mary stuart. a tragedy. by frederich schiller note: the translation of mary stuart is that by the late joseph mellish, who appears to have been on terms of intimate friendship with schiller. his version was made from the prompter's copy, before the play was published, and, like coleridge's wallenstein, contains many passages not found in the printed edition. these are distinguished by brackets. on the other hand, mr. mellish omitted many passages which now form part of the printed drama, all of which are now added. the translation, as a whole, stands out from similar works of the time ( ) in almost as marked a degree as coleridge's wallenstein, and some passages exhibit powers of a high order; a few, however, especially in the earlier scenes, seemed capable of improvement, and these have been revised, but, in deference to the translator, with a sparing hand. dramatis personae. elizabeth, queen of england. mary stuart, queen of scots, a prisoner in england. robert dudley, earl of leicester. george talbot, earl of shrewsbury. william cecil, lord burleigh, lord high treasurer. earl of kent. sir william davison, secretary of state. sir amias paulet, keeper of mary. sir edward mortimer, his nephew. count l'aubespine, the french ambassador. o'kelly, mortimer's friend. count bellievre, envoy extraordinary from france. sir drue drury, another keeper of mary. sir andrew melvil, her house steward. burgoyne, her physician. hannah kennedy, her nurse. margaret curl, her attendant. sheriff of the county. officer of the guard. french and english lords. soldiers. servants of state belonging to elizabeth. servants and female attendants of the queen of scots. act i. scene i. a common apartment in the castle of fotheringay. hannah kennedy, contending violently with paulet, who is about to break open a closet; drury with an iron crown. kennedy. how now, sir? what fresh outrage have we here? back from that cabinet! paulet. whence came the jewel? i know 'twas from an upper chamber thrown; and you would bribe the gardener with your trinkets. a curse on woman's wiles! in spite of all my strict precaution and my active search, still treasures here, still costly gems concealed! and doubtless there are more where this lay hid. [advancing towards the cabinet. kennedy. intruder, back! here lie my lady's secrets. paulet. exactly what i seek. [drawing forth papers. kennedy. mere trifling papers; the amusements only of an idle pen, to cheat the dreary tedium of a dungeon. paulet. in idle hours the evil mind is busy. kennedy. those writings are in french. paulet. so much the worse! that tongue betokens england's enemy. kennedy. sketches of letters to the queen of england. paulet. i'll be their bearer. ha! what glitters here? [he touches a secret spring, and draws out jewels from a private drawer. a royal diadem enriched with stones, and studded with the fleur-de-lis of france. [he hands it to his assistant. here, take it, drury; lay it with the rest. [exit drury. [and ye have found the means to hide from us such costly things, and screen them, until now, from our inquiring eyes?] kennedy. oh, insolent and tyrant power, to which we must submit. paulet. she can work ill as long as she hath treasures; for all things turn to weapons in her hands. kennedy (supplicating). oh, sir! be merciful; deprive us not of the last jewel that adorns our life! 'tis my poor lady's only joy to view this symbol of her former majesty; your hands long since have robbed us of the rest. paulet. 'tis in safe custody; in proper time 'twill be restored to you with scrupulous care. kennedy. who that beholds these naked walls could say that majesty dwelt here? where is the throne? where the imperial canopy of state? must she not set her tender foot, still used to softest treading, on the rugged ground? with common pewter, which the lowliest dame would scorn, they furnish forth her homely table. paulet. thus did she treat her spouse at stirling once; and pledged, the while, her paramour in gold. kennedy. even the mirror's trifling aid withheld. paulet. the contemplation of her own vain image incites to hope, and prompts to daring deeds. kennedy. books are denied her to divert her mind. paulet. the bible still is left to mend her heart. kennedy. even of her very lute she is deprived! paulet. because she tuned it to her wanton airs. kennedy. is this a fate for her, the gentle born, who in her very cradle was a queen? who, reared in catherine's luxurious court, enjoyed the fulness of each earthly pleasure? was't not enough to rob her of her power, must ye then envy her its paltry tinsel? a noble heart in time resigns itself to great calamities with fortitude; but yet it cuts one to the soul to part at once with all life's little outward trappings! paulet. these are the things that turn the human heart to vanity, which should collect itself in penitence; for a lewd, vicious life, want and abasement are the only penance. kennedy. if youthful blood has led her into error, with her own heart and god she must account: there is no judge in england over her. paulet. she shall have judgment where she hath transgressed. kennedy. her narrow bonds restrain her from transgression. paulet. and yet she found the means to stretch her arm into the world, from out these narrow bonds, and, with the torch of civil war, inflame this realm against our queen (whom god preserve). and arm assassin bands. did she not rouse from out these walls the malefactor parry, and babington, to the detested crime of regicide? and did this iron grate prevent her from decoying to her toils the virtuous heart of norfolk? saw we not the first, best head in all this island fall a sacrifice for her upon the block? [the noble house of howard fell with him.] and did this sad example terrify these mad adventurers, whose rival zeal plunges for her into this deep abyss? the bloody scaffold bends beneath the weight of her new daily victims; and we ne'er shall see an end till she herself, of all the guiltiest, be offered up upon it. oh! curses on the day when england took this helen to its hospitable arms. kennedy. did england then receive her hospitably? oh, hapless queen! who, since that fatal day when first she set her foot within this realm, and, as a suppliant--a fugitive-- came to implore protection from her sister, has been condemned, despite the law of nations, and royal privilege, to weep away the fairest years of youth in prison walls. and now, when she hath suffered everything which in imprisonment is hard and bitter, is like a felon summoned to the bar, foully accused, and though herself a queen, constrained to plead for honor and for life. paulet. she came amongst us as a murderess, chased by her very subjects from a throne which she had oft by vilest deeds disgraced. sworn against england's welfare came she hither, to call the times of bloody mary back, betray our church to romish tyranny, and sell our dear-bought liberties to france. say, why disdained she to subscribe the treaty of edinborough--to resign her claim to england's crown--and with one single word, traced by her pen, throw wide her prison gates? no:--she had rather live in vile confinement, and see herself ill-treated, than renounce the empty honors of her barren title. why acts she thus? because she trusts to wiles, and treacherous arts of base conspiracy; and, hourly plotting schemes of mischief, hopes to conquer, from her prison, all this isle. kennedy. you mock us, sir, and edge your cruelty with words of bitter scorn:--that she should form such projects; she, who's here immured alive, to whom no sound of comfort, not a voice of friendship comes from her beloved home; who hath so long no human face beheld, save her stern gaoler's unrelenting brows; till now, of late, in your uncourteous cousin she sees a second keeper, and beholds fresh bolts and bars against her multiplied. paulet. no iron-grate is proof against her wiles. how do i know these bars are not filed through? how that this floor, these walls, that seem so strong without, may not be hollow from within, and let in felon treachery when i sleep? accursed office, that's intrusted to me, to guard this cunning mother of all ill! fear scares me from my sleep; and in the night i, like a troubled spirit, roam and try the strength of every bolt, and put to proof each guard's fidelity:--i see, with fear, the dawning of each morn, which may confirm my apprehensions:--yet, thank god, there's hope that all my fears will soon be at an end; for rather would i at the gates of hell stand sentinel, and guard the devilish host of damned souls, than this deceitful queen. kennedy. here comes the queen. paulet. christ's image in her hand. pride, and all worldly lusts within her heart. scene ii. the same. enter mary, veiled, a crucifix in her hand. kennedy (hastening toward her). o gracious queen! they tread us under foot; no end of tyranny and base oppression; each coming day heaps fresh indignities, new sufferings on thy royal head. mary. be calm-- say, what has happened? kennedy. see! thy cabinet is forced--thy papers--and thy only treasure, which with such pains we had secured, the last poor remnant of thy bridal ornaments from france, is in his hands--naught now remains of royal state--thou art indeed bereft! mary. compose yourself, my hannah! and believe me, 'tis not these baubles that can make a queen-- basely indeed they may behave to us, but they cannot debase us. i have learned to use myself to many a change in england; i can support this too. sir, you have taken by force what i this very day designed to have delivered to you. there's a letter amongst these papers for my royal sister of england. pledge me, sir, your word of honor, to give it to her majesty's own hands, and not to the deceitful care of burleigh. paulet. i shall consider what is best to do. mary. sir, you shall know its import. in this letter i beg a favor, a great favor of her,-- that she herself will give me audience,--she whom i have never seen. i have been summoned before a court of men, whom i can ne'er acknowledge as my peers--of men to whom my heart denies its confidence. the queen is of my family, my rank, my sex; to her alone--a sister, queen, and woman-- can i unfold my heart. paulet. too oft, my lady, have you intrusted both your fate and honor to men less worthy your esteem than these. mary. i, in the letter, beg another favor, and surely naught but inhumanity can here reject my prayer. these many years have i, in prison, missed the church's comfort, the blessings of the sacraments--and she who robs me of my freedom and my crown, who seeks my very life, can never wish to shut the gates of heaven upon my soul. paulet. whene'er you wish, the dean shall wait upon you. mary (interrupting him sharply). talk to me not of deans. i ask the aid of one of my own church--a catholic priest. paulet. [that is against the published laws of england. mary. the laws of england are no rule for me. i am not england's subject; i have ne'er consented to its laws, and will not bow before their cruel and despotic sway. if 'tis your will, to the unheard-of rigor which i have borne, to add this new oppression, i must submit to what your power ordains; yet will i raise my voice in loud complaints.] i also wish a public notary, and secretaries, to prepare my will-- my sorrows and my prison's wretchedness prey on my life--my days, i fear, are numbered-- i feel that i am near the gates of death. paulet. these serious contemplations well become you. mary. and know i then that some too ready hand may not abridge this tedious work of sorrow? i would indite my will and make disposal of what belongs to me. paulet. this liberty may be allowed to you, for england's queen will not enrich herself by plundering you. mary. i have been parted from my faithful women, and from my servants; tell me, where are they? what is their fate? i can indeed dispense at present with their service, but my heart will feel rejoiced to know these faithful ones are not exposed to suffering and to want! paulet. your servants have been cared for; [and again you shall behold whate'er is taken from you and all shall be restored in proper season.] [going. mary. and will you leave my presence thus again, and not relieve my fearful, anxious heart from the fell torments of uncertainty? thanks to the vigilance of your hateful spies, i am divided from the world; no voice can reach me through these prison-walls; my fate lies in the hands of those who wish my ruin. a month of dread suspense is passed already since when the forty high commissioners surprised me in this castle, and erected, with most unseemly haste, their dread tribunal; they forced me, stunned, amazed, and unprepared, without an advocate, from memory, before their unexampled court, to answer their weighty charges, artfully arranged. they came like ghosts,--like ghosts they disappeared, and since that day all mouths are closed to me. in vain i seek to construe from your looks which hath prevailed--my cause's innocence and my friends' zeal--or my foes' cursed counsel. oh, break this silence! let me know the worst; what have i still to fear, and what to hope. paulet. close your accounts with heaven. mary. from heaven i hope for mercy, sir; and from my earthly judges i hope, and still expect, the strictest justice. paulet. justice, depend upon it, will be done you. mary. is the suit ended, sir? paulet. i cannot tell. mary. am i condemned? paulet. i cannot answer, lady. mary. [sir, a good work fears not the light of day. paulet. the day will shine upon it, doubt it not.] mary. despatch is here the fashion. is it meant the murderer shall surprise me, like the judges? paulet. still entertain that thought and he will find you better prepared to meet your fate than they did. mary (after a pause). sir, nothing can surprise me which a court inspired by burleigh's hate and hatton's zeal, howe'er unjust, may venture to pronounce: but i have yet to learn how far the queen will dare in execution of the sentence. paulet. the sovereigns of england have no fear but for their conscience and their parliament. what justice hath decreed her fearless hand will execute before the assembled world. scene iii. the same. mortimer enters, and without paying attention to the queen, addresses paulet. mortimer. uncle, you're sought for. [he retires in the same manner. the queen remarks it, and turns towards paulet, who is about to follow him. mary. sir, one favor more if you have aught to say to me--from you i can bear much--i reverence your gray hairs; but cannot bear that young man's insolence; spare me in future his unmannered rudeness. paulet. i prize him most for that which makes you hate him he is not, truly, one of those poor fools who melt before a woman's treacherous tears. he has seen much--has been to rheims and paris, and brings us back his true old english heart. lady, your cunning arts are lost on him. [exit. scene iv. mary, kennedy. kennedy. and dare the ruffian venture to your face such language! oh, 'tis hard--'tis past endurance. mary (lost in reflection). in the fair moments of our former splendor we lent to flatterers a too willing ear;-- it is but just, good hannah, we should now be forced to hear the bitter voice of censure. kennedy. so downcast, so depressed, my dearest lady! you, who before so gay, so full of hope, were used to comfort me in my distress; more gracious were the task to check your mirth than chide your heavy sadness. mary. well i know him-- it is the bleeding darnley's royal shade, rising in anger from his darksome grave and never will he make his peace with me until the measures of my woes be full. kennedy. what thoughts are these-- mary. thou may'st forget it, hannah; but i've a faithful memory--'tis this day another wretched anniversary of that regretted, that unhappy deed-- which i must celebrate with fast and penance. kennedy. dismiss at length in peace this evil spirit. the penitence of many a heavy year, of many a suffering, has atoned the deed; the church, which holds the key of absolution, pardons the crime, and heaven itself's appeased. mary. this long-atoned crime arises fresh and bleeding from its lightly-covered grave; my husband's restless spirit seeks revenge; no sacred bell can exorcise, no host in priestly hands dismiss it to his tomb. kennedy. you did not murder him; 'twas done by others. mary. but it was known to me; i suffered it, and lured him with my smiles to death's embrace. kennedy. your youth extenuates your guilt. you were of tender years. mary. so tender, yet i drew this heavy guilt upon my youthful head. kennedy. you were provoked by direst injuries, and by the rude presumption of the man, whom out of darkness, like the hand of heaven, your love drew forth, and raised above all others. whom through your bridal chamber you conducted up to your throne, and with your lovely self, and your hereditary crown, distinguished [your work was his existence, and your grace bedewed him like the gentle rains of heaven.] could he forget that his so splendid lot was the creation of your generous love? yet did he, worthless as he was, forget it. with base suspicions, and with brutal manners, he wearied your affections, and became an object to you of deserved disgust: the illusion, which till now had overcast your judgment, vanished; angrily you fled his foul embrace, and gave him up to scorn. and did he seek again to win your love? your favor? did he e'er implore your pardon? or fall in deep repentance at your feet? no; the base wretch defied you; he, who was your bounty's creature, wished to play your king, [and strove, through fear, to force your inclination.] before your eyes he had your favorite singer, poor rizzio, murdered; you did but avenge with blood the bloody deed---- mary. and bloodily, i fear, too soon 'twill be avenged on me: you seek to comfort me, and you condemn me. kennedy. you were, when you consented to this deed, no more yourself; belonged not to yourself; the madness of a frantic love possessed you, and bound you to a terrible seducer, the wretched bothwell. that despotic man ruled you with shameful, overbearing will, and with his philters and his hellish arts inflamed your passions. mary. all the arts he used were man's superior strength and woman's weakness. kennedy. no, no, i say. the most pernicious spirits of hell he must have summoned to his aid, to cast this mist before your waking senses. your ear no more was open to the voice of friendly warning, and your eyes were shut to decency; soft female bashfulness deserted you; those cheeks, which were before the seat of virtuous, blushing modesty, glowed with the flames of unrestrained desire. you cast away the veil of secrecy, and the flagitious daring of the man o'ercame your natural coyness: you exposed your shame, unblushingly, to public gaze: you let the murderer, whom the people followed with curses, through the streets of edinburgh, before you bear the royal sword of scotland in triumph. you begirt your parliament with armed bands; and by this shameless farce, there, in the very temple of great justice, you forced the judges of the land to clear the murderer of his guilt. you went still further-- o god! mary. conclude--nay, pause not--say for this i gave my hand in marriage at the altar. kennedy. o let an everlasting silence veil that dreadful deed: the heart revolts at it. a crime to stain the darkest criminal! yet you are no such lost one, that i know. i nursed your youth myself--your heart is framed for tender softness: 'tis alive to shame, and all your fault is thoughtless levity. yes, i repeat it, there are evil spirits, who sudden fix in man's unguarded breast their fatal residence, and there delight to act their dev'lish deeds; then hurry back unto their native hell, and leave behind remorse and horror in the poisoned bosom. since this misdeed, which blackens thus your life, you have done nothing ill; your conduct has been pure; myself can witness your amendment. take courage, then; with your own heart make peace. whatever cause you have for penitence, you are not guilty here. nor england's queen, nor england's parliament can be your judge. here might oppresses you: you may present yourself before this self-created court with all the fortitude of innocence. mary. i hear a step. kennedy. it is the nephew--in. scene v. the same. enter mortimer, approaching cautiously. mortimer (to kennedy). step to the door, and keep a careful watch, i have important business with the queen. mary (with dignity). i charge thee, hannah, go not hence--remain. mortimer. fear not, my gracious lady--learn to know me. [he gives her a card. mary (she examines it, and starts back astonished). heavens! what is this? mortimer (to kennedy). retire, good kennedy; see that my uncle comes not unawares. mary (to kennedy, who hesitates, and looks at the queen inquiringly). go in; do as he bids you. [kennedy retires with signs of wonder. scene vi. mary, mortimer. mary. from my uncle in france--the worthy cardinal of lorrain? [she reads. "confide in mortimer, who brings you this; you have no truer, firmer friend in england." [looking at him with astonishment. can i believe it? is there no delusion to cheat my senses? do i find a friend so near, when i conceived myself abandoned by the whole world? and find that friend in you, the nephew of my gaoler, whom i thought my most inveterate enemy? mortimer (kneeling). oh, pardon, my gracious liege, for the detested mask, which it has cost me pain enough to wear; yet through such means alone have i the power to see you, and to bring you help and rescue. mary. arise, sir; you astonish me; i cannot so suddenly emerge from the abyss of wretchedness to hope: let me conceive this happiness, that i may credit it. mortimer. our time is brief: each moment i expect my uncle, whom a hated man attends; hear, then, before his terrible commission surprises you, how heaven prepares your rescue. mary. you come in token of its wondrous power. mortimer. allow me of myself to speak. mary. say on. mortimer. i scarce, my liege, had numbered twenty years, trained in the path of strictest discipline and nursed in deadliest hate to papacy, when led by irresistible desire for foreign travel, i resolved to leave my country and its puritanic faith far, far behind me: soon with rapid speed i flew through france, and bent my eager course on to the plains of far-famed italy. 'twas then the time of the great jubilee: and crowds of palmers filled the public roads; each image was adorned with garlands; 'twas as if all human-kind were wandering forth in pilgrimage towards the heavenly kingdom. the tide of the believing multitude bore me too onward, with resistless force, into the streets of rome. what was my wonder, as the magnificence of stately columns rushed on my sight! the vast triumphal arches, the colosseum's grandeur, with amazement struck my admiring senses; the sublime creative spirit held my soul a prisoner in the fair world of wonders it had framed. i ne'er had felt the power of art till now. the church that reared me hates the charms of sense; it tolerates no image, it adores but the unseen, the incorporeal word. what were my feelings, then, as i approached the threshold of the churches, and within, heard heavenly music floating in the air: while from the walls and high-wrought roofs there streamed crowds of celestial forms in endless train-- when the most high, most glorious pervaded my captivated sense in real presence! and when i saw the great and godlike visions, the salutation, the nativity, the holy mother, and the trinity's descent, the luminous transfiguration and last the holy pontiff, clad in all the glory of his office, bless the people! oh! what is all the pomp of gold and jewels with which the kings of earth adorn themselves! he is alone surrounded by the godhead; his mansion is in truth an heavenly kingdom, for not of earthly moulding are these forms! mary. o spare me, sir! no further. spread no more life's verdant carpet out before my eyes, remember i am wretched, and a prisoner. mortimer. i was a prisoner, too, my queen; but swift my prison-gates flew open, when at once my spirit felt its liberty, and hailed the smiling dawn of life. i learned to burst each narrow prejudice of education, to crown my brow with never-fading wreaths, and mix my joy with the rejoicing crowd. full many noble scots, who saw my zeal, encouraged me, and with the gallant french they kindly led me to your princely uncle, the cardinal of guise. oh, what a man! how firm, how clear, how manly, and how great! born to control the human mind at will! the very model of a royal priest; a ruler of the church without an equal! mary. you've seen him then,--the much loved, honored man, who was the guardian of my tender years! oh, speak of him! does he remember me? does fortune favor him? and prospers still his life? and does he still majestic stand, a very rock and pillar of the church? mortimer. the holy man descended from his height, and deigned to teach me the important creed of the true church, and dissipate my doubts. he showed me how the glimmering light of reason serves but to lead us to eternal error: that what the heart is called on to believe the eye must see: that he who rules the church must needs be visible; and that the spirit of truth inspired the councils of the fathers. how vanished then the fond imaginings and weak conceptions of my childish soul before his conquering judgment, and the soft persuasion of his tongue! so i returned back to the bosom of the holy church, and at his feet abjured my heresies. mary. then of those happy thousands you are one, whom he, with his celestial eloquence, like the immortal preacher of the mount, has turned and led to everlasting joy! mortimer. the duties of his office called him soon to france, and i was sent by him to rheims, where, by the jesuits' anxious labor, priests are trained to preach our holy faith in england. there, 'mongst the scots, i found the noble morgan, and your true lesley, ross's learned bishop, who pass in france their joyless days of exile. i joined with heartfelt zeal these worthy men, and fortified my faith. as i one day roamed through the bishop's dwelling, i was struck with a fair female portrait; it was full of touching wond'rous charms; with magic might it moved my inmost soul, and there i stood speechless, and overmastered by my feelings. "well," cried the bishop, "may you linger thus in deep emotion near this lovely face! for the most beautiful of womankind, is also matchless in calamity. she is a prisoner for our holy faith, and in your native land, alas! she suffers." [mary is in great agitation. he pauses. mary. excellent man! all is not lost, indeed, while such a friend remains in my misfortunes! mortimer. then he began, with moving eloquence, to paint the sufferings of your martyrdom; he showed me then your lofty pedigree, and your descent from tudor's royal house. he proved to me that you alone have right to reign in england, not this upstart queen, the base-born fruit of an adult'rous bed, whom henry's self rejected as a bastard. [he from my eyes removed delusion's mist, and taught me to lament you as a victim, to honor you as my true queen, whom i, deceived, like thousands of my noble fellows, had ever hated as my country's foe.] i would not trust his evidence alone; i questioned learned doctors; i consulted the most authentic books of heraldry; and every man of knowledge whom i asked confirmed to me your claim's validity. and now i know that your undoubted right to england's throne has been your only wrong, this realm is justly yours by heritage, in which you innocently pine as prisoner. mary. oh, this unhappy right!--'tis this alone which is the source of all my sufferings. mortimer. just at this time the tidings reached my ears of your removal from old talbot's charge, and your committal to my uncle's care. it seemed to me that this disposal marked the wond'rous, outstretched hand of favoring heaven; it seemed to be a loud decree of fate, that it had chosen me to rescue you. my friends concur with me; the cardinal bestows on me his counsel and his blessing, and tutors me in the hard task of feigning. the plan in haste digested, i commenced my journey homewards, and ten days ago on england's shores i landed. oh, my queen. [he pauses. i saw then, not your picture, but yourself-- oh, what a treasure do these walls enclose! no prison this, but the abode of gods, more splendid far than england's royal court. happy, thrice happy he, whose envied lot permits to breathe the selfsame air with you! it is a prudent policy in her to bury you so deep! all england's youth would rise at once in general mutiny, and not a sword lie quiet in its sheath: rebellion would uprear its giant head, through all this peaceful isle, if britons once beheld their captive queen. mary. 'twere well with her, if every briton saw her with your eyes! mortimer. were each, like me, a witness of your wrongs, your meekness, and the noble fortitude with which you suffer these indignities-- would you not then emerge from all these trials like a true queen? your prison's infamy, hath it despoiled your beauty of its charms? you are deprived of all that graces life, yet round you life and light eternal beam. ne'er on this threshold can i set my foot, that my poor heart with anguish is not torn, nor ravished with delight at gazing on you. yet fearfully the fatal time draws near, and danger hourly growing presses on. i can delay no longer--can no more conceal the dreadful news. mary. my sentence then! it is pronounced? speak freely--i can bear it. mortimer. it is pronounced! the two-and-forty judges have given the verdict, "guilty"; and the houses of lords and commons, with the citizens of london, eagerly and urgently demand the execution of the sentence:-- the queen alone still craftily delays, that she may be constrained to yield, but not from feelings of humanity or mercy. mary (collected). sir, i am not surprised, nor terrified. i have been long prepared for such a message. too well i know my judges. after all their cruel treatment i can well conceive they dare not now restore my liberty. i know their aim: they mean to keep me here in everlasting bondage, and to bury, in the sepulchral darkness of my prison, my vengeance with me, and my rightful claims. mortimer. oh, no, my gracious queen;--they stop not there: oppression will not be content to do its work by halves:--as long as e'en you live, distrust and fear will haunt the english queen. no dungeon can inter you deep enough; your death alone can make her throne secure. mary. will she then dare, regardless of the shame, lay my crowned head upon the fatal block? mortimer. she will most surely dare it, doubt it not. mary. and can she thus roll in the very dust her own, and every monarch's majesty? mortimer. she thinks on nothing now but present danger, nor looks to that which is so far removed. mary. and fears she not the dread revenge of france? mortimer. with france she makes an everlasting peace; and gives to anjou's duke her throne and hand. mary. will not the king of spain rise up in arms? mortimer. she fears not a collected world in arms? if with her people she remains at peace. mary. were this a spectacle for british eyes? mortimer. this land, my queen, has, in these latter days, seen many a royal woman from the throne descend and mount the scaffold:--her own mother and catherine howard trod this fatal path; and was not lady grey a crowned head? mary (after a pause). no, mortimer, vain fears have blinded you; 'tis but the honest care of your true heart, which conjures up these empty apprehensions. it is not, sir, the scaffold that i fear: there are so many still and secret means by which her majesty of england may set all my claims to rest. oh, trust me, ere an executioner is found for me, assassins will be hired to do their work. 'tis that which makes me tremble, mortimer: i never lift the goblet to my lips without an inward shuddering, lest the draught may have been mingled by my sister's love. mortimer. no:--neither open or disguised murder shall e'er prevail against you:--fear no more; all is prepared;--twelve nobles of the land are my confederates, and have pledged to-day, upon the sacrament, their faith to free you, with dauntless arm, from this captivity. count aubespine, the french ambassador, knows of our plot, and offers his assistance: 'tis in his palace that we hold our meetings. nary. you make me tremble, sir, but not for joy! an evil boding penetrates my heart. know you, then, what you risk? are you not scared by babington and tichburn's bloody heads, set up as warnings upon london's bridge? nor by the ruin of those many victims who have, in such attempts, found certain death, and only made my chains the heavier? fly hence, deluded, most unhappy youth! fly, if there yet be time for you, before that crafty spy, lord burleigh, track your schemes, and mix his traitors in your secret plots. fly hence:--as yet, success hath never smiled on mary stuart's champions. mortimer. i am not scared by babington and tichburn's bloody heads set up as warnings upon london's bridge; nor by the ruin of those many victims who have, in such attempts, found certain death: they also found therein immortal honor, and death, in rescuing you, is dearest bliss. mary. it is in vain: nor force nor guile can save me:-- my enemies are watchful, and the power is in their hands. it is not paulet only and his dependent host; all england guards my prison gates: elizabeth's free will alone can open them. mortimer. expect not that. mary. one man alone on earth can open them. mortimer. oh, let me know his name! mary. lord leicester. mortimer. he! [starts back in wonder. the earl of leicester! your most bloody foe, the favorite of elizabeth! through him---- mary. if i am to be saved at all, 'twill be through him, and him alone. go to him, sir; freely confide in him: and, as a proof you come from me, present this paper to him. [she takes a paper from her bosom; mortimer draws back, and hesitates to take it. it doth contain my portrait:--take it, sir; i've borne it long about me; but your uncle's close watchfulness has cut me off from all communication with him;--you were sent by my good angel. [he takes it. mortimer. oh, my queen! explain this mystery. mary. lord leicester will resolve it. confide in him, and he'll confide in you. who comes? kennedy (entering hastily). 'tis paulet; and he brings with him a nobleman from court. mortimer. it is lord burleigh. collect yourself, my queen, and strive to hear the news he brings with equanimity. [he retires through a side door, and kennedy follows him. scene vii. enter lord burleigh, and paulet. paulet (to mary). you wished to-day assurance of your fate; my lord of burleigh brings it to you now; hear it with resignation, as beseems you. mary. i hope with dignity, as it becomes my innocence, and my exalted station. burleigh. i come deputed from the court of justice. mary. lord burleigh lends that court his willing tongue, which was already guided by his spirit. paulet. you speak as if no stranger to the sentence. mary. lord burleigh brings it; therefore do i know it. paulet. [it would become you better, lady stuart, to listen less to hatred. mary. i but name my enemy: i said not that i hate him.] but to the matter, sir. burleigh. you have acknowledged the jurisdiction of the two-and-forty. mary. my lord, excuse me, if i am obliged so soon to interrupt you. i acknowledged, say you, the competence of the commission? i never have acknowledged it, my lord; how could i so? i could not give away my own prerogative, the intrusted rights of my own people, the inheritance of my own son, and every monarch's honor [the very laws of england say i could not.] it is enacted by the english laws that every one who stands arraigned of crime shall plead before a jury of his equals: who is my equal in this high commission? kings only are my peers. burleigh. but yet you heard the points of accusation, answered them before the court---- mary. 'tis true, i was deceived by hatton's crafty counsel:--he advised me, for my own honor, and in confidence in my good cause, and my most strong defence, to listen to the points of accusation, and prove their falsehoods. this, my lord, i did from personal respect for the lords' names, not their usurped charge, which i disclaim. burleigh. acknowledge you the court, or not, that is only a point of mere formality, which cannot here arrest the course of justice. you breathe the air of england; you enjoy the law's protection, and its benefits; you therefore are its subject. mary. sir, i breathe the air within an english prison walls: is that to live in england; to enjoy protection from its laws? i scarcely know and never have i pledged my faith to keep them. i am no member of this realm; i am an independent, and a foreign queen. burleigh. and do you think that the mere name of queen can serve you as a charter to foment in other countries, with impunity, this bloody discord? where would be the state's security, if the stern sword of justice could not as freely smite the guilty brow of the imperial stranger as the beggar's? mary. i do not wish to be exempt from judgment, it is the judges only i disclaim. burleigh. the judges? how now, madam? are they then base wretches, snatched at hazard from the crowd? vile wranglers that make sale of truth and justice; oppression's willing hirelings, and its tools? are they not all the foremost of this land, too independent to be else than honest, and too exalted not to soar above the fear of kings, or base servility? are they not those who rule a generous people in liberty and justice; men, whose names i need but mention to dispel each doubt, each mean suspicion which is raised against them? stands not the reverend primate at their head, the pious shepherd of his faithful people, the learned talbot, keeper of the seals, and howard, who commands our conquering fleets? say, then, could england's sovereign do more than, out of all the monarchy, elect the very noblest, and appoint them judges in this great suit? and were it probable that party hatred could corrupt one heart; can forty chosen men unite to speak a sentence just as passion gives command? mary (after a short pause). i am struck dumb by that tongue's eloquence, which ever was so ominous to me. and how shall i, a weak, untutored woman, cope with so subtle, learned an orator? yes truly; were these lords as you describe them, i must be mute; my cause were lost indeed, beyond all hope, if they pronounce me guilty. but, sir, these names, which you are pleased to praise, these very men, whose weight you think will crush me, i see performing in the history of these dominions very different parts: i see this high nobility of england, this grave majestic senate of the realm, like to an eastern monarch's vilest slaves, flatter my uncle henry's sultan fancies: i see this noble, reverend house of lords, venal alike with the corrupted commons, make statutes and annul them, ratify a marriage and dissolve it, as the voice of power commands: to-day it disinherits, and brands the royal daughters of the realm with the vile name of bastards, and to-morrow crowns them as queens, and leads them to the throne. i see them in four reigns, with pliant conscience, four times abjure their faith; renounce the pope with henry, yet retain the old belief; reform themselves with edward; hear the mass again with mary; with elizabeth, who governs now, reform themselves again. burleigh. you say you are not versed in england's laws, you seem well read, methinks, in her disasters. mary. and these men are my judges? [as lord burleigh seems to wish to speak. my lord treasurer, towards you i will be just, be you but just to me. 'tis said that you consult with zeal the good of england, and of england's queen; are honest, watchful, indefatigable; i will believe it. not your private ends, your sovereign and your country's weal alone, inspire your counsels and direct your deeds. therefore, my noble lord, you should the more distrust your heart; should see that you mistake not the welfare of the government for justice. i do not doubt, besides yourself, there are among my judges many upright men: but they are protestants, are eager all for england's quiet, and they sit in judgment on me, the queen of scotland, and the papist. it is an ancient saying, that the scots and england to each other are unjust; and hence the rightful custom that a scot against an englishman, or englishman against a scot, cannot be heard in judgment. necessity prescribed this cautious law; deep policy oft lies in ancient customs: my lord, we must respect them. nature cast into the ocean these two fiery nations upon this plank, and she divided it unequally, and bade them fight for it. the narrow bed of tweed alone divides these daring spirits; often hath the blood of the contending parties dyed its waves. threatening, and sword in hand, these thousand years, from both its banks they watch their rival's motions, most vigilant and true confederates, with every enemy of the neighbor state. no foe oppresses england, but the scot becomes his firm ally; no civil war inflames the towns of scotland, but the english add fuel to the fire: this raging hate will never be extinguished till, at last, one parliament in concord shall unite them, one common sceptre rule throughout the isle. burleigh. and from a stuart, then, should england hope this happiness? mary. oh! why should i deny it? yes, i confess, i cherished the fond hope; i thought myself the happy instrument to join in freedom, 'neath the olive's shade, two generous realms in lasting happiness! i little thought i should become the victim of their old hate, their long-lived jealousy; and the sad flames of that unhappy strife, i hoped at last to smother, and forever: and, as my ancestor, great richmond, joined the rival roses after bloody contest, to join in peace the scotch and english crowns. burleigh. an evil way you took to this good end, to set the realm on fire, and through the flames of civil war to strive to mount the throne. mary. i wished not that:--i wished it not, by heaven! when did i strive at that? where are your proofs? burleigh. i came not hither to dispute; your cause is no more subject to a war of words. the great majority of forty voices hath found that you have contravened the law last year enacted, and have now incurred its penalty. [producing the verdict. mary. upon this statute, then, my lord, is built the verdict of my judges? burleigh (reading). last year it was enacted, "if a plot henceforth should rise in england, in the name or for the benefit of any claimant to england's crown, that justice should be done on such pretender, and the guilty party be prosecuted unto death." now, since it has been proved---- mary. lord burleigh, i can well imagine that a law expressly aimed at me, and framed to compass my destruction may to my prejudice be used. oh! woe to the unhappy victim, when the tongue that frames the law shall execute the sentence. can you deny it, sir, that this same statute was made for my destruction, and naught else? burleigh. it should have acted as a warning to you: by your imprudence it became a snare. you saw the precipice which yawned before you; yet, truly warned, you plunged into the deep. with babington, the traitor, and his bands of murderous companions, were you leagued. you knew of all, and from your prison led their treasonous plottings with a deep-laid plan. mary. when did i that, my lord? let them produce the documents. burleigh. you have already seen them they were before the court, presented to you. mary. mere copies written by another hand; show me the proof that they were dictated by me, that they proceeded from my lips, and in those very terms in which you read them. burleigh. before his execution, babington confessed they were the same which he received. mary. why was he in his lifetime not produced before my face? why was he then despatched so quickly that he could not be confronted with her whom he accused? burleigh. besides, my lady, your secretaries, curl and nau, declare on oath, they are the very selfsame letters which from your lips they faithfully transcribed. mary. and on my menials' testimony, then, i am condemned; upon the word of those who have betrayed me, me, their rightful queen! who in that very moment, when they came as witnesses against me, broke their faith! burleigh. you said yourself, you held your countryman to be an upright, conscientious man. mary. i thought him such; but 'tis the hour of danger alone, which tries the virtue of a man. [he ever was an honest man, but weak in understanding; and his subtle comrade, whose faith, observe, i never answered for, might easily seduce him to write down more than he should;] the rack may have compelled him to say and to confess more than he knew. he hoped to save himself by this false witness, and thought it could not injure me--a queen. burleigh. the oath he swore was free and unconstrained. mary. but not before my face! how now, my lord? the witnesses you name are still alive; let them appear against me face to face, and there repeat what they have testified. why am i then denied that privilege, that right which e'en the murderer enjoys? i know from talbot's mouth, my former keeper, that in this reign a statute has been passed which orders that the plaintiff be confronted with the defendant; is it so, good paulet? i e'er have known you as an honest man; now prove it to me; tell me, on your conscience, if such a law exist or not in england? paulet. madam, there does: that is the law in england. i must declare the truth. mary. well, then, my lord, if i am treated by the law of england so hardly, when that law oppresses me, say, why avoid this selfsame country's law, when 'tis for my advantage? answer me; why was not babington confronted with me? why not my servants, who are both alive? burleigh. be not so hasty, lady; 'tis not only your plot with babington---- mary. 'tis that alone which arms the law against me; that alone from which i'm called upon to clear myself. stick to the point, my lord; evade it not. burleigh. it has been proved that you have corresponded with the ambassador of spain, mendoza---- mary. stick to the point, my lord. burleigh. that you have formed conspiracies to overturn the fixed religion of the realm; that you have called into this kingdom foreign powers, and roused all kings in europe to a war with england. mary. and were it so, my lord--though i deny it-- but e'en suppose it were so: i am kept imprisoned here against all laws of nations. i came not into england sword in hand; i came a suppliant; and at the hands of my imperial kinswoman i claimed the sacred rights of hospitality, when power seized upon me, and prepared to rivet fetters where i hoped protection. say, is my conscience bound, then, to this realm? what are the duties that i owe to england? i should but exercise a sacred right, derived from sad necessity, if i warred with these bonds, encountered might with might, roused and incited every state in europe for my protection to unite in arms. whatever in a rightful war is just and loyal, 'tis my right to exercise: murder alone, the secret, bloody deed, my conscience and my pride alike forbid. murder would stain me, would dishonor me: dishonor me, my lord, but not condemn me, nor subject me to england's courts of law: for 'tis not justice, but mere violence, which is the question 'tween myself and england. burleigh (significantly). talk not, my lady, of the dreadful right of power: 'tis seldom on the prisoner's side. mary. i am the weak, she is the mighty one: 'tis well, my lord; let her, then, use her power; let her destroy me; let me bleed, that she may live secure; but let her, then, confess that she hath exercised her power alone, and not contaminate the name of justice. let her not borrow from the laws the sword to rid her of her hated enemy; let her not clothe in this religious garb the bloody daring of licentious might; let not these juggling tricks deceive the world. [returning the sentence. though she may murder me, she cannot judge me: let her no longer strive to join the fruits of vice with virtue's fair and angel show; but let her dare to seem the thing she is. [exit. scene viii. burleigh, paulet. burleigh. she scorns us, she defies us! will defy us, even at the scaffold's foot. this haughty heart is not to be subdued. say, did the sentence surprise her? did you see her shed one tear, or even change her color? she disdains to make appeal to our compassion. well she knows the wavering mind of england's queen. our apprehensions make her bold. paulet. my lord, take the pretext away which buoys it up, and you shall see this proud defiance fail that very moment. i must say, my lord, irregularities have been allowed in these proceedings; babington and ballard should have been brought, with her two secretaries, before her, face to face. burleigh. no, paulet, no. that was not to be risked; her influence upon the human heart is too supreme; too strong the female empire of her tears. her secretary, curl, if brought before her, and called upon to speak the weighty word on which her life depends, would straight shrink back and fearfully revoke his own confession. paulet. then england's enemies will fill the world with evil rumors; and the formal pomp of these proceedings to the minds of all will only signalize an act of outrage. burleigh. that is the greatest torment of our queen, [that she can never 'scape the blame. oh god!] had but this lovely mischief died before she set her faithless foot on english ground. paulet. amen, say i! burleigh. had sickness but consumed her! paulet. england had been secured from such misfortune. burleigh. and yet, if she had died in nature's course, the world would still have called us murderers. paulet. 'tis true, the world will think, despite of us, whate'er it list. burleigh. yet could it not be proved? and it would make less noise. paulet. why, let it make what noise it may. it is not clamorous blame, 'tis righteous censure only which can wound. burleigh. we know that holy justice cannot 'scape the voice of censure; and the public cry is ever on the side of the unhappy: envy pursues the laurelled conqueror; the sword of justice, which adorns the man, is hateful in a woman's hand; the world will give no credit to a woman's justice if woman be the victim. vain that we, the judges, spoke what conscience dictated; she has the royal privilege of mercy; she must exert it: 'twere not to be borne, should she let justice take its full career. paulet. and therefore---- burleigh. therefore should she live? oh, no, she must not live; it must not be. 'tis this, even this, my friend, which so disturbs the queen, and scares all slumber from her couch; i read her soul's distracting contest in her eyes: she fears to speak her wishes, yet her looks, her silent looks, significantly ask, "is there not one amongst my many servants to save me from this sad alternative? either to tremble in eternal fear upon my throne, or else to sacrifice a queen of my own kindred on the block?" paulet. 'tis even so; nor can it be avoided---- burleigh. well might it be avoided, thinks the queen, if she had only more attentive servants. paulet. how more attentive? burleigh. such as could interpret a silent mandate. paulet. what? a silent mandate! burleigh. who, when a poisonous adder is delivered into their hands, would keep the treacherous charge as if it were a sacred, precious jewel? paulet. a precious jewel is the queen's good name and spotless reputation: good my lord, one cannot guard it with sufficient care. burleigh. when out of shrewsbury's hands the queen of scots was trusted to sir amias paulet's care, the meaning was---- paulet. i hope to god, my lord, the meaning was to give the weightiest charge into the purest hands; my lord, my lord! by heaven i had disdained this bailiff's office had i not thought the service claimed the care of the best man that england's realm can boast. let me not think i am indebted for it to anything but my unblemished name. burleigh. spread the report she wastes; grows sicker still and sicker; and expires at last in peace; thus will she perish in the world's remembrance, and your good name is pure. paulet. but not my conscience. burleigh. though you refuse us, sir, your own assistance, you will not sure prevent another's hand. paulet. no murderer's foot shall e'er approach her threshold whilst she's protected by my household gods. her life's a sacred trust; to me the head of queen elizabeth is not more sacred. ye are the judges; judge, and break the staff; and when 'tis time then let the carpenter with axe and saw appear to build the scaffold. my castle's portals shall be open to him, the sheriff and the executioners: till then she is intrusted to my care; and be assured i will fulfil my trust, she shall nor do nor suffer what's unjust. [exeunt. act ii. scene i. london, a hall in the palace of westminster. the earl of kent and sir william davison meeting. davison. is that my lord of kent? so soon returned? is then the tourney, the carousal over? kent. how now? were you not present at the tilt? davison. my office kept me here. kent. believe me, sir, you've lost the fairest show which ever state devised, or graceful dignity performed: for beauty's virgin fortress was presented as by desire invested; the earl-marshal, the lord-high admiral, and ten other knights belonging to the queen defended it, and france's cavaliers led the attack. a herald marched before the gallant troop, and summoned, in a madrigal, the fortress; and from the walls the chancellor replied; and then the artillery was played, and nosegays breathing delicious fragrance were discharged from neat field-pieces; but in vain, the storm was valiantly resisted, and desire was forced, unwillingly, to raise the siege. davison. a sign of evil-boding, good my lord, for the french suitors. kent. why, you know that this was but in sport; when the attack's in earnest the fortress will, no doubt, capitulate. davison. ha! think you so? i never can believe it. kent. the hardest article of all is now adjusted and acceded to by france; the duke of anjou is content to hold his holy worship in a private chapel; and openly he promises to honor and to protect the realm's established faith. had ye but heard the people's joyful shouts where'er the tidings spread, for it has been the country's constant fear the queen might die without immediate issue of her body; and england bear again the romish chains if mary stuart should ascend the throne. davison. this fear appears superfluous; she goes into the bridal chamber; mary stuart enters the gates of death. kent. the queen approaches. scene ii. enter elizabeth, led in by leicester, count aubespine, bellievre, lords shrewsbury and burleigh, with other french and english gentlemen. elizabeth (to aubespine). count, i am sorry for these noblemen whose gallant zeal hath brought them over sea to visit these our shores, that they, with us, must miss the splendor of st. germain's court. such pompous festivals of godlike state i cannot furnish as the royal court of france. a sober and contented people, which crowd around me with a thousand blessings whene'er in public i present myself: this is the spectacle which i can show, and not without some pride, to foreign eyes. the splendor of the noble dames who bloom in catherine's beauteous garden would, i know, eclipse myself, and my more modest merits. aubespine. the court of england has one lady only to show the wondering foreigner; but all that charms our hearts in the accomplished sex is seen united in her single person. bellievre. great majesty of england, suffer us to take our leave, and to our royal master, the duke of anjou, bring the happy news. the hot impatience of his heart would not permit him to remain at paris; he at amiens awaits the joyful tidings; and thence to calais reach his posts to bring with winged swiftness to his tranced ear the sweet consent which, still we humbly hope, your royal lips will graciously pronounce. elizabeth. press me no further now, count bellievre. it is not now a time, i must repeat, to kindle here the joyful marriage torch. the heavens lower black and heavy o'er this land; and weeds of mourning would become me better than the magnificence of bridal robes. a fatal blow is aimed against my heart; a blow which threatens to oppress my house. bellievre. we only ask your majesty to promise your royal hand when brighter days shall come. elizabeth. monarchs are but the slaves of their condition; they dare not hear the dictates of their hearts; my wish was ever to remain unmarried, and i had placed my greatest pride in this, that men hereafter on my tomb might read, "here rests the virgin queen." but my good subjects are not content that this should be: they think, e'en now they often think upon the time when i shall be no more. 'tis not enough that blessings now are showered upon this land; they ask a sacrifice for future welfare, and i must offer up my liberty, my virgin liberty, my greatest good, to satisfy my people. thus they'd force a lord and master on me. 'tis by this i see that i am nothing but a woman in their regard; and yet methought that i had governed like a man, and like a king. well wot i that it is not serving god to quit the laws of nature; and that those who here have ruled before me merit praise, that they have oped the cloister gates, and given thousands of victims of ill-taught devotion back to the duties of humanity. but yet a queen who hath not spent her days in fruitless, idle contemplation; who, without murmur, indefatigably performs the hardest of all duties; she should be exempted from that natural law which doth ordain one half of human kind shall ever be subservient to the other. aubespine. great queen, you have upon your throne done honor to every virtue; nothing now remains but to the sex, whose greatest boast you are to be the leading star, and give the great example of its most consistent duties. 'tis true, the man exists not who deserves that you to him should sacrifice your freedom; yet if a hero's soul, descent, and rank, and manly beauty can make mortal man deserving of this honor---- elizabeth. without doubt, my lord ambassador, a marriage union with france's royal son would do me honor; yes, i acknowledge it without disguise, if it must be, if i cannot prevent it, if i must yield unto my people's prayers, and much i fear they will o'erpower me, i do not know in europe any prince to whom with less reluctance i would yield my greatest treasure, my dear liberty. let this confession satisfy your master. bellievre. it gives the fairest hope, and yet it gives nothing but hope; my master wishes more. elizabeth. what wishes he? [she takes a ring from her finger, and thoughtfully examines it. in this a queen has not one privilege above all other women. this common token marks one common duty, one common servitude; the ring denotes marriage, and 'tis of rings a chain is formed. convey this present to his highness; 'tis as yet no chain, it binds me not as yet, but out of it may grow a link to bind me. bellievre (kneeling). this present, in his name, upon my knees, i do receive, great queen, and press the kiss of homage on the hand of her who is henceforth my princess. elizabeth (to the earl of leicester, whom she, during the last speeches, had continually regarded). by your leave, my lord. [she takes the blue ribbon from his neck [ ], and invests bellievre with it. invest his highness with this ornament, as i invest you with it, and receive you into the duties of my gallant order. and, "honi soit qui mal y pense." thus perish all jealousy between our several realms, and let the bond of confidence unite henceforth, the crowns of britain and of france. bellievre. most sovereign queen, this is a day of joy; oh that it could be so for all, and no afflicted heart within this island mourn. see! mercy beams upon thy radiant brow; let the reflection of its cheering light fall on a wretched princess, who concerns britain and france alike. elizabeth. no further, count! let us not mix two inconsistent things; if france be truly anxious for my hand, it must partake my interests, and renounce alliance with my foes. aubespine. in thine own eyes would she not seem to act unworthily, if in this joyous treaty she forgot this hapless queen, the widow of her king; in whose behalf her honor and her faith are bound to plead for grace. elizabeth. thus urged, i know to rate this intercession at its worth; france has discharged her duties as a friend, i will fulfil my own as england's queen. [she bows to the french ambassadors, who, with the other gentlemen, retire respectfully. [ ] till the time of charles the first, the knights of the garter wore the blue ribbon with the george about their necks, as they still do the collars, on great days.--translator. scene iii. enter burleigh, leicester, and talbot. the queen takes her seat. burleigh. illustrious sovereign, thou crown'st to-day the fervent wishes of thy people; now we can rejoice in the propitious days which thou bestowest upon us; and we look no more with fear and trembling towards the time which, charged with storms, futurity presented. now, but one only care disturbs this land; it is a sacrifice which every voice demands; oh! grant but this and england's peace will be established now and evermore. elizabeth. what wish they still, my lord? speak. burleigh. they demand the stuart's head. if to thy people thou wouldst now secure the precious boon of freedom, and the fair light of truth so dearly won, then she must die; if we are not to live in endless terror for thy precious life the enemy must fall; for well thou know'st that all thy britons are not true alike; romish idolatry has still its friends in secret, in this island, who foment the hatred of our enemies. their hearts all turn toward this stuart; they are leagued with the two plotting brothers of lorrain, the foes inveterate of thy house and name. 'gainst thee this raging faction hath declared a war of desolation, which they wage with the deceitful instruments of hell. at rheims, the cardinal archbishop's see, there is the arsenal from which they dart these lightnings; there the school of regicide; thence, in a thousand shapes disguised, are sent their secret missionaries to this isle; their bold and daring zealots; for from thence have we not seen the third assassin come? and inexhausted is the direful breed of secret enemies in this abyss. while in her castle sits at fotheringay, the ate [ ] of this everlasting war, who, with the torch of love, spreads flames around; for her who sheds delusive hopes on all, youth dedicates itself to certain death; to set her free is the pretence--the aim is to establish her upon the throne. for this accursed house of guise denies thy sacred right; and in their mouths thou art a robber of the throne, whom chance has crowned. by them this thoughtless woman was deluded, proudly to style herself the queen of england; no peace can be with her, and with her house; [their hatred is too bloody, and their crimes too great;] thou must resolve to strike, or suffer-- her life is death to thee, her death thy life. elizabeth. my lord, you bear a melancholy office; i know the purity which guides your zeal, the solid wisdom which informs your speech; and yet i hate this wisdom, when it calls for blood, i hate it in my inmost soul. think of a milder counsel--good my lord of shrewsbury, we crave your judgment here. talbot. [desire you but to know, most gracious queen, what is for your advantage, i can add nothing to what my lord high-treasurer has urged; then, for your welfare, let the sentence be now confirmed--this much is proved already: there is no surer method to avert the danger from your head and from the state. should you in this reject our true advice, you can dismiss your council. we are placed here as your counsellors, but to consult the welfare of this land, and with our knowledge and our experience we are bound to serve you! but in what's good and just, most gracious queen, you have no need of counsellors, your conscience knows it full well, and it is written there. nay, it were overstepping our commission if we attempted to instruct you in it. elizabeth. yet speak, my worthy lord of shrewsbury, 'tis not our understanding fails alone, our heart too feels it wants some sage advice.] talbot. well did you praise the upright zeal which fires lord burleigh's loyal breast; my bosom, too, although my tongue be not so eloquent, beats with no weaker, no less faithful pulse. long may you live, my queen, to be the joy of your delighted people, to prolong peace and its envied blessings in this realm. ne'er hath this isle beheld such happy days since it was governed by its native kings. oh, let it never buy its happiness with its good name; at least, may talbot's eyes be closed in death e'er this shall come to pass. elizabeth. forbid it, heaven, that our good name be stained! talbot. then must you find some other way than this to save thy kingdom, for the sentence passed of death against the stuart is unjust. you cannot upon her pronounce a sentence who is not subject to you. elizabeth. then, it seems, my council and my parliament have erred; each bench of justice in the land is wrong, which did with one accord admit this right. talbot (after a pause). the proof of justice lies not in the voice of numbers; england's not the world, nor is thy parliament the focus, which collects the vast opinion of the human race. this present england is no more the future than 'tis the past; as inclination changes, thus ever ebbs and flows the unstable tide of public judgment. say not, then, that thou must act as stern necessity compels, that thou must yield to the importunate petitions of thy people; every hour thou canst experience that thy will is free. make trial, and declare thou hatest blood, and that thou wilt protect thy sister's life; show those who wish to give thee other counsels, that here thy royal anger is not feigned, and thou shalt see how stern necessity can vanish, and what once was titled justice into injustice be converted: thou thyself must pass the sentence, thou alone trust not to this unsteady, trembling reed, but hear the gracious dictates of thy heart. god hath not planted rigor in the frame of woman; and the founders of this realm, who to the female hand have not denied the reins of government, intend by this to show that mercy, not severity, is the best virtue to adorn a crown. elizabeth. lord shrewsbury is a fervent advocate for mine and england's enemy; i must prefer those counsellors who wish my welfare. talbot. her advocates have an invidious task! none will, by speaking in her favor, dare to meet thy anger: stiffer, then, an old and faithful counsellor (whom naught on earth can tempt on the grave's brink) to exercise the pious duty of humanity. it never shall be said that, in thy council, passion and interest could find a tongue, while mercy's pleading voice alone was mute, all circumstances have conspired against her; thou ne'er hast seen her face, and nothing speaks within thy breast for one that's stranger to thee. i do not take the part of her misdeeds; they say 'twas she who planned her husband's murder: 'tis true that she espoused his murderer. a grievous crime, no doubt; but then it happened in darksome days of trouble and dismay, in the stern agony of civil war, when she, a woman, helpless and hemmed in by a rude crowd of rebel vassals, sought protection in a powerful chieftain's arms. god knows what arts were used to overcome her! for woman is a weak and fragile thing. elizabeth. woman's not weak; there are heroic souls among the sex; and, in my presence, sir, i do forbid to speak of woman's weakness. talbot. misfortune was for thee a rigid school; thou wast not stationed on the sunny side of life; thou sawest no throne, from far, before thee; the grave was gaping for thee at thy feet. at woodstock, and in london's gloomy tower, 'twas there the gracious father of this land taught thee to know thy duty, by misfortune. no flatterer sought thee there: there learned thy soul, far from the noisy world and its distractions, to commune with itself, to think apart, and estimate the real goods of life. no god protected this poor sufferer: transplanted in her early youth to france, the court of levity and thoughtless joys, there, in the round of constant dissipation, she never heard the earnest voice of truth; she was deluded by the glare of vice, and driven onward by the stream of ruin. hers was the vain possession of a face, and she outshone all others of her sex as far in beauty, as in noble birth. elizabeth. collect yourself, my lord of shrewsbury; bethink you we are met in solemn council. those charms must surely be without compare, which can engender, in an elder's blood, such fire. my lord of leicester, you alone are silent; does the subject which has made him eloquent, deprive you of your speech? leicester. amazement ties my tongue, my queen, to think that they should fill thy soul with such alarms, and that the idle tales, which, in the streets, of london, terrify the people's ears, should reach the enlightened circle of thy council, and gravely occupy our statesmen's minds. astonishment possesses me, i own, to think this lackland queen of scotland, she who could not save her own poor throne, the jest of her own vassals, and her country's refuse, [who in her fairest days of freedom, was but thy despised puppet,] should become at once thy terror when a prisoner. what, in heaven's name, can make her formidable? that she lays claim to england? that the guises will not acknowledge thee as queen? [did then thy people's loyal fealty await these guises' approbation?] can these guises, with their objections, ever shake the right which birth hath given thee; which, with one consent, the votes of parliament have ratified? and is not she, by henry's will, passed o'er in silence? is it probable that england, as yet so blessed in the new light's enjoyment, should throw itself into this papist's arms? from thee, the sovereign it adores, desert to darnley's murderess? what will they then, these restless men, who even in thy lifetime torment thee with a successor; who cannot dispose of thee in marriage soon enough to rescue church and state from fancied peril? stand'st thou not blooming there in youthful prime while each step leads her towards the expecting tomb? by heavens, i hope thou wilt full many a year walk o'er the stuart's grave, and ne'er become thyself the instrument of her sad end. burleigh. lord leicester hath not always held this tone. leicester. 'tis true, i in the court of justice gave my verdict for her death; here, in the council, i may consistently speak otherwise here, right is not the question, but advantage. is this a time to fear her power, when france, her only succor, has abandoned her? when thou preparest with thy hand to bless the royal son of france, when the fair hope of a new, glorious stem of sovereigns begins again to blossom in this land? why hasten then her death? she's dead already. contempt and scorn are death to her; take heed lest ill-timed pity call her into life. 'tis therefore my advice to leave the sentence, by which her life is forfeit, in full force. let her live on; but let her live beneath the headsman's axe, and, from the very hour one arm is lifted for her, let it fall. elizabeth (rises). my lords, i now have heard your several thoughts, and give my ardent thanks for this your zeal. with god's assistance, who the hearts of kings illumines, i will weigh your arguments, and choose what best my judgment shall approve. [to burleigh. [lord burleigh's honest fears, i know it well, are but the offspring of his faithful care; but yet, lord leicester has most truly said, there is no need of haste; our enemy hath lost already her most dangerous sting-- the mighty arm of france: the fear that she might quickly be the victim of their zeal will curb the blind impatience of her friends.] [ ] the picture of ate, the goddess of mischief, we are acquainted with from homer, ii. v. , . i. . she is a daughter of jupiter, and eager to prejudice every one, even the immortal gods. she counteracted jupiter himself, on which account he seized her by her beautiful hair, and hurled her from heaven to the earth, where she now, striding over the heads of men, excites them to evil in order to involve them in calamity.--herder. shakspeare has, in julius caesar, made a fine use of this image:-- "and caesar's spirit ranging for revenge with ate by his side, come hot from hell, shall in these confines, with a monarch's voice, cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war." i need not point out to the reader the beautiful propriety of introducing the evil spirit on this occasion.--translator. scene iv. enter sir amias paulet and mortimer. elizabeth. there's sir amias paulet; noble sir, what tidings bring you? paulet. gracious sovereign, my nephew, who but lately is returned from foreign travel, kneels before thy feet, and offers thee his first and earliest homage, grant him thy royal grace, and let him grow and flourish in the sunshine of thy favor. mortimer (kneeling on one knee). long live my royal mistress! happiness and glory from a crown to grace her brows! elizabeth. arise, sir knight; and welcome here in england; you've made, i hear, the tour, have been in france and rome, and tarried, too, some time at rheims: tell me what plots our enemies are hatching? mortimer. may god confound them all! and may the darts which they shall aim against my sovereign, recoiling, strike their own perfidious breasts! elizabeth. did you see morgan, and the wily bishop of ross? mortimer. i saw, my queen, all scottish exiles who forge at rheims their plots against this realm. i stole into their confidence in hopes to learn some hint of their conspiracies. paulet. private despatches they intrusted to him, in cyphers, for the queen of scots, which he, with loyal hand, hath given up to us. elizabeth. say, what are then their latest plans of treason? mortimer. it struck them all as 'twere a thunderbolt, that france should leave them, and with england close this firm alliance; now they turn their hopes towards spain---- elizabeth. this, walsingham hath written us. mortimer. besides, a bull, which from the vatican pope sixtus lately levelled at thy throne, arrived at rheims, as i was leaving it; with the next ship we may expect it here. leicester. england no more is frightened by such arms. burleigh. they're always dangerous in bigots' hands. elizabeth (looking steadfastly at mortimer). your enemies have said that you frequented the schools at rheims, and have abjured your faith. mortimer. so i pretended, that i must confess; such was my anxious wish to serve my queen. elizabeth (to paulet, who presents papers to her). what have you there? paulet. 'tis from the queen of scots. 'tis a petition, and to thee addressed. burleigh (hastily catching at it). give me the paper. paulet (giving it to the queen). by your leave, my lord high-treasurer; the lady ordered me to bring it to her majesty's own hands. she says i am her enemy; i am the enemy of her offences only, and that which is consistent with my duty i will, and readily, oblige her in. [the queen takes the letter: as she reads it mortimer and leicester speak some words in private. burleigh (to paulet). what may the purport of the letter be? idle complaints, from which one ought to screen the queen's too tender heart. paulet. what it contains she did not hide from me; she asks a boon; she begs to be admitted to the grace of speaking with the queen. burleigh. it cannot be. talbot. why not? her supplication's not unjust. burleigh. for her, the base encourager of murder; her, who hath thirsted for our sovereign's blood, the privilege to see the royal presence is forfeited: a faithful counsellor can never give this treacherous advice. talbot. and if the queen is gracious, sir, are you the man to hinder pity's soft emotions? burleigh. she is condemned to death; her head is laid beneath the axe, and it would ill become the queen to see a death-devoted head. the sentence cannot have its execution if the queen's majesty approaches her, for pardon still attends the royal presence, as sickness flies the health-dispensing hand. elizabeth (having read the letter, dries her tears). oh, what is man! what is the bliss of earth! to what extremities is she reduced who with such proud and splendid hopes began! who, called to sit on the most ancient throne of christendom, misled by vain ambition, hoped with a triple crown to deck her brows! how is her language altered, since the time when she assumed the arms of england's crown, and by the flatterers of her court was styled sole monarch of the two britannic isles! forgive me, lords, my heart is cleft in twain, anguish possesses me, and my soul bleeds to think that earthly goods are so unstable, and that the dreadful fate which rules mankind should threaten mine own house, and scowl so near me. talbot. oh, queen! the god of mercy hath informed your heart; oh! hearken to this heavenly guidance. most grievously, indeed, hath she atoned. her grievous crime, and it is time that now, at last, her heavy penance have an end. stretch forth your hand to raise this abject queen, and, like the luminous vision of an angel, descend into her gaol's sepulchral night. burleigh. be steadfast, mighty queen; let no emotion of seeming laudable humanity mislead thee; take not from thyself the power of acting as necessity commands. thou canst not pardon her, thou canst not save her: then heap not on thyself the odious blame, that thou, with cruel and contemptuous triumph, didst glut thyself with gazing on thy victim. leicester. let us, my lords, remain within our bounds; the queen is wise, and doth not need our counsels to lead her to the most becoming choice. this meeting of the queens hath naught in common with the proceedings of the court of justice. the law of england, not the monarch's will, condemns the queen of scotland, and 'twere worthy of the great soul of queen elizabeth, to follow the soft dictates of her heart, though justice swerves not from its rigid path. elizabeth. retire, my lords. we shall, perhaps, find means to reconcile the tender claims of pity with what necessity imposes on us. and now retire. [the lords retire; she calls sir edward mortimer back. sir edward mortimer! scene v. elizabeth, mortimer. elizabeth (having measured him for some time with her eyes in silence). you've shown a spirit of adventurous courage and self-possession, far beyond your years. he who has timely learnt to play so well the difficult dissembler's needful task becomes a perfect man before his time, and shortens his probationary years. fate calls you to a lofty scene of action; i prophesy it, and can, happily for you, fulfil, myself, my own prediction. mortimer. illustrious mistress, what i am, and all i can accomplish, is devoted to you. elizabeth. you've made acquaintance with the foes of england. their hate against me is implacable; their fell designs are inexhaustible. as yet, indeed, almighty providence hath shielded me; but on my brows the crown forever trembles, while she lives who fans their bigot-zeal, and animates their hopes. mortimer. she lives no more, as soon as you command it. elizabeth. oh, sir! i thought i saw my labors end, and i am come no further than at first, i wished to let the laws of england act, and keep my own hands pure from blood's defilement. the sentence is pronounced--what gain i by it? it must be executed, mortimer, and i must authorize the execution. the blame will ever light on me, i must avow it, nor can save appearances. that is the worst---- mortimer. but can appearances disturb your conscience where the cause is just? elizabeth. you are unpractised in the world, sir knight; what we appear, is subject to the judgment of all mankind, and what we are, of no man. no one will be convinced that i am right: i must take care that my connivance in her death be wrapped in everlasting doubt. in deeds of such uncertain double visage safety lies only in obscurity. those measures are the worst that stand avowed; what's not abandoned, is not wholly lost. mortimer (seeking to learn her meaning). then it perhaps were best---- elizabeth (quick). ay, surely 'twere the best; oh, sir, my better angel speaks through you;--go on then, worthy sir, conclude you are in earnest, you examine deep, have quite a different spirit from your uncle. mortimer (surprised). have you imparted then your wishes to him? elizabeth. i am sorry that i have. mortimer. excuse his age, the old man is grown scrupulous; such bold adventures ask the enterprising heart of youth---- elizabeth. and may i venture then on you---- mortimer. my hand i'll lend thee; save then as thou canst thy reputation---- elizabeth. yes, sir; if you could but waken me some morning with this news "maria stuart, your bloodthirsty foe, breathed yesternight her last"---- mortimer. depend on me. elizabeth. when shall my head lie calmly down to sleep? mortimer. the next new moon will terminate thy fears. elizabeth. and be the selfsame happy day the dawn of your preferment--so god speed you, sir; and be not hurt, if, chance, my thankfulness should wear the mask of darkness. silence is the happy suitor's god. the closest bonds, the dearest, are the works of secrecy. [exit. scene vi. mortimer (alone). go, false, deceitful queen! as thou deludest the world, e'en so i cozen thee; 'tis right, thus to betray thee; 'tis a worthy deed. look i then like a murderer? hast thou read upon my brow such base dexterity? trust only to my arm, and keep thine own concealed--assume the pious outward show of mercy 'fore the world, while reckoning in secret on my murderous aid; and thus by gaining time we shall insure her rescue. thou wilt exalt me!--show'st me from afar the costly recompense: but even were thyself the prize, and all thy woman's favor, what art thou, poor one, and what canst thou proffer? i scorn ambition's avaricious strife, with her alone is all the charm of life, o'er her, in rounds of endless glory, hover spirits with grace, and youth eternal blessed, celestial joy is throned upon her breast. thou hast but earthly, mortal goods to offer-- that sovereign good, for which all else be slighted, when heart in heart, delighting and delighted; together flow in sweet forgetfulness;-- ne'er didst thou woman's fairest crown possess, ne'er hast thou with thy hand a lover's heart requited. i must attend lord leicester, and deliver her letter to him--'tis a hateful charge-- i have no confidence in this court puppet-- i can effect her rescue, i alone; be danger, honor, and the prize my own. [as he is going, paulet meets him. scene vii. mortimer, paulet. paulet. what said the queen to you? mortimer. 'twas nothing, sir; nothing of consequence---- paulet (looking at him earnestly). hear, mortimer! it is a false and slippery ground on which you tread. the grace of princes is alluring, youth loves ambition--let not yours betray you. mortimer. was it not yourself that brought me to the court? paulet. oh, would to god i had not done as much! the honor of our house was never reaped in courts--stand fast, my nephew--purchase not too dear, nor stain your conscience with a crime. mortimer. what are these fears? what are you dreaming of? paulet. how high soever the queen may pledge herself to raise you, trust not her alluring words. [the spirit of the world's a lying spirit, and vice is a deceitful, treacherous friend.] she will deny you, if you listen to her; and, to preserve her own good name, will punish the bloody deed, which she herself enjoined. mortimer. the bloody deed!---- paulet. away, dissimulation!-- i know the deed the queen proposed to you. she hopes that your ambitious youth will prove more docile than my rigid age. but say, have you then pledged your promise, have you? mortimer. uncle! paulet. if you have done so, i abandon you, and lay my curse upon you---- leicester (entering). worthy sir! i with your nephew wish a word. the queen is graciously inclined to him; she wills that to his custody the scottish queen be with full powers intrusted. she relies on his fidelity. paulet. relies!--'tis well---- leicester. what say you, sir? paulet. her majesty relies on him; and i, my noble lord, rely upon myself, and my two open eyes. [exit. scene viii. leicester, mortimer. leicester (surprised). what ailed the knight? mortimer. my lord, i cannot tell what angers him: the confidence, perhaps, the queen so suddenly confers on me. leicester. are you deserving then of confidence? mortimer. this would i ask of you, my lord of leicester. leicester. you said you wished to speak with me in private. mortimer. assure me first that i may safely venture. leicester. who gives me an assurance on your side? let not my want of confidence offend you; i see you, sir, exhibit at this court two different aspects; one of them must be a borrowed one; but which of them is real? mortimer. the selfsame doubts i have concerning you. leicester. which, then, shall pave the way to confidence? mortimer. he, who by doing it, is least in danger. leicester. well, that are you---- mortimer. no, you; the evidence of such a weighty, powerful peer as you can overwhelm my voice. my accusation is weak against your rank and influence. leicester. sir, you mistake. in everything but this i'm powerful here; but in this tender point which i am called upon to trust you with, i am the weakest man of all the court, the poorest testimony can undo me. mortimer. if the all-powerful earl of leicester deign to stoop so low to meet me, and to make such a confession to me, i may venture to think a little better of myself, and lead the way in magnanimity. leicester. lead you the way of confidence, i'll follow. mortimer (producing suddenly the letter). here is a letter from the queen of scotland. leicester (alarmed, catches hastily at the letter). speak softly, sir! what see i? oh, it is her picture! [kisses and examines it with speechless joy--a pause. mortimer (who has watched him closely the whole tine). now, my lord, i can believe you. leicester (having hastily run through the letter). you know the purport of this letter, sir. mortimer. not i. leicester. indeed! she surely hath informed you. mortimer. nothing hath she informed me of. she said you would explain this riddle to me--'tis to me a riddle, that the earl of leicester, the far-famed favorite of elizabeth, the open, bitter enemy of mary, and one of those who spoke her mortal sentence, should be the man from whom the queen expects deliverance from her woes; and yet it must be; your eyes express too plainly what your heart feels for the hapless lady. leicester. tell me, sir, first, how it comes that you should take so warm an interest in her fate; and what it was gained you her confidence? mortimer. my lord, i can, and in few words, explain this mystery. i lately have at rome abjured my creed, and stand in correspondence with the guises. a letter from the cardinal archbishop was my credential with the queen of scots. leicester. i am acquainted, sir, with your conversion; 'twas that which waked my confidence towards you. [each remnant of distrust be henceforth banished;] your hand, sir, pardon me these idle doubts, i cannot use too much precaution here. knowing how walsingham and burleigh hate me, and, watching me, in secret spread their snares; you might have been their instrument, their creature to lure me to their toils. mortimer. how poor a part so great a nobleman is forced to play at court! my lord, i pity you. leicester. with joy i rest upon the faithful breast of friendship, where i can ease me of this long constraint. you seem surprised, sir, that my heart is turned so suddenly towards the captive queen. in truth, i never hated her; the times have forced me to be her enemy. she was, as you well know, my destined bride, long since, ere she bestowed her hand on darnley, while yet the beams of glory round her smiled, coldly i then refused the proffered boon. now in confinement, at the gates of death, i claim her at the hazard of my life. mortimer. true magnanimity, my lord. leicester. the state of circumstances since that time is changed. ambition made me all insensible to youth and beauty. mary's hand i held too insignificant for me; i hoped to be the husband of the queen of england. mortimer. it is well known she gave you preference before all others. leicester. so, indeed, it seemed. now, after ten lost years of tedious courtship and hateful self-constraint--oh, sir, my heart must ease itself of this long agony. they call me happy! did they only know what the chains are, for which they envy me! when i had sacrificed ten bitter years to the proud idol of her vanity; submitted with a slave's humility to every change of her despotic fancies the plaything of each little wayward whim. at times by seeming tenderness caressed, as oft repulsed with proud and cold disdain; alike tormented by her grace and rigor: watched like a prisoner by the argus eyes of jealousy; examined like a schoolboy, and railed at like a servant. oh, no tongue can paint this hell. mortimer. my lord, i feel for you. leicester. to lose, and at the very goal, the prize another comes to rob me of the fruits of my so anxious wooing. i must lose to her young blooming husband all those rights of which i was so long in full possession; and i must from the stage descend, where i so long have played the most distinguished part. 'tis not her hand alone this envious stranger threatens, he'd rob me of her favor too; she is a woman, and he formed to please. mortimer. he is the son of catherine. he has learnt in a good school the arts of flattery. leicester. thus fall my hopes; i strove to seize a plank to bear me in this shipwreck of my fortunes, and my eye turned itself towards the hope of former days once more; then mary's image within me was renewed, and youth and beauty once more asserted all their former rights. no more 'twas cold ambition; 'twas my heart which now compared, and with regret i felt the value of the jewel i had lost. with horror i beheld her in the depths. of misery, cast down by my transgression; then waked the hope in me that i might still deliver and possess her; i contrived to send her, through a faithful hand, the news of my conversion to her interests; and in this letter which you brought me, she assures me that she pardons me, and offers herself as guerdon if i rescue her. mortimer. but you attempted nothing for her rescue. you let her be condemned without a word: you gave, yourself, your verdict for her death; a miracle must happen, and the light of truth must move me, me, her keeper's nephew, and heaven must in the vatican at rome prepare for her an unexpected succour, else had she never found the way to you. leicester. oh, sir, it has tormented me enough! about this time it was that they removed her from talbot's castle, and delivered her up to your uncle's stricter custody. each way to her was shut. i was obliged before the world to persecute her still; but do not think that i would patiently have seen her led to death. no, sir; i hoped, and still i hope, to ward off all extremes, till i can find some certain means to save her. mortimer. these are already found: my lord of leicester; your generous confidence in me deserves a like return. i will deliver her. that is my object here; my dispositions are made already, and your powerful aid assures us of success in our attempt. leicester. what say you? you alarm me! how? you would---- mortimer. i'll open forcibly her prison-gates; i have confederates, and all is ready. leicester. you have confederates, accomplices? alas! in what rash enterprise would you engage me? and these friends, know they my secret? mortimer. fear not; our plan was laid without your help, without your help it would have been accomplished, had she not signified her resolution to owe her liberty to you alone. leicester. and can you, then, with certainty assure me that in your plot my name has not been mentioned? mortimer. you may depend upon it. how, my lord, so scrupulous when help is offered you? you wish to rescue mary, and possess her; you find confederates; sudden, unexpected, the readiest means fall, as it were from heaven, yet you show more perplexity than joy. leicester. we must avoid all violence; it is too dangerous an enterprise. mortimer. delay is also dangerous. leicester. i tell you, sir, 'tis not to be attempted---- mortimer. my lord, too hazardous for you, who would possess her; but we, who only wish to rescue her, we are more bold. leicester. young man, you are too hasty in such a thorny, dangerous attempt. mortimer. and you too scrupulous in honor's cause. leicester. i see the trammels that are spread around us. mortimer. and i feel courage to break through them all. leicester. foolhardiness and madness, is this courage? mortimer. this prudence is not bravery, my lord. leicester. you surely wish to end like babington. mortimer. you not to imitate great norfolk's virtue. leicester. norfolk ne'er won the bride he wooed so fondly. mortimer. but yet he proved how truly he deserved her. leicester. if we are ruined, she must fall with us. mortimer. if we risk nothing, she will ne'er be rescued. leicester. you will not weigh the matter, will not hear; with blind and hasty rashness you destroy the plans which i so happily had framed. mortimer. and what were then the plans which you had framed? what have you done then to deliver her? and how, if i were miscreant enough to murder her, as was proposed to me this moment by elizabeth, and which she looks upon as certain; only name the measures you have taken to protect her? leicester. did the queen give you, then, this bloody order? mortimer. she was deceived in me, as mary is in you. leicester. and have you promised it? say, have you? mortimer. that she might not engage another's hand, i offered mine. leicester. well done, sir; that was right; this gives us leisure, for she rests secure upon your bloody service, and the sentence is unfulfilled the while, and we gain time. mortimer (angrily). no, we are losing time. leicester. the queen depends on you, and will the readier make a show of mercy; and i may prevail on her to give an audience to her adversary; and by this stratagem we tie her hands yes! i will make the attempt, strain every nerve. mortimer. and what is gained by this? when she discovers that i am cheating her, that mary lives; are we not where we were? she never will be free; the mildest doom which can await her at best is but perpetual confinement. a daring deed must one day end the matter; why will you not with such a deed begin? the power is in your hands, would you but rouse the might of your dependents round about your many castles, 'twere an host; and still has mary many secret friends. the howards and percies' noble houses, though their chiefs be fallen, are rich in heroes; they but wait for the example of some potent lord. away with feigning--act an open part, and, like a loyal knight, protect your fair; fight a good fight for her! you know you are lord of the person of the queen of england, whene'er you will: invite her to your castle, oft hath she thither followed you--then show that you're a man; then speak as master; keep her confined till she release the queen of scots. leicester. i am astonished--i am terrified! where would your giddy madness hurry you? are you acquainted with this country? know you the deeps and shallows of this court? with what a potent spell this female sceptre binds and rules men's spirits round her? 'tis in vain you seek the heroic energy which once was active in this land! it is subdued, a woman holds it under lock and key, and every spring of courage is relaxed. follow my counsel--venture nothing rashly. some one approaches-go---- mortimer. and mary hopes-- shall i return to her with empty comfort? leicester. bear her my vows of everlasting love. mortimer. bear them yourself! i offered my assistance as her deliverer, not your messenger. [exit. scene ix. elizabeth, leicester. elizabeth. say, who was here? i heard the sound of voices. leicester (turning quickly and perplexed round on hearing the queen). it was young mortimer---- elizabeth. how now, my lord: why so confused? leicester (collecting himself). your presence is the cause. ne'er did i see thy beauty so resplendent, my sight is dazzled by thy heavenly charms. oh! elizabeth. whence this sigh? leicester. have i no reason, then, to sigh? when i behold you in your glory, i feel anew, with pain unspeakable, the loss which threatens me. elizabeth. what loss, my lord? leicester. your heart; your own inestimable self soon will you feel yourself within the arms of your young ardent husband, highly blessed; he will possess your heart without a rival. he is of royal blood, that am not i. yet, spite of all the world can say, there lives not one on this globe who with such fervent zeal adores you as the man who loses you. anjou hath never seen you, can but love your glory and the splendor of your reign; but i love you, and were you born of all the peasant maids the poorest, i the first of kings, i would descend to your condition, and lay my crown and sceptre at your feet! elizabeth. oh, pity me, my dudley; do not blame me; i cannot ask my heart. oh, that had chosen far otherwise! ah, how i envy others who can exalt the object of their love! but i am not so blest: 'tis not my fortune to place upon the brows of him, the dearest of men to me, the royal crown of england. the queen of scotland was allowed to make her hand the token of her inclination; she hath had every freedom, and hath drunk, even to the very dregs, the cup of joy. leicester. and now she drinks the bitter cup of sorrow. elizabeth. she never did respect the world's opinion; life was to her a sport; she never courted the yoke to which i bowed my willing neck. and yet, methinks, i had as just a claim as she to please myself and taste the joys of life: but i preferred the rigid duties which royalty imposed on me; yet she, she was the favorite of all the men because she only strove to be a woman; and youth and age became alike her suitors. thus are the men voluptuaries all! the willing slaves of levity and pleasure; value that least which claims their reverence. and did not even talbot, though gray-headed, grow young again when speaking of her charms? leicester. forgive him, for he was her keeper once, and she has fooled him with her cunning wiles. elizabeth. and is it really true that she's so fair? so often have i been obliged to hear the praises of this wonder--it were well if i could learn on what i might depend: pictures are flattering, and description lies; i will trust nothing but my own conviction. why gaze you at me thus? leicester. i placed in thought you and maria stuart side by side. yes! i confess i oft have felt a wish, if it could be but secretly contrived, to see you placed beside the scottish queen, then would you feel, and not till then, the full enjoyment of your triumph: she deserves to be thus humbled; she deserves to see, with her own eyes, and envy's glance is keen, herself surpassed, to feel herself o'ermatched, as much by thee in form and princely grace as in each virtue that adorns the sex. elizabeth. in years she has the advantage---- leicester. has she so? i never should have thought it. but her griefs, her sufferings, indeed! 'tis possible have brought down age upon her ere her time. yes, and 'twould mortify her more to see thee as bride--she hath already turned her back on each fair hope of life, and she would see thee advancing towards the open arms of joy. see thee as bride of france's royal son, she who hath always plumed herself so high on her connection with the house of france, and still depends upon its mighty aid. elizabeth (with a careless air). i'm teazed to grant this interview. leicester. she asks it as a favor; grant it as a punishment. for though you should conduct her to the block, yet would it less torment her than to see herself extinguished by your beauty's splendor. thus can you murder her as she hath wished to murder you. when she beholds your beauty, guarded by modesty, and beaming bright, in the clear glory of unspotted fame (which she with thoughtless levity discarded), exalted by the splendor of the crown, and blooming now with tender bridal graces-- then is the hour of her destruction come. yes--when i now behold you--you were never, no, never were you so prepared to seal the triumph of your beauty. as but now you entered the apartment, i was dazzled as by a glorious vision from on high. could you but now, now as you are, appear before her, you could find no better moment. elizabeth. now? no, not now; no, leicester; this must be maturely weighed--i must with burleigh---- leicester. burleigh! to him you are but sovereign, and as such alone he seeks your welfare; but your rights, derived from womanhood, this tender point must be decided by your own tribunal, not by the statesman; yet e'en policy demands that you should see her, and allure by such a generous deed the public voice. you can hereafter act as it may please you, to rid you of the hateful enemy. elizabeth. but would it then become me to behold my kinswoman in infamy and want? they say she is not royally attended; would not the sight of her distress reproach me? leicester. you need not cross her threshold; hear my counsel. a fortunate conjuncture favors it. the hunt you mean to honor with your presence is in the neighborhood of fotheringay; permission may be given to lady stuart to take the air; you meet her in the park, as if by accident; it must not seem to have been planned, and should you not incline, you need not speak to her. elizabeth. if i am foolish, be yours the fault, not mine. i would not care to-day to cross your wishes; for to-day i've grieved you more than all my other subjects. [tenderly. let it then be your fancy. leicester, hence you see the free obsequiousness of love. which suffers that which it cannot approve. [leicester prostrates himself before her, and the curtain falls. act iii. scene i. in a park. in the foreground trees; in the background a distant prospect. mary advances, running from behind the trees. hannah kennedy follows slowly. kennedy. you hasten on as if endowed with wings; i cannot follow you so swiftly; wait. mary. freedom returns! oh let me enjoy it. let me be childish; be thou childish with me. freedom invites me! oh, let me employ it skimming with winged step light o'er the lea; have i escaped from this mansion of mourning? holds me no more the sad dungeon of care? let me, with joy and with eagerness burning, drink in the free, the celestial air. kennedy. oh, my dear lady! but a very little is your sad gaol extended; you behold not the wall that shuts us in; these plaited tufts of trees hide from your sight the hated object. mary. thanks to these friendly trees, that hide from me my prison walls, and flatter my illusion! happy i now may deem myself, and free; why wake me from my dream's so sweet confusion? the extended vault of heaven around me lies, free and unfettered range my wandering eyes o'er space's vast, immeasurable sea! from where yon misty mountains rise on high i can my empire's boundaries explore; and those light clouds which, steering southwards, fly, seek the mild clime of france's genial shore. fast fleeting clouds! ye meteors that fly; could i but with you sail through the sky! tenderly greet the dear land of my youth! here i am captive! oppressed by my foes, no other than you may carry my woes. free through the ether your pathway is seen, ye own not the power of this tyrant queen. kennedy. alas! dear lady! you're beside yourself, this long-lost, long-sought freedom makes you rave. mary. yonder's a fisher returning to his home; poor though it be, would he lend me his wherry, quick to congenial shores would i ferry. spare is his trade, and labor's his doom; rich would i freight his vessel with treasure; such a draught should be his as he never had seen; wealth should he find in his nets without measure, would he but rescue a poor captive queen. kennedy. fond, fruitless wishes! see you not from far how we are followed by observing spies? a dismal, barbarous prohibition scares each sympathetic being from our path. mary. no, gentle hannah! trust me, not in vain my prison gates are opened. this small grace is harbinger of greater happiness. no! i mistake not; 'tis the active hand of love to which i owe this kind indulgence. i recognize in this the mighty arm of leicester. they will by degrees expand my prison; will accustom me, through small, to greater liberty, until at last i shall behold the face of him whose hand will dash my fetters off, and that forever. kennedy. oh, my dear queen! i cannot reconcile these contradictions. 'twas but yesterday that they announced your death, and all at once, to-day, you have such liberty. their chains are also loosed, as i have oft been told, whom everlasting liberty awaits. [hunting horns at a distance. mary. hear'st then the bugle, so blithely resounding? hear'st thou its echoes through wood and through plain? oh, might i now, on my nimble steed bounding, join with the jocund, the frolicsome train. [hunting horns again heard. again! oh, this sad and this pleasing remembrance! these are the sounds which, so sprightly and clear, oft, when with music the hounds and the horn so cheerfully welcomed the break of the morn, on the heaths of the highlands delighted my ear. scene ii. enter paulet. paulet. well, have i acted right at last, my lady? do i for once, at least, deserve your thanks? mary. how! do i owe this favor, sir, to you? paulet. why not to me? i visited the court, and gave the queen your letter. mary. did you give it? in very truth did you deliver it? and is this freedom which i now enjoy the happy consequence? paulet (significantly). nor that alone; prepare yourself to see a greater still. mary. a greater still! what do you mean by that? paulet. you heard the bugle-horns? mary (starting back with foreboding apprehension). you frighten me. paulet. the queen is hunting in the neighborhood---- mary. what! paulet. in a few moments she'll appear before you. kennedy (hastening towards mary, and about to fall). how fare you, dearest lady? you grow pale. paulet. how? is't not well? was it not then your prayer? 'tis granted now, before it was expected; you who had ever such a ready speech, now summon all your powers of eloquence, the important time to use them now is come. mary. oh, why was i not told of this before? now i am not prepared for it--not now what, as the greatest favor, i besought, seems to me now most fearful; hannah, come, lead me into the house, till i collect my spirits. paulet. stay; you must await her here. yes! i believe you may be well alarmed to stand before your judge. scene iii. enter the earl of shrewsbury. mary. 'tis not for that, o god! far other thoughts possess me now. oh, worthy shrewsbury! you come as though you were an angel sent to me from heaven. i cannot, will not see her. save me, save me from the detested sight! shrewsbury. your majesty, command yourself, and summon all your courage, 'tis the decisive moment of your fate. mary. for years i've waited, and prepared myself. for this i've studied, weighed, and written down each word within the tablet of my memory that was to touch and move her to compassion. forgotten suddenly, effaced is all, and nothing lives within me at this moment but the fierce, burning feeling of my wrongs. my heart is turned to direst hate against her; all gentle thoughts, all sweet forgiving words, are gone, and round me stand with grisly mien, the fiends of hell, and shake their snaky locks! shrewsbury. command your wild, rebellious blood;--constrain the bitterness which fills your heart. no good ensues when hatred is opposed to hate. how much soe'er the inward struggle cost you must submit to stern necessity, the power is in her hand, be therefore humble. mary. to her? i never can. shrewsbury. but pray, submit. speak with respect, with calmness! strive to move her magnanimity; insist not now upon your rights, not now--'tis not the season. mary. ah! woe is me! i've prayed for my destruction, and, as a curse to me, my prayer is heard. we never should have seen each other--never! oh, this can never, never come to good. rather in love could fire and water meet, the timid lamb embrace the roaring tiger! i have been hurt too grievously; she hath too grievously oppressed me;--no atonement can make us friends! shrewsbury. first see her, face to face: did i not see how she was moved at reading your letter? how her eyes were drowned in tears? no--she is not unfeeling; only place more confidence in her. it was for this that i came on before her, to entreat you to be collected--to admonish you---- mary (seizing his hand). oh, talbot! you have ever been my friend, had i but stayed beneath your kindly care! they have, indeed, misused me, shrewsbury. shrewsbury. let all be now forgot, and only think how to receive her with submissiveness. mary. is burleigh with her, too, my evil genius? shrewsbury. no one attends her but the earl of leicester. mary. lord leicester? shrewsbury. fear not him; it is not he who wishes your destruction;--'twas his work that here the queen hath granted you this meeting. mary. ah! well i knew it. shrewsbury. what? paulet. the queen approaches. [they all draw aside; mary alone remains, leaning on kennedy. scene iv. the same, elizabeth, earl of leicester, and retinue. elizabeth (to leicester). what seat is that, my lord? leicester. 'tis fotheringay. elizabeth (to shrewsbury). my lord, send back our retinue to london; the people crowd too eager in the roads, we'll seek a refuge in this quiet park. [talbot sends the train away. she looks steadfastly at mary, as she speaks further with paulet. my honest people love me overmuch. these signs of joy are quite idolatrous. thus should a god be honored, not a mortal. mary (who the whole time had leaned, almost fainting, on kennedy, rises now, and her eyes meet the steady, piercing look of elizabeth; she shudders and throws herself again upon kennedy's bosom). o god! from out these features speaks no heart. elizabeth. what lady's that? [a general, embarrassed silence. leicester. you are at fotheringay, my liege! elizabeth (as if surprised, casting an angry look at leicester). who hath done this, my lord of leicester? leicester. 'tis past, my queen;--and now that heaven hath led your footsteps hither, be magnanimous; and let sweet pity be triumphant now. shrewsbury. oh, royal mistress! yield to our entreaties; oh, cast your eyes on this unhappy one who stands dissolved in anguish. [mary collects herself, and begins to advance towards elizabeth, stops shuddering at half way: her action expresses the most violent internal struggle. elizabeth. how, my lords! which of you then announced to me a prisoner bowed down by woe? i see a haughty one by no means humbled by calamity. mary. well, be it so:--to this will i submit. farewell high thought, and pride of noble mind! i will forget my dignity, and all my sufferings; i will fall before her feet who hath reduced me to this wretchedness. [she turns towards the queen. the voice of heaven decides for you, my sister. your happy brows are now with triumph crowned, i bless the power divine which thus hath raised you. but in your turn be merciful, my sister; [she kneels. let me not lie before you thus disgraced; stretch forth your hand, your royal hand, to raise your sister from the depths of her distress. elizabeth (stepping back). you are where it becomes you, lady stuart; and thankfully i prize my god's protection, who hath not suffered me to kneel a suppliant thus at your feet, as you now kneel at mine. mary (with increasing energy of feeling). think on all earthly things, vicissitudes. oh! there are gods who punish haughty pride: respect them, honor them, the dreadful ones who thus before thy feet have humbled me! before these strangers' eyes dishonor not yourself in me: profane not, nor disgrace the royal blood of tudor. in my veins it flows as pure a stream as in your own. oh, for god's pity, stand not so estranged and inaccessible, like some tall cliff, which the poor shipwrecked mariner in vain struggles to seize, and labors to embrace. my all, my life, my fortune now depends upon the influence of my words and tears; that i may touch your heart, oh, set mine free. if you regard me with those icy looks my shuddering heart contracts itself, the stream of tears is dried, and frigid horror chains the words of supplication in my bosom! elizabeth (cold and severe). what would you say to me, my lady stuart? you wished to speak with me; and i, forgetting the queen, and all the wrongs i have sustained, fulfil the pious duty of the sister, and grant the boon you wished for of my presence. yet i, in yielding to the generous feelings of magnanimity, expose myself to rightful censure, that i stoop so low. for well you know you would have had me murdered. mary. oh! how shall i begin? oh, how shall i so artfully arrange my cautious words that they may touch, yet not offend your heart? strengthen my words, o heaven! and take from them whate'er might wound. alas! i cannot speak in my own cause without impeaching you, and that most heavily, i wish not so; you have not as you ought behaved to me: i am a queen, like you: yet you have held me confined in prison. as a suppliant i came to you, yet you in me insulted the pious use of hospitality; slighting in me the holy law of nations, immured me in a dungeon--tore from me my friends and servants; to unseemly want i was exposed, and hurried to the bar of a disgraceful, insolent tribunal. no more of this;--in everlasting silence be buried all the cruelties i suffered! see--i will throw the blame of all on fate, 'twere not your fault, no more than it was mine. an evil spirit rose from the abyss, to kindle in our hearts the flame of hate, by which our tender youth had been divided. it grew with us, and bad, designing men fanned with their ready breath the fatal fire: frantics, enthusiasts, with sword and dagger armed the uncalled-for hand! this is the curse of kings, that they, divided, tear the world in pieces with their hatred, and let loose the raging furies of all hellish strife! no foreign tongue is now between us, sister, [approaching her confidently, and with a flattering tone. now stand we face to face; now, sister, speak: name but my crime, i'll fully satisfy you,-- alas! had you vouchsafed to hear me then, when i so earnest sought to meet your eye, it never would have come to this, nor would, here in this mournful place, have happened now this so distressful, this so mournful meeting. elizabeth. my better stars preserved me. i was warned, and laid not to my breast the poisonous adder! accuse not fate! your own deceitful heart it was, the wild ambition of your house as yet no enmities had passed between us, when your imperious uncle, the proud priest, whose shameless hand grasps at all crowns, attacked me with unprovoked hostility, and taught you, but too docile, to assume my arms, to vest yourself with my imperial title, and meet me in the lists in mortal strife: what arms employed he not to storm my throne? the curses of the priests, the people's sword, the dreadful weapons of religious frenzy;-- even here in my own kingdom's peaceful haunts he fanned the flames of civil insurrection; but god is with me, and the haughty priest has not maintained the field. the blow was aimed full at my head, but yours it is which falls! mary. i'm in the hand of heaven. you never will exert so cruelly the power it gives you. elizabeth. who shall prevent me? say, did not your uncle set all the kings of europe the example, how to conclude a peace with those they hate. be mine the school of saint bartholomew; what's kindred then to me, or nation's laws? the church can break the bands of every duty; it consecrates the regicide, the traitor; i only practise what your priests have taught! say then, what surety can be offered me, should i magnanimously loose your bonds? say, with what lock can i secure your faith, which by saint peter's keys cannot be opened? force is my only surety; no alliance can be concluded with a race of vipers. mary. oh! this is but your wretched, dark suspicion! for you have constantly regarded me but as a stranger, and an enemy. had you declared me heir to your dominions, as is my right, then gratitude and love in me had fixed, for you, a faithful friend and kinswoman. elizabeth. your friendship is abroad, your house is papacy, the monk your brother. name you my successor! the treacherous snare! that in my life you might seduce my people; and, like a sly armida, in your net entangle all our noble english youth; that all might turn to the new rising sun, and i---- mary. o sister, rule your realm in peace; i give up every claim to these domains-- alas! the pinions of my soul are lamed; greatness entices me no more: your point is gained; i am but mary's shadow now-- my noble spirit is at last broke down by long captivity:--you've done your worst on me; you have destroyed me in my bloom! now, end your work, my sister;--speak at length the word, which to pronounce has brought you hither; for i will ne'er believe that you are come, to mock unfeelingly your hapless victim. pronounce this word;--say, "mary, you are free: you have already felt my power,--learn now to honor too my generosity." say this, and i will take my life, will take my freedom, as a present from your hands. one word makes all undone;--i wait for it;-- oh, let it not be needlessly delayed. woe to you if you end not with this word! for should you not, like some divinity, dispensing noble blessings, quit me now, then, sister, not for all this island's wealth, for all the realms encircled by the deep, would i exchange my present lot for yours. elizabeth. and you confess at last that you are conquered: are all your schemes run out? no more assassins now on the road? will no adventurer attempt again for you the sad achievement? yes, madam, it is over:--you'll seduce no mortal more. the world has other cares;-- none is ambitious of the dangerous honor of being your fourth husband--you destroy your wooers like your husbands. mary (starting angrily). sister, sister!-- grant me forbearance, all ye powers of heaven! elizabeth (regards her long with a look of proud contempt). those then, my lord of leicester, are the charms which no man with impunity can view, near which no woman dare to stand? in sooth, this honor has been cheaply gained; she who to all is common, may with ease become the common object of applause. mary. this is too much! elizabeth (laughing insultingly). you show us now, indeed, your real face; till now 'twas but the mask. mary (burning with rage, yet dignified and noble). my sins were human, and the faults of youth: superior force misled me. i have never denied or sought to hide it: i despised all false appearance, as became a queen. the worst of me is known, and i can say, that i am better than the fame i bear. woe to you! when, in time to come, the world shall draw the robe of honor from your deeds, with which thy arch-hypocrisy has veiled the raging flames of lawless, secret lust. virtue was not your portion from your mother; well know we what it was which brought the head of anna boleyn to the fatal block. shrewsbury (stepping between both queens). oh! heaven! alas, and must it come to this! is this the moderation, the submission, my lady?---- mary. moderation! i've supported what human nature can support: farewell, lamb-hearted resignation, passive patience, fly to thy native heaven; burst at length thy bonds, come forward from thy dreary cave, in all thy fury, long suppressed rancor! and thou, who to the angered basilisk impart'st the murderous glance, oh, arm my tongue with poisoned darts! shrewsbury. she is beside herself! exasperated, mad! my liege, forgive her. [elizabeth, speechless with anger, casts enraged looks at mary. leicester (in the most violent agitation; he seeks to lead elizabeth away). attend not to her rage! away, away, from this disastrous place! mary (raising her voice). a bastard soils, profanes the english throne! the generous britons are cheated by a juggler, [whose whole figure is false and painted, heart as well as face!] if right prevailed, you now would in the dust before me lie, for i'm your rightful monarch! [elizabeth hastily quits the stage; the lords follow her in the greatest consternation. scene v. mary, kennedy. kennedy. what have you done? she has gone hence in wrath all hope is over now! mary (still quite beside herself). gone hence in wrath! she carries death within her heart! i know it. [falling on kennedy's bosom. now i am happy, hannah! and at last, after whole years of sorrow and abasement, one moment of victorious revenge a weight falls off my heart, a weight of mountains; i plunged the steel in my oppressor's breast! kennedy. unhappy lady! frenzy overcomes you. yes, you have wounded your inveterate foe; 'tis she who wields the lightning, she is queen, you have insulted her before her minion. mary. i have abased her before leicester's eyes; he saw it, he was witness of my triumph. how did i hurl her from her haughty height, he saw it, and his presence strengthened me. scene vi. enter mortimer. kennedy. oh, sir! what an occurrence! mortimer. i heard all-- [gives the nurse a sign to repair to her post, and draws nearer; his whole appearance expresses the utmost violence of passion. thine is the palm;--thou trod'st her to the dust!-- thou wast the queen, she was the malefactor;-- i am transported with thy noble courage;-- yes! i adore thee; like a deity, my sense is dazzled by thy heavenly beams. mary (with vivacity and expectation). you spoke with leicester, gave my letter to him. my present, too?--oh, speak, sir. mortimer (beholding her with glowing looks). how thy noble, thy royal indignation shone, and cast a glory round thy beauty; yes, by heavens, thou art the fairest woman upon earth! mary. sir, satisfy, i beg you, my impatience; what says his lordship? say, sir, may i hope? mortimer. who?--he?--he is a wretch, a very coward, hope naught from him; despise him, and forget him! mary. what say you? mortimer. he deliver, and possess you! why let him dare it:--he!--he must with me in mortal contest first deserve the prize! mary. you gave him not my letter? then, indeed my hopes are lost! mortimer. the coward loves his life. whoe'er would rescue you, and call you his, must boldly dare affront e'en death itself! mary. will he do nothing for me? mortimer. speak not of him. what can he do? what need have we of him? i will release you; i alone. mary. alas! what power have you? mortimer. deceive yourself no more; think not your case is now as formerly; the moment that the queen thus quitted you, and that your interview had ta'en this turn, all hope was lost, each way of mercy shut. now deeds must speak, now boldness must decide, to compass all must all be hazarded; you must be free before the morning break. mary. what say you, sir--to-night?--impossible! mortimer. hear what has been resolved:--i led my friends into a private chapel, where a priest heard our confession, and, for every sin we had committed, gave us absolution; he gave us absolution too, beforehand, for every crime we might commit in future; he gave us too the final sacrament, and we are ready for the final journey. mary. oh, what an awful, dreadful preparation! mortimer. we scale, this very night, the castle's walls; the keys are in my power; the guards we murder! then from thy chamber bear thee forcibly. each living soul must die beneath our hands, that none remain who might disclose the deed. mary. and drury, paulet, my two keepers, they would sooner spill their dearest drop of blood. mortimer. they fall the very first beneath my steel. mary. what, sir! your uncle? how! your second father! mortimer. must perish by my hand--i murder him! mary. oh, bloody outrage! mortimer. we have been absolved beforehand; i may perpetrate the worst; i can, i will do so! mary. oh, dreadful, dreadful! mortimer. and should i be obliged to kill the queen, i've sworn upon the host, it must be done! mary. no, mortimer; ere so much blood for me---- mortimer. what is the life of all compared to thee, and to my love? the bond which holds the world together may be loosed, a second deluge come rolling on, and swallow all creation! henceforth i value nothing; ere i quit my hold on thee, may earth and time be ended! mary (retiring) heavens! sir, what language, and what looks! they scare, they frighten me! mortimer (with unsteady looks, expressive of great madness). life's but a moment--death is but a moment too. why! let them drag me to tyburn, let them tear me limb from limb, with red-hot pincers---- [violently approaching her with extended arms. if i clasp but thee within my arms, thou fervently beloved! mary. madman, avaunt! mortimer. to rest upon this bosom, to press upon this passion-breathing mouth---- mary. leave me, for god's sake, sir; let me go in---- mortimer. he is a madman who neglects to clasp his bliss in folds that never may be loosed, when heaven has kindly given it to his arms. i will deliver you, and though it cost a thousand lives, i do it; but i swear, as god's in heaven i will possess you too! mary. oh! will no god, no angel shelter me? dread destiny! thou throwest me, in thy wrath, from one tremendous terror to the other! was i then born to waken naught but frenzy? do hate and love conspire alike to fright me! mortimer. yes, glowing as their hatred is my love; they would behead thee, they would wound this neck, so dazzling white, with the disgraceful axe! oh! offer to the living god of joy what thou must sacrifice to bloody hate! inspire thy happy lover with those charms which are no more thine own. those golden locks are forfeit to the dismal powers of death, oh! use them to entwine thy slave forever! mary. alas! alas! what language must i hear! my woe, my sufferings should be sacred to you, although my royal brows are so no more. mortimer. the crown is fallen from thy brows, thou hast no more of earthly majesty. make trial, raise thy imperial voice, see if a friend, if a deliverer will rise to save you. thy moving form alone remains, the high, the godlike influence of thy heavenly beauty; this bids me venture all, this arms my hand with might, and drives me tow'rd the headsman's axe. mary. oh! who will save me from his raging madness? mortimer. service that's bold demands a bold reward. why shed their blood the daring? is not life life's highest good? and he a madman who casts life away? first will i take my rest, upon the breast that glows with love's own fire! [he presses her violently to his bosom. mary. oh, must i call for help against the man who would deliver me! mortimer. thou'rt not unfeeling, the world ne'er censured thee for frigid rigor; the fervent prayer of love can touch thy heart. thou mad'st the minstrel rizzio blest, and gavest thyself a willing prey to bothwell's arms. mary. presumptuous man! mortimer. he was indeed thy tyrant, thou trembled'st at his rudeness, whilst thou loved'st him; well, then--if only terror can obtain thee-- by the infernal gods! mary. away--you're mad! mortimer. i'll teach thee then before me, too, to tremble. kennedy (entering suddenly). they're coming--they approach--the park is filled with men in arms. mortimer (starting and catching at his sword). i will defend you-i---- mary. o hannah! save me, save me from his hands. where shall i find, poor sufferer, an asylum? oh! to what saint shall i address my prayers? here force assails me, and within is murder! [she flies towards the house, kennedy follows her. scene vii. mortimer, paulet, and drury rush in in the greatest consternation. attendants hasten over the stage. paulet. shut all the portals--draw the bridges up. mortimer. what is the matter, uncle? paulet. where is the murderess? down with her, down into the darkest dungeon! mortimer. what is the matter? what has passed? paulet. the queen! accursed hand! infernal machination! mortimer. the queen! what queen? paulet. what queen! the queen of england; she has been murdered on the road to london. [hastens into the house. scene viii. mortimer, soon after o'kelly. mortimer (after a pause). am i then mad? came not one running by but now, and cried aloud, the queen is murdered! no, no! i did but dream. a feverish fancy paints that upon my mind as true and real, which but existed in my frantic thoughts. who's there? it is o'kelly. so dismayed! o'kelly (rushing in). flee, mortimer, oh! flee--for all is lost! mortimer. what then is lost? o'kelly. stand not on question. think on speedy flight. mortimer. what has occurred? o'kelly. sauvage, that madman, struck the blow. mortimer. it is then true! o'kelly. true, true--oh! save yourself. mortimer (exultingly). the queen is murdered-- and mary shall ascend the english throne! o'kelly. is murdered! who said that? mortimer. yourself. o'kelly. she lives, and i, and you, and all of us are lost. mortimer. she lives! o'kelly. the blow was badly aimed, her cloak received it. shrewsbury disarmed the murderer. mortimer. she lives! o'kelly. she lives to whelm us all in ruin; come, they surround the park already; come. mortimer. who did this frantic deed? o'kelly. it was the monk from toulon, whom you saw immersed in thought, as in the chapel the pope's bull was read, which poured anathemas upon the queen. he wished to take the nearest, shortest way, to free, with one bold stroke, the church of god, and gain the crown of martyrdom: he trusted his purpose only to the priest, and struck the fatal blow upon the road to london. mortimer (after a long silence). alas! a fierce, destructive fate pursues thee, unhappy one! yes--now thy death is fixed; thy very angel has prepared thy fall! o'kelly. say, whither will you take your flight? i go to hide me in the forests of the north. mortimer. fly thither, and may god attend your flight; i will remain, and still attempt to save my love; if not, my bed shall be upon her grave. [exeunt at different sides. act iv. scene i.--antechamber. count aubespine, the earls of kent and leicester. aubespine. how fares her majesty? my lords, you see me still stunned, and quite beside myself for terror! how happened it? how was it possible that in the midst of this most loyal people---- leicester. the deed was not attempted by the people. the assassin was a subject of your king, a frenchman. aubespine. sure a lunatic. leicester. a papist, count aubespine! scene ii. enter burleigh, in conversation with davison. burleigh. sir; let the death-warrant be instantly made out, and pass the seal; then let it be presented to the queen; her majesty must sign it. hasten, sir, we have no time to lose. davison. it shall be done. [exit. aubespine. my lord high-treasurer, my faithful heart shares in the just rejoicings of the realm. praised be almighty heaven, who hath averted assassination from our much-loved queen! burleigh. praised be his name, who thus hath turned to scorn the malice of our foes! aubespine. may heaven confound the perpetrator of this cursed deed! burleigh. its perpetrator and its base contriver! aubespine. please you, my lord, to bring me to the queen, that i may lay the warm congratulations of my imperial master at her feet. burleigh. there is no need of this. aubespine (officiously). my lord of burleigh, i know my duty. burleigh. sir, your duty is to quit, and that without delay, this kingdom. aubespine (stepping back with surprise). what! how is this? burleigh. the sacred character of an ambassador to-day protects you, but not to-morrow. aubespine. what's my crime? burleigh. should i once name it, there were then no pardon for it. aubespine. i hope, my lord, my charge's privilege---- burleigh. screens not a traitor. leicester and kent. traitor! how? aubespine. my lord, consider well---- burleigh. your passport was discovered in the assassin's pocket. kent. righteous heaven! aubespine. sir, many passports are subscribed by me; i cannot know the secret thoughts of men. burleigh. he in your house confessed, and was absolved. aubespine. my house is open---- burleigh. to our enemies. aubespine. i claim a strict inquiry. burleigh. tremble at it. aubespine. my monarch in my person is insulted, he will annul the marriage contract. burleigh. that my royal mistress has annulled already; england will not unite herself with france. my lord of kent, i give to you the charge to see count aubespine embarked in safety. the furious populace has stormed his palace, where a whole arsenal of arms was found; should he be found, they'll tear him limb from limb, conceal him till the fury is abated-- you answer for his life. aubespine. i go--i leave this kingdom where they sport with public treaties and trample on the laws of nations. yet my monarch, be assured, will vent his rage in direst vengeance! burleigh. let him seek it here. [exeunt kent and aubespine. scene iii. leicester, burleigh. leicester. and thus you loose yourself the knot of union which you officiously, uncalled for, bound! you have deserved but little of your country, my lord; this trouble was superfluous. burleigh. my aim was good, though fate declared against it; happy is he who has so fair a conscience! leicester. well know we the mysterious mien of burleigh when he is on the hunt for deeds of treason. now you are in your element, my lord; a monstrous outrage has been just committed, and darkness veils as yet its perpetrators: now will a court of inquisition rise; each word, each look be weighed; men's very thoughts be summoned to the bar. you are, my lord, the mighty man, the atlas of the state, all england's weight lies upon your shoulders. burleigh. in you, my lord, i recognize my master; for such a victory as your eloquence has gained i cannot boast. leicester. what means your lordship? burleigh. you were the man who knew, behind my back, to lure the queen to fotheringay castle. leicester. behind your back! when did i fear to act before your face? burleigh. you led her majesty? oh, no--you led her not--it was the queen who was so gracious as to lead you thither. leicester. what mean you, my lord, by that? burleigh. the noble part you forced the queen to play! the glorious triumph which you prepared for her! too gracious princess! so shamelessly, so wantonly to mock thy unsuspecting goodness, to betray thee so pitiless to thy exulting foe! this, then, is the magnanimity, the grace which suddenly possessed you in the council! the stuart is for this so despicable, so weak an enemy, that it would scarce be worth the pains to stain us with her blood. a specious plan! and sharply pointed too; 'tis only pity this sharp point is broken. leicester. unworthy wretch! this instant follow me, and answer at the throne this insolence. burleigh. you'll find me there, my lord; and look you well that there your eloquence desert you not. [exit. scene iv. leicester alone, then mortimer. leicester. i am detected! all my plot's disclosed! how has my evil genius tracked my steps! alas! if he has proofs, if she should learn that i have held a secret correspondence with her worst enemy; how criminal shall i appear to her! how false will then my counsel seem, and all the fatal pains i took to lure the queen to fotheringay! i've shamefully betrayed, i have exposed her to her detested enemy's revilings! oh! never, never can she pardon that. all will appear as if premeditated. the bitter turn of this sad interview, the triumph and the tauntings of her rival; yes, e'en the murderous hand which had prepared a bloody, monstrous, unexpected fate; all, all will be ascribed to my suggestions! i see no rescue! nowhere--ha! who comes? [mortimer enters in the most violent uneasiness, and looks with apprehension round him. mortimer. lord leicester! is it you! are we alone? leicester. ill-fated wretch, away! what seek you here? mortimer. they are upon our track--upon yours, too; be vigilant! leicester. away, away! mortimer. they know that private conferences have been held at aubespine's---- leicester. what's that to me? mortimer. they know, too, that the assassin---- leicester. that is your affair-- audacious wretch! to dare to mix my name in your detested outrage: go; defend your bloody deeds yourself! mortimer. but only hear me. leicester (violently enraged). down, down to hell! why cling you at my heels like an infernal spirit! i disclaim you; i know you not; i make no common cause with murderers! mortimer. you will not hear me, then! i came to warn you; you too are detected. leicester. how! what? mortimer. lord burleigh went to fotheringay just as the luckless deed had been attempted; searched with strict scrutiny the queen's apartments, and found there---- leicester. what? mortimer. a letter which the queen had just addressed to you---- leicester. unhappy woman! mortimer. in which she calls on you to keep your word, renews the promise of her hand, and mentions the picture which she sent you. leicester. death and hell! mortimer. lord burleigh has the letter. leicester. i am lost! [during the following speech of mortimer, leicester goes up and down as in despair. mortimer. improve the moment; be beforehand with him, and save yourself--save her! an oath can clear your fame; contrive excuses to avert the worst. i am disarmed, can do no more; my comrades are dispersed--to pieces fallen our whole confederacy. for scotland i to rally such new friends as there i may. 'tis now your turn, my lord; try what your weight, what bold assurance can effect. leicester (stops suddenly as if resolved). i will. [goes to the door, opens it, and calls. who waits without? guards! seize this wretched traitor! [to the officer, who comes in with soldiers. and guard him closely! a most dreadful plot is brought to light--i'll to her majesty. mortimer (stands for a time petrified with wonder; collects himself soon, and follows leicester with his looks expressive of the most sovereign contempt). infamous wretch! but i deserve it all. who told me then to trust this practised villain? now o'er my head he strides, and on my fall he builds the bridge of safety! be it so; go, save thyself--my lips are sealed forever; i will not join even thee in my destruction; i would not own thee, no, not even in death; life is the faithless villain's only good! [to the officer of the guard, who steps forward to seize him. what wilt thou, slave of tyranny, with me? i laugh to scorn thy threatenings; i am free. [drawing a dagger. officer. he's armed; rush in and wrest his weapon from him. [they rush upon him, he defends himself. mortimer (raising his voice). and in this latest moment shall my heart expand itself in freedom, and my tongue shall break this long constraint. curse and destruction light on you all who have betrayed your faith, your god, and your true sovereign! who, alike to earthly mary false as to the heavenly, have sold your duties to this bastard queen! officer. hear you these blasphemies? rush forward--seize him. mortimer. beloved queen! i could not set thee free; yet take a lesson from me how to die. mary, thou holy one, o! pray for me! and take me to thy heavenly home on high. [stabs himself, and falls into the arms of the guard. scene v. the apartment of the queen. elizabeth, with a letter in her hand, burleigh. elizabeth. to lure me thither! trifle with me thus! the traitor! thus to lead me, as in triumph, into the presence of his paramour! oh, burleigh! ne'er was woman so deceived. burleigh. i cannot yet conceive what potent means, what magic he exerted, to surprise my queen's accustomed prudence. elizabeth. oh, i die for shame! how must he laugh to scorn my weakness! i thought to humble her, and was myself the object of her bitter scorn. burleigh. by this you see how faithfully i counselled you. elizabeth. oh, i am sorely punished, that i turned my ear from your wise counsels; yet i thought i might confide in him. who could suspect beneath the vows of faithfullest devotion a deadly snare? in whom can i confide when he deceives me? he, whom i have made the greatest of the great, and ever set the nearest to my heart, and in this court allowed to play the master and the king. burleigh. yet in that very moment he betrayed you, betrayed you to this wily queen of scots. elizabeth. oh, she shall pay me for it with her life! is the death-warrant ready? burleigh. 'tis prepared as you commanded. elizabeth. she shall surely die-- he shall behold her fall, and fall himself! i've driven him from my heart. no longer love, revenge alone is there: and high as once he stood, so low and shameful be his fall! a monument of my severity, as once the proud example of my weakness. conduct him to the tower; let a commission of peers be named to try him. he shall feel in its full weight the rigor of the law. burleigh. but he will seek thy presence; he will clear---- elizabeth. how can he clear himself? does not the letter convict him. oh, his crimes are manifest! burleigh. but thou art mild and gracious! his appearance, his powerful presence---- elizabeth. i will never see him; no never, never more. are orders given not to admit him should he come? burleigh. 'tis done. page (entering). the earl of leicester! elizabeth. the presumptuous man! i will not see him. tell him that i will not. page. i am afraid to bring my lord this message, nor would he credit it. elizabeth. and i have raised him so high that my own servants tremble more at him than me! burleigh (to the page). the queen forbids his presence. [the page retires slowly. elizabeth (after a pause). yet, if it still were possible? if he could clear himself? might it not be a snare laid by the cunning one, to sever me from my best friends--the ever-treacherous harlot! she might have writ the letter, but to raise poisonous suspicion in my heart, to ruin the man she hates. burleigh. yet, gracious queen, consider. scene vi. leicester (bursts open the door with violence, and enters with an imperious air). leicester. fain would i see the shameless man who dares forbid me the apartments of my queen! elizabeth (avoiding his sight). audacious slave! leicester. to turn me from the door! if for a burleigh she be visible, she must be so to me! burleigh. my lord, you are too bold, without permission to intrude. leicester. my lord, you are too arrogant, to take the lead in these apartments. what! permission! i know of none who stands so high at court as to permit my doings, or refuse them. [humbly approaching elizabeth. 'tis from my sovereign's lips alone that i---- elizabeth (without looking at him). out of my sight, deceitful, worthless traitor! leicester. 'tis not my gracious queen i hear, but burleigh, my enemy, in these ungentle words. to my imperial mistress i appeal; thou hast lent him thine ear; i ask the like. elizabeth. speak, shameless wretch! increase your crime--deny it. leicester. dismiss this troublesome intruder first. withdraw, my lord; it is not of your office to play the third man here: between the queen and me there is no need of witnesses. retire---- elizabeth (to burleigh). remain, my lord; 'tis my command. leicester. what has a third to do 'twixt thee and me? i have to clear myself before my queen, my worshipped queen; i will maintain the rights which thou hast given me; these rights are sacred, and i insist upon it, that my lord retire. elizabeth. this haughty tone befits you well. leicester. it well befits me; am not i the man, the happy man, to whom thy gracious favor has given the highest station? this exalts me above this burleigh, and above them all. thy heart imparted me this rank, and what thy favor gave, by heavens i will maintain at my life's hazard. let him go, it needs two moments only to exculpate me. elizabeth. think not, with cunning words, to hide the truth. leicester. that fear from him, so voluble of speech: but what i say is to the heart addressed; and i will justify what i have dared to do, confiding in thy generous favor, before thy heart alone. i recognize no other jurisdiction. elizabeth. base deceiver 'tis this, e'en this, which above all condemns you. my lord, produce the letter. [to burleigh. burleigh. here it is. leicester (running over the letter without losing his presence of mind). 'tis mary stuart's hand---- elizabeth. read and be dumb! leicester (having read it quietly). appearance is against me, yet i hope i shall not by appearances be judged. elizabeth. can you deny your secret correspondence with mary?--that she sent and you received her picture, that you gave her hopes of rescue? leicester. it were an easy matter, if i felt that i were guilty of a crime, to challenge the testimony of my enemy: yet bold is my good conscience. i confess that she hath said the truth. elizabeth. well then, thou wretch! burleigh. his own words sentence him---- elizabeth. out of my sight! away! conduct the traitor to the tower! leicester. i am no traitor; it was wrong, i own, to make a secret of this step to thee; yet pure was my intention, it was done to search into her plots and to confound them. elizabeth. vain subterfuge! burleigh. and do you think, my lord---- leicester. i've played a dangerous game, i know it well, and none but leicester dare be bold enough to risk it at this court. the world must know how i detest this stuart, and the rank which here i hold; my monarch's confidence, with which she honors me, must sure suffice to overturn all doubt of my intentions. well may the man thy favor above all distinguishes pursue a daring course to do his duty! burleigh. if the course was good, wherefore conceal it? leicester. you are used, my lord, to prate before you act; the very chime of your own deeds. this is your manner, lord; but mine is first to act, and then to speak. burleigh. yes, now you speak because you must. leicester (measuring him proudly and disdainfully with his eyes). and you boast of a wonderful, a mighty action, that you have saved the queen, have snatched away the mask from treachery; all is known to you; you think, forsooth, that nothing can escape your penetrating eyes. poor, idle boaster! in spite of all your cunning, mary stuart was free to-day, had i not hindered it. burleigh. how? you? leicester. yes, i, my lord; the queen confided in mortimer; she opened to the youth her inmost soul! yes, she went further still; she gave him, too, a secret, bloody charge, which paulet had before refused with horror. say, is it so, or not? [the queen and burleigh look at one another with astonishment. burleigh. whence know ye this? leicester. nay, is it not a fact? now answer me. and where, my lord, where were your thousand eyes, not to discover mortimer was false? that he, the guise's tool, and mary's creature, a raging papist, daring fanatic, was come to free the stuart, and to murder the queen of england! elizabeth (with the utmost astonishment). how! this mortimer! leicester. 'twas he through whom our correspondence passed. this plot it was which introduced me to him. this very day she was to have been torn from her confinement; he, this very moment, disclosed his plan to me: i took him prisoner, and gave him to the guard, when in despair to see his work o'erturned, himself unmasked, he slew himself! elizabeth. oh, i indeed have been deceived beyond example, mortimer! burleigh. this happened then but now? since last we parted? leicester. for my own sake, i must lament the deed; that he was thus cut off. his testimony, were he alive, had fully cleared my fame, and freed me from suspicion; 'twas for this that i surrendered him to open justice. i thought to choose the most impartial course to verify and fix my innocence before the world. burleigh. he killed himself, you say is't so? or did you kill him? leicester. vile suspicion! hear but the guard who seized him. [he goes to the door, and calls. ho! who waits? [enter the officer of the guard. sir, tell the queen how mortimer expired. officer. i was on duty in the palace porch, when suddenly my lord threw wide the door, and ordered me to take the knight in charge, denouncing him a traitor: upon this he grew enraged, and with most bitter curses against our sovereign and our holy faith, he drew a dagger, and before the guards could hinder his intention, plunged the steel into his heart, and fell a lifeless corpse. leicester. 'tis well; you may withdraw. her majesty has heard enough. [the officer withdraws. elizabeth. oh, what a deep abyss of monstrous deeds? leicester. who was it, then, my queen, who saved you? was it burleigh? did he know the dangers which surrounded you? did he avert them from your head? your faithful leicester was your good angel. burleigh. this same mortimer died most conveniently for you, my lord. elizabeth. what i should say i know not. i believe you, and i believe you not. i think you guilty, and yet i think you not. a curse on her who caused me all this anguish. leicester. she must die; i now myself consent unto her death. i formerly advised you to suspend the sentence, till some arm should rise anew on her behalf; the case has happened now, and i demand her instant execution. burleigh. you give this counsel? you? leicester. howe'er it wound my feelings to be forced to this extreme, yet now i see most clearly, now i feel that the queen's welfare asks this bloody victim. 'tis my proposal, therefore, that the writ be drawn at once to fix the execution. burleigh (to the queen). since, then, his lordship shows such earnest zeal, such loyalty, 'twere well were he appointed to see the execution of the sentence. leicester. who? i? burleigh. yes, you; you surely ne'er could find a better means to shake off the suspicion which rests upon you still, than to command her, whom 'tis said you love, to be beheaded. elizabeth (looking steadfastly at leicester). my lord advises well. so be it, then. leicester. it were but fit that my exalted rank should free me from so mournful a commission, which would indeed, in every sense, become a burleigh better than the earl of leicester. the man who stands so near the royal person should have no knowledge of such fatal scenes: but yet to prove my zeal, to satisfy my queen, i waive my charge's privilege, and take upon myself this hateful duty. elizabeth. lord burleigh shall partake this duty with you. [to burleigh. so be the warrant instantly prepared. [burleigh withdraws; a tumult heard without. scene vii. the queen, the earl of kent. elizabeth. how now, my lord of kent? what uproar's this i hear without? kent. my queen, it is thy people, who, round the palace ranged, impatiently demand to see their sovereign. elizabeth. what's their wish? kent. a panic terror has already spread through london, that thy life has been attempted; that murderers commissioned from the pope beset thee; that the catholics have sworn to rescue from her prison mary stuart, and to proclaim her queen. thy loyal people believe it, and are mad; her head alone can quiet them; this day must be her last. elizabeth. how! will they force me, then? kent. they are resolved---- scene viii. enter burleigh and davison, with a paper. elizabeth. well, davison? davison (approaches earnestly). your orders are obeyed, my queen---- elizabeth. what orders, sir? [as she is about to take the paper, she shudders, and starts back. oh, god! burleigh. obey thy people's voice; it is the voice of god. elizabeth (irresolute, as if in contest with herself) oh, my good lord, who will assure me now that what i hear is my whole people's voice, the voice of all the world! ah! much i fear, that, if i now should listen to the wish of the wild multitude, a different voice might soon be heard;--and that the very men, who now by force oblige me to this step, may, when 'tis taken, heavily condemn me! scene ix. enter the earl of shrewsbury (who enters with great emotion). shrewsbury. hold fast, my queen, they wish to hurry thee; [seeing davison with the paper. be firm--or is it then decided?--is it indeed decided? i behold a paper of ominous appearance in his hand; let it not at this moment meet thy eyes, my queen!---- elizabeth. good shrewsbury! i am constrained---- shrewsbury. who can constrain thee? thou art queen of england, here must thy majesty assert its rights: command those savage voices to be silent, who take upon themselves to put constraint upon thy royal will, to rule thy judgment. fear only, blind conjecture, moves thy people; thou art thyself beside thyself; thy wrath is grievously provoked: thou art but mortal, and canst not thus ascend the judgment seat. burleigh. judgment has long been past. it is not now the time to speak but execute the sentence. kent (who upon shrewsbury's entry had retired, comes back). the tumult gains apace; there are no means to moderate the people. elizabeth (to shrewsbury). see, my lord, how they press on. shrewsbury. i only ask a respite; a single word traced by thy hand decides the peace, the happiness of all thy life! thou hast for years considered, let not then a moment ruled by passion hurry thee-- but a short respite--recollect thyself! wait for a moment of tranquillity. burleigh (violently). wait for it--pause--delay--till flames of fire consume the realm; until the fifth attempt of murder be successful! god, indeed, hath thrice delivered thee; thy late escape was marvellous, and to expect again a miracle would be to tempt thy god! shrewsbury. that god, whose potent hand hath thrice preserved thee, who lent my aged feeble arm its strength to overcome the madman:--he deserves thy confidence. i will not raise the voice of justice now, for now is not the time; thou canst not hear it in this storm of passion. yet listen but to this! thou tremblest now before this living mary--tremble rather before the murdered, the beheaded mary. she will arise, and quit her grave, will range a fiend of discord, an avenging ghost, around thy realm, and turn thy people's hearts from their allegiance. for as yet the britons hate her, because they fear her; but most surely will they avenge her when she is no more. they will no more behold the enemy of their belief, they will but see in her the much-lamented issue of their kings a sacrifice to jealousy and hate. then quickly shalt thou see the sudden change when thou hast done the bloody deed; then go through london, seek thy people, which till now around thee swarmed delighted; thou shalt see another england, and another people; for then no more the godlike dignity of justice, which subdued thy subjects' hearts, will beam around thee. fear, the dread ally of tyranny, will shuddering march before thee, and make a wilderness in every street-- the last, extremest crime thou hast committed. what head is safe, if the anointed fall? elizabeth. ah! shrewsbury, you saved my life, you turned the murderous steel aside; why let you not the dagger take its course? then all these broils would have been ended; then, released from doubt, and free from blame, i should be now at rest in my still, peaceful grave. in very sooth i'm weary of my life, and of my crown. if heaven decree that one of us two queens must perish, to secure the other's life-- and sure it must be so--why should not i be she who yields? my people must decide; i give them back the sovereignty they gave. god is my witness that i have not lived for my own sake, but for my people's welfare. if they expect from this false, fawning stuart, the younger sovereign, more happy days, i will descend with pleasure from the throne, again repair to woodstock's quiet bowers, where once i spent my unambitious youth; where far removed from all the vanities of earthly power, i found within myself true majesty. i am not made to rule-- a ruler should be made of sterner stuff: my heart is soft and tender. i have governed these many years this kingdom happily, but then i only needed to make happy: now, comes my first important regal duty, and now i feel how weak a thing i am. burleigh. now by mine honor, when i hear my queen, my royal liege, speak such unroyal words, i should betray my office, should betray my country, were i longer to be silent. you say you love your people 'bove yourself, now prove it. choose not peace for your own heart, and leave your kingdom to the storms of discord. think on the church. shall, with this papist queen the ancient superstition be renewed? the monk resume his sway, the roman legate in pomp march hither; lock our churches up, dethrone our monarchs? i demand of you the souls of all your subjects--as you now shall act, they all are saved, or all are lost! here is no time for mercy;--to promote your people's welfare is your highest duty. if shrewsbury has saved your life, then i will save both you and england--that is more! elizabeth. i would be left alone. no consolation, no counsel can be drawn from human aid in this conjecture:--i will lay my doubts before the judge of all:--i am resolved to act as he shall teach. withdraw, my lords. [to davison, who lays the paper on the table. you, sir, remain in waiting--close at hand. [the lords withdraw, shrewsbury alone stands for a few moments before the queen, regards her significantly, then withdraws slowly, and with an expression of the deepest anguish. scene x. elizabeth alone. oh! servitude of popularity! disgraceful slavery! how weary am i of flattering this idol, which my soul despises in its inmost depth! oh! when shall i once more be free upon this throne? i must respect the people's voice, and strive to win the favor of the multitude, and please the fancies of a mob, whom naught but jugglers' tricks delight. o call not him a king who needs must please the world: 'tis he alone, who in his actions does not heed the fickle approbation of mankind. have i then practised justice, all my life shunned each despotic deed; have i done this only to bind my hands against this first, this necessary act of violence? my own example now condemns myself! had i but been a tyrant, like my sister, my predecessor, i could fearless then have shed this royal blood:--but am i now just by my own free choice? no--i was forced by stern necessity to use this virtue; necessity, which binds e'en monarch's wills. surrounded by my foes, my people's love alone supports me on my envied throne. all europe's powers confederate to destroy me; the pope's inveterate decree declares me accursed and excommunicated. france betrays me with a kiss, and spain prepares at sea a fierce exterminating war; thus stand i, in contention with the world, a poor defenceless woman: i must seek to veil the spot in my imperial birth, by which my father cast disgrace upon me: in vain with princely virtues would i hide it; the envious hatred of my enemies uncovers it, and places mary stuart, a threatening fiend, before me evermore! [walking up and down, with quick and agitated steps. oh, no! this fear must end. her head must fall! i will have peace. she is the very fury of my existence; a tormenting demon, which destiny has fastened on my soul. wherever i had planted me a comfort, a flattering hope, my way was ever crossed by this infernal viper! she has torn my favorite, and my destined bridegroom from me. the hated name of every ill i feel is mary stuart--were but she no more on earth i should be free as mountain air. [standing still. with what disdain did she look down on me, as if her eye should blast me like the lightning! poor feeble wretch! i bear far other arms, their touch is mortal, and thou art no more. [advancing to the table hastily, and taking the pen. i am a bastard, am i? hapless wretch, i am but so the while thou liv'st and breath'st. thy death will make my birth legitimate. the moment i destroy thee is the doubt destroyed which hangs o'er my imperial right. as soon as england has no other choice, my mother's honor and my birthright triumphs! [she signs with resolution; lets her pen then fall, and steps back with an expression of terror. after a pause she rings. scene xi. elizabeth, davison. elizabeth. where are their lordships? davison. they are gone to quell the tumult of the people. the alarm was instantly appeased when they beheld the earl of shrewsbury. that's he! exclaimed a hundred voices--that's the man--he saved the queen; hear him--the bravest man in england! and now began the gallant talbot, blamed in gentle words the people's violence, and used such strong, persuasive eloquence, that all were pacified, and silently they slunk away. elizabeth. the fickle multitude! which turns with every wind. unhappy he who leans upon this reed! 'tis well, sir william; you may retire again---- [as he is going towards the door. and, sir, this paper, receive it back; i place it in your hands. davison (casts a look upon the paper, and starts back). my gracious queen--thy name! 'tis then decided. elizabeth. i had but to subscribe it--i have done so-- a paper sure cannot decide--a name kills not. davison. thy name, my queen, beneath this paper is most decisive--kills--'tis like the lightning, which blasteth as it flies! this fatal scroll commands the sheriff and commissioners to take departure straight for fotheringay, and to the queen of scots announce her death, which must at dawn be put in execution. there is no respite, no discretion here. as soon as i have parted with this writ her race is run. elizabeth. yes, sir, the lord has placed this weighty business in your feeble hands; seek him in prayer to light you with his wisdom; i go--and leave you, sir, to do your duty. [going. davison. no; leave me not, my queen, till i have heard your will. the only wisdom that i need is, word for word, to follow your commands. say, have you placed this warrant in my hands to see that it be speedily enforced? elizabeth. that you must do as your own prudence dictates. davison (interrupting her quickly, and alarmed). not mine--oh, god forbid! obedience is my only prudence here. no point must now be left to be decided by your servant. a small mistake would here be regicide, a monstrous crime, from which my soul recoils. permit me, in this weighty act, to be your passive instrument, without a will:-- tell me in plain, undoubted terms your pleasure, what with the bloody mandate i should do. elizabeth. its name declares its meaning. davison. do you, then, my liege, command its instant execution? elizabeth. i said not that; i tremble but to think it. davison. shall i retain it, then, 'till further orders? elizabeth. at your own risk; you answer the event. davison. i! gracious heavens! oh, speak, my queen, your pleasure! elizabeth. my pleasure is that this unhappy business be no more mentioned to me; that at last i may be freed from it, and that forever. davison. it costs you but a word--determine then what shall i do with this mysterious scroll? elizabeth. i have declared it, plague me, sir, no longer. davison. you have declared it, say you? oh, my queen, you have said nothing. please, my gracious mistress, but to remember---- elizabeth (stamps on the ground). insupportable! davison. oh, be indulgent to me! i have entered unwittingly, not many months ago, upon this office; i know not the language of courts and kings. i ever have been reared in simple, open wise, a plain blunt man. be patient with me; nor deny your servant a light to lead him clearly to his duty. [he approaches her in a supplicating posture, she turns her back on him; he stands in despair; then speaks with a tone of resolution. take, take again this paper--take it back! within my hands it is a glowing fire. select not me, my queen; select not me to serve you in this terrible conjecture. elizabeth. go, sir;--fulfil the duty of your office. [exit. scene xii. davison, then burleigh. davison. she goes! she leaves me doubting and perplexed with this dread paper! how to act i know not; should i retain it, should i forward it? [to burleigh, who enters. oh! i am glad that you are come, my lord, 'tis you who have preferred me to this charge; now free me from it, for i undertook it, unknowing how responsible it made me. let me then seek again the obscurity in which you found me; this is not my place. burleigh. how now? take courage, sir! where is the warrant? the queen was with you. davison. she has quitted me in bitter anger. oh, advise me, help me, save me from this fell agony of doubt! my lord, here is the warrant: it is signed! burleigh. indeed! oh, give it, give it me! davison. i may not. burleigh. how! davison. she has not yet explained her final will. burleigh. explained! she has subscribed it;--give it to me. davison. i am to execute it, and i am not. great heavens! i know not what i am to do! burleigh (urging more violently). it must be now, this moment, executed. the warrant, sir. you're lost if you delay. davison. so am i also if i act too rashly. burleigh. what strange infatuation. give it me. [snatches the paper from him, and exit with it. davison. what would you? hold? you will be my destruction. act v. scene i. the scene the same as in the first act. hannah kennedy in deep mourning, her eyes still red from weeping, in great but quiet anguish, is employed in sealing letters and parcels. her sorrow often interrupts her occupation, and she is seen at such intervals to pray in silence. paulet and drury, also in mourning, enter, followed by many servants, who bear golden and silver vessels, mirrors, paintings, and other valuables, and fill the back part of the stage with them. paulet delivers to the nurse a box of jewels and a paper, and seems to inform her by signs that it contains the inventory of the effects the queen had brought with her. at the sight of these riches, the anguish of the nurse is renewed; she sinks into a deep, glowing melancholy, during which drury, paulet, and the servants silently retire. melvil enters. kennedy (screams aloud as soon as she observes him). melvil! is it you? behold i you again? melvil. yes, faithful kennedy, we meet once more. kennedy. after this long, long, painful separation! melvil. a most unhappy, bitter meeting this! kennedy. you come---- melvil. to take an everlasting leave of my dear queen--to bid a last farewell! kennedy. and now at length, now on the fatal morn which brings her death, they grant our royal lady the presence of her friends. oh, worthy sir, i will not question you, how you have fared, nor tell you all the sufferings we've endured, since you were torn away from us: alas! there will be time enough for that hereafter. o, melvil, melvil, why was it our fate to see the dawn of this unhappy day? melvil. let us not melt each other with our grief. throughout my whole remaining life, as long as ever it may be, i'll sit and weep; a smile shall never more light up these cheeks, ne'er will i lay this sable garb aside, but lead henceforth a life of endless mourning. yet on this last sad day i will be firm; pledge me your word to moderate your grief; and when the rest of comfort all bereft, abandoned to despair, wail round her, we will lead her with heroic resolution, and be her staff upon the road to death! kennedy. melvil! you are deceived if you suppose the queen has need of our support to meet her death with firmness. she it is, my friend, who will exhibit the undaunted heart. oh! trust me, mary stuart will expire as best becomes a heroine and queen! melvil. received she firmly, then, the sad decree of death?--'tis said that she was not prepared. kennedy. she was not; yet they were far other terrors which made our lady shudder: 'twas not death, but her deliverer, which made her tremble. freedom was promised us; this very night had mortimer engaged to bear us hence: and thus the queen, perplexed 'twixt hope and fear, and doubting still if she should trust her honor and royal person to the adventurous youth, sat waiting for the morning. on a sudden we hear a boisterous tumult in the castle; our ears are startled by repeated blows of many hammers, and we think we hear the approach of our deliverers: hope salutes us, and suddenly and unresisted wakes the sweet desire of life. and now at once the portals are thrown open--it is paulet, who comes to tell us--that--the carpenters erect beneath our feet the murderous scaffold! [she turns aside, overpowered by excessive anguish. melvil. o god in heaven! oh, tell me then how bore the queen this terrible vicissitude? kennedy (after a pause, in which she has somewhat collected herself). not by degrees can we relinquish life; quick, sudden, in the twinkling of an eye, the separation must be made, the change from temporal to eternal life; and god imparted to our mistress at this moment his grace, to cast away each earthly hope, and firm and full of faith to mount the skies. no sign of pallid fear dishonored her; no word of mourning, 'till she heard the tidings of leicester's shameful treachery, the sad fate of the deserving youth, who sacrificed himself for her; the deep, the bitter anguish of that old knight, who lost, through her, his last, his only hope; till then she shed no tear-- 'twas then her tears began to flow, 'twas not her own, but others' woe which wrung them from her. melvil. where is she now? can you not lead me to her? kennedy. she spent the last remainder of the night in prayer, and from her dearest friends she took her last farewell in writing: then she wrote her will [ ] with her own hand. she now enjoys a moment of repose, the latest slumber refreshes her weak spirits. melvil. who attends her? kennedy. none but her women and physician burgoyn: you seem to look around you with surprise; your eyes appear to ask me what should mean this show of splendor in the house of death. oh, sir, while yet we lived we suffered want; but at our death plenty returns to us. scene ii. enter margaret curl. kennedy. how, madam, fares the queen? is she awake? curl (drying her tears). she is already dressed--she asks for you. kennedy. i go:-- [to melvil, who seems to wish to accompany her. but follow not until the queen has been prepared to see you. [exit. curl. melvil, sure, the ancient steward? melvil. yes, the same. curl. oh, sir, this is a house which needs no steward now! melvil, you come from london; can you give no tidings of my husband? melvil. it is said he will be set at liberty as soon---- curl. as soon as our dear queen shall be no more. oh, the unworthy, the disgraceful traitor! he is our lady's murderer--'tis said it was his testimony which condemned him. melvil. 