You may perceive by these letters enclosed, with mine answer to the same, that the report of the Scottish Queen's escape, or her taking away, as it is now termed, carrieth such credit in these parts, as it is followed with hue and cry. And although, considering my late letters to like effect, I did not think needful to advertise you thereof with speed, yet I would not hide it from you, and therefore do send it by one of my servants repairing to London about his own business, not doubting but that the same will come as speedily to your hands as if it had been sent by post. These seditious rumours are not to be neglected, in my simple opinion, and, indeed, there is not a more ready way to levy forces to the achieving of that which these lewd reporters pretend to fear. I cannot let[91]them to flatter themselves with vain hope; but by the grace of God I will not lose this lady, my charge, without the loss of my life; neither shall it be possible for any force to take her out of my hands alive. And thus, etc.[92]
You may perceive by these letters enclosed, with mine answer to the same, that the report of the Scottish Queen's escape, or her taking away, as it is now termed, carrieth such credit in these parts, as it is followed with hue and cry. And although, considering my late letters to like effect, I did not think needful to advertise you thereof with speed, yet I would not hide it from you, and therefore do send it by one of my servants repairing to London about his own business, not doubting but that the same will come as speedily to your hands as if it had been sent by post. These seditious rumours are not to be neglected, in my simple opinion, and, indeed, there is not a more ready way to levy forces to the achieving of that which these lewd reporters pretend to fear. I cannot let[91]them to flatter themselves with vain hope; but by the grace of God I will not lose this lady, my charge, without the loss of my life; neither shall it be possible for any force to take her out of my hands alive. And thus, etc.[92]
Burleigh and Walsingham took every opportunity of making capital out of the reports which they had themselves set going, and terrified their mistress with gloomy prophecies. Elizabeth, who still hesitated between desire for her cousin's death, which she regarded as her only safety, and fear of the results toherself of such a crime, became more and more gloomy and irresolute. She sought solitude in order to give herself more completely to her dark and troubled thoughts, and was often heard to murmur to herself, "Aut fer, aut feri; ne feriare, feri"—"Either suffer or strike; not to be struck, strike."
In Elizabeth's mysterious phrases and half-revealed wishes, her ministers understood that their mistress desired that the Queen of Scots[93]should be put to death in some secret manner, in which she herself should not be implicated, and without her signing the warrant of execution. She even gave them to understand that the oath of association taken by them for the protection of her person, in a manner bound them to some such act. This interpretation of their oath utterly amazed and alarmed them, not from any special horror of such a crime, but on account of their intimate knowledge of Elizabeth's character. It was evident to them that her wish was to escape from the responsibility of such an act, and that in the event of the crime being committed, on them alone would fall the penalty.
The unsigned warrant remained meanwhile in Davison's charge.
On the 1st of February, the Court being then at Greenwich, Lord Howard (Lord High Admiral) sentfor Davison by order of the Queen. The latter arrived in haste, and after a few words with the Admiral, returned to fetch the warrant, which he brought to the Queen placed, as if by accident, with other papers. Elizabeth commenced by speaking of indifferent matters, such as the beauty of the weather, and then demanded what he held in his hand. Davison replied that he had brought some documents which required the Queen's signature, and among them a certain paper which he had fetched by order of Lord Howard. Elizabeth signed the papers one after the other, including the warrant, which she feigned not to perceive, and threw it carelessly on the table with the rest. Her first intention, apparently, had been to pretend that she had signed the warrant by inadvertence, but suddenly changing her mind, she turned to Davison and told him that she had only delayed so long in order to show her extreme reluctance to sign the warrant. "Are you not distressed to see me do this?" she said. To this curious question Davison replied that he preferred the death of a guilty person to that of an innocent one, and that he could not regret that Her Majesty had taken the only means of protecting herself from the designs of her enemies.
Elizabeth smiled, and presently told Davison to take the warrant to the Lord Chancellor that he mightattach the great seal to it, and transmit it to those designed to preside at its execution. The Queen added that this must be done as secretly as possible, as, if the matter were known before the day of execution, it might be dangerous for her. "On the road," she added, with a sinister smile, "you will visit Walsingham to show him the warrant. Ill as he is, I fear the pain it will cause him will kill him outright." After this bitter jest the Queen told Davison that the execution could not be in public; it must not be even in the courtyard at Fotheringay, she said, but must take place in the great hall on the ground-floor, and added that she would be troubled no more about the matter. She desired to hear nothing more till all was over. "For my part," added Elizabeth, "I have done all that can be required of me by law or reason."[94]While, however, Davison was collecting the papers before retiring, the Queen spoke again, and for the first time disclosed in full her real wishes. After complaining of the want of zeal of Paulet and her other advisers, she thus continued: "Ought they not better to understand the spirit of the association of which they are members, and so relieve me of this enormous responsibility? Would it not be better for me to risk personal danger than totake the life of a relation? But if a loyal subject were to save me from the embarrassment by dealing the blow, the resentment of France and Scotland might be disarmed. Sir Amyas Paulet and Drury are members of the association; cannot they so arrange that no blame shall attach to me, if you and Walsingham come to an understanding and write to them conjointly to sound their dispositions on the subject?"
