cousin. âYou be ⦠both Queens in the flower of your ages ⦠Your sex will not permit you to advance your glory by war and bloodshed, but in that of a peaceful reign. Neither of you is ignorant from what root the contrary affection proceeds ⦠I wish to God the Queen my sovereign lady had never by any advice taken in head to pretend interest or acclaim any title to Your Majestyâs realm, for then I am fully persuaded you would have been and continued as dear friends as you be tender cousinsâbut now since on her part something hath been thought of it ⦠I fear that unless the root may be removed, it shall ever breed unkindness betwixt you. Your Majesty cannot yield, and she may on the other part think of it hard, being so nigh of the blood of England, to be made a stranger from it! If any mid way could be picked out to remove this difference to both your contentments, then it is like we could have a perpetual quietness â¦â
Elizabeth was not slow to take the hint. As nothing more than Queen of Scotland, and under the guidance of the Queen of Englandâs pensioner James Stuart, Mary was for the time being less dangerous than she would have been as Queen of both France and Scotland. Why not swear a truce although in her heart she remained hostile? A brisk correspondence between the pair was soon in progress, in which each of the âdear sistersâ expressed the most cordial sentiments upon sheets of long-suffering paper. One who reads these epistles today might well believe that nowhere in the world can there have been more affectionate kinswomen than the two cousins. Mary sent Elizabeth a diamond ring; the English Queen reciprocated with a still more valuable trinket; before the world, and before the audience of their own selves, they played the comedy of family love. Mary wrote: âAbove all things I desire to see my good sister,â and declared her determination to break the alliance with France, for she appreciated Elizabethâs goodwill âmore than all the uncles in the worldâ. In response, Elizabeth, in the large, formal handwriting which she kept in reserve for important occasions, gave Mary extravagantly worded assurances of fondness and fidelity. But as soon as the question of a binding agreement arose, and a personal meeting loomed nigh, both the correspondents grew cautious and evasive. The negotiations which had been proceeding so long were still at a deadlock. Mary Stuart would not sign the treaty of Edinburgh recognising Elizabethâs position until Elizabeth had accorded the succession to Maryâbut to Elizabeth this would have been tantamount (so she thought) to signing her own death warrant. Neither would waive a particle of the rights they severally claimed; so, in the long run, the flowery phrases they interchanged barely concealed the unbridgeable chasm. As Genghis Khan resolutely declared: âThere cannot be two suns in the sky or two Khans on the earth.â One of the women must give way, Elizabeth Tudor or Mary Stuart. Both realised this, and both were awaiting the appointed hour. But since the hour had not yet struck, why should they not enjoy a period of truce? The truce would be brief. When mistrust is ineradicable, a reason will soon be found for giving it vent in action.
In these years the young Queen had many minor troubles: she was often bored by affairs of state, more and more did she feel out of her element among these hard-fisted and quarrelsome nobles, and she was continually harassed by implacable churchmen and wily intriguers. At such hours she took refuge, imaginatively, in France, which she continued to regard as her true home. Since she could not leave Scotland, she had established a Little France for herself in the palace of Holy-rood, a tiny corner of the world where, withdrawn from inquisitive eyes, she could follow her most heartfelt inclinations. It was her Trianon. In the round tower of Holyrood she had her
Elizabeth was not slow to take the hint. As nothing more than Queen of Scotland, and under the guidance of the Queen of Englandâs pensioner James Stuart, Mary was for the time being less dangerous than she would have been as Queen of both France and Scotland. Why not swear a truce although in her heart she remained hostile? A brisk correspondence between the pair was soon in progress, in which each of the âdear sistersâ expressed the most cordial sentiments upon sheets of long-suffering paper. One who reads these epistles today might well believe that nowhere in the world can there have been more affectionate kinswomen than the two cousins. Mary sent Elizabeth a diamond ring; the English Queen reciprocated with a still more valuable trinket; before the world, and before the audience of their own selves, they played the comedy of family love. Mary wrote: âAbove all things I desire to see my good sister,â and declared her determination to break the alliance with France, for she appreciated Elizabethâs goodwill âmore than all the uncles in the worldâ. In response, Elizabeth, in the large, formal handwriting which she kept in reserve for important occasions, gave Mary extravagantly worded assurances of fondness and fidelity. But as soon as the question of a binding agreement arose, and a personal meeting loomed nigh, both the correspondents grew cautious and evasive. The negotiations which had been proceeding so long were still at a deadlock. Mary Stuart would not sign the treaty of Edinburgh recognising Elizabethâs position until Elizabeth had accorded the succession to Maryâbut to Elizabeth this would have been tantamount (so she thought) to signing her own death warrant. Neither would waive a particle of the rights they severally claimed; so, in the long run, the flowery phrases they interchanged barely concealed the unbridgeable chasm. As Genghis Khan resolutely declared: âThere cannot be two suns in the sky or two Khans on the earth.â One of the women must give way, Elizabeth Tudor or Mary Stuart. Both realised this, and both were awaiting the appointed hour. But since the hour had not yet struck, why should they not enjoy a period of truce? The truce would be brief. When mistrust is ineradicable, a reason will soon be found for giving it vent in action.
In these years the young Queen had many minor troubles: she was often bored by affairs of state, more and more did she feel out of her element among these hard-fisted and quarrelsome nobles, and she was continually harassed by implacable churchmen and wily intriguers. At such hours she took refuge, imaginatively, in France, which she continued to regard as her true home. Since she could not leave Scotland, she had established a Little France for herself in the palace of Holy-rood, a tiny corner of the world where, withdrawn from inquisitive eyes, she could follow her most heartfelt inclinations. It was her Trianon. In the round tower of Holyrood she had her
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