'tis true. curl. oh, curse upon him! be his soul condemned forever! he has borne false witness. melvil. think, madam, what you say. curl. i will maintain it with every sacred oath before the court, i will repeat it in his very face; the world shall hear of nothing else. i say that she dies innocent! melvil.. god grant it true! [ ] the document is now in the british museum. scene iii. enter hannah kennedy. kennedy (to curl). go, madam, and require a cup of wine-- 'tis for our lady. melvil. is the queen then sick? kennedy. she thinks that she is strong; she is deceived by her heroic courage; she believes she has no need of nourishment; yet still a hard and painful task's allotted her. her enemies shall not enjoy the triumph; they shall not say that fear hath blanched her cheeks when her fatigues have conquered human weakness. melvil. may i approach her? kennedy. she will come herself. scene iv. enter burgoyn; two women of the chamber follow him, weeping, and in deep mourning. burgoyn. oh, melvil! melvil. oh, burgoyn! [they embrace silently. first woman (to the nurse). she chose to be alone: she wishes, at this awful moment, for the last time, to commune with her god. scene v. enter margaret curl, bearing a golden cup of wine; she places it hastily upon the table, and leans, pale and trembling, against a chair. melvil. how, madam! what has frightened you? kennedy. oh god! burgoyn. speak, madam! curl. what, alas! have i beheld! melvil. come to yourself, and say what you have seen! curl. as i went down the staircase which conducts to the great hall below, a door stood open; i looked into the chamber, and i saw-- oh heaven! melvil. what saw you? curl. all the walls were hung with black; a spacious scaffold, too, o'erspread with sable cloth, was raised above the floor, and in the middle of the scaffold stood a dreadful sable block! upon it lay a naked, polished axe:--the hall was full of cruel people, crowding round the scaffold who, with a horrid thirst for human blood, seemed waiting for the victim! the women. gracious heaven, protect our queen! melvil. be calm; the queen approaches. scene vi. enter mary in white and sumptuously arrayed, as for a festival: she wears hanging from her neck, on a row of small beads, an agnus dei; a rosary hangs from her girdle; she bears a crucifix in her hand, and a diadem of precious stones binds her hair; her large black veil is thrown back. on her entrance all present fall back on both sides with the most violent expressions of anguish. melvil falls involuntarily upon his knees. mary (with quiet majesty, looking round the whole circle). why these complaints? why weep ye? ye should rather rejoice with me, that now at length the end of my long woe approaches; that my shackles fall off, my prison opens, and my soul delighted mounts on seraph's wings, and seeks the land of everlasting liberty. when i was offered up to the oppression of my proud enemy, was forced to suffer ignoble taunts, and insults most unfitting a free and sovereign queen, then was the time to weep for me; but as an earnest friend, beneficent and healing death approaches. all the indignities which i have suffered on earth are covered by his sable wings. the most degraded criminal's ennobled by his last sufferings, by his final exit; i feel again the crown upon my brows. and dignity possess my swelling soul! [advancing a few steps. how! melvil here! my worthy sir, not so; arise; you rather come in time to see the triumph of your mistress than her death. one comfort, which i never had expected, is granted me, that after death my name will not be quite abandoned to my foes; one friend at least, one partner of my faith, will be my witness in the hour of death. say, honest melvil, how you fared the while in this inhospitable, hostile land? for since the time they tore you from my side my fears for you have oft depressed my soul. melvil. no other evil galled me but my grief for thee, and that i wanted power to serve thee. mary. how fares my chamberlain, old didier? but sure the faithful servant long has slept the sleep of death, for he was full of years. melvil. god hath not granted him as yet this grace; he lives to see the grave o'erwhelm thy youth. mary. oh! could i but have felt before my death, the happiness of pressing one descendant of the dear blood of stuart to my bosom. but i must suffer in a foreign land, none but my servants to bewail my fate! sir; to your loyal bosom i commit my latest wishes. bear then, sir, my blessing to the most christian king, my royal brother, and the whole royal family of france. i bless the cardinal, my honored uncle, and also henry guise, my noble cousin. i bless the holy father, the vicegerent of christ on earth, who will, i trust, bless me. i bless the king of spain, who nobly offered himself as my deliverer, my avenger. they are remembered in my will: i hope that they will not despise, how poor soe'er they be, the presents of a heart which loves them. [turning to her servants. i have bequeathed you to my royal brother of france; he will protect you, he will give you another country, and a better home; and if my last desire have any weight, stay not in england; let no haughty briton glut his proud heart with your calamities, nor see those in the dust who once were mine. swear by this image of our suffering lord to leave this fatal land when i'm no more. melvil (touching the crucifix). i swear obedience in the name of all. mary. what i, though poor and plundered, still possess, of which i am allowed to make disposal, shall be amongst you shared; for i have hope in this at least my will may be fulfilled. and what i wear upon my way to death is yours--nor envy me on this occasion the pomp of earth upon the road to heaven. [to the ladies of her chamber. to you, my alice, gertrude, rosamund, i leave my pearls, my garments: you are young, and ornament may still delight your hearts. you, margaret, possess the nearest claims, to you i should be generous: for i leave you the most unhappy woman of them all. that i have not avenged your husband's fault on you i hope my legacy will prove. the worth of gold, my hannah, charms not thee; nor the magnificence of precious stones: my memory, i know, will be to thee the dearest jewel; take this handkerchief, i worked it for thee, in the hours of sorrow, with my own hands, and my hot, scalding tears are woven in the texture:--you will bind my eyes with this, when it is time: this last sad service i would wish but from my hannah. kennedy. o melvil! i cannot support it. mary. come, come all and now receive my last farewell. [she stretches forth her hands; the women violently weeping, fall successively at her feet, and kiss her outstretched hand. margaret, farewell--my alice, fare thee well; thanks, burgoyn, for thy honest, faithful service-- thy lips are hot, my gertrude:--i have been much hated, yet have been as much beloved. may a deserving husband bless my gertrude, for this warm, glowing heart is formed for love. bertha, thy choice is better, thou hadst rather become the chaste and pious bride of heaven; oh! haste thee to fulfil thy vows; the goods of earth are all deceitful; thou may'st learn this lesson from thy queen. no more; farewell, farewell, farewell, my friends, farewell for ever. [she turns suddenly from them; all but melvil retire at different sides. scene vii. mary, melvil. mary (after the others are all gone). i have arranged all temporal concerns, and hope to leave the world in debt to none; melvil, one thought alone there is which binds my troubled soul, nor suffers it to fly delighted and at liberty to heaven. melvil. disclose it to me; ease your bosom, trust your doubts, your sorrows, to your faithful friend. mary. i see eternity's abyss before me; soon must i stand before the highest judge, and have not yet appeased the holy one. a priest of my religion is denied me, and i disdain to take the sacrament, the holy, heavenly nourishment, from priests of a false faith; i die in the belief of my own church, for that alone can save. melvil. compose your heart; the fervent, pious wish is prized in heaven as high as the performance. the might of tyrants can but bind the hands, the heart's devotion rises free to god, the word is dead--'tis faith which brings to life. mary. the heart is not sufficient of itself; our faith must have some earthly pledge to ground its claim to the high bliss of heaven. for this our god became incarnate, and enclosed mysteriously his unseen heavenly grace within an outward figure of a body. the church it is, the holy one, the high one, which rears for us the ladder up to heaven:-- 'tis called the catholic apostolic church,-- for 'tis but general faith can strengthen faith; where thousands worship and adore the heat breaks out in flame, and, borne on eagle wings, the soul mounts upwards to the heaven of heavens. ah! happy they, who for the glad communion of pious prayer meet in the house of god! the altar is adorned, the tapers blaze, the bell invites, the incense soars on high; the bishop stands enrobed, he takes the cup, and blessing it declares the solemn mystery, the transformation of the elements; and the believing people fall delighted to worship and adore the present godhead. alas! i only am debarred from this; the heavenly benediction pierces not my prison walls: its comfort is denied me. melvil. yes! it can pierce them--put thy trust in him who is almighty--in the hand of faith, the withered staff can send forth verdant branches and he who from the rock called living water, he can prepare an altar in this prison, can change---- [seizing the cup, which stands upon the table. the earthly contents of this cup into a substance of celestial grace. mary. melvil! oh, yes, i understand you, melvil! here is no priest, no church, no sacrament; but the redeemer says, "when two or three are in my name assembled, i am with them," what consecrates the priest? say, what ordains him to be the lord's interpreter? a heart devoid of guile, and a reproachless conduct. well, then, though unordained, be you my priest; to you will i confide my last confession, and take my absolution from your lips. melvil. if then thy heart be with such zeal inflamed, i tell thee that for thine especial comfort, the lord may work a miracle. thou say'st here is no priest, no church, no sacrament-- thou err'st--here is a priest--here is a god; a god descends to thee in real presence. [at these words he uncovers his head, and shows a host in a golden vessel. i am a priest--to hear thy last confession, and to announce to thee the peace of god upon thy way to death. i have received upon my head the seven consecrations. i bring thee, from his holiness, this host, which, for thy use, himself has deigned to bless. mary. is then a heavenly happiness prepared to cheer me on the very verge of death? as an immortal one on golden clouds descends, as once the angel from on high, delivered the apostle from his fetters:-- he scorns all bars, he scorns the soldier's sword, he steps undaunted through the bolted portals, and fills the dungeon with his native glory; thus here the messenger of heaven appears when every earthly champion had deceived me. and you, my servant once, are now the servant of the most high, and his immortal word! as before me your knees were wont to bend, before you humbled, now i kiss the dust. [she sinks before him on her knees. melvil (making over her the sign of the cross). hear, mary, queen of scotland:--in the name of god the father, son, and holy ghost, hast thou examined carefully thy heart, swearest thou, art thou prepared in thy confession to speak the truth before the god of truth? mary. before my god and thee, my heart lies open. melvil. what calls thee to the presence of the highest? mary. i humbly do acknowledge to have erred most grievously, i tremble to approach, sullied with sin, the god of purity. melvil. declare the sin which weighs so heavily upon thy conscience since thy last confession. mary. my heart was filled with thoughts of envious hate, and vengeance took possession of my bosom. i hope forgiveness of my sins from god, yet could i not forgive my enemy. melvil. repentest thou of the sin? art thou, in sooth, resolved to leave this world at peace with all? mary. as surely as i wish the joys of heaven. melvil. what other sin hath armed thy heart against thee? mary. ah! not alone through hate; through lawless love have i still more abused the sovereign good. my heart was vainly turned towards the man who left me in misfortune, who deceived me. melvil. repentest thou of the sin? and hast thou turned thy heart, from this idolatry, to god? mary. it was the hardest trial i have passed; this last of earthly bonds is torn asunder. melvil. what other sin disturbs thy guilty conscience? mary. a bloody crime, indeed of ancient date, and long ago confessed; yet with new terrors. it now attacks me, black and grisly steps across my path, and shuts the gates of heaven: by my connivance fell the king, my husband-- i gave my hand and heart to a seducer-- by rigid penance i have made atonement; yet in my soul the worm is gnawing still. melvil. has then thy heart no other accusation, which hath not been confessed and washed away? mary. all you have heard with which my heart is charged. melvil. think on the presence of omniscience; think on the punishments with which the church threatens imperfect and reserved confessions this is the sin to everlasting death, for this is sinning 'gainst his holy spirit. mary. so may eternal grace with victory crown my last contest, as i wittingly have nothing hid---- melvil. how? wilt thou then conceal the crime from god for which thou art condemned? thou tell'st me nothing of the share thou hadst in babington and parry's bloody treason: thou diest for this a temporal death; for this wilt thou, too, die the everlasting death? mary. i am prepared to meet eternity; within the narrow limits of an hour i shall appear before my judge's throne. but, i repeat it, my confession's ended. melvil. consider well--the heart is a deceiver. thou hast, perhaps, with sly equivocation, the word avoided, which would make thee guilty although thy will was party to the crime. remember, that no juggler's tricks can blind the eye of fire which darts through every breast. mary. 'tis true that i have called upon all princes to free me from unworthy chains; yet 'tis as true that, neither by intent or deed, have i attempted my oppressor's life. melvil. your secretaries then have witnessed falsely. mary. it is as i have said;--what they have witnessed the lord will judge. melvil. thou mountest, then, satisfied of thy own innocence, the fatal scaffold? mary. god suffers me in mercy to atone, by undeserved death, my youth's transgressions. melvil (making over her the sign of the cross). go, then, and expiate them all by death; sink a devoted victim on the altar, thus shall thy blood atone the blood thou'st spilt. from female frailty were derived thy faults, free from the weakness of mortality, the spotless spirit seeks the blest abodes. now, then, by the authority which god hath unto me committed, i absolve thee from all thy sins; be as thy faith thy welfare! [he gives her the host. receive the body which for thee was offered-- [he takes the cup which stands upon the table, consecrates it with silent prayer, then presents it to her; she hesitates to take it, and makes signs to him to withdraw it. receive the blood which for thy sins was shed, receive it; 'tis allowed thee by the pope to exercise in death the highest office of kings, the holy office of the priesthood. [she takes the cup. and as thou now, in this his earthly body hast held with god mysterious communion, so may'st thou henceforth, in his realm of joy, where sin no more exists, nor tears of woe, a fair, transfigured spirit, join thyself forever with the godhead, and forever. [he sets down the cup; hearing a noise, he covers his head, and goes to the door; mary remains in silent devotion on her knees. melvil (returning). a painful conflict is in store for thee. feel'st thou within thee strength enough to smother each impulse of malignity and hate? mary. i fear not a relapse. i have to god devoted both my hatred and my love. melvil. well, then, prepare thee to receive my lords of leicester and of burleigh. they are here. scene viii. enter burleigh, leicester, and paulet. [leicester remains in the background, without raising his eyes; burleigh, who remarks his confusion, steps between him and the queen. burleigh. i come, my lady stuart, to receive your last commands and wishes. mary. thanks, my lord. burleigh. it is the pleasure of my royal mistress that nothing reasonable be denied you. mary. my will, my lord, declares my last desires; i've placed it in the hand of sir amias, and humbly beg that it may be fulfilled. paulet. you may rely on this. mary. i beg that all my servants unmolested may return to france, or scotland, as their wishes lead. burleigh. it shall be as you wish. mary. and since my body is not to rest in consecrated ground, i pray you suffer this my faithful servant to bear my heart to france, to my relations-- alas! 'twas ever there. burleigh. it shall be done. what wishes else? mary. unto her majesty of england bear a sister's salutation; tell her that from the bottom of my heart i pardon her my death; most humbly, too, i crave her to forgive me for the passion with which i spoke to her. may god preserve her and bless her with a long and prosperous reign. burleigh. say, do you still adhere to your resolve, and still refuse assistance from the dean? mary. my lord, i've made my peace with god. [to paulet. good sir, i have unwittingly caused you much sorrow, bereft you of your age's only stay. oh, let me hope you do not hate my name. paulet (giving her his hand). the lord be with you! go your way in peace. scene ix. hannah kennedy, and the other women of the queen crowd into the room with marks of horror. the sheriff follows them, a white staff in his hand; behind are seen, through the open doors, men under arms. mary. what ails thee, hannah? yes, my hour is come. the sheriff comes to lead me to my fate, and part we must. farewell! kennedy and curl. we will not leave thee, we will not part from thee. mary (to melvil). you, worthy sir, and my dear, faithful hannah, shall attend me in my last moments. i am sure, my lord will not refuse my heart this consolation. burleigh. for this i have no warrant. mary. how, my lord; can you deny me, then, this small petition? respect my sex; who shall attend me else, and yield me the last service? sure, it never can be my sister's pleasure that in me my sex should be insulted; that these men with their rude hands should touch my royal person. burleigh. 'tis ordered that no woman shall ascend the scaffold steps with you. their tears and moans---- mary. she shall not weep, my lord; she shall not moan; i answer for my hannah's resolution; be merciful; divide me not so soon from my true foster-mother, from my friend. she bore me on her arms into this life; let her then gently lead me to my death. paulet (to burleigh). yield to her wishes. burleigh. be it so. mary. i now have nothing in this world to wish for more. [she takes the crucifix, and kisses it. my god! my comforter! my blest redeemer! as once thy arms were stretched upon the cross, let them be now extended to receive me! [she turns round to go; at the same moment her eyes fall upon leicester, who, on her going, starts involuntarily, and turns his eyes towards her; at this sight mary trembles, her knees fail her, she is about to fall, when leicester catches at her, and receives her in his arms; she regards him for some time earnestly, and in silence; he cannot support her looks; at length she speaks. you keep your word, my lord of leicester: for you promised me your arm to lead me forth from prison, and you lend it to me now. at length the wished-for day is come, and what was oft the object of my fondest dreams is now accomplished: and the earl of leicester, the long-expected, the long-wished-for friend, appears at length in fotheringay castle. i see him standing in my prison; all is ready for the journey; all the gates stand open, and at length i cross the threshold, conducted by his hand; and now i leave these dismal walls behind me, and forever. all is fulfilled, and you have saved your honor. [he stands as if annihilated; she continues, with a gentle voice. yes, leicester; not for liberty alone i wished to be indebted to your hands. you should have made me bless that liberty. led by your hand, and happy in your love, i hoped once more to taste the joys of life. yes; now that i'm prepared from all the world to part, and to become a happy spirit, whom earthly inclinations tempt no more! now, leicester, i may venture to confess without a blush the frailty i have conquered; farewell, my lord; and, if you can, be happy! to woo two queens has been your daring aim; you have disdained a tender, loving heart, betrayed it in the hope to win a proud one: kneel at the feet of queen elizabeth! may your reward not prove your punishment. farewell; i now have nothing more on earth. [she goes, preceded by the sheriff; at her side melvil and her nurse; burleigh and paulet follow; the others, wailing, follow her with their eyes till she disappears; they then retire through the other two doors. scene x. leicester (remaining alone). do i live still? can i still bear to live? will not this roof fall down and bury me? yawns no abyss to swallow in its gulf the veriest wretch on earth? what have i lost? oh, what a pearl have i not cast away! what bliss celestial madly dashed aside! she's gone, a spirit purged from earthly stain, and the despair of hell remains for me! where is the purpose now with which i came to stifle my heart's voice in callous scorn? to see her head descend upon the block with unaverted and indifferent eyes? how doth her presence wake my slumbering shame? must she in death surround me with love's toils? lost, wretched man! no more it suits thee now to melt away in womanly compassion: love's golden bliss lies not upon thy path, then arm thy breast in panoply of steel, and henceforth be thy brows of adamant! wouldst thou not lose the guerdon of thy guilt, thou must uphold, complete it daringly! pity be dumb; mine eyes be petrified! i'll see--i will be witness of her fall. [he advances with resolute steps towards the door through which mary passed; but stops suddenly half way. no! no! the terrors of all hell possess me. i cannot look upon the dreadful deed; i cannot see her die! hark! what was that? they are already there. beneath my feet the bloody business is preparing. hark! i hear their voices. hence! away, away from this abode of misery and death! [he attempts to escape by another door; finds it locked, and returns. how! does some demon chain me to this spot? to hear what i would shudder to behold? that voice--it is the dean's, exhorting her; she interrupts him. hark--she prays aloud; her voice is firm--now all is still, quite still! and sobs and women's moans are all i hear. now, they undress her; they remove the stool; she kneels upon the cushion; lays her head---- [having spoken these last words, and paused awhile, he is seen with a convulsive motion suddenly to shrink and faint away; a confused hum of voices is heard at the same moment from below, and continues for some time. scene xi. the second chamber in the fourth act. elizabeth (entering from a side door; her gait and action expressive of the most violent uneasiness). no message yet arrived! what! no one here! will evening never come! stands the sun still in its ethereal course? i can no more remain upon the rack of expectation! is it accomplished? is it not? i shudder at both events, and do not dare to ask. my lord of leicester comes not,--burleigh too, whom i appointed to fulfil the sentence. if they have quitted london then 'tis done, the bolt has left its rest--it cuts the air-- it strikes; has struck already: were my realm at stake i could not now arrest its course. who's there? scene xii. enter a page. elizabeth. returned alone? where are the lords? page. my lord high-treasurer and the earl of leicester? elizabeth. where are they? page. they are not in london. elizabeth. no! where are they then? page. that no one could inform me; before the dawn, mysteriously, in haste they quitted london. elizabeth (exultingly). i am queen of england! [walking up and down in the greatest agitation. go--call me--no, remain, boy! she is dead; now have i room upon the earth at last. why do i shake? whence comes this aguish dread? my fears are covered by the grave; who dares to say i did it? i have tears enough in store to weep her fall. are you still here? [to the page. command my secretary, davison, to come to me this instant. let the earl of shrewsbury be summoned. here he comes. [exit page. scene xiii. enter shrewsbury. elizabeth. welcome, my noble lord. what tidings; say it cannot be a trifle which hath led your footsteps hither at so late an hour. shrewsbury. my liege, the doubts that hung upon my heart, and dutiful concern for your fair fame, directed me this morning to the tower, where mary's secretaries, nau and curl, are now confined as prisoners, for i wished once more to put their evidence to proof. on my arrival the lieutenant seemed embarrassed and perplexed; refused to show me his prisoners; but my threats obtained admittance. god! what a sight was there! with frantic looks, with hair dishevelled, on his pallet lay the scot like one tormented by a fury. the miserable man no sooner saw me than at my feet he fell, and there, with screams, clasping my knees, and writhing like a worm, implored, conjured me to acquaint him with his sovereign's destiny, for vague reports had somehow reached the dungeons of the tower that she had been condemned to suffer death. when i confirmed these tidings, adding, too, that on his evidence she had been doomed,-- he started wildly up,--caught by the throat his fellow-prisoner; with the giant strength of madness tore him to the ground and tried to strangle him. no sooner had we saved the wretch from his fierce grapple than at once he turned his rage against himself and beat his breast with savage fists; then cursed himself and his companions to the depths of hell! his evidence was false; the fatal letters to babington, which he had sworn were true, he now denounced as forgeries; for he had set down words the queen had never spoken; the traitor nau had led him to this treason. then ran he to the casement, threw it wide with frantic force, and cried into the street so loud that all the people gathered round: i am the man, queen mary's secretary, the traitor who accused his mistress falsely; i bore false witness and am cursed forever! elizabeth. you said yourself that he had lost his wits; a madman's words prove nothing. shrewsbury. yet this madness serves in itself to swell the proof. my liege, let me conjure thee; be not over-hasty; prithee, give order for a new inquiry! elizabeth. i will, my lord, because it is your wish, not that i can believe my noble peers have in this case pronounced a hasty judgment. to set your mind at rest the inquiry shall be straight renewed. well that 'tis not too late! upon the honor of our royal name, no, not the shadow of a doubt shall rest. scene xiv. enter davison. elizabeth. the sentence, sir, which i but late intrusted unto your keeping; where is it? davison (in the utmost astonishment). the sentence! elizabeth (more urgent). which yesterday i gave into your charge. davison. into my charge, my liege! elizabeth. the people urged and baited me to sign it. i perforce was driven to yield obedience to their will. i did so; did so on extreme constraint, and in your hands deposited the paper. to gain time was my purpose; you remember what then i told you. now, the paper, sir! shrewsbury. restore it, sir, affairs have changed since then, the inquiry must be set on foot anew. davison. anew! eternal mercy! elizabeth. why this pause, this hesitation? where, sir, is the paper? davison. i am undone! undone! my fate is sealed! elizabeth (interrupting him violently). let me not fancy, sir---- davison. oh, i am lost! i have it not. elizabeth. how? what? shrewsbury. oh, god in heaven! davison. it is in burleigh's hands--since yesterday. elizabeth. wretch! is it thus you have obeyed my orders? did i not lay my strict injunction on you to keep it carefully? davison. no such injunction was laid on me, my liege. elizabeth. give me the lie? opprobrious wretch! when did i order you to give the paper into burleigh's hands? davison. never expressly in so many words. elizabeth. and, paltering villain i dare you then presume to construe, as you list, my words--and lay your bloody meaning on them? wo betide you, if evil come of this officious deed! your life shall answer the event to me. earl shrewsbury, you see how my good name has been abused! shrewsbury. i see! oh, god in heaven! elizabeth. what say you? shrewsbury. if the knight has dared to act in this, upon his own authority, without the knowledge of your majesty, he must be cited to the court of peers to answer there for subjecting thy name to the abhorrence of all after time. scene xv. enter burleigh. burleigh (bowing his knee before the queen). long life and glory to my royal mistress, and may all enemies of her dominions end like this stuart. [shrewsbury hides his face. davidson wrings his hands in despair. elizabeth. speak, my lord; did you from me receive the warrant? burleigh. no, my queen; from davison. elizabeth. and did he in my name deliver it? burleigh. no, that i cannot say. elizabeth. and dared you then to execute the writ thus hastily, nor wait to know my pleasure? just was the sentence--we are free from blame before the world; yet it behooved thee not to intercept our natural clemency. for this, my lord, i banish you my presence; and as this forward will was yours alone bear you alone the curse of the misdeed! [to davison. for you, sir; who have traitorously o'erstepped the bounds of your commission, and betrayed a sacred pledge intrusted to your care, a more severe tribunal is prepared: let him be straight conducted to the tower, and capital arraignments filed against him. my honest talbot, you alone have proved, 'mongst all my counsellors, an upright man: you shall henceforward be my guide--my friend. shrewsbury. oh! banish not the truest of your friends; nor cast those into prison, who for you have acted; who for you are silent now. but suffer me, great queen, to give the seal, which, these twelve years, i've borne unworthily, back to your royal hands, and take my leave. elizabeth (surprised). no, shrewsbury; you surely would not now desert me? no; not now. shrewsbury. pardon, i am too old, and this right hand is growing too stiff to set the seal upon your later deeds. elizabeth. will he forsake me, who has saved my life? shrewsbury. 'tis little i have done: i could not save your nobler part. live--govern happily! your rival's dead! henceforth you've nothing more to fear--henceforth to nothing pay regard. [exit. elizabeth (to the earl of kent, who enters). send for the earl of leicester. kent. he desires to be excused--he is embarked for france. the curtain drops. _chastelard, a tragedy_. algernon charles swinburne boston: e.p. dutton, . (author's edition) persons. mary stuart. mary beaton. mary seyton. mary carmichael. mary hamilton. pierre de boscosel de chastelard. darnley. murray. randolph. morton. lindsay. father black. guards, burgesses, a preacher, citizens, &c. another yle is there toward the northe, in the see occean, where that ben fulle cruele and ful evele wommen of nature: and thei han precious stones in hire eyen; and their ben of that kynde, that zif they beholden ony man, thei slen him anon with the beholdynge, as dothe the basilisk. maundevile's voiage and travaile, ch. xxviii. i dedicate this play, as a partial expression of reverence and gratitude, to the chief of living poets; to the first dramatist of his age; to the greatest exile, and therefore to the greatest man of france; to victor hugo. act i. mary beaton. scene i.--the upper chamber in holyrood. the four maries. mary beaton (sings):-- . le navire est a l'eau; entends rire ce gros flot que fait luire et bruire le vieux sire aquilo. . dans l'espace du grand air le vent passe comme un fer; siffle et sonne, tombe et tonne, prend et donne a la mer. . vois, la brise tourne au nord, et la bise souffle et mord sur ta pure chevelure qui murmure et se tord. mary hamilton. you never sing now but it makes you sad; why do you sing? mary beaton. i hardly know well why; it makes me sad to sing, and very sad to hold my peace. mary carmichael. i know what saddens you. mary beaton. prithee, what? what? mary carmichael. why, since we came from france, you have no lover to make stuff for songs. mary beaton. you are wise; for there my pain begins indeed, because i have no lovers out of france. mary seyton. i mind me of one olivier de pesme, (you knew him, sweet,) a pale man with short hair, wore tied at sleeve the beaton color. mary carmichael. blue-- i know, blue scarfs. i never liked that knight. mary hamilton. me? i know him? i hardly knew his name. black, was his hair? no, brown. mary seyton. light pleases you: i have seen the time brown served you well enough. mary carmichael. lord darnley's is a mere maid's yellow. mary hamilton. no, a man's, good color. mary seyton. ah, does that burn your blood? why, what a bitter color is this read that fills your face! if you be not in love, i am no maiden. mary hamilton. nay, god help true hearts! i must be stabbed with love then, to the bone, yea to the spirit, past cure. mary seyton. what were you saying? i see some jest run up and down your lips. mary carmichael. finish your song; i know you have more of it; good sweet, i pray you do. mary beaton. i am too sad. mary carmichael. this will not sadden you to sing; your song tastes sharp of sea and the sea's bitterness, but small pain sticks on it. mary beaton. nay, it is sad; for either sorrow with the beaten lips sings not at all, or if it does get breath sings quick and sharp like a hard sort of mirth: and so this song does; or i would it did, that it might please me better than it does. mary seyton. well, as you choose then. what a sort of men crowd all about the squares! mary carmichael. ay, hateful men; for look how many talking mouths be there, so many angers show their teeth at us. which one is that, stooped somewhat in the neck, that walks so with his chin against the wind, lips sideways shut? a keen-faced man--lo there, he that walks midmost. mary seyton. that is master knox. he carries all these folk within his skin, bound up as 't were between the brows of him like a bad thought; their hearts beat inside his; they gather at his lips like flies in the sun, thrust sides to catch his face. mary carmichael. look forth; so--push the window--further--see you anything? mary hamilton. they are well gone; but pull the lattice in, the wind is like a blade aslant. would god i could get back one day i think upon: the day we four and some six after us sat in that louvre garden and plucked fruits to cast love-lots with in the gathered grapes; this way: you shut your eyes and reach and pluck, and catch a lover for each grape you get. i got but one, a green one, and it broke between my fingers and it ran down through them. mary seyton. ay, and the queen fell in a little wrath because she got so many, and tore off some of them she had plucked unwittingly-- she said, against her will. what fell to you? mary beaton. me? nothing but the stalk of a stripped bunch with clammy grape-juice leavings at the tip. mary carmichael. ay, true, the queen came first and she won all; it was her bunch we took to cheat you with. what, will you weep for that now? for you seem as one that means to weep. god pardon me! i think your throat is choking up with tears. you are not well, sweet, for a lying jest to shake you thus much. mary beaton. i am well enough: give not your pity trouble for my sake. mary seyton. if you be well sing out your song and laugh, though it were but to fret the fellows there.-- now shall we catch her secret washed and wet in the middle of her song; for she must weep if she sing through. mary hamilton. i told you it was love; i watched her eyes all through the masquing time feed on his face by morsels; she must weep. mary beaton. . le navire passe et luit, puis chavire a grand bruit; et sur l'onde la plus blonde tete au monde flotte et fuit. . moi, je rame, et l'amour, c'est ma flamme, mon grand jour, ma chandelle blanche et belle, ma chapelle de sejour. . toi, mon ame et ma foi, sois, ma dame; et ma loi; sois ma mie, sois marie, sois ma vie, toute a moi! mary seyton. i know the song; a song of chastelard's, he made in coming over with the queen. how hard it rained! he played that over twice sitting before her, singing each word soft, as if he loved the least she listened to. mary hamilton. no marvel if he loved it for her sake; she is the choice of women in the world; is she not, sweet? mary beaton. i have seen no fairer one. mary seyton. and the most loving: did you note last night how long she held him with her hands and eyes, looking a little sadly, and at last kissed him below the chin and parted so as the dance ended? mary hamilton. this was courtesy; so might i kiss my singing-bird's red bill after some song, till he bit short my lip. mary seyton. but if a lady hold her bird anights to sing to her between her fingers-ha? i have seen such birds. mary carmichael. o, you talk emptily; she is full of grace; and marriage in good time will wash the fool called scandal off men's lips. mary hamilton. i know not that; i know how folk would gibe if one of us pushed courtesy so far. she has always loved love's fashions well; you wot, the marshal, head friend of this chastelard's, she used to talk with ere he brought her here and sow their talk with little kisses thick as roses in rose-harvest. for myself, i cannot see which side of her that lurks, which snares in such wise all the sense of men; what special beauty, subtle as man's eye and tender as the inside of the eyelid is, there grows about her. mary carmichael. i think her cunning speech-- the soft and rapid shudder of her breath in talking--the rare tender little laugh-- the pitiful sweet sound like a bird's sigh when her voice breaks; her talking does it all. mary seyton. i say, her eyes with those clear perfect brows: it is the playing of those eyelashes, the lure of amorous looks as sad as love, plucks all souls toward her like a net. mary hamilton. what, what! you praise her in too lover-like a wise for women that praise women; such report is like robes worn the rough side next the skin, frets where it warms. mary seyton. you think too much in french. enter darnley. here comes your thorn; what glove against it now? mary hamilton. o, god's good pity! this a thorn of mine? it has not run deep in yet. mary carmichael. i am not sure: the red runs over to your face's edge. darnley. give me one word; nay, lady, for love's sake; here, come this way; i will not keep you; no. --o my sweet soul, why do you wrong me thus? mary hamilton. why will you give me for men's eyes to burn? darnley. what, sweet, i love you as mine own soul loves me; they shall divide when we do. mary hamilton. i cannot say. darnley. why, look you, i am broken with the queen; this is the rancor and the bitter heart that grows in you; by god it is nought else. why, this last night she held me for a fool-- ay, god wot, for a thing of stripe and bell. i bade her make me marshal in her masque-- i had the dress here painted, gold and gray (that is, not gray but a blue-green like this)-- she tells me she had chosen her marshal, she, the best o' the world for cunning and sweet wit; and what sweet fool but her sweet knight, god help! to serve her with that three-inch wit of his? she is all fool and fiddling now; for me, i am well-pleased; god knows, if i might choose i would not be more troubled with her love. her love is like a briar that rasps the flesh, and yours is soft like flowers. come this way, love; so, further in this window; hark you here. enter chastelard. mary beaton. good morrow, sir. chastelard. good morrow, noble lady. mary carmichael. you have heard no news? what news? chastelard. nay, i have none. that maiden-tongued male-faced elizabeth hath eyes unlike our queen's, hair not so soft, and lips no kiss of love's could bring to flower in such red wise as our queen's; save this news, i know none english. mary seyton. come, no news of her; for god's love talk still rather of our queen. mary beaton. god give us grace then to speak well of her. you did right joyfully in our masque last night' i saw you when the queen lost breath (her head bent back, her chin and lips catching the air-- a goodly thing to see her) how you smiled across her head, between your lips-no doubt you had great joy, sir. did you not take note once how one lock fell? that was good to see. chastelard. yea, good enough to live for. mary beaton. nay, but sweet enough to die. when she broke off the dance, turning round short and soft-i never saw such supple ways of walking as she has. chastlelard. why do you praise her gracious looks to me? mary beaton. sir, for mere sport: but tell me even for love how much you love her. chastelard. i know not: it may be if i had set mine eyes to find that out, i should not know it. she hath fair eyes: may be i love her for sweet eyes or brows or hair, for the smooth temples, where god touching her made blue with sweeter veins the flower-sweet white or for the tender turning of her wrist, or marriage of the eyelid with the cheek; i cannot tell; or flush of lifting throat, i know not if the color get a name this side of heaven-no man knows; or her mouth, a flower's lip with a snake's lip, stinging sweet, and sweet to sting with: face that one would see and then fall blind and die with sight of it held fast between the eyelids-oh, all these and all her body and the soul to that, the speech and shape and hand and foot and heart that i would die of-yea, her name that turns my face to fire being written-i know no whit how much i love them. mary beaton. nor how she loves you back? chastelard. i know her ways of loving, all of them: a sweet soft way the first is; afterward it burns and bites like fire; the end of that, charred dust, and eyelids bitten through with smoke. mary beaton. what has she done for you to gird at her? chastelard. nothing. you do not greatly love her, you, who do not-gird, you call it. i am bound to france; shall i take word from you to any one? so it be harmless, not a gird, i will. mary beaton. i doubt you will not go hence with your life. chastelard. why, who should slay me? no man northwards born, in my poor mind; my sword's lip is no maid's to fear the iron biting of their own, though they kiss hard for hate's sake. mary beaton. lo you, sir, how sharp he whispers, what close breath and eyes-- and here are fast upon him, do you see? chastelard. well, which of these must take my life in hand? pray god it be the better: nay, which hand? mary beaton. i think, none such. the man is goodly made; she is tender-hearted toward his courtesies, and would not have them fall too low to find. look, they slip forth. [exeunt darnley and mary hamilton.] mary seyton. for love's sake, after them, and soft as love can. [exeunt mary carmichael and mary seyton.] chastelard. true, a goodly man. what shapeliness and state he hath, what eyes, brave brow and lordly lip! were it not fit great queens should love him? mary beaton. see how now, fair lord, i have but scant breath's time to help myself, and i must cast my heart out on a chance; so bear with me. that we twain have loved well, i have no heart nor wit to say; god wot we had never made good lovers, you and i. look you, i would not have you love me, sir, for all the love's sake in the world. i say, you love the queen, and loving burns you up, and mars the grace and joyous wit you had, turning your speech to sad, your face to strange, your mirth to nothing: and i am piteous, i, even as the queen is, and such women are; and if i helped you to your love-longing, meseems some grain of love might fall my way and love's god help me when i came to love; i have read tales of men that won their loves on some such wise. chastelard. if you mean mercifully, i am bound to you past thought and thank; if worse i will but thank your lips and not your heart. mary beaton. nay, let love wait and praise me, in god's name, some day when he shall find me; yet, god wot, my lips are of one color with my heart. withdraw now from me, and about midnight in some close chamber without light or noise it may be i shall get you speech of her: she loves you well: it may be she will speak, i wot not what; she loves you at her heart. let her not see that i have given you word, lest she take shame and hate her love. till night let her not see it. chastlelard. i will not thank you now, and then i'll die what sort of death you will. farewell. [exit.] mary beaton. and by god's mercy and my love's i will find ways to earn such thank of you. [exit.] act i. scene ii. a hall in the same. the queen, darnley, murray, randolph, the maries, chastelard, &c. queen. hath no man seen my lord of chastelard? nay, no great matter. keep you on that side: begin the purpose. mary carmichael. madam, he is here. queen. begin a measure now that other side. i will not dance; let them play soft a little. fair sir, we had a dance to tread to-night, to teach our north folk all sweet ways of france, but at this time we have no heart to it. sit, sir, and talk. look, this breast-clasp is new, the french king sent it me. chastelard. a goodly thing: but what device? the word is ill to catch. queen. a venus crowned, that eats the hearts of men: below her flies a love with a bat's wings, and strings the hair of paramours to bind live birds' feet with. lo what small subtle work: the smith's name, gian grisostomo da--what? can you read that? the sea froths underfoot; she stands upon the sea and it curls up in soft loose curls that run to one in the wind. but her hair is not shaken, there 's a fault; it lies straight down in close-cut points and tongues, not like blown hair. the legend is writ small: still one makes out this--*cave*--if you look. chastelard. i see the venus well enough, god wot, but nothing of the legend. queen. come, fair lord, shall we dance now? my heart is good again. [they dance a measure.] darnley. i do not like this manner of a dance, this game of two by two; it were much better to meet between the changes and to mix than still to keep apart and whispering each lady out of earshot with her friend. mary beaton. that 's as the lady serves her knight, i think: we are broken up too much. darnley. nay, no such thing; be not wroth, lady, i wot it was the queen pricked each his friend out. look you now--your ear-- if love had gone by choosing--how they laugh, lean lips together, and wring hands underhand! what, you look white too, sick of heart, ashamed, no marvel--for men call it--hark you though-- [they pass.] murray. was the queen found no merrier in france? mary hamilton. why, have you seen her sorrowful to-night? murray. i say not so much; blithe she seems at whiles, gentle and goodly doubtless in all ways, but hardly with such lightness and quick heart as it was said. mary hamilton. 'tis your great care of her makes you misdoubt; nought else. murray. yea, may be so; she has no cause i know to sadden her. [they pass.] queen. i am tired too soon; i could have danced down hours two years gone hence and felt no wearier. one grows much older northwards, my fair lord; i wonder men die south; meseems all france smells sweet with living, and bright breath of days that keep men far from dying. peace; pray you now, no dancing more. sing, sweet, and make us mirth; we have done with dancing measures: sing that song you call the song of love at ebb. mary beaton. [sings.] . between the sunset and the sea my love laid hands and lips on me; of sweet came sour, of day came night, of long desire came brief delight: ah love, and what thing came of thee between the sea-downs and the sea? . between the sea-mark and the sea joy grew to grief, grief grew to me; love turned to tears, and tears to fire, and dead delight to new desire; love's talk, love's touch there seemed to be between the sea-sand and the sea. . between the sundown and the sea love watched one hour of love with me; then down the all-golden water-ways his feet flew after yesterday's; i saw them come and saw them flee between the sea-foam and the sea. . between the sea-strand and the sea love fell on sleep, sleep fell on me; the first star saw twain turn to one between the moonrise and the sun; the next, that saw not love, saw me between the sea-banks and the sea. queen. lo, sirs, what mirth is here! some song of yours, fair lord; you know glad ways of rhyming--no such tunes as go to tears. chastelard. i made this yesterday; for its love's sake i pray you let it live. . apres tant de jours, apres tant de pleurs, soyez secourable a mon ame en peine. voyez comme avril fait l'amour aux fleurs; dame d'amour, dame aux belles couleurs, dieu vous a fait belle, amour vous fait reine. . rions, je t'en prie; aimons, je le veux. le temps fuit et rit et ne revient guere pour baiser le bout de tes blonds cheveux, pour baiser tes cils, ta bouche et tes yeux; l'amour n'a qu'un jour aupres de sa mere. queen. 't is a true song; love shall not pluck time back nor time lie down with love. for me, i am old; have you no hair changed since you changed to scot? i look each day to see my face drawn up about the eyes, as if they sucked the cheeks. i think this air and face of things here north puts snow at flower-time in the blood, and tears between the sad eyes and the merry mouth in their youth-days. chastelard. it is a bitter air. queen. faith, if i might be gone, sir, would i stay? i think, for no man's love's sake. chastelard. i think not. queen. do you yet mind at landing how the quay looked like a blind wet face in waste of wind and washing of wan waves? how the hard mist made the hills ache? your songs lied loud, my knight, they said my face would burn off cloud and rain seen once, and fill the crannied land with fire, kindle the capes in their blind black-gray hoods-- i know not what. you praise me past all loves; and these men love me little; 't is some fault, i think, to love me: even a fool's sweet fault. i have your verse still beating in my head of how the swallow got a wing broken in the spring time, and lay upon his side watching the rest fly off i' the red leaf-time, and broke his heart with grieving at himself before the snow came. do you know that lord with sharp-set eyes? and him with huge thewed throat? good friends to me; i had need love them well. why do you look one way? i will not have you keep your eyes here: 't is no great wit in me to care much now for old french friends of mine.-- come, a fresh measure; come, play well for me, fair sirs, your playing puts life in foot and heart.-- darnley. lo you again, sirs, how she laughs and leans, holding him fast--the supple way she hath! your queen hath none such; better as she is for all her measures, a grave english maid, than queen of snakes and scots. randolph. she is over fair to be so sweet and hurt not. a good knight; goodly to look on. murray. yea, a good sword too, and of good kin; too light of loving though; these jangling song-smiths are keen love-mongers, they snap at all meats. darnley. what! by god i think, for all his soft french face and bright boy's sword, there be folks fairer: and for knightliness, these hot-lipped brawls of paris breed sweet knights-- mere stabbers for a laugh across the wine.-- queen. there, i have danced you down for once, fair lord; you look pale now. nay then for courtesy i must needs help you; do not bow your head, i am tall enough to reach close under it. [kisses him.] now come, we'll sit and see this passage through.-- darnley. a courtesy, god help us! courtesy-- pray god it wound not where it should heal wounds. why, there was here last year some lord of france (priest on the wrong side as some folk are prince) told tales of paris ladies--nay, by god, no jest for queen's lips to catch laughter of that would keep clean; i wot he made good mirth, but she laughed over sweetly, and in such wise-- but she laughed over sweetly, and in such wise-- nay, i laughed too, but lothly.-- queen. how they look! the least thing courteous galls them to the bone. what would one say now i were thinking of? chastelard. it seems, some sweet thing. queen. true, a sweet one, sir-- that madrigal you made alys de saulx of the three ways of love: the first kiss honor, the second pity, and the last kiss love. which think you now was that i kissed you with? chastelard. it should be pity, if you be pitiful; for i am past all honoring that keep outside the eye of battle, where my kin fallen overseas have found this many a day no helm of mine between them; and for love, i think of that as dead men of good days ere the wrong side of death was theirs, when god was friends with them. queen. good; call it pity then. you have a subtle riddling skill at love which is not like a lover. for my part, i am resolved to be well done with love, though i were fairer-faced than all the world; as there be fairer. think you, fair my knight, love shall live after life in any man? i have given you stuff for riddles. chastelard. most sweet queen, they say men dying remember, with sharp joy and rapid reluctation of desire, some old thin, some swift breath of wind, some word, some sword-stroke or dead lute-strain, some lost sight, some sea-blossom stripped to the sun and burned at naked ebb--some river-flower that breathes against the stream like a swooned swimmer's mouth-- some tear or laugh ere lip and eye were man's-- sweet stings that struck the blood in riding--nay, some garment or sky-color or spice-smell, and die with heart and face shut fast on it, and know not why, and weep not; it may be men shall hold love fast always in such wise in new fair lives where all are new things else, and know not why, and weep not. queen. a right rhyme, and right a thyme's worth: nay, a sweet song, though. what, shall my cousin hold fast that love of his, her face and talk, when life ends? as god grant his life end late and sweet; i love him well. she is fair enough, his lover; a fair-faced maid, with gray sweet eyes and tender touch of talk; and that, god wot, i wist not. see you, sir, men say i needs must get wed hastily; do none point lips at him? chastelard. yea, guessingly. queen. god help such lips! and get me leave to laugh! what should i do but paint and put him up like a gilt god, a saintship in a shrine, for all fools' feast? god's mercy on men's wits! tall as a housetop and as bare of brain-- i'll have no staffs with fool-faced carven heads to hang my life on. nay, for love, no more, for fear i laugh and set their eyes on edge to find out why i laugh. good-night, fair lords; bid them cease playing. give me your hand; good-night. scene iii.--mary beaton's chamber: night. [enter chastelard.] chastelard. i am not certain yet she will not come; for i can feel her hand's heat still in mine, past doubting of, and see her brows half draw, and half a light in the eyes. if she come not, i am no worse than he that dies to-night. this two years' patience gets an end at least, whichever way i am well done with it. how hard the thin sweet moon is, split and laced and latticed over, just a stray of it catching and clinging at a strip of wall, hardly a hand's breadth. did she turn indeed in going out? not to catch up her gown the page let slip, but to keep sight of me? there was a soft small stir beneath her eyes hard to put on, a quivering of her blood that knew of the old nights watched out wakefully. those measures of her dancing too were changed-- more swift and with more eager stops at whiles and rapid pauses where breath failed her lips. [enter mary beaton.] o, she is come: if you be she indeed let me but hold your hand; what, no word yet? you turn and kiss me without word; o sweet, if you will slay me be not over quick, kill me with some slow heavy kiss that plucks the heart out at the lips. alas! sweet love, give me some old sweet word to kiss away. is it a jest? for i can feel your hair touch me--i may embrace your body too? i know you well enough without sweet words. how should one make you speak? this is not she. come in the light; nay, let me see your eyes. ah, you it is? what have i done to you? and do you look now to be slain for this that you twist back and shudder like one stabbed? mary beaton. yea, kill me now and do not look at me: god knows i meant to die. sir, for god's love, kill me now quick ere i go mad with shame. chastelard. cling not upon my wrists: let go the hilt: nay, you will bruise your hand with it: stand up: you shall not have my sword forth. mary beaton. kill me now, i will not rise: there, i am patient, see, i will not strive, but kill me for god's sake. chastelard. pray you rise up and be not shaken so: forgive me my rash words, my heart was gone after the thing you were: be not ashamed; give me the shame, you have no part in it; can i not say a word shall do you good? forgive that too. mary beaton. i shall run crazed with shame; but when i felt your lips catch hold on mine it stopped my breath: i would have told you all; let me go out: you see i lied to you, am i am shamed; i pray you loose me, sir, let me go out. chastelard. think no base things of me: i were most base to let you go ashamed. think my heart's love and honor go with you: yea, while i live, for your love's noble sake, i am your servant in what wise may be, to love and serve you with right thankful heart. mary beaton. i have given men leave to mock me, and must bear what shame they please: you have good cause to mock. let me pass now. chastelard. you know i mock you not. if ever i leave off to honor you, god give me shame! i were the worst churl born. mary beaton. no marvel though the queen should love you too, being such a knight. i pray you for her love, lord chastelard, of your great courtesy, think now no scorn to give me my last kiss that i shall have of man before i die. even the same lips you kissed and knew not of will you kiss now, knowing the shame of them, and say no one word to me afterwards, that i may see i have loved the best lover and man most courteous of all men alive? mary seyton. [within.] here, fetch the light: nay, this way; enter all. mary beaton. i am twice undone. fly, get some hiding, sir; they have spied upon me somehow. chastelard. nay, fear not; stand by my side. [enter mary seyton and mary hamilton.] mary hamilton. give me that light: this way. chastelard. what jest is here, fair ladies? it walks late, something too late for laughing. mary seyton. nay, fair sir, what jest is this of yours? look to your lady: she is nigh swooned. the queen shall know all this. mary hamilton. a grievous shame it is we are fallen upon; hold forth the light. is this your care of us? nay, come, look up: this is no game, god wot. chastelard. shame shall befall them that speak shamefully: i swear this lady is as pure and good as any maiden, and who believes me not shall keep the shame for his part and the lie. to them that come in honor and not in hate i will make answer. lady, have good heart. give me the light there: i will see you forth. end of the first act. act ii. darnley. scene i.--the great chamber in holyrood. the queen and mary seyton. queen. but will you swear it? mary seyton. swear it, madam? queen. ay-- swear it. mary seyton. madam, i am not friends with them. queen. swear then against them if you are not friends. mary seyton. indeed i saw them kiss. queen. so lovers use-- what, their mouths close? a goodly way of love! or but the hands? or on her throat? prithee-- you have sworn that. mary seyton. i say what i saw done. queen. ay, you did see her cheeks (god smite them red!) kissed either side? what, they must eat strange food those singing lips of his? mary seyton. sweet meat enough-- they started at my coming five yards off, but there they were. queen. a maid may have kissed cheeks and no shame in them--yet one would not swear. you have sworn that. pray god he be not mad: a sickness in his eyes. the left side love (i was told that) and the right courtesy. 't is good fools' fashion. what, no more but this? for me, god knows i am no whit wroth; not i; but, for your fame's sake that her shame will sting, i cannot see a way to pardon her-- for your fame's sake, lest that be prated of. mary seyton. nay, if she were not chaste--i have not said she was not chaste. queen. i know you are tender of her; and your sweet word will hardly turn her sweet. mary seyton. indeed i would fain do her any good. shall i not take some gracious word to her? queen. bid her not come or wait on me to-day. mary seyton. will you see him? queen. see--o, this chastelard? he doth not well to sing maids into shame; and folk are sharp here; yet for sweet friends' sake assuredly i 'll see him. i am not wroth. a goodly man, and a good sword thereto-- it may be he shall wed her. i am not wroth. mary seyton. nay, though she bore with him, she hath no great love, i doubt me, that way. queen. god mend all, i pray-- and keep us from all wrongdoing and wild words. i think there is no fault men fall upon but i could pardon. look you, i would swear she were no paramour for any man, so well i love her. mary seyton. am i to bid him in? queen. as you will, sweet. but if you held me hard you did me grievous wrong. doth he wait there? men call me over tender; i had rather so, than too ungracious. father, what with you? [enter father black.] father black. god's peace and health of soul be with the queen! and pardon be with me though i speak truth. as i was going on peaceable men's wise through your good town, desiring no man harm, a kind of shameful woman with thief's lips spake somewhat to me over a thrust-out chin, soliciting as i deemed an alms; which alms (remembering what was writ of magdalen) i gave no grudging but with pure good heart, when lo some scurril children that lurked near, set there by satan for my stumbling-stone, fell hooting with necks thwart and eyes asquint, screeched and made horns and shot out tongues at me, as at my lord the jews shot out their tongues and made their heads wag; i considering this took up my cross in patience and passed forth: nevertheless one ran between my feet and made me totter, using speech and signs i smart with shame to think of: then my blood kindled, and i was moved to smite the knave, and the knave howled; whereat the lewd whole herd brake forth upon me and cast mire and stones so that i ran sore risk of bruise or gash if they had touched; likewise i heard men say, (their foul speech missed not mine ear) they cried, "this devil's mass-priest hankers for new flesh like a dry hound; let him seek such at home, snuff and smoke out the queen's french--" queen. they said that? father black. "--french paramours that breed more shames than sons all her court through;" forgive me. queen. with my heart. father, you see the hatefulness of these-- they loathe us for our love. i am not moved: what should i do being angry? by this hand (which is not big enough to bruise their lips), i marvel what thing should be done with me to make me wroth. we must have patience with us when we seek thank of men. father black. madam, farewell; i pray god keep you in such patient heart. [exit.] queen. let him come now. mary seyton. madam, he is at hand. [exit.] [enter chastelard.] queen. give me that broidery frame; how, gone so soon? no maid about? reach me some skein of silk. what, are you come, fair lord? now by my life that lives here idle, i am right glad of you; i have slept so well and sweet since yesternight it seems our dancing put me in glad heart. did you sleep well? chastelard. yea, as a man may sleep. queen. you smile as if i jested; do not men sleep as we do? had you fair dreams in the night? for me--but i should fret you with my dreams-- i dreamed sweet things. you are good at soothsaying: make me a sonnet of my dream. chastelard. i will, when i shall know it. queen. i thought i was asleep in paris, lying by my lord, and knew in somewise he was well awake, and yet i could not wake too; and i seemed to know he hated me, and the least breath i made would turn somehow to slay or stifle me. then in brief time he rose and went away, saying, let her dream, but when her dream is out i will come back and kill her as she wakes. and i lay sick and trembling with sore fear, and still i knew that i was deep asleep; and thinking i must dream now, or i die, god send me some good dream lest i be slain, fell fancying one had bound my feet with cords and bade me dance, and the first measure made i fell upon my face and wept for pain: and my cords broke, and i began the dance to a bitter tune; and he that danced with me was clothed in black with long red lines and bars and masked down to the lips, but by the chin i knew you though your lips were sewn up close with scarlet thread all dabbled wet in blood. and then i knew the dream was not for good. and striving with sore travail to reach up and kiss you (you were taller in my dream) i missed your lips and woke. chastelard. sweet dreams, you said? an evil dream i hold it for, sweet love. queen. you call love sweet; yea, what is bitter, then? there's nothing broken sleep could hit upon so bitter as the breaking down of love. you call me sweet; i am not sweet to you, nor you-o, i would say not sweet to me, and if i said so i should hardly lie. but there have been those things between us, sir, that men call sweet. chastelard. i know not how there is turns to there hath been; 't is a heavier change than change of flesh to dust. yet though years change and good things end and evil things grow great, the old love that was, or that was dreamed about, that sang and kissed and wept upon itself, laughed and ran mad with love of its own face, that was a sweet thing. queen. nay, i know not well. 't is when the man is held fast underground they say for sooth what manner of heart he had. we are alive, and cannot be well sure if we loved much or little: think you not it were convenient one of us should die? chastelard. madam, your speech is harsh to understand. queen. why, there could come no change then; one of us would never need to fear our love might turn to the sad thing that it may grow to be. i would sometimes all things were dead asleep that i have loved, all buried in soft beds and sealed with dreams and visions, and each dawn sung to by sorrows, and all night assuaged by short sweet kissed and by sweet long loves for old life's sake, lest weeping overmuch should wake them in a strange new time, and arm memory's blind hand to kill forgetfulness. chastelard. look, you dream still, and sadly. queen. sooth, a dream; for such things died or lied in sweet love's face, and i forget them not, god help my wit! i would the whole world were made up of sleep and life not fashioned out of lies and loves. we foolish women have such times, you know, when we are weary or afraid or sick for perfect nothing. chastelard. [aside.] now would one be fain to know what bitter or what dangerous thing she thinks of, softly chafing her soft lip. she must mean evil. queen. are you sad too, sir, that you say nothing? chastelard. i? not sad a jot-- though this your talk might make a blithe man sad. queen. o me! i must not let stray sorrows out; they are ill to fledge, and if they feel blithe air they wail and chirp untunefully. would god i had been a man! when i was born, men say, my father turned his face and wept to think i was no man. chastelard. will you weep too? queen. in sooth, if i were a man i should be no base man; i could have fought; yea, i could fight now too if men would show me; i would i were the king! i should be all ways better than i am. chastelard. nay, would you have more honor, having this-- men's hearts and loves and the sweet spoil of souls given you like simple gold to bind your hair? say you were king of thews, not queen of souls, an iron headpiece hammered to a head, you might fall too. queen. no, then i would not fall, or god should make me woman back again. to be king james-you hear men say king james, the word sounds like a piece of gold thrown down, rings with a round and royal note in it-- a name to write good record of; this king fought here and there, was beaten such a day, and came at last to a good end, his life being all lived out, and for the main part well and like a king's life; then to have men say (as now they say of flodden, here they broke and there they held up to the end) years back they saw you-yea, i saw the king's face helmed red in the hot lit foreground of some fight hold the whole war as it were by the bit, a horse fit for his knees' grip-the great rearing war that frothed with lips flung up, and shook men's lives off either flank of it like snow; i saw (you could not hear as his sword rang), saw him shout, laugh, smite straight, and flaw the riven ranks, move as the wind moves, and his horse's feet stripe their long flags with dust. why, if one died, to die so in the heart and heat of war were a much goodlier thing than living soft and speaking sweet for fear of men. woe's me, is there no way to pluck this body off? then i should never fear a man again, even in my dreams i should not; no, by heaven. chastelard. i never thought you did fear anything. queen. god knows i do; i could be sick with wrath to think what grievous fear i have 'twixt whiles of mine own self and of base men: last night if certain lords were glancing where i was under the eyelid, with sharp lip and brow, i tell you, for pure shame and fear of them, i could have gone and slain them. chastelard. verily, you are changed since those good days that fell in france; but yet i think you are not so changed at heart as to fear man. queen. i would i had no need. lend me your sword a little; a fair sword; i see the fingers that i hold it with clear in the blade, bright pink, the shell-color, brighter than flesh is really, curved all round. now men would mock if i should wear it here, bound under bosom with a girdle, here, and yet i have heart enough to wear it well. speak to me like a woman, let me see if i can play at man. chastelard. god save king james! queen. would you could change now! fie, this will not do; unclasp your sword; nay, the hilt hurts my side; it sticks fast here. unbind this knot for me: stoop, and you'll see it closer; thank you: there. now i can breathe, sir. ah! it hurts me, though: this was fool's play. chastelard. yea, you are better so, without the sword; your eyes are stronger things, whether to save or slay. queen. alas, my side! it hurts right sorely. is it not pitiful our souls should be so bound about with flesh even when they leap and smite with wings and feet, the least pain plucks them back, puts out their eyes, turns them to tears and words? ah my sweet knight, you have the better of us that weave and weep while the blithe battle blows upon your eyes like rain and wind; yet i remember too when this last year the fight at corrichie reddened the rushes with stained fen-water, i rode with my good men and took delight, feeling the sweet clear wind upon my eyes and rainy soft smells blown upon my face in riding: then the great fight jarred and joined, and the sound stung me right through heart and all; for i was here, see, gazing off the hills, in the wet air; our housings were all wet, and not a plume stood stiffly past the ear but flapped between the bridle and the neck; and under us we saw the battle go like running water; i could see by fits some helm the rain fell shining off, some flag snap from the staff, shorn through or broken short in the man's falling: yea, one seemed to catch the very grasp of tumbled men at men, teeth clenched in throats, hands riveted in hair, tearing the life out with no help of swords. and all the clamor seemed to shine, the light seemed to shout as a man doth; twice i laughed-- i tell you, twice my heart swelled out with thirst to be into the battle; see, fair lord, i swear it seemed i might have made a knight, and yet the simple bracing of a belt makes me cry out; this is too pitiful, this dusty half of us made up with fears.-- have you been ever quite so glad to fight as i have thought men must? pray you, speak truth. chastelard. yea, when the time came, there caught hold of me such pleasure in the head and hands and blood as may be kindled under loving lips: crossing the ferry once to the clerks' field, i mind how the plashing noise of seine put fire into my face for joy, and how my blood kept measure with the swinging boat till we touched land, all for the sake of that which should be soon. queen. her name, for god's love, sir; you slew your friend for love's sake? nay, the name. chastelard. faith, i forget. queen. now by the faith i have you have no faith to swear by. chastelard. a good sword: we left him quiet after a thrust or twain. queen. i would i had been at hand and marked them off as the maids did when we played singing games: you outwent me at rhyming; but for faith, we fight best there. i would i had seen you fight. chastelard. i would you had; his play was worth an eye; he made some gallant way before that pass which made me way through him. queen. would i saw that-- how did you slay him? chastelard. a clean pass--this way; right in the side here, where the blood has root. his wrist went round in pushing, see you, thus, or he had pierced me. queen. yea, i see, sweet knight. i have a mind to love you for his sake; would i had seen. chastelard. hugues de marsillac-- i have the name now; 't was a goodly one before he changed it for a dusty name. queen. talk not of death; i would hear living talk of good live swords and good strokes struck withal, brave battles and the mirth of mingling men, not of cold names you greet a dead man with. you are yet young for fighting; but in fight have you never caught a wound? chastelard. yea, twice or so: the first time in a little outlying field (my first field) at the sleepy gray of dawn, they found us drowsy, fumbling at our girths, and rode us down by heaps; i took a hurt here in the shoulder. queen. ah, i mind well now; did you not ride a day's space afterward, having two wounds? yea, dandelot it was, that dandelot took word of it. i know, sitting at meat when the news came to us i had nigh swooned but for those florence eyes slanting my way with sleek lids drawn up close-- yea, and she said, the italian brokeress, she said such men were good for great queens' love. i would you might die, when you come to die, like a knight slain. pray god we make good ends. for love too, love dies hard or easily, but some way dies on some day, ere we die. chastelard. you made a song once of old flowers and loves, will you not sing that rather? 't is long gone since you sang last. queen. i had rather sigh than sing and sleep than sigh; 't is long since verily, but i will once more sing; ay, thus it was. [sings.] . j'ai vu faner bien des choses, mainte feuille aller au vent. en songeant aux vieilles roses, j'ai pleure souvent. . vois-tu dans les roses mortes amour qui sourit cache? o mon amant, a nos portes l'as-tu vu couche? . as-tu vu jamais au monde venus chasser et courir? fille de l'onde, avec l'onde doit-elle mourir? . aux jours de neige et de givre l'amour s'effeuille et s'endort; avec mai doit-il revivre, ou bien est-il mort? . qui sait ou s'en vont les roses? qui sai ou s'en va le vent? en songeant a telles choses, j'ai pleure souvent. i never heard yet but love made good knights, but for pure faith, by mary's holiness, i think she lies about men's lips asleep, and if one kiss or pluck her by the hand to wake her, why god help your woman's wit, faith is but dead; dig her grave deep at heart, and hide her face with cerecloths; farewell faith. would i could tell why i talk idly. look, here come my riddle-readers. welcome all; [enter murray, darnley, randolph, lindsay, morton, and other lords.] sirs, be right welcome. stand you by my side, fair cousin, i must lean on love or fall; you are a goodly staff, sir; tall enough, and fair enough to serve. my gentle lords, i am full glad of god that in great grace he hath given me such a lordly stay as this; there is no better friended queen alive. for the repealing of those banished men that stand in peril yet of last year's fault, it is our will; you have our seal to that. brother, we hear harsh bruits of bad report blown up and down about our almoner; see you to this: let him be sought into: they say lewd folk make ballads of their spleen, strew miry ways of words with talk of him; if they have cause let him be spoken with. lindsay. madam, they charge him with so rank a life were it not well this fellow were plucked out-- seeing this is not an eye that doth offend, but a blurred glass it were no harm to break; yea rather it were gracious to be done? queen. let him be weighed, and use him as he is; i am of my nature pitiful, ye know, and cannot turn my love unto a thorn in so brief space. ye are all most virtuous; yea, there is goodness grafted on this land; but yet compassion is some part of god. there is much heavier business held on hand than one man's goodness: yea, as things fare here, a matter worth more weighing. all you wot i am choose a help to my weak feet, a lamp before my face, a lord and friend to walk with me in weary ways, high up between the wind and rain and the hot sun. now i have chosen a helper to myself, i wot the best a woman ever won; a man that loves me, and a royal man, a goodly love and lord for any queen. but for the peril and despite of men i have sometime tarried and withheld myself, not fearful of his worthiness nor you, but with some lady's loathing to let out my whole heart's love; for truly this is hard, not like a woman's fashion, shamefacedness and noble grave reluctance of herself to be the tongue and cry of her own heart. nathless plain speech is better than much wit, so ye shall bear with me; albeit i think ye have caught the mark whereat my heart is bent. i have kept close counsel and shut up men's lips, but lightly shall a woman's will slip out, the foolish little winged will of her, through cheek or eye when tongue is charmed asleep. for that good lord i have good will to wed, i wot he knew long since which way it flew, even till it lit on his right wrist and sang. lo, here i take him by the hand: fair lords, this is my kinsman, made of mine own blood, i take to halve the state and services that bow down to me, and to be my head, my chief, my master, my sweet lord and king. now shall i never say "sweet cousin" more to my dear head and husband; here, fair sir, i give you all the heart of love in me to gather off my lips. did it like you, the taste of it? sir, it was whole and true. god save our king! darnley. nay, nay, sweet love, no lord; no king of yours though i were lord of these. queen. let word be sent to all good friends of ours to help us to be glad; england and france shall bear great part of our rejoicings up. give me your hand, dear lord; for from this time i must not walk alone. lords, have good cheer: for you shall have a better face than mine to set upon your kingly gold and show for scotland's forehead in the van of things. go with us now, and see this news set out. [exeunt queen, darnley, and lords.] [as chastelard is going out, enter mary beaton.] mary beaton. have you yet heard? you knew of this? chastelard. i know. i was just thinking how such things were made and were so fair as this is. do you know she held me here and talked--the most sweet talk men ever heard of? mary beaton. you hate me to the heart. what will you do? chastelard. i know not: die some day, but live as long and lightly as i can. will you now love me? faith, but if you do, it were much better you were dead and hearsed. will you do one thing for me? mary beaton. yea, all things. chastelard. speak truth a little, for god's sake: indeed it were no harm to do. come, will you, sweet? though it be but to please god. mary beaton. what will you do? chastelard. ay, true, i must do somewhat. let me see: to get between and tread upon his face-- catch both her hands and bid men look at them, how pure they were--i would do none of these, though they got wedded all the days in the year. we may do well yet when all's come and gone. i pray you on this wedding-night of theirs do but one thing that i shall ask of you, and darnley will not hunger as i shall for that good time. sweet, will you swear me this? mary beaton. yea; though to do it were mortal to my soul as the chief sin. chastelard. i thank you: let us go. end of the second act. act iii. the queen. scene i.--the queen's chamber. night. lights burning in front of the bed. [enter chastelard and mary beaton.] mary beaton. be tender of your feet. chastelard. i shall not fail: these ways have light enough to help a man that walks with such stirred blood in him as mine. mary beaton. i would yet plead with you to save your head: nay, let this be then: sir, i chide you not. nay, let all come. do not abide her yet. chastelard. have you read never in french books the song called the duke's song, some boy made ages back, a song of drag-nets hauled across thwart seas and plucked up with rent sides, and caught therein a strange-haired woman with sad singing lips, cold in the cheek like any stray of sea, and sweet to touch? so that men seeing her face, and how she sighed out little ahs of pain and soft cries sobbing sideways from her mouth, fell in hot love, and having lain with her died soon? one time i could have told it through: now i have kissed the sea-witch on her eyes and my lips ache with it; but i shall sleep full soon, and a good space of sleep. mary beaton. alas! chastelard. what makes you sigh though i be found a fool? you have no blame: and for my death, sweet friend, i never could have lived long either way. why, as i live, the joy i have of this would make men mad that were not mad with love; i hear my blood sing, and my lifted heart is like a springing water blown of wind for pleasure of this deed. now, in god's name, i swear if there be danger in delight i must die now: if joys have deadly teeth, i'll have them bite my soul to death, and end in the old asp's way, egyptian-wise; be killed in a royal purple fashion. look, my love would kill me if my body were past hurt of any man's hand; and to die thereof, i say, is sweeter than all sorts of life. i would not have her love me now, for then i should die meanlier some time. i am safe, sure of her face, my life's end in her sight, my blood shed out about her feet--by god, my heart feels drunken when i think of it. see you, she will not rid herself of me, not though she slay me: her sweet lips and life will smell of my spilt blood. mary beaton. give me good-night. chastelard. yea, and good thanks. [exit mary beaton.] here is the very place: here has her body bowed the pillows in and here her head thrust under made the sheet smell sort of her mixed hair and spice: even here her arms pushed back the coverlet, pulled here the golden silken curtain halfway in it may be, and made room to lean out loose, fair tender fallen arms. now, if god would, doubtless he might take pity on my soul to give me three clear hours, and then red hell snare me forever: this were merciful: if i were god now i should do thus much. i must die next, and this were not so hard for him to let me eat sweet fruit and die with my lips sweet from it. for one shall have this fare for common days'-bread, which to me should be a touch kept always on my sense to make hell soft, yea, the keen pain of hell soft as the loosening of wound arms in sleep. ah, love is good, and the worst part of it more than all things but death. she will be here in some small while, and see me face to face that am to give up life for her and go where a man lies with all his loves put out and his lips full of earth. i think on her, and the old pleasure stings and makes half-tears under mine eyelids. prithee, love, come fast, that i may die soon: yea, some kisses through, i shall die joyfully enough, so god keep me alive till then. i feel her feet coming far off; now must i hold my heart, steadying my blood to see her patiently. [hides himself by the bed.] [enter the queen and darnley.] queen. nay, now go back: i have sent off my folk, maries and all. pray you, let be my hair; i cannot twist the gold thread out of it that you wound in so close. look, here it clings: ah! now you mar my hair unwinding it. do me no hurt, sir. darnley. i would do you ease; let me stay here. queen. nay, will you go, my lord? darnley. eh? would you use me as a girl does fruit, touched with her mouth and pulled away for game to look thereon ere her lips feed? but see, by god, i fare the worse for you. queen. fair sir, give me this hour to watch with and say prayers; you have not faith-it needs me to say prayers, that with commending of this deed to god i may get grace for it. darnley. why, lacks it grace? is not all wedlock gracious of itself? queen. nay, that i know not of. come, sweet, be hence. darnley. you have a sort of jewel in your neck that's like mine here. queen. keep off your hands and go: you have no courtesy to be a king. darnley. well, i will go: nay, but i thwart you not. do as you will, and get you grace; farewell, and for my part, grace keep this watch with me! for i need grace to bear with you so much. [exit.] queen. so, he is forth. let me behold myself; i am too pale to be so hot; i marvel so little color should be bold in the face when the blood is not quieted. i have but a brief space to cool my thoughts upon. if one should wear the hair thus heaped and curled would it look best? or this way in the neck? could one ungirdle in such wise one's heart [taking off her girdle.] and ease it inwards as the waist is eased by slackening of the slid clasp on it! how soft the silk is-gracious color too; violet shadows like new veins thrown up each arm, and gold to fleck the faint sweet green where the wrist lies thus eased. i am right glad i have no maids about to hasten me-- so i will rest and see my hair shed down on either silk side of my woven sleeves, get some new way to bind it back with-yea, fair mirror-glass, i am well ware of you, yea, i know that, i am quite beautiful. how my hair shines!-fair face, be friends with me and i will sing to you; look in my face now, and your mouth must help the song in mine. alys la chatelaine voit venir de par seine thiebault le capitaine qui parle ainsi! was that the wind in the casement? nay, no more but the comb drawn through half my hissing hair laid on my arms-yet my flesh moved at it. dans ma camaille plus de clou qui vaille, dans ma cotte-maille plus de fer aussi. ah, but i wrong the ballad-verse: what's good in such frayed fringes of old rhymes, to make their broken burden lag with us? meseems i could be sad now if i fell to think the least sad thing; aye, that sweet lady's fool, fool sorrow, would make merry with mine eyes for a small thing. nay, but i will keep glad, nor shall old sorrow be false friends with me. but my first wedding was not like to this-- fair faces then and laughter and sweet game, and a pale little mouth that clung on mine when i had kissed him by the faded eyes and either thin cheek beating with faint blood. well, he was sure to die soon; i do think he would have given his body to be slain, having embraced my body. now, god knows, i have no man to do as much for me as give me but a little of his blood to fill my beauty from, though i go down pale to my grave for want--i think not. pale-- i am too pale purely--ah! [see him in the glass, coming forward.] chastelard. be not afraid. queen. saint mary! what a shaken wit have i! nay, is it you? who let you through the doors? where be my maidens? which way got you in? nay, but stand up, kiss not my hands so hard; by god's fair body, if you but breathe on them you are just dead and slain at once. what adder has bit you mirthful mad? for by this light a man to have his head laughed off for mirth is no great jest. lay not your eyes on me; what, would you not be slain? chastelard. i pray you, madam, bear with me a brief space and let me speak. i will not touch your garments even, nor speak but in soft wise, and look some other way, if that it like you; for i came not here for pleasure of the eyes; yet, if you will, let me look on you. queen. as you will, fair sir. give me that coif to gather in my hair-- i thank you--and my girdle-nay, that side. speak, if you will; yet if you will be gone, why, you shall go, because i hate you not. you know that i might slay you with my lips, with calling out? but i will hold my peace. chastelard. yea, do some while. i had a thing to say; i know not wholly what thing. o my sweet, i am come here to take farewell of love that i have served, and life that i have lived made up of love, here in the sight of you that all my life's time i loved more than god, who quits me thus with bitter death for it. for you well know that i must shortly die, my life being wound about you as it is, who love me not; yet do not hate me, sweet, but tell me wherein i came short of love; for doubtless i came short of a just love, and fell in some fool's fault that angered you. now that i talk men dig my grave for me out in the rain, and in a little while i shall be thrust in some sad space of earth out of your eyes; and you, o you my love, a newly-wedded lady full of mirth and a queen girt with all good people's love, you shall be fair and merry in all your days. is this so much for me to have of you? do but speak, sweet: i know these are no words a man should say though he were now to die, but i am as a child for love, and have no strength at heart; yea, i am afraid to die, for the harsh dust will lie upon my face too thick to see you past. look how i love you; i did so love you always, that your face seen through my sleep has wrung mine eyes to tears for pure delight in you. why do you thus? you answer not, but your lips curl in twain and your face moves; there, i shall make you weep and be a coward too; it were much best i should be slain. queen. yea, best such folk were slain; why should they live to cozen fools with lies? you would swear now you have used me faithfully; shall i not make you swear? i am ware of you: you will not do it; nay, for the fear of god you will not swear. come, i am merciful; god made a foolish woman, making me, and i have loved your mistress with whole heart; say you do love her, you shall marry her and she give thanks: yet i could wish your love had not so lightly chosen forth a face; for your fair sake, because i hate you not. chastelard. what is to say? why, you do surely know that since my days were counted for a man's i have loved you; yea, how past all help and sense, whatever thing was bitter to my love, i have loved you; how when i rode in war your face went floated in among men's helms, your voice went through the shriek of slipping swords; yea, and i never have loved women well, seeing always in my sight i had your lips curled over, red and sweet; and the soft space of carven brows, and splendor of great throat swayed lily-wise; what pleasure should one have to wind his arms about a lesser love? i have seen you; why, this were joy enough for god's eyes up in heaven, only to see and to come never nearer than i am. why, it was in my flesh, my bone and blood, bound in my brain, to love you; yea, and writ all my heart over: if i would lie to you i doubt i could not lie. ah, you see now, you know now well enough; yea, there, sweet love, let me kiss there. queen. i love you best of them. clasp me quite round till your lips cleave on mine, false mine, that did you wrong. forgive them dearly as you are sweet to them; for by love's love i am not that evil woman in my heart that laughs at a rent faith. o chastelard, since this was broken to me of your new love i have not seen the face of a sweet hour. nay, if there be no pardon in a man, what shall a woman have for loving him? pardon me, sweet. chastelard. yea, so i pardon you, and this side now; the first way. would god please to slay me so! who knows how he might please? now i am thinking, if you know it not, how i might kill you, kiss your breath clean out, and take your soul to bring mine through to god, that our two souls might close and be one twain or a twain one, and god himself want skill to set us either severally apart. o, you must overlive me many years. and many years my soul be in waste hell; but when some time god can no more refrain to lay death like a kiss across your lips, and great lords bear you clothed with funeral things, and your crown girded over deadly brows, then after you shall touch me with your eyes, remembering love was fellow with my flesh here in sweet earth, and make me well of love and heal my many years with piteousness. queen. you talk too sadly and too feignedly. chastelard. too sad, but not too feigned; i am sad that i shall die here without feigning thus; and without feigning i were fain to live. queen. alas, you will be taken presently and then you are but dead. pray you get hence. chastelard. i will not. queen. nay, for god's love be away; you will be slain and i get shame. god's mercy! you were stark mad to come here; kiss me, sweet. oh, i do love you more than all men! yea, take my lips to you, close mine eyes up fast, so you leave hold a little; there, for pity, abide now, and to-morrow come to me. nay, lest one see red kisses in my throat-- dear god! what shall i give you to be gone? chastelard. i will not go. look, here's full night grown up; why should i seek to sleep away from here? the place is soft and the lights burn for sleep; be not you moved; i shall lie well enough. queen. you are utterly undone. sweet, by my life, you shall be saved with taking ship at once. for if you stay this foolish love's hour out there is not ten days' likely life in you. this is no choice. chastelard. nay, for i will not go. queen. o me! this is that bayard's blood of yours that makes you mad; yea, and you shall not stay. i do not understand. mind, you must die. alas, poor lord, you have no sense of me; i shall be deadly to you. chastelard. yea, i saw that; but i saw not that when my death's day came you could be quite so sweet to me. queen. my love! if i could kiss my heart's root out on you you would taste love hid at the core of me. chastelard. kiss me twice more. this beautiful bowed head that has such hair with kissing ripples in and shivering soft eyelashes and brows with fluttered blood! but laugh a little, sweetly, that i may see your sad mouth's laughing look i have used sweet hours in seeing. o, will you weep? i pray you do not weep. queen. nay, dear, i have no tears in me; i never shall weep much, i think, in all my life; i have wept for wrath sometimes and for mere pain, but for love's pity i cannot weep at all. i would to god you loved me less; i give you all i can for all this love of yours, and yet i am sure i shall live out the sorrow of your death and be glad afterwards. you know i am sorry. i should weep now; forgive me for your part, god made me hard, i think. alas, you see i had fain been other than i am. chastelard. yea, love. comfort your heart. what way am i do die? queen. ah, will you go yet, sweet? chastelard. no, by god's body. you will not see? how shall i make you see? look, it may be love was a sort of curse made for my plague and mixed up with my days somewise in their beginning; or indeed a bitter birth begotten of sad stars at mine own body's birth, that heaven might make my life taste sharp where other men drank sweet; but whether in heavy body or broken soul, i know it must go on to be my death. there was the matter of my fate in me when i was fashioned first, and given such life as goes with a sad end; no fault but god's. yea, and for all this i am not penitent: you see i am perfect in these sins of mine, i have my sins writ in a book to read; now i shall die and be well done with this. but i am sure you cannot see such things, god knows i blame you not. queen. what shall be said? you know most well that i am sorrowful. but you should chide me. sweet, you have seen fair wars, have seen men slain and ridden red in them; why will you die a chamberer's death like this? what, shall no praise be written of my knight, for my fame's sake? chastelard. nay, no great praise, i think; i will no more; what should i do with death, though i died goodly out of sight of you? i have gone once: here am i set now, sweet, till the end come. that is your husband, hark, he knocks at the outer door. kiss me just once. you know now all you have to say. nay, love, let him come quickly. [enter darnley, and afterwards the maries.] darnley. yea, what thing is here? ay, this was what the doors shut fast upon-- ay, trust you to be fast at prayer, my sweet? by god i have a mind-- chastelard. what mind then, sir? a liar's lewd mind, to coin sins for jest, because you take me in such wise as this? look you, i have to die soon, and i swear, that am no liar but a free knight and lord, i shall die clear of any sin to you, save that i came for no good will of mine; i am no carle, i play fair games with faith, and by mine honor for my sake i swear i say but truth; for no man's sake save mine, lest i die shamed. madam, i pray you say i am no liar; you know me what i am, a sinful man and shortly to be slain, that in a simple insolence of love have stained with a fool's eyes your holy hours and with a fool's words put your pity out; nathless you know if i be liar or no, wherefore for god's sake give me grace to swear (yea, for mine too) how past all praise you are and stainless of all shame; and how all men lie, saying you are not most good and innocent, yea, the one thing good as god. darnley. o sir, we know you can swear well, being taken; you fair french dare swallow god's name for a lewd love-sake as it were water. nay, we know, we know; save your sweet breath now lest you lack it soon: we are simple, we; we have not heard of you. madam, by god you are well shamed in him: ay, trust you to be fingering in one's face, play with one's neck-chain? ah, your maiden's man, a relic of your people's! chastelard. hold your peace, or i will set an edge on your own lie shall scar yourself. madam, have out your guard; 't is time i were got hence. queen. sweet hamilton, hold you my hand and help me to sit down. o henry, i am beaten from my wits-- let me have time and live; call out my people-- bring forth some armed guard to lay hold on him: but see no man be slain. sirs, hide your swords; i will not have men slain. darnley. what, is this true? call the queen's people--help the queen there, you-- ho, sirs, come in. [enter some with the guard.] queen. lay hold upon that man; bear him away, but see he have no hurt. chastelard. into your hands i render up myself with a free heart; deal with me how you list, but courteously, i pray you. take my sword. farewell, great queen; the sweetness in your look makes life look bitter on me. farewell, sirs. [he is taken out.] darnley. yea, pluck him forth, and have him hanged by dawn; he shall find bed enow to sleep. god's love! that such a knave should be a knight like this! queen. sir, peace awhile; this shall be as i please; take patience to you. lords, i pray you see all be done goodly; look they wrong him not. carmichael, you shall sleep with me to-night; i am sorely shaken, even to the heart. fair lords, i thank you for your care. sweet, stay by me. end of the third act. act iv. murray. scene i.-the queen's lodging at st. andrew's. the queen and the four maries. queen. why will you break my heart with praying to me? you seyton, you carmichael, you have wits, you are not all run to tears; you do not think it is my wrath or will that whets this axe against his neck? mary seyton. nay, these three weeks agone i said the queen's wrath was not sharp enough to shear a neck. queen. sweet, and you did me right, and look you, what my mercy bears to fruit, danger and deadly speech and a fresh fault before the first was cool in people's lips; a goodly mercy: and i wash hands of it.-- speak you, there; have you ever found me sharp? you weep and whisper with sloped necks and heads like two sick birds; do you think shame of me? nay, i thank god none can think shame of me; but am i bitter, think you, to men's faults? i think i am too merciful, too meek: why if i could i would yet save this man; 't is just boy's madness; a soft stripe or two would do to scourge the fault in his french blood. i would fain let him go. you, hamilton, you have a heart thewed harder than my heart; when mine would threat it sighs, and wrath in it has a bird's flight and station, starves before it can well feed or fly; my pulse of wrath sounds tender as the running down of tears. you are the hardest woman i have known, your blood has frost and cruel gall in it, you hold men off with bitter lips and eyes-- such maidens should serve england; now, perfay, i doubt you would have got him slain at once. come, would you not? come, would you let him live? mary hamilton. yes-i think yes; i cannot tell; maybe i would have seen him punished. queen. look you now, there's maiden mercy; i would have him live-- for all my wifehood maybe i weep too; here's a mere maiden falls to slaying at once, small shrift for her; god keep us from such hearts! i am a queen too that would have him live, but one that has no wrong and is no queen, she would-what are you saying there, you twain? mary carmichael. i said a queen's face and so fair an one's would lose no grace for giving grace away; that gift comes back upon the mouth it left and makes it sweeter, and set fresh red on it. queen. this comes of sonnets when the dance draws breath; these talking times will make a dearth of grace. but you-what ails you that your lips are shut? weep, if you will; here are four friends of yours to weep as fast for pity of your tears. do you desire him dead? nay, but men say he was your friend, he fought them on your side, he made you songs-god knows what songs he made! speak you for him a little: will you not? mary beaton. madam, i have no words. queen. no words? no pity-- have you no mercies for such men? god help! it seems i am the meekest heart on earth-- yea, the one tender woman left alive, and knew it not. i will not let him live, for all my pity of him. mary beaton. nay, but, madam, for god's love look a little to this thing. if you do slay him you are but shamed to death; all men will cry upon you, women weep, turning your sweet name bitter with their tears; red shame grow up out of your memory and burn his face that would speak well of you: you shall have no good word nor pity, none, till some such end be fallen upon you: nay, i am but cold, i knew i had no words, i will keep silence. queen. yea now, as i live, i wist not of it: troth, he shall not die. see you, i am pitiful, compassionate, i would not have men slain for my love's sake, but if he live to do me three times wrong, why then my shame would grow up green and red like any flower. i am not whole at heart; in faith, i wot not what such things should be; i doubt it is but dangerous; he must die. mary beaton. yea, but you will not slay him. queen. swear me that, i'll say he shall not die for your oath's sake. what will you do for grief when he is dead? mary beaton. nothing for grief, but hold my peace and die. queen. why, for your sweet sake one might let him live; but the first fault was a green seed of shame, and now the flower, and deadly fruit will come with apple-time in autumn. by my life, i would they had slain him there in edinburgh; but i reprieve him; lo the thank i get, to set the base folk muttering like smoked bees of shame and love, and how love comes to shame, and the queen loves shame that comes of love; yet i say nought and go about my ways, and this mad fellow that i respited being forth and free, lo now the second time ye take him by my bed in wait. now see if i can get good-will to pardon him; with what a face may i crave leave of men to respite him, being young and a good knight and mad for perfect love? shall i go say, dear lords, because ye took him shamefully, let him not die; because his fault is foul, let him not die; because if he do live i shall be held a harlot of all men, i pray you, sweet sirs, that he may not die? mary beaton. madam, for me i would not have him live; mine own heart's life was ended with my fame, and my life's breath will shortly follow them; so that i care not much; for you wot well i have lost love and shame and fame and all to no good end; nor while he had his life have i got good of him that was my love, save that for courtesy (which may god quit) he kissed me once as one might kiss for love out of great pity for me; saving this, he never did me grace in all his life. and when you have slain him, madam, it may be i shall get grace of him in some new way in a new place, if god have care of us. queen. bid you my brother to me presently. [exeunt maries.] and yet the thing is pitiful; i would there were some way. to send him overseas, out past the long firths to the cold keen sea where the sharp sound is that one hears up here-- or hold him in strong prison till he died-- he would die shortly--or to set him free and use him softly till his brains were healed-- there is no way. now never while i live shall we twain love together any more nor sit at rhyme as we were used to do, nor each kiss other only with the eyes a great way off ere hand or lip could reach; there is no way. [enter murray.] o, you are welcome, sir; you know what need i have; but i praise heaven, having such need, i have such help of you. i do believe no queen god ever made was better holpen than i look to be. what, if two brethren love not heartily, who shall be good to either one of them? murray. madam, i have great joy of your good will. queen. i pray you, brother, use no courtesies: i have some fear you will not suffer me when i shall speak. fear is a fool, i think, yet hath he wit enow to fool my wits, being but a woman's. do not answer me till you shall know; yet if you have a word i shall be fain to heart it; but i think there is no word to help me; no man's word: there be two things yet that should do me good, a speeding arm and a great heart. my lord, i am soft-spirited as women are, and ye wot well i have no harder heart: yea, with all my will i would not slay a thing, but all should live right sweetly if i might; so that man's blood-spilling lies hard on me. i have a work yet for mine honor's sake, a thing to do, god wot i know not how, nor how to crave it of you: nay, by heaven, i will not shame myself to show it you: i have not heart. murray. why, if it may be done with any honor, or with good men's excuse, i shall well do it. queen. i would i wist that well. sir, do you love me? murray. yea, you know i do. queen. in faith, you should well love me, for i love the least man in your following for your sake with a whole sister's heart. murray. speak simply, madam; i must obey you, being your bounden man. queen. sir, so it is you know what things have been, even to the endangering of mine innocent name, and by no fault, but by men's evil will; if chastelard have trial openly, i am but shamed. murray. this were a wound indeed, if your good name should lie upon his lip. queen. i will the judges put him not to plead, for my fame's sake; he shall not answer them. murray. what, think you he will speak against your fame? queen. i know not; men might feign belief of him for hate of me; it may be he will speak; in brief, i will not have him held to proof. murray. well, if this be, what good is to be done? queen. is there no way but he must speak to them, being had to trial plainly? murray. i think, none. queen. now mark, my lord; i swear he will not speak. murray. it were the best if you could make that sure. queen. there is one way. look, sir, he shall not do it: shall not, or will not, either is one way; i speak as i would have you understand. murray. let me not guess at you; speak certainly. queen. you will not mind me: let him be removed; take means to get me surety; there be means. murray. so, in your mind, i have to slay the man? queen. is there a mean for me to save the man? murray. truly i see no mean except your love. queen. what love is that, my lord? what think you of, talking of love and of love's mean in me and of your guesses and of slaying him? why, i say nought, have nought to say: god help me! i bid you but take surety of the man, get him removed. murray. come, come, be clear with me; you bid me to despatch him privily. queen. god send me sufferance! i bid you, sir? nay, do not go; what matter if i did? nathless i never bade you; no, by god. be not so wroth; you are my brother born; why do you dwell upon me with such eyes? for love of god you should not bear me hard. murray. what, are you made of flesh? queen. o, now i see you had rather lose your wits to do me harm than keep sound wits to help me. murray. it is right strange; the worst man living hath some fear, some love, holds somewhat dear a little for life's sake, keeps fast to some compassion; you have none; you know of nothing that remembrance knows to make you tender. i must slay the man? nay, i will do it. queen. do, if you be not mad. i am sorry for him; and he must needs die. i would i were assured you hate me not: i have no heart to slay him by my will. i pray you think not bitterly of me. murray. is it your pleasure such a thing were done? queen. yea, by god's body is it, certainly. murray. nay, for your love then, and for honor's sake, this thing must be. queen. yea, should i set you on? even for my love then, i beseech you, sir, to seek him out, and lest he prate of me to put your knife into him ere he come forth: meseems this were not such wild work to do. murray. i'll have him in the prison taken off. queen. i am bounden to you, even for my name's sake, when that is done. murray. i pray you fear me not. farewell. i would such things were not to do, or not for me; yea, not for any man. [exit.] queen. alas, what honor have i to give thanks? i would he had denied me: i had held my peace thenceforth forever; but he wrung out the word, caught it before my lip, was fain of it-- it was his fault to put it in my mind, yea, and to feign a loathing of his fault. now is he about devising my love's death, and nothing loth. nay, since he must needs die, would he were dead and come alive again and i might keep him safe. he doth live now and i may do what love i will to him; but by to-morrow he will be stark dead, stark slain and dead; and for no sort of love will he so much as kiss me half a kiss. were this to do i would not do it again. [reenter murray.] what, have you taken order? is it done? it were impossible to do so soon. nay, answer me. murray. madam, i will not do it. queen. how did you say? i pray, sir, speak again: i know not what you said. murray. i say i will not; i have thought thereof, and have made up my heart to have no part in this: look you to it. queen. o, for god's sake! you will not have me shamed? murray. i will not dip my hand into your sin. queen. it were a good deed to deliver me; i am but a woman, of one blood with you, a feeble woman; put me not to shame; i pray you of your pity do me right. yea, and no fleck of blood shall cleave to you for a just deed. murray. i know not; i will none. queen. o, you will never let him speak to them to put me in such shame? why, i should die out of pure shame and mine own burning blood; yea, my face feels the shame lay hold on it, i am half burnt already in my thought; take pity of me. think how shame slays a man; how shall i live then? would you have me dead? i pray you for our dead dear father's sake, let not men mock at me. nay, if he speak, i shall be sung in mine own towns. have pity. what, will you let men stone me in the ways? murray. madam, i shall take pains the best i may to save your honor, and what thing lieth in me that will i do, but no close manslayings. i will not have god's judgment gripe my throat when i am dead, to hale me into hell for a man's sake slain on this wise. take heed. see you to that. [exit.] queen. one of you maidens there bid my lord hither. now by mary's soul, he shall not die and bring me into shame. there's treason in you like a fever, hot, my holy-natured brother, cheek and eye; you look red through with it: sick, honor-sick, specked with the blain of treason, leper-like-- a scrupulous fair traitor with clean lips-- if one should sue to hell to do him good he were as brotherly holpen as i am. this man must live and say no harm of me; i may reprieve and cast him forth; yea, so-- this were the best; or if he die midway-- yea, anything, so that he die not here. [to the maries within.] fetch hither darnley. nay, ye gape on me-- what, doth he sleep, or feeds, or plays at games? why, i would see him; i am weary for his sake; bid my lord in.-nathless he will but chide; nay, fleer and laugh: what should one say to him? there were some word if one could hit on it; some way to close with him: i wot not.-sir, [enter darnley.] please it your love i have a suit to you. darnley. what sort of suit? queen. nay, if you be not friends-- i have no suit towards mine enemies. darnley. eh, do i look now like your enemy? queen. you have a way of peering under brow i do not like. if you see anything in me that irks you i will painfully labor to lose it: do but show me favor, and as i am your faithful humble wife this foolishness shall be removed in me. darnley. why do you laugh and mock me with stretched hands? faith, i see no such thing. queen. that is well seen. come, i will take my heart between my lips, use it not hardly. sir, my suit begins; that you would please to make me that i am, (in sooth i think i am) mistress and queen of mine own people. darnley. why, this is no suit; this is a simple matter, and your own. queen. it was, before god made you king of me. darnley. no king, by god's grace; were i such a king i'd sell my kingdom for six roods of rye. queen. you are too sharp upon my words; i would have leave of you to free a man condemned. darnley. what man is that, sweet? queen. such a mad poor man as god desires us use not cruelly. darnley. is there no name a man may call him by? queen. nay, my fair master, what fair game is this? why, you do know him, it is chastelard. darnley. ay, is it soothly? queen. by my life, it is; sweet, as you tender me, so pardon him. darnley. as he doth tender you, so pardon me; for if it were the mean to save my life he should not live a day. queen. nay, shall not he? darnley. look what an evil wit old fortune hath: why, i came here to get his time cut off. this second fault is meat for lewd men's mouths; you were best have him slain at once: 'tis hot. queen. give me the warrant, and sit down, my lord. why, i will sign it; what, i understand how this must be. should not my name stand here? darnley. yea, there, and here the seal. queen. ay, so you say. shall i say too what i am thinking of? darnley. do, if you will. queen. i do not like your suit. darnley. 'tis of no frenchman fashion. queen. no, god wot; 'tis nowise great men's fashion in french land to clap a headsman's taberd on their backs. darnley. no, madam? queen. no; i never wist of that. is it a month gone i did call you lord? i chose you by no straying stroke of sight, but with my heart to love you heartily. did i wrong then? did mine eye draw my heart? i know not; sir, it may be i did wrong: and yet to love you; and would choose again, against to choose you. darnley. there, i love you too; take that for sooth, and let me take this hence. queen. o, do you think i hold you off with words? why, take it then; there is my handwriting, and here the hand that you shall slay him with. 'tis a fair hand, a maiden-colored one: i doubt yet it has never slain a man. you never fought yet save for game, i wis. nay, thank me not, but have it from my sight; go and make haste for fear he be got forth: it may be such a man is dangerous; who knows what friends he hath? and by my faith i doubt he hath seen some fighting, i do fear he hath fought and shed men's blood; ye are wise men that will not leave such dangerous things alive; 't were well he died the sooner for your sakes. pray you make haste; it is not fit he live. darnley. what, will you let him die so easily? queen. why, god have mercy! what way should one take to please such people? there's some cunning way, something i miss, out of my simple soul. what, must one say "beseech you do no harm," or "for my love, sweet cousins, be not hard," or "let him live but till the vane come round"-- will such things please you? well then, have your way; sir, i desire you, kneeling down with tears, with sighs and tears, fair sir, require of you, considering of my love i bear this man, just for my love's sake let him not be hanged before the sundown; do thus much for me, to have a queen's prayers follow after you. darnley. i know no need for you to gibe at me. queen. alack, what heart then shall i have to jest? there is no woman jests in such a wise-- for the shame's sake i pray you hang him not, seeing how i love him, save indeed in silk, sweet twisted silk of my sad handiwork. nay, and you will not do so much for me; you vex your lip, biting the blood and all: were this so hard, and you compassionate? i am in sore case then, and will weep indeed. darnley. what do you mean to cast such gibes at me? queen. woe's me, and will you turn my tears to thorns? nay, set your eyes a little in my face; see, do i weep? what will you make of me? will you not swear i love this prisoner? ye are wise, and ye will have it; yet for me i wist not of it. we are but feeble fools, and love may catch us when we lie asleep and yet god knows we know not this a whit. come, look on me, swear you believe it not: it may be i will take your word for that. darnley. do you not love him? nay, but verily? queen. now then, make answer to me verily, which of us twain is wiser? for my part i will not swear i love not, if you will; ye be wise men and many men, my lords, and ye will have me love him, ye will swear that i do love him; who shall say ye lie? look on your paper; maybe i have wept: doubtless i love your hanged man in my heart. what, is the writing smutched or gone awry? or blurred-ay, surely so much-with one tear, one little sharp tear strayed on it by chance? come, come, the man is deadly dangerous; let him die presently. darnley. you do not love him; well, yet he need not die; it were right hard to hang the fool because you love him not. queen. you have keen wits and thereto courtesy to catch me with. no, let this man not die; it were no such perpetual praise to you to be his doomsman and in doglike wise bite his brief life in twain. darnley. truly it were not. queen. then for your honor and my love of you (oh, i do love you! but you know not, sweet, you shall see how much), think you for their sake he may go free? darnley. how, freely forth of us? but yet he loves you, and being mad with love makes matter for base mouths to chew upon: 't were best he live not yet. queen. will you say that? darnley. why should he live to breed you bad reports? let him die first. queen. sweet, for your sake, not so. darnley. fret not yourself to pity; let him die. queen. come, let him live a little; it shall be a grace to us. darnley. by god he dies at once. queen. now, by god's mother, if i respite him, though you were all the race of you in one and had more tongues than hairs to cry on me he should not lose a hair. darnley. this is mere mercy-- but you thank god you love him not a whit? queen. it shall be what it please; and if i please it shall be anything. give me the warrant. darnley. nay, for your sake and love of you, not i, to make it dangerous. queen. o, god' pity, sir! you are tender of me; will you serve me so, against mine own will, show me so much love, do me good service that i loath being done, out of pure pity? darnley. nay, your word shall stand. queen. what makes you gape so beastlike after blood? were you not bred up on some hangman's hire and dicted with fleshmeats at his hand and fed into a fool? give me that paper. darnley. now for that word i will not. queen. nay, sweet love, for your own sake be just a little wise; come, i beseech you. darnley. pluck not at my hands. queen. no, that i will not: i am brain-broken, mad; pity my madness for sweet marriage-sake and my great love's; i love you to say this; i would not have you cross me, out of love. but for true love should i not chafe indeed? and now i do not. darnley. yea, and late you chid, you chafed and jested and blew soft and hard-- no, for that "fool" you shall not fool me so. queen. you are no churl, sweet, will you see me weep? look, i weep now; be friends with my poor tears, think each of them beseeches you of love and hath some tongue to cry on you for love and speak soft things; for that which loves not you is none of mine, not though they grow of grief and grief of you; be not too hard with them. you would not of your own heart slay a man; nay, if you will, in god's name make me weep, i will not hate you; but at heart, sweet lord, be not at heart my sweet heart's enemy. if i had many mighty men to friend i would not plead too lovingly with you to have your love. darnley. why, yet you have my love. queen. alas, what shall mine enemies do to me if he be used so hardly of my friends? come, sir, you hate me; yet for all your hate you cannot have such heart. darnley. what sort of heart? i have no heart to be used shamefully if you mean that. queen. would god i loved you not; you are too hard to be used lovingly. darnley. you are moved too much for such a little love as you bear me. queen. god knows you do me wrong; god knows the heart, sweet, that i love you with. hark you, fair sir, i'd have all well with you; do you not fear at sick men's time of night what end may come? are you so sure of heart? is not your spirit surprisable in sleep? have you no evil dreams? nay, look you, love, i will not be flung off you heart and hand, i am no snake: but tell me for your love have you no fancies how these things will end in the pit's mouth? how all life-deeds will look at the grave's edge that lets men into hell? for my part, who am weak and woman-eyed, it turns my soul tears: i doubt this blood fallen on our faces when we twain are dead will scar and burn them: yea, for heaven is sweet, and loves sweet deeds that smell not of split blood. let us not kill: god that made mercy first pities the pitiful for their deed's sake. darnley. get you some painting; with a cheek like this you'll find no faith in listeners. queen. how, fair lord? darnley. i say that looking with this face of yours none shall believe you holy; what, you talk, take mercy in your mouth, eat holiness, put god under your tongue and feed on heaven, with fear and faith and-faith, i know not what-- and look as though you stood and saw men slain to make you game and laughter; nay, your eyes threaten as unto blood. what will you do to make men take your sweet word? pitiful-- you are pitiful as he that's hired for death and loves the slaying yet better than the hire. queen. you are wise that live to threat and tell me so; do you love life too much? darnley. o, now you are sweet, right tender now: you love not blood nor death, you are too tender. queen. yea, too weak, too soft: sweet, do not mock me, for my love's sake; see how soft a thing i am. will you be hard? the heart you have, has it no sort of fear? darnley. take off your hand and let me go my way and do the deed, and when the doing is past i will come home and teach you tender things out of my love till you forget my wrath. i will be angry when i see good need, and will grow gentle after, fear not that: you shall get no wrong of my wrongdoing. so i take leave. queen. take what you will; take all; you have taken half my heart away with words: take all i have, and take no leave; i have no leave to give: yea, shortly shall lack leave, i think, to live; but i crave none of you; i would have none: yet for the love i have, if i get ever a man to show it you, i pray god put you some day in my hand that you may take that too. darnley. well, as he please; god keep you in such love; and so farewell. [exit.] queen. so fare i as your lover, but not well.-- ah sweet, if god be ever good to me to put you in my hand! i am come to shame; let me think now, and let my wits not go; god, for dear mercy, let me not forget why i should be so angry; the dull blood beats at my face and blinds me-i am chafted to death, and i am shamed; i shall go mad and die. truly i think i did kneel down, did pray, yea, weep (who knows?) it may be-all for that. yea, if i wept not, this was blood brake forth and burnt mine eyelids; i will have blood back, and wash them cool in the hottest of his heart, or i will slay myself: i cannot tell: i have given gold for brass, and lo the pay cleaves to my fingers: there's no way to mend-- not while life stays: would god that it were gone! the fool will feed upon my fame and laugh; till one seal up his tongue and lips with blood, he carries half my honor and good name between his teeth. lord god, mine head will fail! when have i done thus since i was alive? and these ill times will deal but ill with me-- my old love slain, and never a new to help, and my wits gone, and my blithe use of life, and all the grace was with me. love-perchance if i save love i shall well save myself. i could find heart to bid him take such fellows and kill them to my hand. i was the fool to sue to these and shame myself: god knows i was a queen born, i will hold their heads here in my hands for this. which of you waits? [enter mary beaton and mary carmichael.] no maiden of them?-what, no more than this? mary carmichael. madam, the lady seyton is gone forth; she is ill at heart with watching. queen. ay, at heart-- all girls must have such tender sides to the heart they break for one night's watching, ache to death for an hour's pity, for a half-hour's love-- wear out before the watches, die by dawn, and ride at noon to burial. god's my pity! where's hamilton? doth she ail too? at heart, i warrant her at heart. mary beaton. i know not, madam. queen. what, sick or dead? i am well holpen of you: come hither to me. what pale blood you have-- is it for fear you turn such cheeks to me? why, if i were so loving, by my hand, i would have set my head upon the chance, and loosed him though i died. what will you do? have you no way? mary beaton. none but your mercy. queen. ay? why then the thing is piteous. think, for god's sake-- is there no loving way to fetch him forth? nay, what a white thin-blooded thing is love, to help no more than this doth! were i in love, i would unbar the ways to-night and then laugh death to death to-morrow, mock him dead; i think you love well with one half your heart, and let fear keep the other. hark you now, you said there was some friend durst break my bars-- some scotch name--faith, as if i wist of it! ye have such heavy wits to help one with-- some man that had some mean to save him by-- tush, i must be at pains for you! mary beaton. nay, madam, it were no boot; he will not be let forth. queen. i say, the name. o, robert erskine-yea, a fellow of some heart: what saith he? mary beaton. madam, the thing was sound all through, yea, all went well, but for all prayers that we could make to him he would not fly: we cannot get him forth. queen. great god! that men should have such wits as this! i have a mind to let him die for that; and yet i wot not. said he, he loathed his life? mary beaton. he says your grace given would scathe yourself, and little grace for such a grace as that be with the little of his life he kept to cast off some time more unworthily. queen. god help me! what should wise folk do with him? these men be weaker-witted than mere fools when they fall mad once; yet by mary's soul i am sorrier for him than for men right wise. god wot a fool that were more wise than he would love me something worse than chastelard, ay, and his own soul better. do you think (there's no such other sort of fool alive) that he may live? mary beaton. yea, by god's mercy, madam, to your great praise and honor from all men if you should keep him living. queen. by god's light, i have good will to do it. are you sure, if i would pack him with a pardon hence, he would speak well of me-not hint and halt, smile and look back, sigh and say love runs out, but times have been-with some loose laugh cut short, bit off at lip-eh? mary beaton. no, by heaven he would not. queen. you know how quickly one may be belied-- faith, you should know it-i never thought the worst, one may touch love and come with clean hands off-- but you should know it. what, he will not fly-- not though i wink myself asleep, turn blind-- which that i will i say not? mary beaton. nay, not he; we had good hope to bring him well aboard, let him slip safe down by the firths to sea, out under leith by night-setting, and thence take ship for france and serve there out of sight in the new wars. queen. ay, in the new french wars-- you wist thereof too, madam, with good leave-- a goodly bait to catch mine honor with and let me wake up with my name bit through. i had been much bounden to you twain, methinks, but for my knight's sake and his love's; by god, he shall not die in god's despite nor mine. call in our chief lords; bid one see to it: ay, and make haste. [exeunt mary beaton and mary carmichael.] now shall i try their teeth: i have done with fear; now nothing but pure love and power and pity shall have part in me; i will not throw them such a spirit in flesh to make their prey on. though he be mad indeed, it is the goodliest madness ever smote upon man's heart. a kingly knight-in faith, meseems my face can yet make faith in men and break their brains with beauty: for a word, an eyelid's twitch, an eye's turn, tie them fast and make their souls cleave to me. god be thanked, this air has not yet curdled all the blood that went to make me fair. an hour agone, i thought i had been forgotten of men's love more than dead women's faces are forgot of after lovers. all men are not of earth: for all the frost of fools and this cold land there be some yet catch fever of my face and burning for mine eyes' sake. i did think my time was gone when men would dance to death as to a music, and lie laughing down in the grave and take their funerals for their feasts, to get one kiss of me. i have some strength yet, though i lack power on men that lack men's blood. yea, and god wot i will be merciful; for all the foolish hardness round my heart that tender women miss of to their praise, they shall not say but i had grace to give even for love's sake. why, let them take their way: what ails it them though i be soft or hard? soft hearts would weep and weep and let men die for very mercy and sweet-heartedness; i that weep little for my pity's sake, i have the grace to save men. let fame go-- i care not much what shall become of fame, so i save love and do mine own soul right; i'll have my mercy help me to revenge on all the crew of them. how will he look, having my pardon! i shall have sweet thanks and love of good men for my mercy's love-- yea, and be quit of these i hate to death, with one good deed. [enter the maries.] mary beaton. madam, the lords are here. queen. stand you about me, i will speak to them. i would the whole world stood up in my face and heard what i shall say. bid them come in. [enter murray, randolph, morton, lindsay, and other lords.] hear you, fair lords, i have a word to you; there is one thing i would fain understand-- if i be queen or no; for by my life methinks i am growing unqueenly. no man speak? pray you take note, sweet lord ambassador, i am no queen: i never was born queen; alack, that one should fool us in this wise! take up my crown, sir, i will none of it till it hath bells on as a fool's cap hath. nay, who will have it? no man take it up? was there none worthy to be shamed but i? here are enow good faces, good to crown; will you be king, fair brother? or you, my lord? give me a spinner's curch, a wisp of reed, any mean thing; but, god's love, no more gold, and no more shame: let boys throw dice for it, or cast it to the grooms for tennis-play, for i will none. murray. what would your highness have? queen. yea, yea, i said i was no majesty; i shall be shortly fallen out of grace. what would i have? i would have leave to live; perchance i shall not shortly: nay, for me that have no leave to respite other lives to keep mine own life were small praise enow. murray. your majesty hath power to respite men, as we well wot; no man saith otherwise. queen. what, is this true? 't is a thing wonderful-- so great i cannot be well sure of it. strange that a queen should find such grace as this at such lords' hands as ye be, such great lords: i pray you let me get assured again, lest i take jest for truth and shame myself and make you mirth: to make your mirth of me, god wot it were small pains to you, my lords, but much less honor. i may send reprieve-- with your sweet leaves i may? murray. assuredly. queen. lo, now, what grace is this i have of you! i had a will to respite chastelard, and would not do it for very fear of you: look you, i wist not ye were merciful. morton. madam-- queen. my lord, you have a word to me? doth it displease you such a man should live? morton. 't were a mad mercy in your majesty to lay no hand upon his second fault and let him thrice offend you. queen. ay, my lord? morton. it were well done to muffle lewd men's mouths by casting of his head into their laps: it were much best. queen. yea, truly were it so? but if i will not, yet i will not, sir, for all the mouths in scotland. now, by heaven, as i am pleased he shall not die but live, so shall ye be. there is no man shall die, except it please me; and no man shall say, except it please me, if i do ill or well. which of you now will set his will to mine? not you, nor you i think, nor none of you, nor no man living that loves living well. let one stand forth and smite me with his hand, wring my crown off and cast it underfoot, and he shall get my respite back of me, and no man else: he shall bid live or die, and no man else; and he shall be my lord, and no man else. what, will not one be king? will not one here lay hold upon my state? i am queen of you for all things come and gone. nay, my chief lady, and no meaner one, the chiefest of my maidens, shall bear this and give it to my prisoner for a grace; who shall deny me? who shall do me wrong? bear greeting to the lord of chastelard, and this withal for respite of his life, for by my head he shall die no such way: nay, sweet, no words, but hence and back again. [exit mary beaton.] farewell, dear lords; ye have shown grace to me, and some time i will thank you as i may; till when think well of me and what is done. end of the fourth act. act v. chastelard. scene i.-before holyrood. a crowd of people; among them soldiers, burgesses, a preacher, &c. st citizen. they are not out yet. have you seen the man? what manner of man? d citizen. shall he be hanged or no? there was a fellow hanged some three days gone wept the whole way: think you this man shall die in better sort, now? st citizen. eh, these shawm-players that walk before strange women and make songs! how should they die well? d citizen. is it sooth men say our dame was wont to kiss him on the face in lewd folk's sight? st citizen. yea, saith one, all day long he used to sit and jangle words in rhyme to suit with shakes of faint adulterous sound some french lust in men's ears; she made songs too, soft things to feed sin's amorous mouth upon-- delicate sounds for dancing at in hell. th citizen. is it priest black that he shall have by him when they do come? d citizen. ah! by god's leave, not so; if the knave show us his peeled onion's head and that damned flagging jowl of his-- d citizen. nay, sirs, take heed of words; moreover, please it you, this man hath no pope's part in him. d citizen. i say that if priest whore's friend with the lewd thief's cheek show his foul blinking face to shame all ours, it goes back fouler; well, one day hell's fire will burn him black indeed. a woman. what kind of man? 't is yet great pity of him if he be goodly enow for this queen's paramour. a french lord overseas? what doth he here, with scotch folk here? st citizen. fair mistress, i think well he doth so at some times that i were fain to do as well. the woman. nay, then he will not die. st citizen. why, see you, if one eat a piece of bread baked as it were a certain prophet's way, not upon coals, now--you shall apprehend-- if defiled bread be given a man to eat, being thrust into his mouth, why he shall eat, and with good hap shall eat; but if now, say, one steal this, bread and beastliness and all, when scarcely for pure hunger flesh and bone cleave one to other--why, if he steal to eat, be it even the filthiest feeding-though the man be famine-flayed of flesh and skin, i say he shall be hanged. d citizen. nay, stolen said you, sir? see, god bade eat abominable bread, and freely was it eaten--for a sign this, for a sign--and doubtless as did god, so may the devil; bid one eat freely and live, not for a sign. d citizen. will you think thus of her? but wherefore should they get this fellow slain if he be clear toward her? d citizen. sir, one must see the day comes when a woman sheds her sin as a bird moults; and she being shifted so, the old mate of her old feather pecks at her to get the right bird back; then she being stronger picks out his eyes-eh? d citizen. like enough to be; but if it be--is not one preaching there with certain folk about him? st citizen. yea, the same who preached a month since from ezekiel concerning these twain-this our queen that is and her that was, and is not now so much as queen over hell's worm. d citizen. ay, said he not, this was aholah, the first one of these, called sisters only for a type--being twain, twain maries, no whit nazarine? the first bred out of egypt like the water-worm with sides in wet green places baked with slime and festered flesh that steams against the sun; a plague among all people, and a type set as a flake upon a leper's fell. st citizen. yea, said he, and unto her the men went in, the men of pharaoh's, beautiful with red and with red gold, fair foreign-footed men, the bountiful fair men, the courteous men, the delicate men with delicate feet, that went curling their small beards agag-fashion, yea pruning their mouths to nibble words behind with pecking at god's skirts-small broken oaths fretted to shreds between most dainty lips, and underbreath some praise of ashtaroth sighed laughingly. d citizen. was he not under guard for the good word? st citizen. yea, but now forth again.-- and of the latter said he--there being two, the first aholah, which interpreted-- d citizen. but, of this latter? st citizen. well, of her he said how she made letters for chaldean folk and men that came forth of the wilderness and all her sister's chosen men; yea, she kept not her lip from any sin of hers but multiplied in whoredoms toward all these that hate god mightily; for these, he saith, these are the fair french people, and these her kin sought out of england with her love-letters to bring them to her kiss of love; and thus with a prayer made that god would break such love ended some while; then crying out for strong wrath spake with a great voice after: this is she, yea the lewd woman, yea the same woman that gat bruised breasts in egypt, when strange men swart from great suns, foot-burnt with angry soils and strewn with sand of gaunt chaldean miles, poured all their love upon her: she shall drink the lord's cup of derision that is filled with drunkenness and sorrow, great of sides and deep to drink in till the dreg drips out: yea, and herself with the twain shards thereof pluck off her breasts; so said he. th citizen. see that stir-- are not they come? d citizen. there wants an hour of them. draw near and let us hearken; he will speak surely some word of this. d citizen. what saith he now? the preacher. the mercy of a harlot is a sword; and her mouth sharper than a flame of fire. scene ii.--in prison. chastelard. so here my time shuts up; and the last light has made the last shade in the world for me. the sunbeam that was narrow like a leaf has turned a hand, and the hand stretched to an arm, and the arm has reached the dust on the floor, and made a maze of motes with paddling fingers. well, i knew now that a man so sure to die could care so little; a bride-night's lustiness leaps in my veins as light fire under a wind: as if i felt a kindling beyond death of some new joys far outside of me yet; sweet sound, sweet smell and touch of things far out sure to come soon. i wonder will death be even all it seems now? or the talk of hell and wretched changes of the worn-out soul nailed to decaying flesh, shall that be true? or is this like the forethought of deep sleep felt by a tired man? sleep were good enough-- shall sleep be all? but i shall not forget for any sleep this love bound upon me-- for any sleep or quiet ways of death. ah, in my weary dusty space of sight her face will float with heavy scents of hair and fire of subtle amorous eyes, and lips more hot than wine, full of sweet wicked words babbled against mine own lips, and long hands spread out, and pale bright throat and pale bright breasts, fit to make all men mad. i do believe this fire shall never quite burn out to the ash and leave no heat and flame upon my dust for witness where a man's heart was burnt up. for all christ's work this venus is not quelled, but reddens at the mouth with blood of men, sucking between small teeth the sap o' the veins, dabbling with death her little tender lips-- a bitter beauty, poisonous-pearled mouth. i am not fit to live but for love's sake, so i were best die shortly. ah, fair love, fair fearful venus made of deadly foam, i shall escape you somehow with my death-- your splendid supple body and mouth on fire and paphian breath that bites the lips with heat. i had best die. [enter mary beaton.] what, is my death's time come, and you the friend to make death kind to me? 't is sweetly done; for i was sick for this. mary beaton. nay, but see here; nay, for you shall not die: she has reprieved you; look, her name to that, a present respite; i was sure of her: you are quite safe: here, take it in your hands: i am faint with the end of pain. read there. chastelard. reprieve? wherefore reprieve? who has done this to me? mary beaton. i never feared but god would have you live, or i knew well god must have punished me; but i feared nothing, had no sort of fear. what makes you stare upon the seal so hard? will you not read now? chastelard. a reprieve of life-- reprieving me from living. nay, by god, i count one death a bitter thing enough. mary beaton. see what she writes; you love; for love of you; out of her love; a word to save your life: but i knew this too though you love me not: she is your love; i knew that: yea, by heaven. chastelard. you knew i had to live and be reprieved: say i were bent to die now? mary beaton. do not die, for her sweet love's sake; not for pity of me, you would not bear with life for me one hour; but for hers only. chastelard. nay, i love you well, i would not hurt you for more lives than one. but for this fair-faced paper of reprieve, we'll have no riddling to make death shift sides: look, here ends one of us. [tearing it.] for her i love, she will not anger heaven with slaying me; for me, i am well quit of loving her; for you, i pray you be well comforted, seeing in my life no man gat good by me and by my death no hurt is any man's. mary beaton. and i that loved you? nay, i loved you; nay, why should your like be pitied when they love? her hard heart is not yet so hard as yours, nor god's hard heart. i care not if you die. these bitter madmen are not fit to live. i will not have you touch me, speak to me, nor take farewell of you. see you die well, or death will play with shame for you, and win, and laugh you out of life. i am right glad i never am to see you any more, for i should come to hate you easily; i would not have you live. [exit.] chastelard. she has cause enow. i would this wretched waiting had an end, for i wax feebler than i was: god knows i had a mind once to have saved this flesh and made life one with shame. it marvels me this girl that loves me should desire so much to have me sleep with shame for bedfellow a whole life's space; she would be glad to die to escape such life. it may be too her love is but an amorous quarrel with herself, not love of me but her own wilful soul; then she will live and be more glad of this than girls of their own will and their heart's love before love mars them: so god go with her! for mine own love-i wonder will she come sad at her mouth a little, with drawn cheeks and eyelids wrinkled up? or hot and quick to lean her head on mine and leave her lips deep in my neck? for surely she must come; and i should fare the better to be sure what she will do. but as it please my sweet; for some sweet thing she must do if she come, seeing how i have to die. now three years since this had not seemed so good an end for me; but in some wise all things wear round betimes and wind up well. yet doubtless she might take a will to come my way and hold my hands and kiss me some three kisses, throat, mouth, eyes, and say some soft three words to soften death: i do not see how this should break her ease. nay, she will come to get her warrant back: by this no doubt she is sorely penitent, her fit of angry mercy well blown out and her wits cool again. she must have chafed a great while through for anger to become so like pure pity; they must have fretted her night mad for anger: or it may be mistrust, she is so false; yea, to my death i think she will not trust me; alas the hard sweet heart! as if my lips could hurt her any way but by too keenly kissing of her own. ah false poor sweet fair lips that keep no faith, they shall not catch mine false or dangerous; they must needs kiss me one good time, albeit they love me not at all. lo, here she comes, for the blood leaps and catches at my face; there go her feet and tread upon my heart; now shall i see what way i am to die. [enter the queen.] queen. what, is one here? speak to me for god's sake: where are you lain? chastelard. here, madam, at your hand. queen. sweet lord, what sore pain have i had for you and been most patient!--nay, you are not bound. if you be gentle to me, take my hand. do you not hold me the worst heart in the world? nay, you must needs; but say not yet you do. i am worn so weak i know not how i live: reach me your hand. chastelard. take comfort and good heart; all will find end; this is some grief to you, but you shall overlive it. come, fair love; be of fair cheer: i say you have done no wrong. queen. i will not be of cheer: i have done a thing that will turn fire and burn me. tell me not; if you will do me comfort, whet your sword. but if you hate me, tell me of soft things, for i hate these, and bitterly. look up; am i not mortal to be gazed upon? chastelard. yea, mortal, and not hateful. queen. o lost heart! give me some mean to die by. chastelard. sweet, enough. you have made no fault; life is not worth a world that you should weep to take it: would mine were, and i might give you a world-worthier gift than one poor head that love has made a spoil; take it for jest, and weep not: let me go, and think i died of chance or malady. nay, i die well; one dies not best abed. queen. my warrant to reprieve you--that you saw? that came between your hands? chastelard. yea, not long since. it seems you have no will to let me die. queen. alas, you know i wrote it with my heart, out of pure love; and since you were in bonds i have had such grief for love's sake and my heart's-- yea, by my life i have--i could not choose but give love way a little. take my hand; you know it would have pricked my heart's blood out to write reprieve with. chastelard. sweet, your hands are kind; lay them about my neck, upon my face, and tell me not of writing. queen. nay, by heaven, i would have given you mine own blood to drink if that could heal you of your soul-sickness. yea, they know that, they curse me for your sake, rail at my love--would god their heads were lopped and we twain left together this side death! but look you, sweet, if this my warrant hold you are but dead and shamed; for you must die, and they will slay you shamefully by force even in my sight. chastelard. faith, i think so they will. queen. nay, they would slay me too, cast stones at me, drag me alive--they have eaten poisonous words, they are mad and have no shame. chastelard. ay, like enough. queen. would god my heart were greater; but god wot i have no heart to bear with fear and die. yea, and i cannot help you: or i know i should be nobler, bear a better heart: but as this stands--i pray you for good love, as you hold honor a costlier thing than life-- chastelard. well? queen. nay, i would not be denied for shame; in brief, i pray you give me that again. chastelard. what, my reprieve? queen. even so; deny me not, for your sake mainly: yea, by god you know how fain i were to die in your death's stead. for your name's sake. this were no need to swear. lest we be mocked to death with a reprieve, and so both die, being shamed. what, shall i swear? what, if i kiss you? must i pluck it out? you do not love me: no, nor honor. come i know you have it about you: give it me. chastelard. i cannot yield you such a thing again; not as i had it. queen. a coward? what shift now? do such men make such cravens? chastelard. chide me not: pity me that i cannot help my heart. queen. heaven mend mine eyes that took you for a man! what, is it sewn into your flesh? take heed-- nay, but for shame--what have you done with it? chastelard. why, there it lies, torn up. queen. god help me, sir! have you done this? chastelard. yea, sweet; what should i do? did i not know you to the bone, my sweet? god speed you well! you have a goodly lord. queen. my love, sweet love, you are more fair than he, yea, fairer many times: i love you much, sir, know you that. chastelard. i think i know that well. sit here a little till i feel you through in all my breath and blood for some sweet while. o gracious body that mine arms have had, and hair my face has felt on it! grave eyes and low thick lids that keep since years agone in the blue sweet of each particular vein some special print of me! i am right glad that i must never feel a bitterer thing than your soft curled-up shoulder and amorous arms from this time forth; nothing can hap to me less good than this for all my whole life through. i would not have some new pain after this come spoil the savor. o, your round bird's throat, more soft than sleep or singing; your calm cheeks, turned bright, turned wan with kisses hard and hot; the beautiful color of your deep curved hands, made of a red rose that had changed to white; that mouth mine own holds half the sweetness of, yea, my heart holds the sweetness of it, whence my life began in me; mine that ends here because you have no mercy, nay you know you never could have mercy. my fair love, kiss me again, god loves you not the less; why should one woman have all goodly things? you have all beauty; let mean women's lips be pitiful, and speak truth: they will not be such perfect things as yours. be not ashamed that hands not made like these that snare men's souls should do men good, give alms, relieve men's pain; you have the better, being more fair than they, they are half foul, being rather good than fair; you are quite fair: to be quite fair is best. why, two nights hence i dreamed that i could see in through your bosom under the left flower, and there was a round hollow, and at heart a little red snake sitting, without spot, that bit--like this, and sucked up sweet--like this, and curled its lithe light body right and left, and quivered like a woman in act to love. then there was some low fluttered talk i' the lips, faint sound of soft fierce words caressing them-- like a fair woman's when her love gets way. ah, your old kiss--i know the ways of it: let the lips cling a little. take them off, and speak some word or i go mad with love. queen. will you not have my chaplain come to you? chastelard. some better thing of yours--some handkerchief, some fringe of scarf to make confession to-- you had some book about you that fell out-- queen. a little written book of ronsard's rhymes, his gift, i wear in there for love of him-- see, here between our feet. chastelard. ay, my old lord's-- the sweet chief poet, my dear friend long since? give me the book. lo you, this verse of his: with coming lilies in late april came her body, fashioned whiter for their shame; and roses, touched with blood since adon bled, from her fair color filled their lips with red: a goodly praise: i could not praise you so. i read that while your marriage-feast went on. leave me this book, i pray you: i would read the hymn of death here over ere i die; i shall know soon how much he knew of death when that was written. one thing i know now, i shall not die with half a heart at least, nor shift my face, nor weep my fault alive, nor swear if i might live and do new deeds i would do better. let me keep the book. queen. yea, keep it: as would god you had kept your life out of mine eyes and hands. i am wrong to the heart: this hour feels dry and bitter in my mouth, as if its sorrow were my body's food more than my soul's. there are bad thoughts in me-- most bitter fancies biting me like birds that tear each other. suppose you need not die? chastelard. you know i cannot live for two hours more. our fate was made thus ere our days were made: will you fight fortune for so small a grief? but for one thing i were full fain of death. queen. what thing is that? chastelard. no need to name the thing. why, what can death do with me fit to fear? for if i sleep i shall not weep awake; or if their saying be true of things to come, though hell be sharp, in the worst ache of it i shall be eased so god will give me back sometimes one golden gracious sight of you-- the aureole woven flowerlike through your hair, and in your lips the little laugh as red as when it came upon a kiss and ceased, touching my mouth. queen. as i do now, this way, with my heart after: would i could shed tears, tears should not fail when the heart shudders so. but your bad thought? chastelard. well, such a thought as this: it may be, long time after i am dead, for all you are, you may see bitter days; god may forget you or be wroth with you: then shall you lack a little help of me, and i shall feel your sorrow touching you, a happy sorrow, though i may not touch: i that would fain be turned to flesh again, fain get back life to give up life for you, to shed my blood for help, that long ago you shed and were not holpen: and your heart will ache for help and comfort, yea for love, and find less love than mine--for i do think you never will be loved thus in your life. queen. it may be man will never love me more; for i am sure i shall not love man twice. chastelard. i know not: men must love you in life's spite; for you will always kill them; man by man your lips will bite them dead; yea, though you would, you shall not spare one; all will die of you; i cannot tell what love shall do with these, but i for all my love shall have no might to help you more, mine arms and hands no power to fasten on you more. this cleaves my heart, that they shall never touch your body more. but for your grief--you will not have to grieve; for being in such poor eyes so beautiful it must needs be as god is more than i so much more love he hath of you than mine; yea, god shall not be bitter with my love, seeing she is so sweet. queen. ah my sweet fool, think you when god will ruin me for sin my face of color shall prevail so much with him, so soften the toothed iron's edge to save my throat a scar? nay, i am sure i shall die somehow sadly. chastelard. this is pure grief; the shadow of your pity for my death, mere foolishness of pity: all sweet moods throw out such little shadows of themselves, leave such light fears behind. you, die like me? stretch your throat out that i may kiss all round where mine shall be cut through: suppose my mouth the axe-edge to bite so sweet a throat in twain with bitter iron, should not it turn soft as lip is soft to lip? queen. i am quite sure i shall die sadly some day, chastelard; i am quite certain. chastelard. do not think such things; lest all my next world's memories of you be as heavy as this thought. queen. i will not grieve you; forgive me that my thoughts were sick with grief. what can i do to give you ease at heart? shall i kiss now? i pray you have no fear but that i love you. chastelard. turn your face to me; i do not grudge your face this death of mine; it is too fair--by god, you are too fair. what noise is that? queen. can the hour be through so soon? i bade them give me but a little hour. ah! i do love you! such brief space for love! i am yours all through, do all your will with me; what if we lay and let them take us fast, lips grasping lips? i dare do anything. chastelard. show better cheer: let no man see you mazed; make haste and kiss me; cover up your throat lest one see tumbled lace and prate of it. [enter the guard: murray, darnley, mary hamilton, mary beaton, and others with them.] darnley. sirs, do your charge; let him not have much time. mary hamilton. peace, lest you chafe the queen: look, her brows bend. chastelard. lords, and all you come hither for my sake, if while my life was with me like a friend that i must now forget the friendship of, i have done a wrong to any man of you, as it may be by fault of mine i have; of such an one i crave for courtesy he will now cast it from his mind and heed like a dead thing; considering my dead fault worth no remembrance further than my death. this for his gentle honor and goodwill i do beseech him, doubting not to find such kindliness if he be nobly made and of his birth a courteous race of man. you, my lord james, if you have aught toward me-- or you, lord darnley--i dare fear no jot, whate'er this be wherein you were aggrieved, but you will pardon all for gentleness. darnley. for my part--yea, well, if the thing stand thus, as you must die--one would not bear folk hard-- and if the rest shall hold it honorable, why, i do pardon you. murray. sir, in all things we find no cause to speak of you but well: for all i see, save this your deadly fault, i hold you for a noble perfect man. chastelard. i thank you, fair lord, for your nobleness. you likewise, for the courtesy you have i give you thanks, sir; and to all these lords that have not heart to load me at my death. last, i beseech of the best queen of men and royallest fair lady in the world to pardon me my grievous mortal sin done in such great offence of her: for, sirs, if ever since i came between her eyes she hath beheld me other than i am or shown her honor other than it is, or, save in royal faultless courtesies, used me with favor; if by speech or face, by salutation or by tender eyes, she hath made a way for my desire to live, given ear to me or boldness to my breath; i pray god cast me forth before day cease even to the heaviest place there is in hell. yea, if she be not stainless toward all men, i pray this axe that i shall die upon may cut me off body and soul from heaven. now for my soul's sake i dare pray to you; forgive me, madam. queen. yea, i do, fair sir: with all my heart in all i pardon you. chastelard. god thank you for great mercies. lords, set hence; i am right loth to hold your patience here; i must not hold much longer any man's. bring me my way and bid me fare well forth. [as they pass out the queen stays mary beaton.] queen. hark hither, sweet. get back to holyrood and take carmichael with you: go both up in some chief window whence the squares lie clear-- seem not to know what i shall do--mark that-- and watch how things fare under. have good cheer; you do not think now i can let him die? nay, this were shameful madness if you did, and i should hate you. mary beaton. pray you love me, madam, and swear you love me and will let me live, that i may die the quicker. queen. nay, sweet, see, nay, you shall see, this must not seem devised; i will take any man with me, and go; yea, for pure hate of them that hate him: yea, lay hold upon the headsman and bid strike here on my neck; if they will have him die, why, i will die too: queens have died this way for less things than his love is. nay, i know they want no blood; i will bring swords to boot for dear love's rescue though half earth were slain; what should men do with blood? stand fast at watch; for i will be his ransom if i die. [exeunt.] scene iii.--the upper chamber in holyrood. mary beaton seated; mary carmichael at a window. mary beaton. do you see nothing? mary carmichael. nay, but swarms of men and talking women gathered in small space, flapping their gowns and gaping with fools' eyes: and a thin ring round one that seems to speak, holding his hands out eagerly; no more. mary beaton. why, i hear more, i hear men shout the queen. mary carmichael. nay, no cries yet. mary beaton. ah, they will cry out soon when she comes forth; they should cry out on her; i hear their crying in my heart. nay, sweet, do not you hate her? all men, if god please, shall hate her one day; yea, one day no doubt i shall worse hate her. mary carmichael. pray you, be at peace; you hurt yourself: she will be merciful; what, could you see a true man slain for you? i think i could not; it is not like our hearts to have such hard sides to them. mary beaton. o, not you, and i could nowise; there's some blood in her that does not run to mercy as ours doth: that fair face and the cursed heart in her made keener than a knife for manslaying can bear strange things. mary carmichael. peace, for the people come. ah--murray, hooded over half his face with plucked-down hat, few folk about him, eyes like a man angered; darnley after him, holding our hamilton above her wrist, his mouth put near her hair to whisper with-- and she laughs softly, looking at her feet. mary beaton. she will not live long; god hath given her few days and evil, full of hate and love, i see well now. mary carmichael. hark, there's their cry--the queen! fair life and long, and good days to the queen! mary beaton. yea, but god knows. i feel such patience here as i were sure in a brief while to die. mary carmichael. she bends and laughs a little, graciously, and turns half, talking to i know not whom-- a big man with great shoulders; ah, the face, you get his face now--wide and duskish, yea the youth burnt out of it. a goodly man, thewed mightily and sunburnt to the bone; doubtless he was away in banishment, or kept some march far off. mary beaton. still you see nothing? mary carmichael. yea, now they bring him forth with a great noise, the folk all shouting and men thrust about each way from him. mary beaton. ah, lord god, bear with me, help me to bear a little with my love for thine own love, or give me some quick death. do not come down; i shall get strength again, only my breath fails. looks he sad or blithe? not sad i doubt yet. mary carmichael. nay, not sad a whit, but like a man who losing gold or lands should lose a heavy sorrow; his face set, the eyes not curious to the right or left, and reading in a book, his hands unbound, with short fleet smiles. the whole place catches breath, looking at him; she seems at point to speak: now she lies back, and laughs, with her brows drawn and her lips drawn too. now they read his crime-- i see the laughter tightening her chin: why do you bend your body and draw breath? they will not slay him in her sight; i am sure she will not have him slain. mary beaton. forth, and fear not: i was just praying to myself--one word, a prayer i have to say for her to god if he will mind it. mary carmichael. now he looks her side; something he says, if one could hear thus far: she leans out, lengthening her throat to hear and her eyes shining. mary beaton. ah, i had no hope: yea thou god knowest that i had no hope. let it end quickly. mary carmichael. now his eyes are wide and his smile great; and like another smile the blood fills all his face. her cheek and neck work fast and hard; she must have pardoned him, he looks so merrily. now he comes forth out of that ring of people and kneels down; ah, how the helve and edge of the great axe turn in the sunlight as the man shifts hands-- it must be for a show: because she sits and hardly moves her head this way--i see her chin and lifted lips. now she stands up, puts out her hand, and they fall muttering; ah! mary beaton. is it done now? mary carmichael. for god's love, stay there; do not look out. nay, he is dead by this; but gather up yourself from off the floor; will she die too? i shut mine eyes and heard-- sweet, do not beat your face upon the ground. nay, he is dead and slain. mary beaton. what, slain indeed? i knew he would be slain. ay, through the neck: i knew one must be smitten through the neck to die so quick: if one were stabbed to the heart, he would die slower. mary carmichael. will you behold him dead? mary beaton. yea: must a dead man not be looked upon that living one was fain of? give me way. lo you, what sort of hair this fellow had; the doomsman gathers it into his hand to grasp the head by for all men to see; i never did that. mary carmichael. for god's love, let me go. mary beaton. i think sometimes she must have held it so, holding his head back, see you, by the hair to kiss his face, still lying in his arms. ay, go and weep: it must be pitiful if one could see it. what is this they say? so perish the queen's traitors! yea, but so perish the queen! god, do thus much to her for his sake only: yea, for pity's sake do thus much with her. mary carmichael. prithee come in with me: nay, come at once. mary beaton. if i should meet with her and spit upon her at her coming in-- but if i live then shall i see one day when god will smite her lying harlot's mouth-- surely i shall. come, i will go with you; we will sit down together face to face now, and keep silence; for this life is hard, and the end of it is quietness at last. come, let us go: here is no word to say. an usher. make way there for the lord of bothwell; room-- place for my lord of bothwell next the queen. explicit unknown to history a story of the captivity of mary of scotland by charlotte m. yonge preface. in p. of vol. ii. of the second edition of miss strickland's life of mary queen of scots, or p. , vol. v. of burton's history of scotland, will be found the report on which this tale is founded. if circumstances regarding the queen's captivity and babington's plot have been found to be omitted, as well as many interesting personages in the suite of the captive queen, it must be remembered that the art of the story-teller makes it needful to curtail some of the incidents which would render the narrative too complicated to be interesting to those who wish more for a view of noted characters in remarkable situations, than for a minute and accurate sifting of facts and evidence. c. m. yonge. february , . contents. chapter i. the little waif chapter ii. evil tidings chapter iii. the captive chapter iv. the oak and the oaken hall chapter v. the huckstering woman chapter vi. the bewitched whistle chapter vii. the blast of the whistle chapter viii. the key of the cipher chapter ix. unquiet chapter x. the lady arbell chapter xi. queen mary's presence chamber chapter xii. a furious letter chapter xiii. beads and bracelets chapter xiv. the monograms chapter xv. mother and child chapter xvi. the peak cavern chapter xvii. the ebbing well chapter xviii. cis or sister chapter xix. the clash of swords chapter xx. wingfield manor chapter xxi. a tangle chapter xxii. tutbury chapter xxiii. the love token chapter xxiv. a lioness at bay chapter xxv. paul's walk chapter xxvi. in the web chapter xxvii. the castle well chapter xxviii. hunting down the deer chapter xxix. the search chapter xxx. tete-a-tete chapter xxxi. evidence chapter xxxii. westminster hall chapter xxxiii. in the tower chapter xxxiv. fotheringhay chapter xxxv. before the commissioners chapter xxxvi. a venture chapter xxxvii. my lady's remorse chapter xxxviii. master talbot and his charge chapter xxxix. the fetterlock court chapter xl. the sentence chapter xli. her royal highness chapter xlii. the supplication chapter xliii. the warrant chapter xliv. on the humber chapter xlv. ten years after unknown to history. poor scape-goat of crimes, where,--her part what it may, so tortured, so hunted to die, foul age of deceit and of hate,--on her head least stains of gore-guiltiness lie; to the hearts of the just her blood from the dust not in vain for mercy will cry. poor scape-goat of nations and faiths in their strife so cruel,--and thou so fair! poor girl!