by John Guy
It was the classic dilemma for women rulers. Should they marry and have children, fulfilling the expectations of their councilors and subjects and settling the succession in their countries? Or should they stay single and keep their independence? It was difficult enough, but Mary’s own choice had a further complication. Even if Elizabeth had already made her decision not to marry, she refused to allow Mary to trump her in marriage. If her cousin married, then the dueling between them would get steadily worse.
Mary began to prepare herself. A marriage to Darnley must by now have been firmly in her sights. If a settlement could not be reached with England, then should she not consider allying with the man whose hereditary rights, if united to hers, would make their dynastic claim invincible?
She certainly meant to do something. To damp down speculation that she intended to marry a Catholic, she reissued her proclamation of 1561 confirming the religious status quo. She also sent away her confidential secretary and decipherer, Raulet. He was a Guise retainer, the only person other than Mary to have a key to the black box containing her secret papers. She replaced him with David Rizzio, the young Piedmontese valet and musician who had arrived in the suite of the ambassador of the Duke of Savoy and stayed on as a bass in Mary’s choir.
By sending Raulet home to France, Mary signaled her concern over security. She intended to prevent copies of her private letters from reaching the Cardinal of Lorraine. For some unknown reason, Raulet had fallen under suspicion. A month later, when he was preparing to board his ship at Leith, his trunk was seized with all his books and papers.
Mary first met Darnley in the depths of winter. The date was Saturday, February 17, 1565; the place, Wemyss, a tiny coastal village in Fife. Randolph wrote from Edinburgh to advise Dudley that his surrogate had safely arrived. Sir James Melville, an eyewitness, reported that Mary “took well” with Darnley, saying that “he was the lustiest and best proportioned lang [i.e., tall] man that she had seen.”
Had there been an instant physical attraction? Darnley flattered himself that it was so. He stayed in the same house as Mary for two nights, then went to greet his father, Lennox, at Dunkeld. On arriving there, his first thought was to write a letter of thanks to Dudley, whom he offered to satisfy as if he were his own brother.
After lodging for five nights at Dunkeld, Darnley returned in time to cross the Firth of Forth on the same ferry as Mary. On the 26th, he decided to make a grand gesture. He attended Knox’s sermon at St. Giles Kirk in Edinburgh, dining afterward with Moray and Randolph, who went there every week. In the evening at Holyrood, he danced a galliard with Mary. All eyes were watching them, but it was impossible to judge her reaction. Whatever was going through her mind, she kept her thoughts to herself.
The weather took a sudden turn for the worse. Violent snowstorms were followed by a frost of such intensity, nothing had been seen like it since the winter of Mary’s birth. By the first week of March, pathways in the Lowlands were still closed. Darnley, however, was flourishing. Since travel was out of the question, the court settled down to a series of lavish banquets and masques. Darnley attended them all, and his courtly manners were “very well liked.” As Randolph briefed Cecil, he “governs himself that there is great praise of him.”
Mary as yet paid Darnley no unusual attention, which is why Randolph could praise him. She treated him courteously, but no more. She was biding her time. She had asked Randolph to give her a final answer about Elizabeth’s intentions. By March 15, she was getting irritable and impatient, asking him every day when a reply was likely to be received.
Elizabeth’s answer was ready on the 5th, but because of the snowdrifts, it reached Edinburgh on the 14th. When Randolph opened the packet, he knew there would be trouble. It took him two days to pluck up the courage to deliver the message. Elizabeth had dug in her heels. Where Mary’s dynastic claim was concerned, “nothing shall be done until Her Majesty [Elizabeth] shall be married, or shall notify her determination never to marry.”
This was truly a bombshell. It repudiated everything on which the Anglo-Scottish amity had depended and made a mockery of Mary’s policy of conciliation toward Elizabeth. When the English queen had claimed the right of veto over Mary’s marriage and named Dudley as the most favored suitor for her hand, it was clearly understood that compliance would be rewarded by recognition as Elizabeth’s heir. Now the goalpost had been moved and everything depended on Elizabeth’s decision on her own marriage, something that would likely never happen.
