I could never be sure.
It was a disturbing end to the otherwise pleasant visit to Warwick.
THAT AUGUST WE had news of one of the greatest catastrophes the world has ever known. It set Christian men and women all over the world shivering and turning in disgust from the King and Queen Mother of France, at whose instigation it must have taken place.
I refer to the massacre on St Bartholomew's Eve when many of the leading Huguenots of France were gathered together in Paris for the marriage of Marguerite, daughter of Catherine de' Medici, and my one-time suitor Henri of Navarre. He miraculously escaped, but few of his faith did.
The horror of it, the cruelty of it, the folly of it, were hard to believe.
I could not stop thinking of that terrible night when the tocsins rang out announcing the massacre was about to begin and when the Catholics went into the streets bent on murdering those of their fellow countrymen who did not wish to worship God in the same way that they did.
Charles the King, we knew, was mad; but surely that wily serpent, his mother, knew better than this! Why had she roused the city of Paris to this frenzy? Could she not see that generations to come would revile her?
People at Court spoke of nothing else and they spoke in whispers—not with the usual excitement which one sees on people's faces when ill news is told of others. No! There was no one who was not bitterly shocked and dismayed by what had happened.
The French were regarded as monsters; I could not bring myself to receive La Mothe Fenelon, though that cultivated and fastidious gentleman was in no way to blame and I was sure fully realized the folly of this wanton cruelty and the odium in which it would place his country.
I saw him eventually and decided the meeting should take place at Woodstock, but to stress my horror at what had taken place I ordered that all my courtiers should be dressed in black.
There was a deep silence when La Mothe entered the chamber and, taking a few steps toward him, I said: “I regret that I have kept you waiting for an audience, my lord. Pray tell me is it possible that this terrible news we have had is true?”
“Your Majesty, I come to lament with you over this sad accident. My King deeply regrets that for the sake of his life and that of his family it was necessary to put down traitorous plots of men who had conspired against him. What has happened has been as painful to the King of France as though one of his arms had to be cut off to save the rest of his body.”
“I do not understand, my lord. You must explain to me why it was necessary to murder thousands of Huguenots in cold blood.”
I was sorry for La Mothe. It is always a difficult task for ambassadors to try to find excuses for their masters. He flustered through his explanations, stressing the perfidy of the great Admiral de Coligny, who, we all knew, was one of the most saintly men living.
“If the Admiral was indeed guilty of treason could he not have been tried and brought to justice?” I asked. “Was it necessary to kill so many?”
“It was a grim accident. Orders were misinterpreted…”
I took pity on him. One should not blame ambassadors for their kings' misdemeanors.
The Council came to hear his explanations.
“Accidents! Mistakes!” they cried. “St Bartholomew's Eve will be remembered in the centuries to come as one of the greatest blots on the history of France.”
Burghley said: “It is the greatest crime since the Crucifixion.”
AFTER THE MASSACRE there was a strong determination among those about me to be rid of Mary Stuart.
The chief instigator of this was, oddly enough, Burghley. He was by no means a bloodthirsty man, but he was an ardent Protestant and it was such as he who had been particularly horrified by what had happened. I think in his heart he was terrified that if anything happened to me, Mary Stuart would take the throne and he dreaded to think to what terror the country could be brought under a rule of the Catholics. I could understand that. It was not so long ago that we had smelt the burning flesh in Smithfield.
I was the one who hesitated. I could not forget that she was my kinswoman—and, of course, she was royal. I was very like my grandfather who did not want to shed blood wantonly. He would kill though if he thought his throne was threatened. I had believed I would do the same; but somehow I could not condemn Mary Stuart to the scaffold.
Burghley pointed out that I had ample reason for doing so. Had she not written to Norfolk? Did she not join in the plan to kill me and set herself up in my place?
I knew this, but somehow I could not believe that Mary had really agreed willingly to my assassination. Why not? Had she not agreed to Darnley's?
It was Robert who came up with the idea that we should let others remove Mary for us. It was a devious plot and perhaps characteristic of Robert. It occurred to me that he was good at such plotting. Had he plotted thus for the removal of Amy Robsart and Lord Sheffield? I reproached myself for these thoughts. Now he was only thinking of my good as he assured me he did night and day. My welfare was his chief concern.
Burghley was so sure that as long as Mary Stuart lived, there would be a threat of conflict in the country that he supported Robert's rather bizarre scheme. The plan was that I should free Mary ostensibly on condition that she return to Scotland. There she would be in the hands of those two rogues, James Douglas, Earl of Morton, who had been one of Rizzio's murderers, and John Erskine, Earl of Marr, who had become Regent after the murders of Moray and Lennox—both of whom were as eager to see the end of her as I was. These two were to bring her to trial and find her guilty and her execution was to be immediate and to take place not more than four hours after she had been passed into their hands.
A secret mission then ensued and a certain Henry Killigrew, an ambassador who had already proved his worth, was sent to Scotland to try to come to some agreement with these two villainous gentlemen who, it seemed, were quite ready to betray their Queen, provided they could see enough advantage to themselves in doing do.
Burghley had said that it was Killigrew's task to make them see those advantages and to find out what their terms for carrying out this task would be.
The bargaining was sordid and I hated the whole business; and it was only the earnest warnings of both Burghley and Robert that made me go on with it.
It may have been that Marr had no great fear of Mary, seeing himself safe in a Protestant Scotland. John Knox the preacher—the type of man I loathed, a religious fanatic, cruel and intolerant—who hated Mary with a fierce fanaticism, was delighted to join in the plot to kill her.
Eventually Marr had been ready to make an agreement but he died before it could be put into action. It was rather strange—almost as though the saints to whom Mary prayed so frequently really were coming to her aid, for Morton was much harder to deal with and he would not give way. First he demanded a pension which should be as much as it had cost me to keep Mary as my prisoner in the castles of England. I was shocked. I hated to see money wasted for I believed that prosperity came through frugality. I spent money on my dresses—and I will admit I had a goodly array of them—but I always assured myself that they were necessary to the dignity of royalty. I kept good state at my Court; there was rich food and wine served at my table. Not that I ate with any gusto. I had the smallest of appetites, and I always drank my wine diluted with water. I respected money without hoarding it. I think I must have inherited that from my grandfather. People called him a miser but his ways had made a prosperous country, whereas my father's extravagance had left the exchequer sadly depleted. I had taken it upon myself to pay all the latter's debts, and they were heavy, but I did not want anyone to go without the money which was rightly his or hers. I also paid those debts left by my brother Edward. The people knew what I had done—particularly the people of London—and they honored me for it. My father had thought that the privilege of serving the Court was enough for them. I thought they should be paid as well.