Mary Queen of Scots

by Kathryn Lasky

  We all stared at one another and then the girls looked at me. “Your dress, Mary!” Of course, only Mary Beaton knew about the purple powder and the trap we had set to catch the snoop, but we had no idea that the snoop would be the loathsome creature Signore Marcellini! At that moment we saw Signore Marcellini threading his way through the back of the ballroom and furiously peeling off his gloves. But his hands were bright purple, as well! I raced to pick up a glove as it fell. “Mary Beaton,” I said sharply, “explain to the other Marys what is happening. I am off to see Queen Catherine directly.” The Queen had retired earlier.

  “Is that wise, Your Majesty?” Mary Beaton bobbed a half curtsy. Did she perhaps mean it was impulsive? Would my mother have counselled me to wait, to reflect before acting? But I could not. I was outraged and the evidence was here. I was told by the Queen’s steward that she was in her panelled cabinet room – the room where behind the 237 carved panels Queen Catherine keeps her jewels, her state papers, and some say her poisons.

  Two guards stood outside. “I am here to see the Queen on business of utmost urgency,” I announced.

  “She is resting.”

  “She must see me.” There was silence. Then from behind me another voice said, “Did you not hear the Queen of Scots?” I wheeled around. It was Robin MacClean. He had followed me. He looked most savage next to these guards in their silken hose and gold-embroidered waistcoats and doublets. Their hats were festooned with feathers, like mine. I despise men in feathers.

  They immediately announced me, and I walked through the immense doors. Queen Catherine stood with her back to me. She appeared small and erect. Her head was bowed down as she spoke still with her back to me. “So what do you seek, Little Queen?” She turned slowly around to me. My fist tightened on the glove I held as I saw what the Queen had been looking at with her bowed head. Her own plump fingers were bright purple.

  There were really no words exchanged. I merely held up the glove and said, “I believe that this belongs to your spy, Signore Marcellini. He has also left the mark of his lust on the breast and face of Mary Fleming.” The Queen blanched and then sank to the floor.

  That is all that I write now. It is an eerie time here in the court.

  August 24, 1554

  Signore Marcellini has been summarily dismissed. The Queen is believed to be suffering another miscarriage. I now must hope that I am not in some way blamed. Lord Erskine stays by my side ready to advise me in all matters. At this time a letter has also been written to my mother to advise her to release Madame de Parois of her service in my household. She is a troublemaker. Lord Erskine, my dear guardian, tells me that I should have told him immediately of the problem of Signore Marcellini and his harassment of Mary Fleming. It is difficult for me to explain to him why I did not, but there is something so embarrassing about it. I remember when a servant girl, the chambermaid before Minette, had some trouble with a groomsman. It was difficult for me to believe because she was like a mouse and almost frightened of her own shadow. I could never believe that she would have invited someone’s attentions, as people said she had. I didn’t want Mary Fleming to be subjected to this kind of gossip and blame. It seems so unfair. I don’t think she will be, now that everyone knows the truth about Signore Marcellini. Indeed the only person who might inspire blame is myself for agitating Queen Catherine to the point of miscarrying yet again. I pray that I do not invite the wrath of the King. He was at Anet with Diane and is now coming here. I must bide my time until he gets here and pray for his understanding. In the meantime I seek counsel with my Father Confessor. I am surrounded by good people. They love me and they know that I have tried to act with a sense of compassion and integrity in the best interests of innocent people. That is all I can do, God willing.

  August 26, 1554

  The King arrives tomorrow. I am so nervous I pray a great deal. I work on my Latin translations. I study my catechism. I cannot go near my lute for the foul memories it recalls of my music lessons. I must get over this. I must not let that vile man ruin music for me. Indeed that would be his final triumph.

  September 1, 1554

  Diane first came to see me, before the King. She told me he is not angry with me at all but indeed is perturbed with the Queen. He apparently roared at the Queen and asked why she would spy on our dear little Scottish queen. Well, I am relieved.

  September 2, 1554

  I have met with the King. He has extended his deepest sympathies for the terrible anguish I have suffered and la petite Mary Fleming. He asked me repeatedly if she is in good health but turned red whenever he tried to get out the next words. Diane spoke for him. She began delicately. “The King wishes to know if little Mary Fleming’s honour has been damaged in any way.”

  “Oh, no, Madame.”

  The King then sank with relief into a chair.

  I am pleased that it has gone this way with the King, and very pleased that Diane de Poitiers came with him. I plan to leave this court for a while. I do not want to leave the Marys behind, so I sent a letter to my uncles saying that we would all like to come and visit them and Grandmama at Meudon for a spell.

  September 10, 1554

  Word arrived today that we are all to go to Meudon. I am so excited. We shall spend a fortnight there. It is a lovely time of year. We plan just to play. No lessons. There is not room to bring all the tutors along, so only Janet Sinclair and Lord Erskine will accompany us.

  September 16, 1554

  Meudon

  We have been at Meudon these past three days, and it has been heaven without the horrible Signor Marcellini. The four Marys and I have rediscovered our love of music here. I have taken up the lute again and Mary Beaton and Mary Seton the lyre, and a servant has brought in the virginal that Mary Fleming and Mary Livingston both play. We spend hour upon hour playing airs much to Grandmama’s and my uncle’s and aunt’s delight.