Mary listened in silence, then became angry, claiming Elizabeth had played a game of cheat and retreat. She had misled her and made her waste her time. “To answer me with nothing,” she said, “I find great fault and fear it shall turn to her discredit more than my loss.” “I would that I might have been most bound to my sister your mistress; seeing that cannot be, I will not fail in any good offices toward her, but to rely or trust much from henceforth in her for that matter I will not.”
She then walked out and went hunting. Randolph tried to soothe Moray, who was “almost stark mad” with rage. Mary, Moray believed, would strike out on her own and Scotland would be in danger. For this, he was the “sorrowfullest” man alive. Maitland, to whom Randolph went next, was equally exasperated, although—always more thoughtful and insightful—he had privately expected a setback.
When Mary left Randolph, she “wept her fill.” Later he tried to see her again, but she ignored him and retired to her privy chamber. He returned to Maitland and Moray, urging them not to act too hastily, but they cut him off, one saying, “The die is cast.”
Next day, Mary rode to the beach beside Leith, where she watched Darnley and his companions “running at the ring.” She approached Randolph, and “with the tears standing in her eyes” declared her love for her “sister queen,” to whom she said she owed “such obedience as to her own dear mother.” It was as big a compliment as Mary could be expected to pay, but far from being the prelude to a fresh attempt at conciliation, it marked the start of Mary’s move to break free. She ended the conversation by requesting a diplomatic passport for Maitland. She was sending him through England on an urgent mission to France. Randolph saw the danger, but utterly failed to dissuade her. No one except Mary knew the purpose of Maitland’s mission, but Randolph inferred that he was to consult her family about her marriage plans.
Elizabeth’s policy was in disarray. She had miscalculated the impact of her message. It had caused a rift that seemed to be the more final in that it had apparently closed the gap that had existed between Cecil’s position and her own. Whereas Cecil always wished to impose religious preconditions on the settlement of the succession, Elizabeth had been less dogmatic, keeping religion and politics apart and preferring Mary’s claim to that of the disgraced Lady Catherine Grey. But if a settlement was put on indefinite hold, the effect of such distinctions would be immaterial.
Beyond this lay a more pressing danger. The return of Lennox and Darnley to Scotland had triggered a realignment of the noble factions. Moray, Argyll and Châtelherault took the first step, signing a bond offering one another mutual support and promising to oppose a Catholic marriage. They cloaked their spite in claims about religion, but really they suspected Lennox of plotting to make his son king and so oust them from power.
Lennox had not been slow to look for allies. He had reintegrated himself in Scotland with remarkable speed. His supporters included the Earls of Atholl and Caithness, Lords Seton, Ruthven, Home and others. The first three were Catholics, the rest Protestants. What united them was not religion but ambition. Atholl saw an opportunity to displace Argyll from his preeminence in the Highlands, and all were keen to oust Moray and annex his lands. There would be rich pickings for the Lennoxes and their friends if Darnley married the queen. Already Darnley was known to have consulted a map of Scotland, when he was heard to say loudly that Moray’s estates were far too extensive for his needs.
If, therefore, one effect of Elizabeth’s message was to strengthen Mary�
�s resolve to seek a marriage that would take her closer to the English succession, another was the resurgence of factionalism. Everything was once again on a knife edge. Moray realized this, and when Randolph tried to speak to him, he shooed him away. “The devil take you,” he said. “Our queen does nothing but weep and write!”
On March 31, Randolph wrote candidly to his friend Sir Henry Sidney. He put the blame on Dudley for not taking more interest in Mary, whom he had not even met. She had grown into a woman of “perfect beauty.” “How many countries, realms, cities and towns,” he suddenly waxed lyrical, “have been destroyed” to satisfy the lusts of men for such women, and yet Dudley, who had been offered a kingdom and the opportunity to lie with Mary “in his naked arms,” had spurned both, causing Darnley to arrive.