--so, best, in her misery named,-- discrown'd of two kingdoms, and bare; not first nor last on this one was cast the burden that others should share. visions of england, by f. t. palgrave chapter i. the little waif. on a spring day, in the year , mistress talbot sat in her lodging at hull, an upper chamber, with a large latticed window, glazed with the circle and diamond leading perpetuated in dutch pictures, and opening on a carved balcony, whence, had she been so minded, she could have shaken hands with her opposite neighbour. there was a richly carved mantel-piece, with a sea-coal fire burning in it, for though it was may, the sea winds blew cold, and there was a fishy odour about the town, such as it was well to counteract. the floor was of slippery polished oak, the walls hung with leather, gilded in some places and depending from cornices, whose ornaments proved to an initiated eye, that this had once been the refectory of a small priory, or cell, broken up at the reformation. of furniture there was not much, only an open cupboard, displaying two silver cups and tankards, a sauce-pan of the same metal, a few tall, slender, venetian glasses, a little pewter, and some rare shells. a few high-backed chairs were ranged against the wall; there was a tall "armory," i.e. a linen-press of dark oak, guarded on each side by the twisted weapons of the sea unicorn, and in the middle of the room stood a large, solid-looking table, adorned with a brown earthenware beau-pot, containing a stiff posy of roses, southernwood, gillyflowers, pinks and pansies, of small dimensions. on hooks, against the wall, hung a pair of spurs, a shield, a breastplate, and other pieces of armour, with an open helmet bearing the dog, the well-known crest of the talbots of the shrewsbury line. on the polished floor, near the window, were a child's cart, a little boat, some whelks and limpets. their owner, a stout boy of three years old, in a tight, borderless, round cap, and home-spun, madder-dyed frock, lay fast asleep in a big wooden cradle, scarcely large enough, however, to contain him, as he lay curled up, sucking his thumb, and hugging to his breast the soft fragment of a sea-bird's downy breast. if he stirred, his mother's foot was on the rocker, as she sat spinning, but her spindle danced languidly on the floor, as if "feeble was her hand, and silly her thread;" while she listened anxiously, for every sound in the street below. she wore a dark blue dress, with a small lace ruff opening in front, deep cuffs to match, and a white apron likewise edged with lace, and a coif, bent down in the centre, over a sweet countenance, matronly, though youthful, and now full of wistful expectancy; not untinged with anxiety and sorrow. susan hardwicke was a distant kinswoman of the famous bess of hardwicke, and had formed one of the little court of gentlewomen with whom great ladies were wont to surround themselves. there she met richard talbot, the second son of a relative of the earl of shrewsbury, a young man who, with the indifference of those days to service by land or sea, had been at one time a gentleman pensioner of queen mary; at another had sailed under some of the great mariners of the western main. there he had acquired substance enough to make the offer of his hand to the dowerless susan no great imprudence; and as neither could be a subject for ambitious plans, no obstacle was raised to their wedding. he took his wife home to his old father's house in the precincts of sheffield park, where she was kindly welcomed; but wealth did not so abound in the family but that, when opportunity offered, he was thankful to accept the command of the mastiff, a vessel commissioned by queen elizabeth, but built, manned, and maintained at the expense of the earl of shrewsbury. it formed part of a small squadron which was cruising on the eastern coast to watch over the intercourse between france and scotland, whether in the interest of the imprisoned mary, or of the lords of the congregation. he had obtained lodgings for mistress susan at hull, so that he might be with her when he put into harbour, and she was expecting him for the first time since the loss of their second child, a daughter whom he had scarcely seen during her little life of a few months. moreover, there had been a sharp storm a few days previously, and experience had not hardened her to the anxieties of a sailor's wife. she had been down once already to the quay, and learnt all that the old sailors could tell her of chances and conjectures; and when her boy began to fret from hunger and weariness, she had left her serving-man, gervas, to watch for further tidings. yet, so does one trouble drive out another, that whereas she had a few days ago dreaded the sorrow of his return, she would now have given worlds to hear his step. hark, what is that in the street? oh, folly! if the mastiff were in, would not gervas have long ago brought her the tidings? should she look over the balcony only to be disappointed again? ah! she had been prudent, for the sounds were dying away. nay, there was a foot at the door! gervas with ill news! no, no, it bounded as never did gervas's step! it was coming up. she started from the chair, quivering with eagerness, as the door opened and in hurried her suntanned sailor! she was in his arms in a trance of joy. that was all she knew for a moment, and then, it was as if something else were given back to her. no, it was not a dream! it was substance. in her arms was a little swaddled baby, in her ears its feeble wail, mingled with the glad shout of little humfrey, as he scrambled from the cradle to be uplifted in his father's arms. "what is this?" she asked, gazing at the infant between terror and tenderness, as its weak cry and exhausted state forcibly recalled the last hours of her own child. "it is the only thing we could save from a wreck off the spurn," said her husband. "scottish as i take it. the rogues seem to have taken to their boats, leaving behind them a poor woman and her child. i trust they met their deserts and were swamped. we saw the fluttering of her coats as we made for the humber, and i sent goatley and jaques in the boat to see if anything lived. the poor wench was gone before they could lift her up, but the little one cried lustily, though it has waxen weaker since. we had no milk on board, and could only give it bits of soft bread soaked in beer, and i misdoubt me whether it did not all run out at the corners of its mouth." this was interspersed with little humfrey's eager outcries that little sister was come again, and mrs. talbot, the tears running down her cheeks, hastened to summon her one woman-servant, colet, to bring the porringer of milk. captain talbot had only hurried ashore to bring the infant, and show himself to his wife. he was forced instantly to return to the wharf, but he promised to come back as soon as he should have taken order for his men, and for the mastiff, which had suffered considerably in the storm, and would need to be refitted. colet hastily put a manchet of fresh bread, a pasty, and a stoup of wine into a basket, and sent it by her husband, gervas, after their master; and then eagerly assisted her mistress in coaxing the infant to swallow food, and in removing the soaked swaddling clothes which the captain and his crew had not dared to meddle with. when captain talbot returned, as the rays of the setting sun glanced high on the roofs and chimneys, little humfrey stood peeping through the tracery of the balcony, watching for him, and shrieking with joy at the first glimpse of the sea-bird's feather in his cap. the spotless home-spun cloth and the trenchers were laid for supper, a festive capon was prepared by the choicest skill of mistress susan, and the little shipwrecked stranger lay fast asleep in the cradle. all was well with it now, mrs. talbot said. nothing had ailed it but cold and hunger, and when it had been fed, warmed, and dressed, it had fallen sweetly asleep in her arms, appeasing her heartache for her own little sue, while humfrey fully believed that father had brought his little sister back again. the child was in truth a girl, apparently three or four months old. she had been rolled up in mrs. talbot's baby's clothes, and her own long swaddling bands hung over the back of a chair, where they had been dried before the fire. they were of the finest woollen below, and cambric above, and the outermost were edged with lace, whose quality mrs. talbot estimated very highly. "see," she added, "what we found within. a popish relic, is it not? colet and mistress gale were for making away with it at once, but it seemed to me that it was a token whereby the poor babe's friends may know her again, if she have any kindred not lost at sea." the token was a small gold cross, of peculiar workmanship, with a crystal in the middle, through which might be seen some mysterious object neither husband nor wife could make out, but which they agreed must be carefully preserved for the identification of their little waif. mrs. talbot also produced a strip of writing which she had found sewn to the inmost band wrapped round the little body, but it had no superscription, and she believed it to be either french, latin, or high dutch, for she could make nothing of it. indeed, the good lady's education had only included reading, writing, needlework and cookery, and she knew no language but her own. her husband had been taught latin, but his acquaintance with modern tongues was of the nautical order, and entirely oral and vernacular. however, it enabled him to aver that the letter--if such it were--was neither scottish, french, spanish, nor high or low dutch. he looked at it in all directions, and shook his head over it. "who can read it, for us?" asked mrs. talbot. "shall we ask master heatherthwayte? he is a scholar, and he said he would look in to see how you fared." "at supper-time, i trow," said richard, rather grimly, "the smell of thy stew will bring him down in good time." "nay, dear sir, i thought you would be fain to see the good man, and he lives but poorly in his garret." "scarce while he hath good wives like thee to boil his pot for him," said richard, smiling. "tell me, hath he heard aught of this gear? thou hast not laid this scroll before him?" "no, colet brought it to me only now, having found it when washing the swaddling-bands, stitched into one of them." "then hark thee, good wife, not one word to him of the writing." "might he not interpret it?" "not he! i must know more about it ere i let it pass forth from mine hands, or any strange eye fall upon it-- ha, in good time! i hear his step on the stair." the captain hastily rolled up the scroll and put it into his pouch, while mistress susan felt as if she had made a mistake in her hospitality, yet almost as if her husband were unjust towards the good man who had been such a comfort to her in her sorrow; but there was no lack of cordiality or courtesy in richard's manner when, after a short, quick knock, there entered a figure in hat, cassock, gown, and bands, with a pleasant, though grave countenance, the complexion showing that it had been tanned and sunburnt in early youth, although it wore later traces of a sedentary student life, and, it might be, of less genial living than had nourished the up-growth of that sturdily-built frame. master joseph heatherthwayte was the greatly underpaid curate of a small parish on the outskirts of hull. he contrived to live on some (pounds) per annum in the attic of the house where the talbots lodged,--and not only to live, but to be full of charitable deeds, mostly at the expense of his own appetite. the square cut of his bands, and the uncompromising roundness of the hat which he doffed on his entrance, marked him as inclined to the puritan party, which, being that of apparent progress, attracted most of the ardent spirits of the time. captain talbot's inclinations did not lie that way, but he respected and liked his fellow-lodger, and his vexation had been merely the momentary disinclination of a man to be interrupted, especially on his first evening at home. he responded heartily to master heatherthwayte's warm pressure of the hand and piously expressed congratulation on his safety, mixed with condolence on the grief that had befallen him. "and you have been a good friend to my poor wife in her sorrow," said richard, "for the which i thank you heartily, sir." "truly, sir, i could have been her scholar, with such edifying resignation did she submit to the dispensation," returned the clergyman, uttering these long words in a broad northern accent which had nothing incongruous in it to richard's ears, and taking advantage of the lady's absence on "hospitable tasks intent" to speak in her praise. little humfrey, on his father's knee, comprehending that they were speaking of the recent sorrow, put in his piece of information that "father had brought little sister back from the sea." "ah, child!" said master heatherthwayte, in the ponderous tone of one unused to children, "thou hast yet to learn the words of the holy david, 'i shall go to him, but he shall not return to me.'" "bring not that thought forward, master heatherthwayte," said richard, "i am well pleased that my poor wife and this little lad can take the poor little one as a solace sent them by god, as she assuredly is." "mean you, then, to adopt her into your family?" asked the minister. "we know not if she hath any kin," said richard, and at that moment susan entered, followed by the man and maid, each bearing a portion of the meal, which was consumed by the captain and the clergyman as thoroughly hungry men eat; and there was silence till the capon's bones were bare and two large tankards had been filled with xeres sack, captured in a spanish ship, "the only good thing that ever came from spain," quoth the sailor. then he began to tell how he had weathered the storm on the berwickshire coast; but he was interrupted by another knock, followed by the entrance of a small, pale, spare man, with the lightest possible hair, very short, and almost invisible eyebrows; he had a round ruff round his neck, and a black, scholarly gown, belted round his waist with a girdle, in which he carried writing tools. "ha, cuthbert langston, art thou there?" said the captain, rising. "thou art kindly welcome. sit down and crush a cup of sack with master heatherthwayte and me." "thanks, cousin," returned the visitor, "i heard that the mastiff was come in, and i came to see whether all was well." "it was kindly done, lad," said richard, while the others did their part of the welcome, though scarcely so willingly. cuthbert langston was a distant relation on the mother's side of richard, a young scholar, who, after his education at oxford, had gone abroad with a nobleman's son as his pupil, and on his return, instead of taking holy orders, as was expected, had obtained employment in a merchant's counting-house at hull, for which his knowledge of languages eminently fitted him. though he possessed none of the noble blood of the talbots, the employment was thought by mistress susan somewhat derogatory to the family dignity, and there was a strong suspicion both in her mind and that of master heatherthwayte that his change of purpose was due to the change of religion in england, although he was a perfectly regular church-goer. captain talbot, however, laughed at all this, and, though he had not much in common with his kinsman, always treated him in a cousinly fashion. he too had heard a rumour of the foundling, and made inquiry for it, upon which richard told his story in greater detail, and his wife asked what the poor mother was like. "i saw her not," he answered, "but goatley thought the poor woman to whom she was bound more like to be nurse than mother, judging by her years and her garments." "the mother may have been washed off before," said susan, lifting the little one from the cradle, and hushing it. "weep not, poor babe, thou hast found a mother here." "saw you no sign of the crew?" asked master heatherthwayte. "none at all. the vessel i knew of old as the brig bride of dunbar, one of the craft that ply between dunbar and the french ports." "and how think you? were none like to be saved?" "i mean to ride along the coast to-morrow, to see whether aught can be heard of them, but even if their boats could live in such a sea, they would have evil hap among the wreckers if they came ashore. i would not desire to be a shipwrecked man in these parts, and if i had a scottish or a french tongue in my head so much the worse for me." "ah, master heatherthwayte," said susan, "should not a man give up the sea when he is a husband and father?" "tush, dame! with god's blessing the good ship mastiff will ride out many another such gale. tell thy mother, little numpy, that an english sailor is worth a dozen french or scottish lubbers." "sir," said master heatherthwayte, "the pious trust of the former part of your discourse is contradicted by the boast of the latter end." "nay, sir minister, what doth a sailor put his trust in but his god foremost, and then his good ship and his brave men?" it should be observed that all the three men wore their hats, and each made a reverent gesture of touching them. the clergyman seemed satisfied by the answer, and presently added that it would be well, if master and mistress talbot meant to adopt the child, that she should be baptized. "how now?" said richard, "we are not so near any coast of turks or infidels that we should deem her sprung of heathen folk." "assuredly not," said cuthbert langston, whose quick, light-coloured eyes had spied the reliquary in mistress susan's work-basket, "if this belongs to her. by your leave, kinswoman," and he lifted it in his hand with evident veneration, and began examining it. "it is babylonish gold, an accursed thing!" exclaimed master heatherthwayte. "beware, master talbot, and cast it from thee." "nay," said richard, "that shall i not do. it may lead to the discovery of the child's kindred. why, my master, what harm think you it will do to us in my dame's casket? or what right have we to make away with the little one's property?" his common sense was equally far removed from the horror of the one visitor as from the reverence of the other, and so it pleased neither. master langston was the first to speak, observing that the relic made it evident that the child must have been baptized. "a popish baptism," said master heatherthwayte, "with chrism and taper and words and gestures to destroy the pure simplicity of the sacrament." controversy here seemed to be setting in, and the infant cause of it here setting up a cry, susan escaped under pretext of putting humfrey to bed in the next room, and carried off both the little ones. the conversation then fell upon the voyage, and the captain described the impregnable aspect of the castle of dumbarton, which was held for queen mary by her faithful partisan, lord flemyng. on this, cuthbert langston asked whether he had heard any tidings of the imprisoned queen, and he answered that it was reported at leith that she had well-nigh escaped from lochleven, in the disguise of a lavender or washerwoman. she was actually in the boat, and about to cross the lake, when a rude oarsman attempted to pull aside her muffler, and the whiteness of the hand she raised in self-protection betrayed her, so that she was carried back. "if she had reached dumbarton," he said, "she might have mocked at the lords of the congregation. nay, she might have been in that very brig, whose wreck i beheld." "and well would it have been for scotland and england had it been the will of heaven that so it should fall out," observed the puritan. "or it may be," said the merchant, "that the poor lady's escape was frustrated by providence, that she might be saved from the rocks of the spurn." "the poor lady, truly! say rather the murtheress," quoth heatherthwayte. "say rather the victim and scapegoat of other men's plots," protested langston. "come, come, sirs," says talbot, "we'll have no high words here on what heaven only knoweth. poor lady she is, in all sooth, if sackless; poorer still if guilty; so i know not what matter there is for falling out about. in any sort, i will not have it at my table." he spoke with the authority of the captain of a ship, and the two visitors, scarce knowing it, submitted to his decision of manner, but the harmony of the evening seemed ended. cuthbert langston soon rose to bid good-night, first asking his cousin at what hour he proposed to set forth for the spurn, to which richard briefly replied that it depended on what had to be done as to the repairs of the ship. the clergyman tarried behind him to say, "master talbot, i marvel that so godly a man as you have ever been should be willing to harbour one so popishly affected, and whom many suspect of being a seminary priest." "master heatherthwayte," returned the captain, "my kinsman is my kinsman, and my house is my house. no offence, sir, but i brook not meddling." the clergyman protested that no offence was intended, only caution, and betook himself to his own bare chamber, high above. no sooner was he gone than captain talbot again became absorbed in the endeavour to spell out the mystery of the scroll, with his elbows on the table and his hands over his ears, nor did he look up till he was touched by his wife, when he uttered an impatient demand what she wanted now. she had the little waif in her arms undressed, and with only a woollen coverlet loosely wrapped round her, and without speaking she pointed to the little shoulder-blades, where two marks had been indelibly made--on one side the crowned monogram of the blessed virgin, on the other a device like the labarum, only that the upright was surmounted by a fleur-de-lis. richard talbot gave a sort of perplexed grunt of annoyance to acknowledge that he saw them. "poor little maid! how could they be so cruel? they have been branded with a hot iron," said the lady. "they that parted from her meant to know her again," returned talbot. "surely they are popish marks," added mistress susan. "look you here, dame sue, i know you for a discreet woman. keep this gear to yourself, both the letter and the marks. who hath seen them?" "i doubt me whether even colet has seen this mark." "that is well. keep all out of sight. many a man has been brought into trouble for a less matter swelled by prating tongues." "have you made it out?" "not i. it may be only the child's horoscope, or some old wife's charm that is here sewn up, and these marks may be naught but some sailor's freak; but, on the other hand, they may be concerned with perilous matter, so the less said the better." "should they not be shown to my lord, or to her grace's council?" "i'm not going to run my head into trouble for making a coil about what may be naught. that's what befell honest mark walton. he thought he had seized matter of state, and went up to master walsingham, swelling like an indian turkey-cock, with his secret letters, and behold they turned out to be a dutch fishwife's charm to bring the herrings. i can tell you he has rued the work he made about it ever since. on the other hand, let it get abroad through yonder prating fellow, heatherthwayte, or any other, that master richard talbot had in his house a child with, i know not what popish tokens, and a scroll in an unknown tongue, and i should be had up in gyves for suspicion of treason, or may be harbouring the prince of scotland himself, when it is only some poor scottish archer's babe." "you would not have me part with the poor little one?" "am i a turk or a pagan? no. only hold thy peace, as i shall hold mine, until such time as i can meet some one whom i can trust to read this riddle. tell me--what like is the child? wouldst guess it to be of gentle, or of clownish blood, if women can tell such things?" "of gentle blood, assuredly," cried the lady, so that he smiled and said, "i might have known that so thou wouldst answer." "nay, but see her little hands and fingers, and the mould of her dainty limbs. no scottish fisher clown was her father, i dare be sworn. her skin is as fair and fine as my humfrey's, and moreover she has always been in hands that knew how a babe should be tended. any woman can tell you that!" "and what like is she in your woman's eyes? what complexion doth she promise?" "her hair, what she has of it, is dark; her eyes--bless them--are of a deep blue, or purple, such as most babes have till they take their true tint. there is no guessing. humfrey's eyes were once like to be brown, now are they as blue as thine own." "i understand all that," said captain talbot, smiling. "if she have kindred, they will know her better by the sign manual on her tender flesh than by her face." "and who are they?" "who are they?" echoed the captain, rolling up the scroll in despair. "here, take it, susan, and keep it safe from all eyes. whatever it may be, it may serve thereafter to prove her true name. and above all, not a word or breath to heatherthwayte, or any of thy gossips, wear they coif or bands." "ah, sir! that you will mistrust the good man." "i said not i mistrust any one; only that i will have no word of all this go forth! not one! thou heedest me, wife?" "verily i do, sir; i will be mute." chapter ii. evil tidings. after giving orders for the repairs of the mastiff, and the disposal of her crew, master richard talbot purveyed himself of a horse at the hostel, and set forth for spurn head to make inquiries along the coast respecting the wreck of the bride of dunbar, and he was joined by cuthbert langston, who said his house had had dealings with her owners, and that he must ascertain the fate of her wares. his good lady remained in charge of the mysterious little waif, over whom her tender heart yearned more and more, while her little boy hovered about in serene contemplation of the treasure he thought he had recovered. to him the babe seemed really his little sister; to his mother, if she sometimes awakened pangs of keen regret, yet she filled up much of the dreary void of the last few weeks. mrs. talbot was a quiet, reserved woman, not prone to gadding abroad, and she had made few acquaintances during her sojourn at hull; but every creature she knew, or might have known, seemed to her to drop in that day, and bring at least two friends to inspect the orphan of the wreck, and demand all particulars. the little girl was clad in the swaddling garments of mrs. talbot's own children, and the mysterious marks were suspected by no one, far less the letter which susan, for security's sake, had locked up in her nearly empty, steel-bound, money casket. the opinions of the gossips varied, some thinking the babe might belong to some of the queen of scotland's party fleeing to france, others fathering her on the refugees from the persecutions in flanders, a third party believing her a mere fisherman's child, and one lean, lantern-jawed old crone, mistress rotherford, observing, "take my word, mrs. talbot, and keep her not with you. they that are cast up by the sea never bring good with them." the court of female inquiry was still sitting when a heavy tread was heard, and colet announced "a serving-man from bridgefield had ridden post haste to speak with madam," and the messenger, booted and spurred, with the mastiff badge on his sleeve, and the hat he held in his hand, followed closely. "what news, nathanael?" she asked, as she responded to his greeting. "ill enough news, mistress," was the answer. "master richard's ship be in, they tell me." "yes, but he is rid out to make inquiry for a wreck," said the lady. "is all well with my good father-in-law?" "he ails less in body than in mind, so please you. being that master humfrey was thrown by blackfoot, the beast being scared by a flash of lightning, and never spoke again." "master humfrey!" "ay, mistress. pitched on his head against the south gate-post. i saw how it was with him when we took him up, and he never so much as lifted an eyelid, but died at the turn of the night. heaven rest his soul!' "heaven rest his soul!" echoed susan, and the ladies around chimed in. they had come for one excitement, and here was another. "there! see but what i said!" quoth mrs. rotherford, uplifting a skinny finger to emphasise that the poor little flotsome had already brought evil. "nay," said the portly wife of a merchant, "begging your pardon, this may be a fat instead of a lean sorrow. leaves the poor gentleman heirs, mrs. talbot?" "oh no!" said susan, with tears in her eyes. "his wife died two years back, and her chrisom babe with her. he loved her too well to turn his mind to wed again, and now he is with her for aye." and she covered her face and sobbed, regardless of the congratulations of the merchant's wife, and exclaiming, "oh! the poor old lady!" "in sooth, mistress," said nathanael, who had stood all this time as if he had by no means emptied his budget of ill news, "poor old madam fell down all of a heap on the floor, and when the wenches lifted her, they found she was stricken with the dead palsy, and she has not spoken, and there's no one knows what to do, for the poor old squire is like one distraught, sitting by her bed like an image on a monument, with the tears flowing down his old cheeks. 'but,' says he to me, 'get you to hull, nat, and take madam's palfrey and a couple of sumpter beasts, and bring my good daughter talbot back with you as fast as she and the babes may brook.' i made bold to say, 'and master richard, your worship?' then he groaned somewhat, and said, 'if my son's ship be come in, he must do as her grace's service permits, but meantime he must spare us his wife, for she is sorely needed here.' and he looked at the bed so as it would break your heart to see, for since old nurse took hath been doited, there's not been a wench about the house that can do a hand's turn for a sick body." susan knew this was true, for her mother-in-law had been one of those bustling, managing housewives, who prefer doing everything themselves to training others, and she was appalled at the idea of the probable desolation and helplessness of the bereaved household. it was far too late to start that day, even had her husband been at home, for the horses sent for her had to rest. the visitors would fain have extracted some more particulars about the old squire's age, his kindred to the great earl, and the amount of estate to which her husband had become heir. there were those among them who could not understand susan's genuine grief, and there were others whose consolations were no less distressing to one of her reserved character. she made brief answer that the squire was threescore and fifteen years old, his wife nigh about his age; that her husband was now their only child; that he was descended from a son of the great earl john, killed at the bridge of chatillon, that he held the estate of bridgefield in fief on tenure of military service to the head of his family. she did not know how much it was worth by the year, but she must pray the good ladies to excuse her, as she had many preparations to make. volunteers to assist her in packing her mails were made, but she declined them all, and rejoiced when left alone with colet to arrange for what would be probably her final departure from hull. it was a blow to find that she must part from her servant-woman, who, as well as her husband gervas, was a native of hull. not only were they both unwilling to leave, but the inland country was to their imagination a wild unexplored desert. indeed, colet had only entered mrs. talbot's service to supply the place of a maid who bad sickened with fever and ague, and had to be sent back to her native hallamshire. ere long mr. heatherthwayte came down to offer his consolation, and still more his advice, that the little foundling should be at once baptized--conditionally, if the lady preferred it. the reformed of imperfect theological training, and as such joseph heatherthwayte must be classed, were apt to view the ceremonial of the old baptismal form, symbolical and beautiful as it was, as almost destroying the efficacy of the rite. moreover, there was a further impression that the church by which the child was baptized, had a right to bring it up, and thus the clergyman was urgent with the lady that she should seize this opportunity for the little one's baptism. "not without my husband's consent and knowledge," she said resolutely. "master talbot is a good man, but somewhat careless of sound doctrine, as be the most of seafaring men." susan had been a little nettled by her husband's implied belief that she was influenced by the minister, so there was double resolution, as well as some offence in her reply, that she knew her duty as a wife too well to consent to such a thing without him. as to his being careless, he was a true and god-fearing man, and mr. heatherthwayte should know better than to speak thus of him to his wife. mr. heatherthwayte's real piety and goodness had made him a great comfort to susan in her lonely grief, but he had not the delicate tact of gentle blood, and had not known where to stop, and as he stood half apologising and half exhorting, she felt that her richard was quite right, and that he could be both meddling and presuming. he was exceedingly in the way of her packing too, and she was at her wit's end to get rid of him, when suddenly humfrey managed to pinch his fingers in a box, and set up such a yell, as, seconded by the frightened baby, was more than any masculine ears could endure, and drove master heatherthwayte to beat a retreat. mistress susan was well on in her work when her husband returned, and as she expected, was greatly overcome by the tidings of his brother's death. he closely questioned nathanael on every detail, and could think of nothing but the happy days he had shared with his brother, and of the grief of his parents. he approved of all that his wife had done; and as the damage sustained by the mastiff could not be repaired under a month, he had no doubt about leaving his crew in the charge of his lieutenant while he took his family home. so busy were both, and so full of needful cares, the one in giving up her lodging, the other in leaving his men, that it was impossible to inquire into the result of his researches, for the captain was in that mood of suppressed grief and vehement haste in which irrelevant inquiry is perfectly unbearable. it was not till late in the evening that richard told his wife of his want of success in his investigations. he had found witnesses of the destruction of the ship, but he did not give them full credit. "the fellows say the ship drove on the rock, and that they saw her boats go down with every soul on board, and that they would not lie to an officer of her grace. heaven pardon me if i do them injustice in believing they would lie to him sooner than to any one else. they are rogues enough to take good care that no poor wretch should survive even if he did chance to come to land." "then if there be no one to claim her, we may bring up as our own the sweet babe whom heaven hath sent us." "not so fast, dame. thou wert wont to be more discreet. i said not so, but for the nonce, till i can come by the rights of that scroll, there's no need to make a coil. let no one know of it, or of the trinket--thou hast them safe?" "laid up with the indian gold chain, thy wedding gift, dear sir." "'tis well. my mother!--ah me," he added, catching himself up; "little like is she to ask questions, poor soul." then susan diffidently told of master heatherthwayte's earnest wish to christen the child, and, what certainly biased her a good deal, the suggestion that this would secure her to their own religion. "there is something in that," said richard, "specially after what cuthbert said as to the golden toy yonder. if times changed again--which heaven forfend--that fellow might give us trouble about the matter." "you doubt him then, sir!" she asked. "i relished not his ways on our ride to-day," said richard. "sure i am that he had some secret cause for being so curious about the wreck. i suspect him of some secret commerce with the queen of scots' folk." "yet you were on his side against mr. heatherthwayte," said susan. "i would not have my kinsman browbeaten at mine own table by the self-conceited son of a dalesman, even if he have got a round hat and geneva band! ah, well! one good thing is we shall leave both of them well behind us, though i would it were for another cause." something in the remonstrance had, however, so worked on richard talbot, that before morning be declared that, hap what hap, if he and his wife were to bring up the child, she should be made a good protestant christian before they left the house, and there should be no more ado about it. it was altogether illogical and untheological; but master heatherthwayte was delighted when in the very early morning his devotions were interrupted, and he was summoned by the captain himself to christen the child. richard and his wife were sponsors, but the question of name had never occurred to any one. however, in the pause of perplexity, when the response lagged to "name this child," little humfrey, a delighted spectator, broke out again with "little sis." and forthwith, "cicely, if thou art not already baptized," was uttered over the child, and cicely became her name. it cost susan a pang, as it had been that of her own little daughter, but it was too late to object, and she uttered no regret, but took the child to her heart, as sent instead of her who had been taken from her. master heatherthwayte bade them good speed, and master langston stood at the door of his office and waved them a farewell, both alike unconscious of the rejoicing with which they were left behind. mistress talbot rode on the palfrey sent for her use, with the little stranger slung to her neck for security's sake. her boy rode "a cock-horse" before his father, but a resting-place was provided for him on a sort of pannier on one of the sumpter beasts. what these animals could not carry of the household stuff was left in colet's charge to be despatched by carriers; and the travellers jogged slowly on through deep yorkshire lanes, often halting to refresh the horses and supply the wants of the little children at homely wayside inns, their entrance usually garnished with an archway formed of the jawbones of whales, which often served for gate-posts in that eastern part of yorkshire. and thus they journeyed, with frequent halts, until they came to the derbyshire borders. bridgefield house stood on the top of a steep slope leading to the river dun, with a high arched bridge and a mill below it. from the bridge proceeded one of the magnificent avenues of oak-trees which led up to the lordly lodge, full four miles off, right across sheffield park. the bridgefield estate had been a younger son's portion, and its owners had always been regarded as gentlemen retainers of the head of their name, the earl of shrewsbury. tudor jealousy had forbidden the marshalling of such a meine as the old feudal lords had loved to assemble, and each generation of the bridgefield talbots had become more independent than the former one. the father had spent his younger days as esquire to the late earl, but had since become a justice of the peace, and took rank with the substantial landowners of the country. humfrey, his eldest son, had been a gentleman pensioner of the queen till his marriage, and richard, though beginning his career as page to the present earl's first wife, had likewise entered the service of her majesty, though still it was understood that the head of their name had a claim to their immediate service, and had he been called to take up arms, they would have been the first to follow his banner. indeed, a pair of spurs was all the annual rent they paid for their estate, which they held on this tenure, as well as on paying the heriard horse on the death of the head of the family, and other contributions to their lord's splendour when he knighted his son or married his daughter. in fact, they stood on the borderland of that feudal retainership which was being rapidly extinguished. the estate, carved out of the great sheffield property, was sufficient to maintain the owner in the dignities of an english gentleman, and to portion off the daughters, provided that the superfluous sons shifted for themselves, as richard had hitherto done. the house had been ruined in the time of the wars of the roses, and rebuilt in the later fashion, with a friendly-looking front, containing two large windows, and a porch projecting between them. the hall reached to the top of the house, and had a waggon ceiling, with mastiffs alternating with roses on portcullises at the intersections of the timbers. this was the family sitting and dining room, and had a huge chimney never devoid of a wood fire. one end had a buttery-hatch communicating with the kitchen and offices; at the other was a small room, sacred to the master of the house, niched under the broad staircase that led to the upper rooms, which opened on a gallery running round three sides of the hall. outside, on the southern side of the house, was a garden of potherbs, with the green walks edged by a few bright flowers for beau-pots and posies. this had stone walls separating it from the paddock, which sloped down to the river, and was a good deal broken by ivy-covered rocks. adjoining the stables were farm buildings and barns, for there were several fields for tillage along the river-side, and the mill and two more farms were the property of the bridgefield squire, so that the inheritance was a very fair one, wedged in, as it were, between the river and the great chase of sheffield, up whose stately avenue the riding party looked as they crossed the bridge, richard having become more silent than ever as he came among the familiar rocks and trees of his boyhood, and knew he should not meet that hearty welcome from his brother which had never hitherto failed to greet his return. the house had that strange air of forlornness which seems to proclaim sorrow within. the great court doors stood open, and a big, rough deer-hound, at the sound of the approaching hoofs, rose slowly up, and began a series of long, deep-mouthed barks, with pauses between, sounding like a knell. one or two men and maids ran out at the sound, and as the travellers rode up to the horse-block, an old gray-bearded serving-man came stumbling forth with "oh! master diccon, woe worth the day!" "how does my mother?" asked richard, as he sprang off and set his boy on his feet. "no worse, sir, but she hath not yet spoken a word--back, thunder--ah! sir, the poor dog knows you." for the great hound had sprung up to richard in eager greeting, but then, as soon as he heard his voice, the creature drooped his ears and tail, and instead of continuing his demonstrations of joy, stood quietly by, only now and then poking his long, rough nose into richard's hand, knowing as well as possible that though not his dear lost master, he was the next thing! mistress susan and the infant were lifted down--a hurried question and answer assured them that the funeral was over yesterday. my lady countess had come down and would have it so; my lord was at court, and sir gilbert and his brothers had been present, but the old servants thought it hard that none nearer in blood should be there to lay their young squire in his grave, nor to support his father, who, poor old man, had tottered, and been so like to swoon as he passed the hall door, that sir gilbert and old diggory could but, help him back again, fearing lest he, too, might have a stroke. it was a great grief to richard, who had longed to look on his brother's face again, but he could say nothing, only he gave one hand to his wife and the other to his son, and led them into the hall, which was in an indescribable state of confusion. the trestles which had supported the coffin were still at one end of the room, the long tables were still covered with cloths, trenchers, knives, cups, and the remains of the funeral baked meats, and there were overthrown tankards and stains of wine on the cloth, as though, whatever else were lacking, the talbot retainers had not missed their revel. one of the dishevelled rough-looking maidens began some hurried muttering about being so distraught, and not looking for madam so early, but susan could not listen to her, and merely putting the babe into her arms, came with her husband up the stairs, leaving little humfrey with nathanael. richard knocked at the bedroom door, and, receiving no answer, opened it. there in the tapestry-hung chamber was the huge old bedstead with its solid posts. in it lay something motionless, but the first thing the husband and wife saw was the bent head which was lifted up by the burly but broken figure in the chair beside it. the two knotted old hands clasped the arms of the chair, and the squire prepared to rise, his lip trembling under his white beard, and emotion working in his dejected features. they were beforehand with him. ere he could rise both were on their knees before him, while richard in a broken voice cried, "father, o father!" "thank god that thou art come, my son," said the old man, laying his hands on his shoulders, with a gleam of joy, for as they afterwards knew, he had sorely feared for richard's ship in the storm that had caused humfrey's death. "i looked for thee, my daughter," he added, stretching out one hand to susan, who kissed it. "now it may go better with her! speak to thy mother, richard, she may know thy voice." alas! no; the recently active, ready old lady was utterly stricken, and as yet held in the deadly grasp of paralysis, unconscious of all that passed around her. susan found herself obliged at once to take up the reins, and become head nurse and housekeeper. the old squire trusted implicitly to her, and helplessly put the keys into her hands, and the serving-men and maids, in some shame at the condition in which the hall had been found, bestirred themselves to set it in order, so that there was a chance of the ordinary appearance of things being restored by supper-time, when richard hoped to persuade his father to come down to his usual place. long before this, however, a trampling had been heard in the court, and a shrill voice, well known to richard and susan, was heard demanding, "come home, is she--master diccon too? more shame for you, you sluttish queans and lazy lubbers, never to have let me know; but none of you have any respect--" a visit from my lady countess was a greater favour to such a household as that of bridgefield than it would be to a cottage of the present day; richard was hurrying downstairs, and susan only tarried to throw off the housewifely apron in which she had been compounding a cooling drink for the poor old lady, and to wash her hands, while humfrey, rushing up to her, exclaimed "mother, mother, is it the queen?" queen elizabeth herself was not inaptly represented by her namesake of hardwicke, the queen of hallamshire, sitting on her great white mule at the door, sideways, with her feet on a board, as little children now ride, and attended by a whole troop of gentlemen ushers, maidens, prickers, and running footmen. she was a woman of the same type as the queen, which was of course enough to stamp her as a celebrated beauty, and though she had reached middle age, her pale, clear complexion and delicate features were well preserved. her chin was too sharp, and there was something too thin and keen about her nose and lips to promise good temper. she was small of stature, but she made up for it in dignity of presence, and as she sat there, with her rich embroidered green satin farthingale spreading out over the mule, her tall ruff standing up fanlike on her shoulders, her riding-rod in her hand, and her master of the horse standing at her rein, while a gentleman usher wielded an enormous, long-handled, green fan, to keep the sun from incommoding her, she was, perhaps, even more magnificent than the maiden queen herself might have been in her more private expeditions. indeed, she was new to her dignity as countess, having been only a few weeks married to the earl, her fourth husband. captain talbot did not feel it derogatory to his dignity as a gentleman to advance with his hat in his hand to kiss her hand, and put a knee to the ground as he invited her to alight, an invitation his wife heard with dismay as she reached the door, for things were by no means yet as they should be in the hall. she curtsied low, and advanced with her son holding her hand, but shrinking behind her. "ha, kinswoman, is it thou!" was her greeting, as she, too, kissed the small, shapely, white, but exceedingly strong hand that was extended to her; "so thou art come, and high time too. thou shouldst never have gone a-gadding to hull, living in lodgings; awaiting thine husband, forsooth. thou art over young a matron for such gear, and so i told diccon talbot long ago." "yea, madam," said richard, somewhat hotly, "and i made answer that my susan was to be trusted, and truly no harm has come thereof." "ho! and you reckon it no harm that thy father and mother were left to a set of feckless, brainless, idle serving-men and maids in their trouble? why, none would so much as have seen to thy brother's poor body being laid in a decent grave had not i been at hand to take order for it as became a distant kinsman of my lord. i tell thee, richard, there must be no more of these vagabond seafaring ways. thou must serve my lord, as a true retainer and kinsman is bound--nay," in reply to a gesture, "i will not come in, i know too well in what ill order the house is like to be. i did but take my ride this way to ask how it fared with the mistress, and try if i could shake the squire from his lethargy, if mrs. susan had not had the grace yet to be here. how do they?" then in answer, "thou must waken him, diccon--rouse him, and tell him that i and my lord expect it of him that he should bear his loss as a true and honest christian man, and not pule and moan, since he has a son left--ay, and a grandson. you should breed your boy up to know his manners, susan talbot," as humfrey resisted an attempt to make him do his reverence to my lady; "that stout knave of yours wants the rod. methought i heard you'd borne another, susan! ay! as i said it would be," as her eye fell on the swaddled babe in a maid's arms. "no lack of fools to eat up the poor old squire's substance. a maid, is it? beshrew me, if your voyages will find portions for all your wenches! has the leech let blood to thy good-mother, susan? there! not one amongst you all bears any brains. knew you not how to send up to the castle for master drewitt? farewell! thou wilt be at the lodge to-morrow to let me know how it fares with thy mother, when her brain is cleared by further blood-letting. and for the squire, let him know that i expect it of him that he shall eat, and show himself a man!" so saying, the great lady departed, escorted as far as the avenue gate by richard talbot, and leaving the family gratified by her condescension, and not allowing to themselves how much their feelings were chafed. chapter iii. the captive. death and sorrow seemed to have marked the house of bridgefield, for the old lady never rallied after the blood-letting enjoined by the countess's medical science, and her husband, though for some months able to creep about the house, and even sometimes to visit the fields, had lost his memory, and became more childish week by week. richard talbot was obliged to return to his ship at the end of the month, but as soon as she was laid up for the winter he resigned his command, and returned home, where he was needed to assume the part of master. in truth he became actually master before the next spring, for his father took to his bed with the first winter frosts, and in spite of the duteous cares lavished upon him by his son and daughter-in-law, passed from his bed to his grave at the christmas feast. richard talbot inherited house and lands, with the undefined sense of feudal obligation to the head of his name, and ere long he was called upon to fulfil those obligations by service to his lord. there had been another act in the great scottish tragedy. queen mary had effected her escape from lochleven, but only to be at once defeated, and then to cross the solway and throw herself into the hands of the english queen. bolton castle had been proved to be too perilously near the border to serve as her residence, and the inquiry at york, and afterwards at westminster, having proved unsatisfactory, elizabeth had decided on detaining her in the kingdom, and committed her to the charge of the earl of shrewsbury. to go into the history of that ill-managed investigation is not the purpose of this tale. it is probable that elizabeth believed her cousin guilty, and wished to shield that guilt from being proclaimed, while her councillors, in their dread of the captive, wished to enhance the crime in elizabeth's eyes, and were by no means scrupulous as to the kind of evidence they adduced. however, this lies outside our story; all that concerns it is that lord shrewsbury sent a summons to his trusty and well-beloved cousin, richard talbot of bridgefield, to come and form part of the guard of honour which was to escort the queen of scots to tutbury castle, and there attend upon her. all this time no hint had been given that the little cicely was of alien blood. the old squire and his lady had been in no state to hear of the death of their own grandchild, or of the adoption of the orphan and susan was too reserved a woman to speak needlessly of her griefs to one so unsympathising as the countess or so flighty as the daughters at the great house. the men who had brought the summons to hull had not been lodged in the house, but at an inn, where they either had heard nothing of master richard's adventure or had drowned their memory in ale, for they said nothing; and thus, without any formed intention of secrecy, the child's parentage had never come into question. indeed, though without doubt mrs. talbot was very loyal in heart to her noble kinsfolk, it is not to be denied that she was a good deal more at peace when they were not at the lodge. she tried devoutly to follow out the directions of my lady countess, and thought herself in fault when things went amiss, but she prospered far more when free from such dictation. she had nothing to wish except that her husband could be more often at home, but it was better to have him only a few hours' ride from her, at chatsworth or tutbury, than to know him exposed to the perils of the sea. he rode over as often as he could be spared, to see his family and look after his property; but his attendance was close, and my lord and my lady were exacting with one whom they could thoroughly trust, and it was well that in her quiet way mistress susan proved capable of ruling men and maids, farm and stable as well as house, servants and children, to whom another boy was added in the course of the year after her return to bridgefield. in the autumn, notice was sent that the queen of scots was to be lodged at sheffield, and long trains of waggons and sumpter horses and mules began to arrive, bringing her plenishing and household stuff in advance. servants without number were sent on, both by her and by the earl, to make preparations, and on a november day, tidings came that the arrival might be expected in the afternoon. commands were sent that the inhabitants of the little town at the park gate should keep within doors, and not come forth to give any show of welcome to their lord and lady, lest it should be taken as homage to the captive queen; but at the manor-house there was a little family gathering to hail the earl and countess. it chiefly consisted of ladies with their children, the husbands of most being in the suite of the earl acting as escort or guard to the queen. susan talbot, being akin to the family on both sides, was there with the two elder children; humfrey, both that he might greet his father the sooner, and that he might be able to remember the memorable arrival of the captive queen, and cicely, because he had clamoured loudly for her company. lady talbot, of the herbert blood, wife to the heir, was present with two young sisters-in-law, lady grace, daughter to the earl, and mary, daughter to the countess, who had been respectively married to sir henry cavendish and sir gilbert talbot, a few weeks before their respective parents were wedded, when the brides were only twelve and fourteen years old. there, too, was mrs. babington of dethick, the recent widow of a kinsman of lord shrewsbury, to whom had been granted the wardship of her son, and the little party waiting in the hall also numbered elizabeth and william cavendish, the countess's youngest children, and many dependants mustered in the background, ready for the reception. indeed, the castle and manor-house, with their offices, lodges, and outbuildings, were an absolute little city in themselves. the castle was still kept in perfect repair, for the battle of bosworth was not quite beyond the memory of living men's fathers; and besides, who could tell whether any day england might not have to be contested inch by inch with the spaniard? so the gray walls stood on the tongue of land in the valley, formed by the junction of the rivers sheaf and dun, with towers at all the gateways, enclosing a space of no less than eight acres, and with the actual fortress, crisp, strong, hard, and unmouldered in the midst, its tallest square tower serving as a look-out place for those who watched to give the first intimation of the arrival. the castle had its population, but chiefly of grooms, warders, and their families. the state-rooms high up in that square tower were so exceedingly confined, so stern and grim, that the grandfather of the present earl had built a manor-house for his family residence on the sloping ground on the farther side of the dun. this house, built of stone, timber, and brick, with two large courts, two gardens, and three yards, covered nearly as much space as the castle itself. a pleasant, smooth, grass lawn lay in front, and on it converged the avenues of oaks and walnuts, stretching towards the gates of the park, narrowing to the eye into single lines, then going absolutely out of sight, and the sea of foliage presenting the utmost variety of beautiful tints of orange, yellow, brown, and red. there was a great gateway between two new octagon towers of red brick, with battlements and dressings of stone, and from this porch a staircase led upwards to the great stone-paved hall, with a huge fire burning on the open hearth. around it had gathered the ladies of the talbot family waiting for the reception. the warder on the tower had blown his horn as a signal that the master and his royal guest were within the park, and the banner of the talbots had been raised to announce their coming, but nearly half an hour must pass while the party came along the avenue from the drawbridge over the sheaf ere they could arrive at the lodge. so the ladies, in full state dresses, hovered over the fire, while the children played in the window seat near at hand. gilbert talbot's wife, a thin, yellow-haired, young creature, promising to be like her mother, the countess, had a tongue which loved to run, and with the precocity and importance of wifehood at sixteen, she dilated to her companions on her mother's constant attendance on the queen, and the perpetual plots for that lady's escape. "she is as shifty and active as any cat-a-mount; and at chatsworth she had a scheme for being off out of her bedchamber window to meet a traitor fellow named boll; but my husband smelt it out in good time, and had the guard beneath my lady's window, and the fellows are in gyves, and to see the lady the day it was found out! not a wry face did she make. oh no! 'twas all my good lord, and my sweet sir with her. i promise you butter would not melt in her mouth, for my lord treasurer cecil hath been to see her, and he has promised to bring her to speech of her majesty. may i be there to see. i promise you 'twill be diamond cut diamond between them." "how did she and my lord treasurer fare together?" asked mrs. babington. "well, you know there's not a man of them all that is proof against her blandishments. her majesty should have women warders for her. 'twas good sport to see the furrows in his old brow smoothing out against his will as it were, while she plied him with her tongue. i never saw the queen herself win such a smile as came on his lips, but then he is always a sort of master, or tutor, as it were, to the queen. ay," on some exclamation from lady talbot, "she heeds him like no one else. she may fling out, and run counter to him for the very pleasure of feeling that she has the power, but she will come round at last, and 'tis his will that is done in the long run. if this lady could beguile him indeed, she might be a free woman in the end." "and think you that she did?" "not she! the lord treasurer is too long-headed, and has too strong a hate to all papistry, to be beguiled more than for the very moment he was before her. he cannot help the being a man, you see, and they are all alike when once in her presence--your lord and father, like the rest of them, sister grace. mark me if there be not tempests brewing, an we be not the sooner rid of this guest of ours. my mother is not the woman to bear it long." dame mary's tongue was apt to run on too fast, and lady talbot interrupted its career with an amused gesture towards the children. for the little cis, babe as she was, had all the three boys at her service. humfrey, with a paternal air, was holding her on the window-seat; antony babington was standing to receive the ball that was being tossed to and fro between them, but as she never caught it, will cavendish was content to pick it up every time and return it to her, appearing amply rewarded by her laugh of delight. the two mothers could not but laugh, and mrs. babington said the brave lads were learning their knightly courtesy early, while mary talbot began observing on the want of likeness between cis and either the talbot or hardwicke race. the little girl was much darker in colouring than any of the boys, and had a pair of black, dark, heavy brows, that prevented her from being a pretty child. her adopted mother shrank from such observations, and was rejoiced that a winding of horns, and a shout from the boys, announced that the expected arrival was about to take place. the ladies darted to the window, and beholding the avenue full of horsemen and horsewomen, their accoutrements and those of their escort gleaming in the sun, each mother gathered her own chicks to herself, smoothed the plumage somewhat ruffled by sport, and advanced to the head of the stone steps, william cavendish, the eldest of the boys, being sent down to take his stepfather's rein and hold his stirrup, page fashion. clattering and jingling the troop arrived. the earl, a stout, square man, with a long narrow face, lengthened out farther by a light-coloured, silky beard, which fell below his ruff, descended from his steed, gave his hat to richard talbot, and handed from her horse a hooded and veiled lady of slender proportions, who leant on his arm as she ascended the steps. the ladies knelt, whether in respect to the heads of the family, or to the royal guest, may be doubtful. the queen came up the stairs with rheumatic steps, declaring, however, as she did so, that she felt the better for her ride, and was less fatigued than when she set forth. she had the soft, low, sweet scottish voice, and a thorough scottish accent and language, tempered, however, by french tones, and as, coming into the warmer air of the hall, she withdrew her veil, her countenance was seen. mary stuart was only thirty-one at this time, and her face was still youthful, though worn and wearied, and bearing tokens of illness. the features were far from being regularly beautiful; there was a decided cast in one of the eyes, and in spite of all that mary talbot's detracting tongue had said, susan's first impression was disappointment. but, as the queen greeted the lady whom she already knew, and the earl presented his daughter, lady grace, his stepdaughter, elizabeth cavendish, and his kinswoman, mistress susan talbot, the extraordinary magic of her eye and lip beamed on them, the queenly grace and dignity joined with a wonderful sweetness impressed them all, and each in measure felt the fascination. the earl led the queen to the fire to obtain a little warmth before mounting the stairs to her own apartments, and likewise while lady shrewsbury was dismounting, and being handed up the stairs by her second stepson, gilbert. the ladies likewise knelt on one knee to greet this mighty dame, and the children should have done so too, but little cis, catching sight of captain richard, who had come up bearing the earl's hat, in immediate attendance on him, broke out with an exulting cry of "father! father! father!" trotted with outspread arms right in front of the royal lady, embraced the booted leg in ecstasy, and then stretching out, exclaimed "up! up!" "how now, malapert poppet!" exclaimed the countess, and though at some distance, uplifted her riding-rod. susan was ready to sink into the earth with confusion at the great lady's displeasure, but richard had stooped and lifted the little maid in his arms, while queen mary turned, her face lit up as by a sunbeam, and said, "ah, bonnibell, art thou fain to see thy father? wilt thou give me one of thy kisses, sweet bairnie?" and as richard held her up to the kind face, "a goodly child, brave sir. thou must let me have her at times for a playfellow. wilt come and comfort a poor prisoner, little sweeting?" the child responded with "poor poor," stroking the soft delicate cheek, but the countess interfered, still wrathful. "master richard, i marvel that you should let her grace be beset by a child, who, if she cannot demean herself decorously, should have been left at home. susan hardwicke, i thought i had schooled you better." "nay, madam, may not a babe's gentle deed of pity be pardoned?" said mary. "oh! if it pleasures you, madam, so be it," said lady shrewsbury, deferentially; "but there be children here more worthy of your notice than yonder little black-browed wench, who hath been allowed to thrust herself forward, while others have been kept back from importuning your grace." "no child can importune a mother who is cut off from her own," said mary, eager to make up for the jealousy she had excited. "is this bonnie laddie yours, madam? ah! i should have known it by the resemblance." she held her white hand to receive the kisses of the boys: william cavendish, under his mother's eye, knelt obediently; antony babington, a fair, pretty lad, of eight or nine, of a beautiful pink and white complexion, pressed forward with an eager devotion which made the queen smile and press her delicate hand on his curled locks; as for humfrey, he retreated behind the shelter of his mother's farthingale, where his presence was forgotten by every one else, and, after the rebuff just administered to cicely, there was no inclination to bring him to light, or combat with his bashfulness. the introductions over, mary gave her hand to the earl to be conducted from the hall up the broad staircase, and along the great western gallery to the south front, where for many days her properties had been in course of being arranged. lady shrewsbury followed as mistress of the house, and behind, in order of precedence, came the scottish queen's household, in which the dark, keen features of the french, and the rufous hues of the scots, were nearly equally divided. lady livingstone and mistress seaton, two of the queen's maries of the same age with herself, came next, the one led by lord talbot, the other by lord livingstone. there was also the faithful french marie de courcelles, paired with master beatoun, comptroller of the household, and jean kennedy, a stiff scotswoman, whose hard outlines did not do justice to her tenderness and fidelity, and with her was a tall, active, keen-faced stripling, looked on with special suspicion by the english, as willie douglas, the contriver of the queen's flight from lochleven. two secretaries, french and scottish, were shrewdly suspected of being priests, and there were besides, a physician, surgeon, apothecary, with perfumers, cooks, pantlers, scullions, lacqueys, to the number of thirty, besides their wives and attendants, these last being "permitted of my lord's benevolence." they were all eyed askance by the sturdy, north country english, who naturally hated all strangers, above all french and scotch, and viewed the band of captives much like a caged herd of wild beasts. when on the way home mistress susan asked her little boy why he would not make his obeisance to the pretty lady, he sturdily answered, "she is no pretty lady of mine. she is an evil woman who slew her husband." "poor lady! tongues have been busy with her," said his father. "how, sir?" asked susan, amazed, "do you think her guiltless in the matter?" "i cannot tell," returned richard. "all i know is that many who have no mercy on her would change their minds if they beheld her patient and kindly demeanour to all." this was a sort of shock to susan, as it seemed to her to prove the truth of little lady talbot's words, that no one was proof against queen mary's wiles; but she was happy in having her husband at home once more, though, as he told her, he would be occupied most of each alternate day at sheffield, he and another relation having been appointed "gentlemen porters," which meant that they were to wait in a chamber at the foot of the stairs, and keep watch over whatever went in or out of the apartments of the captive and her suite. "and," said richard, "who think you came to see me at wingfield? none other than cuthbert langston." "hath he left his merchandise at hull?" "ay, so he saith. he would fain have had my good word to my lord for a post in the household, as comptroller of accounts, clerk, or the like. it seemed as though there were no office he would not take so that he might hang about the neighbourhood of this queen." "then you would not grant him your recommendation?" "nay, truly. i could not answer for him, and his very anxiety made me the more bent on not bringing him hither. i'd fain serve in no ship where i know not the honesty of all the crew, and cuthbert hath ever had a hankering after the old profession." "verily then it were not well to bring him hither." "moreover, he is a lover of mysteries and schemes," said richard. "he would never be content to let alone the question of our little wench's birth, and would be fretting us for ever about the matter." "did he speak of it?" "yes. he would have me to wit that a nurse and babe had been put on board at dumbarton. well, said i, and so they must have been, since on board they were. is that all thou hast to tell me? and mighty as was the work he would have made of it, this was all he seemed to know. i asked, in my turn, how he came to know thus much about a vessel sailing from a port in arms against the lords of the congregation, the allies of her majesty?" "what said he?" "that his house had dealings with the owners of the bride of dunbar. i like not such dealings, and so long as this lady and her train are near us, i would by no means have him whispering here and there that she is a scottish orphan." "it would chafe my lady countess!" said susan, to whom this was a serious matter. "yet doth it not behove us to endeavour to find out her parentage?" "i tell you i proved to myself that he knew nothing, and all that we have to do is to hinder him from making mischief out of that little," returned richard impatiently. the honest captain could scarcely have told the cause of his distrust or of his secrecy, but he had a general feeling that to let an intriguer like cuthbert langston rake up any tale that could be connected with the party of the captive queen, could only lead to danger and trouble. chapter iv. the oak and the oaken hall. the oaks of sheffield park were one of the greatest glories of the place. giants of the forest stretched their huge arms over the turf, kept smooth and velvety by the creatures, wild and tame, that browsed on it, and made their covert in the deep glades of fern and copse wood that formed the background. there were not a few whose huge trunks, of such girth that two men together could not encompass them with outstretched arms, rose to a height of more than sixty feet before throwing out a horizontal branch, and these branches, almost trees in themselves, spread forty-eight feet on each side of the bole, lifting a mountain of rich verdure above them, and casting a delicious shade upon the ground beneath them. beneath one of these noble trees, some years after the arrival of the hapless mary stuart, a party of children were playing, much to the amusement of an audience of which they were utterly unaware, namely, of sundry members of a deer-hunting party; a lady and gentleman who, having become separated from the rest, were standing in the deep bracken, which rose nearly as high as their heads, and were further sheltered by a rock, looking and listening. "now then, cis, bravely done! show how she treats her ladies--" "who will be her lady? thou must, humfrey!" "no, no, i'll never be a lady," said humfrey gruffly. "thou then, diccon." "no, no," and the little fellow shrank back, "thou wilt hurt me, cis." "come then, do thou, tony! i'll not strike too hard!" "as if a wench could strike too hard." "he might have turned that more chivalrously," whispered the lady to her companion. "what are they about to represent? mort de ma vie, the profane little imps! i, believe it is my sacred cousin, the majesty of england herself! truly the little maid hath a bearing that might serve a queen, though she be all too black and beetle-browed for queen elizabeth. who is she, master gilbert?" "she is cicely talbot, daughter to the gentleman porter of your majesty's lodge." "see to her--mark her little dignity with her heather and bluebell crown as she sits on the rock, as stately as jewels could make her! see her gesture with her hands, to mark where the standing ruff ought to be. she hath the true spirit of the comedy--ah! and here cometh young antony with mincing pace, with a dock-leaf for a fan, and a mantle for a farthingale! she speaks! now hark!" "good morrow to you, my young mistress," began a voice pitched two notes higher than its actual childlike key. "thou hast a new farthingale, i see! o antony, that's not the way to curtsey--do it like this. no no! thou clumsy fellow--back and knees together." "never mind, cis," interposed one of the boys--"we shall lose all our play time if you try to make him do it with a grace. curtsies are women's work--go on." "where was i? o--" (resuming her dignity after these asides) "thou hast a new farthingale, i see." "to do my poor honour to your grace's birthday." "oh ho! is it so? methought it had been to do honour to my fair mistress's own taper waist. and pray how much an ell was yonder broidered stuff?" "two crowns, an't please your grace," returned the supposed lady, making a wild conjecture. "two crowns! thou foolish antony!" then recollecting herself, "two crowns! what, when mine costs but half! thou presumptuous, lavish varlet--no, no, wench! what right hast thou to wear gowns finer than thy liege?--i'll teach you." wherewith, erecting all her talons, and clawing frightfully with them in the air, the supposed queen bess leapt at the unfortunate maid of honour, appeared to tear the imaginary robe, and drove her victim on the stage with a great air of violence, amid peals of laughter from the other children, loud enough to drown those of the elders, who could hardly restrain their merriment. gilbert talbot, however, had been looking about him anxiously all the time, and would fain have moved away; but a sign from queen mary withheld him, as one of the children cried, "now! show us how she serves her lords." the play seemed well understood between them, for the mimic queen again settled herself on her throne, while will cavendish, calling out, "now i'm master hatton," began to tread a stately measure on the grass, while the queen exclaimed, "who is this new star of my court? what stalwart limbs, what graceful tread! who art thou, sir?" "madam, i am--i am. what is it? an ef--ef--" "a daddy-long-legs," mischievously suggested another of the group. "no, it's latin. is it ephraim? no; it's a fly, something like a gnat" (then at an impatient gesture from her majesty) "disporting itself in the beams of the noontide sun." "blood-sucking," whispered the real queen behind the fern. "he is not so far out there. see! see! with what a grace the child holds out her little hand for him to kiss. i doubt me if elizabeth herself could be more stately. but who comes here?" "i'm sir philip sydney." "no, no," shouted humfrey, "sir philip shall not come into this fooling. my father says he's the best knight in england." "he is as bad as the rest in flattery to the queen," returned young cavendish. "i'll not have it, i say. you may be lord leicester an you will! he's but robin dudley." "ah!" began the lad, now advancing and shading his eyes. "what burnished splendour dazzles my weak sight? is it a second juno that i behold, or lovely venus herself? nay, there is a wisdom in her that can only belong to the great minerva herself! so youthful too. is it hebe descended to this earth?" cis smirked, and held out a hand, saying in an affected tone, "lord earl, are thy wits astray?" "whose wits would not be perturbed at the mere sight of such exquisite beauty?" "come and sit at our feet, and we will try to restore them," said the stage queen; but here little diccon, the youngest of the party, eager for more action, called out, "show us how she treats her lords and ladies together." on which young babington, as the lady, and humfrey, made demonstrations of love-making and betrothal, upon which their sovereign lady descended on them with furious tokens of indignation, abusing them right and left, until in the midst the great castle bell pealed forth, and caused a flight general, being, in fact, the summons to the school kept in one of the castle chambers by one master snigg, or sniggius, for the children of the numerous colony who peopled the castle. girls, as well as boys, were taught there, and thus cis accompanied humfrey and diccon, and consorted with their companions. queen mary was allowed to hunt and take out-of-door exercise in the park whenever she pleased, but lord shrewsbury, or one of his sons, gilbert and francis, never was absent from her for a moment when she went beyond the door of the lesser lodge, which the earl had erected for her, with a flat, leaded, and parapeted roof, where she could take the air, and with only one entrance, where was stationed a "gentleman porter," with two subordinates, whose business it was to keep a close watch over every person or thing that went in or out. if she had any purpose of losing herself in the thickets of fern, or copsewood, in the park, or holding unperceived conference under shelter of the chase, these plans were rendered impossible by the pertinacious presence of one or other of the talbots, who acted completely up to their name. thus it was that the queen, with gilbert in close attendance, had found herself an unseen spectator of the children's performance, which she watched with the keen enjoyment that sometimes made her forget her troubles for the moment. "how got the imps such knowledge?" mused gilbert talbot, as he led the queen out on the sward which had been the theatre of their mimicry. "do _you_ ask that, sir gilbert?" said the queen with emphasis, for indeed it was his wife who had been the chief retailer of scandal about queen elizabeth, to the not unwilling ears of herself and his mother; and antony babington, as my lady's page, had but used his opportunities. "they are insolent varlets and deserve the rod," continued gilbert. "you are too ready with the rod, you english," returned mary. "you flog all that is clever and spirited out of your poor children!" "that is the question, madam. have the english been found so deficient in spirit compared with other nations?" "ah! we all know what you english can say for yourselves," returned the queen. "see what master john coke hath made of the herald's argument before dame renown, in his translation. he hath twisted all the other way." "yea, madam, but the french herald had it all his own way before. so it was but just we should have our turn." here a cry from the other hunters greeted them, and they found lord shrewsbury, some of the ladies, and a number of prickers, looking anxiously for them. "here we are, good my lord," said the queen, who, when free from rheumatism, was a most active walker. "we have only been stalking my sister queen's court in small, the prettiest and drollest pastime i have seen for many a long day." much had happened in the course of the past years. the intrigues with northumberland and norfolk, and the secret efforts of the unfortunate queen to obtain friends, and stir up enemies against elizabeth, had resulted in her bonds being drawn closer and closer. the rising of the north had taken place, and cuthbert langston had been heard of as taking a prominent part beneath the sacred banner, but he had been wounded and not since heard of, and his kindred knew not whether he were among the unnamed dead who loaded the trees in the rear of the army of sussex, or whether he had escaped beyond seas. richard talbot still remained as one of the trusted kinsmen of lord shrewsbury, on whom that nobleman depended for the execution of the charge which yearly became more wearisome and onerous, as hope decayed and plots thickened. though resident in the new lodge with her train, it was greatly diminished by the dismissal from time to time of persons who were regarded as suspicious; mary still continued on intimate terms with lady shrewsbury and her daughters, specially distinguishing with her favour bessie pierrepoint, the eldest grandchild of the countess, who slept with her, and was her plaything and her pupil in french and needlework. the fiction of her being guest and not prisoner had not entirely passed away; visitors were admitted, and she went in and out of the lodge, walked or rode at will, only under pretext of courtesy. she never was unaccompanied by the earl or one of his sons, and they endeavoured to make all private conversation with strangers, or persons unauthorised from court, impossible to her. the invitation given to little cicely on the arrival had not been followed up. the countess wished to reserve to her own family all the favours of one who might at any moment become the queen of england, and she kept susan talbot and her children in what she called their meet place, in which that good lady thoroughly acquiesced, having her hands much too full of household affairs to run after queens. there was a good deal of talk about this child's play, a thing which had much better have been left where it was; but in a seclusion like that of sheffield subjects of conversation were not over numerous, and every topic which occurred was apt to be worried to shreds. so lady shrewsbury and her daughters heard the queen's arch description of the children's mimicry, and instantly conceived a desire to see the scene repeated. the gentlemen did not like it at all: their loyalty was offended at the insult to her gracious majesty, and besides, what might not happen if such sports ever came to her ears? however, the countess ruled sheffield; and mary talbot and bessie cavendish ruled the countess, and they were bent on their own way. so the representation was to take place in the great hall of the manor-house, and the actors were to be dressed in character from my lady's stores. "they will ruin it, these clumsy english, after their own fashion," said queen mary, among her ladies. "it was the unpremeditated grace and innocent audacity of the little ones that gave the charm. now it will be a mere broad farce, worthy of bess of hardwicke. mais que voulez vous?" the performance was, however, laid under a great disadvantage by the absolute refusal of richard and susan talbot to allow their cicely to assume the part of queen elizabeth. they had been dismayed at her doing so in child's play, and since she could read fluently, write pretty well, and cipher a little, the good mother had decided to put a stop to this free association with the boys at the castle, and to keep her at home to study needlework and housewifery. as to her acting with boys before the assembled households, the proposal seemed to them absolutely insulting to any daughter of the talbot line, and they had by this time forgotten that she was no such thing. bess cavendish, the special spoilt child of the house, even rode down, armed with her mother's commands, but her feudal feeling did not here sway mistress susan. public acting was esteemed an indignity for women, and, though cis was a mere child, all susan's womanhood awoke, and she made answer firmly that she could not obey my lady countess in this. bess flounced out of the house, indignantly telling her she should rue the day, and cis herself cried passionately, longing after the fine robes and jewels, and the presentation of herself as a queen before the whole company of the castle. the harsh system of the time made the good mother think it her duty to requite this rebellion with the rod, and to set the child down to her seam in the corner, and there sat cis, pouting and brooding over what antony babington had told her of what he had picked up when in his page's capacity, attending his lady, of queen mary's admiration of the pretty ways and airs of the little mimic queen bess, till she felt as if she were defrauded of her due. the captive queen was her dream, and to hear her commendations, perhaps be kissed by her, would be supreme bliss. nay, she still hoped that there would be an interference of the higher powers on her behalf, which would give her a triumph. no! captain talbot came home, saying, "so, mistress sue, thou art a steadfast woman, to have resisted my lady's will!" "i knew, my good husband, that thou wouldst never see our cis even in sport a player!" "assuredly not, and thou hadst the best of it, for when mistress bess came in as full of wrath as a petard of powder, and made your refusal known, my lord himself cried out, 'and she's in the right o't! what a child may do in sport is not fit for a gentlewoman in earnest.'" "then, hath not my lord put a stop to the whole?" "fain would he do so, but the countess and her daughters are set on carrying out the sport. they have set master sniggius to indite the speeches, and the boys of the school are to take the parts for their autumn interlude." "surely that is perilous, should it come to the knowledge of those at court." "oh, i promise you, sniggius hath a device for disguising all that could give offence. the queen will become semiramis or zenobia, i know not which, and my lord of leicester, master hatton, and the others, will be called ninus or longinus, or some such heathenish long-tailed terms, and speak speeches of mighty length. are they to be in latin, humfrey?" "oh no, sir," said humfrey, with a shudder. "master sniggius would have had them so, but the young ladies said they would have nothing to do with the affair if there were one word of latin uttered. it is bad enough as it is. i am to be philidaspes, an assyrian knight, and have some speeches to learn, at least one is twenty-five lines, and not one is less than five!" "a right requital for thy presumptuous and treasonable game, my son," said his father, teasing him. "and who is to be the queen?" asked the mother. "antony babington," said humfrey, "because he can amble and mince more like a wench than any of us. the worse luck for him. he will have more speeches than any one of us to learn." the report of the number of speeches to be learnt took off the sting of cis's disappointment, though she would not allow that it did so, declaring with truth that she could learn by hearing faster than any of the boys. indeed, she did learn all humfrey's speeches, and antony's to boot, and assisted both of them with all her might in committing them to memory. as captain talbot had foretold, the boys' sport was quite sufficiently punished by being made into earnest. master sniggius was far from merciful as to length, and his satire was so extremely remote that queen elizabeth herself could hardly have found out that zenobia's fine moral lecture on the vanities of too aspiring ruffs was founded on the box on the ear which rewarded poor lady mary howard's display of her rich petticoat, nor would her cheeks have tingled when the queen of the east--by a bold adaptation--played the part of lion in interrupting the interview of our old friends pyramus and thisbe, who, by an awful anachronism, were carried to palmyra. it was no plagiarism from "midsummer night's dream," only drawn from the common stock of playwrights. so, shorn of all that was perilous, and only understood by the initiated, the play took place in the castle hall, the largest available place, with queen mary seated upon the dais, with a canopy of state over her head, lady shrewsbury on a chair nearly as high, the earl, the gentlemen and ladies of their suites drawn up in a circle, the servants where they could, the earl's musicians thundering with drums, tooting with fifes, twanging on fiddles, overhead in a gallery. cis and diccon, on either side of susan talbot, gazing on the stage, where, much encumbered by hoop and farthingale, and arrayed in a yellow curled wig, strutted forth antony babington, declaiming-- "great queen zenobia am i, the roman power i defy. at my palmyra, in the east, i rule o'er every man and beast" here was an allusion couched in the roman power, which master antony had missed, or he would hardly have uttered it, since he was of a roman catholic family, though, while in the earl's household, he had to conform outwardly. a slender, scholarly lad, with a pretty, innocent face, and a voice that could "speak small, like a woman," came in and announced himself thus-- "i'm thisbe, an assyrian maid, my robe's with jewels overlaid." the stiff colloquy between the two boys, encumbered with their dresses, shy and awkward, and rehearsing their lines like a task, was no small contrast to the merry impromptu under the oak, and the gay, free grace of the children. poor philidaspes acquitted himself worst of all, for when done up in a glittering suit of sham armour, with a sword and dagger of lath, his entire speech, though well conned, deserted him, and he stood red-faced, hesitating, and ready to cry, when suddenly from the midst of the spectators there issued a childish voice, "go on, humfrey! "philidaspes am i, most valorous knight, ever ready for church and queen to fight. "go on, i say!" and she gave a little stamp of impatience, to the extreme confusion of the mother and the great amusement of the assembled company. humfrey, once started, delivered himself of the rest of his oration in a glum and droning voice, occasioning fits of laughter, such as by no means added to his self-possession. the excellent sniggius and his company of boys had certainly, whether intentionally or not, deprived the performance of all its personal sting, and most likewise of its interest. such diversion as the spectators derived was such as hippolyta seems to have found in listening to wall, lion, moonshine and co.; but, like theseus, lord shrewsbury was very courteous, and complimented both playwright and actors, relieved and thankful, no doubt, that queen zenobia was so unlike his royal mistress. there was nothing so much enforced by queen elizabeth as that strangers should not have resort to sheffield castle. no spectators, except those attached to the household, and actually forming part of the colony within the park, were therefore supposed to be admitted, and all of them were carefully kept at a distant part of the hall, where they could have no access to the now much reduced train of the scottish queen, with whom all intercourse was forbidden. humfrey was therefore surprised when, just as he had come out of the tiring-room, glad to divest himself of his encumbering and gaudy equipments, a man touched him on the arm and humbly said, "sir, i have a humble entreaty to make of you. if you would convey my petition to the queen of scots!" "i have nothing to do with the queen of scots," said the ex-philidaspes, glancing suspiciously at the man's sleeve, where, however, he saw the silver dog, the family badge. "she is a charitable lady," continued the man, who looked like a groom, "and if she only knew that my poor old aunt is lying famishing, she would aid her. pray you, good my lord, help me to let this scroll reach to her." "i'm no lord, and i have naught to do with the queen," repeated humfrey, while at the same moment antony, who had been rather longer in getting out of his female attire, presented himself; and humfrey, pitying the man's distress, said, "this young gentleman is the countess's page. he sometimes sees the queen." the man eagerly told his story, how his aunt, the widow of a huckster, had gone on with the trade till she had been cruelly robbed and beaten, and now was utterly destitute, needing aid to set herself up again. the queen of scots was noted for her beneficent almsgiving, and a few silver pieces from her would be quite sufficient to replenish her basket. neither boy doubted a moment. antony had the entree to the presence chamber, where on this festival night the earl and countess were sure to be with the queen. he went straightway thither, and trained as he was in the usages of the place, told his business to the earl, who was seated near the queen. lord shrewsbury took the petition from him, glanced it over, and asked, "who knew the guy norman who sent it?" frank talbot answered for him, that he was a yeoman pricker, and the earl permitted the paper to be carried to mary, watching her carefully as she read it, when antony had presented it on one knee. "poor woman!" she said, "it is a piteous case. master beatoun, hast thou my purse? here, master babington, wilt thou be the bearer of this angel for me, since i know that the delight of being the bearer will be a reward to thy kind heart." antony gracefully kissed the fair hand, and ran off joyously with the queen's bounty. little did any one guess what the career thus begun would bring that fair boy. chapter v. the huckstering woman. the huckstering woman, tibbott by name, was tended by queen mary's apothecary, and in due time was sent off well provided, to the great fair of york, whence she returned with a basket of needles, pins (such as they were), bodkins, and the like articles, wherewith to circulate about hallamshire, but the gate-wards would not relax their rules so far as to admit her into the park. she was permitted, however, to bring her wares to the town of sheffield, and to bridgefield, but she might come no farther. thither antony babington came down to lay out the crown which had been given to him on his birthday, and indeed half master sniggius's scholars discovered needs, and came down either to spend, or to give advice to the happy owners of groats and testers. so far so good; but the huckster-woman soon made bridgefield part of her regular rounds, and took little commissions which she executed for the household of sheffield, who were, as the cavendish sisters often said in their spleen, almost as much prisoners as the queen of scots. antony babington was always her special patron, and being humfrey's great companion and playfellow, he was allowed to come in and out of the gates unquestioned, to play with him and with cis, who no longer went to school, but was trained at home in needlework and housewifery. match-making began at so early an age, that when mistress susan had twice found her and antony babington with their heads together over the lamentable ballad of the cold fish that had been a lady, and which sang its own history "forty thousand fathom above water," she began to question whether the girl were the attraction. he was now an orphan, and his wardship and marriage had been granted to the earl, who, having disposed of all his daughters and stepdaughters, except bessie cavendish, might very fairly bestow on the daughter of his kinsman so good a match as the young squire of dethick. "then should we have to consider of her parentage," said richard, when his wife had propounded her views. "i never can bear in mind that the dear wench is none of ours," said susan. "thou didst say thou wouldst portion her as if she were our own little maid, and i have nine webs ready for her household linen. must we speak of her as a stranger?" "it would scarce be just towards another family to let them deem her of true talbot blood, if she were to enter among them," said richard; "though i look on the little merry maid as if she were mine own child. but there is no need yet to begin upon any such coil; and, indeed, i would wager that my lady hath other views for young babington." after all, parents often know very little of what passes in children's minds, and cis never hinted to her mother that the bond of union between her and antony was devotion to the captive queen. cis had only had a glimpse or two of her, riding by when hunting or hawking, or when, on festive occasions, all who were privileged to enter the park were mustered together, among whom the talbots ranked high as kindred to both earl and countess; but those glimpses had been enough to fill the young heart with romance, such as the matter-of-fact elders never guessed at. antony babington, who was often actually in the gracious presence, and received occasional smiles, and even greetings, was immeasurably devoted to the queen, and maintained cicely's admiration by his vivid descriptions of the kindness, the grace, the charms of the royal captive, in contrast with the innate vulgarity of their own countess. willie douglas (the real roland graeme of the escape from lochleven) had long ago been dismissed from mary's train, with all the other servants who were deemed superfluous; but antony had heard the details of the story from jean kennedy (mrs. kennett, as the english were pleased to call her), and willie was the hero of his emulative imagination. "what would i not do to be like him!" he fervently exclaimed when he had narrated the story to humfrey and cis, as they lay on a nest in the fern one fine autumn day, resting after an expedition to gather blackberries for the mother's preserving. "i would not be him for anything," said humfrey. "fie, humfrey," cried cis; "would not you dare exile or anything else in a good cause?" "for a good cause, ay," said humfrey in his stolid way. "and what can be a better cause than that of the fairest of captive queens?" exclaimed antony, hotly. "i would not be a traitor," returned humfrey, as he lay on his back, looking up through the chequerwork of the branches of the trees towards the sky. "who dares link the word traitor with my name?" said babington, feeling for the imaginary handle of a sword. "not i; but you'll get it linked if you go on in this sort." "for shame, humfrey," again cried cis, passionately. "why, delivering imprisoned princesses always was the work of a true knight." "yea; but they first defied the giant openly," said humfrey. "what of that?" said antony. "they did not do it under trust," said humfrey. "i am not under trust," said antony. "your father may be a sworn servant of the earl and, the queen--queen elizabeth, i mean; but i have taken no oaths--nobody asked me if i would come here." "no," said humfrey, knitting his brows, "but you see we are all trusted to go in and out as we please, on the understanding that we do nought that can be unfaithful to the earl; and i suppose it was thus with this same willie douglas." "she was his own true and lawful queen," cried cis. "his first duty was to her." humfrey sat up and looked perplexed, but with a sudden thought exclaimed, "no scots are we, thanks be to heaven! and what might be loyalty in him would be rank treason in us." "how know you that?" said antony. "i have heard those who say that our lawful queen is there," and he pointed towards the walls that rose in the distance above the woods. humfrey rose wrathful. "then truly you are no better than a traitor, and a spaniard, and a papist," and fists were clenched on both aides, while cis flew between, pulling down humfrey's uplifted hand, and crying, "no, no; he did not say he thought so, only he had heard it." "let him say it again!" growled antony, his arm bared. "no, don't, humfrey!" as if she saw it between his clenched teeth. "you know you only meant if tony thought so, and he didn't. now how can you two be so foolish and unkind to me, to bring me out for a holiday to eat blackberries and make heather crowns, and then go and spoil it all with folly about papists, and spaniards, and grown-up people's nonsense that nobody cares about!" cis had a rare power over both her comrades, and her piteous appeal actually disarmed them, since there was no one present to make them ashamed of their own placability. grown-up people's follies were avoided by mutual consent through the rest of the walk, and the three children parted amicably when antony had to return to fulfil his page's duties at my lord's supper, and humfrey and cis carried home their big basket of blackberries. when they entered their own hall they found their mother engaged in conversation with a tall, stout, and weather-beaten man, whom she announced--"see here, my children, here is a good friend of your father's, master goatley, who was his chief mate in all his voyages, and hath now come over all the way from hull to see him! he will be here anon, sir, so soon as the guard is changed at the queen's lodge. meantime, here are the elder children." diccon, who had been kept at home by some temporary damage to his foot, and little edward were devouring the sailor with their eyes; and humfrey and cis were equally delighted with the introduction, especially as master goatley was just returned from the western main, and from a curious grass-woven basket which he carried slung to his side, produced sundry curiosities in the way of beads, shell-work, feather-work, and a hatchet of stone, and even a curious armlet of soft, dull gold, with pearls set in it. this he had, with great difficulty, obtained on purpose for mistress talbot, who had once cured him of a bad festering hurt received on board ship. the children clustered round in ecstasies of admiration and wonder as they heard of the dark brown atives, the curious expedients by which barter was carried on; also of cruel spaniards, and of savage fishes, with all the marvels of flying-fish, corals, palm-trees, humming birds--all that is lesson work to our modern youth, but was the most brilliant of living fairy tales at this elizabethan period. humfrey and diccon were ready to rush off to voyage that instant, and even little ned cried imitatively in his imperfect language that he would be "a tailor." then their father came home, and joyfully welcomed and clasped hands with his faithful mate, declaring that the sight did him good; and they sat down to supper and talked of voyages, till the boys' eyes glowed, and they beat upon their own knees with the enthusiasm that their strict manners bade them repress; while their mother kept back her sighs as she saw them becoming infected with that sea fever so dreaded by parents. nay, she saw it in her husband himself. she knew him to be grievously weary of a charge most monotonously dull, and only varied by suspicions and petty detections; and that he was hungering and thirsting for his good ship and to be facing winds and waves. she could hear his longing in the very sound of the "ays?" and brief inquiries by which he encouraged goatley to proceed in the story of voyages and adventures, and she could not wonder when goatley said, "your heart is in it still, sir. not one of us all but says it is a pity such a noble captain should be lost as a landsman, with nothing to do but to lock the door on a lady." "speak not of it, my good goatley," said richard, hastily, "or you will set me dreaming and make me mad." "then it is indeed so," returned goatley. "wherefore then come you not, sir, where a crew is waiting for you of as good fellows as ever stepped on a deck, and who, one and all, are longing after such a captain as you are, sir? wherefore hold back while still in your prime?" "ask the mistress, there," said richard, as he saw his susan's white face and trembling fingers, though she kept her eyes on her work to prevent them from betraying their tears and their wistfulness. "o sweet father," burst forth humfrey, "do but go, and take me. i am quite old enough." "nay, humfrey, 'tis no matter of liking," said his father, not wishing to prolong his wife's suspense. "look you here, boy, my lord earl is captain of all of his name by right of birth, and so long as he needs my services, i have no right to take them from him. dost see, my boy?" humfrey reluctantly did see. it was a great favour to be thus argued with, and admitted of no reply. mrs. talbot's heart rejoiced, but she was not sorry that it was time for her to carry off diccon and ned to their beds, away from the fascinating narrative, and she would give no respite, though diccon pleaded hard. in fact, the danger might be the greatest to him, since humfrey, though born within the smell of the sea, might be retained by the call of duty like his father. to cis, at least, she thought the sailor's conversation could do no harm, little foreboding the words that presently ensued. "and, sir, what befell the babe we found in our last voyage off the spurn? it would methinks be about the age of this pretty mistress." richard talbot endeavoured to telegraph a look both of assent and warning, but though master goatley would have been sharp to detect the least token of a spanish galleon on the most distant horizon, the signal fell utterly short. "ay, sir. what, is it so? bless me! the very maiden! and you have bred her up for your own." "sir! father!" cried cis, looking from one to the other, with eyes and mouth wide open. "soh!" cried the sailor, "what have i done? i beg your pardon, sir, if i have overhauled what should have been let alone. but," continued the honest, but tactless man, "who could have thought of the like of that, and that the pretty maid never knew it? ay, ay, dear heart. never fear but that the captain will be good father to you all the same." for richard talbot had held out his arm, and, as cis ran up to him, he had seated her on his knee, and held her close to him. humfrey likewise started up with an impulse to contradict, which was suddenly cut short by a strange flash of memory, so all he did was to come up to his father, and grasp one of the girl's hands as fast as he could. she trembled and shivered, but there was something in the presence of this strange man which choked back all inquiry, and the silence, the vehement grasp, and the shuddering, alarmed the captain, lest she might suddenly go off into a fit upon his hands. "this is gear for mother," said he, and taking her up like a baby, carried her off, followed closely by humfrey. he met susan coming down, asking anxiously, "is she sick?" "i hope not, mother," he said, "but honest goatley, thinking no harm, hath blurted out that which we had never meant her to know, at least not yet awhile, and it hath wrought strangely with her." "then it is true, father?" said humfrey, in rather an awe-stricken voice, while cis still buried her face on the captain's breast. "yes," he said, "yea, my children, it is true that god sent us a daughter from the sea and the wreck when he had taken our own little maid to his rest. but we have ever loved our cis as well, and hope ever to do so while she is our good child. take her, mother, and tell the children how it befell; if i go not down, the fellow will spread it all over the house, and happily none were present save humfrey and the little maiden." susan put the child down on her own bed, and there, with humfrey standing by, told the history of the father carrying in the little shipwrecked babe. they both listened with eyes devouring her, but they were as yet too young to ask questions about evidences, and susan did not volunteer these, only when the girl asked, "then, have i no name?" she answered, "a godly minister, master heatherthwayte, gave thee the name of cicely when he christened thee." "i marvel who i am?" said cis, gazing round her, as if the world were all new to her. "it does not matter," said humfrey, "you are just the same to us, is she not, mother?" "she is our dear heaven-sent child," said the mother tenderly. "but thou art not my true mother, nor humfrey nor diccon my brethren," she said, stretching out her hands like one in the dark. "if i'm not your brother, cis, i'll be your husband, and then you will have a real right to be called talbot. that's better than if you were my sister, for then you would go away, i don't know where, and now you will always be mine--mine--mine very own." and as he gave cis a hug in assurance of his intentions, his father, who was uneasy about the matter, looked in again, and as susan, with tears in her eyes, pointed to the children, the good man said, "by my faith, the boy has found the way to cut the knot--or rather to tie it. what say you, dame? if we do not get a portion for him, we do not have to give one with her, so it is as broad as it is long, and she remains our dear child. only listen, children, you are both old enough to keep a secret. not one word of all this matter is to be breathed to any soul till i bid you." "not to diccon," said humfrey decidedly. "nor to antony?" asked cis wistfully. "to antony? no, indeed! what has he to do with it? now, to your beds, children, and forget all about this tale." "there, humfrey," broke out cis, as soon as they were alone together, "huckstress tibbott _is_ a wise woman, whatever thou mayest say." "how?" said humfrey. "mindst thou not the day when i crossed her hand with the tester father gave me?" "when mother whipped thee for listening to fortune-tellers and wasting thy substance. ay, i mind it well," said humfrey, "and how thou didst stand simpering at her pack of lies, ere mother made thee sing another tune." "nay, humfrey, they were no lies, though i thought them so then. she said i was not what i seemed, and that the talbots' kennel would not always hold one of the noble northern eagles. so humfrey, sweet humfrey, thou must not make too sure of wedding me." "i'll wed thee though all the lying old gipsy-wives in england wore their false throats out in screeching out that i shall not," cried humfrey. "but she must have known," said cis, in an awestruck voice; "the spirits must have spoken with her, and said that i am none of the talbots." "hath mother heard this?" asked humfrey, recoiling a little, but never thinking of the more plausible explanation. "oh no, no! tell her not, humfrey, tell her not. she said she would whip me again if ever i talked again of the follies that the fortune-telling woman had gulled me with, for if they were not deceits, they were worse. and, thou seest, they are worse, humfrey!" with which awe-stricken conclusion the children went off to bed. chapter vi. the bewitched whistle. a child's point of view is so different from that of a grown person, that the discovery did not make half so much difference to cis as her adopted parents expected. in fact it was like a dream to her. she found her daily life and her surroundings the same, and her chief interest was--at least apparently--how soon she could escape from psalter and seam, to play with little ned, and look out for the elder boys returning, or watch for the scottish queen taking her daily ride. once, prompted by antony, cis had made a beautiful nosegay of lilies and held it up to the queen when she rode in at the gate on her return from buxton. she had been rewarded by the sweetest of smiles, but captain talbot had said it must never happen again, or he should be accused of letting billets pass in posies. the whole place was pervaded, in fact, by an atmosphere of suspicion, and the vigilance, which might have been endurable for a few months, was wearing the spirits and temper of all concerned, now that it had already lasted for seven or eight years, and there seemed no end to it. moreover, in spite of all care, it every now and then became apparent that queen mary had some communication with the outer world which no one could trace, though the effects endangered the life of queen elizabeth, the peace of the kingdom, and the existence of the english church. the blame always fell upon lord shrewsbury; and who could wonder that he was becoming captiously suspicious, and soured in temper, so that even such faithful kinsmen as richard talbot could sometimes hardly bear with him, and became punctiliously anxious that there should not be the smallest loophole for censure of the conduct of himself and his family? the person on whom master goatley's visit had left the most impression seemed to be humfrey. on the one hand, his father's words had made him enter into his situation of trust and loyalty, and perceive something of the constant sacrifice of self to duty that it required, and, on the other hand, he had assumed a position towards cis of which he in some degree felt the force. there was nothing in the opinions of the time to render their semi-betrothal ridiculous. at the manor house itself, gilbert talbot and mary cavendish had been married when no older than he was; half their contemporaries were already plighted, and the only difference was that in the present harassing state of surveillance in which every one lived, the parents thought that to avow the secret so long kept might bring about inquiry and suspicion, and they therefore wished it to be guarded till the marriage could be contracted. as cis developed, she had looks and tones which so curiously harmonised, now with the scotch, now with the french element in the royal captive's suite, and which made captain richard believe that she must belong to some of the families who seemed amphibious between the two courts; and her identification as a seaton, a flemyng, a beatoun, or as a member of any of the families attached to the losing cause, would only involve her in exile and disgrace. besides, there was every reason to think her an orphan, and a distant kinsman was scarcely likely to give her such a home as she had at bridgefield, where she had always been looked on as a daughter, and was now regarded as doubly their own in right of their son. so humfrey was permitted to consider her as peculiarly his own, and he exerted this right of property by a certain jealousy of antony babington which amused his parents, and teased the young lady. nor was he wholly actuated by the jealousy of proprietorship, for he knew the devotion with which antony regarded queen mary, and did not wholly trust him. his sense of honour and duty to his father's trust was one thing, antony's knight-errantry to the beautiful captive was another; each boy thought himself strictly honourable, while they moved in parallel lines and could not understand one another; yet, with the reserve of childhood, all that passed between them was a secret, till one afternoon when loud angry sounds and suppressed sobs attracted mistress susan to the garden, where she found cis crying bitterly, and little diccon staring eagerly, while a pitched battle was going on between her eldest son and young antony babington, who were pommelling each other too furiously to perceive her approach. "boys! boys! fie for shame," she cried, with a hand on the shoulder of each, and they stood apart at her touch, though still fiercely looking at one another. "see what spectacles you have made of yourselves!" she continued. "is this your treatment of your guest, humfrey? how is my lord's page to show himself at chatsworth to-morrow with such an eye? what is it all about?" both combatants eyed each other in sullen silence. "tell me, cis. tell me, diccon. i will know, or you shall have the rod as well as humfrey." diccon, who was still in the era of timidity, instead of secretiveness, spoke out. "he," indicating his brother, "wanted the packet." "what packet?" exclaimed the mother, alarmed. "the packet that _he_ (another nod towards antony) wanted cis to give that witch in case she came while he is at chatsworth." "it was the dog-whistle," said cis. "it hath no sound in it, and antony would have me change it for him, because huckster tibbott may not come within the gates. i did not want to do so; i fear tibbott, and when humfrey found me crying he fell on antony. so blame him not, mother." "if humfrey is a jealous churl, and cis a little fool, there's no help for it," said antony, disdainfully turning his back on his late adversary. "then let me take charge of this whistle," returned the lady, moved by the universal habit of caution, but antony sprang hastily to intercept her as she was taking from the little girl a small paper packet tied round with coloured yarn, but he was not in time, and could only exclaim, "nay, nay, madam, i will not trouble you. it is nothing." "master babington," said susan firmly, "you know as well as i do that no packet may pass out of the park unopened. if you wished to have the whistle changed you should have brought it uncovered. i am sorry for the discourtesy, and ask your pardon, but this parcel may not pass." "then," said antony, with difficulty repressing something much more passionate and disrespectful, "let me have it again." "nay, master babington, that would not suit with my duty." the boy altogether lost his temper. "duty! duty!" he cried. "i am sick of the word. all it means is a mere feigned excuse for prying and spying, and besetting the most beautiful and unhappy princess in the world for her true faith and true right!" "master antony babington," said susan gravely, "you had better take care what you are about. if those words of yours had been spoken in my lord's hearing, they would bring you worse than the rod or bread and water." "what care i what i suffer for such a queen?" exclaimed antony. "suffering is a different matter from saying 'what care i,'" returned the lady, "as i fear you will learn, master antony." "o mother! sweet mother," said cis, "you will not tell of him!"--but mother shook her head. "prithee, dear mother," added humfrey, seeing no relenting in her countenance, "i did but mean to hinder cis from being maltreated and a go-between in this traffic with an old witch, not to bring tony into trouble." "his face is a tell-tale, humfrey," said susan. "i meant ere now to have put a piece of beef on it. come in, antony, and let me wash it." "thank you, madam, i need nothing here," said antony, stalking proudly off; while humfrey, exclaiming "don't be an ass, tony!--mother, no one would care to ask what we had given one another black eyes for in a friendly way," tried to hold him back, and he did linger when cis added her persuasions to him not to return the spectacle he was at present. "if this lady will promise not to betray an unfortunate queen," he said, as if permission to deal with his bruises were a great reward. "oh! you foolish boy!" exclaimed mistress talbot, "you were never meant for a plotter! you have yourself betrayed that you are her messenger." "and i am not ashamed of it," said antony, holding his head high. "madam, madam, if you have surprised this from me, you are the more bound not to betray her. think, lady, if you were shut up from your children and friends, would you not seek to send tidings to them?" "child, child! heaven knows i am not blaming the poor lady within there. i am only thinking what is right." "well," said antony, somewhat hopefully, "if that be all, give me back the packet, or tear it up, if you will, and there can be no harm done." "oh, do so, sweet mother," entreated cis, earnestly; "he will never bid me go to tibbott again." "ay," said humfrey, "then no tales will be told." for even he, with all his trustworthiness, or indeed because of it, could not bear to bring a comrade to disgrace; but the dilemma was put an end to by the sudden appearance on the scene of captain richard himself, demanding the cause of the disturbance, and whether his sons had been misbehaving to their guest. "dear sir, sweet father, do not ask," entreated cis, springing to him, and taking his hand, as she was privileged to do; "mother has come, and it is all made up and over now." richard talbot, however, had seen the packet which his wife was holding, and her anxious, perplexed countenance, and the perilous atmosphere of suspicion around him made it incumbent on him to turn to her and say, "what means this, mother? is it as cis would have me believe, a mere childish quarrel that i may pass over? or what is this packet?" "master babington saith it is a dog-whistle which he was leaving in charge with cis to exchange for another with huckstress tibbott," she answered. "feel,--nay, open it, and see if it be not, sir," cried antony. "i doubt not that so it is," said the captain; "but you know, master babington, that it is the duty of all here in charge to let no packet pass the gate which has not been viewed by my lord's officers." "then, sir, i will take it back again," said antony, with a vain attempt at making his brow frank and clear. instead of answering. captain talbot took the knife from his girdle, and cut in twain the yarn that bound the packet. there was no doubt about the whistle being there, nor was there anything written on the wrapper; but perhaps the anxiety in antony's eye, or even the old association with boatswains, incited mr. talbot to put the whistle to his lips. not a sound would come forth. he looked in, and saw what led him to blow with all his force, when a white roll of paper protruded, and on another blast fell out into his hand. he held it up as he found it, and looked full at antony, who exclaimed in much agitation, "to keep out the dust. only to keep out the dust. it is all gibberish--from my old writing-books." "that will we see," said richard very gravely. "mistress, be pleased to give this young gentleman some water to wash his face, and attend to his bruises, keeping him in the guest-chamber without speech from any one until i return. master babington, i counsel you to submit quietly. i wish, and my lord will wish, to spare his ward as much scandal as possible, and if this be what you say it is, mere gibberish from your exercise-books, you will be quit for chastisement for a forbidden act, which has brought you into suspicion. if not, it must be as my lord thinks good." antony made no entreaties. perhaps he trusted that what was unintelligible to himself might pass for gibberish with others; perhaps the headache caused by humfrey's fists was assisting to produce a state of sullen indifference after his burst of eager chivalry; at any rate he let mistress talbot lead him away without resistance. the other children would have followed, but their father detained them to hear the particulars of the commission and the capture. richard desired to know from his son whether he had any reason for suspecting underhand measures; and when humfrey looked down and hesitated, added, "on your obedience, boy; this is no slight matter." "you will not beat cis, father?" said humfrey. "wherefore should i beat her, save for doing errands that yonder lad should have known better than to thrust on her?" "nay, sir, 'tis not for that; but my mother said she should be beaten if ever she spake of the fortune yonder tibbott told her, and we are sure that she--tibbott i mean--is a witch, and knows more than she ought." "what mean'st thou? tell me, children;" and cis, nothing loath, since she was secured from the beating, related the augury which had left so deep an impression on her, humfrey bearing witness that it was before they knew themselves of cicely's history. "but that is not all," added cicely, seeing mr. talbot less impressed than she expected by these supernatural powers of divination. "she can change from a woman to a man!" "in sooth!" exclaimed richard, startled enough by this information. "yea, father," said cicely, "faithful ekins, the carrier's boy, saw her, in doublet and hose, and a tawny cloak, going along the road to chesterfield. he knew her by the halt in her left leg." "ha!" said richard, "and how long hast thou known this?" "only yestermorn," said cis; "it was that which made me so much afraid to have any dealings with her." "she shall trouble thee no more, my little wench," said richard in a tone that made humfrey cry out joyously, "o father! sweet father! wilt thou duck her for a witch? sink or swim! that will be rare!" "hush, hush! foolish lad," said richard, "and thou, cicely, take good heed that not a word of all this gets abroad. go to thy mother, child,--nay, i am not wroth with thee, little one. thou hast not done amiss, but bear in mind that nought is ever taken out of the park without knowledge of me or of thy mother." chapter vii. the blast of the whistle. richard talbot was of course convinced that witchcraft was not likely to be the most serious part of the misdeeds of tibbott the huckstress. committing antony babington to the custody of his wife, he sped on his way back to the manor-house, where lord shrewsbury was at present residing, the countess being gone to view her buildings at chatsworth, taking her daughter bessie with her. he sent in a message desiring to speak to my lord in his privy chamber. francis talbot came to him. "is it matter of great moment, dick?" he said, "for my father is so fretted and chafed, i would fain not vex him further to-night.--what! know you not? here are tidings that my lady hath married bess--yes, bess cavendish, in secret to my young lord lennox, the brother of this queen's unlucky husband! how he is to clear himself before her grace of being concerned in it, i know not, for though heaven wots that he is as innocent as the child unborn, she will suspect him!" "i knew she flew high for mistress bess," returned richard. "high! nothing would serve her save royal blood! my poor father says as sure as the lions and fleur-de-lis have come into a family, the headsman's axe has come after them." "however it is not our family." "so i tell him, but it gives him small comfort," said frank, "looking as he doth on the cavendish brood as his own, and knowing that there will be a mighty coil at once with my lady and these two queens. he is sore vexed to-night, and saith that never was earl, not to say man, so baited by woman as he, and he bade me see whether yours be a matter of such moment that it may not wait till morning or be despatched by me." "that is for you to say, master francis. what think you of this for a toy?" as he produced the parcel with the whistle and its contents. "i went home betimes to-day, as you know, and found my boy humfrey had just made young master babington taste of his fists for trying to make our little wench pass this packet to yonder huckster-woman who was succoured some months back by the queen of scots." francis talbot silently took the whistle and unrolled the long narrow strip of paper. "this is the cipher," said he, "the cipher used in corresponding with her french kin; phillipps the decipherer showed me the trick of it when he was at tutbury in the time of the duke of norfolk's business. soh! your son hath done good service, richard. that lad hath been tampered with then, i thought he was over thick with the lady in the lodge. where is he, the young traitor?" "at bridgefield, under my wife's ward, having his bruises attended to. i would not bring him up here till i knew what my lord would have done with him. he is but a child, and no doubt was wrought with by sweet looks, and i trust my lord will not be hard with him." "if my father had hearkened to me, he should never have been here," said francis. "his father was an honest man, but his mother was, i find, a secret recusant, and when she died, young antony was quite old enough to have sucked in the poison. you did well to keep him, richard; he ought not to return hither again, either in ward or at liberty." "if he were mine, i would send him to school," said richard, "where the masters and the lads would soon drive out of him all dreams about captive princesses and seminary priests to boot. for, cousin francis, i would have you to know that my children say there is a rumour that this woman tibbott the huckstress hath been seen in a doublet and hose near chesterfield." "the villain! when is she looked for here again?" "anon, i should suppose, judging by the boy leaving this charge with cis in case she should come while he is gone to chatsworth." "we will take order as to that," said francis, compressing his lips; "i know you will take heed, cousin, that she, or he, gets no breath of warning. i should not wonder if it were parsons himself!" and he unfolded the scroll with the air of a man seeking to confirm his triumph. "can you make anything of it?" asked richard, struck by its resemblance to another scroll laid up among his wife's treasures. "i cannot tell, they are not matters to be read in an hour," said francis talbot, "moreover, there is one in use for the english traitors, her friends, and another for the french. this looks like the french sort. let me see, they are read by taking the third letter in each second word." francis talbot, somewhat proud of his proficiency, and perfectly certain of the trustworthiness of his cousin richard, went on puzzling out the ciphered letters, making richard set each letter down as he picked it out, and trying whether they would make sense in french or english. both understood french, having learned it in their page days, and kept it up by intercourse with the french suite. francis, however, had to try two or three methods, which, being a young man, perhaps he was pleased to display, and at last he hit upon the right, which interpreted the apparent gibberish of the scroll--excepting that the names of persons were concealed under soubriquets which francis talbot could not always understand--but the following sentence by and by became clear:--"quand le matelot vient des marais, un feu peut eclater dans la meute et dans la melee"--"when the sailor lands from the fens, a fire might easily break out in the dog-kennel, and in the confusion" (name could not be read) "could carry off the tercel gentle." "la meute," said francis, "that is their term for the home of us talbots, and the sailor in the fens is this don john of austria, who means, after conquering the dutchmen, to come and set free this tercel gentle, as she calls herself, and play the inquisitor upon us. on my honour, dick, your boy has played the man in making this discovery. keep the young traitor fast, and take down a couple of yeomen to lay hands on this same tibbott as she calls herself." "if i remember right," said richard, "she was said to be the sister or aunt to one of the grooms or prickers." "so it was, guy norman, methinks. belike he was the very fellow to set fire to our kennel. yea, we must secure him. i'll see to that, and you shall lay this scroll before my father meantime, dick. why, to fall on such a trail will restore his spirits, and win back her grace to believe in his honesty, if my lady's tricks should have made her doubtful." off went francis with great alacrity, and ere long the earl was present with richard. the long light beard was now tinged with gray, and there were deep lines round the mouth and temples, betraying how the long anxiety was telling on him, and rendering him suspicious and querulous. "soh! richard talbot," was his salutation, "what's the coil now? can a man never be left in peace in his own house, between queens and ladies, plots and follies, but his own kinsfolk and retainers must come to him on every petty broil among the lads! i should have thought your boy and young babington might fight out their quarrels alone without vexing a man that is near driven distracted as it is." "i grieve to vex your lordship," said richard, standing bareheaded, "but master francis thought this scroll worthy of your attention. this is the manner in which he deciphered it." "scrolls, i am sick of scrolls," said the earl testily. "what! is it some order for saying mass,--or to get some new popish image or a skein of silk? i wear my eyes out reading such as that, and racking my brains for some hidden meaning!" and falling on francis's first attempt at copying, he was scornful of the whole, and had nearly thrown the matter aside, but when he lit at last on the sentence about burning the meute and carrying off the tercel gentle, his brow grew dark indeed, and his inquiries came thickly one upon the other, both as to antony babington and the huckstering woman. in the midst, frank talbot returned with the tidings that the pricker guy norman was nowhere to be found. he had last been seen by his comrades about the time that captain richard had returned to the manor-house. probably he had taken alarm on seeing him come back at that unusual hour, and had gone to carry the warning to his supposed aunt. this last intelligence made the earl decide on going down at once to bridgefield to examine young babington before there was time to miss his presence at the lodge, or to hold any communication with him. frank caused horses to be brought round, and the earl rode down with richard by a shaded alley in an ordinary cloak and hat. my lord's appearance at bridgefield was a rarer and more awful event than was my lady's, and if mistress susan had been warned beforehand, there is no saying how at the head of her men and maids she would have scrubbed and polished the floors, and brushed the hangings and cushions. what then were her feelings when the rider, who dismounted from his little hackney as unpretendingly as did her husband in the twilight court, proved to have my lord's long beard and narrow face! curtseying her lowest and with a feeling of consternation and pity, as she thought of the orphan boy, she accepted his greeting with duteous welcome as he said, "kinswoman, i am come to cumber you, whilst i inquire into this matter. i give your son thanks for the honesty and faithfulness he hath shown in the matter, as befitted his father's son. i should wish myself to examine the springald." humfrey was accordingly called, and, privately admonished by his father that he must not allow any scruples about bringing his playmate into trouble to lead him to withhold his evidence, or shrink from telling the whole truth as he knew it, humfrey accordingly stood before the earl and made his replies a little sullenly but quite straightforwardly. he had prevented the whistle from being given to his sister for the huckstress because the woman was a witch, who frightened her, and moreover he knew it was against rules. did he suspect that the whistle came from the queen of scots? he looked startled, and asked if it were so indeed, and when again commanded to say why he had thought it possible, he replied that he knew antony thought the queen of scots a fair and gracious lady. did he believe that antony ever had communication with her or her people unheard by others? "assuredly! wherefore not, when he carried my lady countess's messages?" lord shrewsbury bent his brow, but did not further pursue this branch of the subject, but demanded of humfrey a description of tibbott, huckster or witch, man or woman. "she wears a big black hood and muffler," said humfrey, "and hath a long hooked stick." "i asked thee not of her muffler, boy, but of her person." "she hath pouncet boxes and hawks' bells, and dog-whistles in her basket," proceeded humfrey, but as the earl waxed impatient, and demanded whether no one could give him a clearer account, richard bade humfrey call his mother. she, however, could say nothing as to the woman's appearance. she had gone to norman's cottage to offer her services after the supposed accident, but had been told that the potticary of the queen of scots had undertaken her cure, and had only seen her huddled up in a heap of rags, asleep. since her recovery the woman had been several times at bridgefield, but it had struck the mistress of the house that there was a certain avoidance of direct communication with her, and a preference for the servants and children. this susan had ascribed to fear that she should be warned off for her fortune-telling propensities, or the children's little bargains interfered with. all she could answer for was that she had once seen a huge pair of grizzled eyebrows, with light eyes under them, and that the woman, if woman she were, was tall, and bent a good deal upon a hooked stick, which supported her limping steps. cicely could say little more, except that the witch had a deep awesome voice, like a man, and a long nose terrible to look at. indeed, there seemed to have been a sort of awful fascination about her to all the children, who feared her yet ran after her. antony was then sent for. it was not easy to judge of the expression of his disfigured countenance, but when thus brought to bay he threw off all tokens of compunction, and stood boldly before the earl. "so, master babington, i find you have been betraying the trust i placed in you--" "what, trust, my lord?" said antony, his bright blue eyes looking back into those of the nobleman. "the cockerel crows loud," said the earl. "what trust, quotha! is there no trust implied in the coming and going of one of my household, when such a charge is committed to me and mine?" "no one ever gave me any charge," said antony. "dost thou bandy words, thou froward imp?" said the earl. "thou hast not the conscience to deny that there was no honesty in smuggling forth a letter thus hidden. deny it not. the treasonable cipher hath been read!" "i knew nought of what was in it," said the boy. "i believe thee there, but thou didst know that it was foully disloyal to me and to her majesty to bear forth secret letters to disguised traitors. i am willing to believe that the smooth tongue which hath deluded many a better man than thou hath led thee astray, and i am willing to deal as lightly with thee as may be, so thou wilt tell me openly all thou knowest of this infamous plot." "i know of no plot, sir." "they would scarce commit the knowledge to the like of him," said richard talbot. "may be not," said lord shrewsbury, looking at him with a glance that antony thought contemptuous, and which prompted him to exclaim, "and if i did know of one, you may be assured i would never betray it were i torn with wild horses." "betray, sayest thou!" returned the earl. "thou hast betrayed my confidence, antony, and hast gone as far as in thee lies to betray thy queen." "my queen is mary, the lawful queen of us all," replied antony, boldly. "ho! sayest thou so? it is then as thou didst trow, cousin, the foolish lad hath been tampered with by the honeyed tongue. i need not ask thee from whom thou hadst this letter, boy. we have read it and know the foul treason therein. thou wilt never return to the castle again, but for thy father's sake thou shalt be dealt with less sternly, if thou wilt tell who this woman is, and how many of these toys thou hast given to her, if thou knowest who she is." but antony closed his lips resolutely. in fact, richard suspected him of being somewhat flattered by being the cause of such a commotion, and actually accused of so grand and manly a crime as high treason. the earl could extract no word, and finally sentenced him to remain at bridgefield, shut up in his own chamber till he could be dealt with. the lad walked away in a dignified manner, and the earl, holding up his hands, half amused, half vexed, said, "so the spell is on that poor lad likewise. what shall i do with him? an orphan boy too, and mine old friend's son." "with your favour, my lord," said richard, "i should say, send him to a grammar school, where among lads of his own age, the dreams about captive princesses might be driven from him by hard blows and merry games." "that may scarce serve," said the earl rather severely, for public schools were then held beneath the dignity of both the nobility and higher gentry. "i may, however, send him to study at cambridge under some trusty pedagogue. back at the castle i cannot have him, so must i cumber you with him, my good kinswoman, until his face have recovered your son's lusty chastisement. also it may be well to keep him here till we can lay hands on this same huckster-woman, since there may be need to confront him with her. it were best if you did scour the country toward chesterfield for her, while frank went to york." having thus issued his orders, the earl took a gracious leave of the lady, mounted his horse, and rode back to sheffield, dispensing with the attendance of his kinsman, who had indeed to prepare for an early start the next morning, when he meant to take humfrey with him, as not unlikely to recognise the woman, though he could not describe her. "the boy merits well to go forth with me," said he. "he hath done yeoman's service, and proved himself staunch and faithful." "was there matter in that scroll?" asked susan. "only such slight matter as burning down the talbots' kennel, while don john of austria is landing on the coast." "god forgive them, and defend us!" sighed susan, turning pale. "was that in the cipher?" "ay, in sooth, but fear not, good wife. much is purposed that ne'er comes to pass. i doubt me if the ship be built that is to carry the don hither." "i trust that antony knew not of the wickedness?" "not he. his is only a dream out of the romances the lads love so well, of beauteous princesses to be freed, and the like." "but the woman!" "yea, that lies deeper. what didst thou say of her? wherefore do the children call her a witch? is it only that she is grim and ugly?" "i trow there is more cause than that," said susan. "it may be that i should have taken more heed to their babble at first; but i have questioned cis while you were at the lodge, and i find that even before mate goatley spake here, this tibbott had told the child of her being of lofty race in the north, alien to the talbots' kennel, holding out to her presages of some princely destiny." "that bodeth ill!" said richard, thoughtfully. "wife, my soul misgives me that the hand of cuthbert langston is in this." susan started. the idea chimed in with tibbott's avoidance of her scrutiny, and also with a certain vague sense she had had of having seen those eyes before. so light-complexioned a man would be easily disguised, and the halt was accounted for by a report that he had had a bad fall when riding to join in the rising in the north. nor could there now be any doubt that he was an ardent partisan of the imprisoned mary, while richard had always known his inclination to intrigue. she could only agree with her husband's opinion, and ask what he would do. "my duty must be done, kin or no kin," said richard, "that is if i find him; but i look not to do that, since norman is no doubt off to warn him." "i marvel whether he hath really learnt who our cis can be?" "belike not! the hint would only have been thrown out to gain power over her." "said you that you read the cipher?" "master frank did so." "would it serve you to read our scroll?" "ah, woman! woman! why can thy kind never let well alone? i have sufficient on my hands without reading of scrolls!" humfrey's delight was extreme when he found that he was to ride forth with his father, and half-a-dozen of the earl's yeomen, in search of the supposed witch. they traced her as far as chesterfield; but having met the carrier's waggon on the way, they carefully examined faithful ekins on his report, but all the youth was clear about was the halt and the orange tawny cloak, and after entering chesterfield, no one knew anything of these tokens. there was a large village belonging to a family of recusants, not far off, where the pursuers generally did lose sight of suspicious persons; and, perhaps, richard was relieved, though his son was greatly chagrined. the good captain had a sufficient regard for his kinsman to be unwilling to have to unmask him as a traitor, and to be glad that he should have effected an escape, so that, at least, it should be others who should detect him--if langston indeed it were. his next charge was to escort young babington to cambridge, and deliver him up to a tutor of his lordship's selection, who might draw the popish fancies out of him. meantime, antony had been kept close to the house and garden, and not allowed any intercourse with any of the young people, save humfrey, except when the master or mistress of the house was present; but he did not want for occupation, for master sniggius came down, and gave him a long chapter of the book of proverbs--chiefly upon loyalty, in the septuagint, to learn by heart, and translate into latin and english as his saturday's and sunday's occupation, under pain of a flogging, which was no light thing from the hands of that redoubted dominie. young babington was half-flattered and half-frightened at the commotion he had excited. "am i going to the tower?" he asked, in a low voice, awestricken, yet not without a certain ring of self-importance, when he saw his mails brought down, and was bidden to put on his boots and his travelling dress. and captain talbot had a cruel satisfaction in replying, "no, master babington; the tower is not for refractory boys. you are going to your schoolmaster." but where the school was to be richard kept an absolute secret by special desire, in order that no communication should be kept up through any of the household. he was to avoid chatsworth, and to return as soon as possible to endeavour to trace the supposed huckster-woman at chesterfield. when once away from home, he ceased to treat young babington as a criminal, but rode in a friendly manner with him through lanes and over moors, till the young fellow began to thaw towards him, and even went so far as to volunteer one day that he would not have brought mistress cicely into the matter if there had been any other sure way of getting the letter delivered in his absence. "ah, boy!" returned richard, "when once we swerve from the open and direct paths, there is no saying into what tangles we may bring ourselves and others." antony winced a little, and said, "whoever says i lied, lies in his throat." "no one hath said thou wert false in word, but how as to thy deed?" "sir," said antony, "surely when a high emprise and great right is to be done, there is no need to halt over such petty quibbles." "master babington, no great right was ever done through a little wrong. depend on it, if you cannot aid without a breach of trust, it is the sure sign that it is not the will of god that you should be the one to do it." captain talbot mused whether he should convince or only weary the lad by an argument he had once heard in a sermon, that the force of satan's temptation to our blessed lord, when showing him all the kingdoms of the world, must have been the absolute and immediate vanishing of all kinds of evil, by a voluntary abdication on the part of the prince of this world, instead not only of the coming anguish of the strife, but of the long, long, often losing, battle which has been waging ever since. yet for this great achievement he would not commit the moment's sin. he was just about to begin when antony broke in, "then, sir, you do deem it a great wrong?" "that i leave to wiser heads than mine," returned the sailor. "my duty is to obey my lord, his duty is to obey her grace. that is all a plain man needs to see." "but an if the true queen be thus mewed up, sir?" asked antony. richard was too wise a man to threaten the suggestion down as rank treason, well knowing that thus he should never root it out. "look you here, antony," he said; "who ought to reign is a question of birth, such as neither of us can understand nor judge. but we know thus much, that her grace, queen elizabeth, hath been crowned and anointed and received oaths of fealty as her due, and that is quite enough for any honest man." "even when she keeps in durance the queen, who came as her guest in dire distress?" "nay, master antony, you are not old enough to remember that the durance began not until the queen of scots tried to form a party for herself among the english liegemen. and didst thou know, thou simple lad, what the letter bore, which thou didst carry, and what it would bring on this peaceful land?" antony looked a little startled when he heard of the burning of the kennel, but he averred that don john was a gallant prince. "i have seen more than one gallant spaniard under whose power i should grieve to see any friend of mine." all the rest of the way richard talbot entertained the young gentleman with stories of his own voyages and adventures, into which he managed to bring traits of spanish cruelty and barbarity as shown in the low countries, such as, without actually drawing the moral every time, might show what was to be expected if mary of scotland and don john of austria were to reign over england, armed with the inquisition. antony asked a good many questions, and when he found that the captain had actually been an eye-witness of the state of a country harried by the spaniards, he seemed a good deal struck. "i think if i had the training of him i could make a loyal englishman of him yet," said richard talbot to his wife on his return. "but i fear me there is that in his heart and his conscience which will only grow, while yonder sour-faced doctor, with whom i had to leave him at cambridge, preaches to him of the perdition of pope and papists." "if his mother were indeed a concealed papist," said susan, "such sermons will only revolt the poor child." "yea, truly. if my lord wanted to make a plotter and a papist of the boy he could scarce find a better means. i myself never could away with yonder lady's blandishments. but when he thinks of her in contrast to yonder divine, it would take a stronger head than his not to be led away. the best chance for him is that the stir of the world about him may put captive princesses out of his head." chapter viii. the key of the cipher where is the man who does not persuade himself that when he gratifies his own curiosity he does so for the sake of his womankind? so richard talbot, having made his protest, waited two days, but when next he had any leisure moments before him, on a sunday evening, he said to his wife, "sue, what hast thou done with that scroll of cissy's? i trow thou wilt not rest till thou art convinced it is but some lying horoscope or popish charm." susan had in truth been resting in perfect quietness, being extremely busy over her spinning, so as to be ready for the weaver who came round periodically to direct the more artistic portions of domestic work. however, she joyfully produced the scroll from the depths of the casket where she kept her chief treasures, and her spindle often paused in its dance as she watched her husband over it, with his elbows on the table and his hands in his hair, from whence he only removed them now and then to set down a letter or two by way of experiment. she had to be patient, for she heard nothing that night but that he believed it was french, that the father of deceits himself might be puzzled with the thing, and that she might as well ask him for his head at once as propose his consulting master francis. the next night he unfolded it with many a groan, and would say nothing at all; but he sat up late and waked in early dawn to pore over it again, and on the third day of study he uttered a loud exclamation of dismay, but he ordered susan off to bed in the midst, and did not utter anything but a perplexed groan or two when he followed her much later. it was not till the next night that she heard anything, and then, in the darkness, he began, "susan, thou art a good wife and a discreet woman." perhaps her heart leapt as she thought to herself, "at last it is coming, i knew it would!" but she only made some innocent note of attention. "thou hast asked no questions, nor tried to pry into this unhappy mystery," he went on. "i knew you would tell me what was fit for me to hear," she replied. "fit! it is fit for no one to hear! yet i needs must take counsel with thee, and thou hast shown thou canst keep a close mouth so far." "concerns it our cissy, husband?" "ay does it our cissy, indeed! what wouldst say, sue, to hear she was daughter to the lady yonder." "to the queen of scots?" "hush! hush!" fairly grasping her to hinder the words from being uttered above her breath. "and her father?" "that villain, bothwell, of course. poor lassie, she is ill fathered!" "you may say so. is it in the scroll?" "ay! so far as i can unravel it; but besides the cipher no doubt much was left for the poor woman to tell that was lost in the wreck." and he went on to explain that the scroll was a letter to the abbess of soissons, who was aunt to queen mary, as was well known, since an open correspondence was kept up through the french ambassador. this letter said that "our trusty alison hepburn" would tell how in secrecy and distress queen mary had given birth to this poor child in lochleven, and how she had been conveyed across the lake while only a few hours old, after being hastily baptized by the name of bride, one of the patron saints of scotland. she had been nursed in a cottage for a few weeks till the queen had made her first vain attempt to escape, after which mary had decided on sending her with her nurse to dumbarton castle, whence lord flemyng would despatch her to france. the abbess was implored to shelter her, in complete ignorance of her birth, until such time as her mother should resume her liberty and her throne. "or if," the poor queen said, "i perish in the hands of my enemies, you will deal with her as my uncles of guise and lorraine think fit, since, should her unhappy little brother die in the rude hands of yonder traitors, she may bring the true faith back to both realms." "ah!" cried susan, with a sudden gasp of dismay, as she bethought her that the child was indeed heiress to both realms after the young king of scots. "but has there been no quest after her? do they deem her lost?" "no doubt they do. either all hands were lost in the bride of dunbar, or if any of the crew escaped, they would report the loss of nurse and child. the few who know that the little one was born believe her to have perished. none will ever ask for her. they deem that she has been at the bottom of the sea these twelve years or more." "and you would still keep the knowledge to ourselves?" asked his wife, in a tone of relief. "i would i knew it not myself!" sighed richard. "would that i could blot it out of my mind." "it were far happier for the poor maid herself to remain no one's child but ours," said susan. "in sooth it is! a drop of royal blood is in these days a mere drop of poison to them that have the ill luck to inherit it. as my lord said the other day, it brings the headsman's axe after it." "and our boy humfrey calls himself contracted to her!" "so long as we let the secret die with us that can do her no ill. happily the wench favours not her mother, save sometimes in a certain lordly carriage of the head and shoulders. she is like enough to some of the scots retinue to make me think she must take her face from her father, the villain, who, someone told me, was beetle-browed and swarthy." "lives he still?" "so 'tis thought, but somewhere in prison in the north. there have been no tidings of his death; but my lady queen, you'll remember, treats the marriage as nought, and has made offer of herself for the misfortune of the duke of norfolk, ay, and of this don john, and i know not whom besides." "she would not have done that had she known that our cis was alive." "mayhap she would, mayhap not. i believe myself she would do anything short of disowning her popery to get out of prison; but as matters stand i doubt me whether cis--" "the lady bride hepburn," suggested susan. "pshaw, poor child, i misdoubt me whether they would own her claim even to that name." "and they might put her in prison if they did," said susan. "they would be sure to do so, sooner or later. here has my lord been recounting in his trouble about my lady's fine match for her bess, all that hath come of mating with royal blood, the very least disaster being poor lady mary grey's! kept in ward for life! it is a cruel matter. i would that i had known the cipher at first. then she might either have been disposed of at the queen's will, or have been sent safe to this nunnery at soissons." "to be bred a papist! oh fie, husband!" "and to breed dissension in the kingdoms!" added her husband. "it is best so far for the poor maiden herself to have thy tender hand over her than that of any queen or abbess of them all." "shall we then keep all things as they are, and lock this knowledge in our own hearts?" asked susan hopefully. "to that am i mightily inclined," said richard. "were it blazed abroad at once, thou and i might be made out guilty of i know not what for concealing it; and as to the maiden, she would either be put in close ward with her mother, or, what would be more likely, had up to court to be watched, and flouted, and spied upon, as were the two poor ladies--sisters to the lady jane--ere they made their lot hopeless by marrying. nay, i have seen those who told me that poor lady katherine was scarce worse bested in the tower than she was while at court." "my poor cis! no, no! the only cause for which i could bear to yield her up would be the thought that she would bring comfort to the heart of the poor captive mother who hath the best right to her." "forsooth! i suspect her poor captive mother would scarce be pleased to find this witness to her ill-advised marriage in existence." "nor would she be permitted to be with her." "assuredly not. moreover, what could she do with the poor child?" "rear her in popery," exclaimed susan, to whom the word was terrible. "yea, and make her hand secure as the bait to some foreign prince or some english traitor, who would fain overthrow queen and church." susan shuddered. "oh yes! let us keep the poor child to ourselves. i _could_ not give her up to such a lot as that. and it might imperil you too, my husband. i should like to get up instantly and burn the scroll." "i doubt me whether that were expedient," said richard. "suppose it were in the course of providence that the young king of scots should not live, then would this maid be the means of uniting the two kingdoms in the true and reformed faith! heaven forefend that he should be cut off, but meseemeth that we have no right to destroy the evidence that may one day be a precious thing to the kingdom at large." "no chance eye could read it even were it discovered?" said susan. "no, indeed. thou knowest how i strove in vain to read it at first, and even now, when frank talbot unwittingly gave me the key, it was days before i could fully read it. it will tell no tales, sweet wife, that can prejudice any one, so we will let it be, even with the baby clouts. so now to sleep, with no more thoughts on the matter." that was easy to say, but susan lay awake long, pondering over the wonder, and only slept to dream strange dreams of queens and princesses, ay, and worse, for she finally awoke with a scream, thinking her husband was on the scaffold, and that humfrey and cis were walking up the ladder, hand in hand with their necks bared, to follow him! there was no need to bid her hold her tongue. she regarded the secret with dread and horror, and a sense of something amiss which she could not quite define, though she told herself she was only acting in obedience to her husband, and indeed her judgment went along with his. often she looked at the unconscious cis, studying whether the child's parentage could be detected in her features. but she gave promise of being of larger frame than her mother, who had the fine limbs and contour of her lorraine ancestry, whereas cis did, as richard said, seem to have the sturdy outlines of the borderer race from whom her father came. she was round-faced too, and sunburnt, with deep gray eyes under black straight brows, capable of frowning heavily. she did not look likely ever to be the fascinating beauty which all declared her mother to be--though those who saw the captive at sheffield, believed the charm to be more in indefinable grace than in actual features,--in a certain wonderful smile and sparkle, a mixed pathos and archness which seldom failed of its momentary effect, even upon those who most rebelled against it. poor little cis, a sturdy girl of twelve or thirteen, playing at ball with little ned on the terrace, and coming with tardy steps to her daily task of spinning, had little of the princess about her; and yet when she sat down, and the management of distaff and thread threw her shoulders back, there was something in the poise of her small head and the gesture of her hand that forcibly recalled the queen. moreover, all the boys around were at her beck and call, not only humfrey and poor antony babington, but cavendishes, pierrepoints, all the young pages and grandsons who dwelt at castle or lodge, and attended master sniggius's school. nay, the dominie himself, though owning that mistress cicely promoted idleness and inattention among his pupils, had actually volunteered to come down to bridgefield twice a week himself to prevent her from forgetting her lilly's grammar and her caesar's commentaries, an attention with which this young lady would willingly have dispensed. stewart, lorraine, hepburn, the blood of all combined was a perilous inheritance, and good susan talbot's instinct was that the young girl whom she loved truly like her own daughter would need all the more careful and tender watchfulness and training to overcome any tendencies that might descend to her. pity increased her affection, and even while in ordinary household life it was easy to forget who and what the girl really was, yet cis was conscious that she was admitted to the intimacy and privileges of an elder daughter, and made a companion and friend, while her contemporaries at the manor-house were treated as children, and rated roundly, their fingers tapped with fans, their shoulders even whipped, whenever they transgressed. cis did indeed live under equal restraint, but it was the wise and gentle restraint of firm influence and constant watchfulness, which took from her the wish to resist. chapter ix. unquiet. bridgefield was a peaceable household, and the castle and manor beyond might envy its calm. from the time of the marriage of elizabeth cavendish with the young earl of lennox all the shreds of comfort which had remained to the unfortunate earl had vanished. first he had to clear himself before queen elizabeth from having been a consenting party, and then he found his wife furious with him at his displeasure at her daughter's aggrandisement. moreover, whereas she had formerly been on terms of friendly gossiphood with the scottish queen, she now went over to the lennox side because her favourite daughter had married among them; and it was evident that from that moment all amity between her and the prisoner was at an end. she was enraged that her husband would not at once change his whole treatment of the queen, and treat her as such guilt deserved; and with the illogical dulness of a passionate woman, she utterly scouted and failed to comprehend the argument that the unhappy mary was, to say the least of it, no more guilty now than when she came into their keeping, and that to alter their demeanour towards her would be unjust and unreasonable. "my lady is altogether beyond reason," said captain talbot, returning one evening to his wife; "neither my lord nor her daughter can do ought with her; so puffed up is she with this marriage! moreover, she is hotly angered that young babington should have been sent away from her retinue without notice to her, and demands our humfrey in his stead as a page." "he is surely too old for a page!" said his mother, thinking of her tall well-grown son of fifteen. "so said i," returned richard. "i had sooner it were diccon, and so i told his lordship." before richard could speak for them, the two boys came in, eager and breathless. "father!" cried humfrey, "who think you is at hull? why, none other than your old friend and shipmate, captain frobisher!" "ha! martin frobisher! who told thee, humfrey?" "faithful ekins, sir, who had it from the doncaster carrier, who saw captain frobisher himself, and was asked by him if you, sir, were not somewhere in yorkshire, and if so, to let you know that he will be in hull till may-day, getting men together for a voyage to the northwards, where there is gold to be had for the picking--and if you had a likely son or two, now was the time to make their fortunes, and show them the world. he said, any way you might ride to see an old comrade." "a long message for two carriers," said richard talbot, smiling, "but martin never was a scribe!" "but, sir, you will let me go," cried humfrey, eagerly. "i mean, i pray you to let me go. dear mother, say nought against it," entreated the youth. "cis, think of my bringing thee home a gold bracelet like mother's." "what," said his father, "when my lady has just craved thee for a page." "a page!" said humfrey, with infinite contempt--"to hear all their tales and bickerings, hold skeins of silk, amble mincingly along galleries, be begged to bear messages that may have more in them than one knows, and be noted for a bear if one refuses." the father and cis laughed, the mother looked unhappy. "so martin is at hull, is he?" said richard, musingly. "if my lord can give me leave for a week or fortnight, methinks i must ride to see the stout old knave." "and oh, sweet father! prithee take me with you," entreated humfrey, "if it be only to come back again. i have not seen the sea since we came here, and yet the sound is in my ears as i fall asleep. i entreat of you to let me come, good my father." "and, good father, let me come," exclaimed diccon; "i have never even seen the sea!" "and dear, sweet father, take me," entreated little ned. "nay," cried cis, "what should i do? here is antony babington borne off to cambridge, and you all wanting to leave me." "i'll come home better worth than he!" muttered humfrey, who thought he saw consent on his father's brow, and drew her aside into the deep window. "you'll come back a rude sailor, smelling of pitch and tar, and antony will be a well-bred, point-device scholar, who will know how to give a lady his hand," said the teasing girl. "and so the playful war was carried on, while the father, having silenced and dismissed the two younger lads, expressed his intention of obtaining leave of absence, if possible, from the earl." "yea," he added to his wife, "i shall even let humfrey go with me. it is time he looked beyond the walls of this place, which is little better than a prison." "and will you let him go on this strange voyage?" she asked wistfully, "he, our first-born, and our heir." "for that, dame, remember his namesake, my poor brother, was the one who stayed at home, i the one to go forth, and here am i now! the lad's words may have set before thee weightier perils in yonder park than he is like to meet among seals and bears under honest old martin." "yet here he has your guidance," said susan. "who knows how they might play on his honour as to talebearing? nay, good wife, when thou hast thought it over, thou wilt see that far fouler shoals and straits lie up yonder, than in the free open sea that god almighty made. martin is a devout and godly man, who hath matins and evensong on board each day when the weather is not too foul, and looks well that there be no ill-doings in his ship; and if he have a berth for thy lad, it will be a better school for him than where two-thirds of the household are raging against one another, and the third ever striving to corrupt and outwit the rest. i am weary of it all! would that i could once get into blue water again, and leave it all behind!" "you will not! oh! you will not!" implored susan. "remember, my dear, good lord, how you said all your duties lay at home." "i remember, my good housewife. thou needst not fear for me. but there is little time to spare. if i am to see mine old friend, i must get speech of my lord to-night, so as to be on horseback to-morrow. saddle me brown dumpling, boys." and as the boys went off, persuading cis, who went coyly protesting that the paddock was damp, yet still following after them, he added, "yea, sue, considering all, it is better those two were apart for a year or so, till we see better what is this strange nestling that we have reared. ay, thou art like the mother sparrow that hath bred up a cuckoo and doteth on it, yet it mateth not with her brood." "it casteth them out," said susan, "as thou art doing now, by your leave, husband." "only for a flight, gentle mother," he answered, "only for a flight, to prove meanwhile whether there be the making of a simple household bird, or of a hawk that might tear her mate to pieces, in yonder nestling." susan was too dutiful a wife to say more, though her motherly heart was wrung almost as much at the implied distrust of her adopted daughter as by the sudden parting with her first-born to the dangers of the northern seas. she could better enter into her husband's fears of the temptations of page life at sheffield, and being altogether a wife, "bonner and boughsome," as her marriage vow held it, she applied herself and cis to the choosing of the shirts and the crimping of the ruffs that were to appear in hull, if, for there was this hope at the bottom of her heart, my lord might refuse leave of absence to his "gentleman porter." the hope was fallacious; richard reported that my lord was so much relieved to find that he had detected no fresh conspiracy, as to be willing to grant him a fortnight's