  September 17, 1554

  I continue to prepare for my First Communion, which is less than a month away. Grandmama presented me with her rosary. This is such a big step. I hope I am fully prepared.

  September 18, 1554

  We received word that the King and Queen have been making a grand royal progress through France. This is the first time in some years to visit his kingdom from village to village and province to province. He would like me and the four Marys to join the progress at Lyon. How exciting. None of us has ever been to Lyon, which is a centre of silk factories and printing presses. We are to join the King on the royal barge, but not Queen Catherine. She travels on a separate barge in a few days.

  September 21, 1554

  Aboard the King’s royal barge,

  one mile from Lyon

  The current is swift so we shall very shortly be there and we see throngs of people lining the banks. The vineyards are russet coloured this time of year, as the harvest nears. The barge will pull to the riverside, and the King shall mount his charger to make his way along the road into the centre of the city of Lyon.

  Later

  The four Marys and I followed King Henry on our little Scotch ponies. The townspeople were delighted when they saw us. They have never seen horses like these, so small but pretty and strong. The Grand Seneschal, the highest court judge of France, and various dignitaries of the city along with the members of guilds representing the silk merchants and printers were marching with their banners to greet the King. There were trumpets blasting and pennants snapping in the breeze. The crowds that lined the way roared and cheered as we passed. But the best was yet to come. As we came to the city, amidst the rooftops and the chimneys, right in the town square, a forest seemed to grow. It was an artificial one that had been planted, and standing in the groves of trees were lovely girls all dressed as Greek goddesses and in hunting costumes of black and white with crescent moons in their hair. It was, of course, a tribute to Diane de Poitiers. The city of Lyon is ve
ry near to her duchy and childhood home.

  The crowd went wild when the King leaned over and took Diane’s hand and raised it on high. The people of Lyon adore Diane, and one could see that the King revelled in their adoration. Mary Seton leaned over from her pony and whispered, “’Tis lucky Queen Catherine is not seeing this.”

  “But she will soon enough,” I replied, for indeed custom dictates that on these royal progresses the Queen enter a town separately after the King with her own ranks of soldiers. Finally it was time for Queen Catherine’s litter to enter. It was covered in gold brocade. I had not seen the Queen since that fateful night when she stood in her cabinet room, her hands stained purple. She sat atop the litter now, gleaming in the finest Lyonnaise silk and jewels. She smiled brightly even as she went beneath the arches topped with the symbols and emblems of Diane, the crescent moon and the bow of the hunting goddess. How could she maintain that brittle smile when it was so obvious that the one celebrated here was not the Queen of France but Diana the Huntress? For a moment, despite all, I felt a twinge in my heart. To be so ugly and unloved. No wonder she resorts to scheming and bitter intrigues. And look at Diane. Tall, slender, forever beautiful and regal. There was a part of me that I think wanted to feel sorry for Catherine, wanted to forgive her, but then something locked in my heart.

  October 5, 1554

  Meudon

  I have been called back to Meudon. Grandmama is desperately ill. She has received the Last Rites, and I now sit by her bed. I hold her hand, and the rosary she gave me is entwined between both our fingers. Some terrible paroxysm felled her. Her face is skewed sideways into a strange grimace. The left side of her body does not move. One eye is shut and the other open in an icy stare. We know not if she hears us or even recognizes us.

  October 10, 1554

  One endless day follows another. Grandmama does not improve, nor does she grow worse. For that we are thankful. It is hard to write. I do nothing except sit by her bed. My First Communion has been delayed. I had always imagined Grandmama present for it. Now I can hardly think about it.

  October 15, 1554

  No change.

  October 21, 1554

  Still the same. I miss the Marys and Francis.

  November 15, 1554

  Grandmama moved today! She moved and muttered something! We are wild with excitement. The doctor says that this has been known to happen with victims of a stroke. All of us keep a constant vigil now by her bed.

  November 17, 1554

  Grandmama spoke. She spoke my name this morning at 11 o’clock. It sounded strange, as if she had a thick paddle in her mouth instead of a tongue, but everyone recognized that she called my name. Then her eyes opened. The one that had been clenched so tight and that side of her face began to relax. We are having a Mass of thanksgiving this morning. My uncle the Cardinal and Father Mamerot shall lead us.

  November 20, 1554

  Grandmama’s recovery is miraculous. Today she sat up in bed for the first time. She can speak but sometimes her words are mixed together wrongly and her tongue is still thick in her mouth.

  November 21, 1554

  Guess what Grandmama asked today? When my Communion is. We are now thinking of having it on my birthday at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, if Grandmama is well enough to travel.

  November 29, 1554

  Grandmama walks and talks. Her left side still is very weak. I am excited to see my dear Marys and Francis again soon.

