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There's Something About MaryMary Stuart, Queen of Scots, had some serious issues trying to climb the social ladder. |
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By the time Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, was eighteen years old she was a widow. This was probably for the best, as her late husband, Francis II, King of France, was an idiot. Feeble-bodied he died at age 17, in December 1560, having never reached puberty. His attention span was short, his intellect ill-equipped for the weighty role of king. According to contemporary sources, the unlucky chap's testicles had not yet descended.[1] He was narrow shouldered, and of stunted height, with reeking breath and unsightly red blotches on his face. One court regular described him as "pale and swollen, rather than fat" and "bilieux". Mary, on the other hand, was rather a looker. She was 5'11" with a mane of rich red hair, fair skin and "golden" eyes.[2] She was well educated, having been brought up in France under the watchful eye of the grand matriarch Catherine de Medicis (mother of the puny wretch she married), and was athletic and graceful. She understood that a good marriage was politically expedient, and that physical and personal attraction really weren't all that important when you're a Queen. This was just as well, as she decided, after her traditional mourning period had more than elapsed, to pursue a match in Spain. And frankly, the Spanish offering was worse than the French had been. The Merry WidowIt's worth mentioning that finding a decent royal match in the 16th century was no easy task. One had to find a suitor of appropriate rank, religion and, hopefully, fortune. They had to be of a nation that could, and would offer support against one's varying enemies, in a time when allegiances changed more often than one's underwear.[3] Ideally, they wouldn't be too hideous in the looks department, but with inbreeding amongst royalty at its peak, there was little hope of finding such a partner. Fussy Elizabeth I, Mary's cousin, who insisted on seeing her suitors in the flesh before considering their proposal, never overcame these hurdles, in spite of the fact that at the ripe old age of 42[4], marriage was still under discussion. (Apparently, Elizabeth I had a nasty experience with a chap who looked grand in his portrait, but, on inspection of his person, turned out to have a face like a smacked arse.) So Mary approached the Spanish King to discuss the possibility of a match with his son, Don Carlos. Don Carlos holds a rather special place in our hearts here at History House, for he was not only alarmingly ugly, he weighed less than 80 pounds[5], and was a complete bastard to boot. He had one shoulder lower than the other, spoke with a pronounced impediment and was, on occasion, prone to epileptic fits. What's more he was violent, evil tempered and lustful. It was this last trait that led him to tumble down a flight of stairs chasing a chambermaid. The ensuing concussion left him partially paralysed, and blind. A wily Italian doctor drilled a hole in his skull, which apparently relieved his paralysis somewhat, but left him prone to unendurable fits of homicidal rage. On top of all this, he was in love with his stepmother. Yet, for all these flaws, he was one of the most eligible bachelors in Europe at the time. Mary's suit failed, more due to the machinations of her wicked ex-mother-in-law[6] than any personal failing on her part. So off to Scotland she went, a country she'd not seen since the age of five, of which she was Queen, at least in theory. Now, throughout all these matrimonial high jinks, Mary had kept a bit of an eye on the English throne, over which she had a not insubstantial claim.[7] She started perusing the English court to see if there was to be any appropriate matches that might strengthen her case, and help restore a bit of family feeling to the headstrong Elizabeth.
Enter Lord Darnley, handsome raconteur, seducer of women, sportsman, and, as fate would have it, favourite of Elizabeth herself. Although already syphylitic at the time of his marriage, he was considered quite a catch. Darnley had English royal blood while being also related to the Scottish nobility through the Lennox clan. He was also rather keen to marry a queen, especially one as foxy as Mary, who had the power to make him King. Curiously, Darnley wasn't all that interested in power per say, he was more drawn to the trappings of power: wealth, trinkets and toadying supplicants. Mary was thrilled with Darnley and they were duly married. They spent a few glorious months hawking and hunting together, during which time Mary fell pregnant. Then Darnley showed his true colours. When it became apparent that Mary wasn't in a hurry to crown him, Darnley became petulant, selfish and sulky. He disappeared for weeks at a time, shouted at Mary when he was around, and generally behaved brattishly.[8] He was prone to fits of jealous rage, and took it upon himself to be murder Mary's favourite, her Secretary Riccio, and would then force Mary to grant him the crown matrimonial, having destroyed her main ally. Promising pardons to a team of cronies in return for their assistance, he burst into her rooms, where his accomplices unceremoniously stabbed the likable Riccio to death. Needless to say, Mary wasn't overjoyed with her husband. She wasn't the only one. The Scottish nobility were an unruly rabble. They squabbled and bitched, grasping for more power and land, in a fast paced game of one-upsmanship. Seeing the Queen's disinclination for her King, many also saw the chance to step into the role, if only the irrascible Darnley could be disposed of effectively. In the interim, the heir apparent was born -- a son, James, on 19 June 1566. The schemers realised that an infant prince provided an ideal opportunity for a regent to wield power. A Cunning PlanThus was born the Gunpowder Plot of 1567. The ringleader of this affair was the swarthy Lord Bothwell. He made promises of wealth and power to the other parliamentary nobles if they'd support him in his bid to rid Scotland of Darnley, and marry Mary himself. The greedy nobles complied, and signed a secret pact. The plot was simple: fill the basement of Darnley's house with gunpowder and light the fuse. The ensuing explosion would erase all traces of skulduggery, and Mary would be free to marry Bothwell. However, things didn't go quite as planned. On February 10, 1567, at two in the morning, the air was rent by a thunderous noise. The house was reduced to rubble. Unfortunately, Darnley wasn't in it. Somehow he'd been tipped off to his impending demise, or had awoken to the sound of gunpowder being hauled into the basement. Either way, he hightailed it out of there in his jim jams -- and was cornered in the garden after the explosion by a group of Bothwell's followers, where he and his manservant were duly strangled. Their bodies were found soon after the explosion, very apparently murdered, and the search for the perpetrators began. A Right Royal RavishingBothwell was, of course, implicated in the plot -- after all he'd signed up a bunch of the old boys to help him with the dreadful deed. It was now that he counted on their support to cover his tracks and support his suit to the Queen. The fact that he was already married was but a minor hindrance. He speedily divorced his wife, and presented himself, hat in hand, and hair combed nicely, to Mary.