"It would be time lost," replied Davison; "it is certain that they would refuse, as the statute only protects them so long as they act under a formal order from your Majesty."
Elizabeth still insisted, and in a firm voice bade Davison see that this matter was settled secretly, and promptly, as her own life was being continually threatened with the greatest dangers.
Seeing that the Queen's mind was made up, Davison, after consulting with Burleigh and Walsingham, composed the following letter, which was sent the same day by a special messenger to Fotheringay:—
Letter to Sir Amyas Paulet.[95]After our hearty commendations, we find by speech lately uttered by Her Majesty that she doth note in you both a lack of that care and zeal of her service that she looketh for at yourhands, in that you have not in all this time of yourselves (without other provocation) found out some way to shorten the life of that Queen, considering the great peril she [Elizabeth] is subject unto hourly, so long as the said Queen shall live. Wherein, besides a kind of lack of love towards her, she noteth greatly that you have not that care of your own particular safeties, or rather of the preservation of religion and the public good and prosperity of your country, that reason and policy commandeth, especially having so good a warrant and ground for the satisfaction of your consciences towards God and the discharge of your credit and reputation towards the world, as the oath of association which you both have so solemnly taken and vowed, and especially the matter wherewith she [Mary] standeth charged being so clearly and manifestly proved against her. And therefore she [Elizabeth] taketh it most unkindly towards her, that men professing that love towards her that you do, should in any kind of sort, for lack of the discharge of your duties, cast the burthen upon her, knowing as you do her indisposition to shed blood, especially of one of that sex and quality, and so near to her in blood as the said Queen is. These respects we find do greatly trouble her Majesty, who, we assure you, has sundry times protested that if the regard of the danger of her good subjects and faithful servants did not more move her than her own peril, she would never be drawn to assent to the shedding of her blood. We thought it very meet to acquaint you with these speeches lately passed from Her Majesty, referring the same to your good judgments. And so we commit you to the protection of the Almighty.—Your most assured friends,Francis Walsingham.William Davison.AtLondon,1st February 1586.
After our hearty commendations, we find by speech lately uttered by Her Majesty that she doth note in you both a lack of that care and zeal of her service that she looketh for at yourhands, in that you have not in all this time of yourselves (without other provocation) found out some way to shorten the life of that Queen, considering the great peril she [Elizabeth] is subject unto hourly, so long as the said Queen shall live. Wherein, besides a kind of lack of love towards her, she noteth greatly that you have not that care of your own particular safeties, or rather of the preservation of religion and the public good and prosperity of your country, that reason and policy commandeth, especially having so good a warrant and ground for the satisfaction of your consciences towards God and the discharge of your credit and reputation towards the world, as the oath of association which you both have so solemnly taken and vowed, and especially the matter wherewith she [Mary] standeth charged being so clearly and manifestly proved against her. And therefore she [Elizabeth] taketh it most unkindly towards her, that men professing that love towards her that you do, should in any kind of sort, for lack of the discharge of your duties, cast the burthen upon her, knowing as you do her indisposition to shed blood, especially of one of that sex and quality, and so near to her in blood as the said Queen is. These respects we find do greatly trouble her Majesty, who, we assure you, has sundry times protested that if the regard of the danger of her good subjects and faithful servants did not more move her than her own peril, she would never be drawn to assent to the shedding of her blood. We thought it very meet to acquaint you with these speeches lately passed from Her Majesty, referring the same to your good judgments. And so we commit you to the protection of the Almighty.—Your most assured friends,
Francis Walsingham.William Davison.
AtLondon,1st February 1586.
A few hours after the despatch of this letter, Davison, who trembled lest it should ever be made public, sent the following postscript by a fresh messenger: "I pray you let this and the enclosed be committed to the fire, which measure shall be likewise mete to your answer after it hath been communicated to Her Majesty for her satisfaction." And on the 3rd of February Davison sent another anxious reminder: "I entreated you in my last to burn my letters sent unto you for the argument sake, which, by your answer to Mr. Secretary (which I have seen), appeareth not to have been done. I pray you let me entreat you to make heretics of the one and the other, as I mean to use yours, after Her Majesty hath seen it." This second urgent note was written before Davison was aware how little "satisfaction" Paulet's answer was likely to give his mistress. In fact the letter had been received with horror and indignation by Paulet and his colleague.
