CHAPTER X.ELIZABETH UNMOVED BY HER CAPTIVE'S APPEALS.Reading the history of Mary's prison life in England, one is surprised at the frequent expressions of hope in Elizabeth's good will which are found in her letters. How she could continue to hope in one who had repeatedly deceived her is difficult to explain, except on the supposition that she was constitutionally incapable of believing that misery such as hers could fail to awaken sympathy in the heart of a woman. There can be little doubt, however, that she believed considerably less in Elizabeth's friendship than she professed. But the absence of all well-founded hope, except through the favourable action of Elizabeth, led her to employ every subtle means in her power to induce her "good cousin" to break the fetters of her captivity, and restore her once more to liberty. Still, she did not always restrain her actions within these diplomatic lines; she was human,--noble and courageous, it is true, but only human--and the desire of freedom, the sense of the injustice she suffered, and the pains of her illness, occasionally broke forth in angry and impassioned language. But she never lost the consciousness that she was a Queen, nor did she hesitate, when mild and guarded language proved vain, to speak with bold and dignified straightforwardness, that seemed almost designed to challenge the direst resentment of her royal captor. Her letter to Elizabeth, dated from Sheffield, November 8th, 1582, is a good specimen, both of her plain, outspoken style, and of her insinuating pathos, and likewise witnesses the clearness and vigour of her mind, despite long years of bodily and mental suffering. The document is lengthy, and I shall omit those paragraphs which I may consider of lesser interest to the reader:--"Madam,--"Upon that which has come to my knowledge of the last conspiracies executed in Scotland against my poor child, having reason to fear the consequence of it, from the example of myself; I must employ the very small remainder of my life and strength before my death, to discharge my heart to you fully of my just and melancholy complaints, of which I desire that this letter may serve you, as long as you live after me, for a perpetual testimony and engraving upon your conscience; as much for my discharge to posterity as to the shame and confusion of all those who, under your approbation, have so cruelly and unworthily treated me to this time, and reduced me to the extremity in which I am. But, as their designs, practices, actions and proceedings, though as detestable as they could have been, have always prevailed with you against my very just remonstrances, and sincere deportment; and as the power which you have in your hands, has always been a reason for you among mankind, I will have recourse to the living God, our only judge, who has established us equally and immediately under him for the government of his people."I will invoke to the end of this, my very pressing affliction, that he will return to you, and to me (as he will do in his last judgment), the share of our merits, and demerits, one towards the other. And remember, Madam, that to him we shall not be able to disguise anything by the paint and policy of the world; though mine enemies, under you, have been able, for a time, to cover their subtle inventions to men, perhaps to you."In his name, and before him sitting, between you and me, I will remind you, that by the agents, spies and secret messengers sent in your name into Scotland while I was there, my subjects were corrupted and encouraged to rebel against me,to make attempts upon my person, and, in one word to speak, to emprise and execute that which has come to the said country during my troubles. Of which I will not at present specify other proof than that which I have gained of it by the confession of one who was afterwards amongst those that were most advanced for this good service, and of the witnesses confronted with him. To whom, if I had since done justice, he had not afterwards, by his ancient intelligences, renewed the same practices against my son, and had not procured for all my traitorous and rebellious subjects, who took refuge with you, that aid and support which they have had ever since my detention on this side (i. e., in England); without which support, I think, the said traitors could not since have prevailed, nor afterwards have stood out so long as they have done."During my imprisonment at Lochleven, Trogmorton counselled me on your behalf to sign that demission, which he advertised me would be presented to me, assuring me that it could not be valid. And there was not afterwards a place in Christendom where it was held for valid, except on this side, where it was maintained, even to have assisted with open force, the authors of it. In your conscience, Madam, would you acknowledge an equal liberty and power in your subjects? Notwithstanding this, my authority has been by my subjects transferred to my son, when he was not capable of exercising it."When I was escaped from Lochleven, ready to give battle to my rebels, I remitted to you, by a gentleman, express a diamond jewel, which I had formerly received as a token from you, and with assurance to be succoured by you against my rebels; and even that, on my retiring towards you, you would come to the very frontiers in order to assist me, which had been confirmed to me by divers messengers. This promise coming, and repeatedly, from your mouth (though I had found myself often abused by your Ministers), made me place such affiance on the effectiveness of it that, when my army was routed, I came directly to throw myself into your arms, if I had been able to approach them. But while I was planning to set out to find you, there was I arrested on my way, surrounded with guards, secured in strong places, and at last reduced, all shame set aside, to the captivity in which I remain to this day, after a thousand deaths which I have already suffered for it.* * * * *"In the meantime my rebels, perceiving that their headlong course was carrying them much farther than they had thought before, and the truth being evidenced concerning the calumnies that had been propagated of me at the conference, to which I submitted, in full assembly of your deputies and mine, with others of the contrary party in that country, in order to clear myself publicly of them; there were the principals,[#] for having come to repentance, besieged by your forces in the Castle of Edinburgh, and one of the first among them poisoned, and the other most cruelly hanged, after I had twice made them lay down their arms, at your request, in hopes of an agreement which God knows whether my enemies aimed at, I have been for a long time trying whether patience would soften the rigour and ill-treatment, which they have begun, for these ten years particularly, to make me suffer. And accommodating myself exactly to the order prescribed me for my captivity in this house, as well in regard to the number and quality of the attendants, which I retain, dismissing the others; as for my diet, and ordinary exercise for my health, I am living, even at present, as quietly and peaceably as one much inferior to myself, and more obliged, than with such treatment, I was to you, had been able to do; even to deprive myself, in order to take away all shadow of suspicion and diffidence from you, of requiring to have some intelligence with my son, and my country, which is what, by no right or reason, could be denied me, and principally with my child; whom, instead of this, they have endeavoured by every way to persuade against me, in order to weaken us by our division.[#] Secretary Maitland and the Laird of Grange, whose defection from the Regent's party has already been mentioned."It was permitted me, you will say, to send one to visit him there, about three years ago. His captivity then at Stirling, under the tyrrany of Morton, was the cause of it; as his liberty was afterwards, of a refusal to make the like visit. All this year past I have several times entered into divers overtures for the establishment of a good amity between us, and a sure understanding between these realms in future. To Chatsworth, about ten years ago, commissioners were sent for that purpose. A treaty had been held upon it with yourself, by my ambassadours and those of France. I even myself made, concerning it, the last winter, all the advantageous overtures to Beal that it was possible to make. What return have I had thence? My good intention has been despised, the sincerity of my actions has been neglected and calumniated, the state of my affairs has been traversed by delays, postponings and other such artifices. And, in conclusion, a worse and more unworthy treatment from day to day, anything which I am compelled to do in order to deserve the contrary, my very long, useless and prejudicial patience, have rendered me so low that mine enemies, in their habits of using me ill, think this day they have the right of prescription for treating me, not as a prisoner, which, in reason I could not be, but as some slave whose life and whose death depend only upon their tyrrany."I cannot, Madam, suffer it any longer; and I must in dying, discover the authors of my death, or, living, attempt, under your protection, to find an end to the cruelties, calumnies and traitorous designs of my said enemies, in order to establish me in some little more repose for the remainder of my life. To take away the occasions pretended for all differences between us, clear yourself, if you please, of all which has been reported of you concerning my actions; review the depositions of the strangers taken in Ireland; let those of the Jesuits last executed be represented to you; give liberty to those who would undertake to charge me publickly, and permit me to enter upon my defence; if any evil be found in me, let me suffer it, it shall be patiently when I shall know the occasion of it; if any good, suffer me not to be worst treated for it, with your very great commission before God and man."The vilest criminals that are in your prisons, born under your obedience, are admitted to their justification; and their accusers, and their accusations, are always declared to them. Why, then, shall not the same order have place towards me, a Sovereign Queen, your nearest relation and lawful heir? I think that this last circumstance has hitherto been, on the side of my enemies, the principal cause of it, and of all their calumnies, to make their unjust pretences slide between the two, by keeping us in division. But, alas, they have now little reason and less need to torment me more upon this account. For I protest to you upon mine honour that I look this day for no kingdom but that of my God; whom I see preparing me for the better conclusion of all my afflictions and adversities past."Reverting to the injustices to which her son was then subjected by traitors in Scotland, she exhorts Elizabeth not to give countenance to their actions, and proceeds in the following amazingly naive manner:--"I shall be contented then, only at your not permitting my son to receive any injury from this country (which is all that I have ever required of you before, even when an army was sent to the borders to prevent justice from being done to that detestable Morton), and that none of your subjects directly or indirectly intermeddle any more in the affairs of Scotland, unless it is with my knowledge, to whom all cognizance of these things belongs, or with the assistance of some one on the part of the most Christian King, my good brother; whom, as our principal ally, I desire to make privy to the whole of this cause, because of the little credit that he can have with the traitors who detain my son at present."But, Madam, with all this freedom of speech, which, I foresee will in some sort displease you, though it be the truth itself, you will find it more strange, I assure myself, that I come now to importune you again with a request of much greater importance, and yet very easy for you to grant, and release to me. This is, that having not been able hitherto, by accommodating myself patiently so long a time to the rigorous treatment of this captivity, and carrying myself sincerely in all things, yea, even to the last, that could concern you a very little, to gain myself some assurance of my entire affection towards you; all my hope being taken away by it of being better treated for the very short time which remains to me of life; I supplicate you, by the honour of the sorrowful passion of our Saviour and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, again I supplicate you, at once to permit me to withdraw myself out of your realm, into some place of repose, to search out some comfort for my poor body, so wearied as it is with continual sorrow, and with liberty of my conscience to prepare my soul for God, who is calling for it daily."