Randolph’s apprehension was justified. By the first week in April, Mary and Darnley were in the early stages of a courtship. They were staying at Stirling Castle, where they spent most of their time together. Mary showed him off as her partner in a game of billiards played for high stakes against Randolph and Mary Beaton. It was neatly arranged, as it was an open secret that Randolph and Beaton, one of the four Maries, were lovers. And so it seemed to everyone watching that two young couples were playing against each other.
It had been settled that whoever won, the women would share the kitty. When Randolph and Beaton emerged the victors, Darnley was seen to present Mary with a ring and a valuable brooch set with two agates.
When Darnley then fell sick, Mary nursed him herself. She sent him food from her table and visited him at almost all hours, sometimes after midnight, a bold thing for her to do. He was “very evil at ease,” and for his comfort and convenience was lodged in the royal apartments in the castle, an extraordinary honor, where he remained for over a month. He succumbed first to a cold and then to skin eruptions. His symptoms were a measles-like rash, “marvelous thick,” accompanied by “sharp pangs, his pains holding him in his stomach and his head”—almost certainly the onset of syphilis, caught in England.
When Maitland reached London, purportedly on his way to France, the true nature of his mission was clear. He delivered an ultimatum demanding Elizabeth’s consent to Mary’s marriage to Darnley. The result was chaos and confusion.
On April 23, a frantic Elizabeth signed letters recalling Lennox and Darnley to the English court, only to countermand them at the last moment. Instead, Throckmorton was to be sent to Edinburgh. His first instructions were issued on the 24th, ordering him to explain to Mary how much her proposed marriage was “misliked,” but a week later they were replaced by others advising her to marry Dudley or else choose another English nobleman. If Mary agreed to this, a string of concessions would be offered. Only if Dudley was chosen, however, would Elizabeth ever agree to have Mary’s title to the English succession “either published, endorsed or enquired of.”
Cecil was a worried man. On May 1, the first of a series of extended debates was held by the Privy Council to decide how best to “disallow” Mary’s marriage to Darnley.
After two years of bandying words, Mary felt she had nothing to lose. She had already more or less decided to bypass England. She was more cautious about burning her bridges to the Continent. She first wrote to Spain. In reply, the Duke of Alba, answering on behalf of Philip II, reassured her that “no alliance would be more advantageous to her for assuring the success of her claims and the quiet of her country than one with the Lennox family.”
Mary then approached Castelnau to see if he could secure French backing, a delicate request given her poor standing with her former mother-in-law. But to his surprise, Catherine de Medici agreed. Her response—that Darnley was at least preferable to Don Carlos or Archduke Charles because such a marriage would encourage a return to the “auld alliance”—was strictly a non sequitur. What she really meant was that it would strengthen her own bargaining position with Elizabeth, who would need to rely even more on a French entente if the amity with Scotland collapsed.
Catherine was singularly duplicitous. Castelnau was ordered to inform Elizabeth that France opposed the Darnley marriage, with the result that much confusion and resentment resulted from what shortly became a pantomime of ambassadors rushing to and fro between three capitals, trying to work out who had said what to whom and when.
This worked to Mary’s advantage, as it left her free to deal with the domestic opposition to her marriage. When Moray, summoned to appear before his sister in Darnley’s sickroom, refused to sign a document pledging his support, claiming that her marriage was too hasty and that “he misliked” it “because he feared that the Lord Darnley would be an enemy to true religion,” he was forced to withdraw from the court in disgrace.
Mary sought to isolate Moray. Cautious support for her marriage straddled the religious divide, and there were other factors working in her favor. One was so incongruous it was almost whimsical. Maitland was in love with Mary Fleming, the chief of the four Maries. His wife had died, and he wanted to marry a woman eighteen years younger than himself. It was a difficult courtship: the running joke was that Maitland was as well suited to Fleming as a Calvinist was to be pope.