Although we know by Paulet's own extravagant expressions of his evident wishes for Mary's death, and while we may conclude with Mr. Hosack that he sought his own safety in refusing the assassin's part proposed to him, he apparently retained enough honourable feeling to feel keenly the degradation implied in such a proposal, and sent at once a manly and energetic refusal.
A. Paulet—D. Drury.[96](A copy of a letter to Sir Francis Walsingham, of the 2nd of February 1586, at six in the afternoon, being the answer to a letter from him, the said Sir Francis, of the 1st of February 1586, received at Fotheringay the 2nd day of February, at five in the afternoon.)Your letters of yesterday coming to my hands this present day at five in the afternoon, I would not fail, according to your directions, to return my answer with all possible speed, which (sic) shall deliver unto you with great grief and bitterness of mind, in that I am so unhappy to have lived to see this unhappy day, in the which I am required by direction from my most gracious sovereign to do an act which God and the law forbiddeth. My good livings and life are at Her Majesty's disposition, and am ready to so lose them this next morrow if it shall so please her, acknowledging that I hold them as of her mere and most gracious favour, and do not desire them to enjoy them, but with her Highness's good liking. But God forbid that I should make so foul a shipwreck of my conscience, or leave so great a blot to my poor posterity, to shed blood without law or warrant. Trusting that Her Majesty, of her accustomed clemency, will take this my dutiful answer in good part (and the rather by your good mediation), as proceeding from one who will never be inferior to any Christian subject living in duty, honour, love, and obedience towards his sovereign. And thus I commit you to the mercy of the Almighty.—Your most assured poor friends,A. Paulet.D. Drury.FromFotheringay,2nd February 1586.Your letters coming in the plural number seem to be meant as to Sir Drue Drury as to myself, and yet because he is not named in them, neither the letter directed unto him, he forbeareth to make any particular answer, but subscribeth in heart to my opinion.
(A copy of a letter to Sir Francis Walsingham, of the 2nd of February 1586, at six in the afternoon, being the answer to a letter from him, the said Sir Francis, of the 1st of February 1586, received at Fotheringay the 2nd day of February, at five in the afternoon.)
Your letters of yesterday coming to my hands this present day at five in the afternoon, I would not fail, according to your directions, to return my answer with all possible speed, which (sic) shall deliver unto you with great grief and bitterness of mind, in that I am so unhappy to have lived to see this unhappy day, in the which I am required by direction from my most gracious sovereign to do an act which God and the law forbiddeth. My good livings and life are at Her Majesty's disposition, and am ready to so lose them this next morrow if it shall so please her, acknowledging that I hold them as of her mere and most gracious favour, and do not desire them to enjoy them, but with her Highness's good liking. But God forbid that I should make so foul a shipwreck of my conscience, or leave so great a blot to my poor posterity, to shed blood without law or warrant. Trusting that Her Majesty, of her accustomed clemency, will take this my dutiful answer in good part (and the rather by your good mediation), as proceeding from one who will never be inferior to any Christian subject living in duty, honour, love, and obedience towards his sovereign. And thus I commit you to the mercy of the Almighty.—Your most assured poor friends,
A. Paulet.D. Drury.
FromFotheringay,2nd February 1586.
Your letters coming in the plural number seem to be meant as to Sir Drue Drury as to myself, and yet because he is not named in them, neither the letter directed unto him, he forbeareth to make any particular answer, but subscribeth in heart to my opinion.
On the morning of 3rd February Elizabeth summoned Davison again to her presence, and inquired sharply whether he had taken the warrant of execution to the Chancellor. On his replying that he had done so, the Queen, in a brusque and severe tone, asked why he had been in such a hurry.
"I obeyed your Majesty's orders," timidly replied Davison, "and I thought there should be no delay in an affair of so much importance."
"It is true," returned Elizabeth, "but it seems to me that there may be a better and a surer way of ending the matter."