* * * * *"Your prison, without any right or foundation, has already destroyed my body, of which you will shortly have the end, if it continues there a little longer; and my enemies will not have much time for glutting their cruelties on me; nothing remains of me but the soul, which all your power cannot make captive. Give it, then, room for aspiring a little more freely after its salvation, which alone it seeks for at this day, more than any grandeur of this world. It seems to me that it cannot be to you any great satisfaction, honour, and advantage, for mine enemies to trample my life under foot, till they have stifled me in your presence. Whereas, if in this extremity, however late it be, you release me out of their hands, you will bind me greatly to you, and bind all those who belong to me, particularly my poor child, whom you will, perhaps, make sure to yourself by it."Two things I have principally to require at the close; the one that, near as I am to going out of this world, I may have with me, for my consolation, some honourable church-man, to remind me daily of the course which I have to finish, and teach me how to complete it according to my religion in which I am firmly resolved to live and die."This is a last duty which cannot be denied to the most mean and miserable person that lives; it is a liberty which you grant to all foreign embassadours; as also all other Catholick kings give to your embassadours the exercise of their religion. And even I myself have not hitherto forced my own subjects to anything contrary to their religion, though I had all power and authority over them. And that I in this extremity should be deprived of such freedom, you cannot, with justice, require. What advantage will redound to you, when you shall deny it to me? I hope God will excuse me if, oppressed by you in this manner, I do not render to him any duty but what I shall be permitted to do in my heart. But you will set a very bad example to the other Princes of Christendom, to act towards their subjects with the same rigour that you shall show to me, a Sovereign Queen, and your nearest relation; which I am, and will be as long as I live, in despite of mine enemies."Here she enters upon a justification of her conduct in view of a charge which had been brought against her, namely, that contrary to her promise, and without the knowledge of Elizabeth, she had entered into certain political negotiations with her son in Scotland. She reviews the circumstances of the case, indicates her own and Elizabeth's respective practices, and then refers to her cousin's consideration "which of us has proceeded with the greatest sincerity." Finally she closes her lengthy letter with the following appeal:--"Resume the ancient pledges of your good nature; bind your relations to yourself; give me the satisfaction before I die that, seeing all matters happily settled again between us, my soul, when delivered from this body, may not be constrained to display its lamentations before God for the wrong which you have suffered to be done me here below; but, rather, that being happily united to you, it may quit this captivity to set forward towards him, whom I pray to inspire you happily upon my very just and more than reasonable complaints and grievances."At Sheffield, this 8th of November, one thousand five hundred and eighty-two."Your very disconsolate, nearest relation, and affectionate cousin,"MARIE E."But no appeal, however deeply it might possibly touch the heart of the Tudor Queen, could turn her from that one purpose which, in her ever-changing policy, remained forever fixed, of preventing the possibility of Mary's returning to public life. With all her unwomanly qualities, however, it cannot be presumed that she was always insensible to the pathos of her captive's language, or even to the better impulses of her own heart. She was not, as certain tyrants seem to have been, cruel from the mere love of inflicting pain. The fierce outbursts of anger and the arbitrary commands with which she overawed Parliament when other means of carrying her point failed, did not prevent her from being sincerely interested in procuring the happiness of her people; and it is not wholly without cause that she has received, from a portion of her subjects, the title of "Good Queen Bess." But woe to him who stood between her and her interest. Her ambition would not be thwarted by any inconvenient delicacy or dictate of conscience. Whether in her more peaceful hours she practised "modest stillness and humility," is irrelevant to the present question; it is beyond doubt however, that when the blast of jealousy, suspicion, or hatred, blew in her ears she knew how to "imitate the action of the tiger." It must in truth be admitted that her position in relation to the Scottish Queen, was a difficult one; but it should, in equal truth, be admitted that her own dishonesty was cause of the most part of her trouble. To have within her realm the one whom a large portion of her subjects considered by right Queen of England, and through whom the Pope and the Catholic powers hoped to see the island restored to the obedience of the Holy See, was eminently calculated to make her life uncomfortable. She was conscious that she was an object of hatred to many who had power to do her no end of mischief. But she must have foreseen these troubles when she elected to detain Mary a prisoner. At any rate she must soon have learned that so long as she chose to be the jailer of the most beautiful, accomplished and renowned woman in Europe, she could not hope for a peaceful career. Who so foolish as to think that Mary would not use all her energy to regain her liberty, or that powerful parties at home and abroad would not make the captive's cause their own? Certainly not the crafty Elizabeth. Yet a simple act of justice--the release of the prisoner whom she unjustly and ungenerously detained--would have removed the cause of half her anxieties. Elizabeth's troubles, therefore, were voluntarily assumed, and were part of the price which she was content to pay for the gratification of having in her power the woman and queen whose superior beauty, and title to the throne of England, had long before aroused her undying hatred. It is childish and ridiculous for historians to excuse Elizabeth's harshness on the plea that Mary's plotting and intriguing rendered severe treatment necessary. The same argument would justify the bandit in maltreating his victim who would be so ungrateful as to attempt escaping from his custody.CHAPTER XI.THE BEGINNING OF THE END.The spacious park of Sheffield, in which Mary's prison was situated, beautiful as was the natural scenery of river, mountain and cultivated slope, that extended far beyond it, could offer no antidote to the "dura catena, et misera paena," in which she languished. Her mind had already been stored with pictures of the choicest rural scenery in France, and of the rugged grandeur of Aberdeen and Perthshire; and the variegated charms on which she could now gaze from her prison window only served to produce that sad pleasure which we feel in renewing memories of joys that have forever departed. Well, has Mr. Samuel Roberts (in his feeling lines in reference to her stay at Sheffield Lodge) presumed that she gazed upon the "lovely scene" "through tears":--Alone, here oft may Scotia's beauteous queen,Through tears have gazed upon the lovely scene,Victim of villainy, of woman's hate,Of fiery zeal, of wiles and storms of state;Torn from her throne, her country and her child,And cast an exiled monarch in this wild,She here was taught, what youthful beauty ne'erWhile seated on a throne, had deigned to hear,To say submissive, at the closing scene,"'Tis well that I have thus afflicted been;"Then calmly on the block, in faith, resignThree heart-corrupting crowns, for one divine.Reader,--the ways of God are not like thine.In August, 1584, Shrewsbury was released of his charge. He had served long and faithfully in a capacity that was repulsive to his instincts; and after fifteen full years of close acquaintance with the captive Queen, he was able to assure Elizabeth "that if the Queen of Scotland promise anything she will not break her word."With the withdrawal of Shrewsbury, a new and more ominous period opened in the life of the Scottish Queen. She was removed from Sheffield to Wingfield; and again from Wingfield to Tutbury. Here, in April, 1585, she was committed to the charge of that "narrow, boorish and bitter secretary," Sir Amias Paulet, who seems to have been selected mainly with a view of driving her to desperation and of rendering the last days of her life as bitter and insufferable as possible. Shrewsbury had, it is true, executed the commands of his mistress; but he had done so without making it clear that he found pleasure in being the instrument of tyranny. In the meantime his upright, gentlemanly character modified, as far as was consistent with his duty and safety, the rigour which it was his office to enforce. Paulet, on the contrary, carried into effect the will of Elizabeth to the letter, and in addition satiated his own fierce and fanatical hatred of his helpless prisoner. What wonder if Mary should become desperate and resolve to embark on whatever expedition, daring and reckless though it might be, that gave even a probable hope of securing her liberty? Seventeen years of waiting and negotiating for a peaceable settlement of her case, had resulted in failure; nay, had left her in greater distress than ever. Whatever quota of humanity had tempered the severity of her treatment, was now replaced by the studied rudeness of her keeper; her son had just disassociated completely his political interests from hers; and the movements and tactics of her enemies awakened and intensified her old fear that she should soon be visited with a secret and unnatural death.The defection of James deeply wounded the mother's heart. "This was the most unkindest cut of all." That the one for whom she had so long defended the independence of Scotland against the English claim of suzerainty; that the one from whom she had hopefully waited through years of patient suffering to receive even one word that would assure her that she had a son growing up to love and assist her; that the one whom she remembered only as an innocent and playful infant, from whom she had been, torn away by heartless traitors,--that he should abandon her when fresh miseries were gathering thick and fast around her, was more than she could calmly suffer, and for a short time her wounded love and feelings of indignation were revealed in sad and bitter complaint. "Was it for this," she wrote to the French Ambassador, "that I have endured so much, in order to preserve for him the inheritance to which I have a just right? I am far from envying his authority in Scotland. I desire no power, nor wish to set my foot in that kingdom, if it were not for the pleasure of once embracing a son, whom I have hitherto loved with too tender affection. Whatever he either enjoys or expects, he derived it from me. From him I never received assistance, supply or benefit of any kind. Let not my allies treat him any longer as a king; he holds that dignity by my consent; and if a speedy repentance does not appease my just resentment, I will load him with a parent's curse, and surrender my crown, with all its pretensions, to one who will receive them with gratitude, and defend them with vigour."The English Parliament had recently framed a statute, out of special consideration for the Queen of Scots, by which it was enacted that, not only the personbywhom, but also the personforwhom, a rebellion should be excited against the majesty of Elizabeth, might be visited with several penalties, and "pursued to death," and it only remained to induce Mary to avail herself of the benefits of that benign legislation.