leave, and even had said with a sigh that he was in the right on't about his son, for sheffield was more of a school for plotting than for chivalry. it was a point of honour with every good housewife to have a store of linen equal to any emergency, and, indeed, as there were no washing days in the winter, the stock of personal body-linen was at all times nearly a sufficient outfit; so the main of humfrey's shirts were to be despatched by a carrier, in the trust that they would reach him before the expedition should sail. there was then little to delay the father and son, after the mother, with fast-gathering tears resolutely forced back, had packed and strapped their mails, with cis's help, humfrey standing by, booted and spurred, and talking fast of the wonders he should see, and the gold and ivory he should bring home, to hide the qualms of home-sickness, and mother-sickness, he was already beginning to feel; and maybe to get cis to pronounce that then she should think more of him than of antony babington with his airs and graces. wistfully did the lad watch for some such tender assurance, but cis seemed all provoking brilliancy and teasing. "she knew he would be back over soon. oh no, _he_ would never go to sea! she feared not. mr. frobisher would have none of such awkward lubbers. more's the pity. there would be some peace to get to do her broidery, and leave to play on the virginals when he was gone." but when the horsemen had disappeared down the avenue, cis hid herself in a corner and cried as if her heart would break. she cried again behind the back of the tall settle when the father came back alone, full of praises of captain frobisher, his ship, and his company, and his assurances that he would watch over humfrey like his own son. meantime the domestic storms at the park were such that master richard and his wife were not sorry that the boy was not growing up in the midst of them, though the countess rated susan severely for her ingratitude. queen elizabeth was of course much angered at the lennox match, and the earl had to write letter after letter to clear himself from any participation in bringing it about. queen mary also wrote to clear herself of it, and to show that she absolutely regretted it, as she had small esteem for bess cavendish. moreover, though lady shrewsbury's friendship might not be a very pleasant thing, it was at least better than her hostility. however, she was not much at sheffield. not only was she very angry with her husband, but queen elizabeth had strictly forbidden the young lord lennox from coming under the same roof with his royal sister-in-law. he was a weakly youth, and his wife's health failed immediately after her marriage, so that lady shrewsbury remained almost constantly at chatsworth with her darling. gilbert talbot, who was the chief peacemaker of the family, went to and fro, wrote letters and did his best, which would have been more effective but for mary, his wife, who, no doubt, detailed all the gossip of sheffield at chatsworth, as she certainly amused sheffield with stories of her sister bess as a royal countess full of airs and humours, and her mother treating her, if not as a queen, at least on the high road to become one, and how the haughty dame of shrewsbury ran willingly to pick up her daughter's kerchief, and stood over the fire stirring the posset, rather than let it fail to tempt the appetite which became more dainty by being cossetted. the difference made between lady lennox and her elder sisters was not a little nettling to dame mary talbot, who held that some consideration was her due, as the proud mother of the only grandson of the house of shrewsbury, little george, who was just able to be put on horseback in the court, and say he was riding to see "lady danmode," and to drink the health of "lady danmode" at his meals. alas! the little hope of the talbots suddenly faded. one evening after supper a message came down in haste to beg for the aid of mistress susan, who, though much left to the seclusion of bridgefield in prosperous days, was always a resource in trouble or difficulty. little george, then two and a half years old, had been taken suddenly ill after a supper on marchpane and plum broth, washed down by christmas ale. convulsions had come on, and the skill of queen mary's apothecary had only gone so far as to bleed him. susan arrived only just in time to see the child breathe his last sigh, and to have his mother, wild with tumultuous clamorous grief, put into her hands for such soothing and comforting as might be possible, and the good and tender woman did her best to turn the mother's thoughts to something higher and better than the bewailing at one moment "her pretty boy," with a sort of animal sense of bereavement, and the next with lamentations over the honours to which he would have succeeded. it was of little use to speak to her of the eternal glories of which he was now secure, for mary talbot's sorrow was chiefly selfish, and was connected with the loss of her pre-eminence as parent to the heir-male. however, the grief of those times was apt to expend itself quickly, and when little george's coffin, smothered under heraldic devices and funeral escutcheons, had been bestowed in the family vault, dame mary soon revived enough to take a warm interest in the lords who were next afterwards sent down to hold conferences with the captive; and her criticism of the fashion of their ruffs and doublets was as animated as ever. another grief, however, soon fell upon the family. lady lennox's ailments proved to be no such trifles as her sisters and sisters-in-law had been pleased to suppose, and before the year was out, she had passed away from all her ambitious hopes, leaving a little daughter. the earl took a brief leave of absence to visit his lady in her affliction at chatsworth, and to stand godfather to the motherless infant. "she will soon be fatherless, too," said richard talbot on his return to bridgefield, after attending his lord on this expedition. "my young lord lennox, poor youth, is far gone in the wasting sickness, as well as distraught with grief, and he could scarcely stand to receive my lord." "our poor lady!" said susan, "it pities me to think what hopes she had fixed upon that young couple whom she had mated together." "i doubt me whether her hopes be ended now," quoth richard. "what think you she hath fixed on as the name of the poor puling babe yonder? they have called her arbel or arabella." "arabella, say you? i never heard such a name. it is scarce christian. is it out of a romaunt?" "better that it were. it is out of a pedigree. they have got the whole genealogy of the house of lennox blazoned fair, with crowns and coronets and coats of arms hung up in the hall at chatsworth, going up on the one hand through sir aeneas of troy, and on the other hand through woden to adam and eve! pass for all before the stewart line became kings of scots! well, it seems that these lennox stewarts sprang from one walter, who was son to king robert ii., and that the mother of this same walter was called anhild, or as the scots here call it annaple, but the scholars have made it into arabella, and so my young lady is to be called. they say it was a special fancy of the young countess's." "so i should guess. my lady would fill her head with such thoughts, and of this poor youth being next of kin to the young scottish king, and to our own queen." "he is not next heir to scotland even, barring a little one we wot of, dame sue. the hamiltons stand between, being descended from a daughter of king james i." "so methought i had heard. are they not papists?" "yea! ah ha, sweetheart, there is another of the house of hardwicke as fain to dreams of greatness for her child as ever was the countess, though she may be more discreet in the telling of them." "ah me, dear sir, i dreamt not of greatness for splendour's sake--'twere scarce for the dear child's happiness. i only thought of what you once said, that she may be the instrument of preserving the true religion." "and if so, it can only be at a mighty cost!" said her husband. "verily," said susan, "glad am i that you sent our humfrey from her. would that nought had ever passed between the children!" "they were but children," said richard; "and there was no contract between them." "i fear me there was what humfrey will hold to, or know good reason why," said his mother. "and were the young king of scots married and father to a goodly heir, there is no reason he should not hold to it," rejoined richard. however richard was still anxious to keep his son engaged at a distance from sheffield. there was great rejoicing and thankfulness when one of the many messengers constantly passing between london and sheffield brought a packet from humfrey, whose ship had put into the thames instead of the humber. the packet contained one of the black stones which the science of the time expected to transmute into gold, also some esquimaux trinkets made of bone, and a few shells. these were for the mother and cis, and there were also the tusks of a sea-elephant which humfrey would lay up at my lord's london lodgings till his father sent tidings what should be done with them, and whether he should come home at once by sea to hull, or if, as he much desired to do, he might join an expedition which was fitting out for the spanish main, where he was assured that much more both of gold and honour was to be acquired than in the cold northern seas, where nothing was to be seen for the fog at most times, and when it cleared only pigmies, with their dogs, white bears, and seals, also mountains of ice bigger than any church, blue as my lady's best sapphires, green as her emeralds, sparkling as her diamonds, but ready to be the destruction of the ships. "one there was," wrote humfrey, "that i could have thought was no other than the city that the blessed st. john saw descending from heaven, so fair was it to look on, but they cried out that it was rather a city of destruction, and when we had got out of the current where it was bearing down on us, our noble captain piped all hands up to prayers, and gave thanks for our happy deliverance therefrom." susan breathed a thanksgiving as her husband read, and he forbore to tell her of the sharks, the tornadoes, and the fevers which might make the tropical seas more perilous than the arctic. no elizabethan mariner had any scruples respecting piracy, and so long as the captain was a godly man who kept up strict discipline on board, master richard held the quarterdeck to be a much more wholesome place than the manor-house, and much preferred the humours of the ship to those of any other feminine creature; for, as to his susan, he always declared that she was the only woman who had none. so she accepted his decision, and saw the wisdom of it, though her tender heart deeply felt the disappointment. tenderly she packed up the shirts which she and cis had finished, and bestrewed them with lavender, which, as she said, while a tear dropped with the gray blossoms, would bring the scent of home to the boy. cis affected to be indifferent and offended. master humfrey might do as he chose. she did not care if he did prefer pitch and tar, and whale blubber and grease, to hawks and hounds, and lords and ladies. she was sure she wanted no more great lubberly lads--with a sly cut at diccon--to tangle her silk, and torment her to bait their hooks. she was well quit of any one of them. when diccon proposed that she should write a letter to humfrey, she declared that she should do no such thing, since he had never attempted to write to her. in truth diccon may have made the proposal in order to obtain a companion in misfortune, since master sniggius, emulous of the success of other tutors, insisted on his writing to his brother in latin, and the unfortunate epistle of ricardus to onofredus was revised and corrected to the last extremity, and as it was allowed to contain no word unknown to virgilius maro, it could not have afforded much delectation to the recipient. but when mrs. susan had bestowed all the shirts as neatly as possible, on returning to settle them for the last time before wrapping them up for the messenger, she felt something hard among them. it was a tiny parcel wrapped in a piece of a fine kerchief, tied round with a tress of dark hair, and within, susan knew by the feeling, a certain chess rook which had been won by cis when shooting at the butts a week or two before. chapter x. the lady arbell. after several weary months of languishing, charles stewart was saved from the miseries which seemed the natural inheritance of his name by sinking into his grave. his funeral was conducted with the utmost magnificence, though the earl of shrewsbury declined to be present at it, and shortly after, the countess intimated her purpose of returning to sheffield, bringing with her the little orphan, lady arabella stewart. orders came that the best presence chamber in the manor-house should be prepared, the same indeed where queen mary had been quartered before the lodge had been built for her use. the earl was greatly perturbed. "whom can she intend to bring?" he went about asking. "if it were the lady margaret, it were be much as my head were worth to admit her within the same grounds as this queen." "there is no love lost between the mother-in-law and daughter-in-law," observed his son gilbert in a consolatory tone. "little good would that do to me, if once it came to the ears of her grace and the lord treasurer that both had been my guests! and if i had to close the gates--though in no other way could i save my life and honour--your mother would never forget it. it would be cast up to me for ever. what think you, daughter talbot?" "mayhap," said dame mary, "my lady mother has had a hint to make ready for her majesty herself, who hath so often spoken of seeing the queen of scots, and might think well to take her unawares." this was a formidable suggestion. "say you so," cried the poor earl, with an alarm his eye would never have betrayed had parma himself been within a march of sheffield, "then were we fairly spent. i am an impoverished man, eaten out of house and lands as it is, and were the queen herself to come, i might take at once to the beggar's bowl." "but think of the honour, good my lord," cried mary. "think of all hallamshire coming to do her homage. oh, how i should laugh to hear the mayor stumbling over his address." "laugh, ay," growled the earl; "and how will you laugh when there is not a deer left in the park, nor an ox in the stalls?" "nay, my lord," interposed gilbert, "there is no fear of her majesty's coming. that post from m. de la mauvissiere reported her at greenwich only five days back, and it would take her majesty a far longer time to make her progress than yonder fellow, who will tell you himself that she had no thoughts of moving." "that might only be a feint to be the more sudden with us," said his wife, actuated in part by the diversion of alarming her father-in-law, and in part really fired by the hope of such an effectual enlivenment of the dulness of sheffield. they were all in full family conclave drawn up in the hall for the reception, and mistress susan, who could not bear to see the earl so perplexed and anxious, ventured to say that she was quite sure that my lady countess would have sent warning forward if indeed she were bringing home such a guest, and at that moment the blare of trumpets announced that the cavalcade was approaching. the start which the earl gave showed how much his nerves had become affected by his years of custody. up the long avenue they came, with all the state with which the earl had conducted queen mary to the lodge before she was absolutely termed a prisoner. halberdiers led the procession, horse and foot seemed to form it. the home party stood on the top of the steps watching with much anxiety. there was a closed litter visible, beside which lady shrewsbury, in a mourning dress and hood, could be seen riding her favourite bay palfrey. no doubt it contained the lady margaret, countess of lennox; and the unfortunate earl, forgetting all his stately dignity, stood uneasily moving from leg to leg, and pulling his long beard, torn between the instincts of hospitality and of loyal obedience, between fear of his wife and fear of the queen. the litter halted at the foot of the steps, the earl descended. all he saw was the round face of an infant in its nurse's arms, and he turned to help his wife from the saddle, but she waved him aside. "my son gilbert will aid me, my lord," said she, "your devoir is to the princess." poor lord shrewsbury, his apologies on his tongue, looked into the litter, where he saw the well-known and withered countenance of the family nurse. he also beheld a buxom young female, whose dress marked her as a peasant, but before he had time to seek further for the princess, the tightly rolled chrysalis of a child was thrust into his astonished arms, while the round face puckered up instantly with terror at sight of his bearded countenance, and he was greeted with a loud yell. he looked helplessly round, and his lady was ready at once to relieve him. "my precious! my sweetheart! my jewel! did he look sour at her and frighten her with his ugsome beard?" and the like endearments common to grandmothers in all ages. "but where is the princess?" "where? where should she be but here? her grandame's own precious, royal, queenly little darling!" and as a fresh cry broke out, "yes, yes; she shall to her presence chamber. usher her, gilbert." "bess's brat!" muttered dame mary, in ineffable disappointment. curiosity and the habit of obedience to the countess carried the entire troop on to the grand apartments on the south side, where queen mary had been lodged while the fiction of her guestship had been kept up. lady shrewsbury was all the time trying to hush the child, who was quite old enough to be terrified by new faces and new scenes, and who was besides tired and restless in her swaddling bands, for which she was so nearly too old that she had only been kept in them for greater security upon the rough and dangerous roads. great was my lady's indignation on reaching the state rooms on finding that no nursery preparations had been made, and her daughter mary, with a giggle hardly repressed by awe of her mother, stood forth and said, "why, verily, my lady, we expected some great dame, my lady margaret or my lady hunsdon at the very least, when you spoke of a princess." "and who should it be but one who has both the royal blood of england and scotland in her veins? you have not saluted the child to whom you have the honour to be akin, mary! on your knee, minion; i tell you she hath as good or a better chance of wearing a crown as any woman in england." "she hath a far better chance of a prison," muttered the earl, "if all this foolery goes on." "what! what is that? what are you calling these honours to my orphan princess?" cried the lady, but the princess herself here broke in with the lustiest of squalls, and susan, who was sorry for the child, contrived to insert an entreaty that my lady would permit her to be taken at once to the nursery chamber that had been made ready for her, and let her there be fed, warmed, and undressed at once. there was something in the quality of susan's voice to which people listened, and the present necessity overcame the countess's desire to assert the dignity of her granddaughter, so she marched out of the room attended by the women, while the earl and his sons were only too glad to slink away--there is no other word for it, their relief as to the expected visitor having been exchanged for consternation of another description. there was a blazing fire ready, and all the baby comforts of the time provided, and poor little lady arbell was relieved from her swathing bands, and allowed to stretch her little limbs on her nurse's lap, the one rest really precious to babes of all periods and conditions--but the troubles were not yet over, for the grandmother, glancing round, demanded, "where is the cradle inlaid with pearl? why was it not provided? bring it here." now this cradle, carved in cedar wood and inlaid with mother-of-pearl, had been a sponsor's gift to poor little george, the first male heir of the talbots, and it was regarded as a special treasure by his mother, who was both wounded and resentful at the demand, and stood pouting and saying, "it was my son's. it is mine." "it belongs to the family. you," to two of the servants, "fetch it here instantly!" the ladies of hardwicke race were not guarded in temper or language, and mary burst into passionate tears and exclamations that bess's brat should not have her lost george's cradle, and flounced away to get before the servants and lock it up. lady shrewsbury would have sprung after her, and have made no scruple of using her fists and nails even on her married daughter, but that she was impeded by a heavy table, and this gave time for susan to throw herself before her, and entreat her to pause. "you, you, susan talbot! you should know better than to take the part of an undutiful, foul-tongued vixen like that. out of my way, i say!" and as susan, still on her knees, held the riding-dress, she received a stinging box on the ear. but in her maiden days she had known the weight of my lady's hand, and without relaxing her hold, she only entreated: "hear me, hear me for a little space, my lady. did you but know how sore her heart is, and how she loved little master george!" "that is no reason she should flout and miscall her dead sister, of whom she was always jealous!" "o madam, she wept with all her heart for poor lady lennox. it is not any evil, but she sets such store by that cradle in which her child died--she keeps it by her bed even now, and her woman told me how, for all she seems gay and blithe by day, she weeps over it at night, as if her heart would break." lady shrewsbury was a little softened. "the child died in it?" she asked. "yea, madam. he had been on his father's knee, and had seemed a little easier, and as if he might sleep, so sir gilbert laid him down, and he did but stretch himself out, shiver all over, draw a long breath, and the pretty lamb was gone to paradise!" "you saw him, susan?" "yea, madam. dame mary sent for me, but none could be of any aid where it was the will of heaven to take him." "if i had been there," said the countess, "i who have brought up eight children and lost none, i should have saved him! so he died in yonder cedar cradle! well, e'en let mary keep it. it may be that there is infection in the smell of the cedar wood, and that the child will sleep better out of it. it is too late to do aught this evening, but to-morrow the child shall be lodged as befits her birth, in the presence chamber." "ah, madam!" said susan, "would it be well for the sweet babe if her majesty's messengers, who be so often at the castle, were to report her so lodged?" "i have a right to lodge my grandchild where and how i please in my own house." "yea, madam, that is most true, but you wot how the queen treats all who may have any claim to the throne in future times; and were it reported by any of the spies that are ever about us, how royal honours were paid to the little lady arbell, might she not be taken from your ladyship's wardship, and bestowed with those who would not show her such loving care?" the countess would not show whether this had any effect on her, or else some sound made by the child attracted her. it was a puny little thing, and she had a true grandmother's affection for it, apart from her absurd pride and ambition, so that she was glad to hold counsel over it with susan, who had done such justice to her training as to be, in her eyes, a mother who had sense enough not to let her children waste and die; a rare merit in those days, and one that susan could not disclaim, though she knew that it did not properly belong to her. cis had stood by all the time like a little statue, for no one, not even young lady talbot, durst sit down uninvited in the presence of earl or countess; but her black brows were bent, her gray eyes intent. "mother," she said, as they went home on their quiet mules, "are great ladies always so rudely spoken to one another?" "i have not seen many great ladies, cis, and my lady countess has always been good to me." "antony said that the scots queen and her ladies never storm at one another like my lady and her daughters." "open words do not always go deep, cis," said the mother. "i had rather know and hear the worst at once." and then her heart smote her as she recollected that she might be implying censure of the girl's true mother, as well as defending wrath and passion, and she added, "be that as it may, it is a happy thing to learn to refrain the tongue." chapter xi. queen mary's presence chamber. the storm that followed on the instalment of the lady arbell at sheffield was the precursor of many more. her grandmother did sufficiently awake to the danger of alarming the jealousy of queen elizabeth to submit to leave her in the ordinary chambers of the children of the house, and to exact no extraordinary marks of respect towards the unconscious infant; but there was no abatement in the countess's firm belief that an english-born, english-bred child, would have more right to the crown than any "foreign princes," as she contemptuously termed the scottish queen and her son. moreover, in her two years' intercourse with the elder countess of lennox, who was a gentle-tempered but commonplace woman, she had adopted to the full that unfortunate princess's entire belief in the guilt of queen mary, and entertained no doubt that she had been the murderer of darnley. old lady lennox had seen no real evidence, and merely believed what she was told by her lord, whose impeachment of bothwell had been baffled by the queen in a most suspicious manner. conversations with this lady had entirely changed lady shrewsbury from the friendly hostess of her illustrious captive, to be her enemy and persecutor, partly as being convinced of her guilt, partly as regarding her as an obstacle in the path of little arbell to the throne. so she not only refused to pay her respects as usual to "that murtheress," but she insisted that her husband should tighten the bonds of restraint, and cut off all indulgences. the countess was one of the women to whom argument and reason are impossible, and who was entirely swayed by her predilections, as well as of so imperious a nature as to brook no opposition, and to be almost always able to sweep every one along with her. her own sons always were of her mind, and her daughters might fret and chafe, but were sure to take part with her against every one else outside the cavendish family. the idea of being kinsfolk to the future queen excited them all, and even mary forgot her offence about the cradle, and her jealousy of bess, and ranked herself against her stepfather, influencing her husband, gilbert, on whom the unfortunate earl had hitherto leant. on his refusal to persecute his unfortunate captive beyond the orders from the court, bess of hardwicke, emboldened by the support she had gathered from her children, passionately declared that it could only be because he was himself in love with the murtheress. lord shrewsbury could not help laughing a little at the absurdity of the idea, whereupon my lady rose up in virtuous indignation, calling her sons and daughters to follow her. all that night, lights might have been seen flitting about at the manor-house, and early in the morning bugles sounded to horse. a huge procession, consisting of the countess herself, and all her sons and daughters then at sheffield, little lady arbell, and the whole of their attendants, swept out of the gates of the park on the way to hardwicke. when richard talbot went up to fulfil his duties as gentleman porter at the lodge the courts seemed well-nigh deserted, and a messenger summoned him at once to the earl, whom he found in his bed-chamber in his morning gown terribly perturbed. "for heaven's sake send for your wife, richard talbot!" he said. "it is her majesty's charge that some of mine household, or i myself, see this unhappy queen of scots each day for not less than two hours, as you well know. my lady has broken away, and all her daughters, on this accursed fancy--yea, and gilbert too, gilbert whom i always looked to to stand by me; i have no one to send. if i go and attend upon her alone, as i have done a thousand times to my sorrow, it will but give colour to the monstrous tale; but if your good wife, an honourable lady of the hardwicke kin, against whom none ever breathed a word, will go and give the daily attendance, then can not the queen herself find fault, and my wife's heated fancy can coin nothing suspicious. you must all come up, and lodge here in the manor-house till this tempest be overpast. oh, richard, richard! will it last out my life? my very children are turned against me. go you down and fetch your good susan, and take order for bringing up your children and gear. benthall shall take your turn at the lodge. what are you tarrying for? do you doubt whether your wife have rank enough to wait on the queen? she should have been a knight's lady long ago, but that i deemed you would be glad to be quit of herald's fees; your service and estate have merited it, and i will crave license by to-day's courier from her majesty to lay knighthood on your shoulder." "that was not what i thought of, my lord, though i humbly thank you, and would be whatever was best for your lordship's service, though, if it would serve you as well, i would rather be squire than knight; but i was bethinking me how we should bestow our small family. we have a young damsel at an age not to be left to herself." "the black-browed maid--i recollect her. let her e'en follow her mother. queen mary likes a young face, and is kindly disposed to little maids. she taught bess pierrepoint to speak french and work with her needle, and i cannot see that she did the lass any harm, nay, she is the only one of them all that can rule her tongue to give a soft answer if things go not after her will, and a maid might learn worse things. besides, your wife will be there to look after the maiden, so you need have no fears. and for your sons, they will be at school, and can eat with us." richard's doubts being thus silenced he could not but bring his wife to his lord's rescue, though he well knew that susan would be greatly disturbed on all accounts, and indeed he found her deep in the ironing that followed the great spring wash, and her housewifely mind was as much exercised as to the effects of her desertion, as was her maternal prudence at the plunge which her unconscious adopted child was about to make. however, there was no denying the request, backed as it was by her husband, looking at her proudly, and declaring she was by general consent the only discreet woman in sheffield. she was very sorry for the earl's perplexity, and had a loyal pity for the countess's vexation and folly, and she was consoled by the assurance that she would have a free time between dinner and supper to go home and attend to her wash, and finish her preparations. cis, who had been left in a state of great curiosity, to continue compounding pickle while the mother was called away, was summoned, to don her holiday kirtle, for she was to join in attendance on the queen of scots while lady shrewsbury and her daughters were absent. it was unmixed delight to the girl, and she was not long in fresh-binding up her hair--black with a little rust-coloured tinge--under her stiff little cap, smoothing down the front, which was alone visible, putting on the well-stiffened ruff with the dainty little lace edge and close-fitting tucker, and then the gray home-spun kirtle, with the puffs at the top of the tight sleeves, and the slashes into which she had persuaded mother to insert some old pink satin, for was not she sixteen now, and almost a woman? there was a pink breast-knot to match, and humfrey's owch just above it, gray stockings, home-spun and worked with elaborate pink clocks, but knitted by cis herself; and a pair of shoes with pink roses to match were put into a bag, to be assumed when she arrived at the lodge. out of this simple finery beamed a face, bright in spite of the straight, almost bushy, black brows. there was a light of youth, joy, and intelligence, about her gray eyes which made them sparkle all the more under their dark setting, and though her complexion had no brilliancy, only the clearness of health, and her features would not endure criticism, there was a wonderful lively sweetness about her fresh, innocent young mouth; and she had a tall lithe figure, surpassing that of her stepmother. she would have been a sonsie border lass in appearance but for the remarkable carriage of her small head and shoulders, which was assuredly derived from her royal ancestry, and indeed her air and manner of walking were such that diccon had more than once accused her of sailing about ambling like the queen of scots, an accusation which she hotly denied. her hands bad likewise a slender form and fine texture, such as none of the ladies of the houses of talbot or hardwicke could rival, but she was on the whole viewed as far from being a beauty. the taste of the day was altogether for light, sandy-haired, small-featured women, like queen elizabeth or her namesake of hardwicke, so that cis was looked on as a sort of crow, and her supposed parents were pitied for having so ill-favoured a daughter, so unlike all their families, except one black-a-vised talbot grandmother, whose portrait had been discovered on a pedigree. much did susan marvel what impression the daughter would make on the true mother as they jogged up on their sober ponies through the long avenues, whose branches were beginning to wear the purple shades of coming spring. lord shrewsbury himself met them in front of the lodge, where, in spite of all his dignity, he had evidently been impatiently awaiting them. he thanked susan for coming, as if he had not had a right to order, gave her his ungloved hand when she had dismounted, then at the single doorway of the lodge caused his gentleman to go through the form of requesting admission for himself and mistress talbot, his dear kinswoman, to the presence of the queen. it was a ceremony daily observed as an acknowledgment of mary's royalty, and the earl was far too courteous ever to omit it. queen mary's willingness to admit him was notified by sir andrew melville, a tall, worn man, with the typical scottish countenance and a keen steadfast gray eye. he marshalled the trio up a circular staircase, made as easy as possible, but necessarily narrow, since it wound up through a brick turret at the corner, to the third and uppermost story of the lodge. there, however, was a very handsome anteroom, with tapestry hangings, a richly moulded ceiling, and wide carved stone chimneypiece, where a bright fire was burning, around which sat several scottish and french gentlemen, who rose at the earl's entrance. another wide doorway with a tapestry curtain over the folding leaves led to the presence chamber, and sir andrew announced in as full style as if he had been marshalling an english ambassador to the court of holyrood, the most high and mighty earl of shrewsbury. the room was full of march sunshine, and a great wood fire blazed on the hearth. part of the floor was carpeted, and overhung with a canopy, proceeding from the tapestried wall, and here was a cross-legged velvet chair on which sat queen mary. this was all that cis saw at first, while the earl advanced, knelt on one step of the dais, with bared head, exchanging greetings with the queen. he then added, that his wife, the countess, and her daughter, having been called away from sheffield, he would entreat her grace to accept for a few days in their stead the attendance of his good kinswoman, mrs. talbot, and her daughter, mistress cicely. mary graciously intimated her consent, and extended her hand for each to kiss as they knelt in turn on the step; susan either fancied, or really saw a wonderful likeness in that taper hand to the little one whose stitches she had so often guided. cis, on her part, felt the thrill of girlhood in the actual touch of the subject of her dreams. she stood, scarcely hearing what passed, but taking in, from under her black brows, all the surroundings, and recognising the persons from her former glimpses, and from antony babington's descriptions. the presence chamber was ample for the suite of the queen, which had been reduced on every fresh suspicion. there was in it, besides the queen's four ladies, an elderly one, with a close black silk hood--jean kennedy, or mrs. kennett as the english called her; another, a thin slight figure, with a worn face, as if a great sorrow had passed over her, making her look older than her mistress, was the queen's last remaining mary, otherwise mrs. seaton. the gossip of sheffield had not failed to tell how the chamberlain, beatoun, had been her suitor, and she had half consented to accept him when he was sent on a mission to france, and there died. the dark-complexioned bright-eyed little lady, on a smaller scale than the rest, was marie de courcelles, who, like the two others, had been the queen's companion in all her adventures; and the fourth, younger and prettier than the rest, was already known to cis and her mother, since she was the barbara mowbray who was affianced to gilbert curll, the queen's scottish secretary, recently taken into her service. both these were protestants, and, like the bridgefield family, attended service in the castle chapel. they were all at work, as was likewise their royal lady, to whom the girl, with the youthful coyness that halts in the fulfilment of its dreams, did not at first raise her eyes, having first taken in all the ladies, the several portions of one great coverlet which they were all embroidering in separate pieces, and the gentleman who was reading aloud to them from a large book placed on a desk at which he was standing. when she did look up, as the queen was graciously requesting her mother to be seated, and the earl excusing himself from remaining longer, her first impression was one of disappointment. either the queen of scots was less lovely seen leisurely close at hand than antony babington and cis's own fancy had painted her, or the last two or three years had lessened her charms, as well they might, for she had struggled and suffered much in the interval, had undergone many bitter disappointments, and had besides endured much from rheumatism every winter, indeed, even now she could not ride, and could only go out in a carriage in the park on the finest days, looking forward to her annual visit to buxton to set her up for the summer. her face was longer and more pointed than in former days, her complexion had faded, or perhaps in these private moments it had not been worth while to enhance it; though there was no carelessness in the general attire, the black velvet gown, and delicate lace of the cap, and open ruff always characteristic of her. the small curls of hair at her temples had their auburn tint softened by far more white than suited one who was only just over forty, but the delicate pencilling of the eyebrows was as marked as ever; and the eyes, on whose colour no one ever agreed, melted and sparkled as of old. cis had heard debates as to their hue, and furtively tried to form her own opinion, but could not decide on anything but that they had a dark effect, and a wonderful power of expression, seeming to look at every one at once, and to rebuke, encourage, plead, or smile, from moment to moment. the slight cast in one of them really added to their force of expression rather than detracted from their beauty, and the delicate lips were ready to second the glances with wondrous smiles. cis had not felt the magic of her mere presence five minutes without being convinced that antony babington was right; the lord treasurer and all the rest utterly wrong, and that she beheld the most innocent and persecuted of princesses. meantime, all due formalities having been gone through, lord shrewsbury bowed himself out backwards with a dexterity that cis breathlessly admired in one so stately and so stiff, forgetting that he had daily practice in the art. then queen mary courteously entreated her visitors to be seated, near herself, asking with a smile if this were not the little maiden who had queened it so prettily in the brake some few years since. cis blushed and drew back her head with a pretty gesture of dignified shyness as susan made answer for her that she was the same. "i should have known it," said the queen, smiling, "by the port of her head alone. 'tis strange," she said, musing, "that maiden hath the bearing of head and neck that i have never seen save in my own mother, the saints rest her soul, and in her sisters, and which we always held to be their inheritance from the blood of charlemagne." "your grace does her too much honour," susan contrived to say, thankful that no less remote resemblance had been detected. "it was a sad farce when they tried to repeat your pretty comedy with the chief performer omitted," proceeded the queen, directing her words to the girl, but the mother replied for her. "your grace will pardon me, i could not permit her to play in public, before all the menie of the castle." "madame is a discreet and prudent mother," said the queen. "the mistake was in repeating the representation at all, not in abstaining from appearing in it. i should be very sorry that this young lady should have been concerned in a spectacle a la comtesse." there was something in the intonation of "this young lady" that won cis's heart on the spot, something in the concluding words that hurt susan's faithful loyalty towards her kinswoman, in spite of the compliment to herself. however mary did not pursue the subject, perceiving with ready tact that it was distasteful, and proceeded to ask dame susan's opinion of her work, which was intended as a gift to her good aunt, the abbess of soissons. how strangely the name fell upon susan's ear. it was a pale blue satin coverlet, worked in large separate squares, innumerable shields and heraldic devices of lorraine, bourbon, france, scotland, etc., round the border, and beautiful meandering patterns of branches, with natural flowers and leaves growing from them covering the whole with a fascinating regular irregularity. cis could not repress an exclamation of delight, which brought the most charming glance of the winning eyes upon her. there was stitchery here that she did not understand, but when she looked at some of the flowers, she could not help uttering the sentiment that the eyes of the daisies were not as mother could make them. so, as a great favour, queen mary entreated to be shown mrs. talbot's mode of dealing with the eyes of the daisies. no, her good seaton would not learn so well as she should; madame must come and sit by her and show her. meantime here was her poor little bijou whimpering to be taken on her lap. would not he find a comforter in sweet mistress--ah, what was her name? "we named her cicely, so please your grace," said susan, unable to help blushing. "cecile, a fair name. ah! so the poor antoine called her. i see my bijou has found a friend in you, mistress cecile"--as the girl's idle hands were only too happy to caress the pretty little shivering italian greyhound rather than to be busy with a needle. "do you ever hear of that young babington, your playfellow?" she added. "no, madam," said cis, looking up, "he hath never been here!" "i thought not," said queen mary, sighing. "take heed to manifest no pity for me, maiden, if you should ever chance to be inspired with it for a poor worn-out old prisoner. it is the sure sentence of misfortune and banishment." "in his sex, madam," here put in marie de courcelles. "if it were so in ours, woe to some of us." "that is true, my dear friends," said mary, her eyes glistening with dew. "it is the women who are the most fearless, the most faithful, and whom the saints therefore shield." "alas, there are some who are faithful but who are not shielded!" it was merely a soft low murmur, but the tender-hearted queen had caught it, and rising impulsively, crossed the room and gathered mary seaton's hands into hers, no longer the queen but the loving friend of equal years, soothing her in a low fond voice, and presently sending her to the inner chamber to compose herself. then as the queen returned slowly to her seat it would be seen how lame she was from rheumatism. mrs. kennedy hurried to assist her, with a nurse-like word of remonstrance, to which she replied with a bewitching look of sweetness that she could not but forget her aches and pains when she saw her dear mary seaton in trouble. most politely she then asked whether her visitors would object to listening to the conclusion of her day's portion of reading. there was no refusing, of course, though, as susan glanced at the reader and knew him to be strongly suspected of being in holy orders conferred abroad, she had her fears for her child's protestant principles. the book, however, proved to be a translation of st. austin on the psalms, and, of course, she could detect nothing that she disapproved, even if cis had not been far too much absorbed by the little dog and its mistress to have any comprehending ears for theology. queen mary confidentially observed as much to her after the reading, having, no doubt, detected her uneasy glance. "you need not fear for your child, madam," she said; "st. augustine is respected by your own queen and her bishops. at the readings with which my good mr. belton favours me, i take care to have nothing you protestants dispute when i know it." she added, smiling, "heaven knows that i have endeavoured to understand your faith, and many a minister has argued with me. i have done my best to comprehend them, but they agreed in nothing but in their abuse of the pope. at least so it seemed to my poor weak mind. but you are satisfied, madam, i see it in your calm eyes and gentle voice. if i see much of you, i shall learn to think well of your religion." susan made an obeisance without answering. she had heard sir gilbert talbot say, "if she tries to persuade you that you can convert her, be sure that she means mischief," but she could not bear to believe it anything but a libel while the sweet sad face was gazing into hers. queen mary changed the subject by asking a few questions about the countess's sudden departure. there was a sort of guarded irony suppressed in her tone--she was evidently feeling her way with the stranger, and when she found that susan would only own to causes lord shrewsbury had adduced on the spur of the moment, she was much too wary to continue the examination, though susan could not help thinking that she knew full well the disturbance which had taken place. a short walk on the roof above followed. the sun was shining brilliantly, and lame as she was, the queen's strong craving for free air led her to climb her stairs and creep to and fro on sir andrew melville's arm, gazing out over the noble prospect of the park close below, divided by the winding vales of the three rivers, which could be traced up into the woods and the moors beyond, purple with spring freshness and glory. mary made her visitors point out bridgefield, and asked questions about all that could be seen of the house and pleasance, which, in truth, was little enough, but she contrived to set cis off into a girl's chatter about her home occupations, and would not let her be hushed. "you little know the good it does a captive to take part, only in fancy, in a free harmless life," returned mary, with the wistful look that made her eyes so pathetic. "there is no refreshment to me like a child's prattle." susan's heart smote her as she thought of the true relations in which these two stood to one another, and she forbore from further interference; but she greatly rejoiced when the great bell of the castle gave notice of noon, and of her own release. when queen mary's dinner was served, the talbot ladies in attendance left her and repaired to the general family meal in the hall. chapter xii. a furious letter. a period now began of daily penance to mrs. talbot, of daily excitement and delight to cis. two hours or more had to be spent in attendance on queen mary. even on sundays there was no exemption, the visit only took place later in the day, so as not to interfere with going to church. nothing could be more courteous or more friendly than the manner in which the elder lady was always received. she was always made welcome by the queen herself, who generally entered into conversation with her almost as with an equal. or when mary herself was engaged in her privy chamber in dictating to her secretaries, the ladies of the suite showed themselves equally friendly, and told her of their mistress's satisfaction in having a companion free from all the rude and unaccountable humours and caprices of my lady countess and her daughters. and if susan was favoured, cis was petted. queen mary always liked to have young girls about her. their fresh, spontaneous, enthusiastic homage was pleasant to one who loved above all to attract, and it was a pleasure to a prisoner to have a fresh face about her. was it only this, or was it the maternal instinct that made her face light up when the young girl entered the room and return the shy reverential kiss of the hand with a tender kiss on the forehead, that made her encourage the chatter, give little touches to the deportment, and present little keepsakes, which increased in value till sir richard began to look grave, and to say there must be no more jewels of price brought from the lodge? and as his wife uttered a word that sounded like remonstrance, he added, "not while she passes for my daughter." cis, who had begun by putting on a pouting face, burst into tears. her adopted parents had always been more tolerant and indulgent to her than if she had been a child over whom they felt entire rights, and instead of rewarding her petulance with such a blow as would have fallen to the lot of a veritable talbot, richard shrugged his shoulders and left the room--the chamber which had been allotted to dame susan at the manor-house, while susan endeavoured to cheer the girl by telling her not to grieve, for her father was not angry with her. "why--why may not the dear good queen give me her dainty gifts?" sobbed cis. "see, dear child," said susan, "while she only gave thee an orange stuck with cloves, or an embroidery needle, or even a puppy dog, it is all very well; but when it comes to spanish gloves and coral clasps, the next time there is an outcry about a plot, some evil-disposed person would be sure to say that master richard talbot had been taking bribes through his daughter." "it would be vilely false!" cried cis with flashing eyes. "it would not be the less believed," said susan. "my lord would say we had betrayed our trust, and there never has been one stain on my husband's honour." "you are wroth with me too, mother!" said cis. "not if you are a good child, and guard the honour of the name you bear." "i will, i will!" said cis. "never will i take another gift from the queen if only you and he will call me your child, and be--good to me--" the rest was lost in tears and in the tender caresses that susan lavished on her; all the more as she caught the broken words, "humfrey, too, he would never forgive me." susan told her husband what had passed, adding, "she will keep her word." "she must, or she shall go no more to the lodge," he said. "you would not have doubted had you seen her eye flash at the thought of bringing your honour into question. there spoke her kingly blood." "well, we shall see," sighed richard, "if it be blood that makes the nature. i fear me hers is but that of a scottish thief! scorn not warning, mother, but watch thy stranger nestling well." "nay, mine husband. while we own her as our child, she will do anything to be one with us. it is when we seem to put her from us that we wound her so that i know not what she might do, fondled as she is--by--by her who--has the best right to the dear child." richard uttered a certain exclamation of disgust which silenced his discreet wife. neither of them had quite anticipated the result, namely, that the next morning, cis, after kissing the queen's hand as usual, remained kneeling, her bosom heaving, and a little stammering on her tongue, while tears rose to her eyes. "what is it, mignonne," said mary, kindly; "is the whelp dead? or is the clasp broken?" "no, madam; but--but i pray you give me no more gifts. my father says it touches his honour, and i have promised him--oh, madam, be not displeased with me, but let me give you back your last beauteous gift." mary was standing by the fire. she took the ivory and coral trinket from the hand of the kneeling girl, and dashed it into the hottest glow. there was passion in the action, and in the kindling eye, but it was but for a moment. before cis could speak or susan begin her excuses, the delicate hand was laid on the girl's head, and a calm voice said, "fear not, child. queens take not back their gifts. i ought to have borne in mind that i am balked of the pleasure of giving--the beat of all the joys they have robbed me of. but tremble not, sweetheart, i am not chafed with thee. i will vex thy father no more. better thou shouldst go without a trinket or two than deprive me of the light of that silly little face of thine so long as they will leave me that sunbeam." she stooped and kissed the drooping brow, and susan could not but feel as if the voice of nature were indeed speaking. a few words of apology in her character of mother for the maiden's abrupt proceeding were met by the queen most graciously. "spare thy words, good madam. we understand and reverence mr. talbot's point of honour. would that all who approached us had held his scruples!" perhaps mary was after this more distant and dignified towards the matron, but especially tender and caressing towards the maiden, as if to make up by kindness for the absence of little gifts. storms, however, were brewing without. lady shrewsbury made open complaints of her husband having become one of mary's many victims, representing herself as an injured wife driven out of her house. she actually in her rage carried the complaint to queen elizabeth, who sent down two commissioners to inquire into the matter. they sat in the castle hall, and examined all the attendants, including richard and his wife. the investigation was extremely painful and distressing, but it was proved that nothing could have been more correct and guarded than the whole intercourse between the earl and his prisoner. if he had erred, it had been on the side of caution and severity, though he had always preserved the courteous demeanour of a gentleman, and had been rejoiced to permit whatever indulgences could be granted. if there had been any transgressions of the strict rules, they had been made by the countess herself and her daughters in the days of their intimacy with the queen; and the aspersions on the unfortunate earl were, it was soon evident, merely due to the violent and unscrupulous tongues of the countess and her daughter mary. no wonder that lord shrewsbury wrote letters in which he termed the lady "his wicked and malicious wife," and expressed his conviction that his son gilbert's mind had been perverted by her daughter. the indignation of the captive queen was fully equal to his, as one after another of her little court returned and was made to detail the points on which he or she had been interrogated. susan found her pacing up and down the floor like a caged tigress, her cap and veil thrown back, so that her hair--far whiter than what was usually displayed--was hanging dishevelled, her ruff torn open, as if it choked back the swelling passion in her throat. "never, never content with persecuting me, they must insult me! is it not enough that i am stripped of my crown, deprived of my friends; that i cannot take a step beyond this chamber, queen as i am, without my warder? must they attaint me as a woman? oh, why, why did the doom spare me that took my little brothers? why did i live to be the most wretched, not of sovereigns alone, but of women?" "madam," entreated marie de courcelles, "dearest madam, take courage. all these horrible charges refute themselves." "ah, marie! you have said so ten thousand times, and what charge has ever been dropped?" "this one is dropped!" exclaimed susan, coming forward. "yes, your grace, indeed it is! the commissioner himself told my husband that no one believed it for a moment." "then why should these men have been sent but to sting and gall me, and make me feel that i am in their power?" cried the queen. "they came," said the secretary curll, "because thus alone could the countess be silenced." "the countess!" exclaimed mary. "so my cousin hath listened to her tongue!" "backed by her daughter's," added jean kennedy. "it were well that she knew what those two dames can say of her majesty herself, when it serves them," added marie de courcelles. "that shall she!" exclaimed mary. "she shall have it from mine own hand! ha! ha! elizabeth shall know the choice tales wherewith mary talbot hath regaled us, and then shall she judge how far anything that comes from my young lady is worth heeding for a moment. remember you all the tales of the nips and the pinches? ay, and of all the endearments to leicester and to hatton? she shall have it all, and try how she likes the dish of scandal of mary talbot's cookery, sauced by bess of hardwicke. here, nurse, come and set this head-gear of mine in order, and do you, my good curll, have pen, ink, and paper in readiness for me." the queen did little but write that morning. the next day, on coming out from morning prayers, which the protestants of her suite attended, with the rest of the shrewsbury household, barbara mowbray contrived to draw mrs. talbot apart as they went towards the lodge. "madam," she said, "they all talk of your power to persuade. now is the time you could do what would be no small service to this poor queen, ay, and it may be to your own children." "i may not meddle in any matters of the queen's," returned susan, rather stiffly. "nay, but hear me, madam. it is only to hinder the sending of a letter." "that letter which her grace was about to write yesterday?" "even so. 'tis no secret, for she read fragments of it aloud, and all her women applauded it with all their might, and laughed over the stings that it would give, but mr. curll, who bad to copy it, saith that there is a bitterness in it that can do nothing but make her majesty of england the more inflamed, not only against my lady shrewsbury, but against her who writ the letter, and all concerned. why, she hath even brought in the comedy that your children acted in the woodland, and that was afterwards repeated in the hall!" "you say not so, mistress barbara?" "indeed i do. mr. curll and sir andrew melville are both of them sore vexed, and would fain have her withdraw it; but master nau and all the french part of the household know not how to rejoice enough at such an exposure of my lady, which gives a hard fling at queen elizabeth at the same time! nay, i cannot but tell you that there are things in it that dame mary talbot might indeed say, but i know not how queen mary could bring herself to set down--" barbara mowbray ventured no more, and susan felt hopeless of her task, since how was she by any means to betray knowledge of the contents of the letter? yet much that she had heard made her feel very uneasy on all accounts. she had too much strong family regard for the countess and for gilbert talbot and his wife to hear willingly of what might imperil them, and though royal indignation would probably fly over the heads of the children, no one was too obscure in those tudor times to stand in danger from a sovereign who might think herself insulted. yet as a hardwicke, and the wife of a talbot, it was most unlikely that she would have any opening for remonstrance given to her. however, it was possible that curll wished to give her an opening, for no sooner were the ladies settled at work than he bowed himself forward and offered his mistress his copy of the letter. "is it fair engrossed, good curll?" asked mary. "thanks. then will we keep your copy, and you shall fold and prepare our own for our sealing." "will not your majesty hear it read over ere it pass out of your hands?" asked curll. "even so," returned mary, who really was delighted with the pungency of her own composition. "mayhap we may have a point or two to add." after what mistress barbara had said, susan was on thorns that cis should hear the letter; but that good young lady, hating the expressions therein herself, and hating it still more for the girl, bethought her of asking permission to take mistress cicely to her own chamber, there to assist her in the folding of some of her laces, and mary consented. it was well, for there was much that made the english-bred susan's cheeks glow and her ears tingle. but, at least, it gave her a great opportunity. when the letter was finished, she advanced and knelt on the step of the canopied chair, saying, "madam, pardon me, if in the name of my unfortunate children, i entreat you not to accuse them to the queen." "your children, lady! how have i included them in what i have told her majesty of our sweet countess?" "your grace will remember that the foremost parts in yonder farce were allotted to my son humfrey and to young master babington. nay, that the whole arose from the woodland sport of little cis, which your grace was pleased to admire." "sooth enough, my good gossip, but none could suspect the poor children of the malice my lady countess contrived to put into the matter." "ah, madam! these are times when it is convenient to shift the blame on one who can be securely punished." "certes," said mary, thoughtfully, "the countess is capable of making her escape by denouncing some one else, especially those within her own reach." "your grace, who can speak such truth of my poor lady," said susan, "will also remember that though my lord did yield to the persuasions of the young ladies, he so heedfully caused master sniggins to omit all perilous matter, that no one not informed would have guessed at the import of the piece, as it was played in the hall." "most assuredly not," said mary, laughing a little at the recollection. "it might have been played in westminster hall without putting my gracious cousin, ay, or leicester and hatton themselves, to the blush." "thus, if the queen should take the matter up and trace it home, it could not but be brought to my poor innocent children! humfrey is for the nonce out of reach, but the maiden--i wis verily that your highness would be loath to do her any hurt!" "thou art a good pleader, madam," said the queen. "verily i should not like to bring the bonnie lassie into trouble. it will give master curll a little more toil, ay and myself likewise, for the matter must stand in mine own hand; but we will leave out yonder unlucky farce." "your highness is very good," said susan earnestly. "yet you look not yet content, my good lady. what more would you have of me?" "what your majesty will scarce grant," said susan. "ha! thou art of the same house thyself. i had forgotten it; thou art so unlike to them. i wager that it is not to send this same letter at all." "your highness hath guessed my mind. nay, madam, though assuredly i do desire it because the countess bath been ever my good lady, and bred me up ever since i was an orphan, it is not solely for her sake that i would fain pray you, but fully as much for your majesty's own." "madame talbot sees the matter as i do," said sir andrew melville. "the english queen is as like to be irate with the reporter of the scandal as with the author of it, even as the wolf bites the barb that pierces him when he cannot reach the archer." "she is welcome to read the letter," said mary, smiling; "thy semblance falleth short, my good friend." "nay, madam, that was not the whole of my purport," said susan, standing with folded hands, looking from one to another. "pardon me. my thought was that to take part in all this repeating of thoughtless, idle words, spoken foolishly indeed, but scarce so much in malice as to amuse your grace with court news, and treasured up so long, your majesty descends from being the patient and suffering princess, meek, generous, and uncomplaining, to be--to be--" "no better than one of them, wouldst thou add?" asked mary, somewhat sharply, as susan paused. "your highness has said it," answered susan; then, as there was a moment's pause, she looked up, and with clasped hands added, "oh, madam! would it not be more worthy, more noble, more queenly, more christian, to refrain from stinging with this repetition of these vain and foolish slanders?" "most christian treatment have i met with," returned mary; but after a pause she turned to her almoner. master belton, saying, "what say you, sir?" "i say that mrs. talbot speaks more christian words than are often heard in these parts," returned he. "the thankworthiness of suffering is lost by those who return the revilings upon those who utter them." "then be it so," returned the queen. "elizabeth shall be spared the knowledge that some ladies' tongues can be as busy with her as with her poor cousin." with her own hands mary tore up her own letter, but curll's copy unfortunately escaped destruction, to be discovered in after times. lord and lady shrewsbury never knew the service susan had rendered them by causing it to be suppressed. chapter xiii. beads and bracelets. the countess was by no means pacified by the investigation, and both she and her family remained at court, maligning her husband and his captive. as the season advanced, bringing the time for the queen's annual resort to the waters of buxton, lord shrewsbury was obliged to entreat mrs. talbot again to be her companion, declaring that he had never known so much peace as with that lady in the queen's chambers. the journey to buxton was always the great holiday of the imprisoned court. the place was part of the shrewsbury property, and the earl had a great house there, but there were no conveniences for exercising so strict a watch as at sheffield, and there was altogether a relaxation of discipline. exercise was considered an essential part of the treatment, and recreations were there provided. cis had heard so much of the charms of the expedition, that she was enraptured to hear that she was to share it, together with mrs. talbot. the only drawback was that humfrey had promised to come home after this present voyage, to see whether his little cis were ready for him; and his father was much disposed to remain at home, receive him first, and communicate to him the obstacles in the way of wedding the young lady. however, my lord refused to dispense with the attendance of his most trustworthy kinsman, and leaving ned at school under charge of the learned sniggius, the elder and the younger richard talbot rode forth with the retinue of the queen and her warder. neither cicely nor diccon had ever left home before, and they were in raptures which would have made any journey delightful to them, far more a ride through some of the wildest and loveliest glades that england can display. nay, it may be that they would better have enjoyed something less like sheffield park than the rocks, glens, and woods, through which they rode. their real delight was in the towns and villages at which there was a halt, and every traveller they saw was such a wonder to them, that at the end of the first day they were almost as full of exultation in their experiences, as if, with humfrey, they had been far on the way to america. the delight of sleeping at tideswell was in their eyes extreme, though the hostel was so crowded that cis had to share a mattress with mrs. talbot, and diccon had to sleep in his cloak on the floor, which he persuaded himself was high preferment. he woke, however, much sooner than was his wont, and finding it useless to try to fall asleep again, he made his way out among the sleeping figures on the floor and hall, and finding the fountain in the midst of the court, produced his soap and comb from his pocket, and made his morning toilet in the open air with considerable satisfaction at his own alertness. presently there was a tap at the window above, and he saw cicely making signals to him to wait for her, and in a few minutes she skipped out from the door into the sunlight of the early summer morning. "no one is awake yet," she said. "even the guard before the queen's door is fast asleep. i only heard a wench or two stirring. we can have a run in the fields and gather may dew before any one is afoot." "'tis not may, 'tis june," said matter-of-fact diccon. "but yonder is a guard at the yard gate; will he let us past?" "see, here's a little wicket into a garden of pot-herbs," said cis. "no doubt we can get out that way, and it will bring us the sooner into the fields. i have a cake in my wallet that mother gave me for the journey, so we shall not fast. how sweet the herbs smell in the dew--and see how silvery it lies on the strawberry leaves. ah! thou naughty lad, think not whether the fruit be ripe. mayhap we shall find some wild ones beyond." the gate of the garden was likewise guarded, but by a yeoman who well knew the young talbots, and made no difficulty about letting them out into the broken ground beyond the garden, sloping up into a little hill. up bounded the boy and girl, like young mountaineers, through gorse and fern, and presently had gained a sufficient height to look over the country, marking the valleys whence still were rising "fragrant clouds of dewy steam" under the influence of the sunbeams, gazing up at the purple heights of the peak, where a few lines of snow still lingered in the crevices, trying to track their past journey from their own sheffield, and with still more interest to guess which wooded valley before them contained buxton. "have you lost your way, my pretty mistress?" said a voice close to them, and turning round hastily they saw a peasant woman with a large basket on her arm. "no," said cicely courteously, "we have only come out to take the air before breakfast." "i crave pardon," said the woman, curtseying, "the pretty lady belongs to the great folk down yonder. would she look at my poor wares? here are beads and trinkets of the goodly stones, pins and collars, bracelets and eardrops, white, yellow, and purple," she said, uncovering her basket, where were arranged various ornaments made of derbyshire spar. "we have no money, good woman," said cicely, rising to return, vaguely uncomfortable at the woman's eye, which awoke some remembrance of tibbott the huckster, and the troubles connected with her. "yea, but if my young mistress would only bring me in to the great lady there, i know she would buy of me my beads and bracelets, of give me an alms for my poor children. i have five of them, good young lady, and they lie naked and hungry till i can sell my few poor wares, and the yeomen are so rough and hard. they would break and trample every poor bead i have in pieces rather than even let my lord hear of them. but if even my basket could be carried in and shown, and if the good earl heard my sad tale, i am sure he would give license." "he never does!" said diccon, roughly; "hold off, woman, do not hang on us, or i'll get thee branded for a vagabond." the woman put her knuckles into her eyes, and wailed out that it was all for her poor children, and cicely reproved him for his roughness, and as the woman kept close behind them, wailing, moaning, and persuading, the boy and girl were wrought upon at last to give her leave to wait outside the gate of the inn garden, while they saw whether it was possible to admit her or her basket. but before they reached the gate, they saw a figure beyond it, scanning the hill eagerly. they knew him for their father even before he shouted to them, and, as they approached, his voice was displeased: "how now, children; what manners are these?" "we have only been on the hillside, sweet father," said cis, "diccon and i together. we thought no harm." "this is not sheffield chase, cis, and thou art no more a child, but a maiden who needs to be discreet, above all in these times. whom did i see following you?" "a poor woman, whom--ha, where is she?" exclaimed cis, suddenly perceiving that the woman seemed to have vanished. "a troublesome begging woman who beset us with her wares," said diccon, "and would give us no peace, praying that we would get them carried in to the queen and her ladies, whining about her children till she made cis soft-hearted. where can she have hidden herself?" the man who was stationed as sentry at the gate said he had seen the woman come over the brow of the hill with master diccon and mistress cicely, but that as they ran forward to meet captain talbot she had disappeared amid the rocks and brushwood. "poor woman, she was afraid of our father," said cicely; "i would we could see her again." "so would not i," said richard. "it looks not well, and heed me well, children, there must be no more of these pranks, nor of wandering out of bounds, or babbling with strangers. go thou in to thy mother, cis, she hath been in much trouble for thee." mistress susan was unusually severe with the girl on the indiscretion of gadding in strange places with no better escort than diccon, and of entering into conversation with unknown persons. moreover, cicely's hair, her shoes, and camlet riding skirt were all so dank with dew that she was with difficulty made presentable by the time the horses were brought round. the queen, who had not seen the girl that morning, made her come and ride near her, asking questions on the escapade, and giving one of her bewitching pathetic smiles as she said how she envied the power of thus dancing out on the greensward, and breathing the free and fresh morning air. "my scottish blood loves the mountains, and bounds the more freely in the fresh breeze," she said, gazing towards the peak. "i love the scent of the dew. didst get into trouble, child? methought i heard sounds of chiding?" "it was no fault of mine," said cis, inclined to complain when she found sympathy, "the woman would speak to us." "what woman?" asked the queen. "a poor woman with a basket of wares, who prayed hard to be allowed to show them to your grace or some of the ladies. she said she had five sorely hungered children, and that she heard your grace was a compassionate lady." "woe is me, compassion is full all that i am permitted to give," said the queen, sadly; "she brought trinkets to sell. what were her wares, saidst thou?" "i had no time to see many," said cis, "something pure and white like a new-laid egg, i saw, and a necklet, clouded with beauteous purple." "ay, beads and bracelets, no doubt," said the queen. "yes, beads and bracelets," returned cicely, the soft chime of the queen's scottish accent bringing back to her that the woman had twice pressed on her beads and bracelets. "she dwelt on them," said the queen lightly. "ay, i know the chant of the poor folk who ever hover about our outskirts in hopes to sell their country gewgaws, beads and bracelets, collars and pins, little guessing that she whom they seek is poorer than themselves. mayhap, our argus-eyed lord may yet let the poor dame within his fence, and we may be able to gratify thy longing for those same purple and white beads and bracelets." meantime the party were riding on, intending to dine at buxton, which meant to reach it by noonday. the tall roof of the great hall erected by the earl over the baths was already coming in sight, and by and by they would look into the valley. the wye, after coming down one of those lovely deep ravines to be found in all mountainous countries, here flowed through a more open space, part of which had been artificially levelled, but which was covered with buildings, rising out amongst the rocks and trees. most conspicuous among them was a large freshly-built erection in tudor architecture, with a wide portal arch, and five separate gables starting from one central building, which bore a large clock-tower, and was decorated at every corner with the talbots' stout and sturdy form. this was the great hall, built by the present earl george, and containing five baths, intended to serve separately for each sex, gentle and simple, with one special bath reserved for the sole use of the more distinguished visitors. besides this, at no great distance, was the earl's own mansion, "a very goodly house, four square, four stories high," with stables, offices, and all the requisites of a nobleman's establishment, and this was to be the lodging of the scottish queen. farther off was another house, which had been built by permission of the earl, under the auspices of dr. jones, probably one of the first of the long series of physicians who have made it their business to enhance the fame of the watering-places where they have set up their staff. this was the great hostel or lodging-house for the patients of condition who resorted to the healing springs, and nestled here and there among the rocks were cottages which accommodated, after a fashion, the poorer sort, who might drag themselves to the spot in the hope of washing away their rheumatic pains and other infirmities. in a distant and magnificent way, like some of the lesser german potentates, the mighty lord of shrewsbury took toll from the visitors to his baths, and this contributed to repair the ravages to his fortune caused by the maintenance of his royal captive. arriving just at noontide, the queen and her escort beheld a motley crowd dispersed about the sward on the banks of the river, some playing at ball, others resting on benches or walking up and down in groups, exercise being recommended as part of the cure. all thronged together to watch the earl and his captive ride in with their suite, the household turning out to meet them, while foremost stood a dapper little figure with a short black cloak, a stiff round ruff, and a square barrett cap, with a gold-headed cane in one hand and a paper in the other. "prepare thy patience, cis," whispered barbara mowbray, "now shall we not be allowed to alight from our palfreys till we have heard his full welcome to my lord, and all his plans for this place, how--it is to be made a sanctuary for the sick during their abode there, for all causes saving sacrilege, treason, murder, burglary, and highway robbery, with a license to eat flesh on a friday, as long as they are drinking the waters!" it was as mistress mowbray said. dr. jones's harangue on the progress of buxton and its prospects had always to be endured before any one was allowed to dismount; but royalty and nobility were inured to listening with a good grace, and mary, though wearied and aching, sat patiently in the hot sunshine, and was ready to declare that buxton put her in good humour. in fact the grandees and their immediate attendants endured with all the grace of good breeding; but the farther from the scene of action, the less was the patience, and the more restless and confused the movements of the retinue. diccon talbot, hungry and eager, had let his equally restless pony convey him, he scarce knew where, from his father's side, when he saw, making her way among the horses, the very woman with the basket whom he had encountered at tideswell in the early morning. how could she have gone such a distance in the time? thought the boy, and he presently caught the words addressed to one of the grooms of the scottish queen's suite. "let me show my poor beads and bracelets." the scotsman instantly made way for her, and she advanced to a wizened thin old frenchman, maitre gorion, the queen's surgeon, who jumped down from his horse, and was soon bending over her basket exchanging whispers in the lowest possible tones; but a surge among those in the rear drove diccon up so near that he was absolutely certain that they were speaking french, as indeed he well knew that m. gorion never could succeed in making himself understood in english. the boy, bred up in the perpetual caution and suspicion of sheffield, was eager to denounce one who he was sure was a conspirator; but he was hemmed in among horses and men, so that he could not make his way out or see what was passing, till suddenly there was a scattering to the right and left, and a simultaneous shriek from the ladies in front. when diccon could see anything, his father was pressing forward to a group round some one prostrate on the ground before the house, and there were exclamations, "the poor young lady! the chirurgeon! to the front, the queen is asking for you, sir," and cicely's horse with loose bridle passed before his eyes. "let me through! let me through!" cried the boy; "it is my sister." he threw his bridle to a groom, and, squeezing between horses and under elbows, succeeded in seeing cis lying on the ground with her eyes shut and her head in his mother's lap, and the french surgeon bending over her. she gave a cry when he touched her arm, and he said something in his mixture of french and english, which diccon could not hear. the queen stood close by, a good deal agitated, anxiously asking questions, and throwing out her hands in her french fashion. diccon, much frightened, struggled on, but only reached the party just as his father had gathered cicely up in his arms to carry her upstairs. diccon followed as closely as he could, but blindly in the crowd in the strange house, until he found himself in a long gallery, shut out, among various others of both sexes. "come, my masters and mistresses all," said the voice of the seneschal, "you had best to your chambers, there is naught for you to do here." however, he allowed diccon to remain leaning against the balustrade of the stairs which led up outside the house, and in another minute his father came out. "ha, diccon, that is well," said he. "no, thou canst not enter. they are about to undress poor little cis. nay, it seemed not to me that she was more hurt than thy mother could well have dealt with, but the french surgeon would thrust in, and the queen would have it so. we will walk here in the court till we hear what he saith of her. how befell it, dost thou ask? truly i can hardly tell, but i believe one of the frenchmen's horses got restless either with a fly or with standing so long to hear yonder leech's discourse. he must needs cut the beast with his rod, and so managed to hit white posy, who starts aside, and cis, sitting unheedfully on that new-fangled french saddle, was thrown in an instant." "i shall laugh at her well for letting herself be thrown by a frenchman with his switch," said diccon. "i hope the damage hath not been great," said his father, anxiously looking up the stair. "where wast thou, dick? i had lost sight of thee." "i was seeking you, sir, for i had seen a strange sight," said dick. "that woman who spoke with us at tideswell was here again; yea, and she talked with the little old frenchman that they call gorion, the same that is with cis now." "she did! folly, boy! the fellow can hardly comprehend five words of plain english together, long as he hath been here! one of the queen's women is gone in even now to interpret for him." "that do i wot, sir. therefore did i marvel, and sought to tell you." "what like was the woman?" demanded richard. diccon's description was lame, and his father bade him hasten out of the court, and fetch the woman if he could find her displaying her trinkets to the water-drinkers, instructing him not to alarm her by peremptory commands, but to give her hopes of a purchaser for her spars. proud of the commission entrusted to him, the boy sallied forth, but though he wandered through all the groups on the sward, and encountered two tumblers and one puppet show, besides a bear and monkey, he utterly failed in finding the vendor of the beads and bracelets. chapter xiv. the monograms. when cicely had been carried into a chamber by master talbot, and laid half-conscious and moaning on the grand carved bed, mrs. talbot by word and gesture expelled all superfluous spectators. she would have preferred examining alone into the injury sustained by the maiden, which she did not think beyond her own management; but there was no refusing the services of maitre gorion, or of mrs. kennedy, who indeed treated her authoritatively, assuming the direction of the sick-room. she found herself acting under their orders as she undid the boddice, while mrs. kennedy ripped up the tight sleeve of the riding dress, and laid bare the arm and shoulder, which had been severely bruised and twisted, but neither broken nor dislocated, as mrs. kennedy informed her, after a few rapid words from the frenchman, unintelligible to the english lady, who felt somewhat impatient of this invasion of her privileges, and was ready to say she had never supposed any such thing. the chirurgeon skipped to the door, and for a moment she hoped that she was rid of him, but he had only gone to bring in a neat case with which his groom was in waiting outside, whence he extracted a lotion and sponge, speaking rapidly as he did so. "now, madam," said jean kennedy, "lift the lassie, there, turn back her boddice, and we will bathe her shouther. so! by my halidome!" "ah! mort de ma vie!" the two exclamations darted simultaneously from the lips of the scottish nurse and the french doctor. susan beheld what she had at the moment forgotten, the curious mark branded on her nursling's shoulder, which indeed she had not seen since cicely had been of an age to have the care of her own person, and which was out of the girl's own sight. no more was said at the moment, for cis was reviving fast, and was so much bewildered and frightened that she required all the attention and soothing that the two women could give, but when they removed the rest of her clothing, so that she might be laid down comfortably to rest, mrs. kennedy by another dexterous movement uncovered enough of the other shoulder to obtain a glimpse of the monogram upon it. nothing was spoken. those two had not been so many years attendants on a suspected and imprisoned queen without being prudent and cautious; but when they quitted the apartment after administering a febrifuge, susan felt a pang of wonder, whether they were about to communicate their discovery to their mistress. for the next quarter of an hour, the patient needed all her attention, and there was no possibility of obeying the summons of a great clanging bell which announced dinner. when, however, cis had fallen asleep it became possible to think over the situation. she foresaw an inquiry, and would have given much for a few words with her husband; but reflection showed her that the one point essential to his safety was not to betray that he and she had any previous knowledge of the rank of their nursling. the existence of the scroll might have to be acknowledged, but to show that richard had deciphered it would put him in danger on all hands. she had just made up her mind on this point when there was a knock at the door, and mrs. kennedy bore in a salver with a cup of wine, and took from an attendant, who remained outside, a tray with some more solid food, which she placed on the broad edge of the deep-set window, and coming to the bedside, invited mrs. talbot to eat, while she watched the girl. susan complied, though with little appetite, and mrs. kennedy, after standing for a few minutes in contemplation, came to the window. she was a tall woman, her yellow hair softened by an admixture of gray, her eyes keen and shrewd, yet capable of great tenderness at times, her features certainly not youthful, but not a whit more aged than they had been when susan had first seen her fourteen years ago. it was a quiet mouth, and one that gave a sense of trust both in its firmness, secrecy, and kindness. "madam," said she, in her soft scotch voice, lowered considerably, but not whispering, and with her keen eyes fixed on susan--"madam, what garred ye gie your bit lassie yonder marks? ye need not fear, that draught of maister gorion's will keep her sleeping fast for a good hour or two longer, and it behoves me to ken how she cam by yonder brands." "she had them when she came to us," said susan. "ye'll no persuade me that they are birth marks," returned mistress jean. "such a thing would be a miracle in a loyal scottish catholic's wean, let alone an english heretic's." "no," said susan, who had in fact only made the answer to give herself time to think whether it were possible to summon her husband. "they never seemed to me birth marks." "woman," said jean kennedy, laying a strong, though soft hand, on her wrist, "this is not gear for trifling. is the lass your ain bairn? ha! i always thought she had mair of the kindly scot than of the southron about her. hech! so they made the puir wean captive! wha gave her till you to keep? your lord, i trow." "the lord of heaven and earth," replied susan. "my husband took her, the only living thing left on a wreck off the spurn head." "hech, sirs!" exclaimed mrs. kennedy, evidently much struck, but still exercising great self-command. "and when fell this out?" "two days after low sunday, in the year of grace ," returned susan. "my halidome!" again ejaculated jean, in a low voice, crossing herself. "and what became of honest ailie--i mean," catching herself up, "what befell those that went with her?" "not one lived," said susan, gravely. "the mate of my husband's ship took the little one from the arms of her nurse, who seemed to have been left alone with her by the crew, lashed to the wreck, and to have had her life freshly beaten out by the winds and waves, for she was still warm. i was then lying at hull, and they brought the babe to me, while there was still time to save her life, with god's blessing." "and the vessel?" asked jean. "my husband held it to be the bride of dunbar, plying between that port and harfleur." "ay! ay! blessed st. bride!" muttered jean kennedy, with an awe-stricken look; then, collecting herself, she added, "were there no tokens, save these, about the little one, by which she could be known?" "there was a gold chain with a cross, and what you call a reliquary about her little neck, and a scroll written in cipher among her swaddling bands; but they are laid up at home, at bridgefield." it was a perplexing situation for this simple-hearted and truthful woman, and, on the other hand, jean kennedy was no less devoted and loyal in her own line, a good and conscientious woman, but shrewder, and, by nature and breeding, far less scrupulous as to absolute truth. the one idea that susan, in her confusion, could keep hold of was that any admission of knowledge as to who her cis really was, would be a betrayal of her husband's secret; and on the other hand she saw that mrs. kennedy, though most keen to discover everything, and no doubt convinced that the maiden was her queen's child, was bent on not disclosing that fact to the foster-mother. she asked anxiously whether mistress cicely knew of her being only an adopted child, and susan replied that they had intended that she never should learn that she was of alien birth; but that it had been revealed by the old sailor who had brought her on board the mastiff, though no one had heard him save young humfrey and the girl herself, and they had been, so far as she knew, perfectly reserved on the subject. jean kennedy then inquired how the name of cicely had been given, and whether the child had been so baptized by protestant rites. "wot you who the maid may be, madam?" susan took courage to ask; but the scotswoman would not be disconcerted, and replied, "how suld i ken without a sight of the tokens? gin i had them, maybe i might give a guess, but there was mony a leal scot sairly bestead, wife and wean and all, in her majesty's cause that wearie spring." here cis stirred in her sleep, and both women were at her side in a moment, but she did not wake. jean kennedy stood gazing at the girl with eagerness that she did not attempt to conceal, studying each feature in detail; but cis showed in her sleep very little of her royal lineage, which betrayed itself far more in her gait and bearing than in her features. susan could not help demanding of the nurse whether she saw any resemblance that could show the maiden's parentage. the old lady gave a kind of scotch guttural sound expressive of disappointment, and said, "i'll no say but i've seen the like beetle-broo. but we'll waken the bairn with our clavers. i'll away the noo. maister gorion will see her again ere night, but it were ill to break her sleep, the puir lassie!" nevertheless, she could not resist bending over and kissing the sleeper, so gently that there was no movement. then she left the room, and susan stood with clasped hands. "my child! my child! oh, is it coming on thee? wilt thou be taken from me! oh, and to what a fate! and to what hands! they will never never love thee as we have done! o god, protect her, and be her father." and susan knelt by the bed in such a paroxysm of grief that her husband, coming in unshod that he might not disturb the girl, apprehended that she had become seriously worse. however, his entrance awoke her, and she found herself much better, and was inclined to talk, so he sat down on a chest by the bed, and related what diccon had told him of the reappearance of the woman with the basket of spar trinkets. "beads and bracelets," said cicely. "ay?" said he. "what knowest thou of them?" "only that she spake the words so often; and the queen, just ere that doctor began his speech, asked of me whether she did not sell beads and bracelets." "'tis a password, no doubt, and we must be on our guard," said richard, while his wife demanded with whom diccon had seen her speaking. "with gorion," returned he. "that was what made the lad suspect something, knowing that the chirurgeon can barely speak three sentences in any tongue but his own, and those are in their barbarous scotch. i took the boy with me and inquired here, there, and everywhere this afternoon, but could find no one who had ever seen or heard of any one like her." "tell me, cis," exclaimed susan, with a sudden conviction, "was she like in any fashion to tibbott the huckster-woman who brought young babington into trouble three years agone?" "women's heads all run on one notion," said richard. "can there be no secret agents save poor cuthbert, whom i believe to be beyond seas?" "nay, but hear what saith the child?" asked susan. "this woman was not nearly so old as tibbott," said cis, "nor did she walk with a staff, nor had she those grizzled black brows that were wont to frighten me." "but was she tall?" asked susan. "oh yes, mother. she was very tall--she came after diccon and me with long strides--yet it could never have been tibbott!" susan had reasons for thinking otherwise, but she could not pursue the subject at that time, as she had to go down to supper with her husband, and privacy was impossible. even at night, nobody enjoyed extensive quarters, and but for cicely's accident she would have slept with dyot, the tirewoman, who had arrived with the baggage, which included a pallet bed for them. however, the young lady had been carried to a chamber intended for one of queen mary's suite; and there it was decreed that she should remain for the night, the mother sleeping with her, while the father and son betook themselves to the room previously allotted to the family. only on the excuse of going to take out her husband's gear from the mails was susan able to secure a few words with him, and then by ordering out diccon, dyot, and the serving-man. then she could succeed in saying, "mine husband, all will soon out--mistress kennedy and master gorion have seen the brands on the child's shoulders. it is my belief that she of the 'beads and bracelets' bade the chirurgeon look for them. else, why should he have thrust himself in for a hurt that women-folk had far better have tended? now, that kinsman of yours knew that poor cis was none of ours, and gave her a hint of it long ago--that is, if tibbott were he, and not something worse." richard shook his head. "give a woman a hint of a seminary priest in disguise, and she would take a new-born baby for one. i tell thee i heard that cuthbert was safe in paris. but, be that as it may, i trust thou hast been discreet." "so i strove to be," said susan. "mrs. kennedy questioned me, and i told her." "what?" sharply demanded her husband. "nought but truth," she answered, "save that i showed no knowledge who the maid really is, nor let her guess that you had read the scroll." "that is well. frank talbot was scarce within his duty when he gave me the key, and it were as much as my head were worth to be known to have been aware of the matter." to this susan could only assent, as they were interrupted by the serving-man coming to ask directions about the bestowal of the goods. she was relieved by this short colloquy, but it was a sad and wakeful night for her as cicely slept by her side. her love was too truly motherly not to be deeply troubled at the claim of one of differing religion and nation, and who had so uncertain and perilous a lot in which to place her child. there was also the sense that all her dearest, including her eldest son, were involved in the web of intrigue with persons far mightier and more unscrupulous than themselves; and that, however they might strive to preserve their integrity, it would be very hard to avoid suspicion and danger. in this temporary abode, the household of the queen and of the earl ate together, in the great hall, and thus while breaking their fast in the morning jean kennedy found opportunity to examine richard talbot on all the circumstances of the wreck of the bride of dunbar, and the finding of the babe. she was much more on her guard than the day before, and said that she had a shrewd suspicion as to who the babe's parents might be, but that she could not be certain without seeing the reliquary and the scroll. richard replied that they were at home, but made no offer of sending for them. "nor will i do so," said he to his wife, "unless i am dealt plainly with, and the lady herself asks for them. then should i have no right to detain them." m. gorion would not allow his patient to leave her room that day, and she had to remain there while susan was in attendance on the queen, who did not appear to her yet to have heard of the discovery, and who was entering with zest into the routine of the place, where dr. jones might be regarded as the supreme legislator. each division of the great bath hall was fitted with drying and dressing room, arranged commodiously according to the degree of those who were to use them. royalty, of course, enjoyed a monopoly, and after the hot bath, which the queen took immediately after rising, she breakfasted in her own apartments, and then came forth, according to the regimen of the place, by playing at trowle madame. a board with arches cut in, just big enough to permit the entrance of the balls used in playing at bowls was placed on the turf at a convenient distance from the player. each arch was numbered, from one to thirteen, but the numbers were irregularly arranged, and the game consisted in rolling bowls into the holes in succession, each player taking a single turn, and the winner reaching the highest number first,--being, in fact, a sort of lawn bagatelle. dr. jones recommended it as good to stretch the rheumatic joints of his patients, and queen mary, an adept at all out-of-door games, delighted in it, though she had refused an offer to have the lawn arranged for it at sheffield, saying that it would only spoil a buxton delight. she was still too stiff to play herself, but found infinite amusement in teaching the new-comers the game, and poor susan, with her thoughts far away, was scarcely so apt a pupil as befitted a royal mistress, especially as she missed mrs. kennedy. when she came back, she found that the dame had been sitting with the patient, and had made herself very agreeable to the girl by drawing out from her all she knew of her own story from beginning to end, having first shown that she knew of the wreck of the bride of dunbar. "and, mother," said cis, "she says she is nearly certain that she knows who my true parents were, and that she could be certain if she saw the swaddling clothes and tokens you had with me. have you, mother? i never knew of them." "yes, child, i have. we did not wish to trouble and perturb your mind, little one, while you were content to be our daughter." "ah, mother, i would fain be yours and father's still. they must not take me from you. but suppose i was some great and noble lord's daughter, and had a great inheritance and lordship to give humfrey!" "alas, child! scottish inheritances are wont to bring more strife than wealth." nevertheless, cis went on supposing and building castles that were pain and grief to her foreboding auditor. that evening, however, richard called his wife. it was late, but the northern sunset was only just over, and susan could wander out with him on the greensward in front of the earl's house. "so this is the tale we are to be put off with," he said, "from the queen herself, ay, herself, and told with such an air of truth that it would almost make me discredit the scroll. she told me with one of her sweetest smiles how a favourite kinswoman of hers wedded in secret with a faithful follower of hers, of the clan hepburn. oh, i assure you it might have been a ballad sung by a harper for its sadness. well, this fellow ventured too far in her service, and had to flee to france to become an archer of the guard, while the wife remained and died at lochleven castle, having given birth to our cis, whom the queen in due time despatched to her father, he being minded to have her bred up in a french nunnery, sending her to dunbar to be there embarked in the bride of dunbar." "and the father?" "oh, forsooth, the father! it cost her as little to dispose of him as of the mother. he was killed in some brawl with the huguenots; so that the poor child is altogether an orphan, beholden to our care, for which she thanked me with tears in her eyes, that were more true than mayhap the poor woman could help." "poor lady," said susan. "yet can it not be sooth indeed?" "nay, dame, that may not be. the cipher is not one that would be used in simply sending a letter to the father." "might not the occasion have been used for corresponding in secret with french friends?" "i tell thee, wife, if i read one word of that letter, i read that the child was her own, and confided to the abbess of soissons! i will read it to thee once more ere i yield it up, that is if i ever do. wherefore cannot the woman speak truth to me? i would be true and faithful were i trusted, but to be thus put off with lies makes a man ready at once to ride off with the whole to the queen in council." "think, but think, dear sir," pleaded susan, "how the poor lady is pressed, and how much she has to fear on all sides." "ay, because lies have been meat and drink to her, till she cannot speak a soothfast word nor know an honest man when she sees him." "what would she have?" "that cis should remain with us as before, and still pass for our daughter, till such time as these negotiations are over, and she recover her kingdom. that is--so far as i see--like not to be till latter lammas--but meantime what sayest thou, susan? ah! i knew, anything to keep the child with thee! well, be it so--though if i had known the web we were to be wound into, i'd have sailed for the indies with humfrey long ago!" chapter xv. mother and child. cicely was well enough the next day to leave her room and come out on the summer's evening to enjoy the novel spectacle of trowle madame, in which she burned to participate, so soon as her shoulder should be well. it was with a foreboding heart that her adopted mother fell with her into the rear of the suite who were attending queen mary, as she went downstairs to walk on the lawn, and sit under a canopy whence she could watch either that game, or the shooting at the butts which was being carried on a little farther off. "so, our bonnie maiden," said mary, brightening as she caught sight of the young girl, "thou art come forth once more to rejoice mine eyes, a sight for sair een, as they say in scotland," and she kissed the fresh cheeks with a tenderness that gave susan a strange pang. then she asked kindly after the hurt, and bade cis sit at her feet, while she watched a match in archery between some of the younger attendants, now and then laying a caressing hand upon the slender figure. "little one," she said, "i would fain have thee to share my pillow. i have had no young bed-fellow since bess pierrepoint left us. wilt thou stoop to come and cheer the poor old caged bird?" "oh, madam, how gladly will i do so if i may!" cried cicely, delighted. "we will take good care of her, mistress talbot," said mary, "and deliver her up to you whole and sain in the morning," and there was a quivering playfulness in her voice. "your grace is the mistress," answered susan, with a sadness not quite controlled. "ah! you mock me, madam. would that i were!" returned the queen. "it is my lord's consent that we must ask. how say you, my lord, may i have this maiden for my warder at night?" lord shrewsbury was far from seeing any objection, and the promise was given that cis should repair to the queen's chamber for at least that night. she was full of excitement at the prospect. "why look you so sadly at me, sweet mother?" she cried, as susan made ready her hair, and assisted her in all the arrangements for which her shoulder was still too stiff; "you do not fear that they will hurt my arm?" "no, truly, my child. they have tender and skilful hands." "may be they will tell me the story of my parents," said cis; "but you need never doubt me, mother. though i were to prove to be ever so great a lady, no one could ever be mine own mother like you!" "scarcely in love, my child," said susan, as she wrapped the little figure in a loose gown, and gave her such a kiss as parents seldom permitted themselves, in the fear of "cockering" their children, which was considered to be a most reprehensible practice. nor could she refrain from closely pressing cicely's hand as they passed through the corridor to the queen's apartments, gave the word to the two yeomen who were on guard for the night at the head of the stairs, and tapped at the outmost door of the royal suite of rooms. it was opened by a french valet; but mrs. kennedy instantly advanced, took the maiden by the hand, and with a significant smile said: "gramercy, madam, we will take unco gude tent of the lassie. a fair gude nicht to ye." and mrs. talbot felt, as she put the little hand into that of the nurse, and saw the door shut on them, as if she had virtually given up her daughter, and, oh! was it for her good? cis was led into the bedchamber, bright with wax tapers, though the sky was not yet dark. she heard a sound as of closing and locking double doors, while some one drew back a crimson, gold-edged velvet curtain, which she had seen several times, and which it was whispered concealed the shrine where queen mary performed her devotions. she had just risen from before it, at the sound of cis's entrance, and two of her ladies, mary seaton and marie de courcelles, seemed to have been kneeling with her. she was made ready for bed, with a dark-blue velvet gown corded round her, and her hair, now very gray, braided beneath a little round cap, but a square of soft cambric drapery had been thrown over her head, so as to form a perfectly graceful veil, and shelter the features that were aging. indeed, when queen mary wore the exquisite smile that now lit up her face as she held out her arms, no one ever paused to think what those lineaments really were. she held out her arms as cis advanced bashfully, and said: "welcome, my sweet bed-fellow, my little scot--one more loyal subject come to me in my bondage." cis's impulse was to put a knee to the ground and kiss the hands that received her. "thou art our patient," continued mary. "i will see thee in bed ere i settle myself there." the bed was a tall, large, carved erection, with sweeping green and silver curtains, and a huge bank of lace-bordered pillows. a flight of low steps facilitated the ascent; and cis, passive in this new scene, was made to throw off her dressing-gown and climb up. "and now," said the queen, "let me see the poor little shoulder that hath suffered so much." "my arm is still bound, madam," said cis. but she was not listened to; and mrs. kennedy, much to her discomfiture, turned back her under-garment. the marks were, in fact, so placed as to be entirely out of her own view, and mrs. susan had kept them from the knowledge or remark of any one. they were also high enough up to be quite clear from the bandages, and thus she was amazed to hear the exclamation, "there! sooth enough." "monsieur gorion could swear to them instantly." "what is it? oh, what is it, madam?" cried cis, affrighted; "is there anything on my back? no plague spot, i hope;" and her eyes grew round with terror. the queen laughed. "no plague spot, sweet one, save, perhaps, in the eyes of you protestants, but to me they are a gladsome sight--a token i never hoped to see." and the bewildered girl felt a pair of soft lips kiss each mark in turn, and then the covering was quickly and caressingly restored, and mary added, "lie down, my child, and now to bed, to bed, my maids. patent the lights." then, making the sign of the cross, as cis had seen poor antony babington do, the queen, just as all the lights save one were extinguished, was divested of her wrapper and veil, and took her place beside cis on the pillows. the two maries left the chamber, and jean kennedy disposed herself on a pallet at the foot of the bed. "and so," said the queen, in a low voice, tender, but with a sort of banter, "she thought she had the plague spot on her little white shoulders. didst thou really not know what marks thou bearest, little one?" "no, madam," said cis. "is it what i have felt with my fingers?" "listen, child," said mary. "art thou at thine ease; thy poor shoulder resting well? there, then, give me thine hand, and i will tell thee a tale. there was a lonely castle in a lake, grim, cold, and northerly; and thither there was brought by angry men a captive woman. they had dealt with her strangely and subtilly; they had laid on her the guilt of the crimes themselves had wrought; and when she clung to the one man whom at least she thought honest, they had forced and driven her into wedding him, only that all the world might cry out upon her, forsake her, and deliver her up into those cruel hands." there was something irresistibly pathetic in mary's voice, and the maiden lay gazing at her with swimming eyes. "thou dost pity that poor lady, sweet one? there was little pity for her then! she had looked her last on her lad--bairn; ay, and they had said she had striven to poison him, and they were breeding him up to loathe the very name of his mother; yea, and to hate and persecute the church of his father and his mother both. and so it was, that the lady vowed that if another babe was granted to her, sprung of that last strange miserable wedlock, these foes of hers should have no part in it, nor knowledge of its very existence, but that it should be bred up beyond their ken--safe out of their reach. ah! child; good nurse kennedy can best tell thee how the jealous eyes and ears were disconcerted, and in secrecy and sorrow that birth took place." cis's heart was beating too fast for speech, but there was a tight close pressure of the hand that mary had placed within hers. "the poor mother," went on the queen in a low trembling voice, "durst have scarce one hour's joy of her first and only daughter, ere the trusty gorion took the little one from her, to be nursed in a hut on the other side of the lake. there," continued mary, forgetting the third person, "i hoped to have joined her, so soon as i was afoot again. the faithful lavender lent me her garments, and i was already in the boat, but the men-at-arms were rude and would have pulled down my muffler; i raised my hand to protect myself, and it was all too white. they had not let me stain it, because the dye would not befit a washerwoman. so there was i dragged back to ward again, and all our plans overthrown. and it seemed safer and meeter to put my little one out of reach of all my foes, even if it were far away from her mother's aching heart. not one more embrace could i be granted, but my good chaplain ross--whom the saints rest--baptized her in secret, and gorion had set two marks on the soft flesh, which he said could never be blotted out in after years, and then her father's clanswoman, alison hepburn, undertook to carry her to france, with a letter of mine bound up in her swathing clothes, committing her to the charge of my good aunt, the abbess of soissons, in utter secrecy, until better days should come. alas! i thought them not so far off. i deemed that were i once beyond the clutches of morton, ruthven, and the rest, the loyal would rally once more round my standard, and my crown would be mine own, mine enemies and those of my church beneath my feet. little did i guess that my escape would only be to see them slain and routed, and that when i threw myself on the hospitality of my cousin, her tender mercies would prove such as i have found them. 'libera me, dominie, libera me.'" cis began dimly to understand, but she was still too much awed to make any demonstration, save a convulsive pressure of the queen's hand, and the murmuring of the latin prayer distressed her. presently mary resumed. "long, long did i hope my little one was safely sheltered from all my troubles in the dear old cloisters of soissons, and that it was caution in my good aunt the abbess that prevented my hearing of her; but through my faithful servants, my lord flemyng, who had been charged to speed her from scotland, at length let me know that the ship in which she sailed, the bride of dunbar, had been never heard of more, and was thought to have been cast away in a tempest that raged two days after she quitted dunbar. and i--i shed some tears, but i could well believe that the innocent babe had been safely welcomed among the saints, and i could not grieve that she was, as i thought, spared from the doom that rests upon the race of stewart. till one week back, i gave thanks for that child of sorrow as cradled in paradise." then followed a pause, and then cis said in a low trembling voice, "and it was from the wreck of the bride of dunbar that i was taken?" "thou hast said it, child! my bairn, my bonnie bairn!" and the girl was absorbed in a passionate embrace and strained convulsively to a bosom which heaved with the sobs of tempestuous emotion, and the caresses were redoubled upon her again and again with increasing fervour that almost frightened her. "speak to me! speak to me! let me hear my child's voice." "oh, madam--" "call me mother! never have i heard that sound from my child's lips. i have borne two children, two living children, only to be stripped of both. speak, child--let me hear thee." cis contrived to say "mother, my mother," but scarcely with effusion. it was all so strange, and she could not help feeling as if susan were the mother she knew and was at ease with. all this was much too like a dream, from which she longed to awake. and there was mrs. kennedy too, rising up and crying quite indignantly--"mother indeed! is that all thou hast to say, as though it were a task under the rod, when thou art owned for her own bairn by the fairest and most ill-used queen in christendom? out on thee! have the southron loons chilled thine heart and made thee no leal to thine ain mother that hath hungered for thee?" the angry tones, and her sense of her own shortcomings, could only make cis burst into tears. "hush, hush, nurse! thou shalt not chide my new-found bairn. she will learn to ken us better in time if they will leave her with us," said mary. "there, there; greet not so sair, mine ain. i ask thee not to share my sorrows and my woes. that heaven forefend. i ask thee but to come from time to time and cheer my nights, and lie on my weary bosom to still its ache and yearning, and let me feel that i have indeed a child." "oh, mother, mother!" cis cried again in a stifled voice, as one who could not utter her feelings, but not in the cold dry tone that had called forth mrs. kennedy's wrath. "pardon me, i know not--i cannot say what i would. but oh! i would do anything for--for your grace." "all that i would ask of thee is to hold thy peace and keep our counsel. be cicely talbot by day as ever. only at night be mine--my child, my bride, for so wast thou named after our scottish patroness. it was a relic of her sandals that was hung about thy neck, and her ship in which thou didst sail; and lo, she heard and guarded thee, and not merely saved thee from death, but provided thee a happy joyous home and well-nurtured childhood. we must render her our thanks, my child. beata brigitta, ora pro nobis." "it was the good god almighty who saved me, madam," said cis bluntly. "alack! i forgot that yonder good lady could not fail to rear thee in the outer darkness of her heresy; but thou wilt come back to us, my ain wee thing! heaven forbid that i should deny whose hand it was that saved thee, but it was at the blessed bride's intercession. no doubt she reserved for me, who had turned to her in my distress, this precious consolation! but i will not vex thy little heart with debate this first night. to be mother and child is enough for us. what art thou pondering?" "only, madam, who was it that told your grace that i was a stranger?" "the marks, bairnie, the marks," said mary. "they told their own tale to good nurse jeanie; ay, and to gorion, whom we blamed for his cruelty in branding my poor little lammie." "ah! but," said cicely, "did not yonder woman with the beads and bracelets bid him look?" if it had been lighter, cicely would have seen that the queen was not pleased at the inquiry, but she only heard the answer from jean's bed, "hout no, i wad she knew nought of thae brands. how should she?" "nay," said cicely, "she--no, it was tibbott the huckster-woman told me long ago that i was not what i seemed, and that i came from the north--i cannot understand! were they the same?" "the bairn kens too much," said jean. "dinna ye deave her grace with your speirings, my lammie. ye'll have to learn to keep a quiet sough, and to see mickle ye canna understand here." "silence her not, good nurse," said the queen, "it imports us to know this matter. what saidst thou of tibbott?" "she was the woman who got antony babington into trouble," explained cicely. "i deemed her a witch, for she would hint strange things concerning me, but my father always believed she was a kinsman of his, who was concerned in the rising of the north, and who, he said, had seen me brought in to hull from the wreck." "ay?" said the queen, as a sign to her to continue. "and meseemed," added cicely timidly, "that the strange woman at tideswell who talked of beads and bracelets minded me of tibbott, though she was younger, and had not her grizzled brows; but father says that cannot be, for master cuthbert langston is beyond seas at paris." "soh! that is well," returned mary, in a tone of relief. "see, child. that langston of whom you speak was a true friend of mine. he has done much for me under many disguises, and at the time of thy birth he lived as a merchant at hull, trading with scotland. thus it may have become known to him that the babe he had seen rescued from the wreck was one who had been embarked at dunbar. but no more doth he know. the secret of thy birth, my poor bairn, was entrusted to none save a few of those about me, and all of those who are still living thou hast already seen. lord flemyng, who put thee on board, believed thee the child of james hepburn of lillieburn, the archer, and of my poor mary stewart, a kinswoman of mine ain; and it was in that belief doubtless that he, or tibbott, as thou call'st him, would have spoken with thee." "but the woman at tideswell," said cis, who was getting bewildered--"diccon said that she spake to master gorion." "that did she, and pointed thee out to him. it is true. she is another faithful friend of mine, and no doubt she had the secret from him. but no more questions, child. enough that we sleep in each other's arms." it was a strange night. cis was more conscious of wonder, excitement, and a certain exultation, than of actual affection. she had not been bred up so as to hunger and crave for love. indeed she had been treated with more tenderness and indulgence than was usual with people's own daughters, and her adopted parents had absorbed her undoubting love and respect. queen mary's fervent caresses were at least as embarrassing as they were gratifying, because she did not know what response to make, and the novelty and wonder of the situation were absolutely distressing. they would have been more so but for the queen's tact. she soon saw that she was overwhelming the girl, and that time must be given for her to become accustomed to the idea. so, saying tenderly something about rest, she lay quietly, leaving cis, as she supposed, to sleep. this, however, was impossible to the girl, except in snatches which made her have to prove to herself again and again that it was not all a dream. the last of these wakenings was by daylight, as full as the heavy curtains would admit, and she looked up into a face that was watching her with such tender wistfulness that it drew from her perforce the word "mother." "ah! that is the tone with the true ring in it. i thank thee and i bless thee, my bairn," said mary, making over her the sign of the cross, at which the maiden winced as at an incantation. then she added, "my little maid, we must be up and stirring. mind, no word of all this. thou art cicely talbot by day, as ever, and only my child, my bride, mine ain wee thing, my princess by night. canst keep counsel?" "surely, madam," said cis, "i have known for five years that i was a foundling on the wreck, and i never uttered a word." mary smiled. "this is either a very simple child or a very canny one," she said to jean kennedy. "either she sees no boast in being of royal blood, or she deems that to have the mother she has found is worse than the being the nameless foundling." "oh! madam, mother, not so! i meant but that i had held my tongue when i had something to tell!" "let thy secrecy stand thee in good stead, child," said the queen. "remember that did the bruit once get abroad, thou wouldest assuredly be torn from me, to be mewed up where the english queen could hinder thee from ever wedding living man. ay, and it might bring the head of thy foster-father to the block, if he were thought to have concealed the matter. i fear me thou art too young for such a weighty secret." "i am seventeen years old, madam," returned cis, with dignity; "i have kept the other secret since i was twelve." "then thou wilt, i trust, have the wisdom not to take the princess on thee, nor to give any suspicion that we are more to one another than the caged bird and the bright linnet that comes to sing on the bars of her cage. only, child, thou must get from master talbot these tokens that i hear of. hast seen them?" "never, madam; indeed i knew not of them." "i need them not to know thee for mine own, but it is not well that they should be in stranger hands. thou canst say--but hush, we must be mum for the present." for it became necessary to admit the queen's morning draught of spiced milk, borne in by one of her suite who had to remain uninitiated; and from that moment no more confidences could be exchanged, until the time that cis had to leave the queen's chamber to join the rest of the household in the daily prayers offered in the chapel. her dress and hair had, according to promise, been carefully attended to, but she was only finished and completed just in time to join her adopted parents on the way down the stairs. she knelt in the hall for their blessing--an action as regular and as mechanical as the morning kiss and greeting now are between parent and child; but there was something in her face that made susan say to herself, "she knows all." they could not speak to one another till not only matins but breakfast were ended, and then--after the somewhat solid meal--the ladies had to put on their out-of-door gear to attend queen mary in her daily exercise. the dress was not much, high summer as it was, only a loose veil over the stiff cap, and a fan in the gloved hand to act as parasol. however the retirement gave cicely an interval in which to say, "o mother, she has told me," and as susan sat holding out her arms, the adopted child threw herself on her knees, hiding her face on that bosom where she had found comfort all her life, and where, her emotion at last finding full outlet, she sobbed without knowing why for some moments, till she started nervously at the entrance of richard, saying, "the queen is asking for you both. but how now? is all told?" "ay," whispered his wife. "so! and why these tears? tell me, my maid, was not she good to thee? doth she seek to take thee into her own keeping?" "oh no, sir, no," said cis, still kneeling against the motherly knee and struggling with her sobs. "no one is to guess. i am to be cicely talbot all the same, till better days come to her." "the safer and the happier for thee, child. here are two honest hearts that will not cast thee off, even if, as i suspect, yonder lady would fain be quit of thee." "oh no!" burst from cicely, then, shocked at having committed the offence of interrupting him, she added, "dear sir, i crave your pardon, but, indeed, she is all fondness and love." "then what means this passion?" he asked, looking from one to the other. "it means only that the child's senses and spirits are overcome," said susan, "and that she scarce knows how to take this discovery. is it not so, sweetheart?" "oh, sweet mother, yes in sooth. you will ever be mother to me indeed!" "well said, little maid!" said richard. "thou mightest search the world over and never hap upon such another." "but she oweth duty to the true mother," said susan, with her hand on the girl's neck. "we wot well of that," answered her husband, "and i trow the first is to be secret." "yea, sir," said cis, recovering herself, "none save the very few who tended her, the queen at lochleven, know who i verily am. such as were aware of the babe being put on board ship at dunbar, thought me the daughter of a scottish archer, a hepburn, and she, the queen my mother, would, have me pass as such to those who needs must know i am not myself." "trust her for making a double web when a single one would do," muttered richard, but so that the girl could not hear. "there is no need for any to know at present," said susan hastily, moved perhaps by the same dislike to deception; "but ah, there's that fortune-telling woman." cis, proud of her secret information, here explained that tibbott was indeed cuthbert langston, but not the person whose password was "beads and bracelets," and that both alike could know no more than the story of the scottish archer and his young wife, but they were here interrupted by the appearance of diccon, who had been sent by my lord himself to hasten them at the instance of the queen. master richard sent the boy on with his mother, saying he would wait and bring cis, as she had still to compose her hair and coif, which had become somewhat disordered. "my maiden," he said, gravely, "i have somewhat to say unto thee. thou art in a stranger case than any woman of thy years between the four seas; nay, it may be in christendom. it is woeful hard for thee not to be a traitor through mere lapse of tongue to thine own mother, or else to thy queen. so i tell thee this once for all. see as little, hear as little, and, above all, say as little as thou canst." "not to mother?" asked cis. "no, not to her, above all not to me, and, my girl, pray god daily to keep thee true and loyal, and guard thee and the rest of us from snares. now have with thee. we may tarry no longer!" all went as usual for the rest of the day, so that the last night was like a dream, until it became plain that cicely was again to share the royal apartment. "ah, i have thirsted for this hour!" said mary, holding out her arms and drawing her daughter to her bosom. "thou art a canny lassie, mine ain wee thing. none could have guessed from thy bearing that there was aught betwixt us." "in sooth, madam," said the girl, "it seems that i am two maidens in one--cis talbot by day, and bride of scotland by night." "that is well! be all cis talbot by day. when there is need to dissemble, believe in thine own feigning. 'tis for want of that art that these clumsy southrons make themselves but a laughing-stock whenever they have a secret." cis did not understand the maxim, and submitted in silence to some caresses before she said, "my father will give your grace the tokens when we return." "thy father, child?" "i crave your pardon, madam, it comes too trippingly to my tongue thus to term master talbot." "so much the better. thy tongue must not lose the trick. i did but feel a moment's fear lest thou hadst not been guarded enough with yonder sailor man, and had let him infer over much." "o, surely, madam, you never meant me to withhold the truth from father and mother," cried cis, in astonishment and dismay. "tush! silly maid!" said the queen, really angered. "father and mother, forsooth! now shall we have a fresh coil! i should have known better than to have trusted thy word." "never would i have given my word to deceive them," cried cis, hotly. "lassie!" exclaimed jean kennedy, "ye forget to whom ye speak." "nay," said mary, recovering herself, or rather seeing how best to punish, "'tis the poor bairn who will be the sufferer. our state cannot be worse than it is already, save that i shall lose her presence, but it pities me to think of her." "the secret is safe with them," repeated cis. "o madam, none are to be trusted like them." "tell me not," said the queen. "the sailor's blundering loyalty will not suffer him to hold his tongue. i would lay my two lost crowns that he is down on his honest knees before my lord craving pardon for having unwittingly fostered one of the viper brood. then, via! off goes a post--boots and spurs are no doubt already on--and by and by comes knollys, or garey, or walsingham, to bear off the perilous maiden to walk in queen bess's train, and have her ears boxed when her majesty is out of humour, or when she gets weary of dressing st. katherine's hair, and weds the man of her choice, she begins to taste of prison walls, and is a captive for the rest of her days." cis was reduced to tears, and assurances that if the queen would only broach the subject to master richard, she would perceive that he regarded as sacred, secrets that were not his own; and to show that he meant no betrayal, she repeated his advice as to seeing, hearing, and saying as little as possible. "wholesome counsel!" said mary. "cheer thee, lassie mine, i will credit whatever thou wilt of this foster-father of thine until i see it disproved; and for the good lady his wife, she hath more inward, if less outward, grace than any dame of the mastiff brood which guards our prison court! i should have warned thee that they were not excepted from those who may deem thee my poor mary's child." cicely did not bethink herself that, in point of fact, she had not communicated her royal birth to her adopted parents, but that it had been assumed between them, as, indeed, they had not mentioned their previous knowledge. mary presently proceeded--"after all, we may not have to lay too heavy a burden on their discretion. better days are coming. one day shall our faithful lieges open the way to freedom and royalty, and thou shalt have whatever boon thou wouldst ask, even were it pardon for my lady shrewsbury." "there is one question i would fain ask, madam mother: doth my real father yet live? the earl of--" jean kennedy made a sound of indignant warning and consternation, cutting her short in dismay; but the queen gripped her hand tightly for some moments, and then said: "'tis not a thing to speir of me, child, of me, the most woefully deceived and forlorn of ladies. never have i seen nor heard from him since the parting at carbery hill, when he left me to bear the brunt! folk say that he took ship for the north. believe him dead, child. so were it best for us both; but never name him to me more." jean kennedy knew, though the girl did not, what these words conveyed. if bothwell no longer lived, there would be no need to declare the marriage null and void, and thus sacrifice his daughter's position; but supposing him to be in existence, mary had already shown herself resolved to cancel the very irregular bonds which had united them,--a most easy matter for a member of her church, since they had been married by a reformed minister, and bothwell had a living wife at the time. of all this cicely was absolutely ignorant, and was soon eagerly listening as the queen spoke of her hopes of speedy deliverance. "my son, my jamie, is working for me!" she said. "nay, dost not ken what is in view for me?" "no, madam, my good father, master richard, i mean, never tells aught that he hears in my lord's closet." "that is to assure me of his discretion, i trow! but this is no secret! no treason against our well-beloved cousin bess! oh no! but thy brother, mine ain lad-bairn, hath come to years of manhood, and hath shaken himself free of the fetters of knox and morton and buchanan, and all their clamjamfrie. the stewart lion hath been too strong for them. the puir laddie hath true men about him, at last,--the master of gray, as they call him, and esme stewart of aubigny, a scot polished as the french know how to brighten scottish steel. nor will the lad bide that his mother should pine longer in durance. he yearns for her, and hath writ to her and to elizabeth offering her a share in his throne. poor laddie, what would be outrecuidance in another is but duteousness in him. what will he say when we bring him a sister as well as a mother? they tell me that he is an unco scholar, but uncouth in his speech and manners, and how should it be otherwise with no woman near him save my old lady mar? we shall have to take him in hand to teach him fair courtesy." "sure he will be an old pupil!" said cis, "if he be more than two years my elder." "never fear, if we can find a winsome young bride for him, trust mother, wife, and sister for moulding him to kingly bearing. we will make our home in stirling or linlithgow, we two, and leave holyrood to him. i have seen too much there ever to thole the sight of those chambers, far less of the high street of edinburgh; but stirling, bonnie stirling, ay, i would fain ride a hawking there once more. methinks a highland breeze would put life and youth into me again. there's a little chamber opening into mine, where i will bestow thee, my lady bride of scotland, for so long as i may keep thee. ah! it will not be for long. they will be seeking thee, my brave courtly faithful kindred of lorraine, and scottish nobles and english lords will vie for this little hand of thine, where courses the royal blood of both realms." "so please you, madam, my mother--" "eh? what is it? who is it? i deemed that yonder honourable dame had kept thee from all the frolics and foibles of the poor old profession. fear not to tell me, little one. remember thine own mother hath a heart for such matters. i guess already. c'etait un beau garcon, ce pauvre antoine." "oh no, madam," exclaimed cicely. "when the sailor goatley disclosed that i was no child of my father's, of master richard i mean, and was a nameless creature belonging to no one, humfrey talbot stood forth and pledged himself to wed me so soon as we were old enough." "and what said the squire and dame?" "that i should then be indeed their daughter." "and hath the contract gone no farther?" "no, madam. he hath been to the north with captain frobisher, and since that to the western main, and we look for his return even now." "how long is it since this pledge, as thou callest it, was given?" "five years next lammas tide, madam." "was it by ring or token?" "no, madam. our mother said we were too young, but humfrey meant it with all his heart." "humfrey! that was the urchin who must needs traverse the correspondence through the seeming tibbott, and so got antony removed from about us. a stout lubberly yorkshire lad, fed on beef and pudding, a true talbot, a mere english bull-dog who will have lost all the little breeding he had, while committing spulzie and piracy at sea on his catholic majesty's ships. bah, mon enfant, i am glad of it. had he been a graceful young courtly page like the poor antony, it might have been a little difficult, but a great english carle like that, whom thou hast not seen for five years--" she made a gesture with her graceful hands as if casting away a piece of thistledown. "humfrey is my very good--my very good brother, madam," cried cicely, casting about for words to defend him, and not seizing the most appropriate. "brother, quotha? yea, and as good brother he shall be to thee, and welcome, so long as thou art cis talbot by day--but no more, child. princesses mate not with yorkshire esquires. when the lady bride takes her place in the halls of her forefathers, she will be the property of scotland, and her hand will be sought by princes. ah, lassie! let it not grieve thee. one thing thy mother can tell thee from her own experience. there is more bliss in mating with our equals, by the choice of others, than in following our own wild will. thou gazest at me in wonder, but verily my happy days were with my gentle young king--and so will thine be, i pray the saints happier and more enduring than ever were mine. nothing has ever lasted with me but captivity, o libera me." and in the murmured repetition the mother fell asleep, and the daughter, who had slumbered little the night before, could not but likewise drop into the world of soothing oblivion, though with a dull feeling of aching and yearning towards the friendly kindly humfrey, yet with a certain exultation in the fate that seemed to be carrying her on inevitably beyond his reach. chapter xvi. the peak cavern. it was quite true that at this period queen mary had good hope of liberation in the most satisfactory manner possible--short of being hailed as english queen. negotiations were actually on foot with james vi. and elizabeth for her release. james had written to her with his own hand, and she had for the first time consented to give him the title of king of scotland. the project of her reigning jointly with him had been mooted, and each party was showing how enormous a condescension it would be in his or her eyes! thus there was no great unlikelihood that there would be a recognition of the lady bride, and that she would take her position as the daughter of a queen. therefore, when mary contrived to speak to master richard talbot and his wife in private, she was able to thank them with gracious condescension for the care they had bestowed in rearing her daughter, much as if she had voluntarily entrusted the maiden to them, saying she trusted to be in condition to reward them. mistress susan's heart swelled high with pain, as though she had been thanked for her care of humfrey or diccon, and her husband answered. "we seek no reward, madam. the damsel herself, while she was ours, was reward enough." "and i must still entreat, that of your goodness you will let her remain yours for a little longer," said mary, with a touch of imperious grace, "until this treaty is over, and i am free, it is better that she continues to pass for your daughter. the child herself has sworn to me by her great gods," said mary, smiling with complimentary grace, "that you will preserve her secret--nay, she becomes a little fury when i express my fears lest you should have scruples." "no, madam, this is no state secret; such as i might not with honour conceal," returned richard. "there is true english sense!" exclaimed mary. "i may then count on your giving my daughter the protection of your name and your home until i can reclaim her and place her in her true position. yea, and if your concealment should give offence, and bring you under any displeasure of my good sister, those who have so saved and tended my daughter will have the first claim to whatever i can give when restored to my kingdom." "we are much beholden for your grace's favour," said richard, somewhat stiffly, "but i trust never to serve any land save mine own." "ah! there is your fierete," cried mary. "happy is my sister to have subjects with such a point of honour. happy is my child to have been bred up by such parents!" richard bowed. it was all a man could do at such a speech, and mary further added, "she has told me to what bounds went your goodness to her. it is well that you acted so prudently that the children's hearts were not engaged; for, as we all know but too well royal blood should have no heart." "i am quite aware of it, madam," returned richard, and there for the time the conversation ended. the queen had been most charming, full of gratitude, and perfectly reasonable in her requests, and yet there was some flaw in the gratification of both, even while neither thought the disappointment would go very hard with their son. richard could never divest himself of the instinctive prejudice with which soft words inspire men of his nature, and susan's maternal heart was all in revolt against the inevitable, not merely grieving over the wrench to her affections, but full of forebodings and misgivings as to the future welfare of her adopted child. even if the brightest hopes should be fulfilled; the destiny of a scottish princess did not seem to southern eyes very brilliant at the best, and whether poor bride hepburn might be owned as a princess at all was a doubtful matter, since, if her father lived (and he had certainly been living in in norway), both the queen and the scottish people would be agreed in repudiating the marriage. any way, susan saw every reason to fear for the happiness and the religion alike of the child to whom she had given a mother's love. under her grave, self-contained placid demeanour, perhaps dame susan was the most dejected of those at buxton. the captive queen had her hopes of freedom and her newly found daughter, who was as yet only a pleasure, and not an encumbrance to her, the earl had been assured that his wife's slanders had been forgotten. he was secure of his sovereign's favour, and permitted to see the term of his weary jailorship, and thus there was an unusual liveliness and cheerfulness about the whole sojourn at buxton, where, indeed, there was always more or less of a holiday time. to cis herself, her nights were like a perpetual fairy tale, and so indeed were all times when she was alone with the initiated, who were indeed all those original members of her mother's suite who had known of her birth at lochleven, people who had kept too many perilous secrets not to be safely entrusted with this one, and whose finished habits of caution, in a moment, on the approach of a stranger, would change their manner from the deferential courtesy due to their princess, to the good-natured civility of court ladies to little cicely talbot. dame susan had been gratified at first by the young girl's sincere assurances of unchanging affection and allegiance, and, in truth, cis had clung the most to her with the confidence of a whole life's danghterhood, but as the days went on, and every caress and token of affection imaginable was lavished upon the maiden, every splendid augury held out to her of the future, and every story of the past detailed the charms of mary's court life in france, seen through the vista of nearly twenty sadly contrasted years, it was in the very nature of things that cis should regard the time spent perforce with mistress talbot much as a petted child views its return to the strict nurse or governess from the delights of the drawing-room. she liked to dazzle the homely housewife with the wonderful tales of french gaieties, or the splendid castles in the air she had heard in the queen's rooms, but she resented the doubt and disapproval they sometimes excited; she was petulant and fractious at any exercise of authority from her foster-mother, and once or twice went near to betray herself by lapsing into a tone towards her which would have brought down severe personal chastisement on any real daughter even of seventeen. it was well that the countess and her sharp-eyed daughter mary were out of sight, as the sight of such "cockering of a malapert maiden" would have led to interference that might have brought matters to extremity. yet, with all the forbearance thus exercised, susan could not but feel that the girl's love was being weaned from her; and, after all, how could she complain, since it was by the true mother? if only she could have hoped it was for the dear child's good, it would not have been so hard! but the trial was a bitter one, and not even her husband guessed how bitter it was. the queen meantime improved daily in health and vigour in the splendid summer weather. the rheumatism had quitted her, and she daily rode and played at trowle madame for hours after supper in the long bright july evenings. cis, whose shoulder was quite well, played with great delight on the greensward, where one evening she made acquaintance with a young esquire and his sisters from the neighbourhood, who had come with their father to pay their respects to my lord earl, as the head of all hallamshire. the earl, though it was not quite according to the recent stricter rules, ventured to invite them to stay to sup with the household, and afterwards they came out with the rest upon the lawn. cis was walking between the young lad and his sister, laughing and talking with much animation, for she had not for some time enjoyed the pleasure of free intercourse with any of her fellow-denizens in the happy land of youth. dame susan watched her with some uneasiness, and presently saw her taking them where she herself was privileged to go, but strangers were never permitted to approach, on the trowle madame sward reserved for the queen, on which she was even now entering. "cicely!" she called, but the young lady either did not or would not hear, and she was obliged to walk hastily forward, meet the party, and with courteous excuses turn them back from the forbidden ground. they submitted at once, apologising, but cis, with a red spot on her cheek, cried, "the queen would take no offence." "that is not the matter in point, cicely," said dame susan gravely. "master and mistress eyre understand that we are bound to obedience to the earl." master eyre, a well-bred young gentleman, made reply that he well knew that no discourtesy was intended, but cis pouted and muttered, evidently to the extreme amazement of mistress alice eyre; and dame susan, to divert her attention, began to ask about the length of their ride, and the way to their home. cis's ill humour never lasted long, and she suddenly broke in, "o mother, master eyre saith there is a marvellous cavern near his father's house, all full of pendants from the roof like a minster, and great sheeted tables and statues standing up, all grand and ghostly on the floor, far better than in this pool's hole. he says his father will have it lighted up if we will ride over and see it." "we are much beholden to master eyre," said susan, but cis read refusal in her tone, and began to urge her to consent. "it must be as my husband wills," was the grave answer, and at the same time, courteously, but very decidedly, she bade the strangers farewell, and made her daughter do the same, though cis was inclined to resistance, and in a somewhat defiant tone added, "i shall not forget your promise, sir. i long to see the cave." "child, child," entreated susan, as soon as they were out of hearing, "be on thy guard. thou wilt betray thyself by such conduct towards me." "but, mother, they did so long to see the queen, and there would have been no harm in it. they are well affected, and the young gentleman is a friend of poor master babington." "nay, cis, that is further cause that i should not let them pass onward. i marvel not at thee, my maid, but thou and thy mother queen must bear in mind that while thou passest for our daughter, and hast trust placed in thee, thou must do nothing to forfeit it or bring thy fa--, master richard i mean, into trouble." "i meant no harm," said cis; rather crossly. "thou didst not, but harm may be done by such as mean it the least." "only, mother, sweet mother," cried the girl, childlike, set upon her pleasure, "i will be as good as can be. i will transgress in nought if only thou wilt get my father to take me to see master eyre's cavern." she was altogether the home daughter again in her eagerness, entreating and promising by turns with the eager curiosity of a young girl bent on an expedition, but richard was not to be prevailed on. he had little or no acquaintance with the eyre family, and to let them go to the cost and trouble of lighting up the cavern for the young lady's amusement would be like the encouragement of a possible suit, which would have been a most inconvenient matter. richard did not believe the young gentleman had warrant from his father in giving this invitation, and if he had, that was the more reason for declining it. the eyres, then holding the royal castle of the peak, were suspected of being secretly roman catholics, and though the earl could not avoid hospitably bidding them to supper, the less any talbot had to do with them the better, and for the present cis must be contented to be reckoned as one. so she had to put up with her disappointment, and she did not do so with as good a grace as she would have shown a year ago. nay, she carried it to queen mary, who at night heard her gorgeous description of the wonders of the cavern, which grew in her estimation in proportion to the difficulty of seeing them, and sympathised with her disappointment at the denial. "nay, thou shalt not be balked," said mary, with the old queenly habit of having her own way. "prisoner as i am, i will accomplish this. my daughter shall have her wish." so on the ensuing morning, when the earl came to pay his respects, mary assailed him with, "there is a marvellous cavern in these parts, my lord, of which i hear great wonders." "does your grace mean pool's hole?" "nay, nay, my lord. have i not been conducted through it by dr. jones, and there writ my name for his delectation? this is, i hear, as a palace compared therewith." "the peak cavern, madam!" said lord shrewsbury, with the distaste of middle age for underground expeditions, "is four leagues hence, and a dark, damp, doleful den, most noxious for your grace's rheumatism." "have you ever seen it, my lord?" "no, verily," returned his lordship with a shudder. "then you will be edified yourself, my lord, if you will do me the grace to escort me thither," said mary, with the imperious suavity she well knew how to adopt. "madam, madam," cried the unfortunate earl, "do but consult your physicians. they will tell you that all the benefits of the buxton waters will be annulled by an hour in yonder subterranean hole." "i have heard of it from several of my suite," replied mary, "and they tell me that the work of nature on the lime-droppings is so marvellous that i shall not rest without a sight of it. many have been instant with me to go and behold the wondrous place." this was not untrue, but she had never thought of gratifying them in her many previous visits to buxton. the earl found himself obliged either to utter a harsh and unreasonable refusal, or to organise an expedition which he personally disliked extremely, and moreover distrusted, for he did not in the least believe that queen mary would be so set upon gratifying her curiosity about stalactites without some ulterior motive. he tried to set on dr. jones to persuade messieurs gorion and bourgoin, her medical attendants, that the cave would be fatal to her rheumatism, but it so happened that the peak cavern was dr. jones's favourite lion, the very pride of his heart. pool's hole was dear to him, but the peak cave was far more precious, and the very idea of the queen of scots honouring it with her presence, and leaving behind her the flavour of her name, was so exhilarating to the little man that if the place had been ten times more damp he would have vouched for its salubrity. moreover, he undertook that fumigations of fragrant woods should remove all peril of noxious exhalations, so that the earl was obliged to give his orders that mr. eyre should be requested to light up the cave, and heartily did he grumble and pour forth his suspicions and annoyance to his cousin richard. "and i," said the good sailor, "felt it hard not to be able to tell him that all was for the freak of a silly damsel." mistress cicely laughed a little triumphantly. it was something like being a queen's daughter to have been the cause of making my lord himself bestir himself against his will. she had her own way, and might well be good-humoured. "come, dear sir father," she said, coming up to him in a coaxing, patronising way, which once would have been quite alien to them both, "be not angered. you know nobody means treason! and, after all, 'tis not i but you that are the cause of all the turmoil. if you would but have ridden soberly out with your poor little cis, there would have been no coil, but my lord might have paced stately and slow up and down the terrace-walk undisturbed." "ah, child, child!" said susan, vexed, though her husband could not help smiling at the arch drollery of the girl's tone and manner, "do not thou learn light mockery of all that should be honoured." "i am not bound to honour the earl," said cis, proudly. "hush, hush!" said richard. "i have allowed thee unchecked too long, maiden. wert thou ten times what thou art, it would not give thee the right to mock at the gray-haired, highly-trusted noble, the head of the name thou dost bear." "and the torment of her whom i am most bound to love," broke from cicely petulantly. richard's response to this sally was to rise up, make the young lady the lowest possible reverence, with extreme and displeased gravity, and then to quit the room. it brought the girl to her bearings at once. "oh, mother, mother, how have i displeased him?" "i trow thou canst not help it, child," said susan, sadly; "but it is hard that thou shouldst bring home to us how thine heart and thine obedience are parted from us." the maiden was in a passion of tears at once, vowing that she meant no such thing, that she loved and obeyed them as much as ever, and that if only her father would forgive her she would never wish to go near the cavern. she would beg the queen to give up the plan at once, if only sir richard would be her good father as before. susan looked at her sadly and tenderly, but smiled, and said that what had been lightly begun could not now be dropped, and that she trusted cis would be happy in the day's enjoyment, and remember to behave herself as a discreet maiden. "for truly," said she, "so far from discretion being to be despised by queen's daughters, the higher the estate the greater the need thereof." this little breeze did not prevent cicely from setting off in high spirits, as she rode near the queen, who declared that she wanted to enjoy _through_ the merry maiden, and who was herself in a gay and joyous mood, believing that the term of her captivity was in sight, delighted with her daughter, exhilarated by the fresh breezes and rapid motion, and so mirthful that she could not help teasing and bantering the earl a little, though all in the way of good-humoured grace. the ride was long, about eight miles; but though the peak castle was a royal one, the earl preferred not to enter it, but, according to previous arrangement, caused the company to dismount in the valley, or rather ravine, which terminates in the cavern, where a repast was spread on the grass. it was a wonderful place, cool and refreshing, for the huge rocks on either side cast a deep shadow, seldom pierced by the rays of the sun. lofty, solemn, and rich in dark reds and purples, rose the walls of rock, here and there softened by tapestry of ivy or projecting bushes of sycamore, mountain ash, or with fruit already assuming its brilliant tints, and jackdaws flying in and out of their holes above. deep beds of rich ferns clothed the lower slopes, and sheets of that delicate flower, the enchanter's nightshade, reared its white blossoms down to the bank of a little clear stream that came flowing from out of the mighty yawning arch of the cavern, while above the precipice rose sheer the keep of peak castle. the banquet was gracefully arranged to suit the scene, and comprised, besides more solid viands, large bowls of milk, with strawberries or cranberries floating in them. mr. eyre, the keeper of the castle, and his daughter did the honours, while his son superintended the lighting and fumigation of the cavern, assisted, if not directed by dr. jones, whose short black cloak and gold-headed cane were to be seen almost everywhere at once. presently clouds of smoke began to issue from the vast archway that closed the ravine. "beware, my maidens," said the queen, merrily, "we have roused the dragon in his den, and we shall see him come forth anon, curling his tail and belching flame." "with a marvellous stomach for a dainty maiden or two," added gilbert curll, falling into her humour. "hark! good lack!" cried the queen, with an affectation of terror, as a most extraordinary noise proceeded from the bowels of the cavern, making cis start and marie de courcelles give a genuine shriek. "your majesty is pleased to be merry," said the earl, ponderously. "the sound is only the coughing of the torchbearers from the damp whereof i warned your majesty." "by my faith," said mary, "i believe my lord earl himself fears the monster of the cavern, to whom he gives the name of damp. dread nothing, my lord; the valorous knight sir jones is even now in conflict with the foul worm, as those cries assure me, being in fact caused by his fumigations." the jest was duly received, and in the midst of the laughter, young eyre came forward, bowing low, and holding his jewelled hat in his hand, while his eyes betrayed that he had recently been sneezing violently. "so please your majesty," he said, "the odour hath rolled away, and all is ready if you will vouchsafe to accept my poor guidance." "how say you, my lord?" said mary. "will you dare the lair of the conquered foe, or fear you to be pinched with aches and pains by his lurking hobgoblins? if so, we dispense with your attendance." "your majesty knows that where she goes thither i am bound to attend her," said the rueful earl. "even into the abyss!" said mary. "valiantly spoken, for have not ariosto and his fellows sung of captive princesses for whom every cave held an enchanter who could spirit them away into vapour thin as air, and leave their guardians questing in vain for them?" "your majesty jests with edged tools," sighed the earl. old mr. eyre was too feeble to act as exhibitor of the cave, and his son was deputed to lead the queen forward. this was, of course, lord shrewsbury's privilege, but he was in truth beholden to her fingers for aid, as she walked eagerly forward, now and then accepting a little help from john eyre, but in general sure-footed and exploring eagerly by the light of the numerous torches held by yeomen in the eyre livery, one of whom was stationed wherever there was a dangerous pass or a freak of nature worth studying. the magnificent vaulted roof grew lower, and presently it became necessary to descend a staircase, which led to a deep hollow chamber, shaped like a bell, and echoing like one. a pool of intensely black water filled it, reflecting the lights on its surface, that only enhanced its darkness, while there moved on a mysterious flat-bottomed boat, breaking them into shimmering sparks, and john eyre intimated that the visitors must lie down flat in it to be ferried one by one over a space of about fourteen yards. "your majesty will surely not attempt it," said the earl, with a shudder. "wherefore not? it is but a foretaste of charon's boat!" said mary, who was one of those people whose spirit of enterprise rises with the occasion, and she murmured to mary seaton the line of dante-- "quando noi fermerem li nostri passi su la triate riviera a' acheronte." "will your majesty enter?" asked john eyre. "dr. jones and some gentlemen wait on the other side to receive you." "some gentlemen?" repeated mary. "you are sure they are not minos and rhadamanthus, sir? my obolus is ready; shall i put it in my mouth?" "nay, madam, pardon me," said the earl, spurred by a miserable sense of his duties; "since you will thus venture, far be it from me to let you pass over until i have reached the other aide to see that it is fit for your majesty!" "even as you will, most devoted cavalier," said mary, drawing back; "we will be content to play the part of the pale ghosts of the unburied dead a little longer. see, mary, the boat sinks down with him and his mortal flesh! we shall have charon complaining of him anon." "your highness gars my flesh grue," was the answer of her faithful mary. "ah, ma mie! we have not left all hope behind. we can afford to smile at the doleful knight, ferried o'er on his back, in duteous and loyal submission to his task mistress. child, cicely, where art thou? art afraid to dare the black river?" "no, madam, not with you on the other side, and my father to follow me." "well said. let the maiden follow next after me. or mayhap master eyre should come next, then the young lady. for you, my ladies, and you, good sirs, you are free to follow or not, as the fancy strikes you. so--here is charon once more--must i lie down?" "ay, madam," said eyre, "if you would not strike your head against yonder projecting rock." mary lay down, her cloak drawn about her, and saying, "now then, for acheron. ah! would that it were lethe!" "her grace saith well," muttered faithful jean kennedy, unversed in classic lore, "would that we were once more at bonnie leith. soft there now, 'tis you that follow her next, my fair mistress." cicely, not without trepidation, obeyed, laid herself flat, and was soon midway, feeling the passage so grim and awful, that she could think of nothing but the dark passages of the grave, and was shuddering all over, when she was helped out on the other side by the queen's own hand. some of those in the rear did not seem to be similarly affected, or else braved their feelings of awe by shouts and songs, which echoed fearfully through the subterranean vaults. indeed diccon, following the example of one or two young pages and grooms of the earl's, began to get so daring and wild in the strange scene, that his father became anxious, and tarried for him on the other side, in the dread of his wandering away and getting lost, or falling into some of the fearful dark rivers that could be heard--not seen--rushing along. by this means, master richard was entirely separated from cicely, to whom, before crossing the water, he had been watchfully attending, but he knew her to be with the queen and her ladies, and considered her natural timidity the best safeguard against the chief peril of the cave, namely, wandering away. cicely did, however, miss his care, for the queen could not but be engrossed by her various cicerones and attendants, and it was no one's especial business to look after the young girl over the rough descent to the dripping well called roger rain's house, and the grand cathedral-like gallery, with splendid pillars of stalagmite, and pendants above. by the time the steps beyond were reached, a toilsome descent, the queen had had enough of the expedition, and declined to go any farther, but she good-naturedly yielded to the wish of master john eyre and dr. jones, that she would inscribe her name on the farthest column that she had reached. there was a little confusion while this was being done, as some of the more enterprising wished to penetrate as far as possible into the recesses of the cave, and these were allowed to pass forward--diccon and his father among them. in the passing and repassing, cicely entirely lost sight of all who had any special care of her, and went stumbling on alone, weary, frightened, and repenting of the wilfulness with which she had urged on the expedition. each of the other ladies had some cavalier to help her, but none had fallen to cicely's lot, and though, to an active girl, there was no real danger where the torchbearers lined the way, still there was so much difficulty that she was a laggard in reaching the likeness of acheron, and could see no father near as she laid herself down in charon's dismal boat, dimly rejoicing that this time it was to return to the realms of day, and yet feeling as if she should never reach them. a hand was given to assist her from the boat by one of the torchbearers, a voice strangely familiar was in her ears, saying, "mistress cicely!" and she knew the eager eyes, and exclaimed under her breath, "antony, you here? in hiding? what have you done?" "nothing," he answered, smiling, and holding her hand, as he helped her forward. "i only put on this garb that i might gaze once more on the most divine and persecuted of queens, and with some hope likewise that i might win a word with her who deigned once to be my playmate. lady, i know the truth respecting you." "do you in very deed?" demanded cicely, considerably startled. "i know your true name, and that you are none of the mastiff race," said antony. "did--did tibbott tell you, sir?" asked cicely. "you are one of us," said antony; "bound by natural allegiance in the land of your birth to this lady." "even so," said cis, here becoming secure of what she had before doubted, that babington only knew half the truth he referred to. "and you see and speak with her privily," he added. "as bess pierrepoint did," said she. these words passed during the ascent, and were much interrupted by the difficulties of the way, in which antony rendered such aid that she was each moment more impelled to trust to him, and relieved to find herself in such familiar hands. on reaching the summit the light of day could be seen glimmering in the extreme distance, and the maiden's heart bounded at the sight of it; but she found herself led somewhat aside, where in a sort of side aisle of the great bell chamber were standing together four more of the torch-bearers. one of them, a slight man, made a step forward and said, "the queen hath dropped her kerchief. mayhap the young gentlewoman will restore it?" "she will do more than that!" said antony, drawing her into the midst of them. "dost not know her, langston? she is her sacred majesty's own born, true, and faithful subject, the lady--" "hush, my friend; thou art ever over outspoken with thy names," returned the other, evidently annoyed at babington's imprudence. "i tell thee, she is one of us," replied antony impatiently. "how is the queen to know of her friends if we name them not to her?" "are these her friends?" asked cicely, looking round on the five figures in the leathern coats and yeomen's heavy buskins and shoes, and especially at the narrow face and keen pale eyes of langston. "ay, verily," said one, whom cicely could see even under his disguise to be a slender, graceful youth. "by john eyre's favour have we come together here to gaze on the true and lawful mistress of our hearts, the champion of our faith, in her martyrdom." then taking the kerchief from langston's hand, babington kissed it reverently, and tore it into five pieces, which he divided among himself and his fellows, saying, "this fair mistress shall bear witness to her sacred majesty that we--antony babington, chidiock tichborne, cuthbert langston, john charnock, john savage--regard her as the sole and lawful queen of england and scotland, and that as we have gone for her sake into the likeness of the valley of the shadow of death, so will we meet death itself and stain this linen with our best heart's blood rather than not bring her again to freedom and the throne!" then with the most solemn oath each enthusiastically kissed the white token, and put it in his breast, but langston looked with some alarm at the girl, and said to babington, "doth this young lady understand that you have put our lives into her hands?" "she knows! she knows! i answer for her with my life," said antony. "let her then swear to utter no word of what she has seen save to the queen," said langston, and cicely detected a glitter in that pale eye, and with a horrified leap of thought, recollected how easy it would be to drag her away into one of those black pools, beyond all ken. "oh save me, antony!" she cried clinging to his arm. "no one shall touch you. i will guard you with my life!" exclaimed the impulsive young man, feeling for the sword that was not there. "who spoke of hurting the foolish wench?" growled savage; but tichborne said, "no one would hurt you, madam; but it is due to us all that you should give us your word of honour not to disclose what has passed, save to our only true mistress." "oh yes! yes!" cried cicely hastily, scarcely knowing what passed her lips, and only anxious to escape from that gleaming eye of langston, which had twice before filled her with a nameless sense of the necessity of terrified obedience. "oh! let me go. i hear my father's voice." she sprang forward with a cry between joy and terror, and darted up to richard talbot, while savage, the man who looked most entirely unlike a disguised gentleman, stepped forward, and in a rough, north country dialect, averred that the young gentlewoman had lost her way. "poor maid," said kind richard, gathering the two trembling little hands into one of his own broad ones. "how was it? thanks, good fellow," and he dropped a broad piece into savage's palm; "thou hast done good service. what, cis, child, art quaking?" "hast seen any hobgoblins, cis?" said diccon, at her other side. "i'm sure i heard them laugh." "whist, dick," said his father, putting a strong arm round the girl's waist. "see, my wench, yonder is the goodly light of day. we shall soon be there." with all his fatherly kindness, he helped the agitated girl up the remaining ascent, as the lovely piece of blue sky between the retreating rocks grew wider, and the archway higher above them. cis felt that infinite repose and reliance that none else could give, yet the repose was disturbed by the pang of recollection that the secret laid on her was their first severance. it was unjust to his kindness; strange, doubtful, nay grisly, to her foreboding mind, and she shivered alike from that and the chill of the damp cavern, and then he drew her cloak more closely about her, and halted to ask for the flask of wine which one of the adventurous spirits had brought, that queen elizabeth's health might be drunk by her true subjects in the bowels of the earth. the wine was, of course, exhausted; but dr. jones bustled forward with some cordial waters which he had provided in case of anyone being struck with the chill of the cave, and cicely was made to swallow some. by this time she had been missed, and the little party were met by some servants sent by the earl at the instance of the much-alarmed queen to inquire for her. a little farther on came mistress talbot, in much anxiety and distress, though as diccon ran forward to meet her, and she saw cicely on her husband's arm, she resumed her calm and staid demeanour, and when assured that the maiden had suffered no damage, she made no special demonstrations of joy or affection. indeed, such would have been deemed unbecoming in the presence of strangers, and disrespectful to the queen and the earl, who were not far off. mary, on the other hand, started up, held out her arms, received the truant with such vehement kisses, as might almost have betrayed their real relationship, and then reproached her, with all sorts of endearing terms, for having so terrified them all; nor would she let the girl go from her side, and kept her hand in her own, diccon meanwhile had succeeded in securing his father's attention, which had been wholly given to cicely till she was placed in the women's hands. "father," he said, "i wish that one of the knaves with the torches who found our cis was the woman with the beads and bracelets, ay, and tibbott, too." "belike, belike, my son," said richard. "there are folk who can take as many forms as a barnacle goose. keep thou a sharp eye as the fellows pass out, and pull me by the cloak if thou seest him." of course he was not seen, and richard, who was growing more and more cautious about bringing vague or half-proved suspicions before his lord, decided to be silent and to watch, though he sighed to his wife that the poor child would soon be in the web. cis had not failed to recognise that same identity, and to feel a half-realised conviction that the queen had not chosen to confide to her that the two female disguises both belonged to langston. yet the contrast between mary's endearments and the restrained manner of susan so impelled her towards the veritable mother, that the compunction as to the concealment she had at first experienced passed away, and her heart felt that its obligations were towards her veritable and most loving parent. she told the queen the whole story at night, to mary's great delight. she said she was sure her little one had something on her mind, she had so little to say of her adventure, and the next day a little privy council was contrived, in which cicely was summoned again to tell her tale. the ladies declared they had always hoped much from their darling page, in whom they had kept up the true faith, but sir andrew melville shook his head and said: "i'd misdoot ony plot where the little finger of him was. what garred the silly loon call in the young leddy ere he kenned whether she wad keep counsel?" chapter xvii. the ebbing well. cicely's thirst for adventures had received a check, but the queen, being particularly well and in good spirits, and trusting that this would be her last visit to buxton, was inclined to enterprise, and there were long rides and hawking expeditions on the moors. the last of these, ere leaving buxton, brought the party to the hamlet of barton clough, where a loose horseshoe of the earl's caused a halt at a little wayside smithy. mary, always friendly and free-spoken, asked for a draught of water, and entered into conversation with the smith's rosy-cheeked wife who brought it to her, and said it was sure to be good and pure for the stream came from the ebbing and flowing well, and she pointed up a steep path. then, on a further question, she proceeded, "has her ladyship never heard of the ebbing well that shows whether true love is soothfast?" "how so?" asked the queen. "how precious such a test might be. it would save many a maiden a broken heart, only that the poor fools would ne'er trust it." "i have heard of it," said the earl, "and dr. jones would demonstrate to your grace that it is but a superstition of the vulgar regarding a natural phenomenon." "yea, my lord," said the smith, looking up from the horse's foot; "'tis the trade of yonder philosophers to gainsay whatever honest folk believed before them. they'll deny next that hens lay eggs, or blight rots wheat. my good wife speaks but plain truth, and we have seen it o'er and o'er again." "what have you seen, good man?" asked mary eagerly, and ready answer was made by the couple, who had acquired some cultivation of speech and manners by their wayside occupation, and likewise as cicerones to the spring. "seen, quoth the lady?" said the smith. "why, he that is a true man and hath a true maid can quaff a draught as deep as his gullet can hold--or she that is true and hath a true love--but let one who hath a flaw in the metal, on the one side or t'other, stoop to drink, and the water shrinks away so as there's not the moistening of a lip." "ay: the ladies may laugh," added his wife, "but 'tis soothfast for all that." "hast proved it, good dame?" asked the queen archly, for the pair were still young and well-looking enough to be jested with. "ay! have we not, madam?" said the dame. "was not my man yonder, rob, the tinker's son, whom my father and brethren, the smiths down yonder at buxton, thought but scorn of, but we'd taken a sup together at the ebbing well, and it played neither of us false, so we held out against 'em all, and when they saw there was no help for it, they gave bob the second best anvil and bellows for my portion, and here we be." "living witnesses to the well," said the queen merrily. "how say you, my lord? i would fain see this marvel. master curll, will you try the venture?" "i fear it not, madam," said the secretary, looking at the blushing barbara. objections did not fail to arise from the earl as to the difficulties of the path and the lateness of the hour but bob smith, perhaps wilfully, discovered another of my lord's horseshoes to be in a perilous state, and his good wife, dame emmott, offered to conduct the ladies by so good a path that they might think themselves on the queen's walk at buxton itself. lord shrewsbury, finding himself a prisoner, was obliged to yield compliance, and leaving sir andrew melville, with the grooms and falconers, in charge of the horses, the queen, the earl, cicely, mary seaton, barbara mowbray, the two secretaries, and richard talbot and young diccon, started on the walk, together with dr. bourgoin, her physician, who was eager to investigate the curiosity, and make it a subject of debate with dr. jones. the path was a beautiful one, through rocks and brushwood, mountain ash bushes showing their coral berries amid their feathery leaves, golden and white stars of stonecrop studding every coign of vantage, and in more level spots the waxy bell-heather beginning to come into blossom. still it was rather over praise to call it as smooth as the carefully-levelled and much-trodden queen's path at buxton, considering that it ascended steeply all the way, and made the solemn, much-enduring earl pant for breath; but the queen, her rheumatics for the time entirely in abeyance, bounded on with the mountain step learned in early childhood, and closely followed the brisk emmott. the last ascent was a steep pull, taking away the disposition to speak, and at its summit mary stood still holding out one hand, with a finger of the other on her lips as a sign of silence to the rest of the suite and to emmott, who stood flushed and angered; for what she esteemed her lawful province seemed to have been invaded from the other side of the country. they were on the side of the descent from the moorlands connected with the peak, on a small esplanade in the midst of which lay a deep clear pool, with nine small springs or fountains discharging themselves, under fern and wild rose or honeysuckle, into its basin. steps bad been cut in the rock leading to the verge of the pool, and on the lowest of these, with his back to the new-comers, was kneeling a young man, his brown head bare, his short cloak laid aside, so that his well-knit form could be seen; the sword and spurs that clanked against the rock, as well as the whole fashion and texture of his riding-dress, showing him to be a gentleman. "we shall see the venture made," whispered mary to her daughter, who, in virtue of youth and lightness of foot, had kept close behind her. grasping the girl's arm and smiling, she heard the young man's voice cry aloud to the echoes of the rock, "cis!" then stoop forward and plunge face and head into the clear translucent water. "good luck to a true lover!" smiled the queen. "what! starting, silly maid? cisses are plenty in these parts as rowan berries." "nay, but--" gasped cicely, for at that moment the young man, rising from his knees, his face still shining with the water, looked up at his unsuspected spectators. an expression of astonishment and ecstasy lighted up his honest sunburnt countenance as master richard, who had just succeeded in dragging the portly earl up the steep path, met his gaze. he threw up his arms, made apparently but one bound, and was kneeling at the captain's feet, embracing his knees. "my son! humfrey! thyself!" cried richard. "see! see what presence we are in." "your blessing, father, first," cried humfrey, "ere i can see aught else." and as richard quickly and thankfully laid his hand on the brow, so much fairer than the face, and then held his son for one moment in a close embrace, with an exchange of the kiss that was not then only a foreign fashion. queen and earl said to one another with a sigh, that happy was the household where the son had no eyes for any save his father. mary, however, must have found it hard to continue her smiles when, after due but hurried obeisance to her and to his feudal chief, humfrey turned to the little figure beside her, all smiling with startled shyness, and in one moment seemed to swallow it up in a huge overpowering embrace, fraternal in the eyes of almost all the spectators, but not by any means so to those of mary, especially after the name she had heard. diccon's greeting was the next, and was not quite so visibly rapturous on the part of the elder brother, who explained that he had arrived at sheffield yesterday, and finding no one to welcome him but little edward, had set forth for buxton almost with daylight, and having found himself obliged to rest his horse, he had turned aside to---. and here he recollected just in time that cis was in every one's eyes save his father's, his own sister, and lamely concluded "to take a draught of water," blushing under his brown skin as he spoke. poor fellow! the queen, even while she wished him in the farthest west indian isle, could not help understanding that strange doubt and dread that come over the mind at the last moment before a longed-for meeting, and which had made even the bold young sailor glad to rally his hopes by this divination. fortunately she thought only herself and one or two of the foremost had heard the name he gave, as was proved by the earl's good-humoured laugh, as he said, "a draught, quotha? we understand that, young sir. and who may this your true love be?" "that i hope soon to make known to your lordship," returned humfrey, with a readiness which he certainly did not possess before his voyage. the ceremony was still to be fulfilled, and the smith's wife called them to order by saying, "good luck to the young gentleman. he is a stranger here, or he would have known he should have come up by our path! will you try the well, your grace?" "nay, nay, good woman, my time for such toys is over!" said the queen smiling, "but moved by such an example, here are others to make the venture, master curll is burning for it, i see." "i fear no such trial, an't please your grace," said curll, bowing, with a bright defiance of the water, and exchanging a confident smile with the blushing mistress barbara--then kneeling by the well, and uttering her name aloud ere stooping to drink. he too succeeded in obtaining a full draught, and came up triumphantly. "the water is a flatterer!" said the earl. "it favours all." the french secretary, monsieur nau, here came forward and took his place on the steps. no one heard, but every one knew the word he spoke was "bessie," for elizabeth pierrepoint had long been the object of his affections. no doubt he hoped that he should obtain some encouragement from the water, even while he gave a little laugh of affected incredulity as though only complying with a form to amuse the queen. down he went on his knees, bending over the pool, when behold he could not reach it! the streams that fed it were no longer issuing from the rock, the water was subsiding rapidly. the farther he stooped, the more it retreated, till he had almost fallen over, and the guide screamed out a note of warning, "have a care, sir! if the water flees you, flee it will, and ye'll not mend matters by drowning yourself." how he was to be drowned by water that fled from him was not clear, but with a muttered malediction he arose and glanced round as if he thought the mortification a trick on the part of the higher powers, since the earl did not think him a match for the countess's grandchild, and the queen had made it known to him that she considered bess pierrepoint to have too much of her grandmother's conditions to be likely to be a good wife. there was a laugh too, scarce controlled by some of the less well-mannered of the suite, especially as the earl, wishing to punish his presumption, loudly set the example. there was a pause, as the discomfited secretary came back, and the guide exclaimed, "come, my masters, be not daunted! will none of you come on? hath none of you faith in your love? oh, fie!" "we are married men, good women," said richard, hoping to put an end to the scene, "and thus can laugh at your well." "but will not these pretty ladies try it? it speaks as sooth to lass as to lad." "i am ready," said barbara mowbray, as curll gave her his hand to bound lightly down the steps. and to the general amazement, no sooner had "gilbert" echoed from her lips than the fountains again burst forth, the water rose, and she had no difficulty in reaching it, while no one could help bursting forth in applause. her gilbert fervently kissed the hand she gave him to aid her steps up the slope, and dame emmott, in triumphant congratulation, scanned them over and exclaimed, "ay, trust the well for knowing true sweetheart and true maid. come you next, fair mistress?" poor mary seaton shook her head, with a look that the kindly woman understood, and she turned towards cicely, who had a girl's unthinking impulse of curiosity, and had already put her hand into humfrey's, when his father exclaimed, "nay, nay, the maid is yet too young!" and the queen added, "come back, thou silly little one, these tests be not for babes like thee." she was forced to be obedient, but she pouted a little as she was absolutely held fast by richard talbot's strong hand. humfrey was disappointed too; but all was bright with him just then, and as the party turned to make the descent, he said to her, "it matters not, little cis! i'm sure of thee with the water or without, and after all, thou couldst but have whispered my name, till my father lets us speak all out!" they were too much hemmed in by other people for a private word, and a little mischievous banter was going on with sir andrew melville, who was supposed to have a grave elderly courtship with mistress kennedy. humfrey was left in the absolute bliss of ignorance, while the old habit and instinct of joy and gladness in his presence reasserted itself in cis, so that, as he handed her down the rocks, she answered in the old tone all his inquiries about his mother, and all else that concerned them at home, diccon meantime risking his limbs by scrambling outside the path, to keep abreast of his brother, and to put in his word whenever he could. on reaching the smithy, humfrey had to go round another way to fetch his horse, and could hardly hope to come up with the rest before they reached buxton. his brother was spared to go with him, but his father was too important a part of the escort to be spared. so cicely rode near the queen, and heard no more except the earl's version of dr. jones's explanation of the intermitting spring. they reached home only just in time to prepare for supper, and the two youths appeared almost simultaneously, so that mistress talbot, sitting at her needle on the broad terrace in front of the earl's lodge, beheld to her amazement and delight the figure that, grown and altered as it was, she recognised in an instant. in another second humfrey had sprung from his horse, rushed up the steps, he knew not how, and the queen, with tears trembling in her eyes was saying, "ah, melville! see how sons meet their mothers!" the great clock was striking seven, a preposterously late hour for supper, and etiquette was stronger than sentiment or perplexity. every one hastened to assume an evening toilette, for a riding-dress would have been an insult to the earl, and the bell soon clanged to call them down to their places in the hall. even humfrey had brought in his cloak-bag wherewithal to make himself presentable, and soon appeared, a well-knit and active figure, in a plain dark blue jerkin, with white slashes, and long hose knitted by his mother's dainty fingers, and well-preserved shoes with blue rosettes, and a flat blue velvet cap, with an exquisite black and sapphire feather in it fastened by a curious brooch. his hair was so short that its naturally strong curl could hardly be seen, his ruddy sunburnt face could hardly be called handsome, but it was full of frankness and intelligence, and beaming with honest joy, and close to him moved little diccon, hardly able to repress his ecstasy within company bounds, and letting it find vent in odd little gestures, wriggling with his body, playing tunes on his knee, or making dancing-steps with his feet. lord shrewsbury welcomed his young kinsman as one who had grown from a mere boy into a sturdy and effective supporter. he made the new-comer sit near him, and asked many questions, so that humfrey was the chief speaker all supper time, with here and there a note from his father, the only person who had made the same voyage. all heard with eager interest of the voyage, the weeds in the gulf stream, the strange birds and fishes, of walter raleigh's virginian colony and its ill success, of the half-starved men whom sir richard grenville had found only too ready to leave roanoake, of dark-skinned indians, of chases of spanish ships, of the peak of teneriffe rising white from the waves, of phosphorescent seas, of storms, and of shark-catching. supper over, the audience again gathered round the young traveller, a perfect fountain of various and wonderful information to those who had for the most part never seen a book of travels. he narrated simply and well, without his boyish shy embarrassment and awkwardness, and likewise, as his father alone could judge, without boasting, though, if to no one else, to diccon and cis, listening with wide open eyes, he seemed a hero of heroes. in the midst of his narration a message came that the queen of scots requested the presence of mistress cicely. humfrey stared in discomfiture, and asked when she would return. "not to-night," faltered the girl, and the mother added, for the benefit of the bystanders, "for lack of other ladies of the household, much service hath of late fallen to cicely and myself, and she shares the queen's chamber." humfrey had to submit to exchange good-nights with cicely, and she made her way less willingly than usual to the apartments of the queen, who was being made ready for her bed. "here comes our truant," she exclaimed as the maiden entered. "i sent to rescue thee from the western seafarer who had clawed thee in his tarry clutch. thou didst act the sister's part passing well. i hear my lord and all his meine have been sitting, open-mouthed, hearkening to his tales of savages and cannibals." "o madam, he told us of such lovely isles," said cis. "the sea, he said, is blue, bluer than we can conceive, with white waves of dazzling surf, breaking on islands fringed with white shells and coral, and with palms, their tops like the biggest ferns in the brake, and laden with red golden fruit as big as goose eggs. and the birds! o madam, my mother, the birds! they are small, small as our butterflies and beetles, and they hang hovering and quivering over a flower so that humfrey thought they were moths, for he saw nothing but a whizzing and a whirring till he smote the pretty thing dead, and then he said that i should have wept for pity, for it was a little bird with a long bill, and a breast that shines red in one light, purple in another, and flame-coloured in a third. he has brought home the little skin and feathers of it for me." "thou hast supped full of travellers' tales, my simple child." "yea, madam, but my lord listened, and made humfrey sit beside him, and made much of him--my lord himself! i would fain bring him to you, madam. it is so wondrous to hear him tell of the red men with crowns of feathers and belts of beads. such gentle savages they be, and their chiefs as courteous and stately as any of our princes, and yet those cruel spaniards make them slaves and force them to dig in mines, so that they die and perish under their hands." "and better so than that they should not come to the knowledge of the faith," said mary. "i forgot that your grace loves the spaniards," said cis, much in the tone in which she might have spoken of a taste in her grace for spiders, adders, or any other noxious animal. "one day my child will grow out of her little heretic prejudices, and learn to love her mother's staunch friends, the champions of holy church, and the representatives of true knighthood in these degenerate days. ah, child! couldst thou but see a true spanish caballero, or again, could i but show thee my noble cousin of guise, then wouldst thou know how to rate these gross clownish english mastiffs who now turn thy silly little brain. ah, that thou couldst once meet a true prince!" "the well," murmured cicely. "tush, child," said the queen, amused. "what of that? thy name is not cis, is it? 