In spite of these ablutions, Bothwell was a fairly unlikable chap. He beat his servants, shouted a lot, and was generally ill-tempered, impatient, and violent. Which for Mary, we assume, would probably have been rather a relief after the simpering milquetoasts she'd courted to date. Darnley's murder had, however, taken its toll on the old girl's presence of mind. She fell terribly ill with a nervous disorder, which robbed her of her strength, and seemingly her reason. She swooned and moaned, writhed about on the royal bed, refused to eat and became bleary eyed and weak of will. Undaunted, Bothwell was impatient at the delay in nuptials caused by the search for a suitable fall guy, and did what any red-blooded, ill-bred ruffian would do -- he kidnapped Mary and ravished her. Repeatedly. This put her in rather a quandry, for while she had no obvious attraction to Bothwell, she was a good Catholic girl, and didn't feel altogether comfortable with shagging outside the marital bed. So she did the honourable thing -- she got hitched. The Worm TurnsAt this point, the opportunistic nobility started getting a few ideas of their own. The very men who'd signed the pact to support Bothwell now started baying for his blood. They realised that his power base was entirely reliant on Mary remaining queen. All they had to do was finger her in the murder, and Bothwell would go down with the ship. This meant that the throne of Scotland would be thrown open to debate, and many of them had pretty good claims to the hot seat. Evidence was manufactured, the stage set for a dramatic coup. On Sunday morning, June 15th 1567, a bevy of lords rode out to arrest the newly married couple. Before them blazed a banner of a tree with the corpse of Darnley beneath it, his infant son weeping at his side. The Confederate Lords sent in a French chap to negotiate with Mary. The terms: give us Bothwell, sever all ties from him, and we'll let you be Queen. But our heroine would have none of it. Instead, she told the rebels to bugger off -- calling them turncoats, and reminding them, more than once, that just a few short months earlier, they'd supported Bothwell in his suit. This was no decision borne from undying love -- Mary was pregnant, and realising that one son does not a dynasty make, knew that the legitimacy of this child was paramount to the succession. Meanwhile, the royal troops sensed danger, and started to slip away. Bothwell realised they were facing an unwieldy mob. His backups, the Hamiltons, showed no sign of appearing, so he told Mary he'd best just pop out for a while. Mary, on the other hand, turned herself in. So as Bothwell scurried away, Mary was apprehended, and assuming she'd be given a fair trial before Parliament, co-operatively went with her captors. She was in for a nasty shock. No longer was she the darling of the Scottish people. They called her a whore, a witch and a slattern. They spat at her, and generally made nuisances of themselves. She was taken to Lochleaven, and island castle, and imprisoned. She gnashed her teeth, and threw histronics to no avail. Finally, on the advice of her half-brother, she formally abdicated in favour of her son, the infant James I whose later glories included becoming King of England. Mary escaped Lochleaven in May 1568 with the assistance of one George Douglas, who had developed something of a school-boy crush on the charming, if desperate woman. Inexplicably, she threw herself at the mercy of Elizabeth 1, who had her promptly incarcerated to await an English inquiry into the Darnley murder, and the role our heroine had apparently played in it. She stayed in a range of prisons until 19 years later, when Elizabeth deigned to acquit her of the crime, but a year or two later was publicly executed[9] for conspiring to dethrone the English Queen, in a last ditch attempt to resume her royal career. Bothwell, too came to an ignoble end. His philandering past caught up with him in Denmark. Having deflowered a lovely young noblewoman[10] in his youth, he was finally captured by her father and locked up in the Castle of Copenhagen. The crafty king of Denmark figured to use Bothwell as an international trading tool, but sadly, no-one wanted him. He spent his remaining years in a series of Danish prisons, each surpassing the other in squalor, until he died alone and insane in 1578. Footnotes
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