[#] The event long hoped for by her enemies ere long came to pass. The net of Secretary Walsingham's cunning intrigue gradually involved the unsuspecting victim in its deadly meshes. In April, 1586, a young English Catholic gentleman, named Babington, whom a spirit of chivalry had deeply interested in the Scottish Queen's behalf, and who was stung to desperation by the injustices which he and his co-religionists were obliged to suffer because they would not forswear the faith of their English forefathers, was drawn into a plot, devised by Morgan and Paget in France, for the overthrow of Elizabeth and the liberation of Mary. This plot is known in English history as the Babington plot, though it might, with far more truth, be called the Walsingham plot. Walsingham was aware of its existence for some months before the services of Babington were solicited. His agents, especially Pooley and Gilbert Gifford, combined the offices of staunch conspirators and spies at the same time, and kept their master fully informed of what was being done. The assassination of Elizabeth formed no part of the original design. It was only at a consultation, held at Paris, in April, in which Gifford took an active part, that this daring project was agreed upon, and that it was resolved to seek the aid of the unfortunate young Babington. In the meantime, Walsingham, anxious that Mary might be entangled as completely as possible in his net, and tempted to ratify the compromising scheme that he himself, through his worthy agent, had helped to concoct, arranged that she should be given favourable opportunities for communication with her outside friends; but he equally provided that the medium of communication should be persons in his own service. Thus, the letters she sent out, as well as those she received, all passed through the office of the Secretary of State, were deciphered there by another noted instrument of the Secretary's, named Philipps, and forwarded to their destination with whatever addition or interpolation seemed best calculated to provoke a reply directly implicating the unsuspecting captive.[#] In justice it must be stated, that it was not under this statute, but under a later one requiring the complicity of the party in whose interest the treasonable measures should be taken, that the Queen of Scots was subsequently condemned.Elizabeth and her Minister knew that the plot had now reached a point beyond which it would be perilous to allow it to proceed. Early in August, Babington and his associates were arrested, and on the 16th of the same month Mary, who was then at Chartley, in Staffordshire, was removed without forewarning, her two Secretaries, Curle and Nau being separated from her, and all her papers seized; a few weeks later (25th September) she was lodged in the ominous castle of Fotheringay, in Northamptonshire."The name of Fotheringay had been connected through a long course of years with many sorrows and much crime, and during the last three years the castle had been used as a state prison. Catherine of Arragon, more fortunate than her great-niece, had flatly refused to be imprisoned within its walls, declaring that 'to Fotheringay she would not go, unless bound with cart rope and dragged thither.' Tradition, often kinder than history, asserts that James VI., after his accession to the English throne, destroyed the castle; and though it is no longer possible to credit him with this act of filial love or remorse, time has obliterated almost every trace of the once grim fortress. A green mound, an isolated mass of masonry, and a few thistles, are all that now remain to mark the scene of Mary's last sufferings. Very different was the aspect of Fotheringay at the time of which we write. Then, protected by its double moat, it frowned on the surrounding country in almost impregnable strength. The front of the castle and the great gateway faced the north, while to the southwest rose the keep. A large courtyard occupied the interior of the building, in which were situated the chief apartments, including the chapel and the great hall destined to be the scene of the queen's death."[#][#] Hon. Mrs. Maxwell Scott in "The Tragedy of Fotheringay."A moment had now arrived in which the helpless Queen, broken down by nineteen years of close confinement and consequent ill-health, had heed to summon up all her native courage. Her papers and most of her private correspondence had been carried off to London; her Secretaries, who had been privy to all her plots and plans, had been separated from her, and with the terrors of the rack before their minds would be forced not only to divulge what they knew, but still worse to subscribe, perhaps, to what they did not believe; and she, without counsel or comfort, was left in the hands of her enemies. The manoeuvrings of her enemies at this time show that they expected that, finding herself alone and in the extremity of danger, she would cast herself at the feet of Elizabeth, confess that she was guilty, and sue for pardon. But they had yet to learn the calm dignity, the unflinching courage and the Christian hopefulness with which Mary Stewart could place her neck upon the block.A commission of the nobles was appointed to try her at Fotheringay, on the charge of plotting against the life of Elizabeth. Mary protested against the manner in which she was to be tried as belittling an independent sovereign, who was subject neither to the laws nor to the Queen of England. But at length, through fear that her refusal to appear before the commissioners would be interpreted as a sign of guilt, and through dread of being dispatched secretly by poison--in which case her enemies could assert what they wished about the way she died--she consented to appear, and for two days sat before the commissioners listening to and answering accusations.The proceedings in which she was constrained to take part cannot properly be called a trial. She was deprived, as far as possible, of every means of defence; she had no secretary, her correspondence was withheld from her, she was refused counsel. "Alas," she said to her faithful servant Melville, as she took her seat the first day before the Commissioners, "Alas, here are many counsellors, but not one for me." Nevertheless she spoke with so much courage and energy, and showed so little regard for the wrath of her enemies, or even for death itself, so long as her honour was vindicated, that she surprised and partly confounded the hard-hearted zealots who were hounding her to death.On the 14th of October, the trial was opened in a large room in Fotheringay Castle. Seated on benches placed in the middle of the room and along both walls were all the Peers of England who could conveniently be brought together, as well as the various officers of the court. Once upon a time, in the brave days of knight-errantry, no injured lady need have feared to present herself and plead her cause before the assembled chivalry of "Merry England," but 'old times were changed, old manners gone.' At 9 o'clock in the forenoon, the Queen entered, supported by Melville and Bourgoin her physician. She had been personally acquainted with but very few of those who sat there to pass judgment upon her. Many of them had been known to her by name, a few had been attached to her cause, and she looked about in the hope of meeting an eye that would reveal the presence of a friend. But she was disappointed. No one in that hostile assembly, however he might feel in his heart, would venture now to betray any sign of sympathy. Three faces must have impressed her more than all the rest as suggesting, in three different periods, the history of her troubled career. There she saw Sir Ralph Sadler, the English Ambassador who, forty-four years before, had stood over her cradle in the nursery at Linlithgow and pronounced her a "right fair and goodly child;" there she saw Sir William Cecil (now Lord Burleigh), who had been her ablest and most industrious enemy through all the years of her short reign, and who had contributed more perhaps that any other individual to produce the Scottish anarchy in which she had lost her crown; and there she met, for the first time, the gaze of the crafty and vigilant Sir Francis Walsingham, whose mephistophelian devices had led her to the precipice over which she now hung, without an arm to save her.CHAPTER XII.THE EVIDENCE AGAINST THE QUEEN OF SCOTS.Replying to the accusations brought against her, Mary did not deny that, having given up hope of being liberated by Elizabeth, she had treated with foreign powers for her deliverance; but she protested that she had never consented to the assassination of Elizabeth, and that she would rather remain all her life in prison than stain her conscience with that crime. Nor can I see that any evidence had been produced to prove that she did. Her intercepted letter in reply to Babington, in which she was said to have sanctioned the projected murder of Elizabeth, was not exhibited at the trial. Here we find the same shuffling as in the case of the Casket Letters. If her accusers had decisive proof of her guilt, why did they not give her a fair trial, and employ those means which would make her guilt evident? Babington, instead of being kept as a witness, was put to death. Her two secretaries, who had been terrified into testifying to something,--what exactly they did testify we cannot be certain,--were kept out of the way, and never confronted with their mistress. Her letter on which the case depended had been written in cipher; yet the original in cipher was shown neither to her secretaries nor to herself, but only what was passed off as a translation of it into French. But what need of this traffic in second-hand documents, if the original, which would settle all dispute, could be safely exposed to the light of investigation? Neither the strained dialectics of a Hume, nor the brilliant rhetoric of a Froude, can avail against the force of argument springing from Walsingham's determination not to exhibit the original documents. Mary had been charged with being party to a plot for the murder of Elizabeth, and her correspondence with Babington was made the basis of evidence against her. Hence common justice demanded that the correspondence should be taken, as far as possible, at first hand. Yet, Walsingham and Philipps, although they had in their possession, at least, a minute in Mary's own hand of her last answer to Babington and the same cast into the form of a letter in French by Nau, made use of what they alleged was a copy of that incriminating answer. Mary denied that she had ever dictated the words of Philipps' decipher in reference to the murder of Elizabeth. Philipps, the associate of Walsingham, and the bitter enemy of Mary, went sponsor for the correctness of the decipher. The trial therefore was reduced to a contest between the veracity of Mary and the veracity of Philipps. It is hardly to be doubted that, guilty or not guilty, Mary would have disowned the authorship of the compromising clauses. But if her denial was worthless as evidence of her innocence, the assertion of a forger in the employ of her enemies was likewise worthless as evidence of her guilt. Why, then, were not the original papers laid before the commissioners, that she might be reduced to silence by the evidence of her own and of her secretary's handwriting? Shall we be asked to believe that Walsingham, if he had all he needed in the original, would have had recourse to a copy? Indeed, Mary's letter, as it has reached us through Philipps and Walsingham, presents an incoherence of parts which, even if every other reason were wanting, would render its genuineness extremely doubtful. The argument founded on this incoherence has been frequently used, but its strength remains unimpaired. Mary orders that nothing shall be done towards releasing her from prison until Elizabeth is murdered. Four horsemen are to be kept in readiness to immediately inform her that this has been accomplished. Then she is to be set at liberty, but care must be taken that the army prepared to receive her, or the stronghold destined to shelter her, be such as will render her person secure, for (she writes) "it were sufficient excuse given to that queen in catching me again, to enclose me in some hold, out of which I should never escape, if she did use me no worse." This precaution against the revenge of Elizabeth is quite natural, and just what we should expect from Mary in her letter to Babington; but it would be inconceivable and absurd if Mary had already made provision that Elizabeth should first of all be murdered. Had Philipps forged the entire letter, he would not have committed this blunder, but even an expert may reveal his identity when he attempts to interpolate a lengthy document.It will avail but little to insist that there remains what Froude calls the "positive proof of two very credible witnesses" in support of the charge against the Scottish queen. These "very credible witnesses" were Mary's secretaries, Nau and Curle; and the "positive proof" was their subscription to a "copy"--that ever recurring "copy"--of Mary's deciphered answer to Babington's last letter, which had been wrung from them in circumstances little calculated to enhance its value.Since their forced separation from Mary at Chartley, they had been carefully guarded and accurately learned the nature of the evidence which they were expected to give. On the 20th. September, Babington and six of his associates were made a ghastly and terrifying spectacle to every weak-hearted friend of Mary's. "They were all hanged but for a moment, according to the letter of the sentence, taken down while the susceptibility of agony was unimpaired, and cut in pieces afterwards, with due precautions for the protraction of pain."