Mary Stuart by Stefan Zweig Read Free Book Online Page B

came Mary Stuart’s rise. Hardly, therefore, had she at length entered into her own and taken her place in the political arena when she allowed her detestation of these two rivals to find challenging and dictatorial vent.
    But in Mary Stuart’s case, pride, which was an essential trait in her make-up, prevented her from accepting a minor part. High-hearted and passionate by nature, she refused half-glories and petty positions. Better to be accounted nothing, better to be dead, than to be an underling. For a space she thought seriously of retiring to a nunnery, of eschewing worldly prerogatives, of forfeiting her rights and privileges, since she could not be the leading lady of her court. But life was still too seductive a business for a girl of eighteen to go against the dictates of her innermost being and give up its allurements for ever. Besides, it was possible that the lost crown might yet be compensated for by the acquisition of another, and no less resplendent, one. The Spanish ambassador was even now suing for Mary on behalf of Don Carlos, the heir to two worlds; the court of Austria was simultaneously undertaking secret negotiations; the Kings of Sweden and of Denmark were offering her throne and hand. And was she not, as ever, a queen in her own right; was she not Queen of Scotland and the Isles? Then there was the neighbour crown of England which might fall to her at any moment. Incalculable possibilities lay around the girl-widow now ripening to the full beauty of womanhood—though henceforward she would have to grab what she could get. Gone for ever the days when treasures dropped into her lap like gifts from the gods. Henceforward she would have to fight a lone hand, would have to seize what she wanted by the manipulation of the arts of diplomacy, using her utmost skill, exercising patience. But with such an abundance of courage, with so much loveliness at her command, with youth to warm her blossoming body, why should she not venture on the boldest game? Resolute and greatly daring, Mary Stuart marched forth to battle.
    Granted, it would be hard to bid farewell to France. She had lived twelve years at this royal court, in this beautiful, wealthy, happy land that seemed more like home to her than Scotland, which had by now become no more than a vague memory of childhood. Here, in France, dwelt her mother’s relatives, who cherished and guarded her; here were the many palaces and castles wherein she had passed any number of cheerful hours; here lived the poets who had sung her praises and who had so well understood her; here she was surrounded by the knightly courtesies which rendered life so charming, the gallant chivalry which suited her taste so admirably. She put off her departure from month to month, hesitant in spite of urgent messages from her homeland. She visited her relatives in Joinville and in Nancy, was present at the coronation of her ten-year-old brother-in-law, Charles IX, in Rheims cathedral. Perpetually she found fresh excuses for postponing the journey, as though she harboured a premonition of its finality. It was as if she were waiting for some sign that would spare her the dreaded separation from France and the voyage home.
    For no matter how inexperienced a girl of eighteen may be in affairs of state, it is undeniable that Mary Stuart must have been convinced that a very hard test was awaiting her so soon as she set foot on her native soil. Since her mother’s death, the Protestant Lords of the Congregation, her fiercest enemies, had gained the upper hand, and they were at no pains to hide the fact that they did not want a Catholic, a believer in the Mass and other idolatrous practices, to return to the land. They brazenly declared (and the English ambassador eagerly conveyed the news to London) that the Queen’s journey to Scotland must be postponed for a few months longer, and, were it not that it was their duty to obey, they would not be much put out if they never