The visage is that of one whose spirit and senses lie dormant; the woman within has yet to find expression without. What we see is the portrait of an attractive schoolgirl.

Verbal accounts of the young Queen serve only to confirm the impression of unawakened and incomplete maidenhood, for everyone seems agreed to affirm Mary’s perfection, to praise her deportment, industry and earnest endeavour, just as if she were the top girl of her class. We are told that she was studious, amiable and pleasantly sociable, pretty-mannered and pious, that she excelled in the practice of the arts and sports of the day and yet showed no predilection for any art or sport in particular, nor any special talent one way or the other. Good, obedient, she was a model of the virtues expected of a king’s bride in the making. Always it is her social and courtly virtues that her contemporaries belaud, which seems to point to the fact that the queenly characteristics were developed in Mary before the womanly ones. Her true personality was, for the moment, eclipsed behind a facade of decorum, merely because, so far, it had not been allowed to blossom. For many years to come her dignified behaviour and general culture successfully hid the passionate nature of this lovely princess; no one could guess what the soul of the woman was capable of; it lay quiet and untroubled within her, unmoved and untouched. Smooth and mute is the brow, friendly and sweet the mouth; the dark eyes are pensive, sly and searching, eyes that have looked forth into the world but have not yet looked deep into her own heart. Her contemporaries and Mary herself have no inkling of what is in store for her; they know nothing of the heritage in her own blood. She who was life’s spoilt darling, who had experienced nothing but happiness, could not foresee the dangers lying in the path of her career. Passion is needed in order that a woman may discover herself, in order that her character may expand to its true proportions; love and sorrow are needed for it to find its own magnitude.

Mary Stuart had created so powerful an impression upon all who came in contact with her, and was so universal a favourite at court, that it was agreed to celebrate her nuptials earlier than had been anticipated. Throughout her life Mary’s hour seemed always to be in advance of the solar time, and she invariably was called upon to do things earlier than any others of her own age. The Dauphin, her future husband as by treaty arranged, was barely fourteen, and in addition he suffered from all-round debility. But politics cannot afford to wait upon nature. The French court was suspiciously eager to get on with the job, to celebrate the marriage, especially since it knew from the royal physicians that young Francis’ health was undermined, that, indeed, the boy was dangerously ill. The important thing for France, however, was to make sure of the Scottish crown, and this could be accomplished only if the wedding took place. With all possible speed, therefore, the two children were brought to the altar. In the marriage procuration, which was drawn up by the French and the Scottish parliamentary envoys acting in concert, the Dauphin was to receive the “crown matrimonial”. Simultaneously with the signing of the public marriage contract, Mary’s relatives, the Guises, made the fifteen-year-old girl sign three other, separate and secret deeds which rendered the public guarantees worthless, and which remained hidden from the Scottish parliament. Herein she pledged herself, in the event of her premature death, or if she died without issue, to bequeath her country as a free gift to France—as if it were her own 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.