[#][#] Froude, "History of England," Vol. XII., Chap. 69.The third day following, while this ominous lesson of vengeance was fresh in every mind, the two secretaries were forced to ratify by their oath the testimony which they had already given (Sept. 5th) to the correctness of the "copy." The testimony which they now ratified had been appended to the copy in these words:--"Telle ou semblable me semble avoir esté la reponse escripte en francoys par monsieur Nau, laquelle J'ay traduict et mis en chiffre.--Gilbert Curle." "Je pense de vray que c'est la lettre escripte par sa Majesté à Babington, come il me souvient.--Nau." "This letter or one like it appears to me to have been the answer written in French by monsieur Nau, which I translated and put into cipher.--Gilbert Curle.""I think in truth that this is the letter written by Her Majesty to Babington,as far as I can remember.--Nau."These equivocal testimonies contain the force of all the evidence produced against Mary. It is unnecessary to point out the impossibility of resting a conviction upon them. That is clear to every intelligent reader acquainted with the circumstances in which they were obtained and with the history of the prosecution as already summarily indicated, up to this point. The phrases "this or one like it," "as well as I can remember," insignificant as they might seem if employed in the absence of compulsion, will in their present connection strike every reflecting mind as the feeble devices of men striving to hold a safe course between the Scylla and the Charibdis of perjury and the rack.Whether Mary would or would not accept an offer of deliverance that involved the life of Elizabeth, is a purely speculative question, which does not affect the nature of the evidence produced against her. This, however, may be observed, that nearly four years earlier, when a conspiracy similar to the Babington plot against the life of Elizabeth was being organized by some of her friends on the Continent, she, on being acquainted of it, "refused," (so wrote the Papal Nuncio at Paris to the Cardinal of Como), "to listen to it." But, when hope in Elizabeth's good intentions completely failed, and increased rigour deepened the misery of her prison-life, reasons which had hitherto seemed inadequate might now convince her that she was not obliged to live with the axe of the executioner or the dagger of the assassin, raised over her head because liberty could be brought to her only through the blood of her jailer.CHAPTER XIII.EXTRACTS FROM HER ADDRESSES TO THE COMMISSIONERS.Every word and act of this unhappy Princess, more especially as her life neared its close, have proved so interesting to students of her history, that I have deemed it well to reproduce here some of her speeches and utterances before the Commissioners appointed to try her.On the first day of the trial, the Lord Chancellor, Bromley, having signified the causes which had impelled Elizabeth to take action against her as the disturber of religion and the public peace, Mary replied as follows:--"I came into this kingdom under promise of assistance and aid against my enemies, and not as a subject, as I could prove to you had I my papers; instead of which I have been detained and imprisoned. I protest publicly that I am an independent sovereign and princess, and I recognize no superior but God alone. I therefore require that before I proceed further, it be recorded that whatever I may say in replying here to the Commissioners of my good sister, the Queen of England (who, I consider, has been wrongly and falsely prejudiced against me), shall not be to my prejudice, nor that of the princes, my allies, nor the king, my son, or any of those who may succeed me. I make this protestation not out of regard to my life, or in order to conceal the truth, but purely for the preservation of the honour and dignity of my royal prerogative, and to show that in consenting to appear before this commission I do so, not as a subject to Queen Elizabeth, but only from my desire to clear myself, and to show to all the world that I am not guilty of this crime against the person of the Queen, with which it seems I am charged. I wish to reply to this point alone, I desire this protest to be publicly recorded, and I appeal to all the lords and nobles present to bear me testimony should it one day be necessary."In the course of the afternoon discussion, she made bitter complaint of the unfair treatment to which she had been subjected:--"I have, as you see, lost my health and the use of my limbs. I cannot walk without assistance, nor use my arms, and I spend most of my time confined to bed by sickness. Not only this, but through my trials, I have lost the small intellectual gifts bestowed on me by God, such as my memory, which would have aided me to recall those things which I have seen and read, and which might be useful to me in the cruel position in which I now find myself ... Not content with this, my enemies now endeavour to complete my ruin, using against me means that are unheard of towards persons of my rank, and unknown in this kingdom before the reign of the present Queen, and even now not approved by rightful judges, but only by unlawful authority. Against these I appeal to Almighty God, to all Christian princes, and to the estates of this kingdom duly and lawfully assembled. Being innocent and falsely suspected, I am ready to maintain and defend my honour, provided that my defence be publicly recorded, and that I make it in the presences of some princes or foreign judges, or even before my natural judges; and this without prejudice to my mother the Church, to kings, sovereign princes and to my son. With regard to the pretensions long put forward by the English (as their chronicles testify) to suzerainty over my predecessors, the Kings of Scotland, I utterly deny and protest against them, and will not, like afemme-de peu de coeur, admit them, nor by any present act, to which I may be constrained, will I fortify such a claim, whereby I should dishonour those princes, my ancestors, and acknowledge them to have been traitors and rebels. Rather than do this, I am ready to die for God and my rights in this quarrel, in which, as in all others, I am innocent."Burleigh had reproached her with having assumed the arms of England, and a spirited discussion after a somewhat legal fashion followed. Passing with characteristic facility from that unprofitable topic, Mary proceeded in the following spirited and pathetic manner:--"God and you know whether I have a right or not to the crown of England. I have offered myself to maintain the rights of my sister, Queen Elizabeth, as being the eldest, but I have no scruple of conscience in desiring the second rank, as being the legitimate and nearest heir. I am the daughter of James V., king of Scotland, and grand-daughter of Henry VII. This cannot be taken from me by any law, or council or assembly, or judgment, nor consequently can my rights. I know well that my enemies and those who wish to deprive me of those rights have done up till now all that they can to injure me, and have essayed all illegitimate means, even to attempting my life, as is well known, and has been discovered in certain places and by certain persons whom I could name, were it necessary; but God, who is the best Judge, and who never forgets His own, has until now, in His infinite mercy and goodness, preserved me from all dangers, and I hope that he will continue to do so and will not abandon me, knowing that He is all truth, and that He has promised not to abandon His servants in their need. He has extended His hand over me to afflict me, but He has given me this grace of patience to bear the adversities which it has pleased Him to send me. I do not desire vengeance. I leave it to Him who is the just Avenger of the innocent and of those who suffer for His name, under whose power and will I take shelter. I prefer the conduct of Esther to that of Judith, although both are approved by the Church. I pray God to do with me according to His good pleasure, to His praise and honour, and to the greater glory of His Church, in which I wish to live and die, in which I have been brought up and educated, and for which (as I have already protested several times), I would shed my blood to the last drop, being resolved to suffer all that God wishes. I do not fear the menaces of men. I will never deny Jesus Christ, knowing well that those who deny Him in this world, He will deny before His Father. I demand another hearing, and that I be allowed an advocate to plead my cause, or that I be believed on the word of a Queen.... I came to England relying on the friendship and promises of your Queen. Look here, my Lords, [at this point she took a ring from her finger], see this pledge of love and protection which I received from your mistress, regard it well. Trusting to this pledge, I came amongst you. You all know how it has been kept."Her criticism of the second-hand evidence, secured from her secretaries in her absence, is so just that I cannot pass it over without giving, at least, some extracts from it. It will be observed, that while sharing in the suspicion not uncommon at the time, that Nau had betrayed her to save himself, her fairmindedness and charitable disposition prevented her from condemning him without a hearing."Why," she asked, "are not Nau and Curle examined in my presence? They at any rate are still alive. If my enemies were assured that they would confirm their pretended avowals, they would be here without doubt. If they have written, be it what it may, concerning the enterprise, they have done it of themselves, and did not communicate it to me, and on this point I disavow them." ......"I know well that Nau had many peculiarities, likings and intentions, that I cannot mention, in public, but which I much regret, for he does me great injustice. For my part, I do not wish to accuse my secretaries, but I plainly see that what they have said is from fear of torture and death. Under promises of their lives, and in order to save themselves, they have excused themselves at my expense, fancying that I could thereby more easily save myself; at the same time not knowing where I was and not suspecting the manner in which I am treated ... As to Curle, if he has done anything suspicious, he has been compelled to do it by Nau, whom he feared much to displease....And yet I do not think that either the one or the other would have forgotten himself so far.""I commanded him (Nau) it is true, and in a general way supported his doings, as all princes are accustomed to do, but it is for him to answer for his private doings. I cannot but think he has been acting under constraint in this matter. Feeling himself to be feeble and weak by nature, and fearing torture, he thought to escape by throwing all the blame on me."
CHAPTER X.
ELIZABETH UNMOVED BY HER CAPTIVE'S APPEALS.