'tis only the slough that serves thee for the nonce. the good youth will find himself linked to some homely, housewifely cis in due time, when the princess bride is queening it in france or austria, and will own that the well was wiser than he." poor cis! if her inmost heart declared humfrey talbot to be prince enough for her, she durst not entertain the sentiment, not knowing whether it were unworthy, and while marie de courcelles read aloud a french legend of a saint to soothe the queen to sleep, she lay longing after the more sympathetic mother, and wondering what was passing in the hall. richard talbot had communed with his wife's eyes, and made up his mind that humfrey should know the full truth before the queen should enjoin his being put off with the story of the parentage she had invented for bride hepburn; and while some of the gentlemen followed their habit of sitting late over the wine cup, he craved their leave to have his son to himself a little while, and took him out in the summer twilight on the greensward, going through the guards, for whom he, as the gentleman warder, had the password of the night. in compliment to the expedition of the day it had been made "true love and the flowing well." it sounded agreeable in humfrey's ears; he repeated it again, and then added "little cis! she hath come to woman's estate, and she hath caught some of the captive lady's pretty tricks of the head and hands. how long hath she been so thick with her?" "since this journey. i have to speak with thee, my son." "i wait your pleasure, sir," said humfrey, and as his father paused a moment ere communicating his strange tidings, he rendered the matter less easy by saying, "i guess your purpose. if i may at once wed my little cis i will send word to sir john norreys that i am not for this expedition to the low countries, though there is good and manly work to be done there, and i have the offer of a command, but i gave not my word till i knew your will, and whether we might wed at once." "thou hast much to hear, my son." "nay, surely no one has come between!" exclaimed humfrey. "methought she was less frank and more coy than of old. if that sneaking traitor babington hath been making up to her i will slit his false gullet for him." "hush, hush, humfrey! thy seafaring boasts skill not here. no _man_ hath come between thee and yonder poor maid." "poor! you mean not that she is sickly. were she so, i would so tend her that she should be well for mere tenderness. but no, she was the very image of health. no man, said you, father? then it is a woman. ah! my lady countess is it, bent on making her match her own way? sir, you are too good and upright to let a tyrannous dame like that sever between us, though she be near of kin to us. my mother might scruple to cross her, but you have seen the world, sir." "my lad, you are right in that it is a woman who stands between you and cis, but it is not the countess. none would have the right to do so, save the maiden's own mother." "her mother! you have discovered her lineage! can she have ought against me?--i, your son, sir, of the talbot blood, and not ill endowed?" "alack, son, the talbot may be a good dog but the lioness will scarce esteem him her mate. riddles apart, it is proved beyond question that our little maid is of birth as high as it is unhappy. thou canst be secret, i know, humfrey, and thou must be silent as the grave, for it touches my honour and the poor child's liberty." "who is she, then?" demanded humfrey sharply. his father pointed to the queen's window. humfrey stared at him, and muttered an ejaculation, then exclaimed, "how and when was this known?" richard went over the facts, giving as few names as possible, while his son stood looking down and drawing lines with the point of his sword. "i hoped," ended the father, "that these five years' absence might have made thee forget thy childish inclination;" and as humfrey, without raising his face, emphatically shook his head, he went on to add-- "so, my dear son, meseemeth that there is no remedy, but that, for her peace and thine own, thou shouldest accept this offer of brave norreys, and by the time the campaign is ended, they may be both safe in scotland, out of reach of vexing thy heart, my poor boy." "is it so sure that her royal lineage will be owned?" muttered humfrey. "out on me for saying so! but sure this lady hath made light enough of her wedlock with yonder villain." "even so, but that was when she deemed its offspring safe beneath the waves. i fear me that, however our poor damsel be regarded, she will be treated as a mere bait and tool. if not bestowed on some foreign prince (and there hath been talk of dukes and archdukes), she may serve to tickle the pride of some scottish thief, such as was her father." "sir! sir! how can you speak patiently of such profanation and cruelty? papist butchers and scottish thieves, for the child of your hearth! were it not better that i stole her safely away and wedded her in secret, so that at least she might have an honest husband?" "nay, his honesty would scarce be thus manifest," said richard, "even if the maid would consent, which i think she would not. her head is too full of her new greatness to have room for thee, my poor lad. best that thou shouldest face the truth. and, verily, what is it but her duty to obey her mother, her true and veritable mother, humfrey? it is but making her ease harder, and adding to her griefs, to strive to awaken any inclination she may have had for thee; and therefore it is that i counsel thee, nay, i might command thee, to absent thyself while it is still needful that she remain with us, passing for our daughter." humfrey still traced lines with his sword in the dust. he had always been a strong-willed though an obedient and honourable boy, and his father felt that these five years had made a man of him, whom, in spite of mediaeval obedience, it was not easy to dispose of arbitrarily. "there's no haste," he muttered. "norreys will not go till my lord of leicester's commission be made out. it is five years since i was at home." "my son, thou knowest that i would not send thee from me willingly. i had not done so ere now, but that it was well for thee to know the world and men, and sheffield is a mere nest of intrigue and falsehood, where even if one keeps one's integrity, it is hard to be believed. but for my lord, thy mother, and my poor folk, i would gladly go with thee to strike honest downright blows at a foe i could see and feel, rather than be nothing better than a warder, and be driven distracted with women's tongues. why, they have even set division between my lord and his son gilbert, who was ever the dearest to him. young as he is, methinks diccon would be better away with thee than where the very air smells of plots and lies." "i trow the queen of scots will not be here much longer," said humfrey. "men say in london that sir ralf sadler is even now setting forth to take charge of her, and send my lord to london." "we have had such hopes too often, my son," said richard. "nay, she hath left us more than once, but always to fall back upon sheffield like a weight to the ground. but she is full of hope in her son, now that he is come of age, and hath put to death her great foe, the earl of morton." "the poor lady might as well put her faith in--in a jelly-fish," said humfrey, falling on a comparison perfectly appreciated by the old sailor. "heh? she will get naught but stings. how knowest thou?" "why, do none know here that king james is in the hands of him they call the master of gray?" "queen mary puts in him her chief hope." "then she hath indeed grasped a jelly-fish. know you not, father, those proud and gay ones, with rose-coloured bladders and long blue beards--blue as the azure of a herald's coat?" "ay, marry i do. i remember when i was a lad, in my first voyage, laying hold on one. i warrant you i danced about till i was nearly overboard, and my arm was as big as two for three days later. is the fellow of that sort? the false scot." "look you, father, i met in london that same johnstone who was one of this lady's gentlemen at one time. you remember him. he breakfasted at bridgefield once or twice ere the watch became more strict." "yea, i remember him. he was an honest fellow for a scot." "when he made out that i was the little lad he remembered, he was very courteous, and desired his commendations to you and to my mother. he had been in scotland, and had come south in the train of this rogue, gray. i took him to see the old pelican, and we had a breakfast aboard there. he asked much after his poor queen, whom he loves as much as ever, and when he saw i was a man he could trust, your true son, he said that he saw less hope for her than ever in scotland--her friends have been slain or exiled, and the young generation that has grown up have learned to dread her like an incarnation of the scarlet one of babylon. their preachers would hail her as satan loosed on them, and the nobles dread nothing so much as being made to disgorge the lands of the crown and the church, on which they are battening. as to her son, he was fain enough to break forth from one set of tutors, and the messages of france and spain tickled his fancy--but he is nought. he is crammed with scholarship, and not without a shrewd apprehension; but, with respect be it spoken, more the stuff that court fools are made of than kings. it may be, as a learned man told johnstone, that the shock the queen suffered when the brutes put davy to death before her eyes, three months ere his birth, hath damaged his constitution, for he is at the mercy of whosoever chooses to lead him, and hath no will of his own. this master of gray was at first inclined to the queen's party, thinking more might be got by a reversal of all things, but now he finds the king's men so strong in the saddle, and the queen's french kindred like to be too busy at home to aid her, what doth he do, but list to our queen's offers, and this ambassage of his, which hath a colour of being for queen mary's release, is verily to make terms with my lord treasurer and sir francis walsingham for the pension he is to have for keeping his king in the same mind." "turning a son against a mother! i marvel that honourable counsellors can bring themselves to the like." "policy, sir, policy," said humfrey. "and this gray maketh a fine show of chivalry and honour, insomuch that sir philip sidney himself hath desired his friendship; but, you see, the poor lady is as far from freedom as she was when first she came to sheffield." "she is very far from believing it, poor dame. i am sorry for her, humfrey, more sorry than i ever thought i could be, now i have seen more of her. my lord himself says he never knew her break a promise. how gracious she is there is no telling." "that we always knew," said humfrey, looking somewhat amazed, that his honoured father should have fallen under the spell of the "siren between the cold earth and moon." "yes, gracious, and of a wondrous constancy of mind, and evenness of temper," said richard. "now that thy mother and i have watched her more closely, we can testify that, weary, worn, and sick of body and of heart as she is, she never letteth a bitter or a chiding word pass her lips towards her servants. she hath nothing to lose by it. their fidelity is proven. they would stand by her to the last, use them as she would, but assuredly their love must be doubly bound up in her when they see how she regardeth them before herself. let what will be said of her, son humfrey, i shall always maintain that i never saw woman, save thine own good mother, of such evenness of condition, and sweetness of consideration for all about her, ay, and patience in adversity, such as, heaven forbid, thy mother should ever know." "amen, and verily amen," said humfrey. "deem you then that she hath not worked her own woe?" "nay, lad, what saith the scripture, 'judge not, and ye shall not be judged'? how should i know what hath passed seventeen years back in scotland?" "ay, but for present plots and intrigues, judge you her a true woman?" "humfrey, thou hadst once a fox in a cage. when it found it vain to dash against the bars, rememberest thou how it scratched away the earth in the rear, and then sat over the hole it had made, lest we should see it?" "the fox, say you, sir? then you cannot call her ought but false." "they tell me," said sir richard, "that ever since an italian named machiavel wrote his book of the prince, statecraft hath been craft indeed, and princes suck in deceit with the very air they breathe. ay, boy, it is what chiefly vexes me in the whole. i cannot doubt that she is never so happy as when there is a plot or scheme toward, not merely for her own freedom, but the utter overthrow of our own gracious sovereign, who, if she hath kept this lady in durance, hath shielded her from her own bloodthirsty subjects. and for dissembling, i never saw her equal. yet she, as thy mother tells me, is a pious and devout woman, who bears her troubles thus cheerfully and patiently, because she deems them a martyrdom for her religion. ay, all women are riddles, they say, but this one the most of all!" "thinkest thou that she hath tampered with--with that poor maiden's faith?" asked humfrey huskily. "i trow not yet, my son," replied richard; "cis is as open as ever to thy mother, for i cannot believe she hath yet learnt to dissemble, and i greatly suspect that the queen, hoping to return to scotland, may be willing to keep her a protestant, the better to win favour with her brother and the lords of his council; but if he be such a cur as thou sayest, all hope of honourable release is at an end. so thou seest, humfrey, how it lies, and how, in my judgment, to remain here is but to wring thine own heart, and bring the wench and thyself to sore straits. i lay not my commands on thee, a man grown, but such is my opinion on the matter." "i will not disobey you, father," said humfrey, "but suffer me to consider the matter." chapter xviii. cis or sister. buxtona, quae calidae celebraris nomine lymphae forte mihi post hac non adeunda, vale. (buxton of whose warm waters men tell, perchance i ne'er shall see thee more, farewell.) thus wrote queen mary with a diamond upon her window pane, smiling as she said, "there, we will leave a memento over which the admirable dr. jones will gloat his philosophical soul. never may i see thee more, buxton, yet never thought i to be so happy as i have here been." she spoke with the tenderness of farewell to the spot which had always been the pleasantest abode of the various places of durance which had been hers in england. each year she had hoped would be her last of such visits, but on this occasion everything seemed to point to a close to the present state of things, since not only were the negotiations with scotland apparently prosperous, but lord shrewsbury had obtained an absolute promise from elizabeth that she would at all events relieve him from his onerous and expensive charge. thus there was general cheerfulness, as the baggage was bestowed in carts and on beasts of burthen, and mary, as she stood finishing her inscription on the window, smiled sweetly and graciously on mistress talbot, and gave her joy of the arrival of her towardly and hopeful son, adding, "we surprised him at the well! may his cis, who is yet to be found, i trow, reward his lealty!" that was all the notice mary deigned to take of the former relations between her daughter and young talbot. she did not choose again to beg for secrecy when she was sure to hear that she had been forestalled, and she was too consummate a judge of character not to have learnt that, though she might despise the dogged, simple straightforwardness of richard and susan talbot, their honour was perfectly trustworthy. she was able for the present to keep her daughter almost entirely to herself, since, on the return to sheffield, the former state of things was resumed. the bridgefield family was still quartered in the manor-house, and mistress talbot continued to be, as it were, lady warder to the captive in the place of the countess, who obstinately refused to return while mary was still in her husband's keeping. cicely, as mary's acknowledged favourite, was almost always in her apartments, except at the meals of the whole company of shrewsbury kinsfolk and retainers, when her place was always far removed from that of humfrey. in truth, if ever an effort might have obtained a few seconds of private conversation, a strong sense of embarrassment and perplexity made the two young people fly apart rather than come together. they knew not what they wished. humfrey might in his secret soul long for a token that cis remembered his faithful affection, and yet he knew that to elicit one might do her life-long injury. so, however he might crave for word or look when out of sight of her, an honourable reluctance always withheld him from seeking any such sign in the short intervals when he could have tried to go beneath the surface. on the other hand, this apparent indifference piqued her pride, and made her stiff, cold, and almost disdainful whenever there was any approach between them. her vanity might be flattered by the knowledge that she was beyond his reach; but it would have been still more gratified could she have discovered any symptoms of pining and languishing after her. she might peep at him from under her eyelashes in chapel and in hall; but in the former place his gaze always seemed to be on the minister, in the latter he showed no signs of flagging as a trencher companion. both mothers thought her marvellously discreet; but neither beheld the strange tumult in her heart, where were surging pride, vanity, ambition, and wounded affection. in a few days, sir ralf sadler and his son-in-law mr. somer arrived at sheffield in order to take the charge of the prisoner whilst shrewsbury went to london. the conferences and consultations were endless, and harassing, and it was finally decided that the earl should escort her to wingfield, and, leaving her there under charge of sadler, should proceed to london. she made formal application for mistress cicely talbot to accompany her as one of her suite, and her supposed parents could not but give their consent, but six gentlewomen had been already enumerated, and the authorities would not consent to her taking any more ladies with her, and decreed that mistress cicely must remain at home. "this unkindness has made the parting from this place less joyous than i looked for," said mary, "but courage, ma mignonne. soon shall i send for thee to scotland, and there shalt thou burst thine husk, and show thyself in thy true colours;" and turning to susan, "madam, i must commit my treasure to her who has so long watched over her." "your grace knows that she is no less my treasure," said susan. "i should have known it well," returned the queen, "from the innocence and guilelessness of the damsel. none save such a mother as mistress talbot could have made her what she is. credit me, madam, i have looked well into her heart, and found nought to undo there. you have bred her up better than her poor mother could have done, and i gladly entrust her once more to your care, assured that your well-tried honour will keep her in mind of what she is, and to what she may be called." "she shall remember it, madam," said susan. "when i am a queen once more," said mary, "all i can give will seem too poor a meed for what you have been to my child. even as queen of scotland or england itself, my power would be small in comparison with my will. my gratitude, however, no bounds can limit out to me." and with tears of tenderness and thankfulness she kissed the cheeks and lips of good mistress talbot, who could not but likewise weep for the mother thus compelled to part with her child. the night was partly spent in caresses and promises of the brilliant reception preparing in scotland, with auguries of the splendid marriage in store, with a prince of lorraine, or even with an archduke. cis was still young enough to dream of such a lot as an opening to a fairy land of princely glories. if her mother knew better, she still looked tenderly back on her beau pays de france with that halo of brightness which is formed only in childhood and youth. moreover, it might be desirable to enhance such aspiration as might best secure the young princess from anything derogatory to her real rank, while she was strongly warned against betraying it, and especially against any assumption of dignity should she ever hear of her mother's release, reception, and recognition in scotland. for whatever might be the maternal longings, it would be needful to feel the way and prepare the ground for the acknowledgment of bothwell's daughter in scotland, while the knowledge of her existence in england would almost surely lead to her being detained as a hostage. she likewise warned the maiden never to regard any letter or billet from her as fully read till it had been held--without witnesses--to the fire. of humfrey talbot, queen mary scorned to say anything, or to utter a syllable that she thought a daughter of scotland needed a warning against a petty english sailor. indeed, she had confidence that the youth's parents would view the attachment as quite as undesirable for him as for the young princess, and would guard against it for his sake as much as for hers. the true parting took place ere the household was astir. afterwards, mary, fully equipped for travelling, in a dark cloth riding-dress and hood, came across to the great hall of the manor-house, and there sat while each one of the attendants filed in procession, as it were, before her. to each lady she presented some small token wrought by her own hands. to each gentleman she also gave some trinket, such as the elaborate dress of the time permitted, and to each serving man or maid a piece of money. of each one she gravely but gently besought pardon for all the displeasures or offences she might have caused them, and as they replied, kissing her hand, many of them with tears, she returned a kiss on the brow to each woman and an entreaty to be remembered in their prayers, and a like request, with a pressure of the hand, to each man or boy. it must have been a tedious ceremony, and yet to every one it seemed as if mary put her whole heart into it, and to any to whom she owed special thanks they were freely paid. the whole was only over by an hour before noon. then she partook of a manchet and a cup of wine, drinking, with liquid eyes, to the health and prosperity of her good host, and to the restoration of his family peace, which she had so sorely, though unwittingly, disturbed. then she let him hand her out, once more kissing susan talbot and cis, who was weeping bitterly, and whispering to the latter, "not over much grief, ma petite; not more than may befit, ma mignonne." lord shrewsbury lifted her on her horse, and, with him on one side and sir ralf sadler on the other, she rode down the long avenue on her way to wingfield. the bridgefield family had already made their arrangements, and their horses were waiting for them amid the jubilations of diccon and ned. the queen had given each of them a fair jewel, with special thanks to them for being good brothers to her dear cis. "as if one wanted thanks for being good to one's own sister," said ned, thrusting the delicate little ruby brooch on his mother to be taken care of till his days of foppery should set in, and he would need it for cap and plume. "come, cis, we are going home at last," said diccon. "what! thou art not breaking thine heart over yonder scottish lady--when we are going home, home, i say, and have got rid of watch and ward for ever? hurrah!" and he threw up his cap, and was joined in the shout by more than one of the youngsters around, for richard and most of the elders were escorting the queen out of the park, and mistress susan had been summoned on some question of household stuff. cis, however, stood leaning against the balustrade, over which she had leant for the last glance exchanged with her mother, her face hidden in her hands and kerchief, weeping bitterly, feeling as if all the glory and excitement of the last few weeks had vanished as a dream and left her to the dreary dulness of common life, as little insignificant cis talbot again. it was humfrey who first came near, almost timidly touched her hand, and said, "cheer up. it is but for a little while, mayhap. she will send for thee. come, here is thine old palfrey--poor old dapple. let me put thee on him, and for this brief time let us feign that all is as it was, and thou art my little sister once more." "i know not which is truth and which is dreaming," said cis, waking up through her tears, but resigning her hand to him, and letting him lift her to her seat on the old pony which had been the playfellow of both. if it had been an effort to humfrey to prolong the word cis into sister, he was rewarded for it. it gave the key-note to their intercourse, and set her at ease with him; and the idea that her present rustication was but a comedy instead of a reality was consoling in her present frame of mind. mistress susan, surrounded with importunate inquirers as to household matters, and unable to escape from them, could only see that humfrey had taken charge of the maiden, and trusted to his honour and his tact. this was, however, only the beginning of a weary and perplexing time. nothing could restore cis to her old place in the bridgefield household, or make her look upon its tasks, cares, and joys as she had done only a few short months ago. her share in them could only be acting, and she was too artless and simple to play a part. most frequently she was listless, dull, and pining, so much inclined to despise and neglect the ordinary household occupations which befitted the daughter of the family, that her adopted mother was forced, for the sake of her incognito, to rouse, and often to scold her when any witnesses were present who would have thought mrs. talbot's toleration of such conduct in a daughter suspicious and unnatural. such reproofs were dangerous in another way, for humfrey could not bear to hear them, and was driven nearly to the verge of disrespect and perilous approaches to implying that cis was no ordinary person to be sharply reproved when she sat musing and sighing instead of sewing diccon's shirts. even the father himself could not well brook to hear the girl blamed, and both he and humfrey could not help treating her with a kind of deference that made the younger brothers gape and wonder what had come to humfrey on his travels "to make him treat our cis as a born princess." "you irreverent varlets," said humfrey, "you have yet to learn that every woman ought to be treated as a born princess." "by cock and pie," said spoilt ned, "that beats all! one's own sister!" whereupon humfrey had the opportunity of venting a little of his vexation by thrashing his brother for his oath, while sharp diccon innocently asked if men never swore by anything when at sea, and thereby nearly got another castigation for irreverent mocking of his elder brother's discipline. at other times the girl's natural activity and high spirits gained the upper hand, and she would abandon herself without reserve to the old homely delights of bridgefield. at the apple gathering, she was running about, screaming with joy, and pelting the boys with apples, more as she had done at thirteen than at seventeen, and when called to order she inconsistently pleaded, "ah, mother! it is for the last time. do but let me have my swing!" putting on a wistful and caressing look, which susan did not withstand when the only companions were the three brothers, since humfrey had much of her own unselfishness and self-command, resulting in a discretion that was seldom at fault. and that discretion made him decide at a fortnight's end that his father had been right, and that it would be better for him to absent himself from where he could do no good, but only added to the general perplexity, and involved himself in the temptation of betraying the affection he knew to be hopeless. before, however, it was possible to fit out either diccon or the four men who were anxious to go under the leadership of master humfrey of bridgefield, the earl and countess of shrewsbury were returning fully reconciled. queen elizabeth had made the cavendishes ask pardon on their knees of the earl for their slanders; and he, in his joy, had freely forgiven all. gilbert talbot and his wife had shared in the general reconciliation. his elder brother's death had made him the heir apparent, and all were coming home again, including the little lady arbell, once more to fill the castle and the manor-house, and to renew the free hospitable life of a great feudal chief, or of the queen's old courtier, with doors wide open, and no ward or suspicion. richard rejoiced that his sons, before going abroad, should witness the return to the old times which had been at an end before they could remember sheffield distinctly. the whole family were drawn up as usual to receive them, when the earl and countess arrived first of all at the manor-house. the countess looked smaller, thinner, older, perhaps a trifle more shrewish, but she had evidently suffered much, and was very glad to have recovered her husband and her home. "so, susan talbot," was her salutation, "you have thriven, it seems. you have been playing the part of hostess, i hear." "only so far as might serve his lordship, madam." "and the wench, there, what call you her? ay, cicely. i hear the scottish queen hath been cockering her up and making her her bedfellow, till she hath spoilt her for a reasonable maiden. is it so? she looks it." "i trust not, madam," said susan. "she grows a strapping wench, and we must find her a good husband to curb her pride. i have a young man already in my eye for her." "so please your ladyship, we do not think of marrying her as yet," returned susan, in consternation. "tilly vally, susan talbot, tell me not such folly as that. why, the maid is over seventeen at the very least! save for all the coil this scottish woman and her crew have made, i should have seen her well mated a year ago." here was a satisfactory prospect for mistress susan, bred as she had been to unquestioning submission to the countess. there was no more to be said on that occasion, as the great lady passed on to bestow her notice on others of her little court. humfrey meantime had been warmly greeted by the younger men of the suite, and one of them handed him a letter which filled him with eagerness. it was from an old shipmate, who wrote, not without sanction, to inform him that sir francis drake was fitting out an expedition, with the full consent of the queen, to make a descent upon the spaniards, and that there was no doubt that if he presented himself at plymouth, he would obtain either the command, or at any rate the lieutenancy, of one of the numerous ships which were to be commissioned. humfrey was before all else a sailor. he had made no engagement to sir john norreys, and many of the persons engaged on this expedition were already known to him. it was believed that the attack was to be upon spain itself, and the notion filled him with ardour and excitement that almost drove cicely out of his mind, as he laid the proposal before his father. richard was scarcely less excited. "you young lads are in luck," he said. "i sailed for years and never had more than a chance brush with the don; never the chance of bearding him on his own shores!" "come with us, then, father," entreated humfrey. "sir francis would be overjoyed to see you. you would get the choicest ship to your share." "nay, nay, my boy, tempt me not; i cannot leave your mother to meet all the coils that may fall in her way! no; i'm too old. i've lost my sea legs. i leave thee to win the fame, son humfrey!" the decision was thus made, and humfrey and diccon were to start together for london first, and then for plymouth, the second day after a great festival for the wedding of the little alethea, daughter of gilbert, lord talbot--still of very tender age--to the young heir of arundel. the talbot family had been precluded from holding festival for full fourteen years, or indeed from entertaining any guests, save the commissioners sent down to confer from time to time with the captive queen, so that it was no wonder that they were in the highest possible spirits at their release, and determined to take the first opportunity of exercising the gorgeous hospitality of the tudor times. posts went out, riding round all the neighbourhood with invitations. the halls were swept and adorned with the best suit of hangings. all the gentlemen, young and old, all the keepers and verdurers, were put in requisition to slaughter all the game, quadruped and biped, that fell in their way, the village women and children were turned loose on the blackberries, cranberries, and bilberries, and all the ladies and serving-women were called on to concoct pasties of many stories high, subtilties of wonderful curiosity, sweetmeats and comfits, cakes and marchpanes worthy of camacho's wedding, or to deck the halls with green boughs, and weave garlands of heather and red berries. cis absolutely insisted, so that the heads of the household gave way, on riding out with richard and humfrey when they had a buck to mark down in rivelin chase. and she set her heart on going out to gather cranberries in the park, flinging herself about with petulant irritation when dame susan showed herself unwilling to permit a proceeding which was thought scarcely becoming in any well-born damsel of the period. "ah, child, child! thou wilt have to bear worse restraints than these," she said, "if ever thou comest to thy greatness." cis made no answer, but threw herself into a chair and pouted. the next morning she did not present herself at the usual hour; but just as the good mother was about to go in quest of her to her chamber, a clear voice came singing up the valley-- "berries to sell! berries to sell! berries fresh from moorland fell!" and there stood a girl in peasant dress, with short petticoats, stout shoes soaked in dew, a round face under black brows, and cheeks glowing in morning freshness; and a boy swung the other handle of the basket overflowing with purple berries. it was but a shallow disguise betrayed by the two roguish faces, and the good mother was so pleased to see cis smile merrily again, that she did not scold over the escapade. yet the inconsistent girl hotly refused to go up to the castle and help to make pastry for her mother's bitter and malicious foe, and sir richard shook his head and said she was in the right on't, and should not be compelled. so susan found herself making lame excuses, which did not avert a sharp lecture from the countess on the cockering of her daughter. chapter xix. the clash of swords. festivals in the middle ages were conducted by day rather than by night, and it was a bright noonday sun that shone upon the great hall at sheffield, bedecked with rich tapestry around the dais, where the floor was further spread with eastern carpets. below, the garniture of the walls was of green boughs, interspersed between stag's antlers, and the floor was strewn, in ancient fashion, with the fragrant rush. all the tables, however, were spread with pure white napery, the difference being only in texture, but the higher table rejoiced in the wonderful extravagance of silver plates, while the lower had only trenchers. as to knives, each guest brought his or her own, and forks were not yet, but bread, in long fingers of crust, was provided to a large amount to supply the want. splendid salt-cellars, towering as landmarks to the various degrees of guests, tankards, gilt and parcel gilt or shining with silver, perfectly swarmed along the board, and the meanest of the guests present drank from silver-rimmed cups of horn, while for the very greatest were reserved the tall, slender, opal venice glasses, recently purchased by the countess in london. the pies, the glory of yorkshire, surpassed themselves. the young bride and bridegroom had the felicity of contemplating one whose crust was elevated into the altar of hymen, with their own selves united thereat, attended by numerous cupids, made chiefly in paste and sugar, and with little wings from the feathers of the many slaughtered fowl within. as to the jellies, the devices and the subtilties, the pen refuses to describe them! it will be enough to say that the wedding itself was the least part of the entertainment. it was gone through with very few spectators in the early morning, and the guests only assembled afterwards to this mighty dinner at a somewhat earlier hour than they would now to a wedding breakfast. the sewer marshalled all the guests in pairs according to their rank, having gone through the roll with his mistress, just as the lady of the house or her aide-de-camp pairs the guests and puts cards in their plates in modern times. every one was there who had any connection with the earl; and cis, though flashes of recollection of her true claims would come across her now and then, was unable to keep from being eager about her first gaiety. perhaps the strange life she had led at buxton, as it receded in the distance, became more and more unreal and shadowy, and she was growing back into the simple cicely she had always believed herself. it was with perfectly girlish natural pleasure that she donned the delicate sky-blue farthingale, embroidered with white lilies by the skilful hands of the captive queen, and the daintily-fashioned little cap of flanders lace, and practised the pretty dancing steps which the queen had amused herself with teaching her long ere they knew they were mother and daughter. as talbots, the bridgefield family were spectators of the wedding, after which, one by one, the seneschal paired them off. richard was called away first, then a huge old yorkshire knight came and bore away mrs. susan, and after an interval, during which the young people entertained hopes of keeping together in enviable obscurity, the following summons to the board was heard in a loud voice-- "master antony babington, esquire, of dethick; mistress cicely talbot, of bridgefield." humfrey's brow grew dark with disappointment, but cleared into a friendly greeting, as there advanced a tall, slender gentleman, of the well-known fair, pink and white colouring, and yellow hair, apparelled point device in dark green velvet, with a full delicately crimped ruff, bowing low as he extended his hand to take that of the young lady, exchanging at the same time a friendly greeting with his old comrade, before leading cis to her place. on the whole, she was pleased. tete-a-tetes with humfrey were dreadfully embarrassing, and she felt life so flat without her nocturnal romance that she was very glad to have some one who would care to talk to her of the queen. in point of fact, such conversation was prohibited. in the former days, when there had been much more intercourse between the earl's household and the neighbourhood, regular cautions had been given to every member of it not to discuss the prisoner or make any communication about her habits. the younger generation who had grown up in the time of the closer captivity had never been instructed in these laws, for the simple reason that they hardly saw any one. antony and cicely were likewise most comfortably isolated, for she was flanked by a young esquire, who had no eyes nor ears save for the fair widow of sixteen whom he had just led in, and antony, by a fat and deaf lady, whose only interest was in tasting as many varieties of good cheer as she could, and trying to discover how and of what they were compounded. knowing mistress cicely to be a member of the family, she once or twice referred the question to her across antony, but getting very little satisfaction, she gave up the young lady as a bad specimen of housewifery, and was forced to be content with her own inductions. there was plenty of time for antony to begin with, "are there as many conies as ever in the chase?" and to begin on a discussion of all the memories connected with the free days of childhood, the blackberry and bilberry gatherings, the hide-and-seek in the rocks and heather, the consternation when little dick was lost, the audacious comedy with the unsuspected spectators, and all the hundred and one recollections, less memorable perhaps, but no less delightful to both. it was only thus gradually that they approached their recent encounter in the castleton cavern, and antony explained how he had burnt to see his dear queen and mistress once again, and that his friends, tichborne and the rest, were ready to kiss every footstep she had taken, and almost worshipped him and john eyre for contriving this mode of letting them behold the hitherto unknown object of their veneration. all that passionate, chivalrous devotion, which in sidney, spenser, and many more attached itself to then-great gloriana, had in these young men, all either secretly or openly reconciled to rome, found its object in that rival in whom edmund spenser only beheld his false duessa or snowy florimel. and, indeed, romance had in her a congenial heroine, who needed little self-blinding so to appear. her beauty needed no illusion to be credited. even at her age, now over forty, the glimpse they had had in the fitful torchlight of the cavern had been ravishing, and had confirmed all they had ever heard of her witching loveliness; nor did they recollect how that very obscurity might have assisted it. to their convictions, she was the only legitimate sovereign in the island, a confessor for their beloved church, a captive princess and beauty driven from her throne, and kept in durance by a usurper. thus every generous feeling was enlisted in her cause, with nothing to counterbalance them save the english hatred of the spaniard, with whom her cause was inextricably linked; a dread of what might be inflicted on the country in the triumph of her party; and in some, a strange inconsistent personal loyalty to elizabeth; but all these they were instructed to believe mere temptations and delusions that ought to be brushed aside as cobwebs. antony's puritan tutor at cambridge had, as richard talbot had foreboded, done little but add to his detestation of the reformation, and he had since fallen in with several of the seminary priests who were circulating in england. some were devoted and pious men, who at the utmost risk went from house to house to confirm the faith and constancy of the old families of their own communion. the saintly martyr spirit of one of these, whom antony met in the house of a kinsman of his mother, had so wrought on him as to bring him heart and soul back to his mother's profession, in which he had been secretly nurtured in early childhood, and which had received additional confirmation at sheffield, where queen mary and her ladies had always shown that they regarded him as one of themselves, sure to return to them when he was his own master. it was not, however, of this that he spoke to cis, but whatever she ventured to tell him of the queen was listened to with delight as an extreme favour, which set her tongue off with all the eager pleasure of a girl, telling what she alone can tell. all through the banquet they talked, for babington had much to ask of all the members of the household whom he had known. and after the feast was over and the hall was cleared for dancing, antony was still, by etiquette, her partner for the evening. the young bride and bridegroom had first to perform a stately pavise before the whole assembly in the centre of the floor, in which, poor young things, they acquitted themselves much as if they were in the dancing-master's hands. then her father led out his mother, and vice verse. the bridegroom had no grandparents, but the stately earl handed forth his little active wiry countess, bowing over her with a grand stiff devotion as genuine and earnest as at their wedding twenty years previously, for the reconciliation had been complete, and had restored all her ascendency over him. theirs, as mistress susan exultingly agreed with a hardwicke kinsman not seen for many years, was the grandest and most featly of all the performances. all the time each pair were performing, the others were awaiting their turn, the ladies in rows on benches or settles, the gentlemen sometimes standing before them, sometimes sitting on cushions or steps at their feet, sometimes handing them comfits of sugar or dried fruits. the number of gentlemen was greatly in excess, so that humfrey had no such agreeable occupation, but had to stand in a herd among other young men, watching with no gratified eye antony babington, in a graceful attitude at cicely's feet, while she conversed with him with untiring animation. humfrey was not the only one to remark them. lady shrewsbury nodded once or twice to herself as one who had discovered what she sought, and the next morning a mandate arrived at bridgefield that master richard and his wife should come to speak with my lady countess. richard and his son were out of reach, having joined a party of the guests who had gone out hunting. susan had to go alone, for she wished to keep cicely as much as possible out of her ladyship's sight, so she left the girl in charge of her keys, so that if father brought home any of the hunters to the midday meal, tankards and glasses might not be lacking. the countess's summons was to her own bower, a sort of dressing-room, within her great state bed-room, and with a small glazed window looking down into the great hall where her ladies sat at work, whence she could on occasion call down orders or directions or reproofs. susan had known what it was to stand in dread of such a window at chatsworth or hardwicke, whence shrill shrieks of objurgation, followed sometimes by such missiles as pincushions, shoes, or combs. however the window was now closed, and my lady sat in her arm-chair, as on a throne, a stool being set, to which she motioned her kinswoman. "so! susan talbot," she said, "i have sent for you to do you a good turn, for you are mine own kinswoman of the hardwicke blood, and have ever been reasonably humble and dutiful towards me and my lord." mrs. talbot did not by any means view this speech as the insult it would in these days appear to a lady of her birth and position, but accepted it as the compliment it was intended to be. "thus," continued lady shrewsbury, "i have always cast about how to marry that daughter of yours fitly. it would have been done ere now, had not that scottish woman's tongue made mischief between me and my lord, but i am come home to rule my own house now, and mine own blood have the first claim on me." the alarm always excited by a summons to speak with my lady countess began to acquire definite form, and susan made answer, "your ladyship is very good, but i doubt me whether my husband desires to bestow cicely in marriage as yet." "he hath surely received no marriage proposals for her without my knowledge or my lord's," said bess of hardwicke, who was prepared to strain all feudal claims to the uttermost. "no, madam, but--" "tell me not that you or he have the presumption to think that my son william cavendish or even edward talbot will ever cast an eye on a mere portionless country maid, not comely, nor even like the hardwickes or the talbots. if i thought so for a moment, never shouldst thou darken these doors again, thou ungrateful, treacherous woman." "neither of us ever had the thought, far less the wish," said susan most sincerely. "well, thou wast ever a simple woman, susan talbot," said the great lady, thereby meaning truthful, "so i will e'en take thy word for it, the more readily that i made contracts for both the lads when i was at court. as to dick talbot not being fain to bestow her, i trow that is because ye have spent too much on your long-legged sons to be able to lay down a portion for her, though she be your only daughter. anan?" for though this was quite true, susan feeling that it was not the whole truth, made but faint response. however, the countess went on, expecting to overpower her with gratitude. "the gentleman i mean is willing to take her in her smock, and moreover his wardship and marriage were granted to my lord by her majesty. thou knowest whom i mean." she wanted to hear a guess, and susan actually foreboded the truth, but was too full of dismay and perplexity to do anything but shake her head as one puzzled. "what think'st thou of mr. babington?" triumphantly exclaimed the countess. "mr. babington!" returned susan. "but he is no longer a ward!" "no. we had granted his marriage to a little niece of my lord treasurer's, but she died ere coming to age. then tom ratcliffe's wife would have him for her daughter, a mere babe. but for that thou and thine husband have done good service while evil tongues kept me absent, and because the wench comes of our own blood, we are willing to bestow her upon him, he showing himself willing and content, as bents a lad bred in our own household." "madam, we are much beholden to you and my lord, but sure mr. babington is more inclined to the old faith." "tush, woman, what of that? thou mayst say the same of half our northern youth! they think it grand to dabble with seminary priests in hiding, and talk big about their conscience and the like, but when they've seen a neighbour or two pay down a heavy fine for recusancy, they think better of it, and a good wife settles their brains to jog to church to hear the parson with the rest of them." "i fear me cis is over young to settle any one's mind," said susan. "she is seventeen if she is a day," said my lady, "and i was a wedded wife ere i saw my teens. moreover, i will say for thee, susan, that thou hast bred the girl as becomes one trained in my household, and unless she have been spoiled by resort to the scottish woman, she is like to make the lad a moderately good wife, having seen nought of the unthrifty modes of the fine court dames, who queen it with standing ruffs a foot high, and coloured with turmeric, so please you, but who know no more how to bake a marchpane, or roll puff paste, than yonder messan dog!" "she is a good girl," said susan, "but--" "what has the foolish wife to object now?" said the countess. "i tell you i marked them both last eve, and though i seldom turn my mind to such follies, i saw the plain tokens of love in every look and gesture of the young springald. nay, 'twas his countenance that put it into my mind, for i am even too good-natured--over good-natured, susan talbot. how now," at some sound below, springing to the little window and flinging it back, "you lazy idle wenches--what are you doing there? is my work to stand still while you are toying with yon vile whelp? he is tangling the yarn, don't you see, thou purblind jane dacre, with no eyes but for ogling. there! there! round the leg of the chair, don't you see!" and down flew a shoe, which made the poor dog howl, and his mistress catch him up. "put him down! put him down this instant! thomas! davy! here, hang him up, i say," cried this over good-natured lady, interspersing her commands with a volley of sixteenth century billingsgate, and ending by declaring that nothing fared well without her, and hurrying off to pounce down on the luckless damsels who had let their dog play with the embroidery yarn destined to emblazon the tapestry of chatsworth with the achievements of juno. the good nature was so far veritable that when she found little harm done, and had vented her wrath in strong language and boxes on the ear, she would forget her sentence upon the poor little greyhound, which mrs. jane dacre had hastily conveyed out of sight during her transit downstairs. susan was thus, to her great relief, released for the present, for guests came in before my lady had fully completed her objurgations on her ladies, the hour of noon was nigh at hand, sounds in the court betokened the return of the huntsmen, and susan effected her escape to her own sober old palfrey--glad that she would at least be able to take counsel with her husband on this most inconvenient proposition. he came out to meet her at the court door, having just dismounted, and she knew by his face that she had not to give him the first intelligence of the difficulty in which they stood. my lord had himself spoken to him, like my lady expecting him to be enchanted at the prospect of so good a match for his slenderly-portioned daughter, for dethick was a fair estate, and the babington family, though not ennobled, fully equal to a younger branch of the talbots. however, richard had had a less uncomfortable task than his wife, since the earl was many degrees more reasonable than the countess. he had shown himself somewhat offended at not meeting more alacrity in the acceptance of his proposal, when richard had objected on account of the young gentleman's popish proclivities; but boldly declared that he was quite certain that the stripling had been entirely cured. this point of the narrative had just been reached when it was interrupted by a scream, and cicely came flying into the hall, crying, "o father, father, stop them! humfrey and mr. babington! they are killing one another." "where?" exclaimed richard, catching up his sword. "in the pleasance, father! oh, stop them! they will slay one another! they had their swords!" and as the father was already gone, she threw herself into the mother's arms, hid her face and sobbed with fright as scarce became a princess for whom swords were for the first time crossed. "fear not! father will stop them," said the mother, with confidence she could only keep up outwardly by the inward cry, "god protect my boy. father will come ere they can hurt one another." "but how came it about?" she added, as with an arm round the trembling girl, she moved anxiously forward to know the issue. "oh! i know not. 'twas humfrey fell on him. hark!" "'tis father's voice," said susan. "thank god! i know by the sound no harm is done! but how was it, child?" cis told with more coherence now, but the tears in her eyes and colour deepening: "i was taking in humfrey's kerchiefs from the bleaching on the grass, when master babington--he had brought me a plume of pheasant's feathers from the hunting, and he began. o mother, is it sooth? he said my lord had sent him." "that is true, my child, but you know we have no choice but to refuse thee." "ay, mother, and antony knows." "not thy true birth, child?" "not that, but the other story. so he began to say that if i were favourable--mother, do men always do like that?" hiding her face against the trusty breast, "and when i drew back, and said i could not and would not hearken to such folly--" "that was well, dear child." "he would have it that i should have to hear him, and he went down on his knee, and snatched at my hand. and therewith came a great howl of rage like an angry lion, and humfrey bounded right over the sweetbrier fence, and cried out, 'off, fellow! no papist traitor knave shall meddle with her.' and then antony gave him back the lie for calling him traitor, and they drew their swords, and i ran away to call father, but oh! mother, i heard them clash!" and she shuddered again. "see," said susan, as they had reached the corner of a thick screen of yew-trees, "all is safe. there they stand, and father between them speaking to them. no, we will not go nearer, since we know that it is well with them. men deal with each other better out of women's earshot. ah, see, there they are giving one another their hands. all is over now." "humfrey stands tall, grave, and stiff! he is only doing it because father bids him," said cicely. "antony is much more willing." "poor humfrey! he knows better than antony how vain any hope must be of my silly little princess," said susan, with a sigh for her boy. "come in, child, and set these locks in order. the hour of noon hath long been over, and father hath not yet dined." so they flitted out of sight as richard and his son turned from the place of encounter, the former saying, "son humfrey, i had deemed thee a wiser man." "sir, how could a man brook seeing that fellow on his knee to her? is it not enough to be debarred from my sweet princess myself, but i must see her beset by a papist and traitor, fostered and encouraged too?" "and thou couldst not rest secure in the utter impossibility of her being given to him? he is as much out of reach of her as thou art." "he has secured my lord and my lady on his side!" growled humfrey. "my lord is not an amurath, nor my lady either," said richard, shortly. "as long as i pass for her father i have power to dispose of her, and i am not going to give another woman's daughter away without her consent." "yet the fellow may have her ear," said humfrey. "i know him to be popishly inclined, and there is a web of those romish priests all over the island, whereof this queen holds the strands in her fingers, captive though she be. i should not wonder if she had devised this fellow's suit." "this is the very madness of jealousy, humfrey," said his father. "the whole matter was, as thy mother and thy lord have both told me, simply a device of my lady countess's own brain." "babington took to it wondrous naturally," muttered humfrey. "that may be; but as for the lady at wingfield, her talk to our poor maid hath been all of archdukes and dukes. she is far too haughty to think for a moment of giving her daughter to a mere derbyshire esquire, not even of noble blood. you may trust her for that." this pacified humfrey for a little while, especially as the bell was clanging for the meal which had been unusually deferred, and he had to hurry away to remove certain marks, which were happily the result of the sweetbrier weapons instead of that of babington. that a little blood had been shed was shown by the state of his sword point, but antony had disclaimed being hurt when the master of the house came up, and in the heat of the rebuke the father and son had hardly noticed that he had thrown a kerchief round his left hand ere he moved away. before dinner was over, word was brought in from the door that master will cavendish wanted to speak to master humfrey. the ladies' hearts were in their mouths, as it were, lest it should be to deliver a cartel, and they looked to the father to interfere, but he sat still, contenting himself with saying, as his son craved license to quit the board, "use discretion as well as honour." they were glad that the next minute humfrey came back to call his father to the door, where will cavendish sat on horseback. he had come by desire of babington, who had fully intended that the encounter should be kept secret, but some servant must have been aware of it either from the garden or the park, and the countess had got wind of it. she had summoned babington to her presence, before the castle barber had finished dealing with the cut in his hand, and the messenger reported that "my lady was in one of her raging fits," and talked of throwing young humfrey into a dungeon, if not having him hung for his insolence. babington, who had talked to his friends of a slip with his hunting-knife while disembowelling a deer, was forced to tell the fact in haste to cavendish, the nearest at hand, begging him to hurry down and advise humfrey to set forth at once if he did not wish his journey to be unpleasantly delayed. "my lord is unwilling to cross my mother at the present," said young cavendish with half a smile; "and though it be not likely that much harm should come of the matter, yet if she laid hands on humfrey at the present moment, there might be hindrance and vexation, so it may be well for him to set forth, in case tony be unable to persuade my lady that it is nought." will cavendish had been a friendly comrade of both humfrey and antony in their boyish days, and his warning was fully to be trusted. "i know not why i should creep off as though i had done aught that was evil," said humfrey, drawing himself up. "well," said will, "my lord is always wroth at brawling with swords amongst us, and he might--my mother egging him on--lay you by the heels in the strong room for a week or so. nay, for my part, methinks 'twas a strange requital of poor babington's suit to your sister! had she been your love instead of your sister there might have been plainer excuse, but sure you wot not of aught against tony to warrant such heat." "he was importuning her when she would have none of him," said humfrey, feeling the perplexity he had drawn on himself. "will says well," added the father, feeling that it by all means behoved them all to avert inquiry into the cause of humfrey's passion, since neither cicely's birth nor antony's perilous inclinations could be pleaded. "to be detained a week or two might hinder thy voyage. so we will speed thee on thy way instantly." "tell me not where he halts for the night," said cavendish significantly. "fare thee well, humfrey. i would return ere i am missed. i trust thou wilt have made the spaniard's ships smoke, and weighted thy pouch with his dollars, before we see thee again." "fare thee well, will, and thank thee kindly," returned humfrey, as they wrung each other's hands. "and tell antony that i thank him heartily for his thought, and owe him a good turn." "that is well, my son," said richard, as cavendish rode out of the court. "babington is both hot and weak-headed, and i fear me is in the toils of the scottish lady; but he would never do aught that he held as disloyal by a comrade. i wish i could say the same of him anent the queen." "and you will guard her from him, sir?" earnestly said humfrey. "as i would from--i would have said frenchman or spaniard, but, poor maid, that may only be her hap, if her mother should come to her throne again;" and as humfrey shrugged his shoulders at the improbability, "but we must see thee off, my boy. poor mother! this hurries the parting for her. so best, mayhap." it was hastily arranged that humfrey should ride off at once, and try to overtake a squire who had been at the festival, and had invited him to turn a little out of his road and spend a day or two at his house when leaving home. humfrey had then declined, but hospitality in those days was elastic, and he had no doubt of a welcome. his father would bring diccon and his baggage to join him there the next day. thus there were only a very few minutes for adieux, and, as richard had felt, this was best for all, even the anxious mother. cicely ran about with the rest in the stress of preparation, until humfrey, hurrying upstairs, met her coming down with a packet of his lace cuffs in her hands. he caught the hand on the balusters, and cried, "my princess, my princess, and art thou doing this for me?" "thou hast learnt fine compliments, humfrey," said cis, trying to do her part with quivering lips. "ah, cis! thou knowest but too well what hath taught me no fine words but plain truth. fear me not, i know what is due to thee. cis, we never used to believe the tales and ballads that told of knights worshipping princesses beyond their reach, without a hope of more than a look--not even daring to wish for more; cis, it is very truth. be thou where thou wilt, with whom thou wilt, there will be one ready to serve thee to the uttermost, and never ask aught--aught but such remembrance as may befit the brother of thy childhood--" "mistress cis," screamed one of the maids, "madam is waiting for those cuffs." cis ran down, but the squeeze and kiss on the hand remained, as it were, imprinted on it, far more than the last kiss of all, which he gave, as both knew and felt, to support his character as a brother before the assembled household. chapter xx. wingfield manor. the drawing of swords was not regarded as a heinous offence in elizabethan days. it was not likely, under ordinary circumstances, to result in murder, and was looked on much as boxing is, or was recently, in public schools, as an evidence of high spirit, and a means of working off ill-blood. lady shrewsbury was, however, much incensed at such a presumptuous reception of the suitor whom she had backed with her would-be despotic influence; and in spite of babington's making extremely light of it, and declaring that he had himself been too forward in his suit, and the young lady's apparent fright had made her brother interfere over hastily for her protection, four yeomen were despatched by her ladyship with orders instantly to bring back master humfrey talbot to answer for himself. they were met by mr. talbot with the sober reply that master humfrey was already set forth on his journey. the men, having no orders, never thought of pursuing him, and after a short interval richard thought it expedient to proceed to the manor-house to explain matters. the countess swooped upon him in one of her ungovernable furies--one of those of which even gilbert talbot avoided writing the particulars to his father--abusing his whole household in general, and his son in particular, in the most outrageous manner, for thus receiving the favour she had done to their beggarly, ill-favoured, ill-nurtured daughter. richard stood still and grave, his hat in his hand, as unmoved and tranquil as if he had been breasting a stiff breeze on the deck of his ship, with good sea-room and confidence in all his tackle, never even attempting to open his lips, but looking at the countess with a steady gaze which somehow disconcerted her, for she demanded wherefore he stared at her like one of his clumsy hinds. "because her ladyship does not know what she is saying," he replied. "darest thou! thou traitor, thou viper, thou unhanged rascal, thou mire under my feet, thou blot on the house! darest thou beard me--me?" screamed my lady. "darest thou--i say--" if the sailor had looked one whit less calm and resolute, my lady would have had her clenched fist on his ear, or her talons in his beard, but he was like a rock against which the billows expended themselves, and after more of the tempest than need stain these pages, she deigned to demand what he meant or had to say for his son. "solely this, madam, that my son had never even heard of babington's suit, far less that he had your ladyship's good-will. he found him kneeling to cicely in the garden, and the girl, distressed and dismayed at his importunity. there were hot words and drawn blades. that was the whole. i parted them and saw them join hands." "so saith master babington. he is willing to overlook the insult, so will i and my lord, if you will atone for it by instantly consenting to this espousal." "that, madam, i cannot do." she let him say no more, and the storm had begun to rage again, when babington took advantage of an interval to take breath, and said, "i thank you, madam, and pray you peace. if a little space be vouchsafed me, i trust to show this worthy gentleman cause wherefore he should no longer withhold his fair damsel from me." "indeed!" said the countess. "art thou so confident? i marvel what better backer thou wouldst have than me! so conceited of themselves are young men now-a-days, they think, forsooth, their own merits and graces should go farther in mating them than the word and will of their betters. there, you may go! i wash my hands of the matter. one is as ingrate as the other." both gentlemen accepted this amiable dismissal, each hoping that the countess might indeed have washed her hands of their affairs. on his departure richard was summoned into the closet of the earl, who had carefully kept out of the way during the uproar, only trusting not to be appealed to. "my good cousin," he asked, "what means this broil between the lads? hath babington spoken sooth?" "he hath spoken well and more generously than, mayhap, i thought he would have done," said richard. "ay; you have judged the poor youth somewhat hardly, as if the folly of pagedom never were outgrown," said the earl. "i put him under governorship such as to drive out of his silly pate all the wiles that he was fed upon here. you will see him prove himself an honest protestant and good subject yet, and be glad enough to give him your daughter. so he was too hot a lover for master humfrey's notions, eh?" said my lord, laughing a little. "the varlet! he was over prompt to protect his sister, yet 'twas a fault on the right side, and i am sorry there was such a noise about it that he should have gone without leave-takings." "he will be glad to hear of your lordship's goodness. i shall go after him to-morrow and take his mails and little diccon to him." "that is well," said the earl. "and give him this, with his kinsman's good wishes that he may win ten times more from the don," pushing towards richard a packet of twenty broad gold pieces, stamped with queen bess in all her glory; and then, after receiving due thanks for the gift, which was meant half as friendly feudal patronage from the head of the family, half as a contribution to the royal service, the earl added, "i would crave of thee, richard, to extend thy journey to wingfield. here are some accounts of which i could not sooner get the items, to be discharged between me and the lady there--and i would fain send thee as the man whom i can most entirely trust. i will give thee a pass, and a letter to sadler, bidding him admit thee to her presence, since there are matters here which can sooner be discharged by one word of mouth than by many weary lines of writing." good master richard's conscience had little occasion to wince, yet he could not but feel somewhat guilty when this opportune commission was given to him, since the earl gave it unaware of his secret understanding with the captive. he accepted it, however, without hesitation, since he was certainly not going to make a mischievous use of it, and bent all his mind to understand the complicated accounts that he was to lay before the queen or her comptroller of the household. he had still another interview to undergo with antony babington, who overtook him on his way home through the crackling leaves that strewed the avenue, as the october twilight fell. his recent conduct towards humfrey gave him a certain right to friendly attention, though, as the frank-hearted mariner said to himself, it was hard that a plain man, who never told a lie, nor willingly had a concealment of his own, should be involved in a many-sided secret like this, a sort of web, where there was no knowing whether straining the wrong strand might not amount to a betrayal, all because he had rescued an infant, and not at once proclaimed her an alien. "sir," said antony, "if my impatience to accost the maiden we wot of, when i saw her alone, had not misled me, i should have sought you first to tell you that no man knows better than i that my lady countess's good will is not what is wanting to forward my suit." "knowing then that it is not in my power or right to dispose of her, thine ardent wooing was out of place," said richard. "i own it, sir, though had i but had time i should have let the maiden know that i sought her subject to other approval, which i trust to obtain so as to satisfy you." "young man," said richard, "listen to friendly counsel, and meddle not in perilous matters. i ask thee not whether dethick hath any commerce with wingfield; but i warn thee earnestly to eschew beginning again that which caused the trouble of thy childhood. thou mayst do it innocently, seeking the consent of the lady to this courtship of thine; but i tell thee, as one who knows more of the matter than thou canst, that thou wilt only meet with disappointment." "hath the queen other schemes for her?" asked babington, anxiously; and richard, thinking of the vista of possible archdukes, replied that she had; but that he was not free to speak, though he replied to babington's half-uttered question that his son humfrey was by no means intended. "ah!" cried antony, "you give me hope, sir. i will do her such service that she shall refuse me nothing! sir! do you mock me!" he added, with a fierce change of note. "my poor lad, i could not but laugh to think what a simple plotter you are, and what fine service you will render if thou utterest thy vows to the very last person who should hear them! credit me, thou wast never made for privy schemes and conspiracies, and a queen who can only be served by such, is no mistress for thee. thou wilt but run thine own neck into the noose, and belike that of others." "that will i never do," quoth antony. "i may peril myself, but no others." "then the more you keep out of secrets the better. thou art too open-hearted and unguarded for them! so speaks thy well-wisher, antony, whose friendship thou hast won by thine honourable conduct towards my rash boy; though i tell thee plainly, the maiden is not for thee, whether as scottish or english, cis or bride." so they parted at the gate of the park, the younger man full of hope and confidence, the elder full of pitying misgiving. he was too kind-hearted not to let cicely know that he should see her mother, or to refuse to take a billet for her,--a little formal note necessarily silent on the matter at issue, since it had to be laid before the earl, who smiled at the scrupulous precaution, and let it pass. thus the good father parted with humfrey and diccon, rejoicing in his heart that they would fight with open foes, instead of struggling with the meshes of perplexity, which beset all concerned with queen mary, and then he turned his horse's head towards wingfield manor, a grand old castellated mansion of the talbots, considered by some to excel even sheffield. it stood high, on ground falling very steeply from the walls on three sides, and on the south well fortified, court within court, and each with a deep-arched and portcullised gateway, with loopholed turrets on either side, a porter's lodge, and yeomen guards. mr. talbot had to give his name and quality, and show his pass, at each of these gates, though they were still guarded by shrewsbury retainers, with the talbot on their sleeves. he was, however, received with the respect and courtesy due to a trusted kinsman of their lord; and sir ralf sadler, a thin, elderly, careworn statesman, came to greet him at the door of the hall, and would only have been glad could he have remained a week, instead of for the single night he wished to spend at wingfield. sadler was one of mary's most gentle and courteous warders, and he spoke of her with much kindness, regretting that her health had again begun to suffer from the approach of winter, and far more from disappointment. the negotiation with scotland on her behalf was now known to have been abortive. james had fallen into the hands of the faction most hostile to her, and though his mother still clung with desperate hope to the trust that he, at least, was labouring on her behalf, no one else believed that he cared for anything but his own security, and even she had been forced to perceive that her liberation was again adjourned. "and what think you was her thought when she found that road closed up?" said sir ralf. "why, for her people! her gentlewoman, mrs. mowbray, hath, it seems, been long betrothed." "ay, to gilbert curll, the long-backed scotch secretary. they were to be wed at stirling so soon as she arrived there again." "yea; but when she read the letter that overthrew her hopes, what did she say but that 'her servants must not grow gray-headed with waiting till she was set free'! so she would have me make the case known to sir parson, and we had them married in the parish church two days since, they being both good protestants." "there is no doubt that her kindness of heart is true," said richard. "the poor folk at sheffield and ecclesfield will miss her plentiful almsgiving." "some say it ought to be hindered, for that it is but a purchasing of friends to her cause," said sadler; "but i have not the heart to check it, and what could these of the meaner sort do to our queen's prejudice? i take care that nothing goes among them that could hide a billet, and that none of her people have private speech with them, so no harm can ensue from her bounty." a message here came that the queen was ready to admit mr. talbot, and richard found himself in her presence chamber, a larger and finer room than that in the lodge at sheffield, and with splendid tapestry hangings and plenishings; but the windows all looked into the inner quadrangle, instead of on the expanse of park, and thus, as mary said, she felt more entirely the prisoner. this, however, was not perceptible at the time, for the autumn evening had closed in; there were two large fires burning, one at each end of the room, and tall tapestry-covered screens and high-backed settles were arranged so as to exclude the draughts around the hearth, where mary reclined on a couch-like chair. she looked ill, and though she brightened with her sweet smile to welcome her guest, there were dark circles round her eyes, and an air of dejection in her whole appearance. she held out her hand graciously, as richard approached, closely followed by his host; he put his knee to the ground and kissed it, as she said, "you must pardon me, mr. talbot, for discourtesy, if i am less agile than when we were at buxton. you see my old foe lies in wait to plague me with aches and pains so soon as the year declines." "i am sorry to see your grace thus," returned richard, standing on the step. "the while i am glad to see you thus well, sir. and how does the good lady, your wife, and my sweet playfellow, your daughter?" "well, madam, i thank your grace, and cicely has presumed to send a billet by mine hand." "ah! the dear bairnie," and all the queen's consummate art could not repress the smile of gladness and the movement of eager joy with which she held out her hand for it, so that richard regretted its extreme brevity and unsatisfying nature, and mary, recollecting herself in a second, added, smiling at sadler, "mr. talbot knows how a poor prisoner must love the pretty playfellows that are lent to her for a time." sir ralf's presence hindered any more intimate conversation, and richard had certainly committed a solecism in giving cicely's letter the precedence over the earl's. the queen, however, had recalled her caution, and inquired for the health of the lord and lady, and, with a certain sarcasm on her lips, trusted that the peace of the family was complete, and that they were once more setting hallamshire the example of living together as household doves. her hazel eyes meantime archly scanned the face of richard, who could not quite forget the very undovelike treatment he had received, though he could and did sturdily aver that "my lord and my lady were perfectly reconciled, and seemed most happy in their reunion." "well-a-day, let us trust that there will be no further disturbances to their harmony," said mary, "a prayer i may utter most sincerely. is the little arbell come back with them?" "yea, madam." "and is she installed in my former rooms, with the canopy over her cradle to befit her strain of royalty?" "i think not, madam. meseems that my lady countess hath seen reason to be heedful on that score. my young lady hath come back with a grave gouvernante, who makes her read her primer and sew her seam, and save that she sat next my lady at the wedding feast there is little difference made between her and the other grandchildren." the queen then inquired into the circumstances of the wedding festivities with the interest of one to whom most of the parties were more or less known, and who seldom had the treat of a little feminine gossip. she asked who had been "her little cis's partner," and when she heard of babington, she said, "ah ha, then, the poor youth has made his peace with my lord?" "certes, madam, he is regarded with high favour by both my lord and my lady," said richard, heartily wishing himself rid of his host. "i rejoice to hear it," said mary; "i was afraid that his childish knight-errantry towards the captive dame had damaged the poor stripling's prospects for ever. he is our neighbour here, and i believe sir ralf regards him as somewhat perilous." "nay, madam, if my lord of shrewsbury be satisfied with him, so surely ought i to be," said sir ralf. nothing more of importance passed that night. the packet of accounts was handed over to sir andrew melville, and the two gentlemen dismissed with gracious good-nights. richard talbot was entirely trusted, and when the next morning after prayers, breakfast, and a turn among the stables, it was intimated that the queen was ready to see him anent my lord's business, sir ralf sadler, who had his week's report to write to the council, requested that his presence might be dispensed with, and thus mr. talbot was ushered into the queen's closet without any witnesses to their interview save sir andrew melville and marie de courcelles. the queen was seated in a large chair, leaning against cushions, and evidently in a good deal of pain, but, as richard made his obeisance, her eyes shone as she quoted two lines from an old scotch ballad-- "'madame, how does my gay goss hawk? madame, how does my doo?' now can i hear what i hunger for!" "my gay gosshawk, madam, is flown to join sir francis drake at plymouth, and taken his little brother with him. i come now from speeding them as far as derby." "ah! you must not ask me to pray for success to them, my good sir,--only that there may be a time when nations may be no more divided, and i fear me we shall not live to see it. and my doo--my little cis, did she weep as became a sister for the bold laddies?" "she wept many tears, madam, but we are sore perplexed by a matter that i must lay before your grace. my lady countess is hotly bent on a match between the maiden and young babington." "babington!" exclaimed the queen, with the lioness sparkle in her eye. "you refused the fellow of course?" "flatly, madam, but your grace knows that it is ill making the countess accept a denial of her will." mary laughed "ah ha! methought, sir, you looked somewhat as if you had had a recent taste of my lord of shrewsbury's dove. but you are a man to hold your own sturdy will, master richard, let lord or lady say what they choose." "i trust so, madam, i am master of mine own house, and, as i should certainly not give mine own daughter to babington, so shall i guard your grace's." "you would not give the child to him if she were your own?" "no, madam." "and wherefore not? because he is too much inclined to the poor prisoner and her faith? is it so, sir?" "your grace speaks the truth in part," said richard, and then with effort added, "and likewise, madam, with your pardon, i would say that though i verily believe it is nobleness of heart and spirit that inclines poor antony to espouse your grace's cause, there is to my mind a shallowness and indiscretion about his nature, even when most in earnest, such as would make me loath to commit any woman, or any secret, to his charge." "you are an honest man, mr. talbot," said mary; "i am glad my poor maid is in your charge. tell me, is this suit on his part made to your daughter or to the scottish orphan?" "to the scottish orphan, madam. thus much he knows, though by what means i cannot tell, unless it be through that kinsman of mine, who, as i told your grace, saw the babe the night i brought her in." "doubtless," responded mary. "take care he neither knows more, nor hints what he doth know to the countess." "so far as i can, i will, madam," said richard, "but his tongue is not easy to silence; i marvel that he hath not let the secret ooze out already." "proving him to have more discretion than you gave him credit for, my good sir," said the queen, smiling. "refuse him, however, staunchly, grounding your refusal, if it so please you, on the very causes for which i should accept him, were the lassie verily what he deems her, my ward and kinswoman. nor do you accede to him, whatever word or token he may declare that he brings from me, unless it bear this mark," and she hastily traced a peculiar-twisted form of m. "you know it?" she asked. "i have seen it, madam," said richard, gravely, for he knew it as the letter which had been traced on the child's shoulders. "ah, good master richard," she said, with a sweet and wistful expression, looking up to his face in pleading, and changing to the familiar pronoun, "thou likest not my charge, and i know that it is hard on an upright man like thee to have all this dissembling thrust on thee, but what can a poor captive mother do but strive to save her child from an unworthy lot, or from captivity like her own? i ask thee to say nought, that is all, and to shelter the maid, who hath been as thine own daughter, yet a little longer. thou wilt not deny me, for her sake." "madam, i deny nothing that a christian man and my queen's faithful servant may in honour do. your grace has the right to choose your own daughter's lot, and with her i will deal as you direct me. but, madam, were it not well to bethink yourself whether it be not a perilous and a cruel policy to hold out a bait to nourish hope in order to bind to your service a foolish though a generous youth, whose devotion may, after all, work you and himself more ill than good?" mary looked a good deal struck, and waved back her two attendants, who were both startled and offended at what marie de courcelles described as the englishman's brutal boldness. "silence, dear friends," said she. "would that i had always had counsellors who would deal with me with such honour and disinterestedness. then should i not be here." however, she then turned her attention to the accounts, where sir andrew melville was ready to question and debate every item set down by shrewsbury's steward; while his mistress showed herself liberal and open-handed. indeed she had considerable command of money from her french dowry, the proceeds of which were, in spite of the troubles of the league, regularly paid to her, and no doubt served her well in maintaining the correspondence which, throughout her captivity, eluded the vigilance of her keepers. on taking leave of her, which richard talbot did before joining his host at the mid-day meal, she reiterated her thanks for his care of her daughter, and her charges to let no persuasion induce him to consent to babington's overtures, adding that she hoped soon to obtain permission to have the maiden amongst her authorised attendants. she gave him a billet, loosely tied with black floss silk and unsealed, so that if needful, sadler and shrewsbury might both inspect the tender, playful, messages she wrote to her "mignonne," and which she took care should not outrun those which she had often addressed to bessie pierrepoint. cicely was a little disappointed when she first opened the letter, but ere long she bethought herself of the directions she had received to hold such notes to the fire, and accordingly she watched, waiting even till the next day before she could have free and solitary access to either of the two fires in the house, those in the hall and in the kitchen. at last, while the master was out farming, ned at school, and the mistress and all her maids engaged in the unsavoury occupation of making candles, by repeated dipping of rushes into a caldron of melted fat, after the winter's salting, she escaped under pretext of attending to the hall fire, and kneeling beside the glowing embers, she held the paper over it, and soon saw pale yellow characters appear and deepen into a sort of brown or green, in which she read, "my little jewel must share the ring with none less precious. yet be not amazed if commendations as from me be brought thee. jewels are sometimes useful to dazzle the eyes of those who shall never possess them. therefore seem not cold nor over coy, so as to take away all hope. it may be much for my service. thou art discreet, and thy good guardians will hinder all from going too far. it might be well that he should deem thee and me inclined to what they oppose. be secret. keep thine own counsel, and let them not even guess what thou hast here read. so fare thee well, with my longing, yearning blessing." cicely hastily hid the letter in the large housewifely pocket attached to her girdle, feeling excited and important at having a real secret unguessed by any one, and yet experiencing some of the reluctance natural to the pupil of susan talbot at the notion of acting a part towards babington. she really liked him, and her heart warmed to him as a true friend of her much-injured mother, so that it seemed the more cruel to delude him with false hopes. yet here was she asked to do a real service to her mother! poor cis, she knelt gazing perplexed into the embers, now and then touching a stick to make them glow, till nat, the chief of "the old blue bottles of serving-men," came in to lay the cloth for dinner, exclaiming, "so, mistress cis! madam doth cocker thee truly, letting thee dream over the coals, till thy face be as red as my lady's new farthingale, while she is toiling away like a very scullion." chapter xxi. a tangle. it was a rainy november afternoon. dinner was over, the great wood fire had been made up, and mistress talbot was presiding over the womenfolk of her household and their tasks with needle and distaff. she had laid hands on her unwilling son edward to show his father how well he could read the piece de resistance of the family, fabyan's chronicle; and the boy, with an elbow firmly planted on either side of the great folio, was floundering through the miseries of king stephen's time; while mr. talbot, after smoothing the head of his largest hound for some minutes, had leant back in his chair and dropped asleep. cicely's hand tardily drew out her thread, her spindle scarcely balanced itself on the floor, and her maiden meditation was in an inactive sort of way occupied with the sense of dulness after the summer excitements, and wonder whether her greatness were all a dream, and anything would happen to recall her once more to be a princess. the kitten at her feet took the spindle for a lazily moving creature, and thought herself fascinating it, so she stared hard, with only an occasional whisk of the end of her striped tail; and mistress susan was only kept awake by her anxiety to adapt diccon's last year's jerkin to ned's use. suddenly the dogs outside bayed, the dogs inside pricked their ears, ned joyfully halted, his father uttered the unconscious falsehood, "i'm not asleep, lad, go on," then woke up as horses' feet were heard; ned dashed out into the porch, and was in time to hold the horse of one of the two gentlemen, who, with cloaks over their heads, had ridden up to the door. he helped them off with their cloaks in the porch, exchanging greetings with william cavendish and antony babington. "will mrs. talbot pardon our riding-boots?" said the former. "we have only come down from the manor-house, and we rode mostly on the grass." their excuses were accepted, though susan had rather master william had brought any other companion. however, on such an afternoon, almost any variety was welcome, especially to the younger folk, and room was made for them in the circle, and according to the hospitality of the time, a cup of canary fetched for each to warm him after the ride, while another was brought to the master of the house to pledge them in--a relic of the barbarous ages, when such a security was needed that the beverage was not poisoned. will cavendish then explained that a post had come that morning to his stepfather from wingfield, having been joined on the way by babington (people always preferred travelling in companies for security's sake), and that, as there was a packet from sir ralf sadler for master richard, he had brought it down, accompanied by his friend, who was anxious to pay his devoirs to the ladies, and though will spoke to the mother, he smiled and nodded comprehension at the daughter, who blushed furiously, and set her spindle to twirl and leap so violently, as to make the kitten believe the creature had taken fright, and was going to escape. on she dashed with a sudden spring, involving herself and it in the flax. the old watch-dog roused himself with a growl to keep order. cicely flung herself on the cat, antony hurried to the rescue to help her disentangle it, and received a fierce scratch for his pains, which made him start back, while mrs. talbot put in her word. "ah, master babington, it is ill meddling with a cat in the toils, specially for men folk! here, cis, hold her fast and i will soon have her free. still, tib!" cicely's cheeks were of a still deeper colour as she held fast the mischievous favourite, while the good mother untwisted the flax from its little claws and supple limbs, while it winked, twisted its head about sentimentally, purred, and altogether wore an air of injured innocence and forgiveness. "i am afraid, air, you receive nothing but damage at our house," said mrs. talbot politely. "hast drawn blood? oh fie! thou ill-mannered tib! will you have a tuft from a beaver to stop the blood?" "thanks, madam, no, it is a small scratch. i would, i would that i could face truer perils for this lady's sake!" "that i hope you will not, sir," said richard, in a serious tone, which conveyed a meaning to the ears of the initiated, though will cavendish only laughed, and said, "our kinsman takes it gravely! it was in the days of our grandfathers that ladies could throw a glove among the lions, and bid a knight fetch it out for her love." "it has not needed a lion to defeat mr. babington," observed ned, looking up from his book with a sober twinkle in his eye, which set them all laughing, though his father declared that he ought to have his ears boxed for a malapert varlet. will cavendish declared that the least the fair damsel could do for her knight-errant was to bind up his wounds, but cis was too shy to show any disposition so to do, and it was mrs. talbot who salved the scratch for him. she had a feeling for the motherless youth, upon whom she foreboded that a fatal game might be played. when quiet was restored, mr. talbot craved license from his guests, and opened the packet. there was a letter for mistress cicely talbot in queen mary's well-known beautiful hand, which antony followed with eager eyes, and a low gasp of "ah! favoured maiden," making the good mother, who overheard it, say to herself, "methinks his love is chiefly for the maid as something appertaining to the queen, though he wots not how nearly. his heart is most for the queen herself, poor lad." the maiden did not show any great haste to open the letter, being aware that the true gist of it could only be discovered in private, and her father was studying his own likewise in silence. it was from sir ralf sadler to request that mistress cicely might be permitted to become a regular member of the household. there was now a vacancy since, though mrs. curll was nearly as much about the queen as ever, it was as the secretary's wife, not as one of the maiden attendants; and sir ralf wrote that he wished the more to profit by the opportunity, as he might soon be displaced by some one not of a temper greatly to consider the prisoner's wishes. moreover, he said the poor lady was ill at ease, and much dejected at the tenor of her late letters from scotland, and that she had said repeatedly that nothing would do her good but the presence of her pretty playfellow. sir ralf added assurances that he would watch over the maiden like his own daughter, and would take the utmost care of the faith and good order of all within his household. curll also wrote by order of his mistress a formal application for the young lady, to which mary had added in her own hand, "i thank the good master richard and mrs. susan beforehand, for i know they will not deny me." refusal was, of course, impossible to a mother who had every right to claim her own child; and there was nothing to be done but to fix the time for setting off: and cicely, who had by this time read her own letter, or at least all that was on the surface, looked up tremulous, with a strange frightened gladness, and said, "mother, she needs me." "i shall shortly be returning home," said antony, "and shall much rejoice if i may be one of the party who will escort this fair maiden." "i shall take my daughter myself on a pillion, sir," said richard, shortly. "then, sir, i may tell my lord that you purpose to grant this request," said will cavendish, who had expected at least some time to be asked for deliberation, and knew his mother would expect her permission to be requested. "i may not choose but do so," replied richard; and then, thinking he might have said too much, he added, "it were sheer cruelty to deny any solace to the poor lady." "sick and in prison, and balked by her only son," added susan, "one's heart cannot but ache for her." "let not mr. secretary walsingham hear you say so, good madam," said cavendish, smiling. "in london they think of her solely as a kind of malicious fury shut up in a cage, and there were those who looked askance at me when i declared that she was a gentlewoman of great sweetness and kindness of demeanour. i believe myself they will not rest till they have her blood!" cis and susan cried out with horror, and babington with stammering wrath demanded whether she was to be assassinated in the spanish fashion, or on what pretext a charge could be brought against her. "well," cavendish answered, "as the saying is, give her rope enough, and she will hang herself. indeed, there's no doubt but that she tampered enough with throckmorton's plot to have been convicted of misprision of treason, and so she would have been, but that her most sacred majesty, queen elizabeth, would have no charge made against her. "treason from one sovereign to another, that is new law!" said babington. "so to speak," said richard; "but if she claim to be heiress to the crown, she must also be a subject. heaven forefend that she should come to the throne!" to which all except cis and babington uttered a hearty amen, while a picture arose before the girl of herself standing beside her royal mother robed in velvet and ermine on the throne, and of the faces of lady shrewsbury and her daughter as they recognised her, and were pardoned. cavendish presently took his leave, and carried the unwilling babington off with him, rightly divining that the family would wish to make their arrangements alone. to richard's relief, babington had brought him no private message, and to cicely's disappointment, there was no addition in sympathetic ink to her letter, though she scorched the paper brown in trying to bring one out. the scottish queen was much too wary to waste and risk her secret expedients without necessity. to richard and susan this was the real resignation of their foster-child into the hands of her own parent. it was true that she would still bear their name, and pass for their daughter, but that would be only so long as it might suit her mother's convenience; and instead of seeing her every day, and enjoying her full confidence (so far as they knew), she would be out of reach, and given up to influences, both moral and religious, which they deeply distrusted; also to a fate looming in the future with all the dark uncertainty that brooded over all connected with tudor or stewart royalty. how much good susan wept and prayed that night, only her pillow knew, not even her husband; and there was no particular comfort when my lady countess descended on her in the first interval of fine weather, full of wrath at not having been consulted, and discharging it in all sorts of predictions as to cis's future. no honest and loyal husband would have her, after being turned loose in such company; she would be corrupted in morals and manners, and a disgrace to the talbots; she would be perverted in faith, become a papist, and die in a nunnery beyond sea; or she would be led into plots and have her head cut off; or pressed to death by the peine forte et dure. susan had nothing to say to all this, but that her husband thought it right, and then had a little vigorous advice on her own score against tamely submitting to any man, a weakness which certainly could not be laid to the charge of the termagant of hardwicke. cicely herself was glad to go. she loved her mother with a romantic enthusiastic affection, missed her engaging caresses, and felt her bridgefield home eminently dull, flat, and even severe, especially since she had lost the excitement of humfrey's presence, and likewise her companion diccon. so she made her preparations with a joyful alacrity, which secretly pained her good foster-parents, and made susan almost ready to reproach her with ingratitude. they lectured her, after the fashion of the time, on the need of never forgetting her duty to her god in her affection to her mother, susan trusting that she would never let herself be led away to the romish faith, and richard warning her strongly against untruth and falsehood, though she must be exposed to cruel perplexities as to the right-- "but if thou be true to man, thou wilt be true to god," he said. "if thou be false to man, thou wilt soon be false to thy god likewise." "we will pray for thee, child," said susan. "do thou pray earnestly for thyself that thou mayest ever see the right." "my queen mother is a right pious woman. she is ever praying and reading holy books," said cis. "mother susan, i marvel you, who know her, can speak thus." "nay, child, i would not lessen thy love and duty to her, poor soul, but it is not even piety in a mother that can keep a maiden from temptation. i blame not her in warning thee." richard himself escorted the damsel to her new home. there was no preventing their being joined by babington, who, being well acquainted with the road, and being also known as a gentleman of good estate, was able to do much to make their journey easy to them, and secure good accommodation for them at the inns, though mr. talbot entirely baffled his attempts to make them his guests, and insisted on bearing a full share of the reckoning. neither did cicely fulfil her mother's commission to show herself inclined to accept his attentions. if she had been under contrary orders, there would have been some excitement in going as far as she durst, but the only effect on her was embarrassment, and she treated antony with the same shy stiffness she had shown to humfrey, during the earlier part of his residence at home. besides, she clung more and more to her adopted father, who, now that they were away from home and he was about to part with her, treated her with a tender, chivalrous deference, most winning in itself, and making her feel herself no longer a child. arriving at last at wingfield, sir ralf sadler had hardly greeted them before a messenger was sent to summon the young lady to the presence of the queen of scots. her welcome amounted to ecstasy. the queen rose from her cushioned invalid chair as the bright young face appeared at the door, held out her arms, gathered her into them, and, covering her with kisses, called her by all sorts of tender names in french and scottish. "o ma mie, my lassie, ma fille, mine ain wee thing, how sweet to have one bairn who is mine, mine ain, whom they have not robbed me of, for thy brother, ah, thy brother, he hath forsaken me! he is made of the false darnley stuff, and compacted by knox and buchanan and the rest, and he will not stand a blast of queen elizabeth's wrath for the poor mother that bore him. ay, he hath betrayed me, and deluded me, my child; he hath sold me once more to the english loons! i am set faster in prison than ever, the iron entereth into my soul. thou art but daughter to a captive queen, who looks to thee to be her one bairn, one comfort and solace." cicely responded by caresses, and indeed felt herself more than ever before the actual daughter, as she heard with indignation of james's desertion of his mother's cause; but mary, whatever she said herself, would not brook to hear her speak severely of him. "the poor laddie," she said, "he was no better than a prisoner among those dour scots lords," and she described in graphic terms some of her own experiences of royalty in scotland. the other ladies all welcomed the newcomer as the best medicine both to the spirit and body of their queen. she was regularly enrolled among the queen's maidens, and shared their meals. mary dined and supped alone, sixteen dishes being served to her, both on "fish and flesh days," and the reversion of these as well as a provision of their own came to the higher table of her attendants, where cicely ranked with the two maries, jean kennedy, and sir andrew melville. there was a second table, at which ate the two secretaries, mrs. curll, and elizabeth curll, gilbert's sister, a most faithful attendant on the queen. as before, she shared the queen's chamber, and there it was that mary asked her, "well, mignonne, and how fares it with thine ardent suitor? didst say that he rode with thee?" "as far as the manor gates, madam." "and what said he? was he very pressing?" "nay, madam, i was ever with my father--mr. talbot." "and he keeps the poor youth at arm's length. thine other swain, the sailor, his son, is gone off once more to rob the spaniards, is he not?--so there is the more open field." "ay! but not till he had taught antony a lesson." the queen made cis tell the story of the encounter, at which she was much amused. "so my princess, even unknown, can make hearts beat and swords ring for her. well done! thou art worthy to be one of the maids in perceforest or amadis de gaul, who are bred in obscurity, and set all the knights a sparring together. tourneys are gone out since my poor gude-father perished by mischance at one, or we would set thee aloft to be contended for." "o madame mere, it made me greatly afraid, and poor humfrey had to go off without leave-taking, my lady countess was so wrathful." "so my lady countess is playing our game, is she! backing babington and banishing talbot? ha, ha," and mary again laughed with a merriment that rejoiced the faithful ears of jean kennedy, under her bedclothes, but somewhat vexed cicely. "indeed, madam mother," she said, "if i must wed under my degree, i had rather it were humfrey than antony babington." "i tell thee, simple child, thou shall wed neither. a woman does not wed every man to whom she gives a smile and a nod. so long as thou bear'st the name of this talbot, he is a good watch-dog to hinder babington from winning thee: but if my lady countess choose to send the swain here, favoured by her to pay his court to thee, why then, she gives us the best chance we have had for many a long day of holding intercourse with our friends without, and a hope of thee will bind him the more closely." "he is all yours, heart and soul, already, madam." "i know it, child, but men are men, and no chains are so strong as can be forged by a lady's lip and eye, if she do it cunningly. so said my belle mere in france, and well do i believe it. why, if one of the sour-visaged reformers who haunt this place chanced to have a daughter with sweetness enough to temper the acidity, the youth might be throwing up his cap the next hour for queen bess and the reformation, unless we can tie him down with a silken cable while he is in the mind." "yea, madam, you who are beautiful and winsome, you can do such things, i am homely and awkward." "mort de ma vie, child! the beauty of the best of us is in the man's eyes who looks at us. 'tis true, thou hast more of the border lassie than the princess. the likeness of some ewe-milking, cheese-making sonsie hepburn hath descended to thee, and hath been fostered by country breeding. but thou hast by nature the turn of the neck, and the tread that belong to our lorraine blood, the blood of charlemagne, and now that i have thee altogether, see if i train thee not so as to bring out the princess that is in thee; and so, good-night, my bairnie, my sweet child; i shall sleep to-night, now that i have thy warm fresh young cheek beside mine. thou art life to me, my little one." chapter xxii. tutbury james vi. again cruelly tore his mother's heart and dashed her hopes by an unfeeling letter, in which he declared her incapable of being treated with, since she was a prisoner and deposed. the not unreasonable expectation, that his manhood might reverse the proceedings wrought in his name in his infancy, was frustrated. mary could no longer believe that he was constrained by a faction, but perceived clearly that he merely considered her as a rival, whose liberation would endanger his throne, and that whatever scruples he might once have entertained had given way to english gold and scottish intimidation. "the more simple was i to look for any other in the son of darnley and the pupil of buchanan," said she, "but a mother's heart is slow to give up her trust." "and is there now no hope?" asked cicely. "hope, child? dum spiro, spero. the hope of coming forth honourably to him and to elizabeth is at an end. there is another mode of coming forth," she added with a glittering eye, "a mode which shall make them rue that they have driven patience to extremity." "by force of arms? oh, madam!" cried cicely. "and wherefore not? my noble kinsman, guise, is the paramount ruler in france, and will soon have crushed the heretics there; parma is triumphant in the low countries, and has only to tread out the last remnants of faction with his iron boot. they wait only the call, which my motherly weakness has delayed, to bring their hosts to avenge my wrongs, and restore this island to the true faith. then thou, child, wilt be my heiress. we will give thee to one who will worthily bear the sceptre, and make thee blessed at home. the austrians make good husbands, i am told. matthias or albert would be a noble mate for thee; only thou must be trained to more princely bearing, my little home-bred lassie." in spite--nay, perhaps, in consequence--of these anticipations, an entire change began for cicely. it was as if all the romance of her princely station had died out and the reality had set in. her freedom was at an end. as one of the suite of the queen of scots, she was as much a prisoner as the rest; whereas before, both at buxton and sheffield, she had been like a dog or kitten admitted to be petted and played with, but living another life elsewhere, while now there was nothing to relieve the weariness and monotony of the restraint. nor was the petting what it was at first. mary was far from being in the almost frolicsome mood which had possessed her at buxton; her hopes and spirits had sunk to the lowest pitch, and though she had an admirably sweet and considerate temper, and was scarcely ever fretful or unreasonable with her attendants, still depression, illness, and anxiety could not but tell on her mode of dealing with her surroundings. sometimes she gave way entirely, and declared she should waste away and perish in her captivity, and that she only brought misery and destruction on all who tried to befriend her; or, again, that she knew that burghley and walsingham were determined to have her blood. it was in these moments that cicely loved her most warmly, for caresses and endearments soothed her, and the grateful affection which received them would be very sweet. or in a higher tone, she would trust that, if she were to perish, she might be a martyr and confessor for her church, though, as she owned, the sacrifice would be stained by many a sin; and she betook herself to the devotions which then touched her daughter more than in any other respect. more often, however, her indomitable spirit resorted to fresh schemes, and chafed fiercely and hotly at thought of her wrongs; and this made her the more critical of all that displeased her in cicely. much that had been treated as charming and amusing when cicely was her plaything and her visitor was now treated as unbecoming english rusticity. the princess bride must speak french and italian, perhaps latin; and the girl, whose literary education had stopped short when she ceased to attend master sniggius's school, was made to study her cicero once more with the almoner, who was now a french priest named de preaux, while queen mary herself heard her read french, and, though always good-natured, was excruciated by her pronunciation. moreover, mary was too admirable a needlewoman not to wish to make her daughter the same; whereas cicely's turn had always been for the department of housewifery, and she could make a castle in pastry far better than in tapestry; but where queen mary had a whole service of cooks and pantlers of her own, this accomplishment was uncalled for, and was in fact considered undignified. she had to sit still and learn all the embroidery stitches and lace-making arts brought by mary from the court of france, till her eyes grew weary, her heart faint, and her young limbs ached for the freedom of bridgefield pleasaunce and sheffield park. her mother sometimes saw her weariness, and would try to enliven her by setting her to dance, but here poor cicely's untaught movements were sure to incur reproof; and even if they had been far more satisfactory to the beholders, what refreshment were they in comparison with gathering cranberries in the park, or holding a basket for ned in the apple-tree? mrs. kennedy made no scruple of scolding her roundly for fretting in a month over what the queen had borne for full eighteen years. "ah!" said poor cicely, "but she had always been a queen, and was used to being mewed up close!" and if this was the case at wingfield, how much more was it so at tutbury, whither mary was removed in january. the space was far smaller, and the rooms were cold and damp; there was much less outlet, the atmosphere was unwholesome, and the furniture insufficient. mary was in bed with rheumatism almost from the time of her arrival, but she seemed thus to become the more vigilant over her daughter, and distressed by her shortcomings. if the queen did not take exercise, the suite were not supposed to require any, and indeed it was never desired by her elder ladies, but to the country maiden it was absolute punishment to be thus shut up day after day. neither sir ralf sadler nor his colleague, mr. somer, had brought a wife to share the charge, so that there was none of the neutral ground afforded by intercourse with the ladies of the talbot family, and at first the only variety cicely ever had was the attendance at chapel on the other side of the court. it was remarkable that mary discouraged all proselytising towards the protestants of her train, and even forbore to make any open attempt on her daughter's faith. "cela viendra," she said to marie de courcelles. "the sermons of m. le pasteur will do more to convert her to our side than a hundred controversial arguments of our excellent abbe; and when the good time comes, one high mass will be enough to win her over." "alas! when shall we ever again assist at the holy sacrifice in all its glory!" sighed the lady. "ah, my good courcelles! of what have you not deprived yourself for me! sacrifice, ah! truly you share it! but for the child, it would give needless offence and difficulty were she to embrace our holy faith at present. she is simple and impetuous, and has not yet sufficiently outgrown the rude straightforward breeding of the good housewife, madam susan, not to rush into open confession of her faith, and then! oh the fracas! the wicked wolves would have stolen a precious lamb from m. le pasteur's fold! master richard would be sent for! our restraint would be the closer! moreover, even when the moment of freedom strikes, who knows that to find her of their own religion may not win us favour with the english?" so, from whatever motive, cis remained unmolested in her religion, save by the weariness of the controversial sermons, during which the young lady contrived to abstract her mind pretty completely. if in good spirits she would construct airy castles for her archduke; if dispirited, she yearned with a homesick feeling for bridgefield and mrs. talbot. there was something in the firm sober wisdom and steady kindness of that good lady which inspired a sense of confidence, for which no caresses nor brilliant auguries could compensate. weary and cramped she was to the point of having a feverish attack, and on one slightly delirious night she fretted piteously after "mother," and shook off the queen's hand, entreating that "mother, real mother," would come. mary was much pained, and declared that if the child were not better the next day she should have a messenger sent to summon mrs. talbot. however, she was better in the morning; and the queen, who had been making strong representations of the unhealthiness and other inconveniences of tutbury, received a promise that she should change her abode as soon as chartley, a house belonging to the young earl of essex, could be prepared for her. the giving away large alms had always been one of her great solaces--not that she was often permitted any personal contact with the poor: only to sit at a window watching them as they flocked into the court, to be relieved by her servants under supervision from some officer of her warders, so as to hinder any surreptitious communication from passing between them. sometimes, however, the poor would accost her or her suite as she rode out; and she had a great compassion for them, deprived, as she said, of the alms of the religious houses, and flogged or branded if hunger forced them into beggary. on a fine spring day sir ralf sadler invited the ladies out to a hawking party on the banks of the dove, with the little sparrow hawks, whose prey was specially larks. pity for the beautiful soaring songster, or for the young ones that might be starved in their nests, if the parent birds were killed, had not then been thought of. a gallop on the moors, though they were strangely dull, gray, and stony, was always the best remedy for the queen's ailments; and the party got into the saddle gaily, and joyously followed the chase, thinking only of the dexterity and beauty of the flight of pursuer and pursued, instead of the deadly terror and cruel death to which they condemned the created creature, the very proverb for joyousness. it was during the halt which followed the slaughter of one of the larks, and the reclaiming of the hawk, that cicely strayed a little away from the rest of the party to gather some golden willow catkins and sprays of white sloe thorn wherewith to adorn a beaupot that might cheer the dull rooms at tutbury. she had jumped down from her pony for the purpose, and was culling the branch, when from the copsewood that clothed the gorge of the river a ragged woman, with a hood tied over her head, came forward with outstretched hand asking for alms. "yon may have something from the queen anon, goody, when i can get back to her," said cis, not much liking the looks or the voice of the woman. "and have you nothing to cross the poor woman's hand with, fair mistress?" returned the beggar. "she brought you fair fortune once; how know you but she can bring you more?" and cicely recognised the person who had haunted her at sheffield, tideswell, and buxton, and whom she had heard pronounced to be no woman at all. "i need no fortune of your bringing," she said proudly, and trying to get nearer the rest of the party, heartily wishing she was on, not off, her little rough pony. "my young lady is proud," said her tormentor, fixing on her the little pale eyes she so much disliked. "she is not one of the maidens who would thank one who can make or mar her life, and cast spells that can help her to a princely husband or leave her to a prison." "let go," said cicely, as she saw a retaining hand laid on her pony's bridle; "i will not be beset thus." "and this is your gratitude to her who helped you to lie in a queen's bosom; ay, and who could aid you to rise higher or fall lower?" "i owe nothing to you," said cicely, too angry to think of prudence. "let me go!" there was a laugh, and not a woman's laugh. "you owe nothing, quoth my mistress? not to one who saw you, a drenched babe, brought in from the wreck, and who gave the sign which has raised you to your present honours? beware!" by this time, however, the conversation had attracted notice, and several riders were coming towards them. there was an immediate change of voice from the threatening tone to the beggar's whine; but the words were--"i must have my reward ere i speak out." "what is this? a masterful beggar wife besetting mistress talbot," said mr. somer, who came first. "i had naught to give her," said cicely. "she should have the lash for thus frightening you," said somer. "yonder lady is too good to such vagabonds, and they come about us in swarms. stand back, woman, or it may be the worse for you. let me help you to your horse, mistress cicely." instead of obeying, the seeming woman, to gain time perhaps, began a story of woe; and mr. somer, being anxious to remount the young lady, did not immediately stop it, so that before cis was in her saddle the queen had ridden up, with sir ralf sadler a little behind her. there were thus a few seconds free, in which the stranger sprang to the queen's bridle and said a few hasty words almost inaudibly, and as cis thought, in french; but they were answered aloud in english--"my good woman, i know all that you can tell me, and more, of this young lady's fortune. here are such alms as are mine to give; but hold your peace, and quit us now." sir ralf sadler and his son-in-law both looked suspicious at this interview, and bade one of the grooms ride after the woman and see what became of her, but the fellow soon lost right of her in the broken ground by the river-side. when the party reached home, there was an anxious consultation of the inner circle of confidantes over cicely's story. neither she nor the queen had the least doubt that the stranger was cuthbert langston, who had been employed as an agent of hers for many years past; his insignificant stature and colourless features eminently fitting him for it. no concealment was made now that he was the messenger with the beads and bracelets, which were explained to refer to some ivory beads which had been once placed among some spare purchased by the queen, and which jean had recognised as part of a rosary belonging to poor alison hepburn, the nurse who had carried the babe from lochleven. this had opened the way to the recovery of her daughter. mary and sir andrew melville had always held him to be devotedly faithful, but there had certainly been something of greed, and something of menace in his language which excited anxiety. cicely was sure that his expressions conveyed that he really knew her royal birth, and meant to threaten her with the consequences, but the few who had known it were absolutely persuaded that this was impossible, and believed that he could only surmise that she was of more importance than an archer's daughter. he had told the queen in french that he was in great need, and expected a reward for his discretion respecting what he had brought her. and when he perceived the danger of being overheard, he had changed it into a pleading, "i did but tell the fair young lady that i could cast a spell that would bring her some good fortune. would her grace hear it?" "so," said mary, "i could but answer him as i did, sadler and somer being both nigh. i gave him my purse, with all there was therein. how much was it, andrew?" "five golden pieces, besides groats and testers, madam," replied sir andrew. "if he come again, he must have more, if it can be contrived without suspicion," said the queen. "i fear me he may become troublesome if he guess somewhat, and have to be paid to hold his tongue." "i dread worse than that," said melville, apart to jean kennedy; "there was a scunner in his een that i mislikit, as though her grace had offended him. and if the lust of the penny-fee hath possessed him, 'tis but who can bid the highest, to have him fast body and soul. those lads! those lads! i've seen a mony of them. they'll begin for pure love of the queen and of holy church, but ye see, 'tis lying and falsehood and disguise that is needed, and one way or other they get so in love with it, that they come at last to lie to us as well as to the other side, and then none kens where to have them! cuthbert has been over to that weary paris, and once a man goes there, he leaves his truth and honour behind him, and ye kenna whether he be serving you, or queen elizabeth, or the deil himsel'. i wish i could stop that loon's thrapple, or else wot how much he kens anent our lady bride." chapter xxiii. the love token. "yonder woman came to tell this young lady's fortune," said sir ralf, a few days later. "did she guess what i, an old man, have to bode for her!" and he smiled at the queen. "here is a token i was entreated by a young gentleman to deliver to this young lady, with his humble suit that he may pay his devoirs to her to-morrow, your grace permitting." "i knew not," said mary, "that my women had license to receive visitors." "assuredly not, as a rule, but this young gentleman, mr. babington of dethick, has my lord and lady of shrewsbury's special commendation." "i knew the young man," said mary, with perfectly acted heedlessness. "he was my lady shrewsbury's page in his boyhood. i should have no objection to receive him." "that, madam, may not be," returned sadler. "i am sorry to say it is contrary to the orders of the council, but if mr. and mrs. curll, and the fair mistress cicely, will do me the honour to dine with me to-morrow in the hall, we may bring about the auspicious meeting my lady desires." cicely's first impulse had been to pout and say she wanted none of mr. babington's tokens, nor his company; but her mother's eye held her back, and besides any sort of change of scene, or any new face, could not but be delightful, so there was a certain leap of the young heart when the invitation was accepted for her; and she let sir ralf put the token into her hand, and a choice one it was. everybody pressed to look at it, while she stood blushing, coy and unwilling to display the small egg-shaped watch of the kind recently invented at nuremberg. sir ralf observed that the young lady showed a comely shamefast maidenliness, and therewith bowed himself out of the room. cicely laughed with impatient scorn. "well spoken, reverend seignior," she said, as she found herself alone with the queen. "i wish my lady countess would leave me alone. i am none of hers." "nay, mademoiselle, be not thus disdainful," said the queen, in a gay tone of banter; "give me here this poor token that thou dost so despise, when many a maiden would be distraught with delight and gratitude. let me see it, i say." and as cicely, restraining with difficulty an impatient, uncourtly gesture, placed the watch in her hand, her delicate deft fingers opened the case, disregarding both the face and the place for inserting the key; but dealing with a spring, which revealed that the case was double, and that between the two thin plates of silver which formed it, was inserted a tiny piece of the thinnest paper, written from corner to corner with the smallest characters in cipher. mary laughed joyously and triumphantly as she held it up. "there, mignonne! what sayest thou to thy token now? this is the first secret news i have had from the outer world since we came to this weary tutbury. and oh! the exquisite jest that my lady and sir ralf sadler should be the bearers! i always knew some good would come of that suitor of thine! thou must not flout him, my fair lady, nor scowl at him so with thy beetle brows." "it seems but hard to lure him on with false hopes," said cicely, gravely. "hoots, lassie," as dame jean would say, "'tis but joy and delight to men to be thus tickled. 'tis the greatest kindness we can do them thus to amuse them," said mary, drawing up her head with the conscious fascination of the serpent of old nile, and toying the while with the ciphered letter, in eagerness, and yet dread, of what it might contain. such things were not easy to make out, even to those who had the key, and mary, unwilling to trust it out of her own hands, leant over it, spelling it out for many minutes, but at last broke forth into a clear ringing burst of girlish laughter and clasped her hands together, "mignonne, mignonne, it is too rare a jest to hold back. deem not that your highness stands first here! oh no! 'tis a letter from bernardo de mendoza with a proposition for whose hand thinkest thou? for this poor old captive hand! for mine, maiden. ay, and from whom? from his excellency, the prince of parma, lieutenant of the netherlands. anon will he be here with , picked men and the spanish fleet; and then i shall ride once again at the head of my brave men, hear trumpets bray, and see banners fly! we will begin to work our banner at once, child, and let sir ralf think it is a bed-quilt for her sacred majesty, elizabeth. thou look'st dismayed, little maiden." "spanish ships and men, madam, ah! and how would it be with my father--mr. and mrs. talbot, i mean?" "not a hair of their heads shall be touched, child. we will send down a chosen troop to protect them, with babington at its head if thou wilt. but," added the queen, recollecting herself, and perceiving that she had startled and even shocked her daughter, "it is not to be to-morrow, nor for many a weary month. all that is here demanded is whether, all being well, he might look for my hand as his guerdon. shall i propose thine instead?" "o madam, he is an old man and full of gout!" "well! we will not pull caps for him just yet. and see, thou must be secret as the grave, child, or thou wilt ruin thy mother. i ought not to have told thee, but the surprise was too much for me, and thou canst keep a secret. leave me now, child, and send me monsieur nau." the next time any converse was held between mother and daughter, queen mary said, "will it grieve thee much, my lassie, to return this bauble, on the plea of thy duty to the good couple at bridgefield?" after all cicely had become so fond of the curious and ingenious egg that she was rather sorry to part with it, and there was a little dismal resignation in her answer, "i will do your bidding, madam." "thou shalt have a better. i will write to chateauneuf for the choicest that paris can furnish," said mary, "but seest thou, none other mode is so safe for conveying an answer to this suitor of mine! nay, little one, do not fear. he is not at hand, and if he be so gout-ridden and stern as i have heard, we will find some way to content him and make him do the service without giving thee a stepfather, even though he be grandson to an emperor." there was something perplexing and distressing to cis in this sudden mood of exultation at such a suitor. however, parma's proposal might mean liberty and a recovered throne, and who could wonder at the joy that even the faintest gleam of light afforded to one whose captivity had lasted longer than cicely's young life?--and then once more there was an alternation of feeling at the last moment, when cicely, dressed in her best, came to receive instructions. "i ken not, i ken not," said mary, speaking the scottish tongue, to which she recurred in her moments of deepest feeling, "i ought not to let it go. i ought to tell the noble prince to have naught to do with a being like me. 'tis not only the jettatura wherewith the queen mother used to reproach me. men need but bear me good will, and misery overtakes them. death is the best that befalls them! the gentle husband of my girlhood--then the frantic chastelar, my poor, poor good davie, darnley, bothwell, geordie douglas, young willie, and again norfolk, and the noble and knightly don john! one spark of love and devotion to the wretched mary, and all is over with them! give me back that paper, child, and warn babington against ever dreaming of aid to a wretch like me. i will perish alone! it is enough! i will drag down no more generous spirits in the whirlpool around me." "madam! madam!" exclaimed de preaux the almoner, who was standing, "this is not like your noble self. have you endured so much to be fainthearted when the end is near, and you are made a smooth and polished instrument, welded in the fire, for the triumph of the church over her enemies?" "ah, father!" said the queen, "how should not my heart fail me when i think of the many high spirits who have fallen for my sake? ay, and when i look out on yonder peaceful vales and happy homesteads, and think of them ravaged by those furious spaniards and italians, whom my brother of anjou himself called very fiends!" "fiends are the tools of divine wrath," returned preaux. "look at the profaned sanctuaries and outraged convents on which these proud english have waxen fat, and say whether a heavy retribution be not due to them." "ah, father! i may be weak, but i never loved persecution. king francis and i were dragged to behold the executions at amboise. that was enough for us. his gentle spirit never recovered it, and i--i see their contorted visages and forms still in my restless nights; and if the spanish dogs should deal with england as with haarlem or antwerp, and all through me!