said Mary, pretending a title to the crown of this realm of England, tending to the hurt, death, and destruction of the royal person of our lady the queen; and also for that the aforesaid Mary, pretending a title to the crown, hath herself compassed and imagined within this realm divers matters tending to the hurt, death, and destruction of the royal person of our sovereign lady the queen, contrary to the form of the statute in the commission aforesaid specified." Nau and Curle were declared abettors, so that it was a sentence of death to all the three. To this a provision was added that the sentence should in no way derogate from the right or dignity of her son, James king of Scotland. The life of Mary was now in the hand of Elizabeth; she could have at once signed the death-warrant of her adversary; but, though she had the power, she was anxious to be rid of the responsibility, and we are now called upon to contemplate one of the most extraordinary scenes in the history of the world. It is that of a woman who, with all the power of a mighty kingdom at her back, has pursued her female relative and neighbouring sovereign to the death with a persevering and undying malice of which there is no more shocking example, and who, having now compassed her life-long desire, determines to shift from her the responsibility and to lay it on the whole nation first, and next on all or any individuals who are in her service, or within her power. In pursuit of this object, the gross hypocrisy, the intense and unmitigated selfishness, the consciousness of the blackness of the crime she was meditating, and of the righteous award of its infamy by all posterity the world over, with the resolve to make others bear that damnable stigma, by tricks and stratagems to which only the most practised criminals could resort, is a spectacle so awful, so astonishing, and so hideous, that we in vain look for its parallel, not merely in the darkest pages of history, but in the all-prolific villainies of fiction. On the 29th of October that is, four days after the passing of this sentence she assembled her parliament. She had summoned it for the 15th, anticipating quicker work at Fotheringay, but prorogued it to this date. The proceedings on the trial were laid before each house, and both lords and commons petitioned Elizabeth to enforce the execution of the queen of Scots without delay. Sergeant Puckering, the speaker of the commons, in communicating the prayer of the house, reminded Elizabeth of the wrath of God against persons who neglected to execute His judgments, as in the case of Saul, who had spared Agag, and Ahab, who had spared Benhadad. Elizabeth replied by feigning the utmost reluctance to shed the blood of that wicked woman, the queen of Scots, though she had so often sought her life, and for the preservation of which she expressed her deep gratitude to Almighty God. She wished that she and Mary were two milkmaids, with pails upon their arms, and then she would forgive her all her wrongs. As for her own life, she had no desire on her own account to preserve it; she had nothing left worth living for; but for her people she could endure much. Still the call of her council, her parliament, and her people to execute justice on her own kinswoman, had brought her into a great strait and struggle of mind. But then, lest she should have carried this crocodile pretence too far, and should be taken at her word, she said she would confide to them a secret: that certain persons had sworn an oath within these few days to take her life or be hanged themselves. She had written proof of this, and she must, therefore, remind them of their own oath of association for the defence of her person. This was followed by one of those awful pretences of piety, and appeals to the Divinity, with which this terrible woman uniformly endeavoured to cover her worst designs. "She thought it requisite," she said, "with earnest prayer, to beseech the Divine Majesty so to illuminate her understanding, and to inspire her with his grace, that she might see clearly to do and determine that which should serve to the establishment of his church, preservation of their estates, and the prosperity of the commonwealth." She sent a message to the two houses, expressing the great conflict which she had had in her own mind, and begging to know whether they could not devise some means of sparing the life of her relative. Both houses, on the 25th, returned answer that this was impossible. Such an answer was what Elizabeth wanted; it was an additional acceptance of the responsibility by parliament, and gratified her pretended desire to avoid such a catastrophe on her own part. To this declaration of parliament she returned to them one of her sphinxean, muddy, enigmatical answers :-" If I should say that I meant not to grant your petition, by my faith, I should say unto you more perhaps than I mean. And if I should say that I mean to grant it, I should tell you more than it is fit for you to know. Thus I must deliver to you an answer answerless.” So far the game was regularly and solemnly played out. Council, lords and commons had taken full responsibility on them of this momentous measure, and Elizabeth had carefully thrust it from her and to them. There were other parties with whom the same process must be gone through, for the false and selfish queen, whilst she thirsted for her cousin's blood, took every possible precaution that none of it should be spirted upon her own skirts. The next move was to announce to Mary the sentence; and to see whether she could not draw from her a confession of its justice. For this purpose she sent down to Fotheringay lord Buckhurst and Mr. Robert Beale, with a protestant bishop and dean, and