Reading the history of Mary's prison life in England, one is surprised at the frequent expressions of hope in Elizabeth's good will which are found in her letters. How she could continue to hope in one who had repeatedly deceived her is difficult to explain, except on the supposition that she was constitutionally incapable of believing that misery such as hers could fail to awaken sympathy in the heart of a woman. There can be little doubt, however, that she believed considerably less in Elizabeth's friendship than she professed. But the absence of all well-founded hope, except through the favourable action of Elizabeth, led her to employ every subtle means in her power to induce her "good cousin" to break the fetters of her captivity, and restore her once more to liberty. Still, she did not always restrain her actions within these diplomatic lines; she was human,--noble and courageous, it is true, but only human--and the desire of freedom, the sense of the injustice she suffered, and the pains of her illness, occasionally broke forth in angry and impassioned language. But she never lost the consciousness that she was a Queen, nor did she hesitate, when mild and guarded language proved vain, to speak with bold and dignified straightforwardness, that seemed almost designed to challenge the direst resentment of her royal captor. Her letter to Elizabeth, dated from Sheffield, November 8th, 1582, is a good specimen, both of her plain, outspoken style, and of her insinuating pathos, and likewise witnesses the clearness and vigour of her mind, despite long years of bodily and mental suffering. The document is lengthy, and I shall omit those paragraphs which I may consider of lesser interest to the reader:--
"Madam,--
"Upon that which has come to my knowledge of the last conspiracies executed in Scotland against my poor child, having reason to fear the consequence of it, from the example of myself; I must employ the very small remainder of my life and strength before my death, to discharge my heart to you fully of my just and melancholy complaints, of which I desire that this letter may serve you, as long as you live after me, for a perpetual testimony and engraving upon your conscience; as much for my discharge to posterity as to the shame and confusion of all those who, under your approbation, have so cruelly and unworthily treated me to this time, and reduced me to the extremity in which I am. But, as their designs, practices, actions and proceedings, though as detestable as they could have been, have always prevailed with you against my very just remonstrances, and sincere deportment; and as the power which you have in your hands, has always been a reason for you among mankind, I will have recourse to the living God, our only judge, who has established us equally and immediately under him for the government of his people.
"I will invoke to the end of this, my very pressing affliction, that he will return to you, and to me (as he will do in his last judgment), the share of our merits, and demerits, one towards the other. And remember, Madam, that to him we shall not be able to disguise anything by the paint and policy of the world; though mine enemies, under you, have been able, for a time, to cover their subtle inventions to men, perhaps to you.
"In his name, and before him sitting, between you and me, I will remind you, that by the agents, spies and secret messengers sent in your name into Scotland while I was there, my subjects were corrupted and encouraged to rebel against me,to make attempts upon my person, and, in one word to speak, to emprise and execute that which has come to the said country during my troubles. Of which I will not at present specify other proof than that which I have gained of it by the confession of one who was afterwards amongst those that were most advanced for this good service, and of the witnesses confronted with him. To whom, if I had since done justice, he had not afterwards, by his ancient intelligences, renewed the same practices against my son, and had not procured for all my traitorous and rebellious subjects, who took refuge with you, that aid and support which they have had ever since my detention on this side (i. e., in England); without which support, I think, the said traitors could not since have prevailed, nor afterwards have stood out so long as they have done.
"During my imprisonment at Lochleven, Trogmorton counselled me on your behalf to sign that demission, which he advertised me would be presented to me, assuring me that it could not be valid. And there was not afterwards a place in Christendom where it was held for valid, except on this side, where it was maintained, even to have assisted with open force, the authors of it. In your conscience, Madam, would you acknowledge an equal liberty and power in your subjects? Notwithstanding this, my authority has been by my subjects transferred to my son, when he was not capable of exercising it.
"When I was escaped from Lochleven, ready to give battle to my rebels, I remitted to you, by a gentleman, express a diamond jewel, which I had formerly received as a token from you, and with assurance to be succoured by you against my rebels; and even that, on my retiring towards you, you would come to the very frontiers in order to assist me, which had been confirmed to me by divers messengers. This promise coming, and repeatedly, from your mouth (though I had found myself often abused by your Ministers), made me place such affiance on the effectiveness of it that, when my army was routed, I came directly to throw myself into your arms, if I had been able to approach them. But while I was planning to set out to find you, there was I arrested on my way, surrounded with guards, secured in strong places, and at last reduced, all shame set aside, to the captivity in which I remain to this day, after a thousand deaths which I have already suffered for it.
* * * * *
"In the meantime my rebels, perceiving that their headlong course was carrying them much farther than they had thought before, and the truth being evidenced concerning the calumnies that had been propagated of me at the conference, to which I submitted, in full assembly of your deputies and mine, with others of the contrary party in that country, in order to clear myself publicly of them; there were the principals,[#] for having come to repentance, besieged by your forces in the Castle of Edinburgh, and one of the first among them poisoned, and the other most cruelly hanged, after I had twice made them lay down their arms, at your request, in hopes of an agreement which God knows whether my enemies aimed at, I have been for a long time trying whether patience would soften the rigour and ill-treatment, which they have begun, for these ten years particularly, to make me suffer. And accommodating myself exactly to the order prescribed me for my captivity in this house, as well in regard to the number and quality of the attendants, which I retain, dismissing the others; as for my diet, and ordinary exercise for my health, I am living, even at present, as quietly and peaceably as one much inferior to myself, and more obliged, than with such treatment, I was to you, had been able to do; even to deprive myself, in order to take away all shadow of suspicion and diffidence from you, of requiring to have some intelligence with my son, and my country, which is what, by no right or reason, could be denied me, and principally with my child; whom, instead of this, they have endeavoured by every way to persuade against me, in order to weaken us by our division.
[#] Secretary Maitland and the Laird of Grange, whose defection from the Regent's party has already been mentioned.
"It was permitted me, you will say, to send one to visit him there, about three years ago. His captivity then at Stirling, under the tyrrany of Morton, was the cause of it; as his liberty was afterwards, of a refusal to make the like visit. All this year past I have several times entered into divers overtures for the establishment of a good amity between us, and a sure understanding between these realms in future. To Chatsworth, about ten years ago, commissioners were sent for that purpose. A treaty had been held upon it with yourself, by my ambassadours and those of France. I even myself made, concerning it, the last winter, all the advantageous overtures to Beal that it was possible to make. What return have I had thence? My good intention has been despised, the sincerity of my actions has been neglected and calumniated, the state of my affairs has been traversed by delays, postponings and other such artifices. And, in conclusion, a worse and more unworthy treatment from day to day, anything which I am compelled to do in order to deserve the contrary, my very long, useless and prejudicial patience, have rendered me so low that mine enemies, in their habits of using me ill, think this day they have the right of prescription for treating me, not as a prisoner, which, in reason I could not be, but as some slave whose life and whose death depend only upon their tyrrany.
"I cannot, Madam, suffer it any longer; and I must in dying, discover the authors of my death, or, living, attempt, under your protection, to find an end to the cruelties, calumnies and traitorous designs of my said enemies, in order to establish me in some little more repose for the remainder of my life. To take away the occasions pretended for all differences between us, clear yourself, if you please, of all which has been reported of you concerning my actions; review the depositions of the strangers taken in Ireland; let those of the Jesuits last executed be represented to you; give liberty to those who would undertake to charge me publickly, and permit me to enter upon my defence; if any evil be found in me, let me suffer it, it shall be patiently when I shall know the occasion of it; if any good, suffer me not to be worst treated for it, with your very great commission before God and man.
"The vilest criminals that are in your prisons, born under your obedience, are admitted to their justification; and their accusers, and their accusations, are always declared to them. Why, then, shall not the same order have place towards me, a Sovereign Queen, your nearest relation and lawful heir? I think that this last circumstance has hitherto been, on the side of my enemies, the principal cause of it, and of all their calumnies, to make their unjust pretences slide between the two, by keeping us in division. But, alas, they have now little reason and less need to torment me more upon this account. For I protest to you upon mine honour that I look this day for no kingdom but that of my God; whom I see preparing me for the better conclusion of all my afflictions and adversities past."
Reverting to the injustices to which her son was then subjected by traitors in Scotland, she exhorts Elizabeth not to give countenance to their actions, and proceeds in the following amazingly naive manner:--
"I shall be contented then, only at your not permitting my son to receive any injury from this country (which is all that I have ever required of you before, even when an army was sent to the borders to prevent justice from being done to that detestable Morton), and that none of your subjects directly or indirectly intermeddle any more in the affairs of Scotland, unless it is with my knowledge, to whom all cognizance of these things belongs, or with the assistance of some one on the part of the most Christian King, my good brother; whom, as our principal ally, I desire to make privy to the whole of this cause, because of the little credit that he can have with the traitors who detain my son at present.
"But, Madam, with all this freedom of speech, which, I foresee will in some sort displease you, though it be the truth itself, you will find it more strange, I assure myself, that I come now to importune you again with a request of much greater importance, and yet very easy for you to grant, and release to me. This is, that having not been able hitherto, by accommodating myself patiently so long a time to the rigorous treatment of this captivity, and carrying myself sincerely in all things, yea, even to the last, that could concern you a very little, to gain myself some assurance of my entire affection towards you; all my hope being taken away by it of being better treated for the very short time which remains to me of life; I supplicate you, by the honour of the sorrowful passion of our Saviour and Redeemer, Jesus Christ, again I supplicate you, at once to permit me to withdraw myself out of your realm, into some place of repose, to search out some comfort for my poor body, so wearied as it is with continual sorrow, and with liberty of my conscience to prepare my soul for God, who is calling for it daily."
* * * * *
"Your prison, without any right or foundation, has already destroyed my body, of which you will shortly have the end, if it continues there a little longer; and my enemies will not have much time for glutting their cruelties on me; nothing remains of me but the soul, which all your power cannot make captive. Give it, then, room for aspiring a little more freely after its salvation, which alone it seeks for at this day, more than any grandeur of this world. It seems to me that it cannot be to you any great satisfaction, honour, and advantage, for mine enemies to trample my life under foot, till they have stifled me in your presence. Whereas, if in this extremity, however late it be, you release me out of their hands, you will bind me greatly to you, and bind all those who belong to me, particularly my poor child, whom you will, perhaps, make sure to yourself by it.