--oh! i should be happier dying within these walls!" "nay, madam, as queen you would have the reins in your own hand: you could exercise what wholesome severity or well-tempered leniency you chose," urged the almoner; "it were ill requiting the favour of the saints who have opened this door to you at last to turn aside now in terror at the phantasy that long weariness of spirit hath conjured up before you." so mary rallied herself, and in five minutes more was as eager in giving her directions to cicely and to the curlls as though her heart had not recently failed her. cis was to go forth with her chaperons, not by any means enjoying the message to babington, and yet unable to help being very glad to escape for ever so short a time from the dull prison apartments. there might be no great faith in her powers of diplomacy, but as it was probable that babington would have more opportunity of conversing with her than with the curlls, she was charged to attend heedfully to whatever he might say. sir ralf's son-in-law, mr. somer, was sent to escort the trio to the hall at the hour of noon; and there, pacing the ample chamber, while the board at the upper end was being laid, were sir ralf sadler and his guest mr. babington. antony was dressed in green velvet slashed with primrose satin, setting off his good mien to the greatest advantage, and he came up with suppressed but rapturous eagerness, bowing low to mrs. curll and the secretary, but falling on his knee to kiss the hand of the dark-browed girl. her recent courtly training made her much less rustically awkward than she would have been a few months before, but she was extremely stiff, and held her head as though her ruff were buckram, as she began her lesson. "sir, i am greatly beholden to you for this token, but if it be not sent with the knowledge and consent of my honoured father and mother i may not accept of it." "alas! that you will say so, fair mistress," said antony, but he was probably prepared for this rejection, for he did not seem utterly overwhelmed by it. "the young lady exercises a wise discretion," said sir ralf sadler to mrs. curll. "if i had known that mine old friend mr. talbot of bridgefield was unfavourable to the suit, i would not have harboured the young spark, but when he brought my lady countess's commendation, i thought all was well." barbara curll had her cue, namely, to occupy sir ralf so as to leave the young people to themselves, so she drew him off to tell him in confidence a long and not particularly veracious story of the objections of the talbots to antony babington; whilst her husband engaged the attention of mr. somer, and there was a space in which, as antony took back the watch, he was able to inquire "was the egg-shell opened?" "ay," said cis, blushing furiously and against her will, "the egg was sucked and replenished." "take consolation," said antony, and as some one came near them, "duty and discretion shall, i trust, both be satisfied when i next sun myself in the light of those lovely eyes." then, as the coast became more clear, "you are about shortly to move. chartley is preparing for you." "so we are told." "there are others preparing," said antony, bending over her, holding her hand, and apparently making love to her with all his might. "tell me, lady, who hath charge of the queen's buttery? is it faithful old halbert as at sheffield?" "it is," replied cis. "then let him look well at the bottom of each barrel of beer supplied for the use of her household. there is an honest man, a brewer, at burton, whom paulett will employ, who will provide that letters be sent to and fro. gifford and langston, who are both of these parts, know him well." cis started at the name. "do you trust langston then?" she asked. "wholly! why, he is the keenest and ablest of all. have you not seen him and had speech with him in many strange shapes? he can change his voice, and whine like any beggar wife." "yea," said cis, "but the queen and sir andrew doubted a little if he meant not threats last time we met." "all put on--excellent dissembling to beguile the keepers. he told me all," said antony, "and how he had to scare thee and change tone suddenly. why, he it is who laid this same egg, and will receive it. there is a sworn band, as you know already, who will let her know our plans, and be at her commands through that means. then, when we have done service approaching to be worthy of her, then it may be that i shall have earned at least a look or sign." "alas! sir," said cicely, "how can i give you false hopes?" for her honest heart burnt to tell the poor fellow that she would in case of his success be farther removed from him than ever. "what would be false now shall be true then. i will wring love from thee by my deeds for her whom we both alike love, and then wilt thou be mine own, my true bride!" by this time other guests had arrived, and the dinner was ready. babington was, in deference to the countess, allowed to sit next to his lady-love. she found he had been at sheffield, and had visited bridgefield, vainly endeavouring to obtain sanction to his addresses from her adopted parents. he saw how her eyes brightened and heard how her voice quivered with eagerness to hear of what still seemed home to her, and he was pleased to feel himself gratifying her by telling her how mrs. talbot looked, and how brown dumpling had been turned out in the park, and mr. talbot had taken a new horse, which ned had insisted on calling "fulvius," from its colour, for ned was such a scholar that he was to be sent to study at cambridge. then he would have wandered off to little lady arbell's being put under master sniggius's tuition, but cicely would bring him back to bridgefield, and to ned's brothers. no, the boasted expedition to spain had not begun yet. sir francis drake was lingering about plymouth, digging a ditch, it was said, to bring water from dartmoor. he would never get license to attack king philip on his own shores. the queen knew better than to give it. humfrey and diccon would get no better sport than robbing a ship or two on the way to the netherlands. antony, for his part, could not see that piracy on the high seas was fit work for a gentleman. "a gentleman loves to serve his queen and country in all places," said cicely. "ah!" said antony, with a long breath, as though making a discovery, "sits the wind in that quarter?" "antony," exclaimed she, in her eagerness calling him by the familiar name of childhood, "you are in error. i declare most solemnly that it is quite another matter that stands in your way." "and you will not tell me wherefore you are thus cruel?" "i cannot, sir. you will understand in time that what you call cruelty is true kindness." this was the gist of the interview. all the rest only repeated it in one form or another; and when cis returned, it was with a saddened heart, for she could not but perceive that antony was well-nigh crazed, not so much with love of her, as with the contemplation of the wrongs of the church and the queen, whom he regarded with equally passionate devotion, and with burning zeal and indignation to avenge their sufferings, and restore them to their pristine glory. he did, indeed, love her, as he professed to have done from infancy, but as if she were to be his own personal portion of the reward. indeed there was magnanimity enough in the youth almost to lose the individual hope in the dazzle of the great victory for which he was willing to devote his own life and happiness in the true spirit of a crusader. cicely did not fully or consciously realise all this, but she had such a glimpse of it as to give her a guilty feeling in concealing from him the whole truth, which would have shown how fallacious were the hopes that her mother did not scruple, for her own purposes, to encourage. poor cicely! she had not had royal training enough to look on all subjects as simply pawns on the monarch's chess-board; and she was so evidently unhappy over babington's courtship, and so little disposed to enjoy her first feminine triumph, that the queen declared that nature had designed her for the convent she had so narrowly missed; and, valuable as was the intelligence she had brought, she was never trusted with the contents of the correspondence. on the removal of mary to chartley the barrel with the false bottom came into use, but the secretaries nau and curll alone knew in full what was there conveyed. little more was said to cicely of babington. however, it was a relief when, before the end of this summer, cicely heard of his marriage to a young lady selected by the earl. she hoped it would make him forget his dangerous inclination to herself; but yet there was a little lurking vanity which believed that it had been rather a marriage for property's than for love's sake. chapter xxiv. a lioness at bay. it was in the middle of the summer of that humfrey and his young brother richard, in broad grass hats and long feathers, found themselves again in london, diccon looking considerably taller and leaner than when he went away. for when, after many months' delay, the naval expedition had taken place, he had been laid low with fever during the attack on florida by sir francis drake's little fleet; and the return to england had been only just in time to save his life. though humfrey had set forth merely as a lieutenant, he had returned in command of a vessel, and stood in high repute for good discipline, readiness of resource, and personal exploits. his ship had, however, suffered so severely as to be scarcely seaworthy when the fleet arrived in plymouth harbour; and sir francis, finding it necessary to put her into dock and dismiss her crew, had chosen the young captain talbot to ride to london with his despatches to her majesty. the commission might well delight the brothers, who were burning to hear of home, and to know how it fared with cicely, having been absolutely without intelligence ever since they had sailed from plymouth in january, since which they had plundered the spaniard both at home and in the west indies, but had had no letters. they rode post into london, taking their last change of horses at kensington, on a fine june evening, when the sun was mounting high upon the steeple of st. paul's, and speeding through the fields in hopes of being able to reach the strand in time for supper at lord shrewsbury's mansion, which, even in the absence of my lord, was always a harbour for all of the name of talbot. nor, indeed, was it safe to be out after dark, for the neighbourhood of the city was full of roisterers of all sorts, if not of highwaymen and cutpurses, who might come in numbers too large even for the two young gentlemen and the two servants, who remained out of the four volunteers from bridgefield. they were just passing westminster where the abbey, hall, and st. stephen's chapel, and their precincts, stood up in their venerable but unstained beauty among the fields and fine trees, and some of the westminster boys, flat-capped, gowned, and yellow-stockinged, ran out with the cry that always flattered diccon, not to say humfrey, though he tried to be superior to it, "mariners! mariners from the western main! hurrah for gallant drake! down with the don!" for the tokens of the sea, in the form of clothes and weapons, were well known and highly esteemed. two or three gentlemen who were walking along the road turned and looked up, and the young sailors recognised in a moment a home face. there was an exclamation on either side of "antony babington!" and "humfrey talbot!" and a ready clasp of the hand in right of old companionship. "welcome home!" exclaimed antony. "is all well with you?" "royally well," returned humfrey. "know'st thou aught of our father and mother?" "all was well with them when last i heard," said antony. "and cis--my sister i mean?" said diccon, putting, in his unconsciousness, the very question humfrey was burning to ask. "she is still with the queen of scots, at chartley," replied babington. "chartley, where is that? it is a new place for her captivity." "'tis a house of my lord of essex, not far from lichfield," returned antony. "they sent her thither this spring, after they had well-nigh slain her with the damp and wretched lodgings they provided at tutbury." "who? not our cis?" asked diccon. "nay," said antony, "it hurt not her vigorous youth--but i meant the long-suffering princess." "hath sir ralf sadler still the charge of her?" inquired humfrey. "no, indeed. he was too gentle a jailer for the council. they have given her sir amias paulett, a mere puritan and leicestrian, who is as hard as the nether millstone, and well-nigh as dull," said babington, with a little significant chuckle, which perhaps alarmed one of his companions, a small slight man with a slight halt, clad in black like a lawyer. "mr. babington," he said, "pardon me for interrupting you, but we shall make mr. gage tarry supper for us." "nay, mr. langston," said babington, who was in high spirits, "these are kinsmen of your own, sons of mr. richard talbot of bridgefield, to whom you have often told me you were akin." mr. langston was thus compelled to come forward, shake hands with the young travellers, welcome them home, and desire to be commended to their worthy parents; and babington, in the exuberance of his welcome, named his other two companions--mr. tichborne, a fine, handsome, graceful, and somewhat melancholy young man; captain fortescue, a bearded moustached bravo, in the height of the fashion, a long plume in his spanish hat, and his short gray cloak glittering with silver lace. humfrey returned their salute, but was as glad as they evidently were when they got babington away with them, and left the brothers to pursue their way, after inviting them to come and see him at his lodgings as early as possible. "it is before supper," said diccon, sagely, "or i should say master antony had been acquainted with some good canary." "more likely he is uplifted with some fancy of his own. it may be only with the meeting of me after our encounter," said humfrey. "he is a brave fellow and kindly, but never did craft so want ballast as does that pate of his!" "humfrey," said his brother, riding nearer to him, "did he not call that fellow in black, langston?" "ay, cuthbert langston. i have heard of him. no good comrade for his weak brain." "humfrey, it is so, though father would not credit me. i knew his halt and his eye--just like the venomous little snake that was the death, of poor foster. he is the same with the witch woman tibbott, ay, and with her with the beads and bracelets, who beset cis and me at buxton." young diccon had proved himself on the voyage to have an unerring eye for recognition, and his brother gave a low whistle. "i fear me then master antony may be running himself into trouble." "see, they turn in mounting the steps to the upper fence of yonder house with the deep carved balcony. another has joined them! i like not his looks. he is like one of those hardened cavaliers from the netherlands." "ay! who seem to have left pity and conscience behind them there," said humfrey, looking anxiously up at the fine old gabled house with its projecting timbered front, and doubting inwardly whether it would be wise to act on his old playfellow's invitation, yet with an almost sick longing to know on what terms the youth stood with cicely. in another quarter of an hour they were at the gateway of shrewsbury house, where the porter proved to be one of the sheffield retainers, and admitted them joyfully. my lord earl was in yorkshire, he said, but my lord and lady talbot were at home, and would be fain to see them, and there too was master william cavendish. they were handed on into the courtyard, where servants ran to take their horses, and as the news ran that master richard's sons had arrived from the indies, will cavendish came running down the hall steps to embrace them in his glee, while lord talbot came to the door of the hall to welcome them. these great london houses, which had not quite lost their names of hostels or inns, did really serve as free lodgings to all members of the family who might visit town, and above all such travellers as these, bringing news of grand national achievements. very soon after gilbert's accession to the heirship, quarrels had begun between his wife and her mother the countess. lord talbot had much of his father's stately grace, and his wife was a finished lady. they heartily welcomed the two lads who had grown from boys to men. my lady smilingly excused the riding-gear, and as soon as the dust of travel had been removed they were seated at the board, and called on to tell of the gallant deeds in which they had taken part, whilst they heard in exchange of lord leicester's doings in the netherlands, and the splendid exploits of the stanleys at zutphen. lord talbot promised to take humfrey to richmond the next day, to be presented to her majesty, so soon as he should be equipped, so as not to lose his character of mariner, but still not to affront her sensibilities by aught of uncourtly or unstudied in his apparel. they confirmed what babington had said of the queen of scots' changes of residence and of keepers. as to cicely, they had been lately so little at sheffield that they had almost forgotten her, but they thought that if she were still at chartley, there could be no objection to her brothers having an interview with her on their way home, if they chose to go out of their road for it. humfrey mentioned his meeting with babington in westminster, and lord talbot made some inquiries as to his companions, adding that there were strange stories and suspicions afloat, and that he feared that the young man was disaffected and was consorting with popish recusants. diccon's tongue was on the alert with his observation, but at a sign from his brother, who did not wish to get babington into trouble, he was silent. cavendish, however, laughed and said he was for ever in mr. secretary's house, and even had a room there. very early the next morning the body servant of his lordship was in attendance with a barber and the fashionable tailor of the court, and in good time humfrey and diccon were arrayed in such garments as were judged to suit the queen's taste, and to become the character of young mariners from the west. humfrey had a dainty jewel of shell-work from the spoils of carthagena, entrusted to him by drake to present to the queen as a foretaste of what was to come. lady talbot greatly admired its novelty and beauty, and thought the queen would be enchanted with it, giving him a pretty little perfumed box to present it in. lord talbot, well pleased to introduce his spirited young cousins, took them in his boat to richmond, which they reached just as the evening coolness came on. they were told that her majesty was walking in the park, and thither, so soon as the ruffs had been adjusted and the fresh spanish gloves drawn on, they resorted. the queen walked freely there without guards--without even swords being worn by the gentlemen in attendance--loving as she did to display her confidence in her people. no precautions were taken, but they were allowed to gather together on the greensward to watch her, as among the beautiful shady trees she paced along. the eyes of the two youths were eagerly directed towards her, as they followed lord talbot. was she not indeed the cynosure of all the realm? did she not hold the heart of every loyal englishman by an invisible rein? was not her favour their dream and their reward? she was a little in advance of her suite. her hair, of that light sandy tint which is slow to whiten, was built up in curls under a rich stiff coif, covered with silver lace, and lifted high at the temples. from this a light gauze veil hung round her shoulders and over her splendid standing ruff, which stood up like the erected neck ornaments of some birds, opening in front, and showing the lesser ruff or frill encircling her throat, and terminating a lace tucker within her low-cut boddice. rich necklaces, the jewel of the garter, and a whole constellation of brilliants, decorated her bosom, and the boddice of her blue satin dress and its sleeves were laced with seed pearls. the waist, a very slender one, was encircled with a gold cord and heavy tassels, the farthingale spread out its magnificent proportions, and a richly embroidered white satin petticoat showed itself in front, but did not conceal the active, well-shaped feet. there was something extraordinarily majestic in her whole bearing, especially the poise of her head, which made the spectator never perceive how small her stature actually was. her face and complexion, too, were of the cast on which time is slow to make an impression, being always pale and fair, with keen and delicately-cut features; so that her admirers had quite as much reason to be dazzled as when she was half her present age; nay, perhaps more, for the habit of command had added to the regality which really was her principal beauty. sir christopher hatton, with a handsome but very small face at the top of a very tall and portly frame, dressed in the extreme of foppery, came behind her, and then a bevy of ladies and gentlemen. as the talbots approached, she was moving slowly on, unusually erect even for her, and her face composed to severe majesty, like that of a judge, the tawny eyes with a strange gleam in them fixed on some one in the throng on the grass near at hand. lord talbot advanced with a bow so low that he swept the ground with his plume, and while the two youths followed his example, diccon's quick eye noted that she glanced for one rapid second at their weapons, then continued her steady gaze, never withdrawing it even to receive lord talbot's salutation as he knelt before her, though she said, "we greet you well, my good lord. are not we well guarded, not having one man with a sword near me?" "here are three good swords, madam," returned he, "mine own, and those of my two young kinsmen, whom i venture to present to your majesty, as they bear greetings from your trusty servant, sir francis drake." while he spoke there had been a by-play unperceived by him, or by the somewhat slow and tardy hatton. a touch from diccon had made humfrey follow the direction of the queen's eye, and they saw it was fixed on a figure in a loose cloak strangely resembling that which they had seen on the stair of the house babington had entered. they also saw a certain quailing and cowering of the form, and a scowl on the shaggy red eyebrows, and irish features, and humfrey at once edged himself so as to come between the fellow and the queen, though he was ready to expect a pistol shot in his back, but better thus, was his thought, than that it should strike her,--and both laid their hands on their swords. "how now!" said hatton, "young men, you are over prompt. her majesty needs no swords. you are out of rank. fall in and do your obeisance." something in the queen's relaxed gaze told humfrey that the peril was over, and that he might kneel as talbot named him, explaining his lineage as elizabeth always wished to have done. a sort of tremor passed over her, but she instantly recalled her attention. "from drake!" she said, in her clear, somewhat shrill voice. "so, young gentleman, you have been with the pirate who outruns our orders, and fills our brother of spain with malice such that he would have our life by fair or foul means." "that shall he never do while your grace has english watch-dogs to guard you," returned talbot. "the talbot is a trusty hound by water or by land," said elizabeth, surveying the goodly proportion of the elder brother. "whelps of a good litter, though yonder lad be somewhat long and lean. well, and how fares sir francis? let him make his will, for the spaniards one day will have his blood." "i have letters and a token from him for your grace," said humfrey. "come then in," said the queen. "we will see it in the bower, and hear what thou wouldst say." a bower, or small summer-house, stood at the end of the path, and here she took her way, seating herself on a kind of rustic throne evidently intended for her, and there receiving from humfrey the letter and the gift, and asking some questions about the voyage; but she seemed preoccupied and anxious, and did not show the enthusiastic approbation of her sailors' exploits which the young men expected. after glancing over it, she bade them carry the letter to mr. secretary walsingham the next day; nor did she bid the party remain to supper; but as soon as half a dozen of her gentlemen pensioners, who had been summoned by her orders, came up, she rose to return to the palace. chapter xxv. paul's walk. will cavendish, who was in training for a statesman, and acted as a secretary to sir francis walsingham, advised that the letters should be carried to him at once that same evening, as he would be in attendance on the queen the next morning, and she would inquire for them. the great man's house was not far off, and he walked thither with humfrey, who told him what he had seen, and asked whether it ought not at once to be reported to walsingham. will whistled. "they are driving it very close," he said. "humfrey; old comrade, thy brains were always more of the order fit to face a tough breeze than to meddle with court plots. credit me, there is cause for what amazed thee. the queen and her council know what they are about. risk a little, and put an end to all the plottings for ever! that's the word." "risk even the queen's life?" will cavendish looked sapient, and replied, "we of the council board know many a thing that looks passing strange." mr. secretary walsingham's town house was, like lord talbot's, built round a court, across which cavendish led the way, with the assured air of one used to the service, and at home there. the hall was thronged with people waiting, but cavendish passed it, opened a little wicket, and admitted his friends into a small anteroom, where he bade them remain, while he announced them to sir francis. he disappeared, shutting a door behind him, and after a moment's interval another person, with a brown cloak round him, came hastily and stealthily across to the door. he had let down the cloak which muffled his chin, not expecting the presence of any one, and there was a moment's start as he was conscious of the young men standing there. he passed through the door instantly, but not before humfrey had had time to recognise in him no other than cuthbert langston, almost the last person he would have looked for at sir francis walsingham's. directly afterwards cavendish returned. "sir francis could not see captain talbot, and prayed him to excuse him, and send in the letter." "it can't be helped," said cavendish, with his youthful airs of patronage. "he would gladly have spoken with you when i told him of you, but that maude is just come on business that may not tarry. so you must e'en entrust your packet to me." "maude," repeated humfrey, "was that man's name maude? i should have dared be sworn that he was my father's kinsman, cuthbert langston." "very like," said will, "i would dare be sworn to nothing concerning him, but that he is one of the greatest and most useful villains unhung." so saying, will cavendish disappeared with the letters. he probably had had a caution administered to him, for when he returned he was evidently swelling with the consciousness of a state secret, which he would not on any account betray, yet of the existence of which he desired to make his old comrade aware. humfrey asked whether he had told mr. secretary of the man in richmond park. "never fear! he knows it," returned the budding statesman. "why, look you, a man like sir francis has ten thousand means of intelligence that a simple mariner like you would never guess at. i thought it strange myself when i came first into business of state, but he hath eyes and ears everywhere, like the queen's gown in her picture. men of the privy council, you see, must despise none, for the lewdest and meanest rogues oft prove those who can do the best service, just as the bandy-legged cur will turn the spit, or unearth the fox when your gallant hound can do nought but bay outside." "is this maude, or langston, such a cur?" cavendish gave his head a shake that expressed unutterable things, saying: "your kinsman, said you? i trust not on the talbot side of the house?" "no. on his mother's side. i wondered the more to see him here as he got that halt in the rising of the north, and on the wrong side, and hath ever been reckoned a concealed papist." "ay, ay. dost not see, mine honest humfrey, that's the very point that fits him for our purpose?" "you mean that he is a double traitor and informer." "we do not use such hard words in the privy council board as you do on deck, my good friend," said cavendish. "we have our secret intelligencers, you see, all in the queen's service. foul and dirty work, but you can't dig out a fox without soiling of fingers, and if there be those that take kindly to the work, why, e'en let them do it." "then there is a plot?" "content you, humfrey! you'll hear enough of it anon. a most foul, bloody, and horrible plot, quite enough to hang every soul that has meddled in it, and yet safe to do no harm--like poor hal's blunderbuss, which would never go off, except when it burst, and blew him to pieces." will felt that he had said quite enough to impress humfrey with a sense of his statecraft and importance, and was not sorry for an interruption before he should have said anything dangerous. it was from frank pierrepoint, who had been diccon's schoolmate, and was enchanted to see him. humfrey was to stay one day longer in town in case walsingham should wish to see him, and to show diccon something of london, which they had missed on their way to plymouth. st. paul's cathedral was even then the sight that all englishmen were expected to have seen, and the brothers took their way thither, accompanied by frank pierrepoint, who took their guidance on his hands. had the lads seen the place at the opening of the century they would have thought it a piteous spectacle, for desecration and sacrilege had rioted there unchecked, the magnificent peal of bells had been gambled away at a single throw of the dice, the library had been utterly destroyed, the magnificent plate melted up, and what covetous fanaticism had spared had been further ravaged by a terrible fire. at this time bishop bancroft had done his utmost towards reparation, and the old spire had been replaced by a wooden one; but there was much of ruin and decay visible all around, where stood the famous octagon building called paul's cross, where outdoor sermons were preached to listeners of all ranks. this was of wood, and was kept in moderately good repair. beyond, the nave of the cathedral stretched its length, the greatest in england. two sets of doors immediately opposite to one another on the north and south sides had rendered it a thoroughfare in very early times, in spite of the endeavours of the clergy; and at this time "duke humfrey's walk," from the tomb of duke humfrey stafford, as the twelve grand norman bays of this unrivalled nave were called, was the prime place for the humours of london; and it may be feared that this, rather than the architecture, was the chief idea in the minds of the youths, as a babel of strange sounds fell on their ears, "a still roar like a humming of bees," as it was described by a contemporary, or, as humfrey said, like the sea in a great hollow cave. a cluster of choir-boys were watching at the door to fall on any one entering with spurs on, to levy their spur money, and one gentleman, whom they had thus attacked, was endeavouring to save his purse by calling on the youngest boy to sing his gamut. near at hand was a pillar, round which stood a set of men, some rough, some knavish-looking, with the blue coats, badges, short swords, and bucklers carried by serving-men. they were waiting to be hired, as if in a statute fair, and two or three loud-voiced bargains were going on. in the middle aisle, gentlemen in all the glory of plumed hats, jewelled ears, ruffed necks, spanish cloaks, silken jerkins, velvet hose, and be-rosed shoes, were marching up and down, some attitudinising to show their graces, some discussing the news of the day, for "paul's walk" was the bond street, the row, the tattersall's, the club of london. twelve scriveners had their tables to act as letter-writers, and sometimes as legal advisers, and great amusement might be had by those who chose to stand listening to the blundering directions of their clients. in the side aisles, horse-dealing, merchants' exchanges, everything imaginable in the way of traffic was going on. disreputable-looking men, who there were in sanctuary from their creditors, there lurked around humfrey stafford's tomb; and young pierrepoint's warning to guard their purses was evidently not wasted, for a country fellow, who had just lost his, was loudly demanding justice, and getting jeered at for his simplicity in expecting to recover it. "seest thou this?" said a voice close to humfrey, and he found a hand on his arm, and babington, in the handsome equipment of one of the loungers, close to him. "a sorry sight, that would grieve my good mother," returned humfrey. "my mother, the church, is grieved," responded antony. "this is what you have brought us to, for your so-called religion," he added, ignorant or oblivious that these desecrations had been quite as shocking before the reformation. "all will soon be changed, however," he added. "sir thomas gresham's new exchange has cleared off some of the traffic, they say," returned humfrey. "pshaw!" said antony; "i meant no such folly. that were cleansing one stone while the whole house is foul with shame. no. there shall be a swift vengeance on these desecrators. the purifier shall come again, and the glory and the beauty of the true faith shall be here as of old, when our fathers bowed before the holy rood, instead of tearing it down." his eye glanced with an enthusiasm which humfrey thought somewhat wild, and he said, "whist! these are not things to be thus spoken of." "all is safe," said babington, drawing him within shelter of the chantry of sir john beauchamp's tomb. "never heed diccon--pierrepoint can guide him," and humfrey saw their figures, apparently absorbed in listening to the bidding for a horse. "i have things of moment to say to thee, humfrey talbot. we have been old comrades, and had that childish emulation which turns to love in manhood in the face of perils." humfrey, recollecting how they had parted, held out his hand in recognition of the friendliness. "i would fain save thee," said babington. "heretic and rival as thou art, i cannot but love thee, and i would have thee die, if die thou must, in honourable fight by sea or land, rather than be overtaken by the doom that will fall on all who are persecuting our true and lawful confessor and sovereign." "gramercy for thy good will, tony," said humfrey, looking anxiously to see whether his old companion was in his right mind, yet remembering what had been said of plots. "thou deem'st me raving," said antony, smiling at the perplexed countenance before him, "but thou wilt see too late that i speak sooth, when the armies of the church avenge the name that has been profaned among you!" "the spaniards, i suppose you mean," said humfrey coolly. "you must be far gone indeed to hope to see those fiends turned loose on this peaceful land, but by god's blessing we have kept them aloof before, i trust we may again." "you talk of god's blessing. look at his house," said babington. "he is more like to bless honest men who fight for their queen, their homes and hearths, than traitors who would bring in slaughterers and butchers to work their will!" "his glory is worked through judgment, and thus must it begin!" returned the young man. "but i would save thee, humfrey," he added. "go thou back to plymouth, and be warned to hold aloof from that prison where the keepers will meet their fit doom! and the captive will be set free. thou dost not believe," he added. "see here," and drawing into the most sheltered part of the chantry, he produced from his bosom a picture in the miniature style of the period, containing six heads, among which his own was plainly to be recognised, and likewise a face which humfrey felt as if he should never forget, that which he had seen in richmond park, quailing beneath the queen's eye. round the picture was the motto-- "hi mihi sunt comites quos ipsa pericula jungunt." "i tell thee, humfrey, thou wilt hear--if thou dost live to hear--of these six as having wrought the greatest deed of our times!" "may it only be a deed an honest man need not be ashamed of," said humfrey, not at all convinced of his friend's sanity. "ashamed of!" exclaimed babington. "it is blest, i tell thee, blest by holy men, blest by the noble and suffering woman who will thus be delivered from her martyrdom." "babington, if thou talkest thus, it will be my duty to have thee put in ward," said humfrey. antony laughed, and there was a triumphant ring very like insanity in his laughter. humfrey, with a moment's idea that to hint that the conspiracy was known would blast it at once, if it were real, said, "i see not cuthbert langston among your six. know you, i saw him only yestereven going into secretary walsingham's privy chamber." "was he so?" answered babington. "ha! ha! he holds them all in play till the great stroke be struck! why! am not i myself in walsingham's confidence? he thinketh that he is about to send me to france to watch the league. ha! ha!" here humfrey's other companions turned back in search of him; babington vanished in the crowd, he hardly knew how, and he was left in perplexity and extreme difficulty as to what was his duty as friend or as subject. if babington were sane, there must be a conspiracy for killing the queen, bringing in the spaniards and liberating mary, and he had expressly spoken of having had the latter lady's sanction, while the sight of the fellow in richmond park gave a colour of probability to the guess. yet the imprudence and absurdity of having portraits taken of six assassins before the blow was struck seemed to contradict all the rest. on the other hand, cavendish had spoken of having all the meshes of the web in the hands of the council; and langston or maude seemed to be trusted by both parties. humfrey decided to feel his way with will cavendish, and that evening spoke of having met babington and having serious doubts whether he were in his right mind. cavendish laughed, "poor wretch! i could pity him," he said, "though his plans be wicked enough to merit no compassion. nay, never fear, humfrey. all were overthrown, did i speak openly. nay, to utter one word would ruin me for ever. 'tis quite sufficient to say that he and his fellows are only at large till mr. secretary sees fit, that so his grip may be the more sure." humfrey saw he was to be treated with no confidence, and this made him the more free to act. there were many recusant gentlemen in the neighbourhood of chartley, and an assault and fight there were not improbable, if, as cavendish hinted, there was a purpose of letting the traitors implicate themselves in the largest numbers and as fatally as possible. on the other hand, babington's hot head might only fancy he had authority from the queen for his projects. if, through cicely, he could convey the information to mary, it might save her from even appearing to be cognisant of these wild schemes, whatever they might be, and to hint that they were known was the surest way to prevent their taking effect. any way, humfrey's heart was at chartley, and every warning he had received made him doubly anxious to be there in person, to be cicely's guardian in case of whatever danger might threaten her. he blessed the fiction which still represented him as her brother, and which must open a way for him to see her, but he resolved not to take diccon thither, and parted with him when the roads diverged towards lichfield, sending to his father a letter which diccon was to deliver only into his own hand, with full details of all he had seen and heard, and his motives for repairing to chartley. "shall i see my little cis?" thought he. "and even if she play the princess to me, how will she meet me? she scorned me even when she was at home. how will it be now when she has been for well-nigh a year in this queen's training? ah! she will be taught to despise me! heigh ho! at least she may be in need of a true heart and strong arm to guard her, and they shall not fail her." will cavendish, in the plenitude of the official importance with which he liked to dazzle his old playfellow, had offered him a pass to facilitate his entrance, and he found reason to be glad that he had accepted it, for there was a guard at the gate of chartley park, and he was detained there while his letter was sent up for inspection to sir amias paulett, who had for the last few months acted as warder to the queen. however, a friendly message came back, inviting him to ride up. the house--though called a castle--had been rebuilt in hospitable domestic style, and looked much less like a prison than sheffield lodge, but at every enclosure stood yeomen who challenged the passers-by, as though this were a time of alarm. however, at the hall-door itself stood sir amias paulett, a thin, narrow-browed, anxious-looking man, with the stiffest of ruffs, over which hung a scanty yellow beard. "welcome, sir," he said, with a nervous anxious distressed manner. "welcome, most welcome. you will pardon any discourtesy, sir, but these are evil times. the son, i think, of good master richard talbot of bridgefield? ay, i would not for worlds have shown any lack of hospitality to one of his family. it is no want of respect, sir. no; nor of my lord's house; but these are ill days, and with my charge, sir--if heaven itself keep not the house--who knows what may chance or what may be laid on me?" "i understand," said humfrey, smiling. "i was bred close to sheffield, and hardly knew what 'twas to live beyond watch and ward." "yea!" said paulett, shaking his head. "you come of a loyal house, sir; but even the good earl was less exercised than i am in the charge of this same lady. but i am glad, glad to see you, sir. and you would see your sister, sir? a modest young lady, and not indevout, though i have sometimes seen her sleep at sermon. it is well that the poor maiden should see some one well affected, for she sitteth in the very gate of babylon; and with respect, sir, i marvel that a woman, so godly as mistress talbot of bridgefield is reported to be, should suffer it. however, i do my poor best, under heaven, to hinder the faithful of the household from being tainted. i have removed preaux, who is well known to be a popish priest in disguise, and thus he can spread no more of his errors. moreover, my chaplain, master blunden, with other godly men, preaches three times a week against romish errors, and all are enforced to attend. may their ears be opened to the truth! i am about to attend this lady on a ride in the park, sir. it might--if she be willing--be arranged that your sister, mistress talbot, should spend the time in your company, and methinks the lady will thereto agree, for she is ever ready to show a certain carnal and worldly complaisance to the wishes of her attendants, and i have observed that she greatly affects the damsel, more, i fear, than may be for the eternal welfare of the maiden's soul." chapter xxvi. in the web. it was a beautiful bright summer day, and queen mary and some of her train were preparing for their ride. the queen was in high spirits, and that wonderful and changeful countenance of hers was beaming with anticipation and hope, while her demeanour was altogether delightful to every one who approached her. she was adding some last instructions to nau, who was writing a letter for her to the french ambassador, and cicely stood by her, holding her little dog in a leash, and looking somewhat anxious and wistful. there was more going on round the girl than she was allowed to understand, and it made her anxious and uneasy. she knew that the correspondence through the brewer was actively carried on, but she was not informed of what passed. only she was aware that some crisis must be expected, for her mother was ceaselessly restless and full of expectation. she had put all her jewels and valuables into as small a compass as possible, and talked more than ever of her plans for giving her daughter either to the archduke matthias, or to some great noble, as if the english crown were already within her grasp. anxious, curious, and feeling injured by the want of confidence, yet not daring to complain, cicely felt almost fretful at her mother's buoyancy, but she had been taught a good many lessons in the past year, and one of them was that she might indeed be caressed, but that she must show neither humour nor will of her own, and the least presumption in inquiry or criticism was promptly quashed. there was a knock at the door, and the usher announced that sir amias paulett prayed to speak with her grace. her eye glanced round with the rapid emotion of one doubtful whether it were for weal or woe, yet with undaunted spirit to meet either, and as she granted her permission, cis heard her whisper to nau, "a rider came up even now! 'tis the tidings! are the catholics of derby in the saddle? are the ships on the coast?" in came the tall old man with a stiff reverence: "madam, your grace's horses attend you, and i have tidings"--(mary started forward)--"tidings for this young lady, mistress cicely talbot. her brother is arrived from the spanish main, and requests permission to see and speak with her." radiance flashed out on cicely's countenance as excitement faded on that of her mother: "humfrey! o madam! let me go to him!" she entreated, with a spring of joy and clasped hands. mary was far too kind-hearted to refuse, besides to have done so would have excited suspicion at a perilous moment, and the arrangement sir amias proposed was quickly made. mary seaton was to attend the queen in cicely's stead, and she was allowed to hurry downstairs, and only one warning was possible: "go then, poor child, take thine holiday, only bear in mind what and who thou art." yet the words had scarce died on her ears before she was oblivious of all save that it was a familial home figure who stood at the bottom of the stairs, one of the faces she trusted most in all the world which beamed out upon her, the hands which she knew would guard her through everything were stretched out to her, the lips with veritable love in them kissed the cheeks she did not withhold. sir amias stood by and gave the kindest smile she had seen from him, quite changing his pinched features, and he proposed to the two young people to go and walk in the garden together, letting them out into the square walled garden, very formal, but very bright and gay, and with a pleached alley to shelter them from the sun. "good old gentleman!" exclaimed humfrey, holding the maiden's hand in his. "it is a shame to win such pleasure by feigning." "as for that," sighed cis, "i never know what is sooth here, and what am i save a living lie myself? o humfrey! i am so weary of it all." "ah i would that i could bear thee home with me," he said, little prepared for this reception. "would that thou couldst! o that i were indeed thy sister, or that the writing in my swaddling bands had been washed out!--nay," catching back her words, "i meant not that! i would not but belong to the dear lady here. she says i comfort her more than any of them, and oh! she is--she is, there is no telling how sweet and how noble. it was only that the sight of thee awoke the yearning to be at home with mother and with father. forget my folly, humfrey." "i cannot soon forget that bridgefield seems to thee thy true home," he said, putting strong restraint on himself to say and do no more, while his heart throbbed with a violence unawakened by storm or spaniard. "tell me of them all," she said. "i have heard naught of them since we left tutbury, where at least we were in my lord's house, and the dear old silver dog was on every sleeve. ah! there he is, the trusty rogue." and snatching up humfrey's hat, which was fastened with a brooch of his crest in the fashion of the day, she kissed the familiar token. then, however, she blushed and drew herself up, remembering the caution not to forget who she was, and with an assumption of more formal dignity, she said, "and how fares it with the good mrs. talbot?" "well, when i last heard," said humfrey, "but i have not been at home. i only know what will cavendish and my lord talbot told me. i sent diccon on to bridgefield, and came out of the way to see you, lady," he concluded, with the same regard to actual circumstances that she had shown. "oh, that was good!" she whispered, and they both seemed to feel a certain safety in avoiding personal subjects. humfrey had the history of his voyage to narrate--to tell of little diccon's gallant doings, and to exalt sir francis drake's skill and bravery, and at last to let it ooze out, under cis's eager questioning, that when his captain had died of fever on the hispaniola coast, and they had been overtaken by a tornado, sir francis had declared that it was humfrey's skill and steadfastness which had saved the ship and crew. "and it was that tornado," he said, "which stemmed the fever, and saved little diccon's life. oh! when he lay moaning below, then was the time to long for my mother." time sped on till the great hall clock made cicely look up and say she feared that the riders would soon return, and then humfrey knew that he must make sure to speak the words of warning he came to utter. he told, in haste, of his message to queen elizabeth, and of his being sent on to secretary walsingham, adding, "but i saw not the great man, for he was closeted--with whom think you? no other than cuthbert langston, whom cavendish called by another name. it amazed me the more, because i had two days before met him in westminster with antony babington, who presented him to me by his own name." "saw you antony babington?" asked cis, raising her eyes to his face, but looking uneasy. "twice, at westminster, and again in paul's walk. had you seen him since you have been here?" "not here, but at tutbury. he came once, and i was invited to dine in the hall, because he brought recommendations from the countess." there was a pause, and then, as if she had begun to take in the import of humfrey's words, she added, "what said you? that mr. langston was going between him and mr. secretary?" "not exactly that," and humfrey repeated with more detail what he had seen of langston, forbearing to ask any questions which cicely might not be able to answer with honour; but they had been too much together in childhood not to catch one another's meaning with half a hint, and she said, "i see why you came here, humfrey. it was good and true and kind, befitting you. i will tell the queen. if langston be in it, there is sure to be treachery. but, indeed, i know nothing or well-nigh nothing." "i am glad of it," fervently exclaimed humfrey. "no; i only know that she has high hopes, and thinks that the term of her captivity is well-nigh over. but it is madame de courcelles whom she trusts, not me," said cicely, a little hurt. "so is it much better for thee to know as little as possible," said humfrey, growing intimate in tone again in spite of himself. "she hath not changed thee much, cis, only thou art more grave and womanly, ay, and thou art taller, yea, and thinner, and paler, as i fear me thou mayest well be." "ah, humfrey, 'tis a poor joy to be a princess in prison! and yet i shame me that i long to be away. oh no, i would not. mistress seaton and mrs. curll and the rest might be free, yet they have borne this durance patiently all these years--and i think--i think she loves me a little, and oh! she is hardly used. humfrey, what think'st thou that mr. langston meant? i wot now for certain that it was he who twice came to beset us, as tibbott the huckster, and with the beads and bracelets! they all deem him a true friend to my queen." "so doth babington," said humfrey, curtly. "ah!" she said, with a little terrified sound of conviction, then added, "what thought you of master babington?" "that he is half-crazed," said humfrey. "we may say no more," said cis, seeing a servant advancing from the house to tell her that the riders were returning. "shall i see you again, humfrey?" "if sir amias should invite me to lie here to-night, and remain to-morrow, since it will be sunday." "at least i shall see you in the morning, ere you depart," she said, as with unwilling yet prompt steps she returned to the house, humfrey feeling that she was indeed his little cis, yet that some change had come over her, not so much altering her, as developing the capabilities he had always seen. for herself, poor child, her feelings were in a strange turmoil, more than usually conscious of that dual existence which had tormented her ever since she had been made aware of her true birth. moreover, she had a sense of impending danger and evil, and, by force of contrast, the frank, open-hearted manner of humfrey made her the more sensible of being kept in the dark as to serious matters, while outwardly made a pet and plaything by her mother, "just like bijou," as she said to herself. "so, little one," said queen mary, as she returned, "thou hast been revelling once more in tidings of sheffield! how long will it take me to polish away the dulness of thy clownish contact?" "humphrey does not come from home, madam, but from london. madam, let me tell you in your ear--" mary's eye instantly took the terrified alert expression which had come from many a shock and alarm. "what is it, child?" she asked, however, in a voice of affected merriment. "i wager it is that he has found his true cis. nay, whisper it to me, if it touch thy silly little heart so deeply." cicely knelt down, the queen bending over her, while she murmured in her ear, "he saw cuthbert langston, by a feigned name, admitted to mr. secretary walsingham's privy chamber." she felt the violent start this information caused, but the command of voice and countenance was perfect. "what of that, mignonne?" she said. "what knoweth he of this langston, as thou callest him?" "he is my--no--his father's kinsman, madam, and is known to be but a plotter. oh, surely, he is not in your secrets, madam, my mother, after that day at tutbury?" "alack, my lassie, gifford or babington answered for him," said the queen, "and he kens more than i could desire. but this humfrey of thine! how came he to blunder out such tidings to thee?" "it was no blunder, madam. he came here of purpose." "sure," exclaimed mary, "it were too good to hope that he hath become well affected. he--a sailor of drake's, a son of master richard! hath babington won him over; or is it for thy sake, child? for i bestowed no pains to cast smiles to him at sheffield, even had he come in my way." "i think, madam," said cicely, "that he is too loyal-hearted to bear the sight of treachery without a word of warning." "is he so? then he is the first of his nation who hath been of such a mind! nay, mignonne, deny not thy conquest. this is thy work." "i deny not that--that i am beloved by humfrey," said cicely, "for i have known it all my life; but that goes for naught in what he deems it right to do." "there spoke so truly mistress susan's scholar that thou makest me laugh in spite of myself and all the rest. hold him fast, my maiden; think what thou wilt of his service, and leave me now, and send melville and curll to me." cicely went away full of that undefined discomfort experienced by generous young spirits when their elders, more worldly-wise (or foolish), fail even to comprehend the purity or loftiness of motive which they themselves thoroughly believe. yet, though she had infinitely more faith in humfrey's affection than she had in that of babington, she had not by any means the same dread of being used to bait the hook for him, partly because she knew his integrity too well to expect to shake it, and partly because he was perfectly aware of her real birth, and could not be gulled with such delusive hopes as poor antony might once have been. humfrey meantime was made very welcome by sir amias paulett, who insisted on his spending the next day, sunday, at chartley, and made him understand that he was absolutely welcome, as having a strong arm, stout heart, and clear brain used to command. "trusty aid do i need," said poor sir amias, "if ever man lacked an arm of flesh. the council is putting more on me than ever man had to bear, in an open place like this, hard to be defended, and they will not increase the guard lest they should give the alarm, forsooth!" "what is it that you apprehend?" inquired humfrey. "there's enough to apprehend when all the hot-headed papists of stafford and derbyshire are waiting the signal to fire the outhouses and carry off this lady under cover of the confusion. mr. secretary swears they will not stir till the signal be given, and that it never will; but such sort of fellows are like enough to mistake the sign, and the stress may come through their dillydallying to make all sure as they say, and then, if there be any mischance, i shall be the one to bear the blame. ay, if it be their own work!" he added, speaking to himself, "murder under trust! that would serve as an answer to foreign princes, and my head would have to pay for it, however welcome it might be! so, good mr. talbot, supposing any alarm should arise, keep you close to the person of this lady, for there be those who would make the fray a colour for taking her life, under pretext of hindering her from being carried off." it was no wonder that a warder in such circumstances looked harassed and perplexed, and showed himself glad of being joined by any ally whom he could trust. in truth, harsh and narrow as he was, paulett was too good and religious a man for the task that had been thrust on him, where loyal obedience, sense of expediency, and even religious fanaticism, were all in opposition to the primary principles of truth, mercy, and honour. he was, besides, in constant anxiety, living as he did between plot and counterplot, and with the certainty that emissaries of the council surrounded him who would have no scruple in taking mary's life, and leaving him to bear the blame, when elizabeth would have to explain the deed to the other sovereigns of europe. he disclosed almost all this to humfrey, whose frank, trustworthy expression seemed to move him to unusual confidence. at supper-time another person appeared, whom humfrey thought he had once seen at sheffield--a thin, yellow-haired and bearded man, much marked with smallpox, in the black dress of a lawyer, who sat above the household servants, though below the salt. paulett once drank to him with a certain air of patronage, calling him master phillipps, a name that came as a revelation to humfrey. phillipps was the decipherer who had, he knew, been employed to interpret queen mary's letters after the norfolk plot. were there, then, fresh letters of that unfortunate lady in his hands, or were any to be searched for and captured? chapter xxvii. the castle well. "what vantage or what thing gett'st thou thus for to sting, thou false and flatt'ring liar? thy tongue doth hurt, it's seen no less than arrows keen or hot consuming fire." so sang the congregation in the chapel at chartley, in the strains of sternhold and hopkins, while humfrey talbot could not forbear from a misgiving whether these falsehoods were entirely on the side to which they were thus liberally attributed. opposite to him stood cicely, in her dainty sunday farthingale of white, embroidered with violet buds, and a green and violet boddice to match, holding herself with that unconscious royal bearing which had always distinguished her, but with an expression of care and anxiety drawing her dark brows nearer together as she bent over her book. she knew that her mother had left her bed with the earliest peep of summer dawn, and had met the two secretaries in her cabinet. there they were busy for hours, and she had only returned to her bed just as the household began to bestir itself. "my child," she said to cicely, "i am about to put my life into thy keeping and that of this talbot lad. if what he saith of this langston be sooth, i am again betrayed, fool that i was to expect aught else. my life is spent in being betrayed. the fellow hath been a go-between in all that hath passed between babington and me. if he hath uttered it to walsingham, all is over with our hopes, and the window in whose sunlight i have been basking is closed for ever! but something may yet be saved. something? what do i say?--the letters i hold here would give colour for taking my life, ay, and babington's and curll's, and many more. i trusted to have burnt them, but in this summer time there is no coming by fire or candle without suspicion, and if i tore them they might be pieced together, nay, and with addition. they must be carried forth and made away with beyond the ken of paulett and his spies. now, this lad hath some bowels of compassion and generous indignation. thou wilt see him again, alone and unsuspected, ere he departs. thou must deal with him to bear this packet away, and when he is far out of reach to drop it into the most glowing fire, or the deepest pool he can find. tell him it may concern thy life and liberty, and he will do it, but be not simple enough to say ought of babington." "he would be as like to do it for babington as for any other," said cis. the queen smiled and said, "nineteen years old, and know thus little of men." "i know humfrey at least," said cis. "then deal with him after thy best knowledge, to make him convey away this perilous matter ere a search come upon us. do it we must, maiden, not for thy poor mother's sake alone, but for that of many a faithful spirit outside, and above all of poor curll. think of our barbara! would that i could have sent her out of reach of our alarms and shocks, but paulett is bent on penning us together like silly birds in the net. still proofs will be wanting if thou canst get this youth to destroy this packet unseen. tell him that i know his parents' son too well to offer him any meed save the prayers and blessings of a poor captive, or to fear that he would yield it for the largest reward elizabeth's coffers could yield." "it shall be done, madam," said cicely. but there was a strong purpose in her mind that humfrey should not be implicated in the matter. when after dinner sir amias paulett made his daily visit of inspection to the queen, she begged that the young talbots might be permitted another walk in the garden; and when he replied that he did not approve of worldly pastime on the sabbath, she pleaded the celebrated example of john knox finding calvin playing at bowls on a sunday afternoon at geneva, and thus absolutely prevailed on him to let them take a short walk together in brotherly love, while the rest of the household was collected in the hall to be catechised by the chaplain. so out they went together, but to humfrey's surprise, cicely walked on hardly speaking to him, so that he fancied at first that she must have had a lecture on her demeanour to him. she took him along the broad terrace beside the bowling-green, through some yew-tree walks to a stone wall, and a gate which proved to be locked. she looked much disappointed, but scanning the wall with her eye, said, "we have scaled walls together before now, and higher than this. humfrey, i cannot tell you why, but i must go over here." the wall was overgrown with stout branches of ivy, and though the sunday farthingale was not very appropriate for climbing, cicely's active feet and humfrey's strong arm carried her safely to where she could jump down on the other side, into a sort of wilderness where thorn and apple trees grew among green mounds, heaps of stones and broken walls, the ruins of some old outbuilding of the former castle. there was only a certain trembling eagerness about her, none of the mirthful exultation that the recurrence of such an escapade with her old companion would naturally have excited, and all she said was, "stand here, humfrey; an you love me, follow me not. i will return anon." with stealthy stop she disappeared behind a mound covered by a thicket of brambles, but humfrey was much too anxious for her safety not to move quietly onwards. he saw her kneeling by one of those black yawning holes, often to be found in ruins, intent upon fastening a small packet to a stone; he understood all in a moment, and drew back far enough to secure that no one molested her. there was something in this reticence of hers that touched him greatly; it showed so entirely that she had learnt the lesson of loyalty which his father's influence had impressed, and likewise one of self-dependence. what was right for her to do for her mother and queen might not be right for him, as an englishman, to aid and abet; and small as the deed seemed in itself, her thus silently taking it on herself rather than perplex him with it, added a certain esteem and respect to the affection he had always had for her. she came back to him with bounding steps, as if with a lightened heart, and as he asked her what this strange place was, she explained that here were said to be the ruins of the former castle, and that beyond lay the ground where sometimes the party shot at the butts. a little dog of mary seaton's had been lost the last time of their archery, and it was feared that he had fallen down the old well to which cis now conducted humfrey. there was a sound--long, hollow, reverberating, when humfrey threw a stone down, and when cecily asked him, in an awestruck voice, whether he thought anything thrown there would ever be heard of more, he could well say that he believed not. she breathed freely, but they were out of bounds, and had to scramble back, which they did undetected, and with much more mirth than the first time. cicely was young enough to be glad to throw off her anxieties and forget them. she did not want to talk over the plots she only guessed at; which were not to her exciting mysteries, but gloomy terrors into which she feared to look. nor was she free to say much to humfrey of what she knew. indeed the rebound, and the satisfaction of having fulfilled her commission, had raised cicely's spirits, so that she was altogether the bright childish companion humfrey had known her before he went to sea, or royalty had revealed itself to her; and sir amias paulett would hardly have thought them solemn and serious enough for an edifying sunday talk could he have heard them laughing over humfrey's adventures on board ship, or her troubles in learning to dance in a high and disposed manner. she came in so glowing and happy that the queen smiled and sighed, and called her her little milkmaid, commending her highly, however, for having disposed of the dangerous parcel unknown (as she believed) to her companion. "the fewer who have to keep counsel, the sickerer it is," she said. humfrey meantime joined the rest of the household, and comported himself at the evening sermon with such exemplary discretion as entirely to win the heart of sir amias paulett, who thought him listening to mr. blunden's oft-divided headings, while he was in fact revolving on what pretext he could remain to protect cicely. the knight gave him that pretext, when he spoke of departing early on monday morning, offering him, or rather praying him to accept, the command of the guards, whose former captain had been dismissed as untrustworthy. sir amias undertook that a special messenger should be sent to take a letter to bridgefield, explaining humfrey's delay, and asking permission from his parents to undertake the charge, since it was at this very crisis that he was especially in need of god-fearing men of full integrity. then moved to confidence, the old gentleman disclosed that not only was he in fear of an attack on the house from the roman catholic gentry in the neighbourhood, which was to take place as soon as parma's ships were seen on the coast, but that he dreaded his own servants being tampered with by some whom he would not mention to take the life of the prisoner secretly. "it hath been mooted to me," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper, "that to take such a deed on me would be good service to the queen and to religion, but i cast the thought from me. it can be nought but a deadly sin--accursed of god--and were i to consent, i should be the first to be accused." "it would be no better than the king of spain himself," exclaimed humfrey. "even so, young man, and right glad am i to find one who thinks with me. for the other practices, they are none of mine, and is it not written 'in the same pit which they laid privily is their foot taken'?" "then there are other practices?" "ask me no questions, mr. talbot. all will be known soon enough. be content that i will lay nothing on you inconsistent with the honour of a christian man, knowing that you will serve the queen faithfully." humfrey gave his word, resolving that he would warn cicely to reckon henceforth on nothing on his part that did not befit a man in charge. chapter xxviii. hunting down the deer humfrey had been sworn in of the service of the queen, and had been put in charge of the guard mustered at chartley for about ten days, during which he seldom saw cicely, and wondered much not to have heard from home: when a stag-hunt was arranged to take place at the neighbouring park of tickhill or tixall, belonging to sir walter ashton. the chase always invigorated queen mary, and she came down in cheerful spirits, with cicely and mary seaton as her attendants, and with the two secretaries, nau and curll, heading the other attendants. "now," she said to cicely, "shall i see this swain, or this brother of thine, who hath done us such good service, and i promise you there will be more in my greeting than will meet sir amias's ear." but to cicely's disappointment humfrey was not among the horsemen mustered at the door to attend and guard the queen. "my little maid's eye is seeking for her brother," said mary, as sir amias advanced to assist her to her horse. "he hath another charge which will keep him at home," replied paulett, somewhat gruffly, and they rode on. it was a beautiful day in early august, the trees in full foliage, the fields seen here and there through them assuming their amber harvest tints, the twin spires of lichfield rising in the distance, the park and forest ground through which the little hunting-party rode rich with purple heather, illuminated here and there with a bright yellow spike or star, and the rapid motion of her brisk palfrey animated the queen. she began to hope that humfrey had after all brought a false alarm, and that either he had been mistaken or that langston was deceiving the council itself, and though sir amias paulett's close proximity held her silent, those who knew her best saw that her indomitably buoyant spirits were rising, and she hummed to herself the refrain of a gay french hunting-song, with the more zest perhaps that her warder held himself trebly upright, stiff and solemn under it, as one who thought such lively times equally unbefitting a lady, a queen, and a captive. so at least cis imagined as she watched them, little guessing that there might be deeper reasons of compassion and something like compunction to add to the gravity of the old knight's face. as they came in sight of the gate of tickhill park, they became aware of a company whose steel caps and shouldered arquebuses did not look like those of huntsmen. mary bounded in her saddle, she looked round at her little suite with a glance of exultation in her eye, which said as plainly as words, "my brave friends, the hour has come!" and she quickened her steed, expecting, no doubt, that she might have to outride sir amias in order to join them. one gentleman came forward from the rest. he held a parchment in his hand, and as soon as he was alongside of the queen thus read:-- "mary, late queen of scots and queen dowager of france, i, thomas gorges, attaint thee of high treason and of compassing the life of our most gracious majesty queen elizabeth, in company with antony babington, john ballard, chidiock tichborne, robert barnwell, and others." mary held up her hands, and raised her eyes to heaven, and a protest was on her lips, but gorges cut it short with, "it skills not denying it, madam. the proofs are in our hands. i have orders to conduct you to tickhill, while seals are put on your effects." "that there may be proofs of your own making," said the queen, with dignity. "i have experience of that mode of judgment. so, sir amias paulett, the chase you lured me to was truly of a poor hunted doe whom you think you have run down at last. a worthy chase indeed, and of long continuance!" "i do but obey my orders, madam," said paulett, gloomily. "oh ay, and so does the sleuth-hound," said mary. "your grace must be pleased to ride on with me," said mr. gorges, laying his hand on her bridle. "what are you doing with those gentlemen?" cried mary, sharply reining in her horse, as she saw nau and curll surrounded by the armed men. "they will be dealt with after her majesty's pleasure," returned paulett. mary dropped her rein and threw up her hands with a gesture of despair, but as gorges was leading her away, she turned on her saddle, and raised her voice to call out, "farewell, my true and faithful servants! betide what may, your mistress will remember you in her prayers. curll, we will take care of your wife." and she waved her hand to them as they were made, with a strong guard, to ride off in the direction of lichfield. all the way to tickhill, whither she was conducted with gorges and paulett on either side of her horse, cis could hear her pleading for consideration for poor barbara curll, for whose sake she forgot her own dignity and became a suppliant. sir walter ashton, a dull heavy-looking country gentleman of burly form and ruddy countenance, stood at his door, and somewhat clownishly offered his services to hand her from her horse. she submitted passively till she had reached the upper chamber which had been prepared for her, and there, turning on the three gentlemen, demanded the meaning of this treatment. "you will soon know, madam," said paulett. "i am sorry that thus it should be." "thus!" repeated mary, scornfully. "what means this?" "it means, madam," said gorges, a ruder man of less feeling even than paulett, "that your practices with recusants and seminary priests have been detected. the traitors are in the counter, and will shortly be brought to judgment for the evil purposes which have been frustrated by the mercy of heaven." "it is well if treason against my good sister's person have been detected and frustrated," said mary; "but how doth that concern me?" "that, madam, the papers at chartley will show," returned gorges. "meantime you will remain here, till her majesty's pleasure be known." "where, then, are my women and my servants?" inquired the queen. "your grace will be attended by the servants of sir walter ashton." "gentlemen, this is not seemly," said mary, the colour coming hotly into her face. "i know it is not the will of my cousin, the queen of england, that i should remain here without any woman to attend me, nor any change of garments. you are exceeding your commission, and she shall hear of it." sir amias paulett here laid his hand on gorges' arm, and after exchanging a few words with him, said-- "madam, this young lady, mistress talbot, being simple, and of a loyal house, may remain with you for the present. for the rest, seals are put on all your effects at chartley, and nothing can be removed from thence, but what is needful will be supplied by my lady ashton. i bid your grace farewell, craving your pardon for what may have been hasty in this." mary stood in the centre of the floor, full of her own peculiar injured dignity, not answering, but making a low ironical reverence. mary seaton fell on her knees, clung to the queen's dress, and declared that while she lived, she would not leave her mistress. "endure this also, ma mie," said the queen, in french. "give them no excuse for using violence. they would not scruple--" and as a demonstration to hinder french-speaking was made by the gentlemen, "fear not for me, i shall not be alone." "i understand your grace and obey," said mary seaton, rising, with a certain bitterness in her tone, which made mary say-- "ah! why must jealousy mar the fondest affection? remember, it is their choice, not mine, my seaton, friend of my youth. bear my loving greetings to all. and take care of poor barbara!" "madam, there must be no private messages," said paulett. "i send no messages save what you yourself may hear, sir," replied the queen. "my greetings to my faithful servants, and my entreaty that all care and tenderness may be shown to mrs. curll." "i will bear them, madam," said the knight, "and so i commend you to god's keeping, praying that he may send you repentance. believe me, madam, i am sorry that this has been put upon me." to this mary only replied by a gesture of dismissal. the three gentlemen drew back, a key grated in the lock, and the mother and daughter were left alone. to cicely it was a terrible hopeless sound, and even to her mother it was a lower depth of wretchedness. she had been practically a captive for nearly twenty years. she had been insulted, watched, guarded, coerced, but never in this manner locked up before. she clasped her hands together, dropped on her knees at the table that stood by her, and hid her face. so she continued till she was roused by the sound of cicely's sobs. frightened and oppressed, and new to all terror and sorrow, the girl had followed her example in kneeling, but the very attempt to pray brought on a fit of weeping, and the endeavour to restrain what might disturb the queen only rendered the sobs more choking and strangling, till at last mary heard, and coming towards her, sat down on the floor, gathered her into her arms, and kissing her forehead, said, "poor bairnie, and did she weep for her mother? have the sorrows of her house come on her?" "o mother, i could not help it! i meant to have comforted you," said cicely, between her sobs. "and so thou dost, my child. unwittingly they have left me that which was most precious to me." there was consolation in the fondness of the loving embrace, at least to such sorrows as those of the maiden; and queen mary had an inalienable power of charming the will and affections of those in contact with her, so that insensibly there came into cicely's heart a sense that, so far from weeping, she should rejoice at being the one creature left to console her mother. "and," she said by and by, looking up with a smile, "they must go to the bottom of the old well to find anything." "hush, lassie. never speak above thy breath in a prison till thou know'st whether walls have ears. and, apropos, let us examine what sort of a prison they have given us this time." so saying mary rose, and leaning on her daughter's arm, proceeded to explore her new abode. like her apartment at the lodge, it was at the top of the house, a fashion not uncommon when it was desirable to make the lower regions defensible; but, whereas she had always hitherto been placed in the castles of the highest nobility, she was now in that of a country knight of no great wealth or refinement, and, moreover, taken by surprise. so the plenishing was of the simplest. the walls were covered with tapestry so faded that the pattern could hardly be detected. the hearth yawned dark and dull, and by it stood one chair with a moth-eaten cushion. a heavy oaken table and two forms were in the middle of the room, and there was the dreary, fusty smell of want of habitation. the queen, whose instincts for fresh air were always a distress to her ladies, sprang to the mullioned window, but the heavy lattice defied all her efforts. "let us see the rest of our dominions," she said, turning to a door, which led to a still more gloomy bedroom, where the only articles of furniture were a great carved bed, with curtains of some undefined dark colour, and an oaken chest. the window was a mere slit, and even more impracticable than that of the outer room. however, this did not seem to horrify mary so much as it did her daughter. "they cannot mean to keep us here long," she said; "perhaps only for the day, while they make their search--their unsuccessful search--thanks to--we know whom, little one." "i hope so! how could we sleep there?" said cicely, looking with a shudder at the bed. "tush! i have seen worse in scotland, mignonne, ay and when i was welcomed as liege lady, not as a captive. i have slept in a box like a coffin with one side open, and i have likewise slept on a plaidie on the braw purple blossoms of freshly pulled heather! nay, the very thought makes this chamber doubly mouldy and stifling! let the old knight beware. if he open not his window i shall break it! soft. here he comes." sir walter ashton appeared, louting low, looking half-dogged, half-sheepish, and escorting two heavy-footed, blue-coated serving-men, who proceeded to lay the cloth, which at least had the merit of being perfectly clean and white. two more brought in covered silver dishes, one of which contained a yorkshire pudding, the other a piece of roast-beef, apparently calculated to satisfy five hungry men. a flagon of sack, a tankard of ale, a dish of apples, and a large loaf of bread, completed the meal; at which the queen and cicely, accustomed daily to a first table of sixteen dishes and a second of nine, compounded by her grace's own french cooks and pantlers, looked with a certain amused dismay, as sir walter, standing by the table, produced a dagger from a sheath at his belt, and took up with it first a mouthful of the pudding, then cut off a corner of the beef, finished off some of the bread, and having swallowed these, as well as a draught of each of the liquors, said, "good and sound meats, not tampered with, as i hereby testify. you take us suddenly, madam; but i thank heaven, none ever found us unprovided. will it please you to fall to? your woman can eat after you." mary's courtesy was unfailing, and though she felt all a frenchwoman's disgust at the roast-beef of old england, she said, "we are too close companions not to eat together, and i fear she will be the best trencher comrade, for, sir, i am a woman sick and sorrowful, and have little stomach for meat." as sir walter carved a huge red piece from the ribs, she could not help shrinking back from it, so that he said with some affront, "you need not be queasy, madam, it was cut from a home-fed bullock, only killed three days since, and as prime a beast as any in stafford." "ah! yea, sir. it is not the fault of the beef, but of my feebleness. mistress talbot will do it reason. but i, methinks i could eat better were the windows opened." but sir walter replied that these windows were not of the new-fangled sort, made to open, that honest men might get rheums, and foolish maids prate therefrom. so there was no hope in that direction. he really seemed to be less ungracious than utterly clownish, dull, and untaught, and extremely shy and embarrassed with his prisoner. cicely poured out some wine, and persuaded her to dip some bread in, which, with an apple, was all she could taste. however, the fare, though less nicely served than by good mrs. susan, was not so alien to cicely, and she was of an age and constitution to be made hungry by anxiety and trouble, so that--encouraged by the queen whenever she would have desisted--she ended by demolishing a reasonable amount. sir walter stood all the time, looking on moodily and stolidly, with his cap in his hand. the queen tried to talk to him, and make inquiries of him, but he had probably steeled himself to her blandishments, for nothing but gruff monosyllables could be extracted from him, except when he finally asked what she would be pleased to have for supper. "mine own cook and pantler have hitherto provided for me. they would save your household the charge, sir," said mary, "and i would be at charges for them." "madam, i can bear the charge in the queen's service. your black guard are under ward. and if not, no french jackanapes shall ever brew his messes in my kitchen! command honest english fare, madam, and if it be within my compass, you shall have it. no one shall be stinted in walter ashton's house; but i'll not away with any of your outlandish kickshaws. come, what say you to eggs and bacon, madam?" "as you will, sir," replied mary, listlessly. and sir walter, opening the door, shouted to his serving-man, who speedily removed the meal, he going last and making his clumsy reverence at the door, which he locked behind him. "so," said mary, "i descend! i have had the statesman, the earl, the courtly knight, the pedantic huguenot, for my warders. now am i come to the clown. soon will it be the dungeon and the headsman." "o dear madam mother, speak not thus," cried cicely. "remember they can find nothing against you." "they can make what they cannot find, my poor child. if they thirst for my blood, it will cost them little to forge a plea. ah, lassie! there have been times when nothing but my cousin elizabeth's conscience, or her pity, stood between me and doom. if she be brought to think that i have compassed her death, why then there is naught for it but to lay my head on the same pillow as norfolk and more and holy fisher, and many another beside. well, be it so! i shall die a martyr for the holy church, and thus may i atone by god's mercy for my many sins! yea, i offer myself a sacrifice," she said, folding her hands and looking upward with a light on her face. "o do thou accept it, and let my sufferings purge away my many misdeeds, and render it a pure and acceptable offering unto thee. child, child," she added, turning to cicely, "would that thou wert of my faith, then couldst thou pray for me." "o mother, mother, i can do that. i do pray for thee." and hand in hand with tears often rising, they knelt while mary repeated in broken voice the miserere. chapter xxix. the search. humfrey had been much disappointed, when, instead of joining the hunt, sir amias paulett bade him undertake the instruction of half a dozen extremely awkward peasants, who had been called in to increase the guard, but who did not know how to shoulder, load, or fire an arquebus, had no command of their own limbs, and, if put to stand sentry, would quite innocently loll in the nearest corner, and go to sleep. however, he reflected that if he were resident in the same house as cicely he could not expect opportunities to be daily made for their meeting, and he addressed himself with all his might to the endeavour to teach his awkward squad to stand upright for five minutes together. sturdy fellows as they were, he had not been able to hinder them from lopping over in all directions, when horses were heard approaching. every man of them, regardless of discipline, lumbered off to stare, and humfrey, after shouting at them in vain, and wishing he had them all on board ship, gave up the endeavour to recall them, and followed their example, repairing to the hall-door, when he found sir amias paulett dismounting, together with a clerkly-looking personage, attended by will cavendish. mary seaton was being assisted from her horse, evidently in great grief; and others of the personal attendants of mary were there, but neither herself, cicely, nor the secretaries. before he had time to ask questions, his old companion came up to him. "you here still, humfrey? well. you have come in for the outburst of the train you scented out when you were with us in london, though i could not then speak explicitly." "what mean you? where is cicely? where is the queen of scots?" asked humfrey anxiously. sir amias paulett heard him, and replied, "your sister is safe, master talbot, and with the queen of scots at tixall castle. we permitted her attendance, as being young, simple, and loyal; she is less like to serve for plots than her elders in that lady's service." sir annas strode on, conducting with him his guest, whom cavendish explained to be mr. wade, sworn by her majesty's council to take possession of queen mary's effects, and there make search for evidence of the conspiracy. cavendish followed, and humfrey took leave to do the same. the doors of the queen's apartment were opened at the summons of sir amias paulett, and sir andrew melville, mistress kennedy, marie de courcelles, and the rest, stood anxiously demanding what was become of their queen. they were briefly and harshly told that her foul and abominable plots and conspiracies against the life of the queen, and the peace of the kingdom, had been brought to light, and that she was under secure ward. jean kennedy demanded to be taken to her at once, but paulett replied, "that must not be, madam. we have strict commands to keep her secluded from all." marie de courcelles screamed aloud and wrung her hands, crying, "if ye have slain her, only tell us quickly!" sir andrew melville gravely protested against such a barbarous insult to a queen of scotland and france, and was answered, "no queen, sir, but a state criminal, as we shall presently show." here barbara curll pressed forward, asking wildly for her husband; and wade replying, with brutal brevity, that he was taken to london to be examined for his practices before the council, the poor lady, well knowing that examination often meant torture, fell back in a swoon. "we shall do nothing with all these women crying and standing about," said wade impatiently; "have them all away, while we put seals on the effects." "nay, sirs," said jean kennedy. "suffer me first to send her grace some changes of garments." "i tell thee, woman," said wade, "our orders are precise! not so much as a kerchief is to be taken from these chambers till search hath been made. we know what practices may lurk in the smallest rag." "it is barbarous! it is atrocious! the king of france shall hear of it," shrieked marie de courcelles. "the king of france has enough to do to take care of himself, my good lady," returned wade, with a sneer. "sir," said jean kennedy, with more dignity, turning to sir amias paulett, "i cannot believe that it can be by the orders of the queen of england, herself a woman, that my mistress, her cousin, should be deprived of all attendance, and even of a change of linen. such unseemly commands can never have been issued from herself." "she is not without attendance," replied the knight, "the little talbot wench is with her, and for the rest, sir walter and lady ashton have orders to supply her needs during her stay among them. she is treated with all honour, and is lodged in the best chambers," he added, consolingly. "we must dally no longer," called out wade. "have away all this throng into ward, sir amias. we can do nothing with them here." there was no help for it. sir andrew melville did indeed pause to enter his protest, but that, of course, went for nothing with the commissioners, and humfrey was ordered to conduct them to the upper gallery, there to await further orders. it was a long passage, in the highly pointed roof, with small chambers on either side which could be used when there was a press of guests. there was a steep stair, as the only access, and it could be easily guarded, so sir amias directed humfrey to post a couple of men at the foot, and to visit and relieve them from time to time. it was a sad procession that climbed up those narrow stairs, of those faithful followers who were separated from their queen for the first time. the servants of lower rank were merely watched in their kitchen, and not allowed to go beyond its courtyard, but were permitted to cook for and wait on the others, and bring them such needful furniture as was required. humfrey was very sorry for them, having had some acquaintance with them all his life, and he was dismayed to find himself, instead of watching over cicely, separated from her and made a jailer against his will. and when he returned to the queen's apartments, he found cavendish holding a taper, while paulett and wade were vigorously affixing cords, fastened at each end by huge red seals bearing the royal arms, to every receptacle, and rudely plucking back the curtains that veiled the ivory crucifix. sir amias's zeal would have "plucked down the idol," as he said, but wade restrained him by reminding him that all injury or damage was forbidden. not till all was sealed, and a guard had been stationed at the doors, would the commissioners taste any dinner, and then their conversation was brief and guarded, so that humfrey could discover little. he did, indeed, catch the name of babington in connection with the "counter prison," and a glance of inquiry to cavendish, with a nod in return, showed him that his suspicions were correct, but he learnt little or nothing more till the two, together with phillipps, drew together in the deep window, with wine, apples, and pears on the ledge before them, for a private discussion. humfrey went away to see that the sentries at the staircase were relieved, and to secure that a sufficient meal for the unfortunate captives in the upper stories had been allowed to pass. will cavendish went with him. he had known these ladies and gentlemen far more intimately than humfrey had done, and allowed that it was harsh measure that they suffered for their fidelity to their native sovereign. "no harm will come to them in the end," he said, "but what can we do? that very faithfulness would lead them to traverse our purposes did we not shut them up closely out of reach of meddling, and there is no other place where it can be done." "and what are these same purposes?" asked humfrey, as, having fulfilled his commission, the two young men strolled out into the garden and threw themselves on the grass, close to a large mulberry-tree, whose luscious fruit dropped round, and hung within easy reach. "to trace out all the coils of as villainous and bloodthirsty a plot as ever was hatched in a traitor's brain," said will; "but they little knew that we overlooked their designs the whole time. thou wast mystified in london, honest humfrey, i saw it plainly; but i might not then speak out," he added, with all his official self-importance. "and poor tony hath brought himself within compass of the law?" "verily you may say so. but tony babington always was a fool, and a wrong-headed fool, who was sure to ruin himself sooner or later. you remember the decoy for the wild-fowl? well, never was silly duck or goose so ready to swim into the nets as was he!" "he always loved this queen, yea, and the old faith." "he sucked in the poison with his mother's milk, you may say. mrs. babington was naught but a concealed papist, and, coming from her, it cost nothing to this queen to beguile him when he was a mere lad, and make him do her errands, as you know full well. then what must my lord earl do but send him to that bitter puritan at cambridge, who turned him all the more that way, out of very contradiction. my lord thought him cured of his popish inclinations, and never guessed they had only led him among those who taught him to dissemble." "and that not over well," said humfrey. "my father never trusted him." "and would not give him your sister. yea, but the counterfeit was good enough for my lord who sees nothing but what is before his nose, and for my mother who sees nothing but what she _will_ see. well, he had fallen in with those who deem this same mary our only lawful queen, and would fain set her on the throne to bring back fire and faggot by the spanish sword among us." "i deemed him well-nigh demented with brooding over her troubles and those of his church." "demented in verity. his folly was surpassing. he put his faith in a recusant priest--one john ballard--who goes ruffling about as captain fortescue in velvet hose and a silver-laced cloak." "ha!" "hast seen him?" "ay, in company with babington, on the day i came to london, passing through westminster." "very like. their chief place of meeting was at a house at westminster belonging to a fellow named gage. we took some of them there. well, this ballard teaches poor antony, by way of gospel truth, that 'tis the mere duty of a good catholic to slay the enemies of the church, and that he who kills our gracious queen, whom god defend, will do the holiest deed; just as they gulled the fellow, who murdered the prince of orange, and then died in torments, deeming himself a holy martyr." "but it was not babington whom i saw at richmond." "hold, i am coming to that. let me tell you the queen bore it in mind, and asked after you. well, babington has a number of friends, as hot-brained and fanatical as himself, and when once he had swallowed the notion of privily murdering the queen, he got so enamoured of it, that he swore in five more to aid him in the enterprise, and then what must they do but have all their portraits taken in one picture with a latin motto around them. what! thou hast seen it?" "he showed it to me in paul's walk, and said i should hear of them, and i thought one of them marvellously like the fellow i had seen in richmond park." "so thought her majesty. but more of that anon. on the self-same day as the queen was to be slain by these sacrilegious wretches, another band was to fall on this place, free the lady and proclaim her, while the prince of parma landed from the netherlands and brought fire and sword with him." "and antony would have brought this upon us?" said humfrey, still slow to believe it of his old comrade. "all for the true religion's sake," said cavendish. "they were ringing bells and giving thanks, for the discovery and baffling thereof, when we came down from london." "as well they might," said humfrey. "but how was it detected and overthrown? was it through langston?" "ah, ha! we had had the strings in our hands all along. why, langston, as thou namest him, though we call him maude, and a master spy called gifford, have kept us warned thoroughly of every stage in the business. maude even contrived to borrow the picture under colour of getting it blessed by the pope's agent, and lent it to mr. secretary walsingham, by whom it was privily shown to the queen. thereby she recognised the rogue barnwell, an irishman it seems, when she was walking in the park at richmond with only her women and sir christopher hatton, who is better at dancing than at fighting. not a sign did she give, but she kept him in check with her royal eye, so that he durst not so much as draw his pistol from his cloak; but she owned afterwards to my lady norris that she could have kissed you when you came between, and all the more, when you caught her meaning and followed her bidding silently. you will hear of it again, humps." "however that may be, it is a noble thing to have seen such courage in a woman and a queen. but how could they let it go so near? i could shudder now to think of the risk to her person!" "there goes more to policy than you yet wot of," said will, in his patronising tone. "in truth, barnwell had started off unknown to his comrades, hoping to have the glory of the achievement all to himself by forestalling them, or else mr. secretary would have been warned in time to secure the queen." "but wherefore leave these traitors at large to work mischief?" "see you not, you simple humfrey, that, as i said methinks some time since, it is well sometimes to give a rogue rope enough and he will hang himself? close the trap too soon, and you miss the biggest rat of all. so we waited until the prey seemed shy and about to escape. babington had, it seems, suspected maude or langston, or whatever you call him, and had ridden out of town, hiding in st. john's wood with some of his fellows, till they were starved out, and trying to creep into some outbuildings at harrow, were there taken, and brought into london the morning we came away. ballard, the blackest villain of all, is likewise in ward, and here we are to complete our evidence." "nay, throughout all you have said, i have heard nothing to explain this morning's work." will laughed outright. "and so you think all this would have been done without a word from their liege lady, the princess they all wanted to deliver from captivity! no, no, sir! 'twas thus. there's an honest man at burton, a brewer, who sends beer week by week for this house, and very good ale it is, as i can testify. i wish i had a tankard of it here to qualify these mulberries. this same brewer is instructed by gifford, whose uncle lives in these parts, to fit a false bottom to one of his barrels, wherein is a box fitted for the receipt of letters and parcels. then by some means, through langston i believe, babington and gifford made known to the queen of scots and the french ambassador that here was a sure way of sending and receiving letters. the queen's butler, old hannibal, was to look in the bottom of the barrel with the yellow hoop, and one barnes, a familiar of gifford and babington, undertook the freight at the other end. the ambassador, m. de chateauneuf, seemed to doubt at first, and sent a single letter by way of experiment, and that having been duly delivered and answered, the bait was swallowed, and not a week has gone by but letters have come and gone from hence, all being first opened, copied, and deciphered by worthy mr. phillipps, and every word of them laid before the council." "hum! we should not have reckoned that fair play when we went to master sniggius's," observed humfrey, as he heard his companion's tone of exultation. "fair play is a jewel that will not pass current in statecraft," responded cavendish. "moreover, that the plotter should be plotted against is surely only his desert. but thou art a mere sailor, my talbot, and these subtilties of policy are not for thee." "for the which heaven be praised!" said humfrey. "yet having, as you say, read all these letters by the way, i see not wherefore ye are come down to seek for more." will here imitated the lord treasurer's nod as well as in him lay, not perhaps himself knowing the darker recesses of this same plot. he did know so much as that every stage in it had been revealed to walsingham and burghley as it proceeded. he did not know that the entire scheme had been hatched, not by a blind and fanatical partisan of mary's, doing evil that what he supposed to be good, might come, but by gifford and morgan, walsingham's agents, for the express purpose of causing mary totally to ruin herself, and to compel elizabeth to put her to death, and that the unhappy babington and his friends were thus recklessly sacrificed. the assassin had even been permitted to appear in elizabeth's presence in order to terrify her into the conviction that her life could only be secured by mary's death. they, too, did evil that good might come, thinking mary's death alone could ensure them from pope and spaniard; but surely they descended into a lower depth of iniquity than did their victims. will himself was not certain what was wanted among the queen's papers, unless it might be the actual letters, from babington, copies of which had been given by phillips to the council, so he only looked sagacious; and humfrey thought of the castle well, and felt the satisfaction there is in seeing a hunted creature escape. he asked, however, about cuthbert langston, saying, "he is--worse luck, as you may have heard--akin to my father, who always pitied him as misguided, but thought him as sincere in his folly as ever was this unlucky babington." "so he seems to have been till of late. he hovered about in sundry disguises, as you know, much to the torment of us all; but finally he seems to have taken some umbrage at the lady, thinking she flouted his services, or did not pay him high enough for them, and gifford bought him over easily enough; but he goes with us by the name of maude, and the best of it is that the poor fools thought he was hoodwinking us all the time. they never dreamt that we saw through them like glass. babington was himself with mr. secretary only last week, offering to go to france on business for him--the traitor! hark! there are more sounds of horse hoofs. who comes now, i marvel!" this was soon answered by a serving-man, who hurried out to tell humfrey that his father was arrived, and in a few moments the young man was blessed and embraced by the good richard, while diccon stood by, considerably repaired in flesh and colour by his brief stay under his mother's care. mr. richard talbot was heartily welcomed by sir amias paulett, who regretted that his daughter was out of reach, but did not make any offer of facilitating their meeting. richard explained that he was on his way to london on behalf of the earl. reports and letters, not very clear, had reached sheffield of young babington being engaged in a most horrible conspiracy against the queen and country, and my lord and my lady, who still preserved a great kindness for their former ward, could hardly believe it, and had sent their useful and trustworthy kinsman to learn the truth, and to find out whether any amount of fine or forfeiture would avail to save his life. sir amias thought it would be a fruitless errand, and so did richard himself, when he had heard as much of the history as it suited paulett and wade to tell, and though they esteemed and trusted him, they did not care to go beneath that outer surface of the plot which was filling all london with fury. when, having finished their after-dinner repose, they repaired to make farther search, taking cavendish to assist, they somewhat reluctantly thought it due to mr. talbot to invite his presence, but he declined. he and his son had much to say to one another, he observed, and not long to say it in. "besides," he added, when he found himself alone with humfrey, having despatched diccon on some errand to the stables, "'tis a sorry sight to see all the poor lady's dainty hoards turned out by strangers. if it must be, it must, but it would irk me to be an idle gazer thereon." "i would only," said humfrey, "be assured that they would not light on the proofs of cicely's birth." "thou mayst be at rest on that score, my son. the lady saw them, owned them, and bade thy mother keep them, saying ours were safer hands than hers. thy mother was sore grieved, humfrey, when she saw thee not; but she sends thee her blessing, and saith thou dost right to stay and watch over poor little cis." "it were well if i were watching over her," said humfrey, "but she is mewed up at tixall, and i am only keeping guard over poor mistress seaton and the rest." "thou hast seen her?" "yea, and she was far more our own sweet maid than when she came back to us at bridgefield." and humfrey told his father all he had to tell of what he had seen and heard since he had been at chartley. his adventures in london had already been made known by diccon. mr. talbot was aghast, perhaps most of all at finding that his cousin cuthbert was a double traitor. from the roman catholic point of view, there had been no treason in his former machinations on behalf of mary, if she were in his eyes his rightful sovereign, but the betrayal of confidence reposed in him was so horrible that the good master richard refused to believe it, till he had heard the proofs again and again, and then he exclaimed, "that such a judas should ever call cousin with us!" there could be little hope, as both agreed, of saving the unfortunate victims; but richard was all the more bent on fulfilling lord shrewsbury's orders, and doing his utmost for babington. as to humfrey, it would be better that he should remain where he was, so that cicely might have some protector near her in case of any sudden dispersion of mary's suite. "poor maiden!" said her foster-father, "she is in a manner ours, and we cannot but watch over her; but after all, i doubt me whether it had not been better for her and for us, if the waves had beaten the little life out of her ere i carried her home." "she hath been the joy of my life," said humfrey, low and hoarsely. "and i fear me she will be the sorrow of it. not by her fault, poor wench, but what hope canst thou have, my son?" "none, sir," said humfrey, "except of giving up all if i can so defend her from aught." he spoke in a quiet matter-of-fact way that made his father look with some inquiry at his grave settled face, quite calm, as if saying nothing new, but expressing a long-formed quiet purpose. nor, though humfrey was his eldest son and heir, did richard talbot try to cross it. he asked whether he might see cicely before going on to london, but sir amias said that in that case she would not be allowed to return to the queen, and that to have had any intercourse with the prisoners might overthrow all his designs in london, and he therefore only left with humfrey his commendations to her, with a pot of fresh honey and a lavender-scented set of kerchiefs from mistress susan. chapter xxx. tete-a-tete. during that close imprisonment at tixall cicely learnt to know her mother both in her strength and weakness. they were quite alone; except that sir walter ashton daily came to perform the office of taster and carver at their meals, and on the first evening his wife dragged herself upstairs to superintend the arrangement of their bedroom, and to supply them with toilette requisites according to her own very limited notions and possessions. the dame was a very homely, hard-featured lady, deaf, and extremely fat and heavy, one of the old uncultivated rustic gentry who had lagged far behind the general civilisation of the country, and regarded all refinements as effeminate french vanities. she believed, likewise, all that was said against queen mary, whom she looked on as barely restrained from plunging a dagger into elizabeth's heart, and letting parma's hell-hounds loose upon tixall. to have such a guest imposed on her was no small grievance, and nothing but her husband's absolute mandate could have induced her to come up with the maids who brought sheets for the bed, pillows, and the like needments. mary tried to make her requests as moderate as necessity would permit; but when they had been shouted into her ears by one of the maids, she shook her head at most of them, as articles unknown to her. nor did she ever appear again. the arrangement of the bed-chamber was performed by two maidservants, the knight himself meanwhile standing a grim sentinel over the two ladies in the outer apartment to hinder their holding any communication through the servants. all requests had to be made to him, and on the first morning mary made a most urgent one for writing materials, books, and either needlework or spinning. pen and ink had been expressly forbidden, the only book in the house was a thumbed and torn primer, but dame joan, after much grumbling at fine ladies' whims, vouchsafed to send up a distaff, some wool, a piece of unbleached linen, and a skein of white thread. queen mary executed therewith an exquisite piece of embroidery, which having escaped dame joan's first impulse to burn it on the spot, remained for many years the show and the wonder of tixall. save for this employment, she said she should have gone mad in her utter uncertainty about her own fate, or that of those involved with her. to ask questions of ashton was like asking them of a post. he would give her no notion whether her servants were at chartley or not, whether they were at large or in confinement, far less as to who was accused of the plot, and what had been discovered. all that could be said for him was that his churlishness was passive and according to his ideas of duty. he was a very reluctant and uncomfortable jailer, but he never insulted, nor wilfully ill-used his unfortunate captive. thus mary was left to dwell on the little she knew, namely, that babington and his fellows were arrested, and that she was supposed to be implicated; but there her knowledge ceased, except that humfrey's warning convinced her that cuthbert langston had been at least one of the traitors. he had no doubt been offended and disappointed at that meeting during the hawking at tutbury. "yet i need scarcely seek the why or the wherefore," she said. "i have spent my life in a world of treachery. no sooner do i take a step on ground that seems ever so firm, than it proves a quicksand. they will swallow me at last." daily--more than daily--did she and cicely go over together that hurried conversation on the moor, and try to guess whether langston intended to hint at cicely's real birth. he had certainly not disclosed her secret as yet, or paulett would never have selected her as sprung of a loyal house, but he might guess at the truth, and be waiting for an opportunity to sell it dearly to those who would regard her as possessed of dangerous pretensions. and far more anxiously did the queen recur to examining cicely on what she had gathered from humfrey. this was in fact nothing, for he had been on his guard against either telling or hearing anything inconsistent with loyalty to the english queen, and thus had avoided conversation on these subjects. nor did the queen communicate much. cicely never understood clearly what she dreaded, what she expected to be found among her papers, or what had been in the packet thrown into the well. the girl did not dare to ask direct questions, and the queen always turned off indirect inquiries, or else assured her that she was still a simple happy child, and that it was better for her own sake that she should know nothing, then caressed her, and fondly pitied her for not being admitted to her mother's confidence, but said piteously that she knew not what the secrets of queens and captives were, not like those of mistress susan about the goose to be dressed, or the crimson hose to be knitted for a surprise to her good husband. but cicely could see that she expected the worst, and believed in a set purpose to shed her blood, and she spent much time in devotion, though sorely distressed by the absence of all those appliances which her church had taught her to rest upon. and these prayers, which often began with floods of tears, so that cicely drew away into the window with her distaff in order not to seem to watch them, ended with rendering her serene and calm, with a look of high resignation, as having offered herself as a sacrifice and martyr for her church. and yet was it wholly as a roman catholic that she had been hated, intrigued against, and deposed in her own kingdom? was it simply as a roman catholic that she was, as she said, the subject of a more cruel plot than that of which she was accused? mysterious woman that she was, she was never more mysterious than to her daughter in those seventeen days that they were shut up together! it did not so much strike cicely at the time, when she was carried along with all her mother's impulses and emotions, without reflecting on them, but when in after times she thought over all that then had passed, she felt how little she had understood. they suffered a good deal from the heat and closeness of the rooms, for mary was like a modern englishwoman in her craving for free air, and these were the dog-days. they had contrived by the help of a diamond that the queen carried about with her, after the fashion of the time, to extract a pane or two from the lattices so ingeniously that the master of the house never found it out. and as their two apartments looked out different ways, they avoided the full sunshine, for they had neither curtains nor blinds to their windows, by moving from one to the other; but still the closeness was very oppressive, and in the heat of the day, just after dinner, they could do nothing but lie on the table, while the queen told stories of her old life in france, till sometimes they both went to sleep. most of her dainty needlework was done in the long light mornings, for she hardly slept at all in the hot nights. cis scarcely saw her in bed, for she prayed long after the maiden had fallen asleep, and was up with the light and embroidering by the window. she only now began to urge cicely to believe as she did, and to join her church, taking blame to herself for never having attempted it more seriously. she told of the oneness and the glory of roman catholicism as she had seen it in france, held out its promises and professions, and dwelt on the comfort of the intercession of the blessed virgin and the saints; assuring cicely that there was nothing but sacrilege, confusion, and cruelty on the other side. sometimes the maiden was much moved by the tender manner and persuasive words, and she really had so much affection and admiration for her mother as to be willing to do all that she wished, and to believe her the ablest and most clear-sighted of human beings; but whenever mary was not actually talking to her, there was a curious swaying back of the pendulum in her mind to the conviction that what master richard and mistress susan believed must be the right thing, that led to trustworthy goodness. she had an enthusiastic love for the queen, but her faith and trust were in them and in humfrey, and she could see religious matters from their point of view better than from that of her mother. so, though the queen often felt herself carrying her daughter along, she always found that there had been a slipping back to the old standpoint every time she began again. she was considering with some anxiety of the young maiden's future. "could i but send thee to my good sister, the duchess of lorraine, she would see thee well and royally married," she said. "then couldst thou be known by thine own name, and rank as princess of scotland. if i can only see my courcelles again, she would take thee safely and prove all--and thy hand will be precious to many. it may yet bring back the true faith to england, when my brave cousin of guise has put down the bearnese, and when the poor stumbling-block here is taken away." "oh speak not of that, dear madam, my mother." "i must speak, child. i must think how it will be with thee, so marvellously saved, and restored to be my comfort. i must provide for thy safety and honour. happily the saints guarded me from ever mentioning thee in my letters, so that there is no fear that elizabeth should lay hands on thee, unless langston should have spoken--the which can hardly be. but if all be broken up here, i must find thee a dwelling with my kindred worthy of thy birth." "mr. and mrs. talbot would take me home," murmured cicely. "girl! after all the training i have bestowed on thee, is it possible that thou wouldst fain go back to make cheeses and brew small beer with those yorkshire boors, rather than reign a princess? i thought thy heart was nobler." cicely hung her head ashamed. "i was very happy there," she said in excuse. "happy--ay, with the milkmaid's bliss. there may be fewer sorrows in such a life as that--just as those comely kine of ashton's that i see grazing in the park have fewer sorrows than human creatures. but what know they of our joys, or what know the commonalty of the joy of ruling, calling brave men one's own, riding before one's men in the field, wielding counsels of state, winning the love of thousands? nay, nay, i will not believe it of my child, unless 'tis the base border blood that is in her which speaks." cicely was somewhat overborne by being thus accused of meanness of tastes, when she had heard the queen talk enviously of that same homely life which now she despised so heartily. she faltered in excuse, "methought, madam, you would be glad to think there was one loving shelter ever open to me." "loving! ah! i see what it is," said the queen, in a tone of disgust. "it is the sailor loon that has overthrown it all. a couple of walks in the garden with him, and the silly maid is ready to throw over all nobler thoughts." "madam, he spoke no such word to me." "'twas the infection, child--only the infection." "madam, i pray you--" "whist, child. thou wilt be a perilous bride for any commoner, and let that thought, if no other, keep thee from lowering thine eyes to such as he. were i and thy brother taken out of the way, none would stand between thee and both thrones! what would english or scots say to find thee a household joan, wedded to one of drake's rude pirate fellows? i tell thee it would be the worse for him. they have made it treason to wed royal blood without elizabeth's consent. no, no, for his sake, as well as thine own, thou must promise me never thus to debase thy royal lineage." "mother; neither he nor i have thought or spoken of such a matter since we knew how it was with me. "and you give me your word?" "yea, madam," said cicely, who had really never entertained the idea of marrying humfrey, implicit as was her trust in him as a brother and protector. "that is well. and so soon as i am restored to my poor servants, if i ever am, i will take measures for sending the french remnant to their own land; nor shall my courcelles quit thee till she hath seen thee safe in the keeping of madame de lorraine or of queen louise, who is herself a kinswoman of ours, and, they say, is piety and gentleness itself." "as you will, madam," said cicely, her heart sinking at the thought of the strange new world before her, but perceiving that she must not be the means of bringing humfrey into trouble and danger. perhaps she felt this the more from seeing how acutely her mother suffered at times from sorrow for those involved in her disaster. she gave babington and his companions, as well as nau and curll, up for lost, as the natural consequence of having befriended her; and she blamed herself remorsefully, after the long experience of the fatal consequences of meddling in her affairs, for having entered into correspondence with the bright enthusiastic boy whom she remembered, and having lured him without doubt to his death. "alack! alack!" she said, "and yet such is liberty, that i should forget all i have gone through, and do the like again, if the door seemed opened to me. at least there is this comfort, cruel child, thy little heart was not set on him, gracious and handsome though he were--and thy mother's most devoted knight! ah! poor youth, it wrings my soul to think of him. but at least he is a catholic, his soul will be safe, and i will have hundreds of masses sung for him. oh that i knew how it goes with them! this torture of silent suspense is the most cruel of all." mary paced the room with impatient misery, and in such a round the weary hours dragged by, only mitigated by one welcome thunderstorm, for seventeen days, whose summer length made them seem the more endless. cicely, who had never before in her life been shut up in the house so many hours, was pale, listless, and even fretful towards the queen, who bore with her petulance so tenderly as more than once to make her weep bitterly for very shame. after one of these fits of tears, mary pleaded earnestly with sir walter ashton for permission for the maiden to take a turn in the garden every day, but though the good gentleman's complexion bore testimony that he lived in the fresh air, he did not believe in its efficacy; he said he had no orders, and could do nothing without warrant. but that evening at supper, the serving-maid brought up a large brew of herbs, dark and nauseous, which dame ashton had sent as good for the young lady's megrim. "will you taste it, sir?" asked the queen of sir walter, with a revival of her lively humour. "the foul fiend have me if a drop comes within my lips," muttered the knight. "i am not bound to taste for a tirewoman!" he added, leaving it in doubt whether his objection arose from distaste to his lady's messes, or from pride; and he presently said, perhaps half-ashamed of himself, and willing to cast the blame on the other side, "it was kindly meant of my good dame, and if you choose to flout at, rather than benefit by it, that is no affair of mine." he left the potion, and cicely disposed of it by small instalments at the windows; and a laugh over the evident horror it excited in the master, did the captives at least as much good as the camomile, centaury, wormwood, and other ingredients of the bowl. happily it was only two days later that sir walter announced that his custody of the queen was over, and sir amias paulett was come for her. there was little preparation to make, for the two ladies had worn their riding-dresses all the time; but on reaching the great door, where sir amias, attended by humfrey, was awaiting them, they were astonished to see a whole troop on horseback, all armed with head-pieces, swords and pistols, to the number of a hundred and forty. "wherefore is this little army raised?" she asked. "it is by order of the queen," replied ashton, with his accustomed surly manner, "and need enough in the time of such treasons!" the queen turned to him with tears on her cheeks. "good gentlemen," she said, "i am not witting of anything against the queen. am i to be taken to the tower?" "no, madam, back to chartley," replied sir amias. "i knew they would never let me see my cousin," sighed the queen. "sir," as paulett placed her on her horse, "of your pity tell me whether i shall find all my poor servants there." "yea, madam, save mr. nau and mr. curll, who are answering for themselves and for you. moreover, curll's wife was delivered two days since." this intelligence filled mary with more anxiety than she chose to manifest to her unsympathising surroundings; cis meanwhile had been assisted to mount by humfrey, who told her that mrs. curll was thought to be doing well, but that there were fears for the babe. it was impossible to exchange many words, for they were immediately behind the queen and her two warders, and humfrey could only tell her that his father had been at chartley, and had gone on to london; but there was inexpressible relief in hearing the sound of his voice, and knowing she had some one to think for her and protect her. the promise she had made to the queen only seemed to make him more entirely her brother by putting that other love out of the question. there was a sad sight at the gate,--a whole multitude of wretched-looking beggars, and poor of all ages and degrees of misery, who all held out their hands and raised one cry of "alms, alms, gracious lady, alms, for the love of heaven!" mary looked round on them with tearful eyes, and exclaimed, "alack, good folk, i have nothing to give you! i am as much a beggar as yourselves!" the escort dispersed them roughly, paulett assuring her that they were nothing but "a sort of idle folk," who were only encouraged in laziness by her bounty, which was very possibly true of a certain proportion of them, but it had been a sore grief to her that since cuthbert langston's last approach in disguise she had been prevented from giving alms. in due time chartley was reached, and the first thing the queen did on dismounting was to hurry to visit poor barbara curll, who had--on her increasing illness--been removed to one of the guest-chambers, where the queen now found her, still in much distress about her husband, who was in close imprisonment in walsingham's house, and had not been allowed to send her any kind of message; and in still more immediate anxiety about her new-born infant, who did not look at all as if its little life would last many hours. she lifted up her languid eyelids, and scarcely smiled when the queen declared, "see, barbara, i am come back again to you, to nurse you and my god-daughter into health to receive your husband again. nay, have no fears for him. they cannot hurt him. he has done nothing, and is a scottish subject beside. my son shall write to claim him," she declared with such an assumed air of confidence that a shade of hope crossed the pale face, and the fear for her child became the more pressing of the two griefs. "we will christen her at once," said mary, turning to the nearest attendant. "bear a request from me to sir amias that his chaplain may come at once and baptize my god-child." sir amias was waiting in the gallery in very ill-humour at the queen's delay, which kept his supper waiting. moreover, his party had a strong dislike to private baptism, holding that the important point was the public covenant made by responsible persons, and the notion of the sponsorship of a roman catholic likewise shocked him. so he made ungracious answer that he would have no baptism save in church before the congregation, with true protestant gossips. "so saith he?" exclaimed mary, when the reply was reported to her. "nay, my poor little one, thou shalt not be shut out of the kingdom of heaven for his churlishness." and taking the infant on her knee, she dipped her hand in the bowl of water that had been prepared for the chaplain, and baptized it by her own name of mary. the existing prayer-book had been made expressly to forbid lay baptism and baptism by women, at the special desire of the reformers, and sir amias was proportionately horrified, and told her it was an offence for the archbishop's court. "very like," said mary. "your protestant courts love to slay both body and soul. will it please you to open my own chambers to me, sir?" sir amias handed the key to one of her servants but she motioned him aside. "those who put me forth must admit me," she said. the door was opened by one of the gentlemen of the household, and they entered. every repository had been ransacked, every cabinet stood open and empty, every drawer had been pulled out. wearing apparel and the like remained, but even this showed signs of having been tossed over and roughly rearranged by masculine fingers. mary stood in the midst of the room, which had a strange air of desolation, an angry light in her eyes, and her hands clasped tightly one into the other. paulett attempted some expression of regret for the disarray, pleading his orders. "it needs not excuse, sir," said mary, "i understand to whom i owe this insult. there are two things that your queen can never take from me--royal blood and the catholic faith. one day some of you will be sorry for what you have now put upon me! i would be alone, sir," and she proudly motioned him to the door, with a haughty gesture, showing her still fully queen in her own apartments. paulett obeyed, and when he was gone, the queen seemed to abandon the command over herself she had preserved all this time. she threw herself into jean kennedy's arms, and wept freely and piteously, while the good lady, rejoicing at heart to have recovered "her bairn," fondled and soothed her with soft scottish epithets, as though the worn woman had been a child again. "yea, nurse, mine own nurse, i am come back to thee; for a little while--only a little while, nurse, for they will have my blood, and oh! i would it were ended, for i am aweary of it all." jean and elizabeth curll tried to cheer and console her, alarmed at this unwonted depression, but she only said, "get me to bed, nurse, i am sair forfaughten." she was altogether broken down by the long suspense, the hardships and the imprisonment she had undergone, and she kept her bed for several days, hardly speaking, but apparently reposing in the relief afforded by the recovered care and companionship of her much-loved attendants. there she was when paulett came to demand the keys of the caskets where her treasure was kept. melville had refused to yield them, and all the queen said was, "robbery is to be added to the rest," a sentence which greatly stung the knight, but he actually seized all the coin that he found, including what belonged to nau and curll, and, only retaining enough for present expenses, sent the rest off to london. chapter xxxi. evidence. in the meantime the two richard talbots, father and son, had safely arrived in london, and had been made welcome at the house of their noble kinsman. nau and curll, they heard, were in walsingham's house, subjected to close examination; babington and all his comrades were in the tower. the council was continually sitting to deliberate over the fate of the latter unhappy men, of whose guilt there was no doubt; and neither lord talbot nor will cavendish thought there was any possibility of master richard gaining permission to plead how the unfortunate babington had been worked on and deceived. after the sentence should be pronounced, cavendish thought that the request of the earl of shrewsbury might prevail to obtain permission for an interview between the prisoner and one commissioned by his former guardian. will was daily attending sir francis walsingham as his clerk, and was not by any means unwilling to relate anything he had been able to learn. queen elizabeth was, it seemed, greatly agitated and distressed. the shock to her nerves on the day when she had so bravely overawed barnwell with the power of her eye had been such as not to be easily surmounted. she was restless and full of anxiety, continually starting at every sound, and beginning letters to the queen of scots which were never finished. she had more than once inquired after the brave sailor youths who had come so opportunely to her rescue; and lord talbot thought it would be well to present diccon and his father to her, and accordingly took them with him to greenwich palace, where they had the benefit of looking on as loyal subjects, while her majesty, in royal fashion, dined in public, to the sound of drums, trumpets, fifes, and stringed instruments. but though dressed with her usual elaborate care, she looked older, paler, thinner, and more haggard than when diccon had seen her three weeks previously, and neither her eye nor mouth had the same steadiness. she did not eat with relish, but almost as if she were forcing herself, lest any lack of appetite might be observed and commented upon, and her looks continually wandered as though in search of some lurking enemy; for in truth no woman, nor man either, could easily forget the suggestion which had recently been brought to her knowledge, that an assassin might "lurk in her gallery and stab her with his dagger, or if she should walk in her garden, he might shoot her with his dagg, or if she should walk abroad to take the air, he might assault her with his arming sword and make sure work." even though the enemies were safe in prison, she knew not but that dagger, dagg, or arming sword might still be ready for her, and she believed that any fatal charge openly made against mary at the trial might drive her friends to desperation and lead to the use of dagg or dagger. she was more unhinged than ever before, and commanded herself with difficulty when going through all the scenes of her public life as usual. the talbots soon felt her keen eye on them, and a look of recognition passed over her face as she saw diccon. as soon as the meal was over, and the table of trestles removed, she sent a page to command lord talbot to present them to her. "so, sir," she said, as richard the elder knelt before her, "you are the father of two brave sons, whom you have bred up to do good service; but i only see one of them here. where is the elder?" "so please your majesty, sir amias paulett desired to retain him at chartley to assist in guarding the queen of scots." "it is well. paulett knows a trusty lad when he sees him. and so do i. i would have the youths both for my gentlemen pensioners--the elder when he can be spared from his charge, this stripling at once." "we are much beholden to your majesty," said richard, bending his head the lower as he knelt on one knee; for such an appointment gave both training and recommendation to young country gentlemen, and was much sought after. "methinks," said elizabeth, who had the royal faculty of remembering faces, "you have yourself so served us, mr. talbot?" "i was for three years in the band of your majesty's sister, queen mary," said richard, "but i quitted it on her death to serve at sea, and i have since been in charge at sheffield, under my lord of shrewsbury." "we have heard that he hath found you a faithful servant," said the queen, "yea, so well affected as even to have refused your daughter in marriage to this same babington. is this true?" "it is, so please your majesty." "and it was because you already perceived his villainy?" "there were many causes, madam," said richard, catching at the chance of saying a word for the unhappy lad, "but it was not so much villainy that i perceived in him as a nature that might be easily practised upon by worse men than himself." "not so much a villain ready made as the stuff villains are made of," said the queen, satisfied with her own repartee. "so please your majesty, the metal that in good hands becomes a brave sword, in evil ones becomes a treacherous dagger." "well said, master captain, and therefore, we must destroy alike the dagger and the hands that perverted it." "yet," ventured richard, "the dagger attempered by your majesty's clemency might yet do noble service." elizabeth, however, broke out fiercely with one of her wonted oaths. "how now? thou wouldst not plead for the rascal! i would have you to know that to crave pardon for such a fellow is well-nigh treason in itself. you have license to leave us, sir." "i should scarce have brought you, richard," said lord talbot, as soon as they had left the presence chamber, "had i known you would venture on such folly. know you not how incensed she is? naught but your proved loyalty and my father's could have borne you off this time, and it would be small marvel to me if the lad's appointment were forgotten." "i could not choose but run the risk," said richard. "what else came i to london for?" "well," said his cousin, "you are a brave man, richard talbot. i know those who had rather scale a spanish fortress than face queen elizabeth in her wrath. her tongue is sharper than even my stepdame's, though it doth not run on so long." lord talbot was not quite easy when that evening a gentleman, clad in rich scarlet and gold, and armed to the teeth, presented himself at shrewsbury house and inquired for mr. talbot of bridgefield. however, it proved to be the officer of the troop of gentlemen pensioners come to enroll diccon, tell him the requirements, and arrange when he should join in a capacity something like that of an esquire to one of the seniors of the troop. humfrey was likewise inquired for, but it was thought better on all accounts that he should continue in his present situation, since it was especially needful to have trustworthy persons at chartley in the existing crisis. master richard was well satisfied to find that his son's immediate superior would be a gentleman of a good yorkshire family, whose father was known to him, and who promised to have a care of master richard the younger, and preserve him, as far as possible, from the perils of dicing, drinking, and running into bad company. launching a son in this manner and equipping him for service was an anxious task for a father, while day after day the trial was deferred, the examinations being secretly carried on before the council till, as cavendish explained, what was important should be disclosed. of course this implied what should be fatal to queen mary. the priest ballard was racked, but he was a man of great determination, and nothing was elicited from him. the other prisoners, and nau and curll, were questioned again and again under threats and promises before the council, and the letters that had been copied on their transit through the beer barrels were read and made the subject of cross-examination--still all in private, for, as cavendish said, "perilous stuff to the queen's majesty might come out." he allowed, however, day after day, that though there was quite enough to be fatal to ballard, babington, savage, and barnwell, whatever else was wanting was not forthcoming. at last, however, cavendish returned full of a certain exultation: "we have it," he said,--"a most undoubted treasonable letter, which will catch her between the shoulders and the head." he spoke to lord talbot and richard, who were standing together in a window, and who knew only too well who was referred to, and what the expression signified. on a further query from his step-brother, cavendish explained that it was a long letter, dated july , arranging in detail the plan for "the lady's" own rescue from chartley at the moment of the landing of the spaniards, and likewise showing her privy to the design of the six gentlemen against the life of the queen, and desiring to know their names. nau had, he said, verified the cipher as one used in the correspondence, and babington, when it was shown to him, had declared that it had been given to him in the street by a stranger serving-man in a blue coat, and that it had removed all doubt from his mind, as it was an answer to a letter of his, a copy of which had been produced, but not the letter itself. "which we have not found," said cavendish. "not for all that search of yours at chartley?" said richard. "methought it was thorough enough!" "the lady must have been marvellously prudent as to the keeping of letters," said will, "or else she must have received some warning; for there is absolutely naught to be found in her repositories that will serve our purpose." "our purpose!" repeated richard, as he recollected many little kindnesses that william cavendish when a boy had received from the prisoner at sheffield. "yea, master richard," he returned, unabashed. "it is absolutely needful that we should openly prove this woman to be what we know her to be in secret. her majesty's life will never be safe for a moment while she lives; and what would become of us all did she overlive the queen!" "well, will, for all your mighty word _we_, you are but the pen in mr. secretary's hand, so there is no need to argue the matter with you," said richard. the speech considerably nettled master william, especially as it made lord talbot laugh. "father!" said diccon afterwards, "humfrey tried to warn mr. babington that we had seen this langston, who hath as many metamorphoses as there be in ovidius naso, coming privily forth from sir francis walsingham's closet, but he would not listen, and declared that langston was holding mr. secretary in play." "deceiving and being deceived," sighed his father. "that is ever the way, my son! remember that if thou playest false, other men will play falser with thee and bring thee to thy ruin. i would not leave thee here save that the gentlemen pensioners are a more honest and manly sort of folk than yonder gentlemen with their state craft, wherein they throw over all truth and honour as well as mercy." this conversation took place as the father and son were making their way to a house in westminster, where antony babington's wife was with her mother, lady ratcliffe. it had been a match made by lady shrewsbury, and it was part of richard's commission to see and confer with the family. it was not a satisfactory interview. the wife was a dull childish little thing, not yet sixteen; and though she cried, she had plainly never lived in any real sympathy or companionship with her husband, who had left her with her parents, while leading the life of mingled amusement and intrigue which had brought him to his present state; and the mother, a hard-featured woman, evidently thought herself cheated and ill used. she railed at babington and at my lady countess by turns; at the one for his ruinous courses and neglect of her daughter, at the other for having cozened her into giving her poor child to a treacherous papist, who would be attainted in blood, and thus bring her poor daughter and grandchild to poverty. the old lady really seemed to have lost all pity for her son-in-law in indignation on her daughter's account, and to care infinitely less for the saving of his life than for the saving of his estate. nor did the young wife herself appear to possess much real affection for poor antony, of whom she had seen very little. there must have been great faults on his side; yet certainly richard felt that there was some excuse for him in the mother-in-law, and that if the unfortunate young man could have married cicely his lot might have been different. yet the good captain felt all the more that if cis had been his own he still would never have given her to babington. chapter xxxii. westminster hall. beneath the noble roof of westminster hall, with the morning sun streaming in high aloft, at seven in the morning of the th of september, the court met for the trial of antony babington and his confederates. the talbot name and recommendation obtained ready admission, and lord talbot, richard, and his son formed one small party together with william cavendish, who had his tablets, on which to take notes for the use of his superior, walsingham, who was, however, one of the commissioners. there they sat, those supreme judges, the three chief-justices in their scarlet robes of office forming the centre of the group, which also numbered lords cobham and buckhurst, sir francis knollys, sir christopher hatton, and most of the chief law officers of the crown. "is mr. secretary walsingham one of the judges here?" asked diccon. "methought he had been in the place of the accuser." "peace, boy, and listen," said his father; "these things pass my comprehension." nevertheless richard had determined that if the course of the trial should offer the least opportunity, he would come forward and plead his former knowledge of young babington as a rash and weak-headed youth, easily played upon by designing persons, but likely to take to heart such a lesson as this, and become a true and loyal subject. if he could obtain any sort of mitigation for the poor youth, it would be worth the risk. the seven conspirators were brought in, and richard could hardly keep a rush of tears from his eyes at the sight of those fine, high-spirited young men, especially antony babington, the playfellow of his own children. antony was carefully dressed in his favourite colour, dark green, his hair and beard trimmed, and his demeanour calm and resigned. the fire was gone from his blue eye, and his bright complexion had faded, but there was an air of dignity about him such as he had never worn before. his eyes, as he took his place, wandered round the vast assembly, and rested at length on mr. talbot, as though deriving encouragement and support from the look that met his. next to him was another young man with the same look of birth and breeding, namely chidiock tichborne; but john savage, an older man, had the reckless bearing of the brutalised soldiery of the netherlandish wars. robert barnwell, with his red, shaggy brows and irish physiognomy, was at once recognised by diccon. donne and salisbury followed; and the seventh conspirator, john ballard, was carried in a chair. even diccon's quick eye could hardly have detected the ruffling, swaggering, richly-clad captain fortescue in this tonsured man in priestly garb, deadly pale, and unable to stand, from the effects of torture, yet with undaunted, penetrating eyes, all unsubdued. after the proclamation, oyez, oyez, and the command to keep silence, sandys, the clerk of the crown, began the proceedings. "john ballard, antony babington, john savage, robert barnwell, chidiock tichborne, henry donne, thomas salisbury, hold up your hands and answer." the indictment was then read at great length, charging them with conspiring to slay the queen, to deliver mary, queen of scots, from custody, to stir up rebellion, to bring the spaniards to invade england, and to change the religion of the country. the question was first put to ballard, was he guilty of these treasons or not guilty? ballard's reply was, "that i procured the delivery of the queen of scots, i am guilty; and that i went about to alter the religion, i am guilty; but that i intended to slay her majesty, i am not guilty." "not with his own hand," muttered cavendish, "but for the rest--" "pity that what is so bravely spoken should be false," thought richard, "yet it may be to leave the way open to defence." sandys, however, insisted that he must plead to the whole indictment, and anderson, the chief-justice of common pleas, declared that he must deny the whole generally, or confess it generally; while hatton put in, "ballard, under thine own hand are all things confessed, therefore now it is much vanity to stand vaingloriously in denying it." "then, sir, i confess i am guilty," he said, with great calmness, though it was the resignation of all hope. the same question was then put to babington. he, with "a mild countenance, sober gesture," and all his natural grace, stood up and spoke, saying "that the time for concealment was past, and that he was ready to avow how from his earliest infancy he had believed england to have fallen from the true religion, and had trusted to see it restored thereto. moreover, he had ever a deep love and compassion for the queen of scots. some," he said, "who are yet at large, and who are yet as deep in the matter as i--" "gifford, morgan, and another," whispered cavendish significantly. "have they escaped?" asked diccon. "so 'tis said." "the decoy ducks," thought richard. babington was explaining that these men had proposed to him a great enterprise for the rescue and restoration of the queen of scots, and the re-establishment of the catholic religion in england by the sword of the prince of parma. a body of gentlemen were to attack chartley, free mary, and proclaim her queen, and at the same time queen elizabeth was to be put to death by some speedy and skilful method. "my lords," he said, "i swear that all that was in me cried out against the wickedness of thus privily slaying her majesty." some muttered, "the villain! he lies," but the kindly richard sighed inaudibly, "true, poor lad! thou must have given thy conscience over to strange keepers to be thus led astray." and babington went on to say that they had brought this gentleman, father ballard, who had wrought with him to prove that his scruples were weak, carnal, and ungodly, and that it would be a meritorious deed in the sight of heaven thus to remove the heretic usurper. here the judges sternly bade him not to blaspheme, and he replied, with that "soberness and good grace" which seems to have struck all the beholders, that he craved patience and pardon, meaning only to explain how he had been led to the madness which he now repented, understanding himself to have been in grievous error, though not for the sake of any temporal reward; but being blinded to the guilt, and assured that the deed was both lawful and meritorious. he thus had been brought to destruction through the persuasions of this ballard. "a very fit author for so bad a fact," responded hatton. "very true, sir," said babington; "for from so bad a ground never proceed any better fruits. he it was who persuaded me to kill the queen, and to commit the other treasons, whereof i confess myself guilty." savage pleaded guilty at once, with the reckless hardihood of a soldier accustomed to look on death as the fortune of war. barnwell denied any intention of killing the queen (much to diccon's surprise), but pleaded guilty to the rest. donne said that on being told of the plot he had prayed that whatever was most to the honour and glory of heaven might be done, and being pushed hard by hatton, turned this into a confession of being guilty. salisbury declared that he had always protested against killing the queen, and that he would not have done so for a kingdom, but of the rest he was guilty. tichborne showed that but for an accidental lameness he would have been at his home in hampshire, but he could not deny his knowledge of the treason. all having pleaded guilty, no trial was permitted, such as would have brought out the different degrees of guilt, which varied in all the seven. a long speech was, however, made by the counsel for the crown, detailing the plot as it had been arranged for the public knowledge, and reading aloud a letter from babington to queen mary, describing his plans both for her rescue and the assassination, saying, "he had appointed six noble gentlemen for the despatch of the wicked competitor." richard caught a look of astonishment on the unhappy young man's face, but it passed into hopeless despondency, and the speech went on to describe the picture of the conspirators and its strange motto, concluding with an accusation that they meant to sack london, burn the ships, and "cloy the ordnance." a shudder of horror went through the assembly, and perhaps few except richard talbot felt that the examination of the prisoners ought to have been public. the form, however, was gone through of asking whether they had cause to render wherefore they should not be condemned to die. the first to speak was ballard. his eyes glanced round with an indomitable expression of scorn and indignation, which, as diccon whispered, he could have felt to his very backbone. it was like that of a trapped and maimed lion, as the man sat in his chair with crushed and racked limbs, but with a spirit untamed in its defiance. "cause, my lords?" he replied. "the cause i have to render will not avail here, but it may avail before another judgment-seat, where the question will be, who used the weapons of treason, not merely against whom they were employed. inquiry hath not been made here who suborned the priest, dr. gifford, to fetch me over from paris, that we might together overcome the scruples of these young men, and lead them forward in a scheme for the promotion of the true religion and the right and lawful succession. no question hath here been put in open court, who framed the conspiracy, nor for what purpose. no, my lords; it would baffle the end you would bring about, yea, and blot the reputation of some who stand in high places, if it came to light that the plot was devised, not by the catholics who were to be the instruments thereof, nor by the lady in whose favour all was to be done,--not by these, the mere victims, but by him who by a triumph of policy thus sent forth his tempters to enclose them all within his net--above all the persecuted lady whom all true catholics own as the only lawful sovereign within these realms. such schemes, when they succeed, are termed policy. my lords, i confess that by the justice of england we have been guilty of treason against queen elizabeth; but by the eternal law of the justice of god, we have suffered treachery far exceeding that for which we are about to die." "i marvel that they let the fellow speak so far," was cavendish's comment. "nay, but is it so?" asked diccon with startled eyes. "hush! you have yet to learn statecraft," returned his friend. his father's monitory hand only just saved the boy from bursting out with something that would have rather astonished westminster hall, and caused him to be taken out by the ushers. it is not wonderful that no report of the priest's speech has been preserved. the name of antony babington was then called. probably he had been too much absorbed in the misery of his position to pay attention to the preceding speech, for his reply was quite independent of it. he prayed the lords to believe, and to represent to her majesty, that he had received with horror the suggestion of compassing her death, and had only been brought to believe it a terrible necessity by the persuasions of this ballard. on this hatton broke forth in indignant compassion,--"o ballard! ballard! what hast thou done? a sort of brave youth, otherwise endowed with good gifts, by thy inducement hast thou brought to their utter destruction and confusion!" this apparently gave some hope to babington, for he answered--"yes, i protest that, before i met this ballard, i never meant nor intended for to kill the queen; but by his persuasions i was induced to believe that she being excommunicate it was lawful to murder her." for the first time ballard betrayed any pain. "yes, mr. babington," he said, "lay all the blame upon me; but i wish the shedding of my blood might be the saving of your life. howbeit, say what you will, i will say no more." "he is the bravest of them all!" was diccon's comment. "wot you that he was once our spy?" returned cavendish with a sneer; while sir christopher, with the satisfaction of a little nature in uttering reproaches, returned--"nay, ballard, you must say more and shall say more, for you must not commit treasons and then huddle them up. is this your religio catholica? nay, rather it is diabolica." ballard scorned to answer this, and the clerk passed on to savage, who retained his soldierly fatalism, and only shook his head. barnwell again denied any purpose of injuring the queen, and when hatton spoke of his appearance in richmond park, he said all had been for conscience sake. so said henry donne, but with far more piety and dignity, adding, "fiat voluntas dei;" and thomas salisbury was the only one who made any entreaty for pardon. speeches followed from the attorney-general, and from sir christopher hatton, and then the lord chief justice anderson pronounced the terrible sentence. richard talbot sat with his head bowed between his hands. his son had begun listening with wide-stretched eyes and mouth, as boyhood hearkens to the dreadful, and with the hardness of an unmerciful time, too apt to confound pity with weakness; but when his eye fell on the man he had followed about as an elder playmate, and realised all it conveyed, his cheek blanched, his jaw fell, and he hardly knew how his father got him out of the court. there was clearly no hope. the form of the trial was such as to leave no chance of escape from the utmost penalty. no witnesses had been examined, no degrees of guilt acknowledged, no palliations admitted. perhaps men who would have brought the spanish havoc on their native country, and have murdered their sovereign, were beyond the pale of compassion. all london clearly thought so; and yet, as richard talbot dwelt on their tones and looks, and remembered how they had been deluded and tempted, and made to believe their deed meritorious, he could not but feel exceeding pity for the four younger men. ballard, savage, and barnwell might be justly doomed; even babington had, by his own admission, entertained a fearfully evil design; but the other three had evidently dipped far less deeply into the plot, and tichborne had only concealed it out of friendship. yet the ruthless judgment condemned all alike! and why? to justify a yet more cruel blow! no wonder honest richard talbot felt sick at heart. chapter xxxiii. in the tower. "here is a letter from mr. secretary to the lieutenant of the tower, master richard, bidding him admit you to speech of babington," said will cavendish. "he was loath to give it, and nothing but my lord shrewsbury's interest would have done it, on my oath that you are a prudent and discreet man, who hath been conversant in these matters for many years." "yea, and that long before you were, master will," said richard, always a little entertained by the young gentleman's airs of patronage. "however, i am beholden to you." "that you may be, for you are the only person who hath obtained admission to the prisoners." "not even their wives?" "mrs. tichborne is in the country--so best for her--and mrs. babington hath never demanded it. i trow there is not love enough between them to make them seek such a meeting. it was one of my mother's matches. mistress cicely would have cleaved to him more closely, though i am glad you saw through the fellow too well to give her to him. she would be a landless widow, whereas this ratcliffe wife has a fair portion for her child." "then dethick will be forfeited?" "ay. they say the queen hath promised it to raleigh." "and there is no hope of mercy?" "not a tittle for any man of them! nay, so far from it, her majesty asked if there were no worse nor more extraordinary mode of death for them." "i should not have thought it of her." "her majesty hath been affrighted, master richard, sorely affrighted, though she put so bold a face upon it, and there is nothing a woman, who prides herself on her courage, can so little pardon." so richard, sad at heart, took boat and ascended the thames for his melancholy visit. the gateway was guarded by a stalwart yeoman, halbert in hand, who detained him while the officer of the guard was called. on showing the letter from sir francis walsingham, mr. talbot was conducted by this personage across the first paved court to the lodgings of the lieutenant under so close a guard that he felt as if he were about to be incarcerated himself, and was there kept waiting in a sort of guard-room while the letter was delivered. presently the lieutenant, sir owen hopton, a well-bred courteous knight, appeared and saluted him with apologies for his detention and all these precautions, saying that the orders were to keep a close guard and to hinder all communication from without, so that nothing short of this letter would have obtained entrance for the bearer, whom he further required to set down his name and designation in full. then, after asking how long the visitor wished to remain with the prisoners--for tichborne and babington were quartered together--he called a warder and committed mr. talbot to his guidance, to remain for two hours locked up in the cell. "sir," added sir owen, "it is superfluous to tell you that on coming out, you must either give me your word of honour that you convey nothing from the prisoners, or else submit to be searched." richard smiled, and observed that men were wont to trust his word of honour, to which the knight heartily replied that he was sure of it, and he then followed the warder up stone stairs and along vaulted passages, where the clang of their footsteps made his heart sink. the prisoners were in the white tower, the central body of the grim building, and the warder, after unlocking the door, announced, with no unnecessary rudeness, but rather as if he were glad of any comfort to his charges, "here, sirs, is a gentleman to visit you." they had both risen at the sound of the key turning in the lock, and antony babington's face lighted up as he exclaimed, "mr. talbot! i knew you would come if it were possible." "i come by my lord's desire," replied richard, the close wringing of his hand expressing feeling to which he durst not give way in words. he took in at the moment that the room, though stern and strong, was not squalid. it was lighted fully by a window, iron-barred, but not small, and according to custom, the prisoners had been permitted to furnish, at their own expense, sufficient garniture for comfort, and as both were wealthy men, they were fairly provided, and they were not fettered. both looked paler than when richard had seen them in westminster hall two days previously. antony was as usual neatly arrayed, with well-trimmed hair and beard, but tichborne's hung neglected, and there was a hollow, haggard look about his eyes, as if of dismay at his approaching fate. neither was, however, forgetful of courtesy, and as babington presented mr. talbot to his friend, the greeting and welcome would have befitted the halls of dethick or tichborne. "sirs," said the young man, with a sad smile irradiating for a moment the restless despair of his countenance, "it is not by choice that i am an intruder on your privacy; i will abstract myself so far as is possible." "i have no secrets from my chidiock," cried babington. "but mr. talbot may," replied his friend, "therefore i will only first inquire whether he can tell us aught of the royal lady for whose sake we suffer. they have asked us many questions, but answered none." richard was able to reply that after the seclusion at tixall she had been brought back to chartley, and there was no difference in the manner of her custody, moreover, that she had recovered from her attack of illness, tidings he had just received in a letter from humfrey. he did not feel it needful to inflict a pang on the men who were to die in two days' time by letting them know that she was to be immediately brought to trial on the evidence extracted from them. on hearing that her captivity was not straitened, both looked relieved, and tichborne, thanking him, lay down on his own bed, turned his face to the wall, and drew the covering over his head. "ah!" sighed babington, "is there no hope for him--he who has done naught but guard too faithfully my unhappy secret? is he to die for his faith and honour?" "alas, antony! i am forbidden to give thee hope for any. of that we must not speak. the time is short enough for what needs to be spoken." "i knew that there was none for myself," said antony, "but for those whom--" there was a gesture from tichborne as if he could not bear this, and he went on, "yea, there is a matter on which i must needs speak to you, sir. the young lady--where is she?"