a strong body of guards. They were to take advantage of her terror and distress of mind to draw from her this important admission. But in this the messengers signally failed. Mary heard the sentence with an air of composure, protested against its injustice, and against the right of any power in England to pass it; but declared that death would be welcome to her as the only way of escape from her weary captivity. She refused to receive the protestant bishop and dean, and demanded to be allowed the services of her almoner. This was conceded for a brief interval; and during that interval she wrote letters to the pope, the duke of Guise, and to the archbishop of Glasgow, in which she declared her innocence, her steadfastness in her religion, and called upon them to vindicate her memory. These letters were all safely delivered to their several addresses after her death. This interview took place on the 23rd of November; and the next day Paulet went into her presence with his hat on, declared that she was now dead according to law, and had no right to the insignia of royalty: he therefore ordered the canopy of state to be pulled down, and also that her billiard-table should be taken away, because a woman A.D. 1587.] INTERCESSION OF THE KING OF FRANCE. under her circumstances should be better employed than in mere recreation. On the 6th of December proclamation of the judgment of the commissioners against the queen of Scots was made through London by sound of trumpet, whereupon the populace made great rejoicings, kindled large bonfires, and rang the bells all day as if some joyful event had occurred. They were so fully persuaded that the queen of Scots was at the bottom of all the alleged and real plots for the overturn of the government, the bringing in of the king of Spain, and the catholic religion, that their exultation was boundless. Thus the people, as well as the parliament and council, had yoked themselves to the responsibility of this act; and Mary, when she heard of it, recollected the fate of the earl of Northumberland, and was so alarmed lest they should assassinate her in private, that she wrote to Elizabeth her last and most impressive letter. In this letter-worthy of a queen stricken with long years of affliction, grown dignifiedly calm under the sense of injustice, yet careful of her reputation, and mindful of her friends she requested that her body might be sent to France to lie beside that of her mother; that she might send her last adieu and a jewel to her son; that her faithful servants might be permitted to retain the small tokens of her regard which she had given to them; and especially that she might not be put to death in private, lest her enemies should say, as they had said of others, that she had destroyed herself, or abjured her religion. She then thanked God for having sustained her under so much injustice, and told Elizabeth if she had permitted the real letters and papers to have been brought forward on the trial, they would have shown what were the true objects of her enemies. She added, "Do not accuse me of presumption if, whilst I bid adieu to this world, and am preparing for another, I remind you that one day you will there have to answer for your conduct, as well as those whom you have sent there before you." Even on the indurated soul of Elizabeth this letter took some effect. "There has been a letter," wrote Leicester to Walsingham," from the Scottish queen, that hath wrought tears, but I trust shall doe no further herein; albeit, the delay is too dangerous." The news of the trial of Mary produced a vivid sensation abroad, and Henry III. of France hastened to intercede on her behalf; but, unfortunately, his own affairs were not in that position which enabled him to exert much authority with Elizabeth. At the recommendation of L'Aubespine Chasteauneuf, his resident ambassador, Henry sent an ambassador extraordinary on this mission, M. Bellievre. He was instructed to use the most forcible language, and even menaces, to prevent the spilling of Mary's blood. But the most vexatious obstacles were thrown in the way of the reception of Bellivere. First, he was informed that hired assassins, unknown to him, had mixed themselves with his suite; and then he was questioned whether the plague had not shown itself in his household. Meantime parliament had supported the commission which condemned Mary, and then, on the 7th of December, she admitted him to an audience at Richmond, seated on her throne and surrounded by her court. Bellievre faithfully discharged his office, by no means mincing the matter; and Elizabeth, though she had done all in her power to overawe him, was greatly excited. In reply she 519 professed to have had wonderful forbearance, though Mary had thrice attempted her life, and even now recoiled from shedding her blood, but her people demanded it for her own and the public safety. As for his threat that the king of France would resent the death of the Scottish queen, she asked him whether he had authority to use such language. “Yes, madam," replied Bellievre; "he expressly commanded me to use it." "Is your authority signed with his own hand?" asked Elizabeth. "It is. ་་ madam," replied Bellievre. "Then," said the queen, "I command you to testify as much in writing." He did so, and then she told him in a day or two he should receive her answer. Before retiring, however, he spoke many plain things to her. He justified Mary for endeavouring to gain her freedom, for it was notorious, he said, that she had been detained against her will; and that if she had been driven by despair to call in aid conspirators, Elizabeth had only herself to thank for it, for it was perfectly natural; and he warned her not to hope by