"Two things I have principally to require at the close; the one that, near as I am to going out of this world, I may have with me, for my consolation, some honourable church-man, to remind me daily of the course which I have to finish, and teach me how to complete it according to my religion in which I am firmly resolved to live and die.
"This is a last duty which cannot be denied to the most mean and miserable person that lives; it is a liberty which you grant to all foreign embassadours; as also all other Catholick kings give to your embassadours the exercise of their religion. And even I myself have not hitherto forced my own subjects to anything contrary to their religion, though I had all power and authority over them. And that I in this extremity should be deprived of such freedom, you cannot, with justice, require. What advantage will redound to you, when you shall deny it to me? I hope God will excuse me if, oppressed by you in this manner, I do not render to him any duty but what I shall be permitted to do in my heart. But you will set a very bad example to the other Princes of Christendom, to act towards their subjects with the same rigour that you shall show to me, a Sovereign Queen, and your nearest relation; which I am, and will be as long as I live, in despite of mine enemies."
Here she enters upon a justification of her conduct in view of a charge which had been brought against her, namely, that contrary to her promise, and without the knowledge of Elizabeth, she had entered into certain political negotiations with her son in Scotland. She reviews the circumstances of the case, indicates her own and Elizabeth's respective practices, and then refers to her cousin's consideration "which of us has proceeded with the greatest sincerity." Finally she closes her lengthy letter with the following appeal:--
"Resume the ancient pledges of your good nature; bind your relations to yourself; give me the satisfaction before I die that, seeing all matters happily settled again between us, my soul, when delivered from this body, may not be constrained to display its lamentations before God for the wrong which you have suffered to be done me here below; but, rather, that being happily united to you, it may quit this captivity to set forward towards him, whom I pray to inspire you happily upon my very just and more than reasonable complaints and grievances.
"At Sheffield, this 8th of November, one thousand five hundred and eighty-two.
"Your very disconsolate, nearest relation, and affectionate cousin,
"MARIE E."
But no appeal, however deeply it might possibly touch the heart of the Tudor Queen, could turn her from that one purpose which, in her ever-changing policy, remained forever fixed, of preventing the possibility of Mary's returning to public life. With all her unwomanly qualities, however, it cannot be presumed that she was always insensible to the pathos of her captive's language, or even to the better impulses of her own heart. She was not, as certain tyrants seem to have been, cruel from the mere love of inflicting pain. The fierce outbursts of anger and the arbitrary commands with which she overawed Parliament when other means of carrying her point failed, did not prevent her from being sincerely interested in procuring the happiness of her people; and it is not wholly without cause that she has received, from a portion of her subjects, the title of "Good Queen Bess." But woe to him who stood between her and her interest. Her ambition would not be thwarted by any inconvenient delicacy or dictate of conscience. Whether in her more peaceful hours she practised "modest stillness and humility," is irrelevant to the present question; it is beyond doubt however, that when the blast of jealousy, suspicion, or hatred, blew in her ears she knew how to "imitate the action of the tiger." It must in truth be admitted that her position in relation to the Scottish Queen, was a difficult one; but it should, in equal truth, be admitted that her own dishonesty was cause of the most part of her trouble. To have within her realm the one whom a large portion of her subjects considered by right Queen of England, and through whom the Pope and the Catholic powers hoped to see the island restored to the obedience of the Holy See, was eminently calculated to make her life uncomfortable. She was conscious that she was an object of hatred to many who had power to do her no end of mischief. But she must have foreseen these troubles when she elected to detain Mary a prisoner. At any rate she must soon have learned that so long as she chose to be the jailer of the most beautiful, accomplished and renowned woman in Europe, she could not hope for a peaceful career. Who so foolish as to think that Mary would not use all her energy to regain her liberty, or that powerful parties at home and abroad would not make the captive's cause their own? Certainly not the crafty Elizabeth. Yet a simple act of justice--the release of the prisoner whom she unjustly and ungenerously detained--would have removed the cause of half her anxieties. Elizabeth's troubles, therefore, were voluntarily assumed, and were part of the price which she was content to pay for the gratification of having in her power the woman and queen whose superior beauty, and title to the throne of England, had long before aroused her undying hatred. It is childish and ridiculous for historians to excuse Elizabeth's harshness on the plea that Mary's plotting and intriguing rendered severe treatment necessary. The same argument would justify the bandit in maltreating his victim who would be so ungrateful as to attempt escaping from his custody.
CHAPTER XI.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
The spacious park of Sheffield, in which Mary's prison was situated, beautiful as was the natural scenery of river, mountain and cultivated slope, that extended far beyond it, could offer no antidote to the "dura catena, et misera paena," in which she languished. Her mind had already been stored with pictures of the choicest rural scenery in France, and of the rugged grandeur of Aberdeen and Perthshire; and the variegated charms on which she could now gaze from her prison window only served to produce that sad pleasure which we feel in renewing memories of joys that have forever departed. Well, has Mr. Samuel Roberts (in his feeling lines in reference to her stay at Sheffield Lodge) presumed that she gazed upon the "lovely scene" "through tears":--
Alone, here oft may Scotia's beauteous queen,Through tears have gazed upon the lovely scene,Victim of villainy, of woman's hate,Of fiery zeal, of wiles and storms of state;Torn from her throne, her country and her child,And cast an exiled monarch in this wild,She here was taught, what youthful beauty ne'erWhile seated on a throne, had deigned to hear,To say submissive, at the closing scene,"'Tis well that I have thus afflicted been;"Then calmly on the block, in faith, resignThree heart-corrupting crowns, for one divine.Reader,--the ways of God are not like thine.
Alone, here oft may Scotia's beauteous queen,Through tears have gazed upon the lovely scene,Victim of villainy, of woman's hate,Of fiery zeal, of wiles and storms of state;Torn from her throne, her country and her child,And cast an exiled monarch in this wild,She here was taught, what youthful beauty ne'erWhile seated on a throne, had deigned to hear,To say submissive, at the closing scene,"'Tis well that I have thus afflicted been;"Then calmly on the block, in faith, resignThree heart-corrupting crowns, for one divine.Reader,--the ways of God are not like thine.
Alone, here oft may Scotia's beauteous queen,
Through tears have gazed upon the lovely scene,
Victim of villainy, of woman's hate,
Of fiery zeal, of wiles and storms of state;
Torn from her throne, her country and her child,
And cast an exiled monarch in this wild,
She here was taught, what youthful beauty ne'er
While seated on a throne, had deigned to hear,
To say submissive, at the closing scene,
"'Tis well that I have thus afflicted been;"
Then calmly on the block, in faith, resign
Three heart-corrupting crowns, for one divine.
Reader,--the ways of God are not like thine.
In August, 1584, Shrewsbury was released of his charge. He had served long and faithfully in a capacity that was repulsive to his instincts; and after fifteen full years of close acquaintance with the captive Queen, he was able to assure Elizabeth "that if the Queen of Scotland promise anything she will not break her word."
With the withdrawal of Shrewsbury, a new and more ominous period opened in the life of the Scottish Queen. She was removed from Sheffield to Wingfield; and again from Wingfield to Tutbury. Here, in April, 1585, she was committed to the charge of that "narrow, boorish and bitter secretary," Sir Amias Paulet, who seems to have been selected mainly with a view of driving her to desperation and of rendering the last days of her life as bitter and insufferable as possible. Shrewsbury had, it is true, executed the commands of his mistress; but he had done so without making it clear that he found pleasure in being the instrument of tyranny. In the meantime his upright, gentlemanly character modified, as far as was consistent with his duty and safety, the rigour which it was his office to enforce. Paulet, on the contrary, carried into effect the will of Elizabeth to the letter, and in addition satiated his own fierce and fanatical hatred of his helpless prisoner. What wonder if Mary should become desperate and resolve to embark on whatever expedition, daring and reckless though it might be, that gave even a probable hope of securing her liberty? Seventeen years of waiting and negotiating for a peaceable settlement of her case, had resulted in failure; nay, had left her in greater distress than ever. Whatever quota of humanity had tempered the severity of her treatment, was now replaced by the studied rudeness of her keeper; her son had just disassociated completely his political interests from hers; and the movements and tactics of her enemies awakened and intensified her old fear that she should soon be visited with a secret and unnatural death.
The defection of James deeply wounded the mother's heart. "This was the most unkindest cut of all." That the one for whom she had so long defended the independence of Scotland against the English claim of suzerainty; that the one from whom she had hopefully waited through years of patient suffering to receive even one word that would assure her that she had a son growing up to love and assist her; that the one whom she remembered only as an innocent and playful infant, from whom she had been, torn away by heartless traitors,--that he should abandon her when fresh miseries were gathering thick and fast around her, was more than she could calmly suffer, and for a short time her wounded love and feelings of indignation were revealed in sad and bitter complaint. "Was it for this," she wrote to the French Ambassador, "that I have endured so much, in order to preserve for him the inheritance to which I have a just right? I am far from envying his authority in Scotland. I desire no power, nor wish to set my foot in that kingdom, if it were not for the pleasure of once embracing a son, whom I have hitherto loved with too tender affection. Whatever he either enjoys or expects, he derived it from me. From him I never received assistance, supply or benefit of any kind. Let not my allies treat him any longer as a king; he holds that dignity by my consent; and if a speedy repentance does not appease my just resentment, I will load him with a parent's curse, and surrender my crown, with all its pretensions, to one who will receive them with gratitude, and defend them with vigour."
