CHAPTER XVII.
THE BIRTH OF JAMES VI.
Mary’s vigorous conduct had again put her in possession of that rightful authority of which so lawless an attempt had been made to deprive her; but though restored to power, she was far from being likewise restored to happiness. The painful conviction was now at length forced upon her, that she had not in all the world one real friend. She felt that the necessities of her situation forced her to associate in her councils men, who were the slaves of ambition, and whose heartless courtesies were offered to her, only until a prospect of higher advantages held out a temptation to transfer them to another. She had not been long in her own kingdom, before Bothwell and others contemplated seizing her person, and assassinating her prime minister, the Earl of Murray;—she had hardly succeeded in frustrating these designs, when Murray himself directed his strength against her; and now, still more recently, the husband, for whose sake she had raised armies to chase her brother from the country, had aimed at making himself independent, and, to ingratiate himself with traitors, had scrupled not to engage in a deed of wanton cruelty, personally insulting to his wife and sovereign.
Ignorant where to turn for repose and safety, Mary began to lose much of the natural vivacity and buoyancy of her temper; and to feel, that in those turbulent times, she was endowed with too little of that dissimulation, which enabled her sister Elizabeth to steer so successfully among the rocks and shoals of government. In a letter written about this period to one of her female relations in France, she says, touchingly, “It will grieve you to hear how entirely, in a very short time, I have changed my character, from that of the most easily satisfied and care-chasing of mortals, to one embroiled in constant turmoils and perplexities.” “She was sad and pensive,” says Sir James Melville, “for the late foul act committed in her presence so irreverently. So many great sighs she would give that it was pity to hear her, and over-few were careful to comfort her.” But the perfidy of her nobles Mary could have borne;—it was the disaffection and wickedness of her husband that afflicted her most. Anxious to believe that he told her the truth, when he asserted that he was not implicated in the murder of Rizzio, she rejoiced to see him issue a proclamation, declaring that he was neither “a partaker in, nor privy to, David’s slaughter.” But the truth was too notorious to be kept long concealed. Randolph wrote to Cecil on the 4th of April 1566:—“The Queen hath seen all the covenants and bands that passed between the King and the Lords, and now findeth that his declaration before her and Council, of his innocency of the death of David, was false; and is grievously offended, that by their means he should seek to come to the crown matrimonial.” Hence sprang the grief which, in secret, preyed so deeply upon Mary’s health and spirits. Few things are more calculated to distress a generous mind, than to discover that the object of its affections is unworthy the love which has been lavished upon it. The young and graceful Darnley, laying at Mary’s feet the real or pretended homage of his heart, was a very different person from the headstrong and designing King, colleaguing with her rebels, assassinating her faithful servant, and endeavouring to snatch the crown from her head. “That very power,” says Robertson, “which, with liberal and unsuspicious fondness she had conferred upon him, he had employed to insult her authority, to limit her prerogative, and to endanger her person: such an outrage it was impossible any woman could bear or forgive.” Yet Mary looked upon these injuries, coming as they did from the man whom she had chosen to be the future companion of her life, “more in sorrow than in anger;” and though she shed many a bitter tear over his unworthiness, she did not cease to love him.
In the midst of these anxieties, the time for the Queen’s delivery drew near. After a short excursion to Stirling and the neighbourhood, in which she was accompanied by Darnley, Murray, Bothwell and others, she returned to Edinburgh, and, by the advice of her Privy Council, went to reside in the Castle, as the place of greatest security, till she should present the country with an heir to the throne. During the months of April and May, she lived there very quietly, amusing herself with her work and her books, and occasionally walking out, for she had no wheeled carriage. She occupied herself, too, in endeavouring to reconcile those of her nobility whom contrary interests and other circumstances had disunited. It cost her no little trouble to prevail upon the two most faithful of her ministers, the Earl of Huntly her Chancellor, and Bothwell her Lord High Admiral, to submit to the returning influence of their old enemy the Earl of Murray. It was especially galling to them, that Murray and Argyle were the only persons, in addition to the King, allowed to reside in the Castle with Mary. But it was her own wish to have her husband and her brothers beside her on the present occasion; and no representations made by Bothwell or Huntly could alter her resolution. Yet these two Earls went the length of assuring the Queen, that Murray had entered into a new conspiracy with Morton, and that they would probably put in ward both herself and her infant, as soon as it was born. Surrounded as Mary was by traitors, she could not know whether this information was true or not; but her returning affection for Murray prevailed over every other consideration.[139]
Elizabeth was all this time narrowly watching the progress of affairs in Scotland. Murray’s restoration to favour pleased her much; and, to reconcile Morton and his friends to the failure of their plots, she secretly countenanced and protected them. With her usual duplicity, however, she sent to Edinburgh Henry Killigrew, to congratulate Mary on her late escape, and to assure her that she would give directions to remove Morton out of England. She likewise recalled Randolph, of whose seditious practices Mary had complained; but, as if to be even with the Scottish Queen, she commanded Killigrew to demand the reason why a certain person of the name of Ruxby, a rebel and a Papist, had been protected in Scotland? It would have been better for Elizabeth had she allowed this subject to rest. Though Ruxby feigned himself a refugee from England on account of religion, he had in reality been privately sent to Scotland by Elizabeth herself, and her Secretary Cecil. The object of his mission was to find out whether Mary carried on any secret correspondence with the English Catholics. For this purpose, he was to pretend that he was a zealous supporter of her right and title to the crown of England; and that he had some influence with the English Catholics, all of whom, he was to assert, thought as he did. Having thus ingratiated himself with Mary, he was immediately to betray any discoveries he might make to Cecil. The scheme was ingeniously enough contrived; coming as an avowed enemy to Elizabeth, and she herself actually supplying credentials to that effect, no suspicion was for some time entertained of his real designs. That he was able to learn any thing which could afford the English Queen reasonable ground of offence, is not likely; for though several communications in cipher passed between him and Cecil, their contents were never made public. Shortly before Killigrew’s arrival, Ruxby’s real character had been accidentally discovered; and when the ambassador, more for the sake of aiding than of hindering the spy in the prosecution of his object, made a pro forma request that he should not be harboured any longer, Mary instantly ordered him to be apprehended, and all his writings and ciphers to be seized and examined. The indubitable evidence which they afforded of Elizabeth’s systematic cunning, forced a smile from Mary, and might have brought a blush to the cheek of her rival. The Queen of Scots, however, did not condescend to give any utterance to the feelings which this affair must have inspired; and nothing further is known of Elizabeth’s disgraced and detected minion.[140]
Early in June, perceiving that the time of her delivery was at hand, Mary wrote letters to her principal nobility, requiring them to come to Edinburgh during that juncture. She then made her will, which she caused to be thrice transcribed;—one copy was sent to France, a second committed to the charge of her Privy Council, and the third she kept herself. The day preceding her delivery, she wrote, with her own hand, a letter to Elizabeth, announcing the event, but leaving a blank “to be filled,” says Melville, “either with a son or a daughter, as it might please God to grant unto her.”
On Wednesday the 19th day of June 1566, between nine and ten in the morning, the Queen was safely delivered of a son. The intelligence was received every where, throughout Scotland, with sincere demonstrations of joy. “As the birth of a prince,” says Keith, “was one of the greatest of blessings that God could bestow upon this poor divided land; so was the same most thankfully acknowledged by all ranks of people, according as the welcome news thereof reached their ears.” In Edinburgh, the triumph continued for several days; and, upon the first intimation of the event, all the nobility in the town, accompanied by most of the citizens, went in solemn procession to the High Church, and offered up thanksgiving for so signal a mercy shown to the Queen and the whole realm.