putting to death the queen of Scots to annihilate all peril from leagues against her, for so unwarrantable an act would justify and sanctify such leagues. How deep the language of the French envoy had sunk appeared by the high-toned letter which she despatched to the king of France. She asked whether she was to consider him a friend or an enemy, and said haughtily that she was neither sunk so low, nor ruled so petty a kingdom, as to tolerate such language from any sovereign. She would not live another hour if she were weak enough to put up with such a dishonour. Bellievre waited in vain for his answer, and, after a month's delay and repeated applications, she sent him word she would give an answer to his master by a messenger of her own. When Bellievre was gone, and yet no message followed, Chasteauneuf made application, and was treated with an indignity which was intended to put an end to all further interference of France in this disagreeable subject. He was assured that a new plot for the assassination of the queen was discovered, and traced to no other place than the French embassy. The ministers pretended to exonerate Chasteauneuf himself from any share in or knowledge of the crime, but they seized and imprisoned his secretary, examined evidence, and produced documents in proof of the plot. This violation of the sanctity of an embassage, especially from a great nation, was too flagrant for toleration. Chasteauneuf expressed his indignation in the most unsparing terms, and broke off all communication with the English court; but this did not save him from further insult. Five of his despatches were intercepted and examined in the council. The king of France was enraged to the highest degree by this insolent treatment of his ambassador, laid an embargo on English shipping, and refused all communication with the English court. On being made, however, to perceive that it was a mere trick to prevent his interference in behalf of the queen of Scots, he sacrificed his own feelings of honour to his desire to save Mary, and again despatched a fresh envoy, but with no better success. Not till Mary was beyond the power of any earthly monarch would Elizabeth admit him, when she freely acknowledged the innocence of Chasteauneuf, made ample apologies, and endeavoured to efface the memory of these gross insults by gross adulation and empty compliments. The French government, however, did not forget the facts, and Villeroy has recorded in his register the estimate of Burleigh, Walsingham, and their companions, in these words:-"These five councillors of England falsified, forged, and invented all such documents as they thought necessary to bear on their object. They never produced the original articles of procedure, but only copies, which they added to, or diminished, as they pleased." The revelations of the State Paper-Office in our time have only too truly confirmed these assertions. whilst he was really bargaining for advantages to himself, now suggested that Mary was willing to resign all her rights in favour of her son, on which Leicester suggested that this merely meant that James should be put in his mother's place in regard to the succession to the English crown. This sore point of the succession drove Elizabeth into one of her furies, and she exclaimed, "Ha! is that your meaning? then I put myself in a worse case than before. That were to cut my own throat, and for a duchy, or an earldom to yourself, you, or such as you, would cause some of your desperate knaves to kill me. No! he shall never be in that place." Gray remarked that it was true that James must succeed, in case of his mother's death, to all her claims, and therefore it appeared useless to execute Mary. This only doubled Elizabeth's wrath, and she retired in fury. Gray had made a public advocacy of the queen, which he was well aware would only hasten her fate; but honest Melville followed Elizabeth and entreated her with much feeling to delay her execution; but the exasperated woman only exclaimed, "No! not for an hour!" and the door was closed behind her. James, on learning these particulars, appeared alarmed into anxiety. He wrote with his own hand to Gray, commanding him to speak out plainly and exert himself to save his mother. But Walsingham, who knew the true Henry of France not only thus honourably exerted himself to save the unfortunate queen of Scots, though a princess of a house that he detested-that of Guise-but he endeavoured to stimulate her unworthy son, king James, to the rescue. He assured him that if he allowed his mother's life to be thus taken, it would draw upon him the most terrible reproaches, and that, moreover, her execution would exclude him from the English throne. This alarmed James, and he sent to the English court Robert Keith, a young man of no weight, but who was a pensionary of Elizabeth's, like James himself. This did not escape the notice of the public, who concluded that James cared nothing about the fate of his mother whilst he could send such a man, at the time that the chief nobility of Scotland were in a state of high indignation at the idea of a queen of Scotland being treated like a subject, and a criminal subject, of the queen of England. Many of the chief nobi-chord in James's heart to appeal to, wrote to him expresslity offered to go and put in the king's protest at their own cost; yet James, whose resident ambassador at the English court was the notorious Archibald Douglas, who had been one of the most active of his father's murderers, now added to the wonder by sending that insignificant and bribed emissary. It was proposed to send Francis Stuart, the new earl of Bothwell, a nephew of Mary's, who was bold and out-spoken, but Archibald Douglas managed