To which Davison answered, that as the execution was to take place, the most honourable way was also the most sure.[97]
On leaving the Queen's presence, Davison, very anxious in mind, hurried to acquaint Burleigh and Sir Christopher Hatton with his suspicions. Burleigh was detained at home by the gout, but he sent at once for all the members of the council. He was now determined to act on his own responsibility; he had the warrant duly signed by Elizabeth in his possession, yet he well remembered that she had before twice signed and twice cancelled the warrant for the Duke of Norfolk's execution. Burleigh was also well aware, as we know, of the correspondence going on with Paulet, but he probably anticipated Paulet's refusal; in any case he resolved to act without waiting for his reply. When therefore his colleagues were assembled,[98]he laid the signed warrant before them, informed them that their mistress had now done all that the law required of her, and suggested that it was now their duty to obey her without troubling her further. He also suggested that in a matter of so grave importance it would be well that all the members of the council should unite in sharing the responsibility of the act, in case any question should arise later regarding it. Burleigh's proposals were carried unanimously, and it was determined that the warrant should be given to Beale, the clerk of council, to be conveyed by him tothe Earls of Kent and Shrewsbury, who were appointed to see to its execution. Burleigh told Beale that the matter required great speed and secrecy, as if known, "H.M.'s life would be in hazard."[99]
Paulet's letter reached London on 4th February, but it was not communicated to Elizabeth till the next day, Sunday. That morning the Queen sent for Davison, on whom, owing to Walsingham's illness, fell the unpleasing task of showing her the letter. At first the Queen made no allusion to the subject. She related to him that she had dreamed the previous night that she was punishing him for being the cause of the death of the Queen of Scots, adding with a smile that she had been so possessed by this dream that if she had had a sword at hand she would have pierced him through with it. Davison, justly alarmed at the Queen's sinister tone and ambiguous words, once more asked her if she had decided to have the Queen of Scots executed or not.
"Yes," cried she impetuously, but, she continued, "I do not like the legal method, as upon me alone will fall all the responsibility;" and as Davison repeated his objections to any other method, Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders, and looking at him contemptuously, remarkedthat "wiser men than he held a different opinion." Then suddenly changing the subject, the Queen inquired if there had been any reply from Paulet. When Davison, in fear and trembling, had presented the letter, she read it with extreme indignation. Pacing the room uneasily, she gave way to violent anger and disappointment, and abused Paulet in no measured terms. He was no longer her "loving Amyas," but one of those "dainty and precise" fellows who would promise everything and perform nothing. Nay, more, he was a perjurer; for had he not subscribed the bond of association, by which he obliged himself, at the hazard of his life, to save his Queen? "But," added Elizabeth, "I can do without him; I have Wingfield, who will not draw back."
For the next few days Elizabeth made no further sign. She maintained an absolute reserve on the subject which was torturing her till the morning of the day of execution, when, throwing off the mask, she told Davison that it was time this ended, adding with a terrible oath that it was a shame for her ministers that the affair was not yet terminated. Her ministers had indeed ended all, as she was soon to learn.[100]
As soon as Beale had received the warrant he started for Fotheringay.[101]Yet the question of the manner ofMary's death was even still undecided, as we learn by the following curious facts now first brought to light: "When R.B. (Robert Beale) was come to Fotheringay, he understood from Sir A. Paulet and Sir Drue Drury that they had been dealt with by a letter if they could have been induced to suffer her to have been violently smothered by some that should have been appointed for that purpose. But they disliked that course as dishonourable and dangerous, and so did R.B., and therefore thought it convenient to have it done by law in such sort as they might justify their doings by law."[102]And here Beale adds in his own hand the following: "One Wingfield (as it was thought) should have been appointed for this deed, and it seemed that H.M. would have had it done so rather than otherwise, pretending that Archibald Douglas, the Sco. Ambassador, had so advised her. Of all her councillors it is thought that the Earl of Leicestre did most exhort her unto this course, but both the secretaries misliked thereof, and so did Sir Amis Paulet and Sir Drue Drury. H.M. would fain have had it so, alledging the association whereby men seemed bound to such a thing and promising pardon. But the matter being in consideration at R.B. being at Fotheringay by the example of EdwardII. and Richard II., it was not thought convenient or safe to proceed covertly but openly, according to the statute."[103]
Walsingham had taken upon himself all the arrangements with the executioner, telling Beale "that he would take order to send down the hangman (Bull) and his instrument by George Digby, his servant.... He was hired by one Anthony Hall, a Londoner, servant under the sd. Mr. Secretary, and then dwelling without Bishops Gate, who afterwards reported unto the said R.B. (Robert Beale) and others, that he agreed with him for £10 for his labour." Walsingham sent Digby first to Sir Walter Mildmay, begging him to lodge the executioner at his house Apthorpe, distant but two miles from Fotheringay. But Sir Walter,—and we are not surprised to learn it,—"misliked therof," and he was eventually lodged "in an inn at Fotheringay, kept secretly until the day."[104]Walsingham had announced Bull's arrival to Paulet in these terms: "I send down the executioner by a trusty servant of mine, who will be at Fotheringay upon Sunday at night. His instrument is put in a trunk, and he passeth as a serving-man. There is great care taken to have the matter pass in secresy"[105](signed London, 3rd February).