  December 7, 1554

  Saint-Germain-en-Laye

  It is one day before my birthday and almost a year ago that I began this diary that my dear mother sent to me all the way from Scotland. I once again stand on the roof garden of the château and watch the river flow below me. I began my fast a few hours ago. It is an ancient practice. Many do not do it before their First Communion, but I decided to, for it is said that through fasting one can seek a purity of heart. This I need in order to be a true communicant. I want to remember the hunger in my stomach each time I take the sacraments, for with this in mind, with a purity of heart I shall, I think, be a better Christian as well as a good Queen. I need to do this for I know that there is within my heart a dark part. I am not sure precisely what the cause is, but there is a shadow that lurks there. I want this shadow to dissolve before I kneel before the altar and recite the catechism to my confessor. What is it that lurks in my heart? What could it be? I search and search for it. Perhaps the hunger will drive it out.

  Later

  I think indeed I drifted to sleep up here on the roof garden. The wind whips around the chimneys. There is a pit in my stomach so hollow it makes a rumbling noise. Tomorrow there will be a feast following my Communion to be attended by Grandmama and my uncles and the four Marys, Ronsard, my tutors, Francis, Princesses Elizabeth and Claude and of course King Henry and the Queen.

  Near midnight, December 7, 1554

  I have just come back from retrieving my diary from the roof garden. I threw it down when it suddenly came to me the source of the inscrutable shadow that darkened the edges of my heart. It was the Queen in a sense. She did not cause the shadow, but it was my own selfishness and pinched spirit toward her that made the shadow hover in my heart. When I realized this, I threw down my diary and raced down flights of stairs searching out Queen Catherine. I had not seen her since my return from Meudon. She was in her Salon of Reception. Once more I demanded of the guards that I be allowed to see the Queen. And when they hesitated, I was surprised once more by that voice, the Scots burr creeping through to roughen the French. “Did you not hear the Queen of Scots?” It was Robin MacClean. He had followed me. Indeed he had probably guarded me the entire time I was on the roof.

  In a softer voice I said to the guard, “Tell Her Majesty that I beg to see her.”

  And so I was admitted. The Queen seemed surprised. I curtsied deeply.

  The words at first were hard. I thought of my grandmama and that heavy paddle of a tongue that stirred the words like thickest batter, but I spoke them. “I humbly beseech Your Majesty and my future mother-in-law.” I heard the Queen gasp. The word “mother” must have sounded strange coming from my lips but I continued. “That tomorrow at my ceremony of Communion you stand in the chapel beside me and on the other side my grandmama.”

  An absolute hush fell over the chamber. I could hear the breathing of her ladies-in-waiting. I heard the rustle of one searching for her smelling salts. “You would do me such an honour,” I said in a strong voice. I felt the shadow dissolve. I knew now that I was truly prepared to receive the sacraments. For to submit to a greater power, the power of God, one must banish the smallness in one’s soul. I was at last ready for Communion and ready to rule, for in this end of selfishness was my true beginning as a sovereign. I was truly Mary, Queen of Scots.

  Epilogue

  On Sunday 24 April, in the year 1558, just a few months short of her sixteenth birthday, Mary Stuart married Francis, the Dauphin of France. The ceremony, which took place in the cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris, was one of unequalled splendour and Renaissance pageantry. To signify her new position as wife of the future King of France, a new crown embedded with rubies, pearls, and sapphires was placed on Mary’s head. At one point during the banquet that followed, her head and slender neck began to ache under the weight of the crown, and King Henry directed his own Lord-in-waiting to remove it. Some people took it as an omen of the future of the vulnerable and soon-to-be-embattled young Queen of the Scots.

  In November 1558, scarcely seven months after Mary’s marriage to Francis, Mary Tudor, Queen of England, died, leaving no heirs. Her half-sister, Elizabeth, became Queen. Elizabeth was unmarried. Some thought that Elizabeth was not a legitimate heir to the throne of England since her father’s divorce from his previous wife was never recognized by the Catholic Church. Thus his marriage to Elizabeth’s mother was considered invalid. So, immedia
tely upon the death of Mary Tudor, Mary Stuart’s father-in-law, Henry II of France, proclaimed that his daughter-in-law, Mary, was the Queen of not only Scotland but also of England. Such a move hardly endeared Mary to Elizabeth or the people of England. She could be viewed only as a usurper.

  Historical note

  The sixteenth-century world of Mary, Queen of Scots, was dominated by two extraordinarily powerful influences – the Renaissance and the Reformation. Both were movements that inexorably changed how humans viewed themselves in relation to the world and the societies in which they lived. The Renaissance, which literally means “rebirth” or “renewal of life and vigour”, was a renewal of learning and really reached its zenith during that century. It is considered to be a time of the greatest artistic achievement in Western Europe. Artists such as Leonardo da Vinci and Michelangelo, and poets such as Dante and Ronsard, flourished. New ways of thinking and new standards of thought, of beauty, and of artistic creation were introduced. Humans became central to many of these new values. Humanity was to be celebrated through art and architecture. Florence, Italy, home of Catherine de Medici, was considered one of the foremost centres of creativity during the Renaissance, and Catherine de Medici was indeed responsible for introducing into the French court arts, such as ballet, and fashion trends, such as high heels and perfume.