to prevent that. Courcelles, the present French ambassador, wrote to Henry III., that he augured little from James's appointment of his agents; and truly when Keith appeared before Elizabeth and delivered a remonstrance from James, Elizabeth went into a fury that terrified both of her pensioners, James and his man Keith. The pusillanimous monarch, on receiving the account of Elizabeth's anger, made haste to write a most humble apology, and to send two other envoys who might be more acceptable to the English queen. These were Sir Robert Melville, and Mar, the master of Gray. Melville was a respectable man, but Gray had already betrayed the interests of Mary to the English court, and he had written before he set out from Scotland that she should be quietly removed by poison, and on arriving he renewed the bait by whispering in the ear of Elizabeth that "the dead cannot bite." Another of his agents, Stuart, assured her that James bad only sent them merely to save appearances, and that, whatever he might pretend, he would be easily pacified by a present of dogs or deer. Thus, with the exception of Melville, James's ambassadors were really the paid tools of Elizabeth, like himself, and came only to sell the life of his mother. Melville endeavoured to persuade the queen to allow Mary to be sent to Scotland, engaging for the king that he would keep her safe. On this Elizabeth turned to Leicester and openly expressed the utmost contempt for James and his proposals. Gray, who appeared to fulfil his commission ing his surprise at his endeavouring to save a mother who had destroyed his father, never had been a mother to him; and if she, as a catholic, succeeded in escaping, it could only be to exclude him from the throne, and put down the reformed church. James at once, therefore, obeyed Walsingham's hint, whilst he appeared to consult his dignity. He recalled his ambassadors, and took the field for the rescue of his mother, not at the head of an army, but by enjoining the Presbyterian clergy to pray for her, an office which he must have been well aware they would never consent to, on behalf of a queen whom they regarded as the enemy of the church. Elizabeth had now thrown the responsibility of Mary's death on the council, the parliament, and the people, and bullied the kings of France and Scotland into silence. What yet restrained her from executing the queen of Scots? She had to sign the death-warrant, and she must throw even that on some other party too. The mode in which she went about this is, perhaps, more extraordinary than all the rest. She went about continually muttering to herself, "Aut fer aut feri: ne feriare feri "-Either endure or strike: strike lest thou be stricken. Instead of proceeding to sign the death-warrant and let the execution take its course, she had it again debated in the council whether it were not better to take her off by poison. Walsingham, who saw that the responsibility would be certainly thrown on somebody near the queen, got away from court; and the warrant, drawn up by Burleigh, was handed by him to Davison, the queen's secretary, to get it engrossed and presented to the queen for signature. When he did this, she bade him keep it awhile, and it lay in his hands for five or six weeks. But both Leicester and Burleigh were impatient for its execution; and directly after the departure of James's ambassadors in February, he was orderod to present it; and then Elizabeth signed it, bidding him take it to the great seal, "and trouble her no more with it." So .J 5. A.D. 1587.]' PRIVATE ASSASSINATION OF MARY PROPOSED. far from appearing impressed with the seriousness of the act she had performed, she was quite jocose, telling Davison that he might call on Walsingham, who was sick, and show it to him thus signed, which, she said ironically, she feared would kill him outright. Then, as if suddenly recollecting herself, she said, "Surely Paulet and Drury might ease me of this burden. Do you and Walsingham sound their dis. positions." Though the warrant had now her signature, she much preferred that somebody should murder the queen, whom she would then assuredly have brought to justice, and made herself appear very righteous even. Burleigh and Leicester, to whom Davison showed the warrant, urged him to send it down to Fotheringay without a moment's delay; but Davison had a feeling that he certainly should get into trouble if he did so. He therefore went on to Walsingham, and after showing him the warrant, they then and there made a rough draft of a letter to Sir Amyas Paulet and Sir Drew Drury, Mary's additional keeper, proposing private assassination, as the queen requested. Whilst Walsingham made a fair copy, Davison went to the lord chancellor and got the great seal affixed to the warrant. On his return to Walsingham the notable letter from the so-called "glorious queen Bess," urging the murder of her prisoner, was ready, and they sent it forthwith. This letter was duly entered by Walsingham in his letter-book, and remains as an everlasting testimony of his and his mistress's infamy. Had he not himself preserved it, it would never have been known. It has been often published. It informed Paulet and Drury that the queen had of late noticed a great lack of zeal in them, and wondered that without any one moving them to it, they had not found out some way to rid her of the queen of Scots. It told them that for their own safeties, the public good, the prosperity of religion, they had ample warrant for the deed. That the satisfaction of their consciences towards God and their reputation in the world as men who had sworn the oath of association, dė-pended upon it; and, therefore, she tookkittvery unkind that they cast the burden upon her, knowing