Mary Stuart Read Online Free PDF

private estate—and to hand over to the reigning House of Valois her rights of succession to the thrones of England and Ireland.
    The secrecy wherein the signing of these documents was shrouded was in itself a proof that the bargain was a dishonourable one. Mary Stuart had no right to change the course of succession in so arbitrary a manner, and to hand over her kingdom to a foreign power as if it were a cloak or other personal belonging. But her uncles brought pressure to bear, and the unsuspecting hand of an innocent girl duly signed the instrument. Tragical obedience! The first time Mary Stuart put her signature to a political document brought dishonour upon her fair head, and forced an otherwise straightforward, trustful and candid creature to acquiesce in a lie. If she was to become a queen and remain a queen in actual fact, she could never again follow the dictates of her own will, could never again be genuinely true to herself. One who has vowed himself to politics is no longer a free agent.
    These secret machinations were, however, hidden away behind the magnificence of the wedding festivities. It was now more than two hundred years since a dauphin of France had been married within the frontiers of his homeland, and for that reason the Valois court was disposed to provide the French people (who were not, in general, cosseted) with a spectacle of unexampled splendour. Catherine de’ Medici had witnessed festivals in Italy designed by the leading artists of the Renaissance, and it became a point of pride with her to excel these wonders when her eldest son was married. On 24th April 1558, Paris held high revel such as had not before been witnessed. In the large square before Notre Dame there had been erected an open pavilion in which there was a “ ciel royal ” of blue Cyprus silk bespangled with golden fleurs-de-lis; and a huge blue carpet, stamped likewise with golden lilies, covered the ground. Musicians led the way, clad in red and yellow, playing manifold instruments. Then came the royal procession, sumptuously attired and enthusiastically acclaimed. The rite was solemnised under the eyes of the populace, assembled in thousands to gloat over the bride and the sickly boy-bridegroom, who seemed overwhelmed by the pomp and circumstance. The court poets, on this occasion, again vied with one another in ecstatic descriptions of Mary’s beauty. “She appeared,” wrote Brantôme (whose pen was better accustomed to the writing of salacious anecdotes), “a hundred times more beautiful than a goddess.” Indeed, in that momentous hour, a glow of happiness and a sense of good fortune may have equipped this ambitious girl with a peculiar aureole. As she smiled upon all and sundry, and acknowledged the acclamations, she had arrived in truth—though so early—at the climax of her life. Never again would Mary Stuart be the central figure in such a galaxy of wealth, approval and jubilation as now when, at the side of the most distinguished crown prince in Europe and at the head of a troop of gaily dressed cavaliers, she passed through the streets to the accompaniment of thunderous applause. In the evening there was a banquet at the Palais de Justice, and all Paris thronged to gape through the open windows at the royal family, gleaming with gold, silver and precious stones, paying honour to the young woman who was adding a new crown to the crown of France. The celebrations ended in a ball, for which artists who had studied the achievements of the Italian Renaissance had prepared marvellous surprises. Among these there was a pageant of six ships decked with gold, having masts of silver and sails of gauze, which were propelled into the hall by an unseen and cunning mechanism. They rolled and pitched as if on a stormy sea and made their mimic voyage round the hall. In each of these miniature ships was sitting, apparelled in gold and wearing a damask mask, a prince who, rising with a deferent