After informing the Earl of Kent of his duty on the way, Beale had reached Fotheringay on Sunday evening, 5th February, where he showed his commission to Paulet and Drury, and the next day he hastened to communicate it to the Earl of Shrewsbury, who was staying in the neighbourhood. That same evening Beale returned to the castle to dine with Paulet, accompanied by several persons who were to be present at the execution—among them was Dr. Fletcher, Dean of Peterborough. And here let us pause on the eve of the day which brought the fatal tidings to Queen Mary. If Elizabeth was troubled in mind, and haunted with remorse, Mary, on the contrary, awaited in absolute calm and resignation the end of her life of sorrows.[106]
“ON Tuesday the 7th of February several persons arrived, among whom it is supposed was the sheriff, who all dined with Sir Amyas. After dinner came the Comte de Kent, and last of all Monsieur de Sheresburg, at whose arrival we were all dismayed and in great fear, having for the last three days imagined many coming evils for Her Majesty, who herself felt convinced that the blow was about to fall."[107]
Bourgoing's simple words need no comment. It is easy to realise the suspense and anxiety experienced during these days by Mary's faithful servants. Bourgoing thus continues: "They sent to ask to speak withHer Majesty, who replied that she was in bed, but that if the matter were pressing she begged for a little time to get up. Receiving for answer that the matter was of consequence, Her Majesty prepared to receive them in her chamber seated in her chair at the foot of her bed. When the two said Counts, together with Mr. Beale, Mr. Paulet, and Sir Drue Drury, were come, all of whom remained uncovered while conversing with Her Majesty,[108]the Comte de Sheresburg commenced to say that the Queen of England had sent them to her in her own name and that of the state, to make known to her that after having proceeded as she knew honourably and as was expedient for the affair of which she was accused, found guilty, and therefore condemned, as she knew and had been made aware of, on the part of the Queen, she must now hear her sentence read, which he and le Comte de Kent, together with Mr. Beale, were appointed to carry out according to the Queen's intention; and thereupon the said Beale began to read a document on parchment, to which was appended the great seal of England in yellow wax, in which Her Majesty was named Mary Stuart, daughter of James V., otherwise called Queen of Scotland, Dowager of France."[109]
Other writers give us a few more details which here supplement Bourgoing's narrative.[110]The Queen seems to have received the commissioners surrounded by her whole household, among whom her physician is specially mentioned. We are also told that Shrewsbury informed her that his royal mistress had delayed the execution of the sentence as long as she was able, till at last, being pressed on all sides, she had been obliged to cede to the importunities of her subjects. Mary listened to the warrant with her usual calmness and dignity.[111]"When it was finished, Her Majesty, with great constancy and without emotion, replied:—
'I thank you for such welcome news. You will do me a great good in withdrawing me from this world, out of which I am very glad to go, on account of the miseries I see in it, and of being myself in continualaffliction. I am of no good and of no use to any one. I have long looked for this, and have expected it day by day for eighteen years. Unworthy though I think myself, I am by the grace of God a queen born and a queen anointed, a near relative of the Queen (of England), granddaughter of King Henry VII., and I have had the honour to be Queen of France, but in all my life I have had only sorrow. I am very happy that it pleases God by your means to free me from so many evils and afflictions. I am quite ready and very happy to die, and to shed my blood for Almighty God, my Saviour and my Creator, and for the Catholic Church, and to maintain its rights in this country, for the welfare of which I have always done everything that has been possible, loving the Queen, my good sister, and this island as dearly as myself, as I have often shown. I have constantly offered to arrange matters peacefully and to bring things to a happy issue, but have always been rejected and put aside. I have been held a prisoner without having merited it, for I came into this country of my own free will in hope of succour, according to the promise of the Queen. We should have agreed very well, and would together have arranged matters so well as to satisfy every one if I had at once been permitted to speak to her.' Mary continued to speak on this capital point, her unjust imprisonment for eighteenyears, in violation of all laws human and divine, as also of all the humiliation and sorrow it had brought upon her; and then, placing her hand on an English New Testament which lay on the table by her, she protested on oath that she was innocent of the crime imputed to her. 'I have never,' she said most solemnly, 'either desired the death of the Queen, or endeavoured to bring it about, or that of any other person.' The Earl of Kent objected that it was a Catholic Bible, the Pope's version, and that therefore the oath was of no avail. 'This is the translation approved by the Church,' replied Mary, 'and if I swear on the book which I believe to be the true version, will not your lordship believe my oath more than if I were to swear on a translation in which I do not believe?'"