how much she disliked to shed blood, especially the blood of fone so near.. Davison the next day had confirmation doubly strong that she was watching to entrap him in the matter. She asked him if the warrant: had passed the great seal. He said it had; on which she immediately said, "Why such haste?" He inquired whether, then, she did not wish the affair to proceed. She replied, certainly, but that she thought it might be better managed, as the execution of the warrant threw the whole burden upon her.. Davison said he did not know who else could bear it, as her laws made it murder to destroy the meanest subject without her warrant. At this her patience appeared exhausted, and she exclaimed, Oh! if she had but two such subjects as Morton and Archibald Douglas! These were the most hardened assassins of Scotland that the "good queen Bess" longed to employ. Davison was terrified at the gulf on the edge of which he saw himself standing, with the queen ready and longing to drag him in. He went to Hatton, and told him that though he had her orders to send off the warrant to Fotheringay at once, he would not do it of himself. They herefore went together to Burleigh, who coincided with hem in the demand for caution. He therefore sumnoned the council the next morning, and it was there unaninously agreed, as the queen had discharged her duty, to do 521 theirs, and to proceed on joint responsibility. That very morning, on his waiting on Elizabeth, she told him a dream. she had had the preceding night, in which she had severely punished him as the cause of the death of the Scottish queen. Though she appeared to jest as she said it, there was something in the thing which made the secretary shudder with an ominous sensation. That day, being the 4th of February, the reply of Paulet reached him, and he went with it to the queen. This old puritan officer of Elizabeth's would have delighted to witness the legal execution of Mary, whom he hated for her religion and for the many sharp reproofs which the strictness of his gaolership had drawn from her; but he recoiled from the commission of murder-no doubt with a full certainty, moreover, that such compliance would have insured his instant doom from the perfidious queen. He lamented, he said, in bitterness of soul, that he had lived to see the day when he was required by his sovereign to do a deed abhorrent to God and the laws. His life, his property, he said, were at her majesty's command; she might take them to-morrow if she pleased; but God forbid that he should make so foul a shipwreck of his conscience, or leave so great a blot on his name, as to shed blood without law or warrant. On hearing this letter the good queen Bess broke out into a violent rage, and forgetting in a moment all the fine promises which she had so lately made to Paulet, all the rewards which her profound gratitude for the secure keeping of Mary were to draw from her, she called him "a precise and dainty fellow," and declared that she could point to others who would do that, or greater things for her sake, naming expressly a man of the name of Wingfield. Davison again dared to suggest that if Paulet put Mary to death without a warrant, she would have to avow that it was by her order, in which case the guilt and disgrace would be hers if she did not, she would have ruined her faithful servants. This language was not such as suited the impetuous and murderous queen: she abruptly rose and left him. Button the 7th of February she called for him, and told him off the dangerss with which she was surrounded on account off the Scottish queen; for, in fact, all sorts of rumours of invasion by the duke of Guise, of the burning of London, and murderr off the queen, were purposely propagated, in order to make the populace frantic for Mary's death. Elizabeth, therefore, declared that it was high time that the warrant was executed, and bade Davison, with a great oath, to write a sharp letter to Paulet ordering him to be quick. Davison, who knew that the warrant was gone, avoided the command by saying he did not think it necessary, but she repeated that Paulet would expect it, and whilst so saying one of her ladies came to ask what she would have for dinner; she rose and went out with her, and her unfortunate secretary saw her no more. That very day the order for Mary's death reached Fotheringay, and was probably being announced to her at the moment that Elizabeth was urging its despatch to Davison. The earl of Shrewsbury, who had guarded her so many years, as earl marshal, had now the painful office of carrying into effect her execution. There had been for some time a growing feeling at Fotheringay that the last day of Mary was at hand, for there had been a remarkable coming and going of strangers. When Shrewsbury was announced, his office proclaimed the fatal secret. The a nerself, bade them welcome, and assured them that she had queen, "and on that account I prize it the more; and. long waited for the day which had now arrived; that therefore, according to your own reasoning, you ought to twenty years of miserable imprisonment had made her judge my oath the more satisfactory." But the earl of burden to herself and useless to others; and that she Kent only bade her have done with her papistical supercould conceive no close of life so happy or so honourable as stition, and attend to the spiritual services of the dean that of shedding her blood for her religion. She recited Peterborough, whom her majesty had appointed to attend her injuries and the frauds and perjuries of her enemies, her. Mary declined the services of the dean, and requested and then laying her hand on the Testament upon her table, to have the aid of Le Preau, her almoner, the last indulgence |