The English Parliament had recently framed a statute, out of special consideration for the Queen of Scots, by which it was enacted that, not only the personbywhom, but also the personforwhom, a rebellion should be excited against the majesty of Elizabeth, might be visited with several penalties, and "pursued to death," and it only remained to induce Mary to avail herself of the benefits of that benign legislation.[#] The event long hoped for by her enemies ere long came to pass. The net of Secretary Walsingham's cunning intrigue gradually involved the unsuspecting victim in its deadly meshes. In April, 1586, a young English Catholic gentleman, named Babington, whom a spirit of chivalry had deeply interested in the Scottish Queen's behalf, and who was stung to desperation by the injustices which he and his co-religionists were obliged to suffer because they would not forswear the faith of their English forefathers, was drawn into a plot, devised by Morgan and Paget in France, for the overthrow of Elizabeth and the liberation of Mary. This plot is known in English history as the Babington plot, though it might, with far more truth, be called the Walsingham plot. Walsingham was aware of its existence for some months before the services of Babington were solicited. His agents, especially Pooley and Gilbert Gifford, combined the offices of staunch conspirators and spies at the same time, and kept their master fully informed of what was being done. The assassination of Elizabeth formed no part of the original design. It was only at a consultation, held at Paris, in April, in which Gifford took an active part, that this daring project was agreed upon, and that it was resolved to seek the aid of the unfortunate young Babington. In the meantime, Walsingham, anxious that Mary might be entangled as completely as possible in his net, and tempted to ratify the compromising scheme that he himself, through his worthy agent, had helped to concoct, arranged that she should be given favourable opportunities for communication with her outside friends; but he equally provided that the medium of communication should be persons in his own service. Thus, the letters she sent out, as well as those she received, all passed through the office of the Secretary of State, were deciphered there by another noted instrument of the Secretary's, named Philipps, and forwarded to their destination with whatever addition or interpolation seemed best calculated to provoke a reply directly implicating the unsuspecting captive.
[#] In justice it must be stated, that it was not under this statute, but under a later one requiring the complicity of the party in whose interest the treasonable measures should be taken, that the Queen of Scots was subsequently condemned.
Elizabeth and her Minister knew that the plot had now reached a point beyond which it would be perilous to allow it to proceed. Early in August, Babington and his associates were arrested, and on the 16th of the same month Mary, who was then at Chartley, in Staffordshire, was removed without forewarning, her two Secretaries, Curle and Nau being separated from her, and all her papers seized; a few weeks later (25th September) she was lodged in the ominous castle of Fotheringay, in Northamptonshire.
"The name of Fotheringay had been connected through a long course of years with many sorrows and much crime, and during the last three years the castle had been used as a state prison. Catherine of Arragon, more fortunate than her great-niece, had flatly refused to be imprisoned within its walls, declaring that 'to Fotheringay she would not go, unless bound with cart rope and dragged thither.' Tradition, often kinder than history, asserts that James VI., after his accession to the English throne, destroyed the castle; and though it is no longer possible to credit him with this act of filial love or remorse, time has obliterated almost every trace of the once grim fortress. A green mound, an isolated mass of masonry, and a few thistles, are all that now remain to mark the scene of Mary's last sufferings. Very different was the aspect of Fotheringay at the time of which we write. Then, protected by its double moat, it frowned on the surrounding country in almost impregnable strength. The front of the castle and the great gateway faced the north, while to the southwest rose the keep. A large courtyard occupied the interior of the building, in which were situated the chief apartments, including the chapel and the great hall destined to be the scene of the queen's death."[#]
[#] Hon. Mrs. Maxwell Scott in "The Tragedy of Fotheringay."
A moment had now arrived in which the helpless Queen, broken down by nineteen years of close confinement and consequent ill-health, had heed to summon up all her native courage. Her papers and most of her private correspondence had been carried off to London; her Secretaries, who had been privy to all her plots and plans, had been separated from her, and with the terrors of the rack before their minds would be forced not only to divulge what they knew, but still worse to subscribe, perhaps, to what they did not believe; and she, without counsel or comfort, was left in the hands of her enemies. The manoeuvrings of her enemies at this time show that they expected that, finding herself alone and in the extremity of danger, she would cast herself at the feet of Elizabeth, confess that she was guilty, and sue for pardon. But they had yet to learn the calm dignity, the unflinching courage and the Christian hopefulness with which Mary Stewart could place her neck upon the block.
A commission of the nobles was appointed to try her at Fotheringay, on the charge of plotting against the life of Elizabeth. Mary protested against the manner in which she was to be tried as belittling an independent sovereign, who was subject neither to the laws nor to the Queen of England. But at length, through fear that her refusal to appear before the commissioners would be interpreted as a sign of guilt, and through dread of being dispatched secretly by poison--in which case her enemies could assert what they wished about the way she died--she consented to appear, and for two days sat before the commissioners listening to and answering accusations.
The proceedings in which she was constrained to take part cannot properly be called a trial. She was deprived, as far as possible, of every means of defence; she had no secretary, her correspondence was withheld from her, she was refused counsel. "Alas," she said to her faithful servant Melville, as she took her seat the first day before the Commissioners, "Alas, here are many counsellors, but not one for me." Nevertheless she spoke with so much courage and energy, and showed so little regard for the wrath of her enemies, or even for death itself, so long as her honour was vindicated, that she surprised and partly confounded the hard-hearted zealots who were hounding her to death.
On the 14th of October, the trial was opened in a large room in Fotheringay Castle. Seated on benches placed in the middle of the room and along both walls were all the Peers of England who could conveniently be brought together, as well as the various officers of the court. Once upon a time, in the brave days of knight-errantry, no injured lady need have feared to present herself and plead her cause before the assembled chivalry of "Merry England," but 'old times were changed, old manners gone.' At 9 o'clock in the forenoon, the Queen entered, supported by Melville and Bourgoin her physician. She had been personally acquainted with but very few of those who sat there to pass judgment upon her. Many of them had been known to her by name, a few had been attached to her cause, and she looked about in the hope of meeting an eye that would reveal the presence of a friend. But she was disappointed. No one in that hostile assembly, however he might feel in his heart, would venture now to betray any sign of sympathy. Three faces must have impressed her more than all the rest as suggesting, in three different periods, the history of her troubled career. There she saw Sir Ralph Sadler, the English Ambassador who, forty-four years before, had stood over her cradle in the nursery at Linlithgow and pronounced her a "right fair and goodly child;" there she saw Sir William Cecil (now Lord Burleigh), who had been her ablest and most industrious enemy through all the years of her short reign, and who had contributed more perhaps that any other individual to produce the Scottish anarchy in which she had lost her crown; and there she met, for the first time, the gaze of the crafty and vigilant Sir Francis Walsingham, whose mephistophelian devices had led her to the precipice over which she now hung, without an arm to save her.
CHAPTER XII.
THE EVIDENCE AGAINST THE QUEEN OF SCOTS.
Replying to the accusations brought against her, Mary did not deny that, having given up hope of being liberated by Elizabeth, she had treated with foreign powers for her deliverance; but she protested that she had never consented to the assassination of Elizabeth, and that she would rather remain all her life in prison than stain her conscience with that crime. Nor can I see that any evidence had been produced to prove that she did. Her intercepted letter in reply to Babington, in which she was said to have sanctioned the projected murder of Elizabeth, was not exhibited at the trial. Here we find the same shuffling as in the case of the Casket Letters. If her accusers had decisive proof of her guilt, why did they not give her a fair trial, and employ those means which would make her guilt evident? Babington, instead of being kept as a witness, was put to death. Her two secretaries, who had been terrified into testifying to something,--what exactly they did testify we cannot be certain,--were kept out of the way, and never confronted with their mistress. Her letter on which the case depended had been written in cipher; yet the original in cipher was shown neither to her secretaries nor to herself, but only what was passed off as a translation of it into French. But what need of this traffic in second-hand documents, if the original, which would settle all dispute, could be safely exposed to the light of investigation? Neither the strained dialectics of a Hume, nor the brilliant rhetoric of a Froude, can avail against the force of argument springing from Walsingham's determination not to exhibit the original documents. Mary had been charged with being party to a plot for the murder of Elizabeth, and her correspondence with Babington was made the basis of evidence against her. Hence common justice demanded that the correspondence should be taken, as far as possible, at first hand. Yet, Walsingham and Philipps, although they had in their possession, at least, a minute in Mary's own hand of her last answer to Babington and the same cast into the form of a letter in French by Nau, made use of what they alleged was a copy of that incriminating answer. Mary denied that she had ever dictated the words of Philipps' decipher in reference to the murder of Elizabeth. Philipps, the associate of Walsingham, and the bitter enemy of Mary, went sponsor for the correctness of the decipher. The trial therefore was reduced to a contest between the veracity of Mary and the veracity of Philipps. It is hardly to be doubted that, guilty or not guilty, Mary would have disowned the authorship of the compromising clauses. But if her denial was worthless as evidence of her innocence, the assertion of a forger in the employ of her enemies was likewise worthless as evidence of her guilt. Why, then, were not the original papers laid before the commissioners, that she might be reduced to silence by the evidence of her own and of her secretary's handwriting? Shall we be asked to believe that Walsingham, if he had all he needed in the original, would have had recourse to a copy? Indeed, Mary's letter, as it has reached us through Philipps and Walsingham, presents an incoherence of parts which, even if every other reason were wanting, would render its genuineness extremely doubtful. The argument founded on this incoherence has been frequently used, but its strength remains unimpaired. Mary orders that nothing shall be done towards releasing her from prison until Elizabeth is murdered. Four horsemen are to be kept in readiness to immediately inform her that this has been accomplished. Then she is to be set at liberty, but care must be taken that the army prepared to receive her, or the stronghold destined to shelter her, be such as will render her person secure, for (she writes) "it were sufficient excuse given to that queen in catching me again, to enclose me in some hold, out of which I should never escape, if she did use me no worse." This precaution against the revenge of Elizabeth is quite natural, and just what we should expect from Mary in her letter to Babington; but it would be inconceivable and absurd if Mary had already made provision that Elizabeth should first of all be murdered. Had Philipps forged the entire letter, he would not have committed this blunder, but even an expert may reveal his identity when he attempts to interpolate a lengthy document.