Kent now urged Mary to think of her soul, and, being so near death, to confess her faults and embrace the "true religion." Here are Bourgoing's words:—
"They offered her the Dean of Peterbourg, one of the most learned in Europe, to comfort her, from whom she might learn regarding her salvation and which was the true religion. She had, they said, remained in that in which she had been instructed in her youth, and for want of some one to show her the truth, and that now as she had little time to live—only a few hours toremain in this world—she must think of her conscience and recognise the true religion, and not remain longer in these follies and abominations of popery. 'We have the true Word of God,' said they, 'and you can make the comparison when you have spoken to the minister, and then make your choice. We speak in conscience and with the desire that you should be in good case at the hour of death and be converted to God.' Her Majesty said, 'I have been for long sufficiently instructed in my religion. I know well what I ought to know of it, for my salvation and the good of my soul. I have not only heard, or read, the words of the most learned men of the Catholic religion, but also of the Protestant religion. I have spoken with them and heard them preach, but I have been unable to find anything in them which could turn me from my first belief. When I came to this country, being in the house of Monsieur de Sheresburg, in order to satisfy every one, and to show that I acted only by conscience, I listened to the most able Protestant preachers for nearly the whole of one Lent, but at the end, finding no edification, I withdrew.' This the Earl confirmed, adding that he had invited her to return. Mary continued: 'Having lived till now in the true faith, this is not the time to change, but, on the contrary, it is the very moment when it is most needful that I should remain firm andconstant, as I intend to do. Rather than be unfaithful to it I would wish to lose ten thousand lives, if I had as many, and, if it were possible, shed all my blood several times over, and endure all the most cruel torments you could threaten me with. No,' concluded the Queen; 'for my consolation I beg you to let me see my own priest, so that he may help me to prepare the better for death. I wish for no other.'"
On this subject Elizabeth had given stringent orders to the commissioners,[112]and the dying Queen's last request was cruelly denied. "It is our duty," said the lords, "to prevent such abominations which offend God," and they once more pressed her to see the Dean.
"No," replied the Queen vehemently, "I will do no such thing. I have nothing to do with him, and I neither wish to see him nor to listen to him. Let no one take any more trouble to persuade me. I see well that they would wish to destroy my soul together with my body if they could, but they will not succeed. I hope that God will have mercy upon me, as I have already prepared myself (for death). He knows my heart, my will, my intentions, and what is my desire and resolve. He will succour me and grant me pardon for my faults. It surprises me that at the end, when Ihave most need of my priest, they refuse him to me; I had asked to have him, especially to assist me at my last end. The Queen of England had granted my request and had allowed him to come to me; and since then they have taken him from me and prevented him from coming at the most necessary time,—a thing too cruel and inhuman, and unworthy of Englishmen."[113]The commissioners again declared that it was against their conscience to allow her to see her chaplain, and denied having known that he had been previously permitted to return to Fotheringay.
In the midst of so much painful discussion, and under the trial of being denied the only consolation she desired, Kent's next words must have brought a great joy to Mary. She who had so often and so ardently wished to shed her blood for her faith, was now to be given good cause of thinking her desires were about to be fulfilled. Kent told the Queen "that it had been decided that she could not live without endangering the state, the life of the Queen, and the religion. Your life," said he, "would be the death of our religion, your death will be its life."[114]
"I was far," exclaimed Mary, "from thinking myself worthy of such a death, and I humbly receiveit as a token of my admission among the elect servants of God."[115]Mary begged to know whether the other powers had interceded for her. She was told that they had done so, but that not one of them could show a good reason why she should not be put to death. She then spoke of her son, complaining of his conduct to her, but she was told that he had done all that was in his power, and that she ought to die in charity. "I forgive every one," replied Mary, "and accuse no one; but I may follow David's example and pray God to confound and punish His enemies and those of His divinity and religion, and pardon our enemies."
The Queen asked when she was to die. "Tomorrow morning at eight o'clock,"[116]replied Shrewsbury in faltering tones. Mary remarked that the time was very short. She had been unable, she said, to make her will for want of her papers and the account books of her household. She again asked to be permitted to see her chaplain, and to have her papers restored to her. Both requests were unavailing. Her papers, she was told, were in Wade's hands, who was then in France. The Queen then anxiously inquired what Queen Elizabeth had decided regarding her place of burial, and whether she would permit her body to liebeside her royal husband's in St. Denis, or at least by her mother in the church of St. Peter at Rheims.
