot up to her incredible height of somewhere around five feet eleven, an impressive height for a man at the time, let alone a woman. It was more compelling evidence that she was born to rule.

  The Guise relations sent enthusiastic letters back to Mary in Scotland. ‘I give you every assurance, madam, that there is nothing more beautiful or more modest than the Queen your daughter, and also very devout,’ enthused the cardinal. ‘She rules the King and the Queen.’6 He was not being entirely truthful. Although the king was truly pleased by his little dynastic claim, Catherine de’ Medici was wary of Mary and had no particular affection for her. The cardinal lied to his sister because he knew that everything depended on her daughter marrying Francis and becoming the dauphine. If Mary fell out of favour and Henry decided to marry his son to a Spanish heiress instead, it would be a shameful loss for Scotland – and if the great protection was no more, England would surely attack without mercy.

  In 1556, Catherine de’ Medici was brought to confinement with twins, but one, Joan, died in the womb, and Victoria died a month later. Doctors told the king there should be no more children and he left the queen’s bed entirely for that of Diane de Poitiers. Catherine lost what little influence remained. In the same year, Mary turned fourteen – and the king started to use her as a pawn. When he heard that there was talk of a marriage between Princess Elizabeth of England and
Archduke Ferdinand, son of the Holy Roman Emperor, Henry declared he would marry Mary off to Lord Courtenay, an aristocrat with a claim to the English throne. Mary, again, was not seen as a queen in her own right, but a possession of the King of France, to be disposed of as he wished.

  The possibility that Mary would not be married to the dauphin was terrible to Mary of Guise and the Guise relations. Fortunately, the idea of a union between Ferdinand and Elizabeth faded away and Lord Courtenay died – but the chance was there that Henry II could double-cross them all at the last minute. The cardinal and the Duke of Guise began pushing hard to have Mary married to the dauphin as soon as possible. Mary of Guise appointed her mother, Antoinette, to act as proxy.

  The new year, 1558, began auspiciously as the French seized Calais, after a secret attack in the dead of winter – the town had been taken from them by the English in the Hundred Years War. Overwhelmed, the deputy of Calais, Thomas Wentworth, relinquished the keys to the city to Mary’s uncle, the Duke of Guise, on 7 January. Henry II arrived in Calais to secure his claim sixteen days later. Lord Wentworth was taken as a prisoner of war. Queen Mary I was devastated at the loss of Calais; to Henry II, it was the beginning of his new relationship with the English: one of dominance.

  On 19 April 1558, Henry II finally announced the date of the marriage between his son and Mary at a public ceremony at the Louvre. The Cardinal of Lorraine joined their hands as the couple exchanged a ring. The dauphin declared that of his own free will he would marry Mary on Sunday 24 April, five days hence. A grand ball followed after the announcement and Mary danced with the king. Behind the scenes, embroiderers, cooks, builders and pageant masters were working day and night to bring the king’s great vision of unity and French strength to fruition.