--he spoke earnestly, and lowering his voice as he bent his head. "she is still at chartley." "that is well. but, sir, she must be guarded. i fear me there is one who is aware of her parentage." "the scottish archer?" "no, the truth." "you knew it?" "not when i made my suit to her, or i should never have dared to lift my eyes so far." "i suppose your knowledge came from langston," said richard, more perturbed than amazed at the disclosure. "even so. yet i am not certain whether he knows or only guesses; but at any rate be on your guard for her sake. he has proved himself so unspeakable a villain that none can guess what he will do next. he--he it is above all--yea, above even gifford and ballard, who has brought us to this pass." he was becoming fiercely agitated, but putting a force upon himself said, "have patience, good mr. talbot, of your kindness, and i will tell you all, that you may understand the coilings of the serpent who led me hither, and if possible save her from them." antony then explained that so soon as he had become his own master he had followed the inclinations which led him to the church of his mother and of queen mary, the two beings he had always regarded with the most fervent affection and love. his mother's kindred had brought him in contact with the roman catholic priests who circulated in england, at the utmost peril of their lives, to keep up the faith of the gentry, and in many cases to intrigue for queen mary. among these plotters he fell in with cuthbert langston, a jesuit of the third order, though not a priest, and one of the most active agents in corresponding with queen mary. his small stature, colourless complexion, and insignificant features, rendered him almost a blank block, capable of assuming any variety of disguise. he also knew several languages, could imitate different dialects, and counterfeit male and female voices so that very few could detect him. he had soon made himself known to babington as the huckster tibbott of days gone by, and had then disclosed to him that cicely was certainly not the daughter of her supposed parents, telling of her rescue from the wreck, and hinting that her rank was exalted, and that he knew secrets respecting her which he was about to make known to the queen of scots. with this purpose among others, langston had adopted the disguise of the woman selling spars with the password "beads and bracelets," and being well known as an agent of correspondence to the suite of the captive queen, he had been able to direct gorion's attention to the maiden, and to let him know that she was the same with the infant who had been put on board the bride of dunbar at dunbar. how much more did langston guess? he had told babington the story current among the outer circle of mary's followers of the maiden being the daughter of the scotch archer, and had taught him her true name, encouraging too, his aspirations towards her during the time of his courtship. babington believed langston to have been at that time still a sincere partizan of queen mary, but all along to have entertained a suspicion that there was a closer relationship between bride hepburn and the queen than was avowed, though to babington himself he had only given mysterious hints. but towards the end of the captivity at tutbury, he had made some further discovery, which confirmed his suspicions, and had led to another attempt to accost cicely, and to make the queen aware of his knowledge, perhaps in order to verify it, or it might be to gain power over her, a reward for the introduction, or to extort bribes to secrecy. for looking back, antony could now perceive that by this time a certain greed of lucre had set in upon the man, who had obtained large sums of secret service money from himself; and avarice, together with the rebuff he had received from the queen, had doubtless rendered him accessible to the temptations of the arch-plotters gifford and morgan. richard could believe this, for the knowledge had been forced on him that there were an incredible number of intriguers at that time, spies and conspirators, often in the pay of both parties, impartially betraying the one to the other, and sometimes, through miscalculation, meeting the fate they richly deserved. many a man who had begun enthusiastically to work in underground ways for what he thought the righteous cause, became so enamoured of the undermining process, and the gold there to be picked up, that from a wrong-headed partizan he became a traitor--often a double-faced one--and would work secretly in the interest of whichever cause would pay him best. poor babington had been far too youthfully simple to guess what he now perceived, that he had been made the mere tool and instrument of these traitors. he had been instructed in gifford's arrangement with the burton brewer for conveying letters to mary at chartley, and had been made the means of informing her of it by means of his interview with cicely, when he had brought the letter in the watch. the letter had been conveyed to him by langston, the watch had been his own device. it was after this meeting, of which richard now heard for the first time, that langston had fully told his belief respecting the true birth of bride hepburn, and assured babington that there was no hope of his wedding her, though the queen might allow him to delude himself with the idea of her favour in order to bind him to her service. it was then that babington consented to lady shrewsbury's new match with the well-endowed eleanor ratcliffe. if he could not have cicely, he cared not whom he had. he had been leading a wild and extravagant life about town, when (as poor tichborne afterwards said on the scaffold) the flourishing estate of babington and tichborne was the talk of fleet street and the strand, and he had also many calls for secret service money, so that all his thought was to have more to spend in the service of queen mary and her daughter. "oh, sir! i have been as one distraught all this past year," he said. "how often since i have been shut up here, and i have seen how i have been duped and gulled, have your words come back to me, that to enter on crooked ways was the way to destruction for myself and others, and that i might only be serving worse men than myself! and yet they were priests who misled me!" "even in your own religion there are many priests who would withhold you from such crimes," said richard. "there are! i know it! i have spoken with them. they say no priest can put aside the eternal laws of god's justice. so these others, chidiock here, donne and salisbury, always cried out against the slaying of the queen, though--wretch that i was--and gulled by ballard and savage, i deemed the exploit so noble and praiseworthy that i even joined tichborne with me in that accursed portraiture! yea, you may well deem me mad, but it was gifford who encouraged me in having it made, no doubt to assure our ruin. oh, mr. talbot! was ever man so cruelly deceived as me?" "it is only too true, antony. my heart is full of rage and indignation when i think thereof. and yet, my poor lad, what concerns thee most is to lay aside all such thoughts as may not tend to repentance before god." "i know it, i know it, sir. all the more that we shall die without the last sacraments. commend us to the prayers of our queen, sir, and of her. but to proceed with what imports you to know for her sake, while i have space to speak." he proceeded to tell how, between dissipation and intrigue, he had lived in a perpetual state of excitement, going backwards and forwards between london and lichfield to attend to the correspondence with queen mary and the spanish ambassador in france, and to arrange the details of the plot; always being worked up to the highest pitch by gifford and ballard, while langston continued to be the great assistant in all the correspondence. all the time sir francis walsingham, who was really aware of all, if not the prime mover in the intrigue, appeared perfectly unsuspicious; often received babington at his house, and discussed a plan of sending him on a commission to france, while in point of fact every letter that travelled in the burton barrels was deciphered by phillipps, and laid before the secretary before being read by the proper owners. in none of these, however, as babington could assure mr. talbot, had cicely been mentioned,--the only danger to her was through langston. things had come to a climax in july, when babington had been urged to obtain from mary such definite approbation of his plans as might satisfy his confederates, and had in consequence written the letter and obtained the answer, copies of which had been read to him at his private examination, and which certainly contained fatal matter to both him and the queen. they had no doubt been called forth with that intent, and a doubt had begun to arise in the victim's mind whether the last reply had been really the queen's own. it had been delivered to him in the street, not by the usual channel, but by a blue-coated serving-man. two or three days later humfrey had told him of langston's interview with walsingham, which he had at the time laughed to scorn, thinking himself able to penetrate any disguise of that proteus, and likewise believing that he was blinding walsingham. he first took alarm a few days after humfrey's departure, and wrote to queen mary to warn her, convinced that the traitor must be langston. ballard became himself suspected, and after lurking about in various disguises was arrested in babington's own lodgings. to disarm suspicion, antony went to walsingham to talk about the french mission, and tried to resume his usual habits, but in a tavern, he became aware that langston, under some fresh shape, was watching him, and hastily throwing down the reckoning, he fled without his cloak or sword to gage's house at westminster, where he took horse, hid himself in st. john's wood, and finally was taken, half starved, in an outhouse at harrow, belonging to a farmer, whose mercy involved him in the like doom. this was the substance of the story told by the unfortunate young man to richard talbot, whom he owned as the best and wisest friend he had ever had--going back to the warnings twice given, that no cause is served by departing from the right; no kingdom safely won by worshipping the devil: "and sure i did worship him when i let myself be led by gifford," he said. his chief anxiety was not for his wife and her child, who he said would be well taken care of by the ratcliffe family, and who, alas! had never won his heart. in fact he was relieved that he was not permitted to see the young thing, even had she wished it; it could do no good to either of them, though he had written a letter, which she was to deliver, for the queen, commending her to her majesty's mercy. his love had been for cicely, and even that had never been, as richard saw, such purifying, restraining, self-sacrificing affection as was humfrey's. it was half romance, half a sort of offshoot from his one great and absorbing passion of devotion to the queen of scots, which was still as strong as ever. he entrusted richard with his humblest commendations to her, and strove to rest in the belief that as many a conspirator before--such as norfolk, throckmorton, parry--had perished on her behalf while she remained untouched, that so it might again be, since surely, if she were to be tried, he would have been kept alive as a witness. the peculiar custom of the time in state prosecutions of hanging the witnesses before the trial had not occurred to him. but how would it be with cicely? "is what this fellow guessed the very truth?" he asked. richard made a sign of affirmation, saying, "is it only a guess on his part?" babington believed the man stopped short of absolute certainty, though he had declared himself to have reason to believe that a child must have been born to the captive queen at lochleven; and if so, where else could she be? was he waiting for clear proof to make the secret known to the council? did he intend to make profit of it and obtain in the poor girl a subject for further intrigue? was he withheld by consideration for richard talbot, for whom babington declared that if such a villain could be believed in any respect, he had much family regard and deep gratitude, since richard had stood his friend when all his family had cast him off in much resentment at his change of purpose and opinion. at any rate he had in his power cicely's welfare and liberty, if not the lives of her adopted parents, since in the present juncture of affairs, and of universal suspicion, the concealment of the existence of one who stood so near the throne might easily be represented as high treason. where was he? no one knew. for appearance sake, gifford had fled beyond seas, happily only to fall into a prison of the duke of guise: and they must hope that langston might have followed the same course. meantime, richard could but go on as before, cicely being now in her own mother's hands. the avowal of her identity must remain for the present as might be determined by her who had the right to decide. "i would i could feel hope for any i leave behind me," said poor antony. "i trow you will not bear the maiden my message, for you will deem it a sin that i have loved her, and only her, to the last, though i have been false to that love as to all else beside. tell humfrey how i long that i had been like him, though he too must love on without hope." he sent warm greetings to good mistress susan talbot and craved her prayers. he had one other care, namely to commend to mr. talbot an old body servant, harry gillingham by name, who had attended on him in his boyhood at sheffield, and had been with him all his life, being admitted even now, under supervision from the warders, to wait on him when dressing and at his meals. the poor man was broken-hearted, and so near desperation that his master wished much to get him out of london before the execution. so, as mr. talbot meant to sail for hull by the next day's tide in the mastiff, he promised to take the poor fellow with him back to bridgefield. all this had taken much time. antony did not seem disposed to go farther into his own feelings in the brief space that remained, but he took up a paper from the table, and indicating tichborne, who still affected sleep, he asked whether it was fit that a man, who could write thus, should die for a plot against which he had always protested. richard read these touching lines:-- my prime of youth is but a frost of care, my feast of joy is but a dish of pain, my crop of corn is but a field of tares, and all my goods is but vain hope of gain. the day is fled, and yet i saw no sun; and now i live, and now my life is done. my spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung; the fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green; my youth is past, and yet i am but young; i saw the world, and yet i was not seen. my thread is cut, and yet it is not spun; and now i live, and now my life is done. i sought for death, and found it in the wombe; i lookt for life, and yet it was a shade; i trode the ground, and knew it was my tombe, and now i dye, and now i am but made. the glass is full, and yet my glass is run; and now i live, and now my life is done. little used to poetry, these lines made the good man's eyes fill with tears as he looked at the two goodly young men about to be cut off so early--one indeed guilty, but the victim of an iniquitous act of deliberate treachery. he asked if mr. tichborne wished to entrust to him aught that could be done by word of mouth, and a few commissions were given to him. then antony bethought him of thanks to lord and lady shrewsbury for all they had done for him, and above all for sending mr. talbot; and a message to ask pardon for having so belied the loyal education they had given him. the divided religion of the country had been his bane: his mother's charge secretly to follow her faith had been the beginning, and then had followed the charms of stratagem on behalf of queen mary. perhaps, after all, his death, as a repentant man still single minded, saved him from lapsing into the double vileness of the veteran intriguers whose prey he had been. "i commend me to the mercy master who sees my heart," he said. herewith the warder returned, and at his request summoned gillingham, a sturdy grizzled fellow, looking grim with grief. babington told him of the arrangement made, and that he was to leave london early in the morning with mr. talbot, but the man immediately dropped on his knees and swore a solemn oath that nothing should induce him to leave the place while his master breathed. "thou foolish knave," said antony, "thou canst do me no good, and wilt but make thyself a more piteous wretch than thou art already. why, 'tis for love of thee that i would have thee spared the sight." "am i a babe to be spared?" growled the man. and all that he could be induced to promise was that he would repair to bridgefield as soon as all was over--"unless," said he, "i meet one of those accursed rogues, and then a halter would be sweet, if i had first had my will of them." "hush, harry, or master warder will be locking thee up next," said antony. and then came the farewell. it was at last a long, speechless, sorrowful embrace; and then antony, slipping from it to his knees, said--"bless me! oh bless me: thou who hast been mine only true friend. bless me as a father!" "may god in heaven bless thee!" said richard, solemnly laying his hand on his head. "may he, who knoweth how thou hast been led astray, pardon thee! may he, who hath felt the agonies and shame of the cross, redeem thee, and suffer thee not for any pains of death to fall from him!" he was glad to hear afterwards, when broken-hearted gillingham joined him, that the last words heard from antony babington's lips were--"parce mihi, domine jesu!" chapter xxxiv. fotheringhay. "is this my last journey?" said queen mary, with a strange, sad smile, as she took her seat in the heavy lumbering coach which had been appointed for her conveyance from chartley, her rheumatism having set in too severely to permit her to ride. "say not so; your grace has weathered many a storm before," said marie de courcelles. "this one will also pass over." "ah, my good marie, never before have i felt this foreboding and sinking of the heart. i have always hoped before, but i have exhausted the casket of pandora. even hope is flown!" jean kennedy tried to say something of "darkest before dawn." "the dawn, it may be, of the eternal day," said the queen. "nay, my friends, the most welcome tidings that could greet me would be that my weary bondage was over for ever, and that i should wreck no more gallant hearts. what, mignonne, art thou weeping? there will be freedom again for thee when that day comes." "o madam, i want not freedom at such a price!" and yet cicely had never recovered her looks since those seventeen days at tickhill. she still looked white and thin, and her dark eyebrows lay in a heavy line, seldom lifted by the merry looks and smiles that used to flash over her face. life had begun to press its weight upon her, and day after day, as humfrey watched her across the chapel, and exchanged a word or two with her while crossing the yard, had he grieved at her altered mien; and vexed himself with wondering whether she had after all loved babington, and were mourning for him. truly, even without the passion of love, there had been much to shock and appal a young heart in the fate of the playfellow of her childhood, the suitor of her youth. it was the first death among those she had known intimately, and even her small knowledge of the cause made her feel miserable and almost guilty, for had not poor antony plotted for her mother, and had not she been held out to him as a delusive inducement? moreover, she felt the burden of a deep, pitying love and admiration not wholly joined with perfect trust and reliance. she had been from the first startled by untruths and concealments. there was mystery all round her, and the future was dark. there were terrible forebodings for her mother; and if she looked beyond for herself, only uncertainty and fear of being commanded to follow marie de courcelles to a foreign court, perhaps to a convent; while she yearned with an almost sick longing for home and kind mrs. talbot's motherly tenderness and trustworthiness, and the very renunciation of humfrey that she had spoken so easily, had made her aware of his full worth, and wakened in her a longing for the right to rest on his stout arm and faithful heart. to look across at him and know him near often seemed her best support, and was she to be cut off from him for ever? the devotions of the queen, though she had been deprived of her almoner had been much increased of late as one preparing for death; and with them were associated all her household of the roman catholic faith, leaving out cicely and the two mrs. curlls. the long oft-repeated latin orisons, such as the penitential psalms, would certainly have been wearisome to the girl, but it gave her a pang to be pointedly excluded as one who had no part nor lot with her mother. perhaps this was done by calculation, in order to incline her to embrace her mother's faith; and the time was not spent very pleasantly, as she had nothing but needlework to occupy her, and no society save that of the sisters curll. barbara's spirits were greatly depressed by the loss of her infant and anxiety for her husband. his evidence might be life or death to the queen, and his betrayal of her confidence, or his being tortured for his fidelity, were terrible alternatives for his wife's imagination. it was hard to say whether she were more sorry or glad when, on leaving chartley, she was forbidden to continue her attendance on the queen, and set free to follow him to london. the poor lady knew nothing, and dreaded everything. she could not help discussing her anxieties when alone with cicely, thus rendering perceptible more and more of the ramifications of plot and intrigue--past and present--at which she herself only guessed a part. assuredly the finding herself a princess, and sharing the captivity of a queen, had not proved so like a chapter of the morte d'arthur as it had seemed to cicely at buxton. it was as unlike as was riding a white palfrey through a forest, guided by knights in armour, to the being packed with all the ladies into a heavy jolting conveyance, guarded before and behind by armed servants and yeomen, among whom humfrey's form could only now and then be detected. the queen had chosen her seat where she could best look out from the scant amount of window. she gazed at the harvest-fields full of sheaves, the orchards laden with ruddy apples, the trees assuming their autumn tints, with lingering eyes, as of one who foreboded that these sights of earth were passing from her. two nights were spent on the road, one at leicester; and on the fourth day, the captain in charge of the castle for the governor sir william fitzwilliam, who had come to escort and receive her, came to the carriage window and bade her look up. "this is periho lane," he said, "whence your grace may have the first sight of the poor house which is to have the honour of receiving you." "perio! i perish," repeated mary; "an ominous road." the place showed itself to be of immense strength. the hollow sound caused by rolling over a drawbridge was twice heard, and the carriage crossed two courts before stopping at the foot of a broad flight of stone steps, where stood sir william fitzwilliam and sir amias paulett ready to hand out the queen. a few stone steps were mounted, then an enormous hall had to be traversed. the little procession had formed in pairs, and humfrey was able to give his hand to cicely and walk with her along the vast space, on which many windows emblazoned with coats of arms shed their light--the western ones full of the bright september sunshine. one of these, emblazoned with the royal shield in crimson mantlings, cast a blood-red stain on the white stone pavement. mary, who was walking first, holding by the arm of sir andrew melville, paused, shuddered, pointed, and said, "see, andrew, there will my blood be shed." "madam, madam! speak not thus. by the help of the saints you will yet win through your troubles." "ay, andrew, but only by one fate;" and she looked upwards. her faithful followers could not but notice that there was no eager assurance that no ill was intended her, such as they had often heard from shrewsbury and sadler. cicely looked at humfrey with widely-opened eyes, and the half-breathed question, "what does it mean?" he shook his head gravely and said, "i cannot tell," but he could not keep his manner from betraying that he expected the worst. meanwhile mary was conducted on to her apartments, up a stair as usual, and forming another side of the inner court at right angles to the hall. there was no reason to complain of these, mary's furniture having as usual been sent forward with her inferior servants, and arranged by them. she was weary, and sat down at once on her chair, and as soon as paulett had gone through his usual formalities with even more than his wonted stiffness, and had left her, she said, "i see what we are come here for. it is that yonder hall may be the place of my death." cheering assurances and deprecations of evil augury were poured on her, but she put them aside, saying, "nay, my friends, trow you not that i rejoice in the close of my weary captivity?" she resumed her usual habits very calmly, as far as her increased rheumatism would permit, and showed anxiety that a large piece of embroidery should be completed, and thus about a fortnight passed. then came the first token of the future. sir amias paulett, sir walter mildmay, and a notary, sought her presence and presented her with a letter from queen elizabeth, informing her that there were heavy accusations against her, and that as she was residing under the protection of the laws of england, she must be tried by those laws, and must make answer to the commissioners appointed for the purpose. mary put on all her queenly dignity, and declared that she would never condescend to answer as a subject of the queen of england, but would only consent to refer their differences to a tribunal of foreign princes. as to her being under the protection of english law, she had come to england of her own free will, and had been kept there a prisoner ever since, so that she did not consider herself protected by the law of england. meanwhile fresh noblemen commissioned to sit on the trial arrived day by day. there was trampling of horses and jingling of equipments, and the captive suite daily heard reports of fresh arrivals, and saw glimpses of new colours and badges flitting across the court, while conferences were held with mary in the hope of inducing her to submit to the english jurisdiction. she was sorely perplexed, seeing as she did that to persist in her absolute refusal to be bound by english law would be prejudicial to her claim to the english crown, and being also assured by burghley that if she refused to plead the trial would still take place, and she would be sentenced in her absence. her spirit rose at this threat, and she answered disdainfully, but it worked with her none the less when the treasurer had left her. "oh," she cried that night, "would but elizabeth be content to let me resign my rights to my son, making them secure to him, and then let me retire to some convent in lorraine, or in germany, or wherever she would, so would i never trouble her more!" "will you not write this to her?" asked cicely. "what would be the use of it, child? they would tamper with the letter, pledging me to what i never would undertake. i know how they can cut and garble, add and take away! never have they let me see or speak to her as woman to woman. all i have said or done has been coloured." "mother, i would that i could go to her; humfrey has seen and spoken to her, why should not i?" "thou, poor silly maid! they would drive cis talbot away with scorn, and as to bride hepburn, why, she would but run into all her mother's dangers." "it might be done, and if so i will do it," said cicely, clasping her hands together. "no, child, say no more. my worn-out old life is not worth the risk of thy young freedom. but i love thee for it, mine ain bairnie, mon enfant a moi. if thy brother had thy spirit, child--" "i hate the thought of him! call him not my brother!" cried cicely hotly. "if he were worth one brass farthing he would have unfurled the scottish lion long ago, and ridden across the border to deliver his mother." "and how many do you think would have followed that same lion?" said mary, sadly. "then he should have come alone with his good horse and his good sword!" "to lose both crowns, if not life! no, no, lassie; he is a pawky chiel, as they say in the north, and cares not to risk aught for the mother he hath never seen, and of whom he hath been taught to believe strange tales." the more the queen said in excuse for the indifference of her son, the stronger was the purpose that grew up in the heart of the daughter, while fresh commissioners arrived every day, and further conversations were held with the queen. lord shrewsbury was known to be summoned, and cicely spent half her time in watching for some well-known face, in the hope that he might bring her good foster-father in his train. more than once she declared that she saw a cap or sleeve with the well-beloved silver dog, when it turned out to be a wyvern or the royal lion himself. queen mary even laughed at her for thinking her mastiff had gone on his hind legs when she once even imagined him in the warwick bear and ragged staff. at last, however, all unexpectedly, while the queen was in conference with hatton, there came a message by the steward of the household, that master richard talbot had arrived, and that permission had been granted by sir amias for him to speak with mistress cicely. she sprang up joyously, but mrs. kennedy demurred. "set him up!" quoth she. "my certie, things are come to a pretty pass that any one's permission save her majesty's should be speired for one of her women, and i wonder that you, my mistress, should be the last to think of her honour!" "o mrs. kennedy, dear mrs. jean," entreated cicely, "hinder me not. if i wait till i can ask her, i may lose my sole hope of speaking with him. i know she would not be displeased, and it imports, indeed it imports." "come, mrs. kennett," said the steward, who by no means shared his master's sourness, "if it were a young gallant that craved to see thy fair mistress, i could see why you should doubt, but being her father and brother, there can surely be no objection." "the young lady knows what i mean," said the old gentlewoman with great dignity, "but if she will answer it to the queen--" "i will, i will," cried cicely, whose colour had risen with eagerness, and she was immediately marshalled by the steward beyond the door that closed in the royal captive's suite of apartments to a gallery. at the door of communication three yeomen were always placed under an officer. humfrey was one of those who took turns to command this guard, but he was not now on duty. he was, however, standing beside his father awaiting cicely's coming. eagerly she moved up to master richard, bent her knee for his blessing, and raised her face for his paternal kiss with the same fond gladness as if she had been his daughter in truth. he took one hand, and humfrey the other, and they followed the steward, who had promised to procure them a private interview, so difficult a matter, in the fulness of the castle, that he had no place to offer them save the deep embrasure of a great oriel window at the end of the gallery. they would be seen there, but there was no fear of their being heard without their own consent, and till the chapel bell rang for evening prayers and sermon there would be no interruption. and as cicely found herself seated between master richard and the window, with humfrey opposite, she was sensible of a repose and bien etre she had not felt since she quitted bridgefield. she had already heard on the way that all was well there, and that my lord was not come, though named in the commission as being earl marshal of england, sending his kinsman of bridgefield in his stead with letters of excuse. "in sooth he cannot bear to come and sit in judgment on one he hath known so long and closely," said richard; "but he hath bidden me to come hither and remain so as to bring him a full report of all." "how doth my lady countess take that?" asked humfrey. "i question whether the countess would let him go if he wished it. she is altogether changed in mind, and come round to her first love for this lady, declaring that it is all her lord's fault that the custody was taken from them, and that she could and would have hindered all this." "that may be so," said humfrey. "if all be true that is whispered, there have been dealings which would not have been possible at sheffield." "so it may be. in any wise my lady is bitterly grieved, and they send for thy mother every second day to pacify her." "dear mother!" murmured cis; "when shall i see her again?" "i would that she had thee for a little space, my wench," said richard; "thou hast lost thy round ruddy cheeks. hast been sick?" "nay, sir, save as we all are--sick at heart! but all seems well now you are here. tell me of little ned. is he as good scholar as ever?" "verily he is. we intend by god's blessing to bring him up for the ministry. i hope in another year to take him to cambridge. thy mother is knitting his hosen of gray and black already." other questions and answers followed about bridgefield tidings, which still evidently touched cicely as closely as if she had been a born talbot. there was a kind of rest in dwelling on these before coming to the sadder, more pressing concern of her other life. it was not till the slow striking of the castle clock warned them that they had less than an hour to spend together that they came to closer matters, and richard transferred to cicely those last sad messages to her queen, which he had undertaken for babington and tichborne. "the queen hath shed many tears for them," she said, "and hath writ to the french and spanish ambassadors to have masses said for them. poor antony! did he send no word to me, dear father?" the man being dead, mr. talbot saw no objection to telling her how he had said he had never loved any other, though he had been false to that love. "ah, poor antony!" said cis, with her grave simplicity. "but it would not have been right for me to be a hindrance to the marriage of one who could never have me." "while he loved you it would," said humfrey hastily. "yea," as she lifted up her eyes to him, "it would so, as my father will tell you, because he could not truly love that other woman." richard smiled sadly, and could not but assent to his son's honest truth and faith. "then," said cis, with the same straightforwardness, sprung of their old fraternal intercourse, "you must quit all love for me save a brother's, humfrey; for my queen mother made me give her my word on my duty never to wed you." "i know," returned humfrey calmly. "i have known all that these two years; but what has that to do with my love?" "come, come, children," said richard, hardening himself though his eyes were moist; "i did not come here to hear you two discourse like the folks in a pastoral! we may not waste time. tell me, child, if thou be not forbidden, hath she any purpose for thee?" "o sir, i fear that what she would most desire is to bestow me abroad with some of her kindred of lorraine. but i mean to strive hard against it, and pray her earnestly. and, father, i have one great purpose. she saith that these cruel statesmen, who are all below in this castle, have hindered queen elizabeth from ever truly hearing and knowing all, and from speaking with her as woman to woman. father, i will go to london, i will make my way to the queen, and when she hears who i am--of her own blood and kindred--she must listen to me; and i will tell her what my mother queen really is, and how cruelly she has been played upon, and entreat of her to see her face to face and talk with her, and judge whether she can have done all she is accused of." "thou art a brave maiden, cis," exclaimed humfrey with deep feeling. "will you take me, sir?" said cicely, looking up to master richard. "child, i cannot say at once. it is a perilous purpose, and requires much to be thought over." "but you will aid me?" she said earnestly. "if it be thy duty, woe be to me if i gainsay thee," said richard; "but there is no need to decide as yet. we must await the issue of this trial, if the trial ever take place." "will cavendish saith," put in humfrey, "that a trial there will be of some sort, whether the lady consent to plead or not." "until that is ended we can do nothing," said his father. "meantime, cicely child, we shall be here at hand, and be sure that i will not be slack to aid thee in what may be thy duty as a daughter. so rest thee in that, my wench, and pray that we may be led to know the right." and richard spoke as a man of high moral courage in making this promise, well knowing that it might involve himself in great danger. the worst that could befall cicely might be imprisonment, and a life of constraint, jealously watched; but his own long concealment of her birth might easily be construed into treason, and the horrible consequences of such an accusation were only too fresh in his memory. yet, as he said afterwards to his son, "there was no forbidding the maiden to do her utmost for her own mother, neither was there any letting her run the risk alone." to which humfrey heartily responded. "the queen may forbid her, or the purpose may pass away," added richard, "or it may be clearly useless and impossible to make the attempt; but i cannot as a christian man strive to dissuade her from doing what she can. and as thou saidst, humfrey, she is changed. she hath borne her modestly and discreetly, ay and truly, through all. the childishness is gone out of her, and i mark no lightness of purpose in her." on that afternoon queen mary announced that she had yielded to hatton's representations so far as to consent to appear before the commissioners, provided her protest against the proceedings were put on record. "nay, blame me not, good melville," she said. "i am wearied out with their arguments. what matters it how they do the deed on which they are bent? it was an ill thing when king harry the eighth brought in this fashion of forcing the law to give a colour to his will! in the good old times, the blow came without being first baited by one and another, and made a spectacle to all men, in the name of justice, forsooth!" mary seaton faltered something of her majesty's innocence shining out like the light of day. "flatter not thyself so far, ma mie," said mary. "were mine innocence clearer than the sun they would blacken it. all that can come of this same trial is that i may speak to posterity, if they stifle my voice here, and so be known to have died a martyr to my faith. get we to our prayers, girls, rather than feed on vain hopes. de profundis clamavi." chapter xxxv. before the commissioners. who would be permitted to witness the trial? as small matters at hand eclipse great matters farther off, this formed the immediate excitement in queen mary's little household, when it was disclosed that she was to appear only attended by sir andrew melville and her two maries before her judges. the vast hall had space enough on the ground for numerous spectators, and a small gallery intended for musicians was granted, with some reluctance, to the ladies and gentlemen of the suite, who, as sir amias paulett observed, could do no hurt, if secluded there. thither then they proceeded, and to cicely's no small delight, found humfrey awaiting them there, partly as a guard, partly as a master of the ceremonies, ready to explain the arrangements, and tell the names of the personages who appeared in sight. "there," said he, "close below us, where you cannot see it, is the chair with a cloth of state over it." "for our queen?" asked jean kennedy. "no, madam. it is there to represent the majesty of queen elizabeth. that other chair, half-way down the hall, with the canopy from the beam over it, is for the queen of scots." jean kennedy sniffed the air a little at this, but her attention was directed to the gentlemen who began to fill the seats on either side. some of them had before had interviews with queen mary, and thus were known by sight to her own attendants; some had been seen by humfrey during his visit to london; and even now at a great distance, and a different table, he had been taking his meals with them at the present juncture. the seats were long benches against the wall, for the earls on one side, the barons on the other. the lord chancellor bromley, in his red and white gown, and burghley, the lord treasurer, with long white beard and hard impenetrable face, sat with them. "that a man should have such a beard, and yet dare to speak to the queen as he did two days ago," whispered cis. "see," said mrs. kennedy, "who is that burly figure with the black eyes and grizzled beard?" "that, madam," said humfrey, "is the earl of warwick." "the brother of the minion leicester?" said jean kennedy. "he hath scant show of his comeliness." "nay; they say he is become the best favoured," said humfrey; "my lord of leicester being grown heavy and red-faced. he is away in the netherlands, or you might judge of him." "and who," asked the lady, "may be yon, with the strangely-plumed hat and long, yellow hair, like a half-tamed borderer?" "he?" said humfrey. "he is my lord of cumberland. i marvelled to see him back so soon. he is here, there, and everywhere; and when i was in london was commanding a fleet bearing victuals to relieve the dutch in helvoetsluys. had i not other work in hand, i would gladly sail with him, though there be something fantastic in his humour. but here come the knights of the privy council, who are to my mind more noteworthy than the earls." the seats of these knights were placed a little below and beyond those of the noblemen. the courteous sir ralf sadler looked up and saluted the ladies in the gallery as he entered. "he was always kindly," said jean kennedy, as she returned the bow. "i am glad to see him here." "but oh, humfrey!" cried cicely, "who is yonder, with the short cloak standing on end with pearls, and the quilted satin waistcoat, jewelled ears, and frizzed head? he looks fitter to lead off a dance than a trial." "he is sir christopher hatton, her majesty's vice-chamberlain," replied humfrey. "who, if rumour saith true, made his fortune by a galliard," said dr. bourgoin. "here is a contrast to him," said jean kennedy. "see that figure, as puritanical as sir amias himself, with the long face, scant beard, black skull-cap, and plain crimped ruff. his visage is pulled into so solemn a length that were we at home in edinburgh, i should expect to see him ascend a pulpit, and deliver a screed to us all on the iniquities of dancing and playing on the lute!" "that, madam," said humfrey, "is mr. secretary, sir francis walsingham." here elizabeth curll leant forward, looked, and shivered a little. "ah, master humfrey, is it in that man's power that my poor brother lies?" "'tis true, madam," said humfrey, "but indeed you need not fear. i heard from will cavendish last night that mr. curll is well. they have not touched either of the secretaries to hurt them, and if aught have been avowed, it was by monsieur nau, and that on the mere threat. do you see old will yonder, cicely, just within mr. secretary's call--with the poke of papers and the tablet?" "is that will cavendish? how precise and stiff he hath grown, and why doth he not look up and greet us? he knoweth us far better than doth sir ralf sadler; doth he not know we are here?" "ay, mistress cicely," said dr. bourgoin from behind, "but the young gentleman has his fortune to make, and knows better than to look on the seamy side of court favour." "ah! see those scarlet robes," here exclaimed cis. "are they the judges, humfrey?" "ay, the two chief-justices and the chief baron of the exchequer. there they sit in front of the earls, and three more judges in front of the barons." "and there are more red robes at that little table in front, besides the black ones." "those are doctors of law, and those in black with coifs are the attorney and solicitor general. the rest are clerks and writers and the like." "it is a mighty and fearful array," said cicely with a long breath. "a mighty comedy wherewith to mock at justice," said jean. "prudence, madam, and caution," suggested dr. bourgoin. "and hush!" a crier here shouted aloud, "oyez, oyez, oyez! mary, queen of scotland and dowager of france, come into the court!" then from a door in the centre, leaning on sir andrew melville's arm, came forward the queen, in a black velvet dress, her long transparent veil hanging over it from her cap, and followed by the two maries, one carrying a crimson velvet folding-chair, and the other a footstool. she turned at first towards the throne, but she was motioned aside, and made to perceive that her place was not there. she drew her slender figure up with offended dignity. "i am a queen," she said; "i married a king of france, and my seat ought to be there." however, with this protest she passed on to her appointed place, looking sadly round at the assembled judges and lawyers. "alas!" she said, "so many counsellors, and not one for me." were there any englishmen there besides richard talbot and his son who felt the pathos of this appeal? one defenceless woman against an array of the legal force of the whole kingdom. it may be feared that the feelings of most were as if they had at last secured some wild, noxious, and incomprehensible animal in their net, on whose struggles they looked with the unpitying eye of the hunter. the lord chancellor began by declaring that the queen of england convened the court as a duty in one who might not bear the sword in vain, to examine into the practices against her own life, giving the queen of scots the opportunity of clearing herself. at the desire of burghley, the commission was read by the clerk of the court, and mary then made her public protest against its legality, or power over her. it was a wonderful thing, as those spectators in the gallery felt, to see how brave and how acute was the defence of that solitary lady, seated there with all those learned men against her; her papers gone, nothing left to her but her brain and her tongue. no loss of dignity nor of gentleness was shown in her replies; they were always simple and direct. the difficulty for her was all the greater that she had not been allowed to know the form of the accusation, before it was hurled against her in full force by mr. serjeant gawdy, who detailed the whole of the conspiracy of ballard and babington in all its branches, and declared her to have known and approved of it, and to have suggested the manner of executing it. breathlessly did cicely listen as the queen rose up. humfrey watched her almost more closely than the royal prisoner. when there was a denial of all knowledge or intercourse with ballard or babington, jean kennedy's hard-lined face never faltered; but cicely's brows came together in concern at the mention of the last name, and did not clear as the queen explained that though many catholics might indeed write to her with offers of service, she could have no knowledge of anything they might attempt. to confute this, extracts from their confessions were read, and likewise that letter of babington's which he had written to her detailing his plans, and that lengthy answer, brought by the blue-coated serving-man, in which the mode of carrying her off from chartley was suggested, and which had the postscript desiring to know the names of the six who were to remove the usurping competitor. the queen denied this letter flatly, declaring that it might have been written with her alphabet of ciphers, but was certainly none of hers. "there may have been designs against the queen and for procuring my liberty," she said, "but i, shut up in close prison, was not aware of them, and how can i be made to answer for them? only lately did i receive a letter asking my pardon if schemes were made on my behalf without my privity, nor can anything be easier than to counterfeit a cipher, as was lately proved by a young man in france. verily, i greatly fear that if these same letters were traced to their deviser, it would prove to be the one who is sitting here. think you," she added, turning to walsingham, "think you, mr. secretary, that i am ignorant of your devices used so craftily against me? your spies surrounded me on every side, but you know not, perhaps, that some of your spies have been false and brought intelligence to me. and if such have been his dealings, my lords," she said, appealing to the judges and peers, "how can i be assured that he hath not counterfeited my ciphers to bring me to my death? hath he not already practised against my life and that of my son?" walsingham rose in his place, and lifting up his hands and eyes declared, "i call god to record that as a private person i have done nothing unbeseeming an honest man, nor as a public person have i done anything to dishonour my place." somewhat ironically mary admitted this disavowal, and after some unimportant discussion, the court adjourned until the next day, it being already late, according to the early habits of the time. cicely had been entirely carried along by her mother's pleading. tears had started as queen mary wept her indignant tears, and a glow had risen in her cheeks at the accusation of walsingham. ever and anon she looked to humfrey's face for sympathy, but he sat gravely listening, his two hands clasped over the hilt of his sword, and his chin resting on them, as if to prevent a muscle of his face from moving. when they rose up to leave the galleries, and there was the power to say a word, she turned to him earnestly. "a piteous sight," he said, "and a right gallant defence." he did not mean it, but the words struck like lead on cicely's heart, for they did not amount to an acquittal before the tribunal of his secret conviction, any more than did walsingham's disavowal, for who could tell what mr. secretary's conscience did think unbecoming to his office? cicely found her mother on her couch giving a free course to her tears, in the reaction after the strain and effort of her defence. melville and the maries were assuring her that she had most bravely confuted her enemies, and that she had only to hold on with equal courage to the end. mrs. kennedy and dr. bourgoin came in to join in the same encouragements, and the commendation evidently soothed her. "however it may end," she said, "mary of scotland shall not go down to future ages as a craven spirit. but let us not discuss it further, my dear friends, my head aches, and i can bear no farther word at present." dr. bourgoin made her take some food and then lie down to rest, while in an outer room a lute was played and a low soft song was sung. she had not slept all the previous night, but she fell asleep, holding the hand of cicely, who was on a cushion by her side. the girl, having been likewise much disturbed, slept too, and only gradually awoke as her mother was sitting up on her couch discussing the next day's defence with melville and bourgoin. "i fear me, madam, there is no holding to the profession of entire ignorance," said melville. "they have no letters from babington to me to show," said the queen. "i took care of _that_ by the help of this good bairn. i can defy them to produce the originals out of all my ransacked cabinets." "they have the copies both of them and of your majesty's replies, and nan and curll to verify them." "what are copies worth, or what are dead and tortured men's confessions worth?" said mary. "were your majesty a private person they would never be accepted as evidence," said melville; "but--" "but because i am a queen and a catholic there is no justice for me," said mary. "well, what is the defence you would have me confine myself to, my sole privy counsellors?" here cis, to show she was awake, pressed her mother's hand and looked up in her face, but mary, though returning the glance and the pressure, did not send her away, while melville recommended strongly that the queen should continue to insist on the imperfection of the evidence adduced against her, which he said might so touch some of the lawyers, or the nobles, that burghley and walsingham might be afraid to proceed. if this failed her, she must allow her knowledge of the plot for her own escape and the spanish invasion, but strenuously deny the part which concerned elizabeth's life. "that it is which they above all desire to fix on me," said the queen. cicely's brain was in confusion. surely she had heard those letters read in the hall. were they false or genuine? the queen had utterly denied them there. now she seemed to think the only point was to prove that these were not the originals. dr. bourgoin seemed to feel the same difficulty. "madame will pardon me," he said; "i have not been of her secret councils, but can she not, if rightly dealt with, prove those two letters that were read to have been forged by her enemies?" "what i could do is this, my good bourgoin," said mary; "were i only confronted with nau and curll, i could prove that the letter i received from babington bore nothing about the destroying the usurping competitor. the poor faithful lad was a fool, but not so great a fool as to tell me such things. and, on the other hand, hath either of you, my friends, ever seen in me such symptoms of midsummer madness as that i should be asking the names of the six who were to do the deed? what cared i for their names? i--who only wished to know as little of the matter as possible!" "can your majesty prove that you knew nothing?" asked melville. mary paused. "they cannot prove by fair means that i knew anything," said she, "for i did not. of course i was aware that elizabeth must be taken out of the way, or the heretics would be rallying round her; but there is no lack of folk who delight in work of that sort, and why should i meddle with the knowledge? with the prince of parma in london, she, if she hath the high courage she boasteth of, would soon cause the spanish pikes to use small ceremony with her! why should i concern myself about poor antony and his five gentlemen? but it is the same as it was twenty years ago. what i know will have to be, and yet choose not to hear of, is made the head and front of mine offending, that the real actors may go free! and because i have writ naught that they can bring against me, they take my letters and add to and garble them, till none knows where to have them. would that we were in france! there it was a good sword-cut or pistol-shot at once, and one took one's chance of a return, without all this hypocrisy of law and justice to weary one out and make men double traitors." "methought walsingham winced when your majesty went to the point with him," said bourgoin. "and you put up with his explanation?" said melville. "truly i longed to demand of what practices mr. secretary in his office,--not as a private person--would be ashamed; but it seemed to me that they might call it womanish spite, and to that the queen of scots will never descend!" "pity but that we had babington's letter! then might we put him to confusion by proving the additions," said melville. "it is not possible, my good friend. the letter is at the bottom of the castle well; is it not, mignonne? mourn for it not, andrew. it would have been of little avail, and it carried with it stuff that mr. secretary would give almost his precious place to possess, and that might be fatal to more of us. i hoped that there might have been safety for poor babington in the destruction of that packet, never guessing at the villainy of yon burton brewer, nor of those who set him on. come, it serves not to fret ourselves any more. i must answer as occasion serves me; speaking not so much to elizabeth's commission, who have foredoomed me, as to all christendom, and to the scots and english of all ages, who will be my judges." her judges? ay! but how? with the same enthusiastic pity and indignation, mixed with the same misgiving as her own daughter felt. not wholly innocent, not wholly guilty, yet far less guilty than those who had laid their own crimes on her in scotland, or who plotted to involve her in meshes partly woven by herself in england. the evil done to her was frightful, but it would have been powerless had she been wholly blameless. alas! is it not so with all of us? the second day's trial came on. mary seaton was so overpowered with the strain she had gone through that the queen would not take her into the hall, but let cicely sit at her feet instead. on this day none of the crown lawyers took part in the proceedings; for, as cavendish whispered to humfrey, there had been high words between them and my lord treasurer and mr. secretary; and they had declared themselves incapable of conducting a prosecution so inconsistent with the forms of law to which they were accustomed. the pedantic fellows wanted more direct evidence, he said, and humfrey honoured them. lord burghley then conducted the proceedings, and they had thus a more personal character. the queen, however, acted on melville's advice, and no longer denied all knowledge of the conspiracy, but insisted that she was ignorant of the proposed murder of elizabeth, and argued most pertinently that a copy of a deciphered cipher, without the original, was no proof at all, desiring further that nau and curll should be examined in her presence. she reminded the commissioners how their queen herself had been called in question for wyatt's rebellion, in spite of her innocence. "heaven is my witness," she added, "that much as i desire the safety and glory of the catholic religion, i would not purchase it at the price of blood. i would rather play esther than judith." her defence was completed by her taking off the ring which elizabeth had sent to her at lochleven. "this," she said, holding it up, "your queen sent to me in token of amity and protection. you best know how that pledge has been redeemed." therewith she claimed another day's hearing, with an advocate granted to her, or else that, being a princess, she might be believed on the word of a princess. this completed her defence, except so far that when burghley responded in a speech of great length, she interrupted, and battled point by point, always keeping in view the strong point of the insufficient evidence and her own deprivation of the chances of confuting what was adduced against her. it was late in the afternoon when he concluded. there was a pause, as though for a verdict by the commissioners. instead of this, mary rose and repeated her appeal to be tried before the parliament of england at westminster. no reply was made, and the court broke up. chapter xxxvi. a venture. "mother, dear mother, do but listen to me." "i must listen, child, when thou callest me so from your heart; but it is of no use, my poor little one. they have referred the matter to the star chamber, that they may settle it there with closed doors and no forms of law. thou couldst do nothing! and could i trust thee to go wandering to london, like a maiden in a ballad, all alone?" "nay, madam, i should not go alone. my father, i mean mr. talbot, would take me." "come, bairnie, that is presuming overmuch on the good man's kindness." "i do not speak without warrant, madam. i told him what i longed to do, and he said it might be my duty, and if it were so, he would not gainsay me; but that he could not let me go alone, and would go with me. and he can get access for me to the queen. he has seen her himself, and so has humfrey; and diccon is a gentleman pensioner." "there have been ventures enough for me already," said mary. "i will bring no more faithful heads into peril." "then will you not consent, mother? he will quit the castle to-morrow, and i am to see him in the morning and give him an answer. if you would let me go, he would crave license to take me home, saying that i look paler than my wont." "and so thou dost, child. if i could be sure of ever seeing thee again, i should have proposed thy going home to good mistress susan's tendance for a little space. but it is not to be thought of. i could not risk thee, or any honest loving heart, on so desperate a stake as mine! i love thee, mine ain, true, leal lassie, all the more, and i honour him; but it may not be! ask me no more." mary was here interrupted by a request from sir christopher hatton for one of the many harassing interviews that beset her during the days following the trial, when judgment was withheld, according to the express command of the vacillating elizabeth, and the case remitted to the star chamber. lord burghley considered this hesitation to be the effect of judicial blindness--so utterly had hatred and fear of the future shut his eyes to all sense of justice and fair play. cicely felt all youth's disappointment in the rejection of its grand schemes. but to her surprise at night mary addressed her again, "my daughter, did that true-hearted foster-father of thine speak in sooth?" "he never doth otherwise," returned cicely. "for," said her mother, "i have thought of a way of gaining thee access to the queen, far less perilous to him, and less likely to fail. i will give thee letters to m. de chateauneuf, the french ambassador, whom i have known in old times, with full credentials. it might be well to have with thee those that i left with mistress talbot. then he will gain thee admittance, and work for thee as one sent from france, and protected by the rights of the embassy. thus, master richard need never appear in the matter at all, and at any rate thou wouldst be secure. chateauneuf would find means of sending thee abroad if needful." "oh! i would return to you, madam my mother, or wait for you in london." "that must be as the wills above decree," said mary sadly. "it is folly in me, but i cannot help grasping at the one hope held out to me. there is that within me that will hope and strive to the end, though i am using my one precious jewel to weight the line i am casting across the gulf. at least they cannot do thee great harm, my good child." the queen sat up half the night writing letters, one to elizabeth, one to chateauneuf, and another to the duchess of lorraine, which cis was to deliver in case of her being sent over to the continent. but the queen committed the conduct of the whole affair to m. de chateauneuf, since she could completely trust his discretion and regard for her; and, moreover, it was possible that the face of affairs might undergo some great alteration before cicely could reach london. mr. talbot must necessarily go home first, being bound to do so by his commission to the earl. "and, hark thee," said the queen, "what becomes of the young gallant?" "i have not heard, madam," said cicely, not liking the tone. "if my desires still have any effect," said mary, "he will stay here. i will not have my damosel errant squired by a youth under five-and-twenty." "i promised you, madam, and he wots it," said cicely, with spirit. "he wots it, doth he?" said the queen, in rather a provoking voice. "no, no, mignonne; with all respect to their honour and discretion, we do not put flint and steel together, when we do not wish to kindle a fire. nay, little one, i meant not to vex thee, when thou art doing one of the noblest deeds daughter ever did for mother, and for a mother who sent thee away from her, and whom thou hast scarce known for more than two years!" cicely was sure to see her foster-father after morning prayers on the way from the chapel across the inner court. here she was able to tell him of the queen's consent, over which he looked grave, having secretly persuaded himself that mary would think the venture too great, and not hopeful enough to be made. he could not, however, wonder that the unfortunate lady should catch at the least hope of preserving her life; and she had dragged too many down in the whirlpool to leave room for wonder that she should consent to peril her own daughter therein. moreover, he would have the present pleasure of taking her home with him to his susan, and who could say what would happen in the meantime? "thou hast counted the cost?" he said. "yea, sir," cis answered, as the young always do; adding, "the queen saith that if we commit all to the french ambassador, m. de chateauneuf, who is her very good friend, he will save you from any peril." "hm! i had rather be beholden to no frenchman," muttered richard, "but we will see, we will see. i must now to paulett to obtain consent to take thee with me. thou art pale and changed enough indeed to need a blast of hallamshire air, my poor maid." so master richard betook him to the knight, a man of many charges, and made known that finding his daughter somewhat puling and sickly, he wished having, as she told him, the consent of the queen of scots, to take her home with him for a time. "you do well, mr. talbot," said sir amias. "in sooth, i have only marvelled that a pious and godly man like you should have consented to let her abide so long, at her tender age, among these papistical, idolatrous, and bloodthirsty women." "i think not that she hath taken harm," said richard. "i have done my poor best; i have removed the priest of baal," said the knight; "i have caused godly ministers constantly to preach sound doctrine in the ears of all who would hearken; and i have uplifted my testimony whensoever it was possible. but it is not well to expose the young to touching the accursed thing, and this lady hath shown herself greatly affected to your daughter, so that she might easily be seduced from the truth. yet, sir, bethink you is it well to remove the maiden from witnessing that which will be a warning for ever of the judgment that falleth on conspiracy and idolatry?" "you deem the matter so certain?" said richard. "beyond a doubt, sir. this lady will never leave these walls alive. there can be no peace for england nor safety for our blessed and gracious queen while she lives. her guilt is certain; and as mr. secretary said to me last night, he and the lord treasurer are determined that for no legal quibbles, nor scruples of mercy from our ever-pitiful queen, shall she now escape. her majesty, however her womanish heart may doubt now, will rejoice when the deed is done. methinks i showed you the letter she did me the honour to write, thanking me for the part i took in conveying the lady suddenly to tixall." richard had already read that letter three times, so he avowed his knowledge of it. "you will not remove your son likewise?" added sir amias. "he hath an acquaintance with this lady's people, which is useful in one so thoroughly to be trusted; and moreover, he will not be tampered with. for, sir, i am never without dread of some attempt being made to deal with this lady privily, in which case i should be the one to bear all the blame. wherefore i have made request to have another honourable gentleman joined with me in this painful wardship." richard had no desire to remove his son. he shared queen mary's feelings on the inexpediency of humfrey forming part of the escort of the young lady, and thought it was better for both to see as little of one another as possible. sir amias accordingly, on his morning visit of inspection, intimated to the queen that mr. talbot wished his daughter to return home with him for the recovery of her health. he spoke as if the whole suite were at his own disposal, and mary resented it in her dignified manner. "the young lady hath already requested license from us," she said, "and we have granted it. she will return when her health is fully restored." sir amias had forbearance enough not to hint that unless the return were speedy, she would scarcely find the queen there, and the matter was settled. master richard would not depart until after dinner, when other gentlemen were going, and this would enable cicely to make up her mails, and there would still be time to ride a stage before dark. her own horse was in the stables, and her goods would be bestowed in cloak bags on the saddles of the grooms who had accompanied mr. talbot; for, small as was the estate of bridgefield, for safety's sake he could not have gone on so long an expedition without a sufficient guard. the intervening time was spent by the queen in instructing her daughter how to act in various contingencies. if it were possible to the french ambassador to present her as freshly come from the soissons convent, where she was to have been reared, it would save mr. talbot from all risk; but the queen doubted whether she could support the character, so english was her air, though there were scottish and english nuns at soissons, and still more at louvaine and douay, who _might_ have brought her up. "i cannot feign, madam," said cicely, alarmed. "oh, i hope i need only speak truth!" and her tone sounded much more like a confession of incapacity than a moral objection, and so it was received: "poor child, i know thou canst not act a part, and thy return to the honest mastiffs will not further thee in it; but i have bidden chateauneuf to do what he can for thee--and after all the eyes will not be very critical." if there still was time, cicely was to endeavour first of all to obtain of elizabeth that mary might be brought to london to see her, and be judged before parliament with full means of defence. if this were no longer possible, cicely might attempt to expose walsingham's contrivance; but this would probably be too dangerous. chateauneuf must judge. or, as another alternative, queen mary gave cicely the ring already shown at the trial, and with that as her pledge, a solemn offer was to be made on her behalf to retire into a convent in austria, or in one of the roman catholic cantons of switzerland, out of the reach of spain and france, and there take the veil, resigning all her rights to her son. all her money had been taken away, but she told cicely she had given orders to chateauneuf to supply from her french dowry all that might be needed for the expenses that must be incurred. now that the matter was becoming so real, cicely's heart quailed a little. castles in the air that look heroic at the first glance would not so remain did not they show themselves terrible at a nearer approach, and the maiden wondered, whether queen elizabeth would be much more formidable than my lady countess in a rage! and what would become of herself? would she be detained in the bondage in which the poor sisters of the grey blood had been kept? or would her mother carry her off to these strange lands?.... it was all strange, and the very boldness of her offer, since it had been thus accepted, made her feel helpless and passive in the grasp of the powers that her simple wish had set moving. the letters were sewn up in the most ingenious manner in her dress by mary seaton, in case any search should be made; but the only woman sir amias would be able to employ in such a matter was purblind and helpless, and they trusted much to his implicit faith in the talbots. there was only just time to complete her preparations before she was summoned; and with an almost convulsive embrace from her mother, and whispered benedictions from jean kennedy, she left the dreary walls of fotheringhay. humfrey rode with them through the chase. both he and cicely were very silent. when the time came for parting, cicely said, as she laid her hand in his, "dear brother, for my sake do all thou canst for her with honour." "that will i," said humfrey. "would that i were going with thee, cicely!" "so would not i," she returned; "for then there would be one true heart the less to watch over her." "come, daughter!" said richard, who had engaged one of the gentlemen in conversation so as to leave them to themselves. "we must be jogging. fare thee well, my son, till such time as thy duties permit thee to follow us." chapter xxxvii. my lady's remorse. "and have you brought her back again! o my lass! my lass!" cried mistress susan, surprised and delighted out of her usual staid composure, as, going out to greet her husband, an unexpected figure was seen by his side, and cicely sprang into her arms as if they were truly a haven of rest. susan looked over her head, even in the midst of the embrace, with the eyes of one hungering for her first-born son, but her husband shook his head. "no, mother, we have not brought thee the boy. thou must content thyself with her thou hast here for a little space." "i hope it bodes not ill," said susan. "it bodes," said richard, "that i have brought thee back a good daughter with a pair of pale cheeks, which must be speedily coloured anew in our northern breezes." "ah, how sweet to be here at home," cried cicely, turning round in rapturous greeting to all the serving men and women, and all the dogs. "we want only the boys! where is ned?" their arrival having been unannounced, ned was with master sniggius, whose foremost scholar he now was, and who kept him much later than the other lads to prepare him for cambridge; but it was the return to this tender foster-mother that seemed such extreme bliss to cicely. all was most unlike her reluctant return two years previously, when nothing but her inbred courtesy and natural sweetness of disposition had prevented her from being contemptuous of the country home. now every stone, every leaf, seemed precious to her, and she showed herself, even as she ascended the steps to the hall, determined not to be the guest but the daughter. there was a little movement on the parents' part, as if they bore in mind that she came as a princess; but she flew to draw up master richard's chair, and put his wife's beside it, nor would she sit, till they had prayed her to do so; and it was all done with such a graceful bearing, the noble carriage of her head had become so much more remarkable, and a sweet readiness and responsiveness of manner had so grown upon her, that susan looked at her in wondering admiration, as something more her own and yet less her own than ever, tracing in her for the first time some of the charms of the queen of scots. all the household hovered about in delight, and confidences could not be exchanged just then: the travellers had to eat and drink, and they were only just beginning to do so when ned came home. he was of slighter make than his brothers, and had a more scholarly aspect: but his voice made itself heard before him. "is it true? is it true that my father is come? and our cis too? ha!" and he rushed in, hardly giving himself time for the respectful greeting to his father, before he fell upon cis with undoubting brotherly delight. "is humfrey come?" he asked as soon as he could take breath. "no? i thought 'twas too good to be all true." "how did you hear?" "hob the hunter brought up word that the queen's head was off. what?" as cicely gave a start and little scream. "is it not so?" "no, indeed, boy," said his father. "what put that folly into his head?" "because he saw, or thought he saw, humfrey and cis riding home with you, sir, and so thought all was over with the queen of scots. my lady, they say, had one of her shrieking fits, and my lord sent down to ask whether i knew aught; and when he found that i did not, would have me go home at once to bid you come up immediately to the manor; and before i had gotten out dapple, there comes another message to say that, in as brief space as it will take to saddle them, there will be beasts here to bring up you and my mother and cis, to tell my lady countess all that has befallen." cis's countenance so changed that kind susan said, "i will make thine excuses to my lady. thou art weary and ill at ease, and i cannot have thee set forth at once again." "the queen would never have sent such sudden and hasty orders," said cicely. "mother, can you not stay with me?--i have so much to say to you, and my time is short." the talbots were, however, too much accustomed to obedience to the peremptory commands of their feudal chiefs to venture on such disobedience. susan's proposal had been a great piece of audacity, on which she would hardly have ventured but for her consciousness that the maiden was no talbot at all. yet to cis the dear company of her mother susan, even in the countess's society, seemed too precious to be resigned, and she had likewise been told that lady shrewsbury's mind had greatly changed towards mary, and that since the irritation of the captive's presence had been removed, she remembered only the happier and kindlier portion of their past intercourse. there had been plenty of quarrels with her husband, but none so desperate as before, and at this present time the earl and countess were united against the surviving sons, who, with gilbert at their head, were making large demands on them. cicely felt grateful to the earl for his absence from fotheringhay, and, though disappointed of her peaceful home evening, declared she would come up to the lodge rather than lose sight of "mother." the stable people, more considerate than their lord and lady, proved to have sent a horse litter for the conveyance of the ladies called out on the wet dark october evening, and here it was that cis could enjoy her first precious moment of privacy with one for whom she had so long yearned. susan rejoiced in the heavy lumbering conveyance as a luxury, sparing the maiden's fatigue, and she was commencing some inquiries into the indisposition which had procured this holiday, when cicely broke in, "o mother, nothing aileth me. it is not for that cause--but oh! mother, i am to go to see queen elizabeth, and strive with her for her--for my mother's life and freedom." "thou! poor little maid. doth thy father--what am i saying? doth my husband know?" "oh yes. he will take me. he saith it is my duty." "then it must be well," said susan in an altered voice on hearing this. "from whom came the proposal?" "i made it," said cicely in a low, feeble voice on the verge of tears. "oh, dear mother, thou wilt not tell any one how faint of heart i am? i did mean it in sooth, but i never guessed how dreadful it would grow now i am pledged to it." "thou art pledged, then, and canst not falter?" "never," said cicely; "i would not that any should know it, not even my father; but mother, mother, i could not help telling you. you will let no one guess? i know it is unworthy, but--" "not unworthy to fear, my poor child, so long as thou dost not waver." "it is, it is unworthy of my lineage. my mother queen would say so," cried cis, drawing herself up. "giving way would be unworthy," said susan, "but turn thou to thy god, my child, and he will give thee strength to carry through whatever is the duty of a faithful daughter towards this poor lady; and my husband, thou sayest, holds that so it is?" "yea, madam; he craved license to take me home, since i have truly often been ailing since those dreadful days at tixall, and he hath promised to go to london with me." "and is this to be done in thine own true name?" asked susan, trembling somewhat at the risk to her husband, as well as to the maiden. "i trow that it is," said cis, "but the matter is to be put into the hands of m. de chateauneuf, the french ambassador. i have a letter here," laying her hand on her bosom, "which, the queen declares, will thoroughly prove to him who i am, and if i go as under his protection, none can do my father any harm." susan hoped so, but she trusted to understand all better from her husband, though her heart failed her as much as, or even perhaps more than, did that of poor little cis. master richard had sped on before their tardy conveyance, and had had time to give the heads of his intelligence before they reached the manor house, and when they were conducted to my lady's chamber, they saw him, by the light of a large fire, standing before the earl and countess, cap in hand, much as a groom or gamekeeper would now stand before his master and mistress. the earl, however, rose to receive the ladies; but the countess, no great observer of ceremony towards other people, whatever she might exact from them towards herself, cried out, "come hither, come hither, cicely talbot, and tell me how it fares with the poor lady," and as the maiden came forward in the dim light-- "ha! what! is't she?" she cried, with a sudden start. "on my faith, what has she done to thee? thou art as like her as the foal to the mare." this exclamation disconcerted the visitors, but luckily for them the earl laughed and declared that he could see no resemblance in mistress cicely's dark brows to the arched ones of the queen of scots, to which his wife replied testily, "who said there was? the maid need not be uplifted, for there's nothing alike between them, only she hath caught the trick of her bearing so as to startle me in the dark, my head running on the poor lady. i could have sworn 'twas she coming in, as she was when she first came to our care fifteen years agone. pray heaven she may not haunt the place! how fareth she in health, wench?" "well, madam, save when the rheumatic pains take her," said cicely. "and still of good courage?" "that, madam, nothing can daunt." seats, though only joint stools, were given to the ladies, but susan found herself no longer trembling at the effects of the countess's insolence upon cicely, who seemed to accept it all as a matter of course, and almost of indifference, though replying readily and with a gentle grace, most unlike her childish petulance. many close inquiries from the earl and countess were answered by richard and the young lady, until they had a tolerably clear idea of the situation. the countess wept bitterly, and to cicely's great amazement began bemoaning herself that she was not still the poor lady's keeper. it was a shame to put her where there were no women to feel for her. lady shrewsbury had apparently forgotten that no one had been so virulent against the queen as herself. and when it was impossible to deny that things looked extremely ill, and that burghley and walsingham seemed resolved not to let slip this opportunity of ridding themselves of the prisoner, my lady burst out with, "ah! there it is! she will die, and my promise is broken, and she will haunt me to my dying day, all along of that venomous toad and spiteful viper, mary talbot." a passionate fit of weeping succeeded, mingled with vituperations of her daughter mary, far more than of herself, and amid it all, during susan's endeavours at soothing, cicely gathered that the cause of the countess's despair was that in the time of her friendship and amity, she had uttered an assurance that the queen need not fear death, as she would contrive means of safety. and on her own ground, in her own castle or lodge, there could be little doubt that she would have been able to have done so. the earl, indeed, shook his head, but repented, for she laughed at him half angrily, half hysterically, for thinking he could have prevented anything that she was set upon. and now she said and fully believed that the misunderstanding which had resulted in the removal of the prisoner had been entirely due to the slanders and deceits of her own daughter mary, and her husband gilbert, with whom she was at this time on the worst of terms. and thus she laid on them the blame of the queen's death (if that was really decreed), but though she outwardly blamed every creature save herself, such agony of mind, and even terror, proved that in very truth there must have been the conviction at the bottom of her heart that it was her own fault. the earl had beckoned away master richard, both glad to escape; but cicely had to remain, and filled with compassion for one whom she had always regarded previously as an enemy, she could not help saying, "dear madam, take comfort; i am going to bear a petition to the queen's majesty from the captive lady, and if she will hear me all will yet be well." "how! what? how! thou little moppet! knows she what she says, susan talbot?" susan made answer that she had had time to hear no particulars yet, but that cicely averred that she was going with her father's consent, whereupon richard was immediately summoned back to explain. the earl and countess could hardly believe that he should have consented that his daughter should be thus employed, and he had to excuse himself with what he could not help feeling were only half truths. "the poor lady," he said, "is denied all power of sending word or letter to the queen save through those whom she views as her enemies, and therefore she longed earnestly either to see her majesty, or to hold communication with her through one whom she knoweth to be both simple and her own friend." "yea," said the countess, "i could well have done this for her could i but have had speech with her. or she might have sent bess pierrepoint, who surely would have been a more fitting messenger." "save that she hath not had access to the queen of scots of late," said richard. "yea, and her father would scarcely be willing to risk the queen's displeasure," said the earl. "art thou ready to abide it, master richard?" said the countess, "though after all it could do you little harm." and her tone marked the infinite distance she placed between him and sir henry pierrepoint, the husband of her daughter. "that is true, madam," said richard, "and moreover, i cannot reconcile it to my conscience to debar the poor lady from any possible opening of safety." "thou art a good man, richard," said the earl, and therewith both he and the countess became extremely, nay, almost inconveniently, desirous to forward the petitioner on her way. to listen to them that night, they would have had her go as an emissary of the house of shrewsbury, and only the previous quarrel with lord talbot and his wife prevented them from proposing that she should be led to the foot of the throne by gilbert himself. cicely began to be somewhat alarmed at plans that would disconcert all the instructions she had received, and only her old habits of respect kept her silent when she thought master richard not ready enough to refuse all these offers. at last he succeeded in obtaining license to depart, and no sooner was cicely again shut up with mistress susan in the litter than she exclaimed, "now will it be most hard to carry out the queen's orders that i should go first to the french ambassador. i would that my lady countess would not think naught can succeed without her meddling." "thou shouldst have let father tell thy purpose in his own way," said susan. "ah! mother, i am an indiscreet simpleton, not fit for such a work as i have taken in hand," said poor cis. "here hath my foolish tongue traversed it already!" "fear not," said susan, as one who well knew the nature of her kinswoman; "belike she will have cooled to-morrow, all the more because father said naught to the nayward." susan was uneasy enough herself, and very desirous to hear all from her husband in private. and that night he told her that he had very little hope of the intercession being availing. he believed that the treasurer and secretary were absolutely determined on mary's death, and would sooner or later force consent from the queen; but there was the possibility that elizabeth's feelings might be so far stirred that on a sudden impulse she might set mary at liberty, and place her beyond their reach. "and hap what may," he said, "when a daughter offereth to do her utmost for a mother in peril of death, what right have i to hinder her?" "may god guard the duteous!" said susan. "but oh! husband, is she worthy, for whom the child is thus to lead you into peril?" "she is her mother," repeated richard. "had i erred--" "which you never could do," broke in the wife. "i am a sinful man," said he. "yea, but there are deeds you never could have done." "by god's grace i trust not; but hear me out, wife. mine errors, nay, my crimes, would not do away with the duty owed to me by my sons. how, then, should any sins of this poor queen withhold her daughter from rendering her all the succour in her power? and thou, thou thyself, susan, hast taken her for thine own too long to endure to let her undertake the matter alone and unaided." "she would not attempt it thus," said susan. "i cannot tell; but i should thus be guilty of foiling her in a brave and filial purpose." "and yet thou dost hold her poor mother a guilty woman?" "said i so? nay, susan, i am as dubious as ever i was on that head." "after hearing the trial?" "a word in thine ear, my discreet wife. the trial convinced me far more that place makes honest men act like cruel knaves than of aught else." "then thou holdest her innocent?" "i said not so. i have known too long how she lives by the weaving of webs. i know not how it is, but these great folks seem not to deem that truth in word and deed is a part of their religion. for my part, i should distrust whatever godliness did not lead to truth, but a plain man never knows where to have them. that she and poor antony babington were in league to bring hither the spaniards and restore the pope, i have no manner of doubt on the word of both, but then they deem it--heaven help them--a virtuous act; and it might be lawful in her, seeing that she has always called herself a free sovereign unjustly detained. what he stuck at and she denies, is the purpose of murdering the queen's majesty." "sure that was the head and front of the poor young man's offending." "so it was, but not until he had been urged thereto by his priests, and had obtained her consent in a letter. heaven forgive me if i misjudge any one, but my belief is this--that the letters, whereof only the deciphered copies were shown, did not quit the hands of either the one or the other, such as we heard them at fotheringhay. so poor babington said, so saith the queen of scots, demanding vehemently to have them read in her presence before nau and curll, who could testify to them. cis deemeth that the true letter from babington is in a packet which, on learning from humfrey his suspicion that there was treachery, the queen gave her, and she threw down a well at chartley." "that was pity." "say not so, for had the original letter been seized, it would only have been treated in the same manner as the copy, and never allowed to reach queen elizabeth." "i am glad poor cicely's mother can stand clear of that guilt," said susan. "i served her too long, and received too much gentle treatment from her, to brook the thought that she could be so far left to herself." "mind you, dame," said richard, "i am not wholly convinced that she was not aware that her friends would in some way or other bring about the queen's death, and that she would scarce have visited it very harshly, but she is far too wise--ay, and too tender-hearted, to have entered into the matter beforehand. so i think her not wholly guiltless, though the wrongs she hath suffered have been so great that i would do whatever was not disloyal to mine own queen to aid her to obtain justice." "you are doing much, much indeed," said susan; "and all this time you have told me nothing of my son, save what all might hear. how fares he? is his heart still set on this poor maid?" "and ever will be," said his father. "his is not an outspoken babbling love like poor master nau, who they say was so inspired at finding himself in the same city with bess pierrepoint that he could talk of nothing else, and seemed to have no thought of his own danger or his queen's. no, but he hath told me that he will give up all to serve her, without hope of requital; for her mother hath made her forswear him, and though she be not always on his tongue, he will do so, if i mistake not his steadfastness." susan sighed, but she knew that the love, that had begun when the lonely boy hailed the shipwrecked infant as his little sister, was of a calm, but unquenchable nature, were it for weal or woe. she could not but be thankful that the express mandate of both the parents had withheld her son from sharing the danger which was serious enough even for her husband's prudence and coolness of head. by the morning, as she had predicted, the ardour of the earl and countess had considerably slackened; and though still willing to forward the petitioner on her way, they did not wish their names to appear in the matter. they did, however, make an important offer. the mastiff was newly come into harbour at hull, and they offered richard the use of her as a conveyance. he gladly accepted it. the saving of expense was a great object; for he was most unwilling to use queen mary's order on the french ambassador, and he likewise deemed it possible that such a means of evasion might be very useful. the mastiff was sometimes used by some of the talbot family on journeys to london, and had a tolerably commodious cabin, according to the notions of the time; and though it was late in the year, and poor cis was likely to be wretched enough on the voyage, the additional security was worth having, and cicely would be under the care of goatley's wife, who made all the voyages with her husband. the earl likewise charged richard talbot with letters and messages of conciliation to his son gilbert, whose estrangement was a great grief to him, arising as it did entirely from the quarrels of the two wives, mother and daughter. he even charged his kinsman with the proposal to give up sheffield to lord and lady talbot and retire to wingfield rather than continue at enmity. mr. talbot knew the parties too well to have much hope of prevailing, or producing permanent peace; but the commission was welcome, as it would give a satisfactory pretext for his presence in london. a few days were spent at bridgefield, cicely making herself the most loving, helpful, and charming of daughters, and really basking in the peaceful atmosphere of susan's presence; and then,--with many prayers and blessings from that good lady,--they set forth for hull, taking with them two servants besides poor babington's man gillingham, whose superior intelligence and knowledge of london would make him useful, though there was a dark brooding look about him that made richard always dread some act of revenge on his part toward his master's foes. chapter xxxviii. master talbot and his charge. the afternoon on which they were to enter the old town of kingston-upon-hull closed in with a dense sea-fog, fast turning to drizzling rain. they could see but a little distance on either side, and could not see the lordly old church tower. the beads of dew on the fringes of her pony's ears were more visible to cicely than anything else, and as she kept along by master richard's side, she rejoiced both in the beaten, well-trodden track, and in the pealing bells which seemed to guide them into the haven; while richard was resolving, as he had done all through the journey, where he could best lodge his companion so as to be safe, and at the same time free from inconvenient curiosity. the wetness of the evening made promptness of decision the more needful, while the bad weather which his experienced eye foresaw would make the choice more important. discerning through the increasing gloom a lantern moving in the street which seemed to him to light a substantial cloaked figure, he drew up and asked if he were in the way to a well-known hostel. fortune had favoured him, for a voice demanded in return, "do i hear the voice of good captain talbot? at your service." "yea, it is i--richard talbot. is it you, good master heatherthwayte?" "it is verily, sir. well do i remember you, good trusty captain, and the goodly lady your wife. do i see her here?" returned the clergyman, who had heartily grasped richard's hand. "no, sir, this is my daughter, for whose sake i would ask you to direct me to some lodging for the night." "nay, if the young lady will put up with my humble chambers, and my little daughter for her bedfellow, i would not have so old an acquaintance go farther." richard accepted the offer gladly, and mr. heatherthwayte walked close to the horses, using his lantern to direct them, and sending flashes of light over the gabled ends of the old houses and the muffled passengers, till they came to a long flagged passage, when he asked them to dismount, bidding the servants and horses to await his return, and giving his hand to conduct the young lady along the narrow slippery alley, which seemed to have either broken walls or houses on either aide. he explained to richard, by the way, that he had married the godly widow of a ship chandler, but that it had pleased heaven to take her from him at the end of five years, leaving him two young children, but that her ancient nurse had the care of the house and the little ones. curates were not sumptuously lodged in those days. the cells which had been sufficient for monks commissioned by monasteries were no homes for men with families; and where means were to be had, a few rooms had been added without much grace, or old cottages adapted--for indeed the requirements of the clergy of the day did not soar above those of the farmer or petty dealer. master heatherthwayte pulled a string depending from a hole in a door, the place of which he seemed to know by instinct, and admitted the newcomers into a narrow paved entry, where he called aloud, "here, oil! dust! goody! bring a light! here are guests!" a door was opened instantly into a large kitchen or keeping room, bright with a fire and small lamp. a girl of nine or ten sprang forward, but hung back at the sight of strangers; a boy of twelve rose awkwardly from conning his lessons by the low, unglazed lamp; an old woman showed herself from some kind of pantry. "here," said the clergyman, "is my most esteemed friend captain talbot of bridgefield and his daughter, who will do us the honour of abiding with us this night. do thou, goody madge, and thou, oil-of-gladness, make the young lady welcome, and dry her garments, while we go and see to the beasts. thou, dust-and-ashes, mayest come with us and lead the gentleman's horse." the lad, saddled with this dismal name, and arrayed in garments which matched it in colour though not in uncleanliness, sprang up with alacrity, infinitely preferring fog, rain, and darkness to his accidence, and never guessing that he owed this relaxation to his father's recollection of mrs. talbot's ways, and perception that the young lady would be better attended to without his presence. oil-of-gladness was a nice little rosy girl in the tightest and primmest of caps and collars, and with the little housewifely hospitality that young mistresses of houses early attain to. there was no notion of equal terms between the curate's daughter and the squire's: the child brought a chair, and stood respectfully to receive the hood, cloak, and riding skirt, seeming delighted at the smile and thanks with which cicely requited her attentions. the old woman felt the inner skirts, to make sure that they were not damp, and then the little girl brought warm water, and held the bowl while her guest washed face and hands, and smoothed her hair with the ivory comb which ladies always carried on a journey. the sweet power of setting people at ease was one cis had inherited and cultivated by imitation, and oil-of-gladness was soon chattering away over her toilette. would the lady really sleep with her in her little bed? she would promise not to kick if she could help it. then she exclaimed, "oh! what fair thing was that at the lady's throat? was it a jewel of gold? she had never seen one; for father said it was not for christian women to adorn themselves. oh no; she did not mean--" and, confused, she ran off to help goody to lay the spotless tablecloth, cis following to set the child at peace with herself, and unloose the tongue again into hopes that the lady liked conger pie; for father had bought a mighty conger for twopence, and goody had made a goodly pie of him. by the time the homely meal was ready mr. talbot had returned from disposing of his horses and servants at a hostel, for whose comparative respectability mr. heatherthwayte had answered. the clergyman himself alone sat down to supper with his guests. he would not hear of letting either of his children do so; but while dust-and-ashes retired to study his tasks for the grammar school by firelight, oil-of-gladness assisted goody in waiting, in a deft and ready manner pleasant to behold. no sooner did mr. talbot mention the name cicely than master heatherthwayte looked up and said--"methinks it was i who spake that name over this young lady in baptism." "even so," said richard. "she knoweth all, but she hath ever been our good and dutiful daughter, for which we are the more thankful that heaven hath given us none other maid child." he knew master heatherthwayte was inclined to curiosity about other people's affairs, and therefore turned the discourse on the doings of his sons, hoping to keep him thus employed and avert all further conversation upon cicely and the cause of the journey. the good man was most interested in edward, only he exhorted mr. talbot to be careful with whom he bestowed the stripling at cambridge, so that he might shed the pure light of the gospel, undimmed by popish obscurities and idolatries. he began on his objections to the cross in baptism and the ring in marriage, and dilated on them to his own satisfaction over the tankard of ale that was placed for him and his guest, and the apples and nuts wherewith cicely was surreptitiously feeding oil-of-gladness and dust-and-ashes; while the old woman bustled about, and at length made her voice heard in the announcement that the chamber was ready, and the young lady was weary with travel, and it was time she was abed, and oil likewise. though not very young children, oil and dust, at a sign from their father, knelt by his chair, and uttered their evening prayers aloud, after which he blessed and dismissed them--the boy to a shake-down in his own room, the girl to the ecstasy of assisting the guest to undress, and admiring the wonders of the very simple toilette apparatus contained in her little cloak bag. richard meantime was responding as best he could to the inquiries he knew would be inevitable as soon as he fell in with the reverend master heatherthwayte. he was going to london in the mastiff on some business connected with the queen of scots, he said. whereupon mr. heatherthwayte quoted something from the psalms about the wicked being taken in their own pits, and devoutly hoped she would not escape this time. his uncharitableness might be excused by the fact that he viewed it as an immediate possibility that the prince of parma might any day enter the humber, when he would assuredly be burnt alive, and oil-of-gladness exposed to the fate of the children of haarlem. then he added, "i grieved to hear that you and your household were so much exposed to the witchcrafts of that same woman, sir." "i hope she hath done them little hurt," said richard. "is it true," he added, "that the woman hath laid claim to the young lady now here as a kinswoman?" "it is true," said richard, "but how hath it come to your knowledge, my good friend? i deemed it known to none out of our house; not even the earl and countess guess that she is no child of ours." "nay, mr. talbot, is it well to go on in a deceit?" "call it rather a concealment," said richard. "we have doubted it since, but when we began, it was merely that there was none to whom it seemed needful to explain that the babe was not the little daughter we buried here. but how did you learn it? it imports to know." "sir, do you remember your old servant colet, gervas's wife? it will be three years next whitsuntide that hearing a great outcry as of a woman maltreated as i passed in the street, i made my way into the house and found gervas verily beating his wife with a broomstick. after i had rebuked him and caused him to desist, i asked him the cause, and he declared it to be that his wife had been gadding to a stinking papist fellow, who would be sure to do a mischief to his noble captain, mr. talbot. thereupon colet declares that she had done no harm, the gentleman wist all before. she knew him again for the captain's kinsman who was in the house the day that the captain brought home the babe." "cuthbert langston!" "even so, sir. it seems that he had been with this woman, and questioned her closely on all she remembered of the child, learning from her what i never knew before, that there were marks branded on her shoulders and a letter sewn in her clothes. was it so, sir?" "ay, but my wife and i thought that even colet had never seen them." "nothing can escape a woman, sir. this man drew all from her by assuring her that the maiden belonged to some great folk, and was even akin to the king and queen of scots, and that she might have some great reward if she told her story to them. she even sold him some three or four gold and ivory beads which she says she found when sweeping out the room where the child was first undressed." "hath she ever heard more of the fellow?" "nay, but gervas since told me that he had met some of my lord's men who told him that your daughter was one of the queen of scots' ladies, and said he, 'i held my peace; but methought, it hath come of the talebearing of that fellow to whom my wife prated.'" "gervas guessed right," said richard. "that langston did contrive to make known to the queen of scots such tokens as led to her owning the maiden as of near kin to her by the mother's side, and to her husband on the father's; but for many reasons she entreated us to allow the damsel still to bear our name, and be treated as our child." "i doubt me whether it were well done of you, sir," said mr. heatherthwayte. "of that," said richard, drawing up into himself, "no man can judge for another." "she hath been with that woman; she will have imbibed her popish vanities!" exclaimed the poor clergyman, almost ready to start up and separate oil-of-gladness at once from the contamination. "you may be easy on that score," said richard drily. "her faith is what my good wife taught her, and she hath constantly attended the preachings of the chaplains of sir amias paulett, who be all of your own way of thinking." "you assure me?" said mr. heatherthwayte, "for it is the nature of these folk to act a part, even as did the parent the serpent." often as richard had thought so himself, he was offended now, and rose, "if you think i have brought a serpent into your house, sir, we will take shelter elsewhere. i will call her." mr. heatherthwayte apologised and protested, and showed himself willing to accept the assurance that cicely was as simple and guileless as his own little maid; and mr. talbot, not wishing to be sent adrift with cicely at that time of night, and certainly not to put such an affront on the good, if over-anxious father, was pacified, but the cordial tone of ease was at an end, and they were glad to separate and retire to rest. richard had much cause for thought. he perceived, what had always been a perplexity to him before, how langston had arrived at the knowledge that enabled him to identify cicely with the babe of lochleven. mr. talbot heard moanings and wailings of wind all night, which to his experience here meant either a three days' detention at hull, or a land journey. with dawn there were gusts and showers. he rose betimes and went downstairs. he could hear his good host praying aloud in his room, and feeling determined not to vex that puritan spirit by the presence of queen mary's pupil, he wrapped his cloak about him and went out to study the weather, and inquire for lodgings to which he might remove cicely. he saw nothing he liked, and determined on consulting his old mate, goatley, who generally acted as skipper, but he had first to return so as not to delay the morning meal. he found, on coming in, cicely helping oil-of-gladness in making griddle cakes, and buttering them, so as to make mr. heatherthwayte declare that he had not tasted the like since mistress susan quitted hull. moreover, he had not sat down to the meal more than ten minutes before he discovered, to his secret amusement, that cicely had perfectly fascinated and charmed the good minister, who would have shuddered had he known that she did so by the graces inherited and acquired from the object of his abhorrence. invitations to abide in their present quarters till it was possible to sail were pressed on them; and though richard showed himself unwilling to accept them, they were so cordially reiterated, that he felt it wiser to accede to them rather than spread the mystery farther. he was never quite sure whether mr. heatherthwayte looked on the young lady as untainted, or whether he wished to secure her in his own instructions; but he always described her as a modest and virtuous young lady, and so far from thinking her presence dangerous, only wished oil to learn as much from her as possible. cicely was sorely disappointed, and wanted to ride on at once by land; but when her foster-father had shown her that the bad weather would be an almost equal obstacle, and that much time would be lost on the road, she submitted with the good temper she had cultivated under such a notable example. she taught oil-of-gladness the cookery of one of her mothers and the stitchery of the other; she helped dust-and-ashes with his accidence, and enlightened him on the sports of the bridgefield boys, so that his father looked round dismayed at the smothered laughter, when she assured him that she was only telling how her brother diccon caught a coney, or the like, and in some magical way smoothed down his frowns with her smile. mistress cicely talbot's visit was likely to be an unforgotten era with dust-and-ashes and oil-of-gladness. the good curate entreated that she and her father would lodge there on their return, and the invitation was accepted conditionally, mr. talbot writing to his wife, by the carriers, to send such a load of good cheer from bridgefield as would amply compensate for the expenses of this hospitality. chapter xxxix. the fetterlock court. people did not pity themselves so much for suspense when, instead of receiving an answer in less than an hour, they had to wait for it for weeks if not months. mrs. talbot might be anxious at bridgefield, and her son at fotheringhay, and poor queen mary, whose life hung in the balance, more heartsick with what old writers well named 'wanhope' than any of them; but they had to live on, and rise morning after morning without expecting any intelligence, unable to do anything but pray for those who might be in perils unknown. after the strain and effort of her trial, mary had become very ill, and kept her bed for many days. humfrey continued to fulfil his daily duties as commander of the guards set upon her, but he seldom saw or spoke with any of her attendants, as sir andrew melville, whom he knew the best of them, had on some suspicion been separated from his mistress and confined in another part of the castle. sir amias paulett, too, was sick with gout and anxiety, and was much relieved when sir drew drury was sent to his assistance. the new warder was a more courteous and easy-mannered person, and did not fret himself or the prisoner with precautions like his colleague; and on sir amias's reiterated complaint that the guards were not numerous enough, he had brought down five fresh men, hired in london, fellows used to all sorts of weapons, and at home in military discipline; but, as humfrey soon perceived, at home likewise in the license of camps, and most incongruous companions for the simple village bumpkins, and the precise retainers who had hitherto formed the garrison. he did his best to keep order, but marvelled how sir amias would view their excesses when he should come forth again from his sick chamber. the queen was better, though still lame; and on a fine november noontide she obtained, by earnest entreaty, permission to gratify her longing for free air by taking a turn in what was called the fetterlock court, from the yorkist badge of the falcon and fetterlock carved profusely on the decorations. this was the inmost strength of the castle, on the highest ground, an octagon court, with the keep closing one side of it, and the others surrounded with huge massive walls, shutting in a greensward with a well. there was a broad commodious terrace in the thickness of the walls, intended as a station whence the defenders could shoot between the battlements, but in time of peace forming a pleasant promenade sheltered from the wind, and catching on its northern side the meridian rays of this martinmas summer day, so that physician as well as jailer consented to permit the captive there to take the air. "some watch there must be," said paulett anxiously, when his colleague reported the consent he had given. "it will suffice, then," said sir drew drury, "if the officer of the guard--talbot call you him?--stands at the angle of the court, so as to keep her in his view. he is a well-nurtured youth, and will not vex her." "let him have the guard within call," said paulett, and to this drury assented, perhaps with a little amusement at the restless precautions of the invalid. accordingly, humfrey took up his station, as unobtrusively as he could, at the corner of the terrace, and presently, through a doorway at the other end saw the queen, hooded and cloaked, come forth, leaning heavily on the arm of dr. bourgoin, and attended by the two maries and the two elder ladies. she moved slowly, and paused every few steps, gazing round her, inhaling the fresh air and enjoying the sunshine, or speaking a caressing word to little bijou, who leaped about, and barked, and whined with delight at having her out of doors again. there was a seat in the wall, and her ladies spread cushions and cloaks for her to sit on it, warmed as it was by the sun; and there she rested, watching a starling running about on the turf, his gold-bespangled green plumage glistening. she hardly spoke; she seemed to be making the most of the repose of the fair calm day. humfrey would not intrude by making her sensible of his presence, but he watched her from his station, wondering within himself if she cared for the peril to which she had exposed the daughter so dear to him. such were his thoughts when an angry bark from bijou warned him to be on the alert. a man--ay, one of the new men-at-arms--was springing up the ramp leading to the summit of the wall almost immediately in front of the little group. there was a gleam of steel in his hand. with one long ringing whistle, humfrey bounded from his place, and at the moment when the ruffian was on the point of assailing the queen, he caught him with one hand by the collar, with the other tried to master the arm that held the weapon. it was a sharp struggle, for the fellow was a trained soldier in the full strength of manhood, and humfrey was a youth of twenty-three, and unarmed. they went down together, rolling on the ground before mary's chair; but in another moment humfrey was the uppermost. he had his knee on the fellow's chest, and held aloft, though in a bleeding hand, the dagger wrenched from him. the victory had been won in a few seconds, before the two men, whom his whistle had brought, had time to rush forward. they were ready now to throw themselves on the assailant. "hold!" cried humfrey, speaking for the first time. "hurt him not! hold him fast till i have him to sir amias!" each had an arm of the fallen man, and humfrey rose to meet the eyes of the queen sparkling, as she cried, "bravely, bravely done, sir! we thank you. though it be but the poor remnant of a worthless life that you have saved, we thank you. the sight of your manhood has gladdened us." humfrey bowed low, and at the same time there was a cry among the ladies that he was bleeding. it was only his hand, as he showed them. the dagger had been drawn across the palm before he could capture it. the kerchiefs were instantly brought forward to bind it up, dr. bourgoin saying that it ought to have master gorion's attention. "i may not wait for that, sir," said humfrey. "i must carry this villain at once to sir amias and report on the affair." "nay, but you will come again to be tended," said the queen, while dr. bourgoin fastened the knot of the temporary bandage. "ah! and is it humfrey talbot to whom i owe my life? there is one who will thank thee for it more than even i. but come back. gorion must treat that hand, and then you will tell me what you have heard of her." "naught, alas, madam," said humfrey with an expressive shake of the head, but ere he turned away mary extended her hand to him, and as he bent his knee to kiss it she laid the other kindly on his dark curled head and said, "god bless thee, brave youth." she was escorted to the door nearest to her apartments, and as she sank back on her day bed she could not help murmuring to mary seaton, "a brave laddie. would that he had one drop of princely blood." "the talbot blood is not amiss," said the lady. "true; and were it but mine own scottish royalty that were in question i should see naught amiss, but with this english right that hath been the bane of us all, what can their love bring the poor children save woe?" meantime humfrey was conducting his prisoner to sir amias paulett. the man was a bronzed, tough-looking ruffian, with an air of having seen service, and a certain foreign touch in his accent. he glanced somewhat contemptuously at his captor, and said; "neatly done, sir; i marvel if you'll get any thanks." "what mean you?" said humfrey sharply, but the fellow only shrugged his shoulders. the whole affair had been so noiseless, that humfrey brought the first intelligence when he was admitted to the sick chamber, where sir amias sat in a large chair by the fire. he had left his prisoner guarded by two men at the door. "how now! what is it?" cried paulett at first sight of his bandaged hand. "is she safe?" "even so, sir, and untouched," said humfrey. "thanks be to god!" he exclaimed. "this is what i feared. who was it?" "one of the new men-at-arms from london--peter pierson he called himself, and said he had served in the netherlands." and after a few further words of explanation, humfrey called in the prisoner and his guards, and before his face gave an account of his attempt upon the helpless queen. "godless and murderous villain!" said paulett, "what hast thou to say for thyself that i should not hang thee from the highest tower?" "naught that will hinder you, worshipful seignior," returned the man with a sneer. "in sooth i see no great odds between taking life with a dagger and with an axe, save that fewer folk are regaled with the spectacle." "wretch," said paulett, "wouldst thou confound private murder with the open judgment of god and man?" "judgment hath been pronounced," said the fellow, "but it needs not to dispute the matter. only if this honest youth had not come blundering in and cut his fingers in the fray, your captive would have been quietly rid of all her troubles, and i should have had my reward from certain great folk you wot of. ay," as sir amias turned still yellower, "you take my meaning, sir." "take him away," said paulett, collecting himself; "he would cloak his crime by accusing others of his desperate wickedness." "where, sir?" inquired humfrey. sir amias would have preferred hanging the fellow without inquiry, but as fotheringhay was not under martial law, he ordered him off to the dungeons for the present, while the nearest justice of the peace was sent for. the knight bade humfrey remain while the prisoner was walked off under due guard, and made a few more inquiries, adding, with a sigh, "you must double the guard, master talbot, and get rid of all those london rogues--sons of belial are they all, and i'll have none for whom i cannot answer--for i fear me 'tis all too true what the fellow says." "who would set him on?" "that i may not say. but would you believe it, humfrey talbot, i have been blamed--ay, rated like a hound, for that i will not lend myself to a privy murder." "verily, sir?" "verily, and indeed, young man. 'tis the part of a loyal subject, they say, to spare her majesty's womanish feelings and her hatred of bloodshed, and this lady having been condemned, to take her off secretly so as to save the queen the pain and heart-searchings of signing the warrant. you credit me not, sir, but i have the letter--to my sorrow and shame." no wonder that the poor, precise, hard-hearted, but religious and high-principled man was laid up with a fit of the gout, after receiving the shameful letter which he described, which is still extant, signed by walsingham and davison. "strange loyalty," said humfrey. "and too much after the spanish sort for an english protestant," said sir amias. "i made answer that i would lay down my life to guard this unhappy woman to undergo the justice that is to be done upon her, but murder her, or allow her to be slain in my hands, i neither can nor will, so help me heaven, as a true though sinful man." "amen," said humfrey. "and no small cause of thanks have i that in you, young sir, i have one who may be trusted for faith as well as courage, and i need not say discretion." as he spoke, sir drew drury, who had been out riding, returned, anxious to hear the details of this strange event. sir amias could not leave his room. sir drew accompanied humfrey to the queen's apartments to hear her account and that of her attendants. it was given with praises of the young gentleman which put him to the blush, and sir drew then gave permission for his hurt to be treated by maitre gorion, and left him in the antechamber for the purpose. sir amias would perhaps have done more wisely if he had not detained humfrey from seeing the criminal guarded to his prison. for sir drew drury, going from the queen's presence to interrogate the fellow before sending for a magistrate, found the cell empty. it had been the turn of duty of one of the new london men-at-arms, and he had been placed as sentry at the door by the sergeant--the stupidest and trustiest of fellows--who stood gaping in utter amazement when he found that sentry and prisoner were both alike missing. on the whole, the two warders agreed that it would be wiser to hush up the matter. when mary heard that the man had escaped, she quietly said, "i understand. they know how to do such things better abroad." things returned to their usual state except that humfrey had permission to go daily to have his hand attended to by m. gorion, and the queen never let pass this opportunity of speaking to him, though the very first time she ascertained that he knew as little as she did of the proceedings of his father and cicely. now, for the first time, did humfrey understand the charm that had captivated babington, and that even his father confessed. ailing, aging, and suffering as she was, and in daily expectation of her sentence of death, there was still something more wonderfully winning about her, a sweet pathetic cheerfulness, kindness, and resignation, that filled his heart with devotion to her. and then she spoke of cicely, the rarest and greatest delight that he could enjoy. she evidently regarded him with favour, if not affection, because he loved the maiden whom she could not but deny to him. would he not do anything for her? ay, anything consistent with duty. and there came a twinge which startled him. was she making him value duty less? never. besides, how few days he could see her. his hand was healing all too fast, and what might not come any day from london? was queen mary's last conquest to be that of humfrey talbot? chapter xl. the sentence. the tragedies of the stage compress themselves into a few hours, but the tragedies of real life are of slow and heavy march, and the heart-sickness of delay and hope and dread alike deferred is one of their chief trials. humfrey's hurt was quite well, but as he was at once trusted by his superiors, and acceptable to the captive, he was employed in many of those lesser communications between her and her keepers, for which the two knights did not feel it necessary to harass her with their presence. his post, for half the twenty-four hours, was on guard in the gallery outside her anteroom door; but he often knocked and was admitted as bearer of some message to her or her household; and equally often was called in to hear her requests, and sometimes he could not help believing because it pleased her to see him, even if there were nothing to tell her. nor was there anything known until the th of november, when the sound of horses' feet in large numbers, and the blast of bugles, announced the arrival of a numerous party. when marshalled into the ordinary dining-hall, they proved to be lord buckhurst, a dignified-looking nobleman, who bore a sad and grave countenance full of presage, with mr. beale, the clerk of the council, and two or three other officials and secretaries, among whom humfrey perceived the inevitable will cavendish. the two old comrades quickly sought each other out, will observing, "so here you are still, humfrey. we are like to see the end of a long story." "how so?" asked humfrey, with a thrill of horror, "is she sentenced?" "by the commissioners, all excepting my lord zouch, and by both houses of parliament! we are come down to announce it to her. i'll have you into the presence-chamber if i can prevail. it will be a noteworthy thing to see how the daughter of a hundred kings brooks such a sentence." "hath no one spoken for her?" asked humfrey, thinking at least as much of cicely as of the victim. "the king of scots hath sent an ambassage," returned cavendish, "but when i say 'tis the master of gray, you know what that means. king james may be urgent to save his mother--nay, he hath written more sharply and shrewishly than ever he did before; but as for this gray, whatever he may say openly, we know that he has whispered to the queen, 'the dead don't bite.'" "the villain!" "that may be, so far as he himself is concerned, but the counsel is canny, like the false scot himself. what's this i hear, humfrey, that you have been playing the champion, and getting wounded in the defence?" "a mere nothing," said humfrey, opening his hand, however, to show the mark. "i did but get my palm scored in hindering a villainous man-at-arms from slaying the poor lady." "yea, well are thy race named talbot!" said cavendish. "sturdy watch-dogs are ye all, with never a notion that sometimes it may be for the good of all parties to look the other way." "if you mean that i am to stand by and see a helpless woman--" "hush! my good friend," said will, holding up his hand. "i know thy breed far too well to mean any such thing. moreover, thy precisian governor, old paulett there, hath repelled, like instigations of satan, more hints than one that pain might be saved to one queen and publicity to the other, if he would have taken a leaf from don philip's book, and permitted the lady to be dealt with secretly. had he given an ear to the matter six months back, it would have spared poor antony." "speak not thus, will," said humfrey, "or thou wilt make me believe thee a worse man than thou art, only for the sake of showing me how thou art versed in state policy. tell me, instead, if thou hast seen my father." "thy father? yea, verily, and i have a packet for thee from him. it is in my mails, and i will give it thee anon. he is come on a bootless errand! as long as my mother and my sister mall are both living, he might as well try to bring two catamounts together without hisses and scratches." "where is he lying?" asked humfrey. "in shrewsbury house, after the family wont, and gilbert makes him welcome enough, but mall is angered with him for not lodging his daughter there likewise! i tell her he is afraid lest she should get hold of the wench, and work up a fresh web of tales against this lady, like those which did so much damage before. 'twould be rare if she made out that gravity himself, in the person of old paulett, had been entranced by her." "peace with thy gibes," said humfrey impatiently, "and tell me where my sister is." "where thinkest thou? of all strange places in the world, he hath bestowed her with madame de salmonnet, the wife of one of the french ambassador's following, to perfect her french, as he saith. canst thou conceive wherefore he doth it? hath he any marriage in view for her? mall tried to find out, but he is secret. tell me, numps, what is it?" "if he be secret, must not i be the same?" said humfrey, laughing. "nay, thou owest me some return for all that i have told thee." "marry, will, that is more like a maiden than a statesman! but be content, comrade, i know no more than thou what purposes there may be anent my sister's marriage," he added. "only if thou canst give me my father's letter, i should be beholden to thee." they were interrupted, however, by a summons to humfrey, who was to go to the apartments of the queen of scots, to bear the information that in the space of half an hour the lord buckhurst and master beale would do themselves the honour of speaking with her. "so," muttered cavendish to himself as humfrey went up the stairs, "there _is_ then some secret. i marvel what it bodes! did not that crafty villain langston utter some sort of warning which i spurned, knowing the bridgefield trustiness and good faith? this wench hath been mightily favoured by the lady. i must see to it." meantime humfrey had been admitted to queen mary's room, where she sat as usual at her needlework. "you bring me tidings, my friend," she said, as he bent his knee before her. "methought i heard a fresh stir in the castle; who is arrived?" "the lord buckhurst, so please your grace, and master beale. they crave an audience of your grace in half an hour's time." "yea, and i can well guess wherefore," said the queen. "well, fiat voluntas tua! buckhurst? he is kinsman of elizabeth on the boleyn side, methinks! she would do me grace, you see, my masters, by sending me such tidings by her cousin. they cannot hurt me! i am far past that! so let us have no tears, my lassies, but receive them right royally, as befits a message from one sovereign to another! remember, it is not before my lord buckhurst and master beale that we sit, but before all posterities for evermore, who will hear of mary stewart and her wrongs. tell them i am ready, sir. nay but, my son," she added, with a very different tone of the tender woman instead of the outraged sovereign, "i see thou hast news for me. is it of the child?" "even so, madam. i wot little yet, but what i know is hopeful. she is with madame de salmonnet, wife of one of the suite of the french ambassador." "ah! that speaketh much," said mary, smiling, "more than you know, young man. salmonnet is sprung of a scottish archer, jockie of the salmon net, whereof they made in france m. de salmonnet. chateauneuf must have owned her, and put her under the protection of the embassy. hast thou had a letter from thy father?" "i am told that one is among will cavendish's mails, madam, and i hope to have it anon." "these men have all unawares brought with them that which may well bear me up through whatever may be coming." a second message arrived from lord buckhurst himself, to say how grieved he was to be the bearer of heavy tidings, and to say that he would not presume to intrude on her majesty's presence until she would notify to him that she was ready to receive him. "they have become courteous," said mary. "but why should we dally? the sooner this is over, the better." the gentlemen were then admitted: lord buckhurst grave, sad, stately, and courteous; sir annas paulett, as usual, grim and wooden in his puritanical stiffness; sir drew drury keeping in the background as one grieved; and mr. beale, who had already often harassed the queen before, eager, forward, and peremptory, as one whose exultation could hardly be repressed by respect for his superior, lord buckhurst. bending low before her, this nobleman craved her pardon for that which it was his duty to execute; and having kissed her hand, in token of her personal forgiveness, he bade mr. beale read the papers. the clerk of the council stood forth almost without obeisance, till it was absolutely compelled from him by buckhurst. he read aloud the details of the judgment, that mary had been found guilty by the commission, of conspiracy against the kingdom, and the life of the queen, with the sentence from the high court of parliament that she was to die by being beheaded. mary listened with unmoved countenance, only she stood up and made solemn protest against the authority and power of the commission either to try or condemn her. beale was about to reply, but lord buckhurst checked him, telling him it was simply his business to record the protest; and then adding that he was charged to warn her to put away all hopes of mercy, and to prepare for death. this, he said, was on behalf of his queen, who implored her to disburthen her conscience by a full confession. "it is not her work," added buckhurst; "the sentence is not hers, but this thing is required by her people, inasmuch as her life can never be safe while your grace lives, nor can her religion remain in any security." mary's demeanour had hitherto been resolute. here a brightness and look of thankful joy came over her, as she raised her eyes to heaven and joined her hands, saying, "i thank you, my lord; you have made it all gladness to me, by declaring me to be an instrument in the cause of my religion, for which, unworthy as i am, i shall rejoice to shed my blood." "saint and martyr, indeed!" broke out paulett. "that is fine! when you are dying for plotting treason and murder!" "nay, sir," gently returned mary, "i am not so presumptuous as to call myself saint or martyr; but though you have power over my body, you have none over my soul, nor can you prevent me from hoping that by the mercy of him who died for me, my blood and life may be accepted by him, as offerings freely made for his church." she then begged for the restoration of her almoner de preaux. she was told that the request would be referred to the queen, but that she should have the attendance of an english bishop and dean. paulett was so angered at the manner in which she had met the doom, that he began to threaten her that she would be denied all that could serve to her idolatries. "yea, verily," said she calmly, "i am aware that the english have never been noted for mercy." lord buckhurst succeeded in getting the knight away without any more bitter replies. humfrey and cavendish had, of course, to leave the room in their train, and as it was the hour of guard for the former, he had to take up his station and wait with what patience he could until it should please master william to carry him the packet. he opened it eagerly, standing close beneath the little lamp that illuminated his post, to read it: but after all, it was somewhat disappointing, for mr. talbot did not feel that absolute confidence in the consciences of gentlemen-in-place which would make him certain of that of master cavendish, supposing any notion should arise that cicely's presence in london could have any purpose connected with the prisoner. "to my dear son humfrey, greeting-- "i do you to wit that we are here safely arrived in london, though we were forced by stress of weather to tarry seven days in hull, at the house of good master heatherthwayte, where we received good and hospitable entertainment. the voyage was a fair one, and the old mastiff is as brave a little vessel as ever she was wont to be; but thy poor sister lay abed all the time, and was right glad when we came into smooth water. we have presented the letters to those whom we came to seek, and so far matters have gone with us more towardly than i had expected. there are those who knew cicely's mother at her years who say there is a strange likeness between them, and who therefore received her the more favourably. i am lying at present at shrewsbury house, where my young lord makes me welcome, but it hath been judged meet that thy sister should lodge with the good madame de salmonnet, a lady of scottish birth, who is wife to one of the secretaries of m. de chateauneuf, the french ambassador, but who was bred in the convent of soissons. she is a virtuous and honourable lady, and hath taken charge of thy sister while we remain in london. for the purpose for which we came, it goeth forward, and those who should know assure me that we do not lose time here. diccon commendeth himself to thee; he is well in health, and hath much improved in all his exercises. mistress curll is lodging nigh unto the strand, in hopes of being permitted to see her husband; but that hath not yet been granted to her, although she is assured that he is well in health, and like ere long to be set free, as well as monsieur nau. "we came to london the day after the parliament had pronounced sentence upon the lady at fotheringhay. i promise you there was ringing of bells and firing of cannon, and lighting of bonfires, so that we deemed that there must have been some great defeat of the spaniards in the low countries; and when we were told it was for joy that the parliament had declared the queen of scots guilty of death, my poor cicely had well-nigh swooned to think that there could be such joy for the doom of one poor sick lady. there hath been a petition to the queen that the sentence may be carried out, and she hath answered in a dubious and uncertain manner, which leaves ground for hope; and the king of scots hath written pressingly and sent the master of gray to speak in his mother's behalf; also m. de chateauneuf hath both urged mercy on the queen, and so written to france that king henry is sending an ambassador extraordinary, m. de bellievre, to intercede for her. "i send these presents by favour of master cavendish, who will tell thee more than i have here space to set down, and can assure thee that nothing hasty is like to be done in the business on which he hath come down with these gentlemen. and so no more at present from thy loving father, "richard talbot." humfrey had to gather what he could from this letter, but he had no opportunity of speech with the prisoner on the remainder of that day, nor on the next, until after lord buckhurst and his followers had left fotheringhay, bearing with them a long and most touching letter from the prisoner to queen elizabeth. on that day, paulett worked himself up to the strange idea that it was for the good of the unfortunate prisoner's soul, and an act of duty to his own sovereign, to march into the prison chamber and announce to queen mary that being a dead woman in the eye of the law, no royal state could be permitted her, in token of which he commanded her servants to remove the canopy over her chair. they all flatly refused to touch it, and the women began to cry "out upon him," for being cowardly enough to insult their mistress, and she calmly said, "sir, you may do as you please. my royal state comes from god, and is not yours to give or take away. i shall die a queen, whatever you may do by such law as robbers in a forest might use with a righteous judge." intensely angered, sir amias came, hobbling and stumbling out to the door, pale with rage, and called on talbot to come and bring his men to tear down the rag of vanity in which this contumacious woman put her trust. "the men are your servants, sir," said humfrey, with a flush on his cheek and his teeth set; "i am here to guard the queen of scots, not to insult her." "how, sirrah? do you know to whom you speak? have you not sworn obedience to me?" "in all things within my commission, sir; but this is as much beyond it, as i believe it to be beyond yours." "insolent, disloyal varlet! you are under ward till i can account with and discharge you. to your chamber!" humfrey could but walk away, grieved that his power of bearing intelligence or alleviation to the prisoner had been forfeited, and that he should probably not even take leave of her. was she to be left to all the insults that the malice of her persecutor could devise? yet it was not exactly malice. paulett would have guarded her life from assassination with his own, though chiefly for his own sake, and, as he said, for that of "saving his poor posterity from so foul a blot;" but he could not bear, as he told sir drew drury, to see the popish, bloodthirsty woman sit queening it so calmly; and when he tore down her cloth of state, and sat down in her presence with his hat on, he did not so much intend to pain the woman, mary, as to express the triumph of elizabeth and of her religion. humfrey believed his service over, and began to occupy himself with putting his clothes together, while considering whether to seek his father in london or to go home. after about an hour, he was summoned to the hall, where he expected to have found sir amias paulett ready to give him his discharge. he found, however, only sir drew drury, who thus accosted him--"young man, you had better return to your duty. sir amias is willing to overlook what passed this morning." "i thank you, sir, but i am not aware of having done aught to need forgiveness," said humfrey. "come, come, my fair youth, stand not on these points. 'tis true my good colleague hath an excess of zeal, and i could wish he could have found it in his heart to leave the poor lady these marks of dignity that hurt no one. i would have no hand in it, and i am glad thou wouldst not. he knoweth that he had no power to require such service of thee. he will say no more, and i trust that neither wilt thou; for it would not be well to change warders at this time. another might not be so acceptable to the poor lady, and i would fain save her all that i can." humfrey bowed, and thanked "him of milder mood," nor was any further notice taken of this hasty dismissal. when next he had to enter the queen's apartments, the absence of all the tokens of her royal rank was to him truly a shock, accustomed as he had been, from his earliest childhood, to connect them with her, and knowing what their removal signified. mary, who was writing, looked up as, with cap in hand, he presented himself on one knee, his head bowed lower than ever before, perhaps to hide the tear that had sprung to his eye at sight of her pale, patient countenance. "how now, sir?" she said. "this obeisance is out of place to one already dead in law. don your bonnet. there is no queen here for an englishman." "ah! madam, suffer me. my reverence cannot but be greater than ever," faltered humfrey from his very heart, his words lost in the kiss he printed on the hand she granted him. mary bent "her gray discrowned head," crowned in his eyes as the queen of sorrows, and said to marie de courcelles, who stood behind her, "is it not true, ma mie, that our griefs have this make-weight, namely, that they prove to us whose are the souls whose generosity is above all price! and what saith thy good father, my humfrey?" he had not ventured on bringing the letter into the apartments, but he repeated most of the substance of it, without, however, greatly raising the hopes of the queen, though she was gratified that her cause was not neglected either by her son or by her brother-in-law. "they, and above all my poor maid, will be comforted to have done their utmost," she said; "but i scarcely care that they should prevail. as i have written to my cousin elizabeth, i am beholden to her for ending my long captivity, and above all for conferring on me the blessings and glories of one who dies for her faith, all unworthy as i am!" and she clasped her hands, while a rapt expression came upon her countenance. her chief desire seemed to be that neither cicely nor her foster-father should run into danger on her account, and she much regretted that she had not been able to impress upon humfrey messages to that effect before he wrote in answer to his father, sending his letter by cavendish. "thou wilt not write again?" she asked. "i doubt its being safe," said humfrey. "i durst not speak openly even in the scroll i sent yesterday." then mary recurred to the power which he possessed of visiting sir andrew melville and the almoner, the abbe de preaux, who were shut up in the fetterlock tower and court, and requested him to take a billet which she had written to the latter. the request came like a blow to the young man. "with permission--" he began. "i tell thee," said mary, "this concerns naught but mine own soul. it is nothing to the state, but all and everything to me, a dying woman." "ah, madam! let me but obtain consent." "what! go to paulett that he may have occasion to blaspheme my faith and insult me!" said the queen, offended. "i should go to sir drew drury, who is of another mould," said humfrey-- "but who dares not lift a finger to cross his fellow," said mary, leaning back resignedly. "and this is the young gentleman's love for your grace!" exclaimed jean kennedy. "nay, madam," said humfrey, stung to the quick, "but i am sworn!" "let him alone, nurse jeanie!" said mary. "he is like the rest of the english. they know not how to distinguish between the spirit and the letter! i understand it all, though i had thought for a moment that in him there was a love for me and mine that would perceive that i could ask nothing that could damage his honour or his good faith. i--who had almost a mother's love and trust in him." "madam," cried humfrey, "you know i would lay down my life for you, but i cannot break my trust." "your trust, fule laddie!" exclaimed mrs. kennedy. "ane wad think the queen speired of ye to carry a letter to mendoza to burn and slay, instead of a bit scart of the pen to ask the good father for his prayers, or the like! but you are all alike; ye will not stir a hand to aid her poor soul." "pardon me, madam," entreated humfrey. "the matter is, not what the letter may bear, but how my oath binds me! i may not be the bearer of aught in writing from this chamber. 'twas the very reason i would not bring in my father's letter. madam, say but you pardon me." "of course i pardon you," returned mary coldly. "i have so much to pardon that i can well forgive the lukewarmness and precision that are so bred in your nature that you cannot help them. i pardon injuries, and i may well try to pardon disappointments. fare you well, mr. talbot; may your fidelity have its reward from sir amias paulett." humfrey was obliged to quit the apartment, cruelly wounded, sometimes wondering whether he had really acted on a harsh selfish punctilio in cutting off the dying woman from the consolations of religion, and thus taking part with the persecutors, while his heart bled for her. sometimes it seemed to him as if he had been on the point of earning her consent to his marriage with her daughter, and had thrown it away, and at other moments a horror came over him lest he was being beguiled as poor antony had been before him. and if he let his faith slip, how should he meet his father again? yet his affection for the queen repelled this idea like a cruel injury, while, day by day, it was renewed pain and grief to be treated by her with the gentlest and most studied courtesy, but no longer as almost one of her own inner circle of friends and confidants. and as sir andrew melville was in a few days more restored to her service, he was far less often required to bear messages, or do little services in the prison apartments, and he felt himself excluded, and cut off from the intimacy that had been very sweet, and even a little hopeful to him. chapter xli. her royal highness. cicely had been living in almost as much suspense in london as her mother at fotheringhay. for greater security mr. talbot had kept her on board the mastiff till he had seen m. d'aubepine chateauneuf, and presented to him queen mary's letter. the ambassador, an exceedingly polished and graceful frenchman, was greatly astonished, and at first incredulous; but he could not but accept the queen's letter as genuine, and he called into his counsels his secretary de salmonnet, an elderly man, whose wife, a scotswoman by birth, preferred her husband's society to the delights of paris. she was a hamilton who had been a pensionnaire in the convent at soissons, and she knew that it had been expected that an infant from lochleven might be sent to the abbess, but that it had never come, and that after many months of waiting, tidings had arrived that the vessel which carried the babe had been lost at sea. m. de chateauneuf thereupon committed the investigation to her and her husband. richard talbot took them first to the rooms where mrs. barbara curll had taken up her abode, so as to be near her husband, who was still a prisoner in walsingham's house. she fully confirmed all that mr. talbot said of the queen's complete acceptance of cis as her daughter, and moreover consented to come with the salmonnets and mr. talbot, to visit the young lady on board the mastiff. accordingly they went down the river together in mr. talbot's boat, and found cicely, well cloaked and muffled, sitting under an awning, under the care of old goatley, who treated her like a little queen, and was busy explaining to her all the different craft which filled the river. she sprang up with the utmost delight at the sight of mrs. curll, and threw herself into her arms. there was an interchange of inquiries and comments that--unpremeditated as they were--could not but convince the auditor of the terms on which the young lady had stood with queen mary and her suite. afterwards cicely took the two ladies to her cabin, a tiny box, but not uncomfortable according to her habits, and there, on barbara's persuasion, she permitted madame de salmonnet to see the monograms on her shoulders. the lady went home convinced of her identity, and came again the next day with a gentleman in slouched hat, mask, and cloak. as cicely rose to receive him he uttered an exclamation of irrepressible astonishment, then added, "your highness will pardon me. exactly thus did her royal mother stand when i took leave of her at calais." the ambassador had thus been taken by storm, although the resemblance was more in figure and gesture than feature, but mrs. curll could aver that those who had seen bothwell were at no loss to trace the derivation of the dark brows and somewhat homely features, in which the girl differed from the royal race of scotland. what was to be done? queen mary's letter to him begged him so far as was possible to give her french protection, and avoid compromising "that excellent talbot," and he thought it would be wisest for her to await the coming of the envoy extraordinary, m. de pomponne bellievre, and be presented by him. in the meantime her remaining on board ship in this winter weather would be miserably uncomfortable, and richmond and greenwich were so near that any intercourse with her would be dangerous, especially if langston was still in england. lodgings or inns where a young lady from the country could safely be bestowed were not easily to be procured without greater familiarity with the place than mr. talbot possessed, and he could as little think of placing her with lady talbot, whose gossiping tongue and shrewish temper were not for a moment to be trusted. therefore m de chateauneuf's proposal that the young lady should become madame de salmonnet's guest at the embassy was not unwelcome. the lady was elderly, scottish, and, as m. de chateauneuf with something of a shudder assured mr. talbot, "most respectable." and it was hoped that it would not be for long. so, having seen her safely made over to the lady's care, richard ventured for the first time to make his presence in london known to his son, and to his kindred; and he was the more glad to have her in these quarters because diccon told him that there was no doubt that langston was lurking about the town, and indeed he was convinced that he had recognised that spy entering walsingham's house in the dress of a scrivener. he would not alarm cicely, but he bade her keep all her goods in a state ready for immediate departure, in case it should be needful to leave london at once after seeing the queen. the french ambassador's abode was an old conventual building on the river-side, consisting of a number of sets of separate chambers, like those of a college, opening on a quadrangle in the centre, and with one side occupied by the state apartments and chapel. this arrangement eminently suited the french suite, every one of whom liked to have his own little arrangements of cookery, and to look after his own marmite in his own way, all being alike horrified at the gross english diet and lack of vegetables. many tried experiments in the way of growing salads in little gardens of their own, with little heed to the once beautiful green grass-plot which they broke up. inside that gate it was like a new country, and as all the shrill thin intonations of the french rang in her ears, cicely could hardly believe that she had--she said--only a brick wall between her and old england. m. de salmonnet was unmistakably a scot by descent, though he had never seen the land of his ancestors. his grandfather bad been ennobled, but only belonged to the lesser order of the noblesse, being exempted from imposts, but not being above employment, especially in diplomacy. he had acted as secretary, interpreter, and general factotum, to a whole succession of ambassadors, and thus his little loge, as he called it, had become something of a home. his wife had once or twice before had to take charge of young ladies, french or english, who were confided to the embassy, and she had a guest chamber for them, a small room, but with an oriel window overhanging the thames and letting in the southern sun, so as almost to compensate for the bareness of the rest, where there was nothing but a square box-bed, a chest, and a few toilette essentials, to break upon the dulness of the dark wainscoted walls. madame herself came to sleep with her guest, for lonely nights were regarded with dread in those times, and indeed she seemed to regard it as her duty never to lose sight of her charge for a moment. madame de salmonnet's proper bed-chamber was the only approach to this little room, but that mattered the less as it was also the parlour! the bed, likewise a box, was in the far-off recesses, and the family were up and astir long before the november sun. dressed madame could scarcely be called--the costume in which she assisted babette and queer wizened old pierrot in doing the morning's work, horrified cicely, used as she was to mistress susan's scrupulous neatness. downstairs there was a sort of office room of monsieur's, where the family meals were taken, and behind it an exceedingly small kitchen, where madame and pierrot performed marvels of cookery, surpassing those of queen mary's five cooks. cicely longed to assist in them, and after a slight demur, she was permitted to do so, chiefly because her duenna could not otherwise watch her and the confections at the same time. cis could never make out whether it was as princess or simply as maiden that she was so closely watched, for madame bristled and swelled like a mother cat about to spring at a strange dog, if any gentleman of the suite showed symptoms of accosting her. nay, when mr. talbot once brought diccon in with him, and there was a greeting, which to cicely's mind was dismally cold and dry, the lady was so scandalised that cicely was obliged formally to tell her that she would answer for it to the queen. on sunday, mr. talbot always came to take her to church, and this was a terrible grievance to madame, though it was to cicely the one refreshment of the week. if it had been only the being out of hearing of her hostess's incessant tongue, the walk would have been a refreshment. madame de salmonnet had been transported from home so young that she was far more french than scottish; she was a small woman full of activity and zeal of all kinds, though perhaps most of all for her pot au feu. she was busied about her domestic affairs morning, noon, and night, and never ceased chattering the whole time, till cicely began to regard the sound like the clack of the mill at bridgefield. yet, talker as she was, she was a safe woman, and never had been known to betray secrets. indeed, much more of her conversation consisted of speculations on the tenderness of the poultry, or the freshness of the fish, than of anything that went much deeper. she did, however, spend much time in describing the habits and customs of the pensioners at soissons; the maigre food they had to eat; their tricks upon the elder and graver nuns, and a good deal besides that was amusing at first, but which became rather wearisome, and made cicely wonder what either of her mothers would have thought of it. the excuse for all this was to enable the maiden to make her appearance before queen elizabeth as freshly brought from soissons by her mother's danger. mary herself had suggested this, as removing all danger from the talbots, and as making it easier for the french embassy to claim and protect cis herself; and m. de chateauneuf had so far acquiesced as to desire madame de salmonnet to see whether the young lady could be prepared to assume the character before eyes that would not be over qualified to judge. cis, however, had always been passive when the proposal was made, and the more she heard from madame de salmonnet, the more averse she was to it. the only consideration that seemed to her in its favour was the avoidance of implicating her foster-father, but a sunday morning spent with him removed the scruple. "i know i cannot feign," she said. "they all used to laugh at me at chartley for being too much of the downright mastiff to act a part." "i am right glad to hear it," said richard. "moreover," added cicely, "if i did try to turn my words with the scottish or french ring, i wot that the sight of the queen's majesty and my anxiety would drive out from me all i should strive to remember, and i should falter and utter mere folly; and if she saw i was deceiving her, there would be no hope at all. nay, how could i ask god almighty to bless my doing with a lie in my mouth?" "there spake my susan's own maid," said richard. "'tis the joy of my heart that they have not been able to teach thee to lie with a good grace. trust my word, my wench, truth is the only wisdom, and one would have thought they might have learnt it by this time." "i only doubted, lest it should be to your damage, dear father. can they call it treason?" "i trow not, my child. the worst that could hap would be that i might be lodged in prison a while, or have to pay a fine; and liefer, far liefer, would i undergo the like than that those lips of thine should learn guile. i say not that there is safety for any of us, least of all for thee, my poor maid, but the danger is tenfold increased by trying to deceive; and, moreover, it cannot be met with a good conscience." "moreover," said cicely, "i have pleadings and promises to make on my mother-queen's behalf that would come strangely amiss if i had to feign that i had never seen her! may i not seek the queen at once, without waiting for this french gentleman? then would this weary, weary time be at an end! each time i hear a bell, or a cannon shot, i start and think, oh! has she signed the warrant? is it too late?" "there is no fear of that," said richard; "i shall know from will cavendish the instant aught is done, and through diccon i could get thee brought to the queen's very chamber in time to plead. meantime, the queen is in many minds. she cannot bear to give up her kinswoman; she sits apart and mutters, 'aut fer aut feri,' and 'ne feriare feri.' her ladies say she tosses and sighs all night, and hath once or twice awoke shrieking that she was covered with blood. it is burghley and walsingham who are forcing this on, and not her free will. strengthen but her better will, and let her feel herself secure, and she will spare, and gladly." "that do i hope to do," said cicely, encouraged. the poor girl had to endure many a vicissitude and heart-sinking before m. de bellievre appeared; and when he did come, he was a disappointment. he was a most magnificent specimen of the mignons of henri's court. the embassy rang with stories of the number of mails he had brought, of the milk baths he sent for, the gloves he slept in, the valets who tweaked out superfluous hairs from his eyebrows, the delicacies required for his little dogs. m. de salmonnet reported that on hearing the story of "mademoiselle," as cicely was called in the embassy, he had twirled the waxed ends of his moustaches into a satirical twist, and observed, "that is well found, and may serve as a last resource." he never would say that he disbelieved what he was told of her; and when presented to her, he behaved with an exaggerated deference which angered her intensely, for it seemed to her mockery of her pretensions. no doubt his desire was that mary's life should be granted to the intercession of his king rather than to any other consideration; and therefore once, twice, thrice, he had interviews with elizabeth, and still he would not take the anxious suppliant, who was in an agony at each disappointment, as she watched the gay barge float down the river, and who began to devise setting forth alone, to seek the queen at richmond and end it all! she would have done so, but that diccon told her that since the alarm caused by barnwell, it had become so much more difficult to approach the queen that she would have no hope. but she was in a restless state that made madame de salmonnet's chatter almost distracting, when at last, far on in january, m. de salmonnet came in. "well, mademoiselle, the moment is come. the passports are granted, but monsieur the ambassador extraordinary has asked for a last private audience, and he prays your highness to be ready to accompany him at nine of the clock to-morrow morning." cicely's first thought was to send tidings to mr. talbot, and in this m. de salmonnet assisted her, though his wife thought it very superfluous to drag in the great, dull, heavy, english sailor. the girl longed for a sight and speech of him all that evening in vain, though she was sure she saw the mastiff's boat pass down the river, and most earnestly did she wish she could have had her chamber to herself for the prayers and preparations, on which madame's tongue broke so intolerably that she felt as if she should ere long be wild and senseless, and unable to recollect anything. she had only a little peace when madame rose early in the morning and left her, thinking her asleep, for a brief interval, which gave her time to rally her thoughts and commend herself to her only guide. she let madame dress her, as had been determined, in perfectly plain black, with a cap that would have suited "a novice out of convent shade." it was certainly the most suitable garb for a petitioner for her mother's life. in her hand she took the queen's letter, and the most essential proofs of her birth. she was cloaked and hooded over all as warmly as possible to encounter the cold of the river: and madame de salmonnet, sighing deeply at the cold, arranged herself to chaperon her, and tried to make her fortify herself with food, but she was too tremulous to swallow anything but a little bread and wine. poor child! she felt frightfully alone amongst all those foreign tongues, above all when the two ambassadors crossed the court to m. de salmonnet's little door. bellievre, rolled up in splendid sables from head to foot, bowed down to the ground before her, almost sweeping the pavement with his plume, and asked in his deferential voice of mockery if her royal highness would do him the honour of accepting his escort. cicely bent her head and said in french, "i thank you, sir," giving him her hand; and there was a grave dignity in the action that repressed him, so that he did not speak again as he led her to the barge, which was covered in at the stern so as to afford a shelter from the wind. her quick eye detected the mastiff's boat as she was handed down the stairs, and this was some relief, while she was placed in the seat of honour, with an ambassador on each side of her. "may i ask," demanded bellievre, waving a scented handkerchief, "what her highness is prepared to say, in case i have to confirm it?" "i thank your excellency," replied cicely, "but i mean to tell the simple truth; and as your excellency has had no previous knowledge of me, i do not see how you can confirm it." the two gentlemen looked at one another, and chateauneuf said, "do i understand her royal highness that she does not come as the pensionnaire from soissons, as the queen had recommended?" "no, sir," said cicely; "i have considered the matter, and i could not support the character. all that i ask of your excellencies is to bring me into the presence of queen elizabeth. i will do the rest myself, with the help of god." "perhaps she is right," said the one ambassador to the other. "these english are incomprehensible!" chapter xlii. the supplication. in due time the boat drew up at the stairs leading to the palace of richmond. cicely, in the midst of her trepidation, perceived that diccon was among the gentlemen pensioners who made a lane from the landing to receive them, as she was handed along by m. de bellievre. in the hall there was a pause, during which the mufflings were thrown off, and cicely appeared in her simple black, a great contrast to her cavalier, who was clad from neck to knee in pale pink satin, quilted, and with a pearl at each intersection, earrings in his ears, perfumed and long-fringed gloves in his hand--a perfect specimen of the foppery of the court of france. however, he might have been in hodden gray without her perceiving it. she had the sensation of having plunged into deep, unknown waters, without rope or plank, and being absolutely forced to strike out for herself; yet the very urgency of the moment, acting on her high blood and recent training, made her, outwardly, perfectly self-possessed and calm. she walked along, holding her head in the regal manner that was her inheritance, and was so utterly absorbed in the situation that she saw nothing, and thought only of the queen. this was to be a private audience, and after a minute's demur with the clerk of the chamber, when chateauneuf made some explanation, a door was opened, a curtain withdrawn, and the two ambassadors and the young lady were admitted to elizabeth's closet, where she sat alone, in an arm-chair with a table before her. cicely's first glance at the queen reminded her of the countess, though the face was older, and had an intellect and a grandeur latent in it, such as bess of hardwicke had never possessed; but it was haggard and worn, the eyelids red, either with weeping, or with sleeplessness, and there was an anxious look about the keen light hazel eyes which was sometimes almost pathetic, and gave cicely hope. to the end of her days she never could recollect how the queen was arrayed; she saw nothing but the expression in those falcon eyes, and the strangely sensitive mouth, which bewrayed the shrewish nose and chin, and the equally inconsistent firmness of the jaw. the first glance cicely encountered was one of utter amazement and wrath, as the queen exclaimed, "whom have you brought hither, messieurs?" before either could reply, she, whom they had thought a raw, helpless girl, moved forward, and kneeling before elizabeth said, "it is i, so please your majesty, i, who have availed myself of the introduction of their excellencies to lay before your majesty a letter from my mother, the queen of scots." queen elizabeth made so vehement and incredulous an exclamation of amazement that cicely was the more reminded of the countess, and this perhaps made her task the easier, and besides, she was not an untrained rustic, but had really been accustomed to familiar intercourse with a queen, who, captive as she was, maintained full state and etiquette. she therefore made answer with dignity, "if it will please your majesty to look at this letter, you will see the proofs of what i say, and that i am indeed bride hepburn, the daughter of queen mary's last marriage. i was born at lochleven on the th of february of the year of grace ," (footnote-- according to our calendar) "and thence secretly sent in the bride of dunbar to be bred up in france. the ship was wrecked, and all lost on board, but i was, by the grace of god, picked up by a good and gallant gentleman of my lord of shrewsbury's following, master richard talbot of bridgefield, who brought me up as his own daughter, all unknowing whence i came or who i was, until three years ago, when one of the secret agents who had knowledge of the affairs of the queen of scots made known to her that i was the babe who had been embarked in the bride of dunbar." "verily, thou must be a bold wench to expect me to believe such a mere minstrel's tale," said elizabeth. "nevertheless, madam, it is the simple truth, as you will see if you deign to open this packet." "and who or where is this same honourable gentleman who brought you up--richard talbot? i have heard that name before!" "he is here, madam. he will confirm all i say." the queen touched a little bell, and ordered master talbot of bridgefield to be brought to her, while, hastily casting her eyes on the credentials, she demanded of chateauneuf, "knew you aught of this, sir?" "i know only what the queen of scotland has written and what this monsieur talbot has told me, madam," said chateauneuf. "there can be no doubt that the queen of scotland has treated her as a daughter, and owns her for such in her letter to me, as well as to your majesty." "and the letters are no forgery?" "mine is assuredly not, madam; i know the private hand of the queen of scots too well to be deceived. moreover, madame curll, the wife of the secretary, and others, can speak to the manner in which this young lady was treated." "openly treated as a daughter! that passes, sir. my faithful subjects would never have left me uninformed!" "so please your majesty," here the maiden ventured, "i have always borne the name of cicely talbot, and no one knows what is my real birth save those who were with my mother at lochleven, excepting mrs. curll. the rest even of her own attendants only understood me to be a scottish orphan. my true lineage should never have been known, were it not a daughter's duty to plead for her mother." by this time mr. talbot was at the door, and he was received by the queen with, "so ho! master talbot, how is this? you, that have been vaunted to us as the very pink of fidelity, working up a tale that smacks mightily of treason and leasing!" "the truth is oft stranger than any playwright can devise," said richard, as he knelt. "if it be truth, the worse for you, sir," said the queen, hotly. "what colour can you give to thus hiding one who might, forsooth, claim royal blood, tainted though it be?" "pardon me, your grace. for many years i knew not who the babe was whom i had taken from the wreck, and when the secret of her birth was discovered, i deemed it not mine own but that of the queen of scots." "a captive's secrets are not her own, and are only kept by traitors," said elizabeth, severely. at this cicely threw herself forward with glowing cheeks. "madam, madam, traitor never was named in the same breath with master talbot's name before. if he kept the secret, it was out of pity, and knowing no hurt could come to your majesty by it." "thou hast a tongue, wench, be thou who thou mayst," said elizabeth sharply. "stand back, and let him tell his own tale." richard very briefly related the history of the rescue of the infant, which he said he could confirm by the testimony of goatley and of heatherthwayte. he then explained how langston had been present when she was brought home, and had afterwards made communications to the queen of scots that led to the girl, already in attendance on her, being claimed and recognised; after which he confessed that he had not the heart to do what might separate the mother and daughter by declaring their relationship. elizabeth meanwhile was evidently comparing his narrative with the letters of the queen of scots, asking searching questions here and there. she made a sound of perplexity and annoyance at the end, and said, "this must be further inquired into." here cicely, fearing an instant dismissal, clasped her hands, and on her knees exclaimed, "madam! it will not matter. no trouble shall ever be caused by my drop of royal blood; no one shall ever even know that bride of scotland exists, save the few who now know it, and have kept the secret most faithfully. i seek no state; all i ask is my mother's life. o madam, would you but see her, and speak with her, you would know how far from her thoughts is any evil to your royal person!" "tush, wench! we know better. is this thy lesson?" "none hath taught me any lesson, madam. i know what my mother's enemies have, as they say, proved against her, and i know they say that while she lives your grace cannot be in security." "that is what moves my people to demand her death," said elizabeth. "it is not of your own free will, madam, nor of your own kind heart," cried cicely. "that i well know! and, madam, i will show you the way. let but my mother be escorted to some convent abroad, in france or austria, or anywhere beyond the reach of spain, and her name should be hidden from everyone! none should know where to seek her. not even the abbess should know her name. she would be prisoned in a cell, but she would be happy, for she would have life and the free exercise of her religion. no english papist, no leaguer, none should ever trace her, and she would disquiet you no more." "and who is to answer that, when once beyond english bounds, she should not stir up more trouble than ever?" demanded elizabeth. "that do i," said the girl. "here am i, bride hepburn, ready to live in your majesty's hands as a hostage, whom you might put to death at the first stirring on her behalf." "silly maid, we have no love of putting folk to death," said elizabeth, rather hurt. "that is only for traitors, when they forfeit our mercy." "then, o madam, madam, what has been done in her name cannot forfeit mercy for her! she was shut up in prison; i was with her day and night, and i know she had naught to do with any evil purpose towards your majesty. ah! you do not believe me! i know they have found her guilty, and that is not what i came to say," she continued, getting bewildered in her earnestness for a moment. "no. but, gracious queen, you have spared her often; i have heard her say that you had again and again saved her life from those who would fain have her blood." "it is true," said elizabeth, half softened. "save her then now, madam," entreated the girl. "let her go beyond their reach, yet where none shall find her to use her name against you. let me go to her at fotheringhay with these terms. she will consent and bless and pray for you for ever; and here am i, ready to do what you will with me!" "to hang about court, and be found secretly wedded to some base groom!" "no, madam. i give you my solemn word as a queen's daughter that i will never wed, save by your consent, if my mother's life be granted. the king of scots knows not that there is such a being. he need never know it. i will thank and bless you whether you throw me into the tower, or let me abide as the humblest of your serving-women, under the name i have always borne, cicely talbot." "foolish maid, thou mayest purpose as thou sayest, but i know what wenches are made of too well to trust thee." "ah madam, pardon me, but you know not how strong a maiden's heart can be for a mother's sake. madam! you have never seen my mother. if you but knew her patience and her tenderness, you would know how not only i, but every man or woman in her train, would gladly lay down life and liberty for her, could we but break her bonds, and win her a shelter among those of her own faith." "art a papist?" asked the queen, observing the pronoun. "not so, an't please your majesty. this gentleman bred me up in our own church, nor would i leave it." "strange--strange matters," muttered elizabeth, "and they need to be duly considered." "i will then abide your majesty's pleasure," said cicely, "craving license that it may be at fotheringhay with my mother. then can i bear her the tidings, and she will write in full her consent to these terms. o madam, i see mercy in your looks. receive a daughter's blessing and thanks!" "over fast, over fast, maiden. who told thee that i had consented?" "your majesty's own countenance," replied cicely readily. "i see pity in it, and the recollection that all posterity for evermore will speak of the clemency of elizabeth as the crown of all her glories!" "child, child," said the queen, really moved, "heaven knows that i would gladly practise clemency if my people would suffer it, but they fear for my life, and still more for themselves, were i removed, nor can i blame them." "your majesty, i know that. but my mother would be dead to the world, leaving her rights solemnly made over to her son. none would know where to find her, and she would leave in your hands, and those of the parliament, a resignation of all her claims." "and would she do this? am i to take it on thy word, girl?" "your majesty knows this ring, sent to her at lochleven," said cicely, holding it up. "it is the pledge that she binds herself to these conditions. oh! let me but bear them to her, and you shall have them signed and sealed, and your majesty will know the sweet bliss of pardoning. may i carry the tidings to her? i can go with this gentleman as cis talbot returning to her service." elizabeth bent her head as though assenting thoughtfully. "how shall i thank you, gracious queen?" cried cicely, joining hands in a transport, but elizabeth sharply cut her short. "what means the wench? i have promised nothing. i have only said i will look into this strange story of thine, and consider this proposal--that is, if thy mother, as thou callest her, truly intend it--ay, and will keep to it." "that is all i could ask of your majesty," said cicely. "the next messenger after my return shall carry her full consent to these conditions, and there will i abide your pleasure until the time comes for her to be conducted to her convent, if not to see your face, which would be best of all. o madam, what thanks will be worthy of such a grace?" "wait to see whether it is a grace, little cousin," said elizabeth, but with a kiss to the young round cheek, and a friendliness of tone that surprised all. "messieurs," she added to the ambassadors, "you came, if i mistake not, to bring me this young demoiselle." "who has, i hope, pleaded more effectually than i," returned bellievre. "i have made no promises, sir," said the queen, drawing herself up proudly. "still your majesty forbids us not to hope," said chateauneuf. wherewith they found themselves dismissed. there was a great increase of genuine respect in the manner in which bellievre handed the young lady from the queen's chamber through the gallery and hall, and finally to the boat. no one spoke, for there were many standing around, but cicely could read in a glance that passed between the frenchmen that they were astonished at her success. her own brain was in a whirl, her heart beating high; she could hardly realise what had passed, but when again placed in the barge the first words she heard were from bellievre. "your royal highness will permit me to congratulate you." at the same time she saw, to her great joy, that m. de chateauneuf had caused her foster-father to enter the barge with them. "if the queen of scotland were close at hand, the game would be won," said bellievre. "ah! milord treasurer and m. le secretaire are far too cunning to have let her be within reach," said chateauneuf. "could we but have bound the queen to anything," added bellievre. "that she always knows how to avoid," said the resident ambassador. "at least," said cicely, "she has permitted that i should bear the terms to my mother at fotheringhay." "that is true," said chateauneuf, "and in my opinion no time should be lost in so doing. i doubt," he added, looking at richard, "whether, now that her highness's exalted rank is known, the embassy will be permitted to remain a shelter to her, in case the queen should demand her of me." "your excellency speaks my thought," said richard. "i am even disposed to believe that it would be wiser to begin our journey this very day." "i grieve for the apparent inhospitality and disrespect to one whom i honour so highly," said chateauneuf, "but i verily believe it would be the wiser plan. look you, sir, the enemies of the unfortunate queen of scotland have done all in their power to hinder my colleague from seeing the queen, but to-day the lord treasurer is occupied at westminster, and monsieur le secretaire is sick. she sent for us in one of those wilful moods in which she chooses to assert herself without their knowledge, and she remains, as it were, stunned by the surprise, and touched by her royal highness's pleading. but let these gentlemen discover what has passed, or let her recover and send for them, and bah! they will inquire, and messengers will go forth at once to stop her highness and yourself. all will be lost. but if you can actually be on the way to this castle before they hear of it--and it is possible you may have a full day in advance--they will be unable to hinder the conditions from being laid before the queen of scots, and we are witnesses of what they were." "oh, let us go! let us go at once, dear sir," entreated cicely. "i burn to carry my mother this hope." it was not yet noon, so early had been the audience, and dark and short as were the days, it was quite possible to make some progress on the journey before night. cicely had kept the necessaries for her journey ready, and so had mr. talbot, even to the purchase of horses, which were in the shrewsbury house stables. the rest of the mails could be fetched by the mastiff's crew, and brought to hull under charge of goatley. madame de salmonnet was a good deal scandalised at son altesse royale going off with only a male escort, and to cicely's surprise, wept over her, and prayed aloud that she might have good success, and bring safety and deliverance to the good and persecuted queen for whom she had attempted so much. "sir," said chateauneuf, as he stood beside richard, waiting till the girl's preparations were over, "if there could have been any doubts of the royal lineage of your charge, her demeanour to-day would have disproved them. she stood there speaking as an equal, all undaunted before that queen before whom all tremble, save when they can cajole her." "she stood there in the strength of truth and innocence," said richard. whereat the frenchman again looked perplexed at these incomprehensible english. cicely presently appeared. it was wonderful to see how that one effort had given her dignity and womanhood. she thanked the two ambassadors for the countenance they had given to her, and begged them to continue their exertions in her mother's cause. "and," she added, "i believe my mother has already requested of you to keep this matter a secret." they bowed, and she added, "you perceive, gentlemen, that the very conditions i have offered involve secrecy both as to my mother's future abode and my existence. therefore, i trust that you will not consider it inconsistent with your duty to the king of france to send no word of this." again they assured her of their secrecy, and the promise was so far kept that the story was reserved for the private ear of henri iii. on bellievre's return, and never put into the despatches. two days later, cicely enjoyed some of the happiest hours of her life. she stood by the bed where her mother was lying, and was greeted with the cry, "my child, my child! i thought i never should see thee more. domine, nunc dimittis!" "nay, dearest mother, but i trust she will show mercy. i bring you conditions." mary laid her head on her daughter's shoulder and listened. it might be that she had too much experience of elizabeth's vacillations to entertain much hope of her being allowed to retire beyond her grasp into a foreign convent, and she declared that she could not endure that her beloved, devoted child should wear away her life under elizabeth's jealous eye, but cis put this aside, saying with a smile, "i think she will not be hard with me. she will be no worse than my lady countess, and i shall have a secret of joy within me in thinking of you resting among the good nuns." and mary caught hope from the anticipations she would not damp, and gave herself to the description of the peaceful cloister life, reviewing in turn the nunneries she had heard described, and talking over their rules. there would indeed be as little liberty as here, but she would live in the midst of prayer and praise, and be at rest from the plots and plans, the hopes and fears, of her long captivity, and be at leisure for penitence. "for, ah! my child, guiltless though i be of much that is laid to my charge, thy mother is a sinful woman, all unworthy of what her brave and innocent daughter has dared and done for her." almost equally precious with that mother's greeting was the grave congratulating look of approval which cicely met in humfrey's eyes when he had heard all from his father. he could exult in her, even while he thought sadly of the future which she had so bravely risked, watching over her from a distance in his silent, self-restrained, unselfish devotion. the queen's coldness towards humfrey had meantime diminished daily, though he could not guess whether she really viewed his course as the right one, or whether she forgave this as well as all other injuries in the calm gentle state into which she had come, not greatly moved by hope or fear, content alike to live or die. richard, in much anxiety, was to remain another day or two at fotheringhay, on the plea of his wearied horses and of the sunday rest. meantime mary diligently wrote the conditions, but perhaps more to satisfy her daughter than with much hope of their acceptance. chapter xliii. the warrant "yea, madam, they are gone! they stole away at once, and are far on the way to fotheringhay, with these same conditions." so spoke davison, under-secretary, walsingham being still indisposed. "and therefore will i see whether the queen of scots will ratify them, ere i go farther in the matter," returned elizabeth. "she will ratify them without question," said the secretary, ironically, "seeing that to escape into the hands of one of your majesty's enemies is just what she desires." "she leaves her daughter as a pledge." "yea, a piece of tinsel to delude your majesty." elizabeth swore an oath that there was truth in every word and gesture of the maiden. "the poor wench may believe all she said herself," said davison. "nay, she is as much deluded as the rest, and so is that honest, dull-pated sailor, talbot. if your majesty will permit me to call in a fellow i have here, i can make all plain." "who is he? you know i cannot abide those foul carrion rascals you make use