The lords replied that their mistress would not allow her to be buried in France. "At least then," continued Mary, "my requests in favour of my servants will be granted?" They replied that they had no instructions on this point, but that they saw nothing which should prevent her attendants acting as she wished and having their goods. The lords and their party now withdrew. As they were bowing farewell to the Queen, she asked them what had become of Nau and Curle.
"We do not know," they replied.
"Is Nau dead?" said Mary.
"No," they answered; and Drury added, "He has not escaped; he still drags his fetters."
"Her Majesty," says Bourgoing, "said that she was to die for him who accused her, and who caused her to die to save himself."
The commissioners told her that she was under their guardianship, but that from this moment they entrusted her to Sir Amyas's care, to be delivered to them when they should come.
Mary's followers endeavoured to obtain a reprieve for their beloved mistress. "The servants of Her Majesty with tears and cries declared that the time was too short for her to put her affairs in order. Itwas impossible that the night could be long enough; she was leaving her servants destitute of all means. They begged the lords to have pity on them, saying that it appeared that by the terms of their commission they had power to have the execution when they wished, and praying them to defer it for some few hours." Bourgoing, who appears to have been the spokesman, addressing Lord Shrewsbury, reminded him how he had cared for his lordship once when he was ill, and recalled the sentiments of generous compassion which he had shown in other days for the Queen when she was his prisoner.
Beale himself said that by the terms of the commission a delay might be granted, but Lord Shrewsbury answered that "he had no power to grant the smallest delay";[117]and having bowed to the Queen, he retired with the other commissioners.
When she was left alone with her sorrowful attendants, the Queen, turning to them, said: "Well, Jane Kennedy, did I not tell you this would happen? Did I not well know that they desired to do as they have done? I saw well by those proceedings at what they aimed. I knew they would never allow me to live; I was too great an obstacle to their religion. Well, let supper be hastened, so that I may put my affairs inorder. My children," continued Mary, "it is now no time to weep; that is useless; what do you now fear? You should rather rejoice to see me on such a good road to being delivered from the many evils and afflictions which have so long been my portion. I am of no good in this world—I am of use to no one; you should rather, like me, console yourselves that it has pleased God to give me this grace,—that I die for so good a quarrel. I return thanks to Him, and thank Him with a very good heart that it has pleased Him to call me at this hour, and that He has given me such good occasion to suffer death for His holy name, His true religion, and His Church. No greater good could befall me in this world. You see—are you now not witnesses?—why they put me to death. Consider why they sent Lord Kent with his disputes and religious controversies. Have not they now plainly shown their intention? Is it not notorious that they have always feared that if I lived they would never be in safety regarding their religion? Therefore," concluded Mary, "let each one be patient and leave us here to pray to God."[118]
When all the men had left her room, the Queen spent some time in prayer with her women. Then she set herself to count her money, and after dividing it into several parts, put each amount into as many littlepurses, with a paper on which the name of each of her servants was written in her own hand.[119]
At supper, which had been hastened according to her order, she, as usual, ate little. Her sorrowing attendants rivalled each other in zeal to serve and wait upon her, listening eagerly to her slightest word. Since Melville's departure, Bourgoing had taken his place as steward. He now presented the dishes with one trembling hand, furtively wiping away his tears with the other. Mary alone remained perfectly calm. Sometimes she seemed absorbed in a profound reverie, while a sweet smile animated her countenance, as if she had received some joyful tidings; at others she conversed with her faithful physician. "Did you remark, Bourgoing," said she, "what Lord Kent said in his interview with me? He said that my life would have been the death of their religion, and that my death will be its life. Oh, how happy those words make me! Here at last is the truth. It has declared itself in a striking manner, and I beg you to observe it. They told me that I was to die because I had plotted against the Queen, and here is Lord Kent sent to me to convert me, and what does he tell me?—that I am to die on account of my religion. If he hoped to make me embrace his faith," continued Mary with a smile,"he has quite lost his time, and certainly to convince me it would have required another sort of doctor than that one. For all the lives in the world I would not change in one little thought."[120]
"When supper was over," says Bourgoing, "Her Majesty sent for all her servants and exhorted them to mutual charity, and in a long discourse took leave of them, forgiving them all, and begging them to pray God for her. She admonished each separately, charging them to live at peace with each other, and to give up all past enmities or bitterness, and she showed in all this great proofs of wisdom, understanding, and constancy."