It will avail but little to insist that there remains what Froude calls the "positive proof of two very credible witnesses" in support of the charge against the Scottish queen. These "very credible witnesses" were Mary's secretaries, Nau and Curle; and the "positive proof" was their subscription to a "copy"--that ever recurring "copy"--of Mary's deciphered answer to Babington's last letter, which had been wrung from them in circumstances little calculated to enhance its value.
Since their forced separation from Mary at Chartley, they had been carefully guarded and accurately learned the nature of the evidence which they were expected to give. On the 20th. September, Babington and six of his associates were made a ghastly and terrifying spectacle to every weak-hearted friend of Mary's. "They were all hanged but for a moment, according to the letter of the sentence, taken down while the susceptibility of agony was unimpaired, and cut in pieces afterwards, with due precautions for the protraction of pain."[#]
[#] Froude, "History of England," Vol. XII., Chap. 69.
The third day following, while this ominous lesson of vengeance was fresh in every mind, the two secretaries were forced to ratify by their oath the testimony which they had already given (Sept. 5th) to the correctness of the "copy." The testimony which they now ratified had been appended to the copy in these words:--"Telle ou semblable me semble avoir esté la reponse escripte en francoys par monsieur Nau, laquelle J'ay traduict et mis en chiffre.--Gilbert Curle." "Je pense de vray que c'est la lettre escripte par sa Majesté à Babington, come il me souvient.--Nau." "This letter or one like it appears to me to have been the answer written in French by monsieur Nau, which I translated and put into cipher.--Gilbert Curle."
"I think in truth that this is the letter written by Her Majesty to Babington,as far as I can remember.--Nau."
These equivocal testimonies contain the force of all the evidence produced against Mary. It is unnecessary to point out the impossibility of resting a conviction upon them. That is clear to every intelligent reader acquainted with the circumstances in which they were obtained and with the history of the prosecution as already summarily indicated, up to this point. The phrases "this or one like it," "as well as I can remember," insignificant as they might seem if employed in the absence of compulsion, will in their present connection strike every reflecting mind as the feeble devices of men striving to hold a safe course between the Scylla and the Charibdis of perjury and the rack.
Whether Mary would or would not accept an offer of deliverance that involved the life of Elizabeth, is a purely speculative question, which does not affect the nature of the evidence produced against her. This, however, may be observed, that nearly four years earlier, when a conspiracy similar to the Babington plot against the life of Elizabeth was being organized by some of her friends on the Continent, she, on being acquainted of it, "refused," (so wrote the Papal Nuncio at Paris to the Cardinal of Como), "to listen to it." But, when hope in Elizabeth's good intentions completely failed, and increased rigour deepened the misery of her prison-life, reasons which had hitherto seemed inadequate might now convince her that she was not obliged to live with the axe of the executioner or the dagger of the assassin, raised over her head because liberty could be brought to her only through the blood of her jailer.
CHAPTER XIII.
EXTRACTS FROM HER ADDRESSES TO THE COMMISSIONERS.
Every word and act of this unhappy Princess, more especially as her life neared its close, have proved so interesting to students of her history, that I have deemed it well to reproduce here some of her speeches and utterances before the Commissioners appointed to try her.
On the first day of the trial, the Lord Chancellor, Bromley, having signified the causes which had impelled Elizabeth to take action against her as the disturber of religion and the public peace, Mary replied as follows:--
"I came into this kingdom under promise of assistance and aid against my enemies, and not as a subject, as I could prove to you had I my papers; instead of which I have been detained and imprisoned. I protest publicly that I am an independent sovereign and princess, and I recognize no superior but God alone. I therefore require that before I proceed further, it be recorded that whatever I may say in replying here to the Commissioners of my good sister, the Queen of England (who, I consider, has been wrongly and falsely prejudiced against me), shall not be to my prejudice, nor that of the princes, my allies, nor the king, my son, or any of those who may succeed me. I make this protestation not out of regard to my life, or in order to conceal the truth, but purely for the preservation of the honour and dignity of my royal prerogative, and to show that in consenting to appear before this commission I do so, not as a subject to Queen Elizabeth, but only from my desire to clear myself, and to show to all the world that I am not guilty of this crime against the person of the Queen, with which it seems I am charged. I wish to reply to this point alone, I desire this protest to be publicly recorded, and I appeal to all the lords and nobles present to bear me testimony should it one day be necessary."
In the course of the afternoon discussion, she made bitter complaint of the unfair treatment to which she had been subjected:--
"I have, as you see, lost my health and the use of my limbs. I cannot walk without assistance, nor use my arms, and I spend most of my time confined to bed by sickness. Not only this, but through my trials, I have lost the small intellectual gifts bestowed on me by God, such as my memory, which would have aided me to recall those things which I have seen and read, and which might be useful to me in the cruel position in which I now find myself ... Not content with this, my enemies now endeavour to complete my ruin, using against me means that are unheard of towards persons of my rank, and unknown in this kingdom before the reign of the present Queen, and even now not approved by rightful judges, but only by unlawful authority. Against these I appeal to Almighty God, to all Christian princes, and to the estates of this kingdom duly and lawfully assembled. Being innocent and falsely suspected, I am ready to maintain and defend my honour, provided that my defence be publicly recorded, and that I make it in the presences of some princes or foreign judges, or even before my natural judges; and this without prejudice to my mother the Church, to kings, sovereign princes and to my son. With regard to the pretensions long put forward by the English (as their chronicles testify) to suzerainty over my predecessors, the Kings of Scotland, I utterly deny and protest against them, and will not, like afemme-de peu de coeur, admit them, nor by any present act, to which I may be constrained, will I fortify such a claim, whereby I should dishonour those princes, my ancestors, and acknowledge them to have been traitors and rebels. Rather than do this, I am ready to die for God and my rights in this quarrel, in which, as in all others, I am innocent."
Burleigh had reproached her with having assumed the arms of England, and a spirited discussion after a somewhat legal fashion followed. Passing with characteristic facility from that unprofitable topic, Mary proceeded in the following spirited and pathetic manner:--
"God and you know whether I have a right or not to the crown of England. I have offered myself to maintain the rights of my sister, Queen Elizabeth, as being the eldest, but I have no scruple of conscience in desiring the second rank, as being the legitimate and nearest heir. I am the daughter of James V., king of Scotland, and grand-daughter of Henry VII. This cannot be taken from me by any law, or council or assembly, or judgment, nor consequently can my rights. I know well that my enemies and those who wish to deprive me of those rights have done up till now all that they can to injure me, and have essayed all illegitimate means, even to attempting my life, as is well known, and has been discovered in certain places and by certain persons whom I could name, were it necessary; but God, who is the best Judge, and who never forgets His own, has until now, in His infinite mercy and goodness, preserved me from all dangers, and I hope that he will continue to do so and will not abandon me, knowing that He is all truth, and that He has promised not to abandon His servants in their need. He has extended His hand over me to afflict me, but He has given me this grace of patience to bear the adversities which it has pleased Him to send me. I do not desire vengeance. I leave it to Him who is the just Avenger of the innocent and of those who suffer for His name, under whose power and will I take shelter. I prefer the conduct of Esther to that of Judith, although both are approved by the Church. I pray God to do with me according to His good pleasure, to His praise and honour, and to the greater glory of His Church, in which I wish to live and die, in which I have been brought up and educated, and for which (as I have already protested several times), I would shed my blood to the last drop, being resolved to suffer all that God wishes. I do not fear the menaces of men. I will never deny Jesus Christ, knowing well that those who deny Him in this world, He will deny before His Father. I demand another hearing, and that I be allowed an advocate to plead my cause, or that I be believed on the word of a Queen.... I came to England relying on the friendship and promises of your Queen. Look here, my Lords, [at this point she took a ring from her finger], see this pledge of love and protection which I received from your mistress, regard it well. Trusting to this pledge, I came amongst you. You all know how it has been kept."
Her criticism of the second-hand evidence, secured from her secretaries in her absence, is so just that I cannot pass it over without giving, at least, some extracts from it. It will be observed, that while sharing in the suspicion not uncommon at the time, that Nau had betrayed her to save himself, her fairmindedness and charitable disposition prevented her from condemning him without a hearing.
"Why," she asked, "are not Nau and Curle examined in my presence? They at any rate are still alive. If my enemies were assured that they would confirm their pretended avowals, they would be here without doubt. If they have written, be it what it may, concerning the enterprise, they have done it of themselves, and did not communicate it to me, and on this point I disavow them." ......
"I know well that Nau had many peculiarities, likings and intentions, that I cannot mention, in public, but which I much regret, for he does me great injustice. For my part, I do not wish to accuse my secretaries, but I plainly see that what they have said is from fear of torture and death. Under promises of their lives, and in order to save themselves, they have excused themselves at my expense, fancying that I could thereby more easily save myself; at the same time not knowing where I was and not suspecting the manner in which I am treated ... As to Curle, if he has done anything suspicious, he has been compelled to do it by Nau, whom he feared much to displease....And yet I do not think that either the one or the other would have forgotten himself so far."
"I commanded him (Nau) it is true, and in a general way supported his doings, as all princes are accustomed to do, but it is for him to answer for his private doings. I cannot but think he has been acting under constraint in this matter. Feeling himself to be feeble and weak by nature, and fearing torture, he thought to escape by throwing all the blame on me."