Maitland’s wedding was delayed for almost two years, but as Randolph knew, if Mary wanted to marry Darnley, Maitland would support her “from the love he bears to Mary Fleming.” There was nothing Fleming would not do for Mary, and she had Maitland wrapped around her little finger. It is true that his loyalty was severely tested, but in the end he was (as the English ambassador saw it) “blinded to further and prosecute this marriage.”
The key factor in Mary’s favor was that Morton had attached himself to Darnley. So far, he had been closely allied to Moray, taking a prominent position as the head of the Douglas clan. But as a Douglas, he was the Countess of Lennox’s cousin. His defection from Moray was triggered when the countess surrendered her claim to the contested estates of the Earl of Angus, Morton’s nephew, for whom he was acting as guardian. This was the equivalent for Morton of a lottery win, since he could now strip his nephew’s estates for his own profit. He had previously asked Mary to confirm his claim when he had sent his cousin Archibald to visit her before she left France. She was unwilling to act then, claiming it was a family dispute. The issue had smoldered, but now Morton was bought off.
Throckmorton arrived to see Mary at Stirling on May 15 while Darnley was still a convalescent. He had traveled to Scotland with Maitland, who had never intended to go to France. The talk of his mission there had been a blind.
Throckmorton found the gates of the castle shut firmly against him, and was obliged to seek lodging in the town. When he finally obtained an audience with Mary, he handed her a letter from Elizabeth and a “Determination” from Cecil: a formal document signed by a majority of the Privy Council advising her to put Darnley aside and marry either Dudley or another English nobleman. The document had an impressive list of signatories, but as Dudley was for some reason not among them, its impact was greatly reduced.
Mary was unimpressed. Throckmorton warned Cecil she was “so far past in this matter with my Lord Darnley as it is irrevocable, and no place left to dissolve the same by persuasion and reasonable means.” In reality, she gave a spirited justification of herself. She pointed out that she had advised Elizabeth of her intention to marry as soon as she had made up her own mind. As her cousin had informed her that she might choose her own husband as long as she rejected anyone from the Continent in favor of an English nobleman, she felt she had acted honorably. In Darnley she had lighted on both an English nobleman and Elizabeth’s “near kinsman,” a choice with which she could only suppose the English queen would be delighted.
Mary did not waste time in negotiations with Throckmorton. Right after the audience, she raised Darnley to a sufficient standing among the Scottish nobles so that she could marry him. She knighted him, created him a baron, then made him Earl of Ross, all on the same afternoon. He in turn created fourteen knights on his own account, but his true colors were glimpsed wit
hin a week. Mary had promised to make him Duke of Albany, a title reserved for Scottish royalty, but deferred the ceremony because she wished to see how Elizabeth would react to her answer to Throckmorton. When Darnley learned of the delay, he drew his dagger on Lord Ruthven, who had brought the message. He also threatened Châtelherault, even though the duke had said (admittedly treacherously) he would support the marriage and signed a paper to that effect.
Darnley’s defects of character were beginning to emerge. He had managed to behave himself for three months, but was unable to keep it up. The prospect of marrying Mary had gone to his head. Spoiled as a child by his mother, he was overconfident, arrogant and willful. Far too handsome for his own good, he was a narcissist and a natural conspirator. Already he was described as “proud, disdainful and suspicious.” He was soon regularly getting drunk, and his sexual license was suspected when he was found to be so intimate with David Rizzio, Mary’s new confidential secretary, “they would lie sometime in one bed together.”
But as yet these defects were just specks on the horizon. The bulk of our information comes from Randolph, who was a hostile witness. His task was to prevent Mary’s marriage to Darnley, and so he found as many reasons as he could to discredit the man he saw as the greatest threat to England since Don Carlos.
By the third week of May, Mary believed she was in love with Darnley. She doted on him. Even Randolph had to admit it. But it was a brief infatuation, brought on by Darnley’s sexual attractiveness rather than true love.
By June 3, the relationship was already turning sour. Mary’s marriage to Darnley would in the end become purely one of convenience. She had trapped herself, because even when she began to realize what Darnley was really like, she had no choice but to go ahead if she was to maintain her independence and not seem to be Elizabeth’s pawn.