As the end draws near, the faithful physician curtails his journal, as if unable to describe more fully what it grieved him so deeply to witness, but other authorities give us a fuller picture of this affecting scene, which will serve to supplement this brief description.[121]
At the close of supper, and when her attendants were all assembled round her, the Queen drank to their welfare and asked them if they would not drink to hers. They all threw themselves on their knees, and mingling their tears with the wine, begged her forgiveness for any faults they might have been guilty of.
"With all my heart, my children," she replied with a gentle smile, "even as I pray you to forgive me any injustice or harshness of which I may have been guilty towards you."
She reminded them of their duty to God, and exhorted them to remain firm and constant in their faith, and to live together in good friendship and charity as fellow-Christians, which she said would now be easier, as Nau was no longer among them to sow discord. The Queen repeated that Nau was the cause of her death, but that she forgave him. Although she seems to have felt keenly Nau's apparent ingratitude, and to have fully believed the reports of his conduct, which appeared to be only too well founded,[122]Mary was not unjust to him, as she declares expressly in her will that if Nau can be proved innocent towards her, he is to have his pension.[123]
Seated in an arm-chair, with an inventory in her hand, the Queen now examined the contents of her wardrobe,[124]and distributed among her attendants the garments and jewels and the small quantity of silver plate and valuable furniture which had escaped the search at Chartley and Queen Elizabeth's rapacity.She accompanied each gift with some kind and gracious word, which enhanced its value tenfold. Mary also charged her followers to take certain mementos from her to her son, to the King and Queen of France, the King of Spain, Catherine of Medici, her cousins of Lorraine, and other friends. No one, absent or present, was forgotten.[125]When all was arranged, about nine o'clock the Queen wrote the following letter to her chaplain, begging him to watch in spirit with her, and to pray for her:—
To Préau.[126]No date (7th February 1587).I have been attacked to-day concerning my religion, and urged to receive consolation from the heretics. You will hear from Bourgoin and the others that I at least faithfully made protestation for my faith, in which I wish to die. I requested to have you [with me], in order that I might make my confession and receive my Sacrament, which was cruelly refused me, as well as leave for my body to be removed, and the power of making a free Will, or writing anything except what shall pass through their hands and be subject to the good pleasure of their mistress. In default of that, I confess in general thegravity of my sins, as I had intended to do to you in particular, begging you in the name of God to pray and watch with me this night in satisfaction for my sins, and to send me your Absolution, and pardon for the things in which I have offended you. I shall try to see you in their presence, as they have allowed me to see the steward,[127]and if I am allowed, I shall ask the blessing on my knees before all. Advise me as to the most appropriate prayers for this night and to-morrow morning, as the time is short and I have no leisure to write; but I will recommend you, as well as the others, and especially your Benefices shall be spared to you, and I will recommend you to the King. I have no more time. Tell me in writing of all that you shall think best for the good of my soul. I shall send you a last little token.
No date (7th February 1587).
I have been attacked to-day concerning my religion, and urged to receive consolation from the heretics. You will hear from Bourgoin and the others that I at least faithfully made protestation for my faith, in which I wish to die. I requested to have you [with me], in order that I might make my confession and receive my Sacrament, which was cruelly refused me, as well as leave for my body to be removed, and the power of making a free Will, or writing anything except what shall pass through their hands and be subject to the good pleasure of their mistress. In default of that, I confess in general thegravity of my sins, as I had intended to do to you in particular, begging you in the name of God to pray and watch with me this night in satisfaction for my sins, and to send me your Absolution, and pardon for the things in which I have offended you. I shall try to see you in their presence, as they have allowed me to see the steward,[127]and if I am allowed, I shall ask the blessing on my knees before all. Advise me as to the most appropriate prayers for this night and to-morrow morning, as the time is short and I have no leisure to write; but I will recommend you, as well as the others, and especially your Benefices shall be spared to you, and I will recommend you to the King. I have no more time. Tell me in writing of all that you shall think best for the good of my soul. I shall send you a last little token.
She then drew up her will. This long and interesting document, written, as the Queen says, "being near to death," testifies to her faith and last wishes. Mary declares that she dies in the Catholic faith, and orders that solemn services for the repose of her soul shall be held at St. Denis and at the Church of St. Pierre at Rheims. She directs that all her debts shall be paid, and whatever money shall remain over she leaves for legacies to her servants. She appoints as her executors the Duke of Guise, the Archbishop of Glasgow, the Bishop of Ross, and her Chancellor, du Ruisseau.[128]
When Mary had written her will, she concluded a letter to the King of France which she had begun on the previous day. Perhaps few historic relics are more touching than this letter, the original of which we have seen, and which, by its firm, clear characters, bears testimony to the perfect calmness and tranquillity of mind with which it was written.