of," said elizabeth, with an air of disgust. "this man is gentleman born. villain he may be, but there is naught to offend your majesty in him. he is one langston, a kinsman of this talbot's; and having once been a papist, but now having seen the error of his ways, he did good service in the unwinding of the late horrible plot." "well, if no other way will serve you but i must hear the fellow, have him in." a neatly-dressed, small, elderly man, entirely arrayed in black, was called in, and knelt most humbly before the queen. being bidden to tell what he knew respecting the lady who had appeared before the queen the day before, calling herself bride hepburn, he returned for answer that he believed it to be verily her name, but that she was the daughter of a man who had fled to france, and become an archer of the scottish guard. he told how he had been at hull when the infant had been saved from the wreck, and brought home to mistress susan talbot, who left the place the next day, and had, he understood, bred up the child as her own. he himself, being then, as he confessed, led astray by the delusions of popery, had much commerce with the queen's party, and had learnt from some of the garrison of dunfermline that the child on board the lost ship was the offspring of this same hepburn, and of one of queen mary's many namesake kindred, who had died in childbirth at lochleven. and now langston professed bitterly to regret what he had done when, in his disguise at buxton, he had made known to some of mary's suite that the supposed cicely talbot was of their country and kindred. she had been immediately made a great favourite by the queen of scots, and the attendants all knew who she really was, though she still went by the name of talbot. he imagined that the queen of scots, whose charms were not so imperishable as those which dazzled his eyes at this moment, wanted a fresh bait for her victims, since she herself was growing old, and thus had actually succeeded in binding babington to her service, though even then the girl was puffed up with notions of her own importance and had flouted him. and now, all other hope having vanished, queen mary's last and ablest resource had been to possess the poor maiden with an idea of being actually her own child, and then to work on her filial obedience to offer herself as a hostage, whom mary herself could without scruple leave to her fate, so soon as she was ready to head an army of invaders. davison further added that the secretary nau could corroborate that bride hepburn was known to the suite as a kinswoman of the queen, and that mr. cavendish, clerk to sir francis walsingham, knew that babington had been suitor to the young lady, and had crossed swords with young talbot on her account. elizabeth listened, and made no comment at the time, save that she sharply questioned langston; but his tale was perfectly coherent, and as it threw the onus of the deception entirely on mary, it did not conflict either with the sincerity evident in both cicely and her foster-father, or with the credentials supplied by the queen of scots. of the ciphered letter, and of the monograms, elizabeth had never heard, though, if she had asked for further proof, they would have been brought forward. she heard all, dismissed langston, and with some petulance bade davison likewise begone, being aware that her ministers meant her to draw the moral that she had involved herself in difficulties by holding a private audience of the french ambassadors without their knowledge or presence. it may be that the very sense of having been touched exasperated her the more. she paced up and down the room restlessly, and her ladies heard her muttering--"that she should cheat me thus! i have pitied her often; i will pity her no more! to breed up that poor child to be palmed on me! i will make an end of it; i can endure this no longer! these tossings to and fro are more than i can bear, and all for one who is false, false, false, false! my brain will bear no more. hap what hap, an end must be made of it. she or i, she or i must die; and which is best for england and the faith? that girl had well-nigh made me pity her, and it was all a vile cheat!" thus it was that elizabeth sent for davison, and bade him bring the warrant with him. and thus it was that in the midst of dinner in the hall, on the sunday, the th of february, the meine of the castle were startled by the arrival of mr. beale, the clerk of the council, always a bird of sinister omen, and accompanied by a still more alarming figure a strong burly man clad in black velvet from head to foot. every one knew who he was, and a thrill of dismay, that what had been so long expected had come at last, went through all who saw him pass through the hall. sir amias was summoned from table, and remained in conference with the two arrivals all through evening chapel time--an event in itself extraordinary enough to excite general anxiety. it was humfrey's turn to be on guard, and he had not long taken his station before he was called into the queen's apartments, where she sat at the foot of her bed, in a large chair with a small table before her. no one was with her but her two mediciners, bourgoin and gorion. "here," she said, "is the list our good doctor has writ of the herbs he requires for my threatened attack of rheumatism." "i will endeavour, with sir amias's permission, to seek them in the park," said humfrey. "but tell me," said mary, fixing her clear eyes upon him, "tell me truly. is there not a surer and more lasting cure for all my ills in preparation? who was it who arrived to-night?" "madame," said humfrey, bowing his head low as he knelt on one knee, "it was mr. beale." "ay, and who besides?" "madam, i heard no name, but"--as she waited for him to speak further, he uttered in a choked voice--"it was one clad in black." "i perceive," said mary, looking up with a smile. "a more effectual doctor than you, my good bourgoin. i thank my god and my cousin elizabeth for giving me the martyr's hope at the close of the most mournful life that ever woman lived. nay, leave me not as yet, good humfrey. i have somewhat to say unto thee. i have a charge for thee." something in her tone led him to look up earnestly in her face. "thou lovest my child, i think," she added. the young man's voice was scarcely heard, and he only said, "yea, madam;" but there was an intensity in the tone and eyes which went to her heart. "thou dost not speak, but thou canst do. wilt thou take her, humfrey, and with her, all the inheritance of peril and sorrow that dogs our unhappy race?" "oh"--and there was a mighty sob that almost cut off his voice--"my life is already hers, and would be spent in her service wherever, whatever she was." "i guessed it," said the queen, letting her hand rest on his shoulder. "and for her thou wilt endure, if needful, suspicion, danger, exile?" "they will be welcome, so i may shield her." "i trust thee," she said, and she took his firm strong hand into her own white wasted one. "but will thy father consent? thou art his eldest son and heir." "he loves her like his own daughter. my brother may have the lands." "'tis strange," said mary, "that in wedding a princess, 'tis no crown, no kingdom, that is set before thee, only the loss of thine own inheritance. for now that the poor child has made herself known to elizabeth, there will be no safety for her between these seas. i have considered it well. i had thought of sending her abroad with my french servants, and making her known to my kindred there. that would have been well if she could have accepted the true faith, or if--if her heart had not been thine; but to have sent her as she is would only expose her to persecution, and she hath not the mounting spirit that would cast aside love for the sake of rising. she lived too long with thy mother to be aught save a homely cis. i would have made a princess of her, but it passes my powers. nay, the question is, whether it may yet be possible to prevent the queen from laying hands on her." "my father is still here," said humfrey, "and i deem not that any orders have come respecting her. might not he crave permission to take her home, that is, if she will leave your grace?" "i will lay my commands on her! it is well thought of," said the queen. "how soon canst thou have speech with him?" "he is very like to come to my post," said humfrey, "and then we can walk the gallery and talk unheard." "it is well. let him make his demand, and i will have her ready to depart as early as may be to-morrow morn. bourgoin, i would ask thee to call the maiden hither." cicely appeared from the apartment where she had been sitting with the other ladies. "child," said the queen, as she came in, "is thy mind set on wedding an archduke?" "marriage is not for me, madam," said cicely, perplexed and shaken by this strange address and by humfrey's presence. "nay, didst not once tell me of a betrothal now many years ago? what wouldst say if thine own mother were to ratify it?" "ah! madam," said cicely, blushing crimson however, "but i pledged myself never to wed save with queen elizabeth's consent." "on one condition," said the queen. "but if that condition were not observed by the other party--" "how--what, mother!" exclaimed cicely, with a scream. "there is no fear--humfrey, have you heard aught?" "nothing is certain," said mary, calmly. "i ask thee not to break thy word. i ask thee, if thou wert free to marry, if thou wouldst be an austrian or lorraine duchess, or content thee with an honest english youth whose plighted word is more precious to him than gold." "o mother, how can you ask?" said cicely, dropping down, and hiding her face in the queen's lap. "then, humfrey talbot, i give her to thee, my child, my bride of scotland. thou wilt guard her, and shield her, and for thine own sake as well as hers, save her from the wrath and jealousy of elizabeth. hark, hark! rise, my child. they are presenting arms. we shall have paulett in anon to convey my rere-supper." they had only just time to compose themselves before paulett came in, looking, as they all thought, grimmer and more starched than ever, and not well pleased to find humfrey there, but the queen was equal to the occasion. "here is dr. bourgoin's list of the herbs that he needs to ease my aches," she said. "master talbot is so good as to say that, being properly instructed, he will go in search of them." "they will not be needed," said paulett, but he spoke no farther to the queen. outside, however, he said to humfrey, "young man, you do not well to waste the sabbath evening in converse with that blinded woman;" and meeting mr. talbot himself on the stair, he said, "you are going in quest of your son, sir. you would do wisely to admonish him that he will bring himself into suspicion, if not worse, by loitering amid the snares and wiles of the woman whom wrath is even now overtaking." richard found his son pacing the gallery, almost choked with agitation, and with the endeavour to conceal it from the two stolid, heavy yeomen who dozed behind the screen. not till he had reached the extreme end did humfrey master his voice enough to utter in his father's ear, "she has given her to me!" richard could not answer for a moment, then he said, "i fear me it will be thy ruin, humfrey." "not ruin in love or faithfulness," said the youth. "father, you know i should everywhere have followed her and watched over her, even to the death, even if she could never have been mine." "i trow thou wouldst," said richard. "nor would you have it otherwise--your child, your only daughter, to be left unguarded." "nay, i know not that i would," said richard. "i cannot but care for the poor maid like mine own, and i would not have thee less true-hearted, humfrey, even though it cost thee thine home, and us our eldest son." "you have diccon and ned," said humfrey. and then he told what had passed, and his father observed that beale had evidently no knowledge of cicely's conference with the queen, and apparently no orders to seize her. it had oozed out that a commission had been sent to five noblemen to come and superintend the execution, since sir amias paulett had again refused to let it take place without witnesses, and richard undertook to apply at once to sir amias for permission to remove his daughter, on the ground of saving her tender youth from the shock. "then," said he, "i will leave a token at nottingham where i have taken her; whether home or at once to hull. if i leave brown roundle at the inn for thee, then come home; but if it be white blossom, then come to hull. it will be best that thou dost not know while here, and i cannot go direct to hull, because the fens at this season may not be fit for riding. heatherthwayte will need no proofs to convince him that she is not thy sister, and can wed you at once, and you will also be able to embark in case there be any endeavour to arrest her." "taking service in holland," said humfrey, "until there may be safety in returning to england." richard sighed. the risk and sacrifice were great, and it was to him like the loss of two children, but the die was cast; humfrey never could be other than cicely's devoted champion and guardian, and it was better that it should be as her husband. so he repaired to sir amias, and told him that he desired not to expose his daughter's tender years and feeble spirits to the sight of the queen's death, and claimed permission to take her away with him the next day, saying that the permission of the queen had already been granted through his son, whom he would gladly also take with him. paulett hemmed and hawed. he thought it a great error in mr. talbot to avoid letting his daughter be edified by a spectacle that might go far to moderate the contagion of intercourse with so obstinate a papist and deceiver. being of pitiless mould himself, he was incapable of appreciating richard's observation that compassion would only increase her devotion to the unfortunate lady. he would not, or could not, part with humfrey. he said that there would be such a turmoil and concourse that the services of the captain of his yeomen would be indispensable, but that he himself, and all the rest, would be free on the thursday at latest. mr. talbot's desire to be away was a surprise to him, for he was in difficulties how, even in that enormous hall, to dispose of all who claimed by right or by favour to witness what he called the tardy fulfilment of judgment. yet though he thought it a weakness, he did not refuse, and ere night mr. talbot was able to send formal word that the horses would be ready for mistress cicely at break of day the next morning. the message was transmitted through the ladies as the queen sat writing at her table, and she at once gave orders to elizabeth curll to prepare the cloak bag with necessaries for the journey. cicely cried out, "o madam my mother, do not send me from you!" "there is no help for it, little one. it is the only hope of safety or happiness for thee." "but i pledged myself to await queen elizabeth's reply here!" "she has replied," said mary. "how?" cried cicely. "methought your letter confirming mine offers had not yet been sent." "it hath not, but she hath made known to me that she rejects thy terms, my poor maid." "is there then no hope?" said the girl, under her breath, which came short with dismay. "hope! yea," said mary, with a ray of brightness on her face, "but not earthly hope. that is over, and i am more at rest and peace than i can remember to have been since i was a babe at my mother's knee. but, little one, i must preserve thee for thine humfrey and for happiness, and so thou must be gone ere the hounds be on thy track." "never, mother, i cannot leave you. you bid no one else to go!" said cis, clinging to her with a face bathed in tears. "no one else is imperilled by remaining as thy bold venture has imperilled thee, my sweet maid. think, child, how fears for thee would disturb my spirit, when i would fain commune only with heaven. seest thou not that to lose thy dear presence for the few days left to me will be far better for me than to be rent with anxiety for thee, and it may be to see thee snatched from me by these stern, harsh men?" "to quit you now! it is unnatural! i cannot." "you will go, child. as queen and as mother alike, i lay my commands on you. let not the last, almost the only commands i ever gave thee be transgressed, and waste not these last hours in a vain strife." she spoke with an authority against which cis had no appeal, save by holding her hand tight and covering it with kisses and tears. mary presently released her hand and went on writing, giving her a little time to restrain her agony of bitter weeping. the first words spoken were, "i shall not name thee in my will, nor recommend thee to thy brother. it would only bring on thee suspicion and danger. here, however, is a letter giving full evidence of thy birth, and mentioning the various witnesses who can attest it. i shall leave the like with melville, but it will be for thy happiness and safety if it never see the light. should thy brother die without heirs, then it might be thy duty to come forward and stretch out thy hand for these two crowns, which have more thorns than jewels in them. alas! would that i could dare to hope they might be exchanged for a crown of stars! but lie down on the bed, my bairnie. i have much still to do, and thou hast a long journey before thee." cicely would fain have resisted, but was forced to obey, though protesting that she should not sleep; and she lay awake for a long time watching the queen writing, until unawares slumber overpowered her eyes. when she awoke, the queen was standing over her saying, "it is time thou wert astir, little one!" "oh! and have i lost all these hours of you?" cried cicely, as her senses awoke to the remembrance of the situation of affairs. "mother, why did you not let me watch with you?" mary only smiled and kissed her brow. the time went by in the preparations, in all of which the queen took an active part. her money and jewels had been restored to her by elizabeth's orders during her daughter's absence, and she had put twenty gold pieces in the silken and pearl purse which she always used. "more i may not give thee," she said. "i know not whether i shall be able to give my poor faithful servants enough to carry them to their homes. this thou must have to provide thee. and for my jewels, they should be all thine by right, but the more valuable ones, which bear tokens, might only bring thee under suspicion, poor child." she wished cicely to choose among them, but the poor girl had no heart for choice, and the queen herself put in her hand a small case containing a few which were unobtrusive, yet well known to her, and among them a ring with the hepburn arms, given by bothwell. she also showed her a gold chain which she meant to give to humfrey. in this manner time passed, till a message came in that master richard talbot was ready. "who brought it?" asked the queen, and when she heard that it was humfrey himself who was at the door, she bade him be called in. "children," she said, "we were interrupted last night. let me see you give your betrothal kiss, and bless you." "one word, my mother," said cicely. "humfrey will not bear me ill-will if i say that while there can still be any hope that queen elizabeth will accept me for her prisoner in your stead, i neither can nor ought to wed him." "thou mayst safely accept the condition, my son," said mary. "then if these messengers should come to conduct my mother abroad, and to take me as her hostage, humfrey will know where to find me." "yea, thou art a good child to the last, my little one," said mary. "you promise, humfrey?" said cicely. "i do," he said, knowing as well as the queen how little chance there was that he would be called on to fulfil it, but feeling that the agony of the parting was thus in some degree softened to cicely. mary gave the betrothal ring to humfrey, and she laid her hands on their clasped ones. "my daughter and my son," she said, "i leave you my blessing. if filial love and unshaken truth can bring down blessings from above, they will be yours. think of your mother in times to come as one who hath erred, but suffered and repented. if your church permits you, pray often for her. remember, when you hear her blamed, that in the glare of courts, she had none to breed her up in godly fear and simple truth like your good mother at bridgefield, but that she learnt to think what you view in the light of deadly sin as the mere lawful instruments of government, above all for the weaker. condemn her not utterly, but pray, pray with all your hearts that her god and saviour will accept her penitence, and unite her sufferings with those of her lord, since he has done her the grace of letting her die in part for his church. now," she added, kissing each brow, and then holding her daughter in her embrace, "take her away, humfrey, and let me turn my soul from all earthly loves and cares!" chapter xliv. on the humber. master talbot had done considerately in arranging that cicely should at least begin her journey on a pillion behind himself, for her anguish of suppressed weeping unfitted her to guide a horse, and would have attracted the attention of any serving-man behind whom he could have placed her, whereas she could lay her head against his shoulder, and feel a kind of dreary repose there. he would have gone by the more direct way to hull, through lincoln, but that he feared that february filldyke would have rendered the fens impassable, so he directed his course more to the north-west. cicely was silent, crushed, but more capable of riding than of anything else; in fact, the air and motion seemed to give her a certain relief. he meant to halt for the night at a large inn at nottingham. there was much stir in the court, and it seemed to be full of the train of some great noble. richard knew not whether to be glad or sorry when he perceived the shrewsbury colours and the silver mastiff badge, and was greeted by a cry of "master richard of bridgefield!" two or three retainers of higher degree came round him as he rode into the yard, and, while demanding his news, communicated their own, that my lord was on his way to fotheringhay to preside at the execution of the queen of scots. he could feel cicely's shudder as he lifted her off her horse, and he replied repressively, "i am bringing my daughter from thence." "come in and see my lord," said the gentleman. "he is a woeful man at the work that is put on him." lord shrewsbury did indeed look sad, almost broken, as he held out his hand to richard, and said, "this is a piteous errand, cousin, on which i am bound. and thou, my young kinswoman, thou didst not succeed with her majesty!" "she is sick with grief and weariness," said richard. "i would fain take her to her chamber." the evident intimacy of the new-comers with so great a personage as my lord procured for them better accommodation than they might otherwise have had, and richard obtained for cicely a tiny closet within the room where he was himself to sleep. he even contrived that she should be served alone, partly by himself, partly by the hostess, a kind motherly woman, to whom he committed her, while he supped with the earl, and was afterwards called into his sleeping chamber to tell him of his endeavours at treating with lord and lady talbot, and also to hear his lamentations over the business he had been sent upon. he had actually offered to make over his office as earl marshal to burghley for the nonce, but as he said, "that of all the nobles in england, such work should fall to the lot of him, who had been for fourteen years the poor lady's host, and knew her admirable patience and sweet conditions, was truly hard." moreover, he was joined in the commission with the earl of kent, a sour puritan, who would rejoice in making her drink to the dregs of the cup of bitterness! he was sick at heart with the thought. richard represented that he would, at least, be able to give what comfort could be derived from mildness and compassion. "not i, not i!" said the poor man, always weak. "not with those harsh yoke-fellows kent and paulett to drive me on, and that viper beale to report to the privy council any strain of mercy as mere treason. what can i do?" "you would do much, my lord, if you would move them to restore--for these last hours--to her those faithful servants, melville and de preaux, whom paulett hath seen fit to seclude from her. it is rank cruelty to let her die without the sacraments of her church when her conscience will not let her accept ours." "it is true, richard, over true. i will do what i can, but i doubt me whether i shall prevail, where paulett looks on a mass as mere idolatry, and will not brook that it should be offered in his house. but come you back with me, kinsman. we will send old master purvis to take your daughter safely home." richard of course refused, and at the same time, thinking an explanation necessary and due to the earl, disclosed to him that cicely was no child of his, but a near kinswoman of the scottish queen, whom it was desirable to place out of queen elizabeth's reach for the present, adding that there had been love passages between her and his son humfrey, who intended to wed her and see some foreign service. lord shrewsbury showed at first some offence at having been kept in ignorance all these years of such a fact, and wondered what his countess would say, marvelled too that his cousin should consent to his son's throwing himself away on a mere stranger, of perilous connection, and going off to foreign wars; but the good nobleman was a placable man, and always considerably influenced by the person who addressed him, and he ended by placing the mastiff at richard's disposal to take the young people to scotland or holland, or wherever they might wish to go. this decided mr. talbot on making at once for the seaport; and accordingly he left behind him the horse, which was to serve as a token to his son that such was his course. cicely had been worn out with her day's journey, and slept late and sound, so that she was not ready to leave her chamber till the earl and his retinue were gone, and thus she was spared actual contact with him who was to doom her mother, and see that doom carried out. she was recruited by rest, and more ready to talk than on the previous day, but she was greatly disappointed to find that she might not be taken to bridgefield. "if i could only be with mother susan for one hour," she sighed. "would that thou couldst, my poor maid," said richard. "the mother hath the trick of comfort." "'twas not comfort i thought of. none can give me that," said the poor girl; "but she would teach me how to be a good wife to humfrey." these words were a satisfaction to richard, who had begun to feel somewhat jealous for his son's sake, and to doubt whether the girl's affection rose to the point of requiting the great sacrifice made for his sake, though truly in those days parents were not wont to be solicitous as to the mutual attachment between a betrothed pair. however, cicely's absolute resignation of herself and her fate into humfrey's hands, without even a question, and with entire confidence and peace, was evidence enough that her heart was entirely his; nay, had been his throughout all the little flights of ambition now so entirely passed away, without apparently a thought on her part. it was on the friday forenoon, a day very unlike their last entrance into hull, that they again entered the old town, in the brightness of a crisp frost; but poor cicely could not but contrast her hopeful mood of november with her present overwhelming sorrow, where, however, there was one drop of sweetness. her foster-father took her again to good mr. heatherthwayte's, according to the previous invitation, and was rejoiced to see that the joyous welcome of oil-of-gladness awoke a smile; and the little girl, being well trained in soberness and discretion, did not obtrude upon her grief. stern puritan as he was, the minister himself contained his satisfaction that the papist woman was to die and never reign over england until he was out of hearing of the pale maiden who had--strange as it seemed to him--loved her enough to be almost broken-hearted at her death. richard saw goatley and set him to prepare the mastiff for an immediate voyage. her crew, somewhat like those of a few modern yachts, were permanently attached to her, and lived in the neighbourhood of the wharf, so that, under the personal superintendence of one who was as much loved and looked up to as captain talbot, all was soon in a state of forwardness, and gillingham made himself very useful. when darkness put a stop to the work and supper was being made ready, richard found time to explain matters to mr. heatherthwayte, for his honourable mind would not permit him to ask his host unawares to perform an office that might possibly be construed as treasonable. in spite of the preparation which he had already received through colet's communications, the minister's wonder was extreme. "daughter to the queen of scots, say you, sir! yonder modest, shamefast maiden, of such seemly carriage and gentle speech?" richard smiled and said--"my good friend, had you seen that poor lady--to whom god be merciful--as i have done, you would know that what is sweetest in our cicely's outward woman is derived from her; for the inner graces, i cannot but trace them to mine own good wife." mr. heatherthwayte seemed at first hardly to hear him, so overpowered was he with the notion that the daughter of her, whom he was in the habit of classing with athaliah and herodias, was in his house, resting on the innocent pillow of oil-of-gladness. he made his guest recount to him the steps by which the discovery had been made, and at last seemed to embrace the idea. then he asked whether master talbot were about to carry the young lady to the protection of her brother in scotland; and when the answer was that it might be poor protection even if conferred, and that by all accounts the court of scotland was by no means a place in which to leave a lonely damsel with no faithful guardian, the minister asked-- "how then will you bestow the maiden?" "in that, sir, i came to ask you to aid me. my son humfrey is following on our steps, leaving fotheringhay so soon as his charge there is ended; and i ask of you to wed him to the maid, whom we will then take to holland, when he will take service with the states." the amazement of the clergyman was redoubled, and he began at first to plead with richard that a perilous overleaping ambition was leading him thus to mate his son with an evil, though a royal, race. at this richard smiled and shook his head, pointing out that the very last thing any of them desired was that cicely's birth should be known; and that even if it were, her mother's marriage was very questionable. it was no ambition, he said, that actuated his son, "but you saw yourself how, nineteen years ago, the little lad welcomed her as his little sister come back to him. that love hath grown up with him. when, at fifteen years old, he learnt that she was a nameless stranger, his first cry was that he would wed her and give her his name. never hath his love faltered; and even when this misfortune of her rank was known, and he lost all hope of gaining her, while her mother bade her renounce him, his purpose was even still to watch over and guard her; and at the end, beyond all our expectations, they have had her mother's dying blessing and entreaty that he would take her." "sir, do you give me your word for that?" "yea, master heatherthwayte, as i am a true man. mind you, worldly matters look as different to a poor woman who knoweth the headsman is in the house, as to one who hath her head on her dying pillow. this queen had devised plans for sending our poor cis abroad to her french and lorraine kindred, with some of the french ladies of her train." "heaven forbid!" broke out heatherthwayte, in horror. "the rankest of papists--" "even so, and with recommendations to give her in marriage to some adventurous prince whom the spaniards might abet in working woe to us in her name. but when she saw how staunch the child is in believing as mine own good dame taught her, she saw, no doubt, that this would be mere giving her over to be persecuted and mewed in a convent." "then the woman hath some bowels of mercy, though a papist." "she even saith that she doubteth not that such as live honestly and faithfully by the light that is in them shall be saved. so when she saw she prevailed nothing with the maid, she left off her endeavours. moreover, my son not only saved her life, but won her regard by his faith and honour; and she called him to her, and even besought him to be her daughter's husband. i came to you, reverend sir, as one who has known from the first that the young folk are no kin to one another; and as i think the peril to you is small, i deemed that you would do them this office. otherwise, i must take her to holland and see them wedded by a stranger there." mr. heatherthwayte was somewhat touched, but he sat and considered, perceiving that to marry the young lady to a loyal englishman was the safest way of hindering her from falling into the clutches of a popish prince; but he still demurred, and asked how mr. talbot could talk of the mere folly of love, and for its sake let his eldest son and heir become a mere exile and fugitive, cut off, it might be, from home. "for that matter, sir," said richard, "my son is not one to loiter about, as the lubberly heir, cumbering the land at home. he would, so long as i am spared in health and strength, be doing service by land or sea, and i trust that by the time he is needed at home, all this may be so forgotten that cis may return safely. the maid hath been our child too long for us to risk her alone. and for such love being weak and foolish, surely, sir, it was the voice of one greater than you or i that bade a man leave his father and mother and cleave unto his wife." mr. heatherthwayte still murmured something about "youth" and "lightly undertaken," and master talbot observed, with a smile, that when he had seen humfrey he might judge as to the lightness of purpose. richard meanwhile was watching somewhat anxiously for the arrival of his son, who, he had reckoned, would make so much more speed than was possible for cis, that he might have almost overtaken them, if the fatal business had not been delayed longer than he had seen reason to anticipate. however, these last words had not long been out of his mouth when a man's footsteps, eager, yet with a tired sound and with the clank of spurs, came along the paved way outside, and there was a knock at the door. some one else had been watching; for, as the street door was opened, cicely sprang forward as humfrey held out his arms; then, as she rested against his breast, he said, so that she alone could hear, "her last words to me were, 'give her my love and blessing, and tell her my joy is come--such joy as i never knew before.'" then they knew the deed was done, and richard said, "god have mercy on her soul!" nor did mr. heatherthwayte rebuke him. indeed there was no time, for humfrey exclaimed, "she is swooning." he gathered her in his arms, and carried her where they lighted him, laying her on oil's little bed, but she was not entirely unconscious, and rallied her senses so as to give him a reassuring look, not quite a smile, and yet wondrously sweet, even in the eyes of others. then, as the lamp flashed on his figure, she sprang to her feet, all else forgotten in the exclamation. "o humfrey, thou art hurt! what is it? sit thee down." they then saw that his face was, indeed, very pale and jaded, and that his dress was muddied from head to foot, and in some places there were marks of blood; but as she almost pushed him down on the chest beside the bed, he said, in a voice hoarse and sunk, betraying weariness-- "naught, naught, cis; only my beast fell with me going down a hill, and lamed himself, so that i had to lead him the last four or five miles. moreover, this cut on my hand must needs break forth bleeding more than i knew in the dark, or i had not frighted thee by coming in such sorry plight," and he in his turn gazed reassuringly into her eyes as she stood over him, anxiously examining, as if she scarce durst trust him, that if stiff and bruised at all, it mattered not. then she begged a cup of wine for him, and sent oil for water and linen, and humfrey had to abandon his hand to her, to be cleansed and bound up, neither of them uttering a word more than needful, as she knelt by the chest performing this work with skilful hands, though there was now and then a tremor over her whole frame. "now, dear maid," said richard, "thou must let him come with us and don some dry garments: then shalt thou see him again." "rest and food--he needs them," said cis, in a voice weak and tremulous, though the self-restraint of her princely nature strove to control it. "take him, father; methinks i cannot hear more to-night. he will tell me all when we are away together. i would be alone, and in the dark; i know he is come, and you are caring for him. that is enough, and i can still thank god." her face quivered, and she turned away; nor did humfrey dare to shake her further by another demonstration, but stumbled after his father to the minister's chamber, where some incongruous clerical attire had been provided for him, since he disdained the offer of supping in bed. mr. heatherthwayte was much struck with the undemonstrativeness of their meeting, for there was high esteem for austerity in the puritan world, in contrast to the utter want of self-restraint shown by the more secular characters. when humfrey presently made his appearance with his father's cloak wrapped over the minister's clean shirt and nether garments, richard said, "son humfrey, this good gentleman who baptized our cis would fain be certain that there is no lightness of purpose in this thy design." "nay, nay, mr. talbot," broke in the minister, "i spake ere i had seen this gentleman. from what i have now beheld, i have no doubts that be she who she may, it is a marriage made and blessed in heaven." "i thank you, sir," said humfrey, gravely; "it is my one hope fulfilled." they spoke no more till he had eaten, for he was much spent, having never rested more than a couple of hours, and not slept at all since leaving fotheringhay. he had understood by the colour of the horse left at nottingham which road to take, and at the hostel at hull had encountered gillingham, who directed him on to mr. heatherthwayte's. what he brought himself to tell of the last scene at fotheringhay has been mostly recorded by history, and need not here be dwelt upon. when bourgoin and melville fell back, unable to support their mistress along the hall to the scaffold, the queen had said to him, "thou wilt do me this last service," and had leant on his arm along the crowded hall, and had taken that moment to speak those last words for cicely. she had blessed james openly, and declared her trust that he would find salvation if he lived well and sincerely in the faith he had chosen. with him she had secretly blessed her other child. humfrey was much shaken and could hardly command his voice to answer the questions of master heatherthwayte, but he so replied to them that, one by one, the phrases and turns were relinquished which the worthy man had prepared for a sunday's sermon on "go see now this accursed woman and bury her, for she is a king's daughter," and he even began to consider of choosing for his text something that would bid his congregation not to judge after the sight of their eyes, nor condemn after the hearing of their ears. when humfrey had eaten and drunk, and the ruddy hue was returning to his cheek, mr. heatherthwayte discovered that he must speak with his churchwarden that night. probably the pleasure of communicating the tidings that the deed was accomplished added force to the consideration that the father and son would rather be alone together, for he lighted his lantern with alacrity, and carried off dust-and-ashes with him. then humfrey had more to tell which brooked no delay. on the day after the departure of his father and cicely, will cavendish had arrived, and humfrey had been desired to demand from the prisoner an immediate audience for that gentleman. mary had said, "this is anent the child. call him in, humfrey," and as cavendish had passed the guard he had struck his old comrade on the shoulder and observed, "what gulls we have at hallamshire." he had come out from his conference fuming, and desiring to hear from humfrey whether he were aware of the imposture that had been put on the queen and upon them all, and to which yonder stubborn woman still chose to cleave--little cis talbot supposing herself a queen's daughter, and they all, even grave master richard, being duped. it was too much for will! a gentleman, so nearly connected with the privy council, was not to be deceived like these simple soldiers and sailors, though it suited queen mary's purposes to declare the maid to be in sooth her daughter, and to refuse to disown her. he supposed it was to embroil england for the future that she left such a seed of mischief. and old paulett had been fool enough to let the girl leave the castle, whereas cavendish's orders had been to be as secret as possible lest the mischievous suspicion of the existence of such a person should spread, but to arrest her and bring her to london as soon as the execution should be over; when, as he said, no harm would happen to her provided she would give up the pretensions with which she had been deceived. "it would have been safer for you both," said poor queen mary to humfrey afterwards, "if i had denied her, but i could not disown my poor child, or prevent her from yet claiming royal rights. moreover, i have learnt enough of you talbots to know that you would not owe your safety to falsehood from a dying woman." but will's conceit might be quite as effectual. he was under orders to communicate the matter to no one not already aware of it, and as above all things he desired to see the execution as the most memorable spectacle he was likely to behold in his life, and he believed cicely to be safe at bridgefield, he thought it unnecessary to take any farther steps until that should be over. humfrey had listened to all with what countenance he might, and gave as little sign as possible. but when the tragedy had been consummated, and he had seen the fair head fall, and himself withdrawn poor little bijou from beneath his dead mistress's garment, handing him to jean kennedy, he had--with blood still curdling with horror--gone down to the stables, taken his horse, and ridden away. there would no doubt be pursuit so soon as richard and cicely were found not to be at bridgefield; but there was a space in which to act, and mr. talbot at once said, "the mastiff is well-nigh ready to sail. ye must be wedded to-morrow morn, and go on board without delay." they judged it better not to speak of this to the poor bride in her heavy grief; and humfrey, having heard from their little hostess that mistress cicely lay quite still, and sent him her loving greeting, consented to avail himself of the hospitable minister's own bed, hoping, as he confided to his father, that very weariness would hinder him from seeing the block, the axe, and the convulsed face, that had haunted him on the only previous time when he had tried to close his eyes. long before day cicely heard her father's voice bidding her awake and dress herself, and handing in a light. the call was welcome, for it had been a night of strange dreams and sadder wakenings to the sense "it had come at last"--yet the one comfort, "humfrey is near." she dressed herself in those plain black garments she had assumed in london, and in due time came down to where her father awaited her. she was pale, silent, and passive, and obeyed mechanically as he made her take a little food. she looked about as if for some one, and he said, "humfrey will meet us anon." then he himself put on her cloak, hood, and muffler. she was like one in a dream, never asking where they were going, and thus they left the house. there was light from a waning moon, and by it he led her to the church. it was a strange wedding in that morning moonlight streaming in at the east window of that grand old church, and casting the shadows of the columns and arches on the floor, only aided by one wax light, which, as mr. heatherthwayte took care to protest, was not placed on the holy table out of superstition, but because he could not see without it. indeed the table stood lengthways in the centre aisle, and would have been bare, even of a white cloth, had not richard begged for a communion for the young pair to speed them on their perilous way, and mr. heatherthwayte--almost under protest--consented, since a sea voyage and warlike service in a foreign land lay before them. but, except that he wore no surplice, he had resigned himself to master richard on that most unnatural morning, and stifled his inmost sighs when he had to pronounce the name bride, given, not by himself, but by some romish priest--when the bridegroom, with the hand wounded for queen mary's sake, gave a ruby ring, most unmistakably coming from that same perilous quarter,--and above all when the pair and the father knelt in deep reverence. yet their devotion was evidently so earnest and so heartfelt that he knew not how to blame it, and he could not but bless them with his whole heart as he walked down with them to the wharf. all were silent, except that cicely once paused and said she wanted to speak to "father." he came to her side, and she took his arm instead of humfrey's. "sir," she said; "it has come to me that now my sweet mother is left alone it would be no small joy to her, and of great service to our good host's little daughter, if oil-of-gladness could take my place at home for a year or two." "none will do that, cis; but there is much that would be well in the notion, and i will consider of it. she is a maid of good conditions, and the mother is lonesome." his consideration resulted in his making the proposal, much startling, though greatly gratifying. master heatherthwayte, who thanked him, talked of his honour for that discreet and godly woman mistress susan, and said he must ponder and pray upon it, and would reply when mr. talbot returned from his voyage. at the wharf lay the mastiff's boat in charge of gervas and gillingham. all three stepped into it together, the most silent bride and bridegroom perhaps that the humber had ever seen. only each of the three wrung the hand of the good clergyman. at that moment all the bells in hull broke forth with a joyous peal, which by the association made the bride look up with a smile. her husband forced one in return; but his father's eyes, which she could not see, filled with tears. he knew it was in exultation at her mother's death, and they hurried into the boat lest she should catch the purport of the shouts that were beginning to arise as the townsfolk awoke to the knowledge that their enemy was dead. the fires of smithfield were in the remembrance of this generation. the cities of flanders were writhing under the spanish yoke; "the richest spoils of mexico, the stoutest hearts of spain," were already mustering to reduce england to the condition of antwerp or haarlem; and only elizabeth's life had seemed to lie between them and her who was bound by her religion to bring all this upon the peaceful land. no wonder those who knew not the tissue of cruel deceits and treacheries that had worked the final ruin of the captive, and believed her guilty of fearful crimes, should have burst forth in a wild tumult of joy, such as saddened even the protestant soul of mr. heatherthwayte, as he turned homewards after giving his blessing to the mournful young girl, whom the boat was bearing over the muddy waters of the hull. they soon had her on board, but the preparations were hardly yet complete, nor could the vessel make her way down the river until the evening tide. it was a bright clear day, and a seat on deck was arranged for the lady, where she sat with humfrey beside her, holding her cloak round her, and telling her--strange theme for a bridal day--all he thought well to tell her of those last hours, when mary had truly shown herself purified by her long patience, and exalted by the hope that her death had in it somewhat of martyrdom. his father meantime superintended the work of the crew, being extremely anxious to lose no time, and to sail before night. mr. heatherthwayte's anxiety brought him on board again, for he wanted to ask more questions about the bridgefield doings ere beginning his ponderings and his prayers respecting his decision for his little daughter; nor had he taken his final leave when the anchor was at length weighed, and the ship had passed by the strange old gables, timbered houses, and open lofts, that bounded the harbour out from the hull river into the humber itself, while both the talbots breathed more freely; but as the chill air of evening made itself felt, they persuaded cicely to let her husband take her down to her cabin. it was at this moment, in the deepening twilight, that the ship was hailed, and a boat came alongside, and there was a summons, "in the queen's name," and a slightly made lean figure in black came up the side. he was accompanied by a stout man, apparently a constable. there was a moment's pause, then the new-comer said "kinsman talbot--" "i count no kindred with betrayers, cuthbert langston," said richard, drawing himself up with folded arms. "scorn me not, richard talbot," was the reply; "you stood my friend once when none other did so, and for that cause have i hindered much hurt to you and yours. but for me you had been in a london jail for these three weeks past. nor do i come to do you evil now. give up the wench, and your name shall never be brought forward, since the matter is to be private. behold a warrant from the council empowering me to bring before them the person of bride hepburn, otherwise called cicely talbot." "man of treacheries and violence," said mr. heatherthwayte, standing forward, an imposing figure in his full black gown and white ruff, "go back! the lady is not for thy double-dealing, nor is there now any such person as either bride hepburn or cicely talbot." "i cry you mercy," sneered langston. "i see how it is! i shall have to bear your reverence likewise away for a treasonable act in performing the office of matrimony for a person of royal blood without consent of the queen. and your reverence knows the penalty." at that instant there rang from the forecastle a never-to-be-forgotten howl of triumphant hatred and fury, and with a spring like that of a tiger, gillingham bounded upon him with a shout, "remember babington!" and grappled with him, dragging him backwards to the bulwark. richard and the constable both tried to seize the fiercely struggling forms, but in vain. they were over the side in a moment, and there was a heavy splash into the muddy waters of the humber, thick with the downcome of swollen rivers, thrown back by the flowing tide. humfrey came dashing up from below, demanding who was overboard, and ready to leap to the rescue wherever any should point in the darkness, but his father withheld him, nor, indeed, was there sound or eddy to be perceived. "it is the manifest judgment of god," said mr. heatherthwayte, in a low, awe-stricken voice. but the constable cried aloud that a murder had been done in resisting the queen's warrant. with a ready gesture the minister made humfrey understand that he must keep his wife in the cabin, and richard at the same time called mr. heatherthwayte and all present to witness that, murder as it undoubtedly was, it had not been in resisting the queen's warrant, but in private revenge of the servant, harry gillingham, for his master babington, whom he believed to have been betrayed by this gentleman. it appeared that the constable knew neither the name of the gentleman nor whom the warrant mentioned. he had only been summoned in the queen's name to come on board the mastiff to assist in securing the person of a young gentlewoman, but who she was, or why she was to be arrested, the man did not know. he saw no lady on deck, and he was by no means disposed to make any search, and the presence of master heatherthwayte likewise impressed him much with the belief that all was right with the gentlemen. of course it would have been his duty to detain the mastiff for an inquiry into the matter, but the poor man was extremely ill at ease in the vessel and among the retainers of my lord of shrewsbury; and in point of fact, they might all have been concerned in a crime of much deeper dye without his venturing to interfere. he saw no one to arrest, the warrant was lost, the murderer was dead, and he was thankful enough to be returned to his boat with master richard talbot's assurance that it was probable that no inquiry would be made, but that if it were, the pilot would be there to bear witness of his innocence, and that he himself should return in a month at latest with the mastiff. master heatherthwayte consoled the constable further by saying he would return in his boat, and speak for him if there were any inquiry after the other passenger. "i must speak my farewells here," he said, "and trust we shall have no coil to meet you on your return, master richard." "but for her," said humfrey, "i could not let my father face it alone. when she is in safety"-- "tush, lad," said his father, "such plotters as yonder poor wretch had become are not such choice prizes as to be inquired for. men are only too glad to be rid of them when their foul work is done." "so farewell, good master heatherthwayte," added humfrey, "with thanks for this day's work. i have read of good and evil geniuses or angels, be they which they may, haunting us for life, and striving for the mastery. methinks my cis hath found both on the same humber which brought her to us." "nay, go not forth with pagan nor popish follies on thy tongue, young man," said heatherthwayte, "but rather pray that the blessing of the holy one, the god of abraham, isaac, and jacob, the god of thy father, may be with thee and thine in this strange land, and bring thee safely back in his own time. and surely he will bless the faithful." and richard talbot said amen. chapter xlv. ten years after. it was ten years later in the reign of elizabeth, when james vi. was under one of his many eclipses of favour, and when the united english and dutch fleets had been performing gallant exploits at cadiz and tercera, that license for a few weeks' absence was requested for one of the lieutenants in her majesty's guard, master richard talbot. "and wherefore?" demanded the royal lady of sir walter raleigh, the captain of her guard, who made the request. "to go to the hague to look after his brother's widow and estate, so please your majesty; more's the pity," said raleigh. "his brother's widow?" repeated the queen. "yea, madam. for it may be feared that young humfrey talbot--i know not whether your majesty ever saw him--but he was my brave brother humfrey gilbert's godson, and sailed with us to the west some sixteen years back. he was as gallant a sailor as ever trod a deck, and i never could see why he thought fit to take service with the states. but he did good work in the time of the armada, and i saw him one of the foremost in the attack on cadiz. nay, he was one of those knighted by my lord of essex in the market-place. then he sailed with my lord of cumberland for the azores, now six months since, and hath not since been heard of, as his brother tells me, and therefore doth talbot request this favour of your majesty." "send the young man to me," returned the queen. diccon, to give him his old name, was not quite so unsophisticated as when his father had first left him in london. though a good deal shocked by what a new arrival from holland had just told him of the hopelessness of ever seeing the ark of fortune and her captain again, he was not so overpowered with grief as to prevent him from being full of excitement and gratification at the honour of an interview with the queen, and he arranged his rich scarlet and gold attire so as to set himself off to the best advantage, that so he might be pronounced "a proper man." queen elizabeth was now some years over sixty, and her nose and chin began to meet, but otherwise she was as well preserved as ever, and quite as alert and dignified. to his increased surprise, she was alone, and as she was becoming a little deaf, she made him kneel very near her chair. "so, master talbot," she said, "you are the son of richard talbot of bridgefield." "an it so please your majesty." "and you request license from us to go to the hague?" "an it so please your majesty," repeated diccon, wondering what was coming next; and as she paused for him to continue--"there are grave rumours and great fears for my brother's ship--he being in the dutch service--and i would fain learn the truth and see what may be done for his wife." "who is his wife?" demanded the queen, fixing her keen glittering eyes on him, but he replied with readiness. "she was an orphan brought up by my father and mother." "young man, speak plainly. no tampering serves here. she is the wench who came hither to plead for the queen of scots." "yea, madam," said diccon, seeing that direct answers were required. "tell me truly," continued the queen. "on your duty to your queen, is she what she called herself?" "to the best of my belief she is, madam," he answered. "look you, sir, cavendish brought back word that it was all an ingenious figment which had deceived your father, mother, and the maid herself--and no wonder, since the queen of scots persisted therein to the last." "yea, madam, but my mother still keeps absolute proofs in the garments and the letter that were found on the child when recovered from the wreck. i had never known that she was not my sister till her journey to london; and when next i went to the north my mother told me the whole truth." "i pray, then, how suits it with the boasted loyalty of your house that this brother of yours should have wedded the maid?" "madam; it was not prudent, but he had never a thought save for her throughout his life. her mother committed her to him, and holding the matter a deep and dead secret, he thought to do your majesty no wrong by the marriage. if he erred, be merciful, madam." "pah! foolish youth, to whom should i be merciful since the man is dead? no doubt he hath left half a score of children to be puffed up with the wind of their royal extraction." "not one, madam. when last i heard they were still childless." "and now you are on your way to take on you the cheering of your sister-in-law, the widow," said the queen, and as diccon made a gesture of assent, she stretched out her hand and drew him nearer. "she is then alone in the world. she is my kinswoman, if so be she is all she calls herself. now, master talbot, go not open-mouthed about your work, but tell this lady that if she can prove her kindred to me, and bring evidence of her birth at lochleven, i will welcome her here, treat her as my cousin the princess of scotland, and, it may be, put her on her way to higher preferment, so she prove herself worthy thereof. you take me, sir?" diccon did take in the situation. he had understood how cavendish, partly blinded by langston, partly unwilling to believe in any competitor who would be nearer the throne than his niece arabella stewart, and partly disconcerted by langston's disappearance, had made such a report to the queen and the french ambassador, that they had thought that the whole matter was an imposture, and had been so ashamed of their acquiescence as to obliterate all record of it. but the queen's mind had since recurred to the matter, and as in these later years of her reign one of her constant desires was to hinder james from making too sure of the succession, she was evidently willing to play his sister off against him. nay, in the general uncertainty, dreams came over diccon of possible royal honours to queen bridget; and then what glories would be reflected on the house of talbot! his father and mother were too old, no doubt, to bask in the sunshine of the court, and ned--pity that he was a clergyman, and had done so dull a thing as marry that little pupil of his mother's, laetitia, as he had rendered her puritan name. but he might be made a bishop, and his mother's scholar would always become any station. and for diccon himself--assuredly the mastiff race would rejoice in a new coronet! seven weeks later, diccon was back again, and was once more summoned to the queen's apartment. he looked crestfallen, and she began,-- "well, sir? have you brought the lady?" "not so, an't please your majesty." "and wherefore? fears she to come, or has she sent no message nor letter?" "she sends her deep and humble thanks, madam, for the honour your majesty intended her, but she--" "how now? is she too great a fool to accept of it?" "yea, madam. she prays your grace to leave her in her obscurity at the hague." elizabeth made a sound of utter amazement and incredulity, and then said, "this is new madness! come, young man, tell me all! this is as good and new as ever was play. let me hear. what like is she? and what is her house to be preferred to mine?" diccon saw his cue, and began-- "her house, madam, is one of those tall dutch mansions with high roof, and many small windows therein, with a stoop or broad flight of steps below, on the banks of a broad and pleasant canal, shaded with fine elm-trees. there i found her on the stoop, in the shade, with two or three children round her; for she is a mother to all the english orphans there, and they are but too many. they bring them to her as a matter of course when their parents die, and she keeps them till their kindred in england claim them. madam, her queenliness of port hath gained on her. had she come, she would not have shamed your majesty; and it seems that, none knowing her true birth, she is yet well-nigh a princess among the many wives of officers and merchants who dwell at the hague, and doubly so among the men, to whom she and her husband have never failed to do a kindness. well, madam, i weary you. she greeted me as the tender sister she has ever been, but she would not brook to hear of fears or compassion for my brother. she would listen to no word of doubt that he was safe, but kept the whole household in perfect readiness for him to come. at last i spake your majesty's gracious message; and, madam, pardon me, but all i got was a sound rating, that i should think any hope of royal splendour or preferment should draw her from waiting for humfrey. ay, she knew he would come! and if not, she would never be more than his faithful widow. had he not given up all for her? should she fail in patience because his ship tarried awhile? no; he should find her ready in his home that he had made for her." "why, this is as good as the globe theatre!" cried the queen, but with a tear glittering in her eye. "your majesty would have said so truly," said diccon; "for as i sat at evening, striving hard to make her give over these fantastic notions and consult her true interest, behold she gave a cry--''tis his foot!' yea, and verily there was humfrey, brown as a berry, having been so far with his mate as to the very mouth of the river plate. he had, indeed, lost his ark of fortune, but he has come home with a carrack that quadruples her burthen, and with a thousand bars of silver in her hold. and then, madam, the joy, the kisses, the embraces, and even more--the look of perfect content, and peace, and trust, were enough to make a bachelor long for a wife." "long to be a fool!" broke out the queen sharply. "look you, lad: there may be such couples as this humfrey and--what call you her?--here and there." "my father and mother are such." "yea, saucy cockerel as you are; but for one such, there are a hundred others who fret the yoke, and long to be free! ay, and this brother of thine, what hath he got with this wife of his but banishment and dread of his own land?" "even so, madam; but they still count all they either could have had or hoped for, nought in comparison with their love to one another." "after ten years! ha! they are no subjects for this real world of ours; are they not rather swains in my poor philip sidney's arcadia? ho, no; 'twere pity to meddle with them. leave them to their dutch household and their carracks. let them keep their own secret; i'll meddle in the matter no more." and so, though after elizabeth's death and james's accession, sir humfrey and lady talbot gladdened the eyes of the loving and venerable pair at bridgefield, the princess bride of scotland still remained in happy obscurity, "unknown to history." the end. books lately published by adam black, edinburgh, and longman, rees, orme, brown, & green london. a system of universal geography, by m. malte-brun, editor of the "annales des voyages," &c. parts i. to xii. price s. d. each. to be completed in fourteen parts. the publishers are extremely happy to be able to state, that, notwithstanding the lamented death of m. malte-brun, the remainder of this great work, comprising the description of western europe, will be completed in a style every way worthy of what has been already executed. the papers and collections of m. malte-brun have been placed in the hands of m. valcknaer, with whose numerous and valuable contributions to geographical science the scientific portion of the public have been long and familiarly acquainted. m. balbi, the celebrated author of the _essai statistique sur le royaume de portugal_, has undertaken to superintend and complete that portion of the work which relates to italy, spain, and portugal. there can, therefore, be no doubt, that the high and established character of the original work will be maintained to its close; and the british public may be assured, that no efforts will be spared to render the translation, now in course of publication, not only equal, but even superior, to the original. the account of the british empire will be carefully revised, and, if necessary, re-written by gentlemen who are extremely well versed in statistical inquiries. the reports and papers printed by order of the house of commons will be referred to for every fact of importance; and the publishers believe that they may venture to say, that the account which will be given in this work of the agriculture, manufactures, and commerce of great britain, will be decidedly superior to any that has hitherto appeared. the account of the united states, given in the translation, is an entirely _original composition_; and it is admitted by the americans themselves, to contain the most able, comprehensive, and luminous account of that powerful confederacy that has ever been published. 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[illustration: mary queen of scots engraved by a. wilson painted from the original by john watson gordon r.i.a.] constable's miscellany of original and selected publications in the various departments of literature science, & the arts. vol. xxiv. life of mary queen of scots, vol. i. [illustration: linlithgow palace drawn by w. brown engraved by w. miller] edinburgh: printed for constable & co. edinburgh: and hurst, chance & co. london. . life of mary queen of scots. by henry glassford bell, esq. in two volumes. vol. i. "ayez memoire de l'ame et de l'honneur de celle qui a este votre royne." _mary's own words._ edinburgh: printed for constable & co. edinburgh; and hurst, chance & co. london. . preface. a new work on the subject of mary queen of scots runs an eminent risk of being considered a work of supererogation. no period of british history has been more elaborately illustrated than that of her life and reign. she ascended the scottish throne at a time replete with interest; when the country had awakened from the lethargy of ages, and when the gray dawn of civilization, heralding the full sunshine of coming years, threw its light and shade on many a bold and prominent figure, standing confessed in rugged grandeur as the darkness gradually rolled away. it was a time when national and individual character were alike strongly marked,--a time when knox preached, buchanan wrote, murray plotted, and bothwell murdered. the mailed feudal barons,--the unshrinking reformers, founders of the presbyterian church, and mailed in mind, if not in body,--the discomfited, but the still rich and haughty ecclesiastics of the romish faith, the contemporaries and followers of the stern cardinal beaton,--all start forth so vividly before the mind's eye, that they seem subjects better suited for the inspired pencil of a salvator rosa, than for the soberer pen of history. mary herself, with her beauty and her misfortunes, shining among the rest like the creation of a softer age and clime, fills up the picture, and rivets the interest. she becomes the centre round which the others revolve; and their importance is measured only by the influence they exercised over her fate, and the share they had in that strange concatenation of circumstances, which, as if in mockery of the nobility of her birth, and the splendour of her expectations, rendered her life miserable, and her death ignominious. there is little wonder if such a theme, though in itself inexhaustible, should have exhausted the energies of many. yet the leading events of mary's reign still give rise to frequent doubts and discussions; and the question regarding her character, which has so long agitated and divided the literary world, remains undetermined. it is indeed only they who have time and inclination to dismantle the shelves of a library, and pore over many a contradictory volume,--examine many a perplexing hypothesis,--and endeavour to reconcile many an inconsistent and distracting statement,--who are entitled to pronounce upon her guilt or innocence. not that it is meant to be asserted, that unpublished manuscripts and documents, calculated to throw new light upon the subject, slumber in the archives of government, or among the collections of the learned, which have hitherto escaped the notice of the antiquarian and the scholar. on the contrary, there is every reason to believe, that all the papers of value which exist, have already been found, and given to the world. after the voluminous publications of anderson, jebb, goodall, haynes, hardwicke, strype, sadler, and murdin, it is by no means probable, that future historians will discover additional materials to guide them in their narrative of facts. but few are disposed to wade through works like these; and they who are, find, that though they indicate the ground on which the superstructure of truth may be raised, they at the same time, from the diffuseness and often contradictory nature of their contents, afford every excuse to those who wander into error. the consequence is, that almost no two writers have given exactly the same account of the principal occurrences of mary's life. and it is this fact which would lead to the belief, that there is still an opening for an author, who would endeavour, with impartiality, candour, and decision, to draw the due line of distinction between the prejudices of the one side, and the prepossessions of the other,--who would expose the wilful misrepresentations of party-spirit, and correct the involuntary errors of ignorance,--who would aim at being scrupulously just, but not unnecessarily severe--steadily consistent, but not tamely indifferent--boldly independent, but not unphilosophically violent. it seems to be a principle of our common nature, to be ever anxious to wage an honourable warfare against doubt; and no one is more likely to fix the attention, than he who undertakes to prove what has been previously disputed. it is this principle which has attached so much interest to the life of the queen of scots, and induced so many writers (and some of no mean note) to investigate her character both as a sovereign and a woman; and the consequence has been, that one half have undertaken to put her criminality beyond a doubt, and the other as confidently pledged themselves to establish her innocence. it may seem a bold, but it is a conscientious opinion, that no single author, whether an accuser or a defender, has been entirely successful. to arrive at a satisfactory conclusion, the works of several must be consulted; and, even after all, the mind is often left tossing amidst a sea of difficulties. the talents of many who have broken a lance in the marian controversy, are undoubted; but, if we attend for a moment to its progress, the reasons why it is still involved in obscurity may probably be discovered. the ablest literary man in scotland, contemporary with mary, was george buchanan; the earl of murray was his patron, and secretary cecil his admirer. the first publication regarding the queen, came from his pen; it was written with consummate ability, but with a dishonest, though not unnatural leaning to the side which was the strongest at the time, and which his own interests and views of personal and family aggrandizement pointed out as the most profitable. the eloquence of his style, and the confidence of his statements, gave a bias to public opinion, which feebler spirits laboured in vain to counteract.--less powerful as an author, but not less virulent as an enemy, knox next appeared in the lists, and, unfurling the banner of what was then considered religion, converted every doubt into conviction, by appealing to the bigotry and the superstition of the uninformed multitude. yet knox was probably conscientious, if the term can be applied with propriety to one who did not believe that the church of rome possessed a single virtuous member.--in opposition to the productions of these authors, is the "defence of mary's honour," by lesley, bishop of ross, an able but somewhat declamatory work, and as liable to suspicion as the others, because written by an avowed partisan and active servant of the queen. a crowd of inferior compositions followed, useful sometimes for the facts they contain, but all so strongly tinctured with party zeal, that little reliance is to be placed on their accuracy. among these may be enumerated the works of blackwood and caussin, who wrote in french,--of conæus, strada, and turner, (the last under the assumed name of barnestaple,) who wrote in latin,--and of antonio de herrera, who wrote in spanish. the calamities which, after the lapse of a century, again overtook the house of stuart, recalled attention to the discussions concerning mary; and though time had softened the asperity of the disputants, the question was once more destined to become connected with party prejudices. from the publication of crawford's "memoirs," in , down to the appearance of chalmers's "life of mary," in , the history of the queen of scots has continued one of those standard subjects which has given birth to a new work, at least every five years. a few of the more important may be mentioned. in , jebb published his own life of mary, and his collection, in two volumes folio, of works which had previously appeared both for and against her. the former production is of little value, but the latter is exceedingly useful, and indeed no one can write with fairness concerning mary, without consulting it. lives of the queen by heywood and freebairn, shortly succeeded, both of whom were anxious to vindicate her, but in their anxiety, overshot the mark. in , anderson's "collections" were presented to the public, containing many papers of interest and value, which are not to be found elsewhere. but they are often disingenuously garbled, that mary may be made to appear in an unfavourable light; and a more recent author informs us, that they were, in consequence, "sold as waste paper, leaving the editor ruined in his character, and injured in his prospects." in scotland, the rebellion of , powerfully revived the animosities which had never lain entirely dormant since the establishment of a new dynasty, in ; and the transition from charles to his ancestor mary, was easy and natural. the second rebellion in , did not diminish the interest taken in the queen of scots, nor the ardor with which the question of her wrongs or crimes was agitated. in , mr goodall, librarian to the faculty of advocates, made a valuable addition to the works already extant on the subject, in his "examination" of the letters attributed to mary. his habits of laborious research, combined with no inconsiderable powers of reasoning, enabled him not only to bring together many original papers, not before published, but to found on these much acute argument, and deduce from them many sound conclusions. goodall's work will never be popular, because it is full of ancient documents, which one is more willing to refer to than to read; but, as may be remarked of jebb and anderson, he who means to write of mary, should not commence until he has also carefully perused the "examination." four years posterior to goodall's two volumes, appeared robertson's "history of scotland." of course, the leading events of mary's reign were narrated at length, but too much with the stiff frigidity which robertson imagined constituted historical dignity, and which was continually betraying a greater anxiety about the manner than the matter. accordingly, what his style gained in constraint, his subject lost in interest. no one has said so much of queen mary, to so little definite purpose, as robertson;--no one has so entirely failed in making us either hate or love her. besides, he thought her guilty, on the authority of buchanan, and has consequently thrown a false gloss over her character from beginning to end. he was supported in his opinions, it is true, by the historian hume, but the latter having devoted most of his attention to the history of england, cannot be supposed to have been very deeply versed in the affairs of scotland; and in so far as these are concerned, his authority is not of the highest weight. yet, from the reputation which these two writers have acquired, and deservedly, upon other grounds, they have done more mischief to mary than perhaps any of her calumniators, the multitude being too often inclined to forget, when once thoroughly _juratus in verba magistri_, that he who distinguishes himself in one department, may be, and commonly is, deficient in another.--in , the credit both of robertson and hume was a good deal shaken, by tytler's "enquiry" into the evidence against mary. this work is neither historical nor biographical, but argumentative and controversial. it is founded upon goodall, to whom tytler confesses his obligations, but the reasonings are much more lucidly and popularly arranged; and though not so complete or so full of research as it might have been, it is, upon the whole, the ablest and most convincing production which has yet appeared on the side of the queen of scots. of the five works of greatest consequence which have appeared since tytler's, only one has ventured to tread in the footsteps of buchanan. the first in order of date is the french "histoire d'elizabeth," in five volumes, by mademoiselle de keralio, who devotes a large portion of her book to mary, and, with a degree of talent that does honour to the sex to which she belongs, vindicates the scottish queen from the obloquy which her rival, elizabeth, had too great a share in casting upon her.--nearly about the same time, was published dr gilbert stuart's "history of scotland." it came out at an unfortunate period, for robertson had pre-occupied the field; and it was hardly to be expected, that a writer of inferior note would dispossess him of it. but dr stuart's history, though too much neglected, is in many essential particulars, superior to robertson's, not perhaps in so far as regards precision of style, but in research, accuracy, and impartiality. it would be wrong to say, that stuart has committed no mistakes, but they are certainly fewer and less glaring than those of his predecessor.--towards the end of the last century, whittaker stood forth as a champion of the queen of scots, and threw into the literary arena four closely printed volumes. they bear the stamp of great industry and enthusiasm; but his materials are not well digested, and his violence often weakens his argument. the praise of ardor, but not of judgment, belongs to whittaker; he seems to have forgotten, that there may be bigotry in a good as well as in a bad cause; in his anxiety to maintain the truth, he often plunges into error, and in his indignation at the virulence of others, he not unfrequently becomes still more virulent himself. had he abridged his work by one-third, it would have gained in force what it lost in declamation, and would not have been less conclusive, because less confused and verbose.--whittaker was followed early in the present century by mr malcolm laing, who, with a far clearer head, if not with a sounder heart, has, in his "preliminary dissertation," to his "history of scotland," done much more against mary than whittaker has done for her. calm, collected, and well-informed, he proceeds, as might be expected from an adept in the profession to which he belonged, from one step of evidence to another, linking the whole so well together that it is at first sight extremely difficult to discover a flaw in the chain. yet flaws there are, and serious ones; indeed, mr laing's book is altogether a piece of special pleading, not of unprejudiced history. his ingenuity, however, is great; and his arguments carry with them such an air of sincerity, that they are apt to be believed almost before the judgment acknowledges them to be true. it is to be feared, that he is powerful only to be dangerous,--that he dazzles only to mislead.--the author whose two large quarto, or three thick octavo volumes, brings up the rear of this goodly array, is mr george chalmers. there was never a more careful compiler,--a more pains-taking investigator of public and private records, deeds, and registers,--a more zealous stickler for the accuracy of dates, the fidelity of witnesses, and the authenticity of facts. his work, diffuse, tedious, and ill-arranged though it be, full of perpetual repetitions, and abounding in erroneous theories, (for it is one talent to ascertain truth, and another to draw inferences), is nevertheless a valuable accession to the stock of knowledge previously possessed on this subject. his proofs are too disjointed to be conclusive, and his reasonings too feeble to be convincing; but the materials are better than the workmanship, and might be moulded by a more skilful hand into a shape of much beauty and excellence. such is an impartial view of the chief works extant upon mary queen of scots; and it would appear in consequence, that something is still wanting to complete the catalogue. three causes may be stated in particular, why so many persons of acknowledged ability should have devoted their time and talents to the investigation without exhausting it. _first_, several of the works we have named are histories; and these, professing as they do, to describe the character of a nation rather than of an individual, cannot be supposed to descend to those minutiæ, or to enter into those personal details necessary for presenting the vivid portraits in which biography delights. history is more conversant with the genus or the species; and is addressed more to the judgment than to the feelings. there is in it a spirit of generalization, which, though it expands the mind, seldom touches the heart. its views of human nature are on a comprehensive scale; it traces the course of empires, and marks the progress of nations. if, in the great flood of events, it singles out a few crowned and conspicuous heads, making them the beacons by which to guide its way, it associates itself with them only so long as they continue to exercise an influence over the destiny of others. it is alike ignorant and careless of those circumstances which make private life happy or miserable, and which exercise an influence over the fate of those who have determined that of so many others. neither hume, nor robertson, nor stuart, nor keralio, therefore, have said all of mary that they might have said;--they wrote history--not biography. _second_, many of the productions we have named, are purely controversial, consisting almost entirely of arguments founded upon facts, not of facts upon which to found arguments. among these may be particularly included, tytler, whittaker, and laing, works which do not so much aim at illustrating the life and character of mary, as of settling the abstract question of her guilt or innocence. they present, therefore, only such detached portions of her history as bear upon the question of which they treat. to become intimately acquainted with mary, we must have recourse to other authors; to form an estimate of her moral character these might suffice, were it fair to be guided on that subject by the opinions of others. _third_, in most of the works, in which historical research is fully blended with argumentative deductions, erroneous theories have been broached, which, failing to make good their object, either excite suspicion, or lead into error. thus, goodall and chalmers have laid it down as a principle, that in order to exculpate mary, it was necessary to accuse her brother, the earl of murray, of all sorts of crimes. by representing bothwell, as an inferior tool in his hands, they have involved themselves in improbabilities, and have weakened the strength of a good cause by a mistaken mode of treatment. indeed this remark applies with a greater or less degree of force, to all the vindications of queen mary which have appeared. why transfer the burden of darnley's murder from bothwell, the actual perpetrator of the deed, to one who may have been accessory to it, but certainly more remotely? why confirm the suspicion against her they wish to defend, by unjustly accusing another, whom they cannot prove to be criminal? if goodall and chalmers have done this, their learning is comparatively useless, and their labour has been nearly lost. if the author of the following "life of mary queen of scots," has been able in any measure, to execute his own wishes, he would trust, that by a careful collation of all the works to which he has referred; he has succeeded, in separating much of the ore from the dross, and in giving a freshness, perhaps in one or two instances, an air of originality to his production. he has affected neither the insipidity of neutrality, nor the bigotry of party zeal. his desire was to concentrate all that could be known of mary, in the hope that a light might thus be thrown on the obscurer parts of his subject, sufficient to re-animate the most indifferent, and satisfy the most scrupulous. he commenced his readings with an unbiassed mind, and was not aware at the outset, to what conviction they would bring him. but if a conscientious desire to disseminate truth be estimable, it is hoped that this desire will be found to characterize these memoirs. little more need be added. the biography of a queen, who lived two hundred and fifty years ago, cannot be like the biography of a contemporary or immediate predecessor; but the inherent interest of the subject, will excuse many deficiencies. omissions may, perhaps, be pardoned, if there are no misrepresentations; and the absence of minute cavilling and trifling distinctions, may not be complained of, if the narrative leads, by a lucid arrangement, to satisfactory general deductions. fidelity is at all times preferable to brilliancy, and a sound conclusion to a plausible hypothesis. contents of vol. i. page introduction chapter i. scotland and its troubles during mary's infancy chapter ii. scotland and the scottish reformers, under the regency of the queen dowager chapter iii. mary's birth, and subsequent residence at the french court, with a sketch of the state of society and manners in france, during the sixteenth century chapter iv. mary's marriage, personal appearance, and popularity chapter v. mary the queen dauphiness, the queen, and the queen dowager of france chapter vi. mary's return to scotland, and previous negociations with elizabeth chapter vii. mary's arrival at holyrood, with sketches of her principal nobility chapter viii. john knox, the reformers, and the turbulent nobles chapter ix. mary's expedition to the north chapter x. chatelard's imprudent attachment, and knox's persevering hatred chapter xi. the domestic life of mary, with some anecdotes of elizabeth chapter xii. mary's suitors, and the machinations of her enemies chapter xiii. mary's marriage with darnley chapter xiv. murray's rebellion chapter xv. the earl of morton's plot chapter xvi. the assassination of david rizzio chapter xvii. the birth of james vi chapter xviii. mary's treatment of darnley, and alleged love for the earl of bothwell introduction. during the reigns of james iv. and james v., scotland emerged from barbarism into comparative civilization. shut out, as it had previously been, from almost any intercourse with the rest of europe, both by the peculiarities of its situation, and its incessant wars with england, it had long slumbered in all the ignorance and darkness of those remote countries, which even roman greatness, before its dissolution, found it impossible to enclose and retain within the fortunate pale of its conquests. the refinement, which must always more or less attend upon the person of a king, and shelter itself in the stronghold of his court, was little felt in scotland. though attached, from long custom, to the monarchical form of government, the sturdy feudal barons, each possessing a kind of separate principality of his own, took good care that their sovereign's superior influence should be more nominal than real. distracted too by perpetual jealousies among themselves, it was only upon rare occasions that the nobles would assemble peaceably together, to aid the king by their counsel, and strengthen his authority by their unanimity. hence, there was no standard of national manners,--no means of fixing and consolidating the wavering and turbulent character of the people. each clan attached itself to its own hereditary chieftain; and, whatever his prejudices or follies might be, was implicitly subservient to them. the feuds and personal animosities which existed among the leaders, were thus invariably transmitted to the very humblest of their retainers, and a state of society was the consequence, pregnant with civil discord and confusion, which, on the slightest impulse, broke out into anarchy and bloodshed. many reasons have been assigned why the evils of the feudal system should have been more severely felt in scotland than elsewhere. the leading causes, as given by the best historians, seem to be,--the geographical nature of the country, which made its baronial fastnesses almost impregnable;--the want of large towns, by which the vassals of different barons were prevented from mingling together, and rubbing off, in the collision, the prepossessions they mutually entertained against each other;--the division of the inhabitants, not only into the followers of different chiefs but into clans, which resembled so many great families, among all whose branches a relationship existed, and who looked with jealousy upon the increasing strength or wealth of any other clan;--the smallness of the number of scottish nobles, a circumstance materially contributing to enhance the weight and dignity of each;--the frequent recourse which these barons had, for the purpose of overawing the crown, to leagues of mutual defence with their equals, or bonds of reciprocal protection and assistance with their inferiors;--the unceasing wars which raged between england and scotland, and which were the perpetual means of proving to the scottish king, that the very possession of his crown depended upon the fidelity and obedience of his nobles, whose good-will it was therefore necessary to conciliate upon all occasions, by granting them whatever they chose to demand; and, lastly--the long minorities to which the misfortunes of its kings exposed the country at an early period of its history, when the vigour and consistency, commonly attendant upon the acts of one mind, were required more than any thing else, but instead of which, the contradictory measures of contending nobles, or of regents hastily elected, and as hastily displaced, were sure to produce an unnatural stagnation in the government, from which it could be redeemed only by still more unnatural convulsions. the necessary consequences of these political grievances were, of course, felt in every corner of the country. it is difficult to form any accurate estimate, or to draw any very minute picture of the state of manners and nicer ramifications of society at so remote a period. but it may be stated generally, that the great mass of the population was involved in poverty, and sunk in the grossest ignorance. the catholic system of faith and worship, in its very worst form, combined with the national superstitions so prevalent among the vulgar, not only to exclude every idea of rational religion, but to produce the very lowest state of mental degradation. commerce was comparatively unknown,--agriculture but imperfectly understood. if the wants of the passing hour were supplied, however sparely, the enslaved vassal was contented,--almost the only happiness of his life consisting in that animal gratification afforded him by the sports of the chase, or the bloodier diversion of the field of battle. education was neglected and despised even by the wealthy, few of whom were able to read, and almost none to write. as for the middle and lower orders, fragments of rude traditionary songs constituted their entire learning, and the savage war-dance, inspired by the barbarous music of their native hills, their principal amusement. at the same time, it is not to be supposed that virtue and intelligence were extinct among them. there must be many exceptions to all general rules, and however unfavourable the circumstances under which they were placed for calling into activity the higher attributes of man's nature, it is not to be denied, that their chronicles record, even in the lowest ranks, many bright examples of patience, perseverance, unsinking fortitude, and fidelity founded upon generous and exalted attachment. it has been said, that under the reigns of the fourth and fifth james, the moral and political aspect of the scotch horizon began to brighten. this is to be attributed partly to the beneficial changes which the progress of time was effecting throughout europe, and which gradually extended themselves to scotland,--and partly to the personal character of these two monarchs. france, germany, and england, had made considerable strides out of the gloom of the dark ages, even before the appearance of francis i., charles v., and henry viii. james iv., naturally of a chivalric and ardent disposition, was extremely anxious to advance his own country in the scale of nations; and whilst, by the urbanity of his manners, he succeeded in winning the affections of his nobles, he contrived also to find a place in the hearts of his inferior subjects, even beside that allotted to their own hereditary chieftain,--an achievement which few of his predecessors had been able to accomplish. the unfortunate battle of flodden, is a melancholy record both of the vigour of james's reign, and of the national advantages which his romantic spirit induced him to risk in pursuit of the worthless phantom of military renown. james v. had much of the ardour of his father, combined with a somewhat greater share of prudence. he it was who first made any successful inroads upon the exorbitant powers of his nobility; and though, upon more occasions than one, he was made to pay dearly for his determination to vindicate the regal authority, he was, nevertheless, true to his purpose to the very last. there seem to be three features in the reign of this prince which particularly deserve attention. the first is, the more extensive intercourse than had hitherto subsisted, which he established between scotland and foreign nations,--particularly with france. the inexhaustible ambition of charles v., which aimed at universal empire, and which probably would have accomplished its design had he not met with a rival so formidable as francis i., was the means of convincing the other states of europe, that the only security for their separate independence was the preservation of a balance of power. italy was thus roused into activity, and england, under henry viii., took an active share in the important events of the age. to the continental powers, against whom that monarch's strength was directed, it became a matter of no small moment to secure the assistance of scotland. both francis and charles, therefore, paid their court to james, who, finding it necessary to become the ally of one or other, prudently rejected the empty honours offered him by the emperor, and continued faithful to france. he went himself to paris in , where he married magdalene, daughter of francis. she died however soon after his return home; but determined not to lose the advantages resulting from a french alliance, he again married, in the following year, mary of lorraine, daughter to the duke of guise, and the young widow of the duke of longueville. following the example of their king, most of the scotch nobility visited france, and as many as could afford it, sent their sons thither to be educated; whilst on the other hand, numerous french adventurers landed in scotland, bringing along with them some of the french arts and luxuries. thus the manners of the scotch, gradually began to lose a little of that unbending severity, which had hitherto rendered them so repulsive. the second peculiarity in the reign of james v., is the countenance and support he bestowed upon the clergy. this he did, not from any motives of bigotry, but solely as a matter of sound policy. he saw that he could not stand alone against his nobles, and he was therefore anxious to raise into an engine of power, a body of men whose interests he thus identified with his own. it is remarkable, that even in the most flourishing days of catholicism, when the pope's ecclesiastical authority extended itself everywhere, scotland alone was overlooked. the king was there always the head of the church, in so far as regarded all ecclesiastical appointments, and the patronage of his bishoprics and abbeys was no slight privilege to the scottish monarch, denied as it was to other kings of more extensive temporal jurisdiction. james converted into benefices, several of the forfeited estates of his rebellious nobles, and raised the clergy to a pitch of authority they had never before possessed in scotland. he acted upon principle, and perhaps judiciously; but he was not aware, that by thus surrounding his priests with wealth and luxury, he was paving the way for their utter destruction, and a new and better order of things. it will be useful to observe, as the third characteristic of this reign, the encouragement james gave to the arts and sciences. for the first time, education began to take some form and system. he gave stability to the universities, and was careful to select for them the best teachers. he was fond of drawing to his court men of learning and genius. he was himself a poet of considerable ability. he had likewise devoted much of his attention to architecture--his fondness for which elegant study was testified, by his anxiety to repair, or rebuild, most of the royal palaces. he established also on a permanent footing, the court of session, or college of justice; and though his reign, as a whole, was not a happy one, it probably redounded more to the advantage of his country than that of any of his predecessors. at his death, which took place in , at the early age of , accelerated by the distress of mind occasioned by the voluntary defeats which his refractory nobles allowed themselves to sustain, both at falla and solway moss, scotland speedily fell into a state of confusion and civil war. the events which followed are indissolubly connected with the subject of these memoirs, and are related at length in the succeeding pages. life of mary queen of scots. chapter i. scotland and its troubles during mary's infancy. james v. left, as an inheritance to his kingdom, an expensive and destructive war with england. he likewise left what, under such circumstances, was a very questionable advantage, a treasury well stored with gold, and a coinage in good condition, produced from the mines which he had worked in scotland. the foreign relations of the country demanded the utmost attention; but the long minority necessarily ensuing, as mary, his only surviving lawful child, was but a few days old when james died, awakened hopes and wishes in the ambitious which superseded all other considerations. for a time england was forgotten; and the prize of the regency became a bone of civil contention and discord. there were three persons who aspired to that office, and the pretensions of each had their supporters, as interest or reason might dictate. the first was the queen-dowager, a lady who inherited many of the peculiar virtues, as well as some of the failings, of the illustrious house of guise, to which she belonged. she possessed a bold and masculine understanding, a perseverance to overcome difficulties, and a fortitude to bear up against misfortunes, not often met with among her sex. she was indeed superior to most of the weaknesses of the female character; and having, from her earliest years, deeply studied the science of government, she felt herself, so far as mere political tactics and diplomatic acquirements were concerned, able to cope with the craftiest of the scotch nobility. besides, her intimate connexion with the french court, coupled with the interest she might naturally be supposed to take in the affairs of a country over which her husband had reigned, and which was her daughter's inheritance, seemed to give her a claim of the strongest kind. the second aspirant was cardinal david beaton, at that time the undoubted head of the catholic party in scotland. he was a man whose abilities all allowed, and who, had he been less tinctured with severity, and less addicted to the exclusive principles of the church of rome, might probably have filled with _éclat_ the very highest rank in the state. he endeavoured to strengthen his title to the regency, by producing the will of james v. in his favour. but as this will was dated only a short while before the king's death, it was suspected that the prelate had himself written it, and obtained the king's signature, at a time when his bodily weakness had impaired his mental faculties. beaton was, moreover, from his violence and rigour, particularly obnoxious to all those who favoured the reformation. james hamilton, earl of arran, and next heir to the throne, was the third candidate, and the person upon whom the choice of the people ultimately fell. in more settled times, this choice might possibly have been judicious; but arran was of far too weak and irresolute a character to be able to regulate the government with that decision and firmness which the existing emergency required. he had few opinions of his own, and was continually driven hither and thither by the contradictory counsels of those who surrounded him. he had joined, however, the reformed religion; and this, together with the inoffensive softness of his disposition, made him, in the eyes of many, only the more fit to govern. the annexation of scotland to the crown of england, either by conquest or the more amicable means of marriage, had for many years been the object nearest the heart of henry viii. and several of his predecessors. that his father, in particular, henry vii., had given some thought to this subject, is evident from the answer he made to such of his privy council as were unwilling that he should give his daughter margaret in marriage to james iv., on the ground that the english crown might, through that marriage, devolve to a king of scotland. "whereunto the king made answer, and said, 'what then? for if any such thing should happen (which god forbid), yet i see our kingdom should take no harm thereby, because england should not be added unto scotland, but scotland unto england, as to the far most noble head of the whole island; for so much as it is always so, that the lesser is wont, for honour's sake, to be adjoined to that which is far the greater.'"[ ] how correct henry vii. was in his opinion, the accession of james vi. sufficiently proved. henry viii., though aiming at the same object as his father, thought it more natural that scotland should accept of an english, than england of a scottish king. immediately, therefore, after the birth of mary, he determined upon straining every nerve to secure her for his son edward. for this purpose, he concluded a temporary peace with the regent arran, and sent back into scotland the numerous prisoners who had surrendered themselves at solway moss, upon an understanding that they should do all they could to second his views with their countrymen. his first proposals, however, were so extravagant, that the scottish parliament would not listen to them for a moment. he demanded not only that the young queen should be sent into england, to be educated under his own superintendance, but that he himself, as her future father-in-law, should be allowed an active share in the government of scotland. having subsequently consented to depart considerably from the haughty tone in which these terms were dictated, a treaty of marriage was agreed upon at the instigation of arran, whom henry had won to his interests, in which it was promised, that mary should be sent into england at the age of ten, and that six persons of rank should, in the mean time, be delivered as hostages for the fulfilment of this promise. it may easily be conceived, that whatever the regent, together with some of the reformed nobility and their partisans, might think of this treaty, the queen mother and cardinal beaton, who had for the present formed a coalition, could not be very well satisfied with it. henry, with all the hasty violence of his nature, had, in a fit of spleen, espoused the reformed opinions; and if mary became the wife of his son, it was evident that all the interests both of the house of guise and of the catholic religion in scotland, would suffer a fatal blow. by their forcible representations of the inevitable ruin which they alleged this alliance would bring upon scotland, converting it into a mere province of their ancient and inveterate enemies, and obliging it to renounce forever the friendship of their constant allies the french, they succeeded in effecting a change in public opinion; and the result was, that arran found himself at length obliged to yield to their superior influence, to deliver up to the cardinal and mary of lorraine the young queen, and refuse to ratify the engagements he had entered into with henry. the cardinal now carried every thing before him, having converted or intimidated almost all his enemies. the earl of lennox alone, a nobleman whose pretensions were greater than his power, could not forgive beaton for having used him merely as a cat's paw in his intrigues to gain the ascendency over arran. lennox had himself aspired at the regency, alleging that his title, as presumptive heir to the crown, was a more legitimate one than that of the house of hamilton, to which arran belonged. but the still more ambitious cardinal flattered only to deceive him; and when lennox considered his success certain, he found himself farther from the object of his wishes than ever. seeing every other hope vain, lennox set on foot a secret correspondence with henry, promising that monarch his best support, should he determine upon avenging the insult he had sustained, through the vacillating conduct of the scotch. henry gladly availed himself of the offer, and sent a considerable force under the earl of hartford to the north, by sea, which, having landed at leith, and plundered that place, as well as the neighbouring city of edinburgh, again took its departure for england, without attempting to penetrate further into the country. this was an unprofitable and ill-advised expedition, for it only tended to exasperate the minds of the scotch, without being of any service to henry. the earl of huntly well remarked concerning it, that even although he might have had no objections to the proposed match, he had a most especial dislike to the manner of wooing. the earl of lennox now found himself deserted in the midst of his former friends, and went prudently into voluntary exile, by retiring into england. here henry, in reward of his former services, gave him his niece, the lady margaret douglas, in marriage. she was the daughter, by the second marriage, of henry's sister, the lady margaret, wife of james iv., who, after the king's death, espoused archibald earl of angus. by this alliance, lennox, though it was impossible for him to foresee such a result, became the father of henry darnley, and a long line of kings. shortly afterwards, an event well known in scottish history, and which was accomplished by means only too frequently resorted to in those unsettled times, facilitated the conclusion of a short peace with england. cardinal beaton, elevated by his success, and anxious, now that all more immediate danger was removed, to re-establish on a firmer basis the tottering authority of the romish church, determined upon striking awe into the people, by some memorable examples of severity towards heretics. about the end of the year , he made a progress through several parts of his diocess, accompanied by the earl of argyle, who was then lord justice general, and other official persons, for the purpose of trying and punishing offenders against the laws of the church. at perth, several of the lieges were found guilty of arguing or disputing concerning the sense of the holy scriptures, in opposition to an act of parliament, which forbade any such freedom of speech, and five men and one woman were condemned to die. great intercession was made for them, but in vain; the men were hanged, and the woman was drowned. still farther to intimidate the reformers, a yet more memorable instance of religious persecution and cruelty was presented to them a few months afterwards. george wishart was at this time one of the most learned and zealous of all the supporters of the new doctrines in scotland. he had been educated at the university of cambridge, and had, in his youth, officiated as one of the masters of the grammar school at montrose. his talents and perseverance rendered him particularly obnoxious to the cardinal, who, having contrived to make him his prisoner, carried him to his castle at st andrews. an ecclesiastical court was there assembled, at which wishart was sentenced to be burnt. it may give us a clearer idea of the spirit of the times, to know, that on the day on which this sentence was to be put in execution, beaton issued a proclamation, forbidding any one, under pain of church censure, to offer up prayers for so notorious a heretic. when wishart was brought to the stake, and after the fire had been kindled, and was already beginning to take effect, it is said that he turned his eyes towards a window in the castle overlaid with tapestry, at which the cardinal was sitting, viewing with complacency the unfortunate man's suffering, and exclaimed,--"he who, from yonder high place, beholdeth me with such pride, shall, within few days, be in as much shame as now he is seen proudly to rest himself." these words, though they met with little attention at the time, were spoken of afterwards as an evident and most remarkable prophecy. it was not long after this martyrdom, that cardinal beaton was present at the marriage of one of his own illegitimate daughters, to whom he gave a dowry of merks, and whose nuptials were solemnized with great magnificence. probably he conceived, that the more heretics he burned, the more unblushingly he might confess his own sins against both religion and common morality. on the prelate's return to st andrew's, norman lesly, a young man of strong passions, and eldest son to the earl of rothes, came to him to demand some favour, which the cardinal thought proper to refuse. the particulars of the quarrel are not precisely known, but it must have been of a serious kind; for lesly, taking advantage of the popular feeling which then existed against the cardinal, determined upon seeking his own revenge by the assassination of beaton. he associated with himself several accomplices, who undertook to second him in this design. early on the morning of the th of may , having entered the castle by the gate, which was open to admit some workmen who were repairing the fortifications, he and his assistants proceeded to the door of the cardinal's chamber, at which they knocked. beaton asked,--"who is there?"--norman answered,--"my name is lesly,"--adding, that the door must be opened to him, and those that were with him. beaton now began to fear the worst, and attempted to secure the door. but lesly called for fire to burn it, upon which the cardinal, seeing all resistance useless, permitted them to enter. they found him sitting on a chair, pale and agitated; and as they approached him he exclaimed,--"i am a priest--ye will not slay me!" lesly, however, losing all command of his temper, struck him more than once, and would have proceeded to further indignities, had not james melville, one of the assassins, "a man," says knox, "of nature most gentle and most modest," drawn his sword, and presenting the point to the cardinal, advised him to repent of his sins, informing him, at the same time, that no hatred he bore his person, but simply his love of true religion induced him to take part against one whom he looked upon as an enemy to the gospel. so saying, and without waiting for an answer, he stabbed him twice or thrice through the body. when his friends and servants collected without, the conspirators lifted up the deceased prelate, and showed him to them from the very window at which he had sat at the day of wishart's execution. beaton, at the time of his death, was fifty-two. he had long been one of the leading men in scotland, and had enjoyed the favour of the french king, as well as that of his own sovereign james v. some attempt was made by the regent to punish his murderers, but they finally escaped into france.[ ] there is good reason to believe that henry viii. secretly encouraged lesly and his associates in this dishonest enterprise. but, if such be the case, that monarch did not live long enough to reap the fruits of its success. he died only a few months later than the cardinal; and, about the same time, his cotemporary, francis i., was succeeded on his throne by his son henry ii. these changes did not materially affect the relative situation of scotland. they may, perhaps, have opened up still higher hopes to the queen dowager, and the french party; but, in england, the duke of somerset, who had been appointed lord protector during the minority of edward vi., was determined upon following out the plans of the late monarch, and compelling the scotch to agree to the alliance which he had proposed. in prosecution of his designs, he marched a powerful army into scotland, and the result was the unfortunate battle of pinkie. the earl of arran, whose exertions to rescue the country from this new aggression, were warmly seconded by the people, collected a force sufficiently numerous to enable him to meet and offer battle to somerset. the english camp was in the neighbourhood of prestonpans, and the scotch took up very advantageous ground about musselburgh and inveresk. military discipline was at that time but little understood in this country; and the reckless impetuosity of the scotch infantry was usually attended either with immediate success, or, by throwing the whole battle into confusion, with irretrievable and signal defeat. the weapons to which they principally trusted, were, in the first place, the pike, with which, upon joining with the enemy, all the fore-rank, standing shoulder to shoulder together, thrust straight forwards, those who stood in the second rank putting their pikes over the shoulders of their comrades before them. the length of these pikes or spears was eighteen feet six inches. they seem to have been used principally on the first onset, and were probably speedily relinquished for the more efficient exercise of the sword, which was broad and thin, and of excellent temper. it was employed to cut or slice with, not to thrust; and, in defence against any similar weapon of the enemy, a large handkerchief was wrapt twice or thrice about the neck, and a buckler invariably carried on the left arm.[ ] for some days the two armies continued in sight of each other, without coming to any general engagement. the hourly anxiety which prevailed at edinburgh regarding the result, may be easily imagined. to inspire the soldiers with the greater courage, it was enacted by government, that the heirs of those who fell upon this occasion in defence of their country, should for five years be free from government taxes, and the usual assessments levied by landlords. at length, on saturday the th of september , the scotch, misled by a motion in the english army, which they conceived indicated a design to retreat, rashly left their superior situation, and crossing the mouth of the esk at musselburgh, gave the protector battle in the fields of pinkie, an adjoining country seat. they were thus so exposed, that the english fleet, which lay in the bay, was enabled, by firing upon their flank to do them much mischief. the earl of angus, who was leading the van-guard, found himself suddenly assailed by a flight of arrows, a raking fire from a regiment or two of foreign fusileers, and a discharge of cannon which unexpectedly opened upon him. unable to advance, he attempted to change his position for a more advantageous one. the main body imagined he was falling back upon them in confusion; and to heighten their panic, a vigorous charge, which was at this moment made by the english cavalry, decided the fortune of the day. after a feeble resistance the scotch fled towards dalkeith, edinburgh, and leith, and being hotly pursued by their enemies, all the three roads were strewed with the dead and dying. in this battle the earl of arran lost upwards of men; among whom were lord fleming, together with many other scotch noblemen and gentlemen. the english army advanced immediately upon leith, which they took and pillaged; and would have entered edinburgh, had they not found it impossible to make themselves masters of the castle. the fleet ravaged the towns and villages on the coasts of the forth, and proceeded as far north as the river tay, seizing on whatever shipping they could meet with in the harbours by which they passed. far, however, from obtaining by these violent measures, the ultimate object of his desires, somerset found himself farther from his point than ever. the scotch, enraged against england, threw themselves into the arms of france; and the protector, understanding that affairs in the south had fallen into confusion, in his absence, was obliged to return home, leaving strong garrisons in haddington, and one or two other places, which he had captured. the earl of arran, and mary of guise, sent immediate intelligence to henry ii., of all that had taken place; and, sanctioned by the scottish parliament, offered to conclude a treaty of marriage between his infant son, the dauphin francis, and the young scottish queen. they, moreover, agreed to send mary into france, to be educated at the french court, until such time as the nuptials could be solemnized. this proposal was every way acceptable to henry, who, like his father francis, perfectly understood the importance of a close alliance with scotland, as the most efficient means for preventing the english from invading his own dominions. he sent over an army of men, to the aid of the regent; and in the same vessels, which brought these troops, mary was conveyed from dumbarton into france. henry also, with much sound policy, in order to strengthen his interests in scotland, bestowed, about this time, upon the earl of arran, the title of the duke of chatelherault, together with a pension of some value. during a period of two years, a continual series of skirmishings were carried on between the scotch, supported by their french allies, and the english; but without any results of much consequence on either side. in , a general peace was concluded; and the marriage of the scottish queen was never afterwards made the ground of war between the two countries. from this period, till mary's return to her own country, the attention of scotland was entirely engrossed with its own affairs, and the various important events connected with the rise, progress, and establishment of the reformation. as these effected no slight change in the political aspect of the country, and exercised a material influence over mary's future destiny, it will be proper to give some account of them in this place; and these details being previously gone through, the narrative, in so far as regards queen mary, will thus be preserved unbroken. chapter ii. scotland and the scottish reformers, under the regency of the queen-dowager. it was in the year , that luther first stated his objections to the validity of the indulgences granted so liberally by pope leo x. from this year, those who love to trace causes to their origin, date the epoch of the reformation. it was not, however, till a considerably later period, that the new doctrines took any deep root in scotland. in , the duke of chatelherault, wearied with the fatigues of government, and provoked at the opposition he was continually meeting with, resigned the regency in favour of the queen-mother. mary of guise, by a visit she had shortly before paid to the french court, had paved the way for this accession of power. her brothers, the duke of guise and cardinal of lorraine, were far from being satisfied with the state of parties in scotland. chatelherault, they knew to be of a weak and fluctuating disposition; and it seemed to them necessary, both for the preservation of the ancient religion, and to secure the allegiance of the country to their niece, the young queen, that a stronger hand, guided by a sounder head, should hold the reigns of the state. upon their sister's fidelity they knew they could depend; and it was principally through the influence of french gold and french intrigue, that she was placed in the regency. the inhabitants of scotland were at this time divided into two great classes,--those who were still staunch to the church of rome, and those who were determined on effecting a reformation. at the head of the former was john hamilton, archbishop of st andrews, who, upon the murder of cardinal beaton, had obtained that appointment through the duke of chatelherault, whose natural brother he was. he was greatly the duke's superior in courage and sagacity, and was deeply imbued with the prelatical spirit of ambition then so prevalent. the resignation of the regency provoked him exceedingly, the more especially as mary, to strengthen her own authority, found it necessary at first to treat the reformers mildly. he was consoled, however, by the death of edward vi. in , and the accession of the young king's eldest sister mary to the english throne,--as bigoted and determined a catholic as ever lived. the man who had placed himself at the head of the reformers, and who, although young, had already given hamilton and his party good cause to tremble at his increasing authority, was james stuart, the eldest of mary's three illegitimate brothers,--and one who occupies a most important station in the history of his country. his father made him, when only seven years old, prior or commendator of st andrews, an office which entitled him, though a layman, to the full income arising from that rich benefice. it was soon discovered, however, that he had views far beyond so comparatively humble a rank. even when a boy, it was his ambition to collect around him associates who were devoted to his service and desires. he went over with mary to france in , but remained there only a very short time; and, at the age of twenty-one, he was already looked up to by the scottish reformers as their chief. his knowledge was extensive, and considerably in advance of the times in which he lived. his personal bravery was undoubted, and his skill in arms so great, that few of his military enterprises were unsuccessful. his passions, if they were strong, seem also to have been deep, and entirely under his own command. whatever may be thought of the secret motives which actuated him, he was seldom betrayed into any symptoms of apparent violence. he thus contrived to hold a steady course, amidst all the turbulence and convulsions of the age in which he lived; whilst the external decorum and propriety of his manners, so different from the ill-concealed dissoluteness of many of his cotemporaries, endeared him the more to the stern followers of luther. it is curious to observe the very opposite views which different historians have taken of his character, more especially when they come to speak of him as the earl of murray and the regent of scotland. it would be improper and unnecessary to anticipate these discussions at present, since it is hoped the reader will be able to form his own estimate upon this subject, from the facts he will find recorded in these memoirs. it must be evident, that with two such men, each at the head of his own party, the country was not likely to continue long in a state of quietness. the queen regent soon found it necessary, at the instigation of the french court, to associate herself with the archbishop of st andrews,--in opposition to which coalition, a bond was drawn up in , by some of the principal reformers, in which they announced their resolution to form an independent congregation of their own, and to separate themselves entirely from the "congregation of satan, with all the superstitious abomination and idolatry thereof." articles, or heads of a reformation, were soon afterwards published, in which it was principally insisted, that on sunday and other festival days, the common-prayer should be read openly in the parish churches, along with the lessons of the old and new testaments; and that preaching and interpretation of the scriptures in private houses should be allowed. in the following year, one of the first outrages which the reformers committed in scotland, took place in edinburgh. on occasion of the annual procession through the city, in honour of the tutelar saint--st giles, the image of that illustrious personage, which ought to have been carried by some of the priests, was amissing,--the godly having, beforehand, according to john knox, first drowned the idol in the north loch, and then burned it. it was therefore necessary to borrow a smaller saint from the gray-friars, in order that this "great solemnity and manifest abomination" might proceed. upon the day appointed, priests, friars, canons, and "rotten papists," assembled, with tabors, trumpets, banners, and bagpipes. at this sight, the hearts of the brethren were wondrously inflamed; and they resolved, that this second dragon should suffer the fate of the first. they broke in upon the procession; and though the catholics made some slight resistance at first, they were soon obliged to surrender the image into the hands of the philistines, who, taking it by the heels, and knocking, or, as the reformed historian says, _dadding_ its head upon the pavement, soon reduced it to fragments, only regretting, that "the young st giles" had not been so difficult to kill as his father. the priests, alarmed for their personal safety, sought shelter as quickly as possible, and gave knox an opportunity of indulging in some of that austere mirth which is peculiarly remarkable, because so foreign to his general style. "then might have been seen," says he, "so sudden a fray as seldom has been seen among that sort of men within this realm; for down goes the cross, off go the surplices, round caps, and cornets with the crowns. the gray-friars gaped, the black-friars blew, and the priests panted and fled, and happy was he that first got the house; for such a sudden fray came never among the generation of antichrist within this realm before." the magistrates had some difficulty in prevailing upon the mob to disperse, after they had kept possession of the streets for several hours; and the rioters escaped without punishment; for "the brethren assembled themselves in such sort in companies, singing psalms, and praising god, that the proudest of the enemies were astounded."[ ] the commissioners who, about this time, were sent into france, and the motives of their embassy, will be spoken of afterwards. but the remarkable circumstance, that four of them died when about to return home,--one at paris, and three at dieppe,--had a considerable influence in exciting the populace to still greater hatred against the french party,--it being commonly suspected that they had come by their death unfairly. the congregation now rose in their demands; and among other things, insisted that "the wicked and scandalous lives" of churchmen should be reformed, according to the rules contained in the new testament, the writings of the ancient fathers, and the laws of justinian the emperor. for a while, the queen regent temporized; but finding it impossible to preserve the favour of both parties, she yielded at length to the solicitations of the archbishop of st andrews, and determined to resist the reformers vigorously. in , she summoned all the ministers of the congregation, to appear before her at stirling. this citation was complied with, but not exactly in the manner that the queen wished; for the ministers came not as culprits, but as men proud of their principles, and accompanied by a vast multitude of those who were of the same mode of thinking. the queen, who was at stirling, did not venture to proceed to perth; and the request she made, that the numbers there assembled should depart, leaving their ministers to be examined by the government, having been refused, she proceeded to the harsh and decisive measure of declaring them all rebels. the consternation which this direct announcement of hostilities occasioned among them, was still at its height, when the great champion of the scottish reformation, john knox, arrived at perth. this celebrated divine had already suffered much for "the good cause;" and though his zeal and devotion to it were well known, it was not till latterly that he had entertained much hope of its final triumph in his native country. he had spent the greater part of his life in imprisonment or exile; he had undergone many privations, and submitted to many trials. but these were the daily food of the reformers; and, whilst they only served to strengthen them in the obduracy of their belief, they had the additional effect of infusing a morose acerbity into dispositions not naturally of the softest kind. knox had returned only a few days before from geneva, where he had been solacing his solitude by writing and publishing that celebrated work, which he was pleased to entitle, "the first blast of the trumpet against the monstrous regiment of women." this treatise, directed principally against mary of england, not forgetting mary queen of scots and her mother of guise, rather overshot its own purpose, by bringing the reformer into disrepute with elizabeth, who came to the crown soon after its appearance. to pacify that queen, for it appears even knox could temporize occasionally, he gave up his original intention of blowing his trumpet thrice, and his first blast was his last.[ ] the day after the ministers and their friends, had been declared rebels, knox delivered at perth what keith terms "that thundering sermon against idolatry." the tumult which ensued at the conclusion of this discourse, has been attributed by some historians to accident; but keith's suspicion, that knox had a direct intention to excite it, seems well founded, when we consider the ferment in which the minds of his audience were at the time, and the peculiar style in which he addressed them. buchanan is of the same opinion, though he would naturally have leant to the other conclusion. he says that knox, "in that ticklish posture of affairs, made such a pathetic sermon to the multitude who were gathered together, that he set their minds, which were already fired, all in a flame." if, in addition to this, the usual manner of knox's eloquence be considered, it will hardly be questioned but that the outrage of that day was of his doing. his vehemence in the pulpit was at all times tremendous; indeed, in so far as the effect he produced upon his hearers was concerned, he seems to have trusted almost as much to the display of his physical as of his mental energies. many years after the period now alluded to, when he was in his old age, and very weak, melville tells us, that he saw him every sunday go slowly and feebly, with fur about his neck, a staff in his hand, and a servant supporting him, from his own house, to the parish church in st andrews. there, after being lifted into the pulpit, his limbs for some time were so feeble, that they could hardly support him; but ere he had done with his sermon, he became so active and vigorous, that he was like "to ding the pulpit in blads, and flie out of it."[ ] what he must have been, therefore, in his best days, may be more easily imagined than described. on the present occasion, after knox had preached, and some of the congregation had retired, it appears that some "godly men" remained in the church. a priest had the imprudence to venture in among them, and to commence saying mass. a young man called out that such idolatry was intolerable, upon which it is said that the priest struck him. the young man retorted, by throwing a stone, which injured one of the pictures. the affair soon became general. the enraged people fell upon the altars and images, and in a short time nothing was left undemolished but the bare walls of the church. the reformers throughout the city, hearing of these proceedings, speedily collected, and attacking the monasteries of the gray and black friars, along with the costly edifice of the carthusian monks, left not a vestige of what they considered idolatrous and profane worship in any of them. the example thus set at perth was speedily followed almost everywhere throughout the country. these outrages greatly incensed the queen regent, and were looked upon with horror by the catholics in general. to this day, the loss of many a fine building, through the zeal of the early reformers, is a common subject of regret and complaint. it is to be remembered, however, that no revolution can be effected without paying a price for it. if the reformation was a benefit, how could the catholic superstition be more successfully attacked, than by knocking down those gorgeous temples, which were of themselves sufficient to render invincible the pride and inveterate bigotry of its votaries? the saying of john knox, though a homely, was a true one,--"pull down their nests, and the rooks will fly away." it is not improbable, as m'crie conjectures, that had these buildings been allowed to remain in their former splendour, the popish clergy might have long continued to indulge hopes, and to make efforts, to be restored to them. victories over an enemy are celebrated with public rejoicings, notwithstanding the thousands of our fellow-countrymen who may have fallen in the contest. why should the far more important victory, over those who had so long held in thraldom the human mind, be robbed of its due praise, because some statues were mangled, some pictures torn, and some venerable towers overthrown?[ ] with as little delay as possible, the queen regent appeared with an army before perth, and made herself mistress of the town. the reformers, however, were not to be intimidated; and their strength having, by this time, much increased, it was deemed prudent by the regent not to push matters to an extremity. both parties agreed to disband their forces, and to refer the controversy to the next parliament. as was to be expected, this temporary truce was not of long duration. incessant mutual recrimination and aggression, soon induced both sides to concentrate their forces once more. perth was re-taken by the reformers, who shortly afterwards marched into edinburgh. after remaining there for some time, they were surprised by a sudden march which the queen made upon them from dunbar, and were compelled to fall back upon stirling. a belief was at this time prevalent at the court of france, that the prior of st andrews, who was the principal military leader of the congregation, had views of a treasonable nature even upon the crown itself, and that he hoped the flaw in his legitimacy might be forgotten, in consideration of his godly exertions in support of the true faith. a new reinforcement of french soldiers arrived at leith, which they fortified; and the french ambassador was commanded to inform the prior, that the king, his master, would rather spend the crown of france, than not be revenged of the seditious persons in scotland. the civil war now raged with increased bitterness, and with various success, but without any decisive advantage on either side for some time. the reformers applied for assistance to queen elizabeth, who favoured their cause for various reasons, and would, no doubt, much rather have seen murray in possession of the scottish crown, than her own personal rival, mary. the congregation having found it impossible, by their own efforts, to drive the french out of leith, elizabeth, in the beginning of the year , fitted out a powerful fleet, which, to the astonishment of the queen regent and her french allies, sailed up the firth of forth, and anchored in the roads, before even the purpose for which it had come was known. a treaty was soon afterwards concluded at berwick between the lords of the congregation and elizabeth's commissioner, the duke of norfolk, by which it was agreed, on the part of the former, that no alliance should ever be entered into by them with france; and on that of the latter, that an english army should march into scotland early in spring, for the purpose of aiding in the expulsion of the french troops. this army came at the time appointed, and was soon joined by the forces of the reformers. the allies marched directly for leith, which they invested without loss of time. the siege was conducted with great spirit, but the town was very resolutely defended by the french. so much determination was displayed upon both sides, that it is difficult to say how the matter might have ended, had not the death of the queen regent, which took place at this juncture, changed materially the whole aspect of affairs. she had been ill for some time, and during her sickness resided in the castle of edinburgh. perceiving that her end was approaching, she requested an interview with some of the leaders of the congregation. the duke of chatelherault, the prior of st andrews, or the lord james, as he was commonly called, and others, waited upon her in her sick-chamber. she expressed to them her sincere grief for the troubles which existed in the country, and advised that both the english and french troops should be sent home. she entreated that they would reverence and obey their native and lawful sovereign, her daughter mary. she told them how deeply attached she was to scotland and its interests, although by birth a frenchwoman; and at the conclusion, she burst into tears, kissing the nobles one by one, and asking pardon of all whom she had in any way offended. the day after this interview, mary of guise died. her many excellent qualities were long remembered in scotland; for even those who could not love, respected her. in private life, if this term can be used with propriety when speaking of a queen, she appears to have been most deservedly esteemed. she set an example to all her maids of honour, of piety, modesty, and becoming gravity of deportment; she was exceedingly charitable to the poor; and had she fallen upon better days, her life would have been a happier one for herself, and her memory more generally prized by posterity. her body was carried over to france, and buried in the benedictine monastery at rheims.[ ] very soon after the death of the queen regent, commissioners arrived both from france and england, with full powers to conclude a treaty of peace between the three countries. by the loss of their sister, the princes of lorraine had been deprived of their chief support in scotland, and, being actively engaged in schemes of ambition nearer home, they found it necessary to conciliate, as they best could, the predominating party there. the important treaty of edinburgh, which will be mentioned frequently hereafter, was concluded on the th of june . it was signed on the part of france by the two plenipotentiaries, monluc, bishop of valence, and the sieur derandon, reckoned two of the best diplomatists of the day; and, on the part of england, by wotton, dean of canterbury, and elizabeth's prime minister, cecil, one of the ablest men of that or any age. the interests of the congregation were intrusted principally to the lord james. in consequence of this treaty, the french troops were immediately withdrawn. the fortifications of leith and dunbar were destroyed, and a parliament was held, whose acts were to be considered as valid as if it had been called by the express commands of the queen. in that parliament, the adherents of the congregation were found greatly to out-number their adversaries. an act of oblivion and indemnity was passed for all that had taken place within the two preceding years; and, for the first time, the catholics, awed into silence, submitted to every thing which the reformers proposed. a new confession of faith was sanctioned; the jurisdiction of the ecclesiastical courts was abolished; and the exercise of worship, according to the rites of the romish church, was prohibited under severe penalties--a third act of disobedience being declared capital. thus, the reformation finally triumphed in scotland. though as yet only in its infancy, and still exposed to many perils, it was nevertheless established on a comparatively firm and constitutional basis. the catholics, it is true, aware of the school in which mary had been educated, were far from having given up all hope of retrieving their circumstances; and they waited for her return with the utmost impatience and anxiety. but they ought to have known, that whatever might have been mary's wishes, their reign was over in scotland. a sovereign may coerce the bodies, but he can never possess a despotic sway over the minds of his subjects. the people had now begun to think for themselves; and a belief in the mere mummeries of a fantastic system of christianity, and of the efficacy of miracles performed by blocks of wood and stone, was never again to form a portion of their faith. a brief account of one of the last, and not least ludicrous attempts which the popish clergy made to support their sinking cause, will form a not improper conclusion to this chapter. there was a chapel in the neighbourhood of musselburgh, dedicated to the lady of loretto, which, from the character of superior sanctity it had acquired, had long been the favourite resort of religious devotees. in this chapel, a body of the catholic priests undertook to put their religion to the test, by performing a miracle. they fixed upon a young man, who was well known as a common blind beggar, in the streets of edinburgh, and engaged to restore to him, in the presence of the assembled people, the perfect use of his eyesight. a day was named, on which they calculated they might depend on this wonderful interposition of divine power in their behalf. from motives of curiosity, a great crowd was attracted at the appointed time to the chapel. the blind man made his appearance on a scaffold, erected for the occasion. the priests approached the altar, and, after praying very devoutly, and performing other religious ceremonies, he who had previously been stone blind, opened his eyes, and declared he saw all things plainly. having humbly and gratefully thanked his benefactors, the priests, he was permitted to mingle among the astonished people, and receive their charity. unfortunately, however, for the success of this deception, a gentleman from fife, of the name of colville, determined to penetrate, if possible, a little further into the mystery. he prevailed upon the subject of the recent experiment to accompany him to his lodgings in edinburgh. as soon as they were alone, he locked the chamber-door, and either by bribes or threats, contrived to win from him the whole secret. it turned out, that in his boyhood, this tool, in the hands of the designing, had been employed as a herd by the nuns of the convent of sciennes, then in the neighbourhood of edinburgh. it was remarked by the sisterhood, that he had an extraordinary facility in "flyping up the lid of his eyes, and casting up the white." some of the neighbouring priests, hearing accidentally of this talent, imagined that it might be applied to good account. they accordingly took him from sciennes to the monastery near musselburgh, where they kept him till he had made himself an adept in this mode of counterfeiting blindness, and till his personal appearance was so much changed, that the few who had been acquainted with him before, would not be able to recognise him. they then sent him into edinburgh to beg publicly, and make himself familiarly known to the inhabitants, as a common blind mendicant. so far every thing had gone smoothly, and the scene at the chapel of loretto might have had effect on the minds of the vulgar, had colville's activity not discovered the gross imposture. colville, who belonged to the congregation, instantly took the most effectual means to make known the deceit. he insisted upon the blind man's appearing with him next day, at the cross of edinburgh, where the latter repeated all he had previously told colville, and confessed the iniquity of his own conduct, as well as that of the priests. to shelter him from their revenge, colville immediately afterwards carried him off to fife; and the story, with all its details, being speedily disseminated, exposed the catholic clergy to more contempt than ever.[ ] chapter iii. mary's birth, and subsequent residence at the french court, with a sketch of the state of society and manners in france, during the sixteenth century. mary stuart, queen of scots, was the third child of james v. and his wife, mary of guise. that lady had born him previously two sons, both of whom died in infancy. mary came into the world on the th of december , in the palace of linlithgow.[ ] she was only seven days old when she lost her father, who at the time of her birth lay sick in the palace of falkland. james died, as he had lived, with a kingly and gallant spirit. in the language of pitscottie, he turned him upon his back, and looked and beheld all his nobles and lords about him, and, giving a little smile of laughter, kissed his hand, and offered it to them. when they had pressed it to their lips for the last time, he tossed up his arms, and yielded his spirit to god. james was considered one of the most handsome men of his day. he was above the middle stature; his hair flowed luxuriantly over his shoulders in natural ringlets, and was of a dark yellow or auburn colour; his eyes were gray, and very penetrating; his voice was sweet toned; and the general expression of his countenance uncommonly prepossessing. he inherited a vigorous constitution, and kept it sound and healthy by constant exercise, and by refraining from all excesses in eating or drinking. he was buried in the royal vault in the chapel of holyrood house, where his embalmed body, in a state of entire preservation, was still to be seen in the time of the historian keith. the young queen was crowned by cardinal beaton at stirling, on the th of september . her mother, who watched over her with the most careful anxiety, had been told a report prevailed that the infant was sickly, and not likely to live. to disprove this calumny, she desired janet sinclair, mary's nurse, to unswaddle her in the presence of the english ambassador, who wrote to his own court that she was as goodly a child as he had seen of her age. soon after her birth, the parliament nominated commissioners, to whom they intrusted the charge of the queen's person, leaving all her other interests to the care of her mother. the two first years of her life, mary spent at linlithgow, where it appears she had the small-pox, a point of some importance, as one of her historians remarks, in the biography of a beauty and a queen.[ ] the disease must have been of a particularly gentle kind, having left behind no visible traces. during the greater part of the years , and , she resided at stirling castle, in the keeping of lords erskine and livingstone. here she received the first rudiments of education from two ecclesiastics, who were appointed her preceptors, more, however, as matter of form, than from any use they could be of to her at so early an age. when the internal disturbances of the country rendered even stirling castle a somewhat dangerous residence, mary was removed to inchmahome, a sequestered island in the lake of monteith. that she might not be too lonely, and that a spirit of generous emulation might present her with an additional motive for the prosecution of her studies, the queen dowager selected four young ladies of rank as her companions and playmates. they were each about her daughter's age, and either from chance, or because the conceit seemed natural, they all bore the same surname. the four maries were, mary beaton, a niece of cardinal beaton, mary fleming, daughter of lord fleming, mary livingstone, whose father was one of the young queen's guardians, and mary seaton, daughter of lord seaton. mary having remained upwards of two years in this island, those who had, at the time, the disposal of her future destiny, thought it expedient, for reasons which have been already explained, that she should be removed to france. she was accordingly, in the fifth year of her age, taken to dumbarton, where she was delivered to the french admiral, whose vessels were waiting to receive her, and attended by the lords erskine and livingstone, her three natural brothers, and her four maries, she left scotland. the thirteen happiest years of mary's life were spent in france. towards the end of july , she sailed from dumbarton, and, after a tempestuous voyage, landed at brest on the th of august. she was there received, by henry ii.'s orders, with all the honours due to her rank and royal destiny. she travelled, with her retinue, by easy stages, to the palace at st germain en laye; and to mark the respect that was paid to her, the prison-gates of every town she came to were thrown open, and the prisoners set free. shortly after her arrival, she was sent, along with the king's own daughters, to one of the first convents in france, where young ladies of distinction were instructed in the elementary branches of education. the natural quickness of her capacity, and the early acuteness of her mind, now began to manifest themselves. she made rapid progress in acquiring that species of knowledge suited to her years, and her lively imagination went even the length of attaching a more than ordinary interest to the calm and secluded life of a nunnery. it was whispered, that she had already expressed a wish to separate herself forever from the world; and it is not improbable, that had this wish been allowed to foster itself silently in her bosom, mary might ultimately have taken the veil, in which case her life would have been a blank in history. but these views were not consistent with the more ambitious projects entertained by henry and her uncles of lorraine. as soon as they were informed of the bent which her mind appeared to be taking, she was again removed from the convent to the palace. to reconcile her to parting with the vestal sisters, henry, whose conduct towards her was always marked by affection and delicacy, selected, from all the noble scotch families then residing in france, a certain number to constitute her future household. the tears which mary shed, however, upon leaving the nunnery, proved the warmth of her young heart; and that her feelings were not of merely momentary duration, is evinced by the frequent visits she subsequently paid this asylum of her childhood,--and by the altar-piece she embroidered with her own hands for the chapel of the convent. in no country of europe was education better understood than it then was in france. francis i., who remodelled, upon a magnificent scale, the university of paris, only followed the example which had already been set him by louis xii. the youth of all countries flocked to the french schools. the liberal principles which induced the government to maintain, at its own expense, professors, who lectured to as many students as chose to hear them, was amply repaid by the beneficial consequences arising from the great influx of strangers. a competent knowledge of latin, greek, hebrew, mathematics, moral philosophy and medicine, could be acquired in france for literally nothing. nor was it necessary, that he who sought for the blessings of education, should profess any particular system of religious faith. the german protestant, and the spanish catholic, were allowed, in these noble institutions, to take their seat side by side. henry supported the church as an engine of state, whilst he detested the arrogant pretensions and empty insolence of many of the clergy, and was determined that they should not interfere with the more enlightened views which he himself entertained. in this, he only followed the opinions of his illustrious father, francis, who used to remark, that monks were better at teaching linnets to whistle, playing at dice, tippling, and gormandizing, than in doing good either to religion or morality. the host of authors, and men of genius, who flourished in france about this period, was another cause of its literary eminence. "learning," says miss benger, "far from being the badge of singularity, had become the attribute of a superior station." "there was," observes the ingenious pasquier, "a glorious crusade against ignorance." many of the names then celebrated have since, it is true, passed into oblivion, but the multitude who cultivated letters, show the spirit of the times. beza, seve, pelletier and others, led the van in the severer departments of intellect; whilst bellay, ronsard and jodelle, showed the way, to a host of followers, in the cultivation of poetry, and the softer arts of composition. nor must the great statesmen and warriors, whose presence lent a lustre to the court, be forgotten in this view of the existing pre-eminence of france. the two houses of bourbon and guise, had each given birth to many names destined for immortality. the present chiefs of bourbon were anthony, duke of navarre, and louis, known in the history of the world as the first prince of condé. there were six brothers of the guises, of whom the two most illustrious were francis duke of guise, and charles cardinal of lorraine. but they all held the very highest offices in the church or state; one was a cardinal, and another a grand prior; a third, the duke d'aumale, commanded the army then in italy; and the fourth, the marquis d'elbeuf, was intrusted with the charge of the french troops in scotland. but he who held the balance of power between all these contending interests, was the great montmorency, constable of france. he had, by this time, become a veteran in the service of the french monarchs. louis xii. had acknowledged his virtues, and francis i. looked to him for advice and aid in every emergency. henry felt almost a filial affection and reverence for so distinguished a statesman and patriot; and diana de poictiers herself, the fascinating widow of the duke de valentinois, frequently found that she possessed less influence with the monarch than the venerable and unostentatious montmorency. the minister was at all times surrounded by a formidable phalanx of friends and supporters. of these his own sons were not the least considerable; and his nephews, the two colignys, need only to be mentioned, to awaken recollections of some of the most remarkable events of french history. neither must we omit to mention the two ladies who held the highest places in the french court. the sister and the wife of henry ii. resembled each other but faintly, yet both secured the admiration of the country. the princess margaret had established herself by her patronage of every liberal art, and her universal beneficence, in the hearts of the whole people. her religion did not degenerate into bigotry, and her charity, whilst it was at all times efficient, was without parade. she became afterwards the duchess of savoy; but till past the meridian of life, she continued constantly at her brother's court,--a bright example of all that was virtuous and attractive in female character. to her, france was indebted for discovering and fostering the talents of its great chancellor michel l'hopital; and the honourable name by which she was universally known was that of minerva. the king's wife, catherine de medicis, was more respected for her talents than loved for her virtues. but as yet, the ambition of her nature had not betrayed itself, and little occasion had been afforded for the exercise of those arts of dissimulation, or the exposure of that proneness to envy and resentment, which at a later period became so apparent. she was still in the bloom of youth, and maintained a high character, not without much show of reason. such being the general aspect of the country and the court, it cannot fail to become evident, that so far from being a just cause of regret, nothing could have redounded more to mary's advantage than her education and residence in france. if bigotry prevailed among the clergy, it was not countenanced at the court, for henry cared little about religion, and his sister margaret was suspected of leaning to the reformed opinions. if parisian manners were known to be too deeply tinctured with licentiousness, the palace of catherine must be excepted from the charge; for even the deportment of diana herself was grave and decorous, and for his sister's sake, the king dared not have countenanced any of those grosser immoralities in which henry viii. of england so openly indulged. the cardinal of lorraine, who was at the head of the parisian university, quickly discovering mary's capabilities, directed her studies with the most watchful anxiety. she was still attended by the two preceptors who had accompanied her from scotland, and before she was ten years old, had made good progress in the french, latin, and italian languages. french was all her life as familiar to her as her native tongue; and she wrote it with a degree of elegance which no one could surpass. her acquaintance with latin was not of that superficial kind but too common in the present day. this language was then regarded as almost the only one on whose stability any reliance could be placed. it was consequently deemed indispensable, that all who aspired at any eminence in literature, should be able to compose in it fluently. mary's teacher was the celebrated george buchanan, who was then in france, and who, whatever other praise he may be entitled to, was unquestionably one of the best scholars of his time. the young queen's attention was likewise directed to rhetoric, by fauchet, author of a treatise on that subject which he dedicated to his pupil,--to history by pasquier,--and to the delightful study of poetry, for which her genius was best suited, and for which she retained a predilection all her life, by ronsard. nor must it be imagined that mary's childhood was exclusively devoted to these more scholastic pursuits. she and her young companions, the scotch maries and the daughters of henry, were frequently present at those magnificent galas and fêtes, in which the king himself so much delighted, and which were so particularly in unison with the taste of the times, though no where conducted with so much elegance and grace, as at the french court. the summer tournaments and fêtes champêtres, and the winter festivals and masquerades, were attended by all the beauty and chivalry of the land. in these amusements, mary, as she grew up, took a lively and innocent pleasure. the woods and gardens also of fontainbleau, afforded a delightful variation from the artificial splendours of paris. in summer, sailing on the lakes, or fishing in the ponds; and in winter, a construction of fortresses on the ice,--a mimic battle of snow-balls,--or skating, became royal pastimes. mary's gait and air, naturally dignified and noble, acquired an additional charm from the attention she paid to dancing and riding. the favourite dance at the time was the spanish minuet, which mary frequently performed with her young consort, to the admiration of the whole court. in the livelier gailliarde, she was unequalled, as was confessed, even by the beautiful anne of este, who, in a pas des deux, acknowledged that she was eclipsed by mary. the activity of her body indeed, kept, upon all occasions, full pace with that of her mind. she was particularly fond of hunting; and she and her maids of honour were frequently seen following the stag through the ancestral forests of france. her attachment to this amusement, which continued all her life, exposed her, on several occasions, to some danger. so early as the year , when hunting in france, some part of her dress was caught by the bough of a tree, and she was cast off her horse when galloping at full speed. many of the ladies and gentlemen in her train passed by without observing her, and some so near as actually to tread on her riding-dress. as soon as the accident was discovered, she was raised from the ground; but, though the shock had been considerable, she had too manly a spirit to complain, and, readjusting her hair, which had fallen into confusion, she again mounted her horse, and rode home smiling at the accident.[ ] another, but more sedentary amusement with mary, was the composition of devices. to excel in these, required some wit and judgment. a device was the skilful coupling of a few expressive words with any engraved figure or picture. it was an art intimately connected with the science of heraldry, and seems to have suggested the modern seal and motto. the composition of these devices was, as it is somewhere called, only "an elegant species of trifling;" but it had something intellectual in it, which the best informed ladies of the french court liked. an old author, who writes upon this subject, elevates it to a degree of importance rather amusing. "it delights the eye," he says, "it captivates the imagination, it is also profitable and useful; and therefore surpasseth all other arts, and also painting, since this only represents the body and exquisite features of the face, whereas a device exposes the rare ideas and gallant sentiments of its author; it also excels poetry, in as much as it joineth profit with pleasure, since none merit the title of devices unless they at once please by their grace, and yield profit by their doctrine." mary's partialities were commonly lasting, and when in very different circumstances, she frequently loved to return to this amusement of her childhood. some of the emblems she invented, betray much elegance and sensibility of mind. on the death of her husband francis, she took for her device a little branch of the liquorice-tree, whose root only is sweet, all the rest of the plant being bitter, and the motto was, _dulce meum terra tegit_. on her cloth of state was embroidered the sentence, _en ma fin est mon commencement_; "a riddle," says haynes, "i understand not;" but which evidently meant to inculcate a lesson of humility, and to remind her that life, with all its grandeur, was the mere prologue to eternity. the french historian, mezeray, mentions also that mary had a medal struck, on which was represented a vessel in a storm, with its masts broken and falling, illustrated by the motto, _nunquam nisi rectam_; indicating a determination rather to perish than deviate from the path of integrity.[ ] when she was in england, she embroidered for the duke of norfolk a hand with a sword in it, cutting vines, with the motto _virescit vulnere virtus_. in these and similar fancies, she embodied strong and often original thoughts with much delicacy. in the midst of these occupations and amusements, mary was not allowed to forget her native country. frequent visits were paid her from scotland, by those personally attached to herself or her family. in , her mother, mary of guise, came over to see her, accompanied by several of the nobility. the queen-dowager, a woman of strong affections, was so delighted with the improvement she discovered in her daughter's mind and person, that she burst into tears of joy; and her scottish attendants were hardly less affected by the sight of their future sovereign. henry, with his young charge, was at rouen, when the queen-dowager arrived. to testify his respect for her, he ordered a triumph to be prepared, which consisted of one of those grotesque allegorical exhibitions then so much in vogue; and, shortly afterwards, the two queens made a public entry into paris. mary of guise had there an opportunity likewise of seeing her son by her first husband, the duke de longueville, mary's half-brother, but who seems to have spent his life in retirement, as history scarcely notices him. it may well be conceived, that the widow of james v. returned even to the regency of scotland with reluctance, since she purchased the gratification of her ambition by a final separation from her children.[ ] it was about the same time that mary first saw sir james melville, who was then only a few years older than herself, and who was sent over in the train of the bishop of monluc, when he returned after signing the treaty of edinburgh, to be one of mary's pages of honour. sir james was afterwards frequently employed by the queen as her foreign ambassador, and his name will appear more than once in the sequel. we have spoken of him here for the purpose of introducing an amusing anecdote, which he gives us in his own memoirs, and which illustrates the state of manners at that period. upon landing at brest, the bishop proceeded direct to paris. but sir james, who was young, and could hardly have endured the fatigue of this mode of travelling, was intrusted to the care of two scotch gentlemen, who had come over in the same ship. their first step was to purchase three little "naigies," on which they proposed riding to paris, any thing in the shape of a _diligence_ being out of the question. to ensure greater safety on the journey, three others joined the party,--two frenchmen, and a young spaniard, who was on his way to the college at paris. on the evening of the first day, they arrived at the town of landerneau, where all the six were lodged in one room, containing three beds. the two frenchmen slept together in one, the two scotsmen in another, and melville and the spaniard in the third. the company on the whole does not appear to have been of the most respectable kind; for, as melville lay awake, he heard "the twa scotchmen devising how they were directed to let him want naething; therefore, said they, we will pay for his ordinair all the way, and shall count up twice as meikle to his master when we come to paris, and sae shall win our ain expenses." the two frenchmen, on their part, thinking that nobody in the room understood french, said to each other, "these strangers are all young, and know not the fashion of the hostelries; therefore we shall deal and reckon with the hosts at every repast, and shall cause the strangers pay more than the custom is, and that way shall we save our expenses." at all this melville, as he tells us, could not refrain from "laughing in his mind," and determined to be upon his guard. "yet the twa scotch young men," he adds in his antique phraseology, "would not consent that i should pay for myself, hoping still to beguile the bishop, but the spaniart and i writ up every day's compt." the frenchmen being foiled in their swindling intentions, had recourse to a still bolder manoeuvre. one day, as the party were riding through a wood, two other frenchmen, who had joined them a short time before, suddenly leapt off their horses, and, drawing their swords, demanded that the others should deliver up their purses. melville and his scotch friends, however, were not to be thus intimidated. they also drew their swords, and prepared for resistance; on seeing which, the frenchmen affected to make a joke of the whole affair, saying that they merely wanted to try the courage of the scotchmen, in case they should have been attacked by robbers. "but the twa last loons," says melville, "left us at the next lodging; and the twa scotch scholairs never obtenit payment frae the bishop for their pretendit fraud." sir james arrived in safety at paris, having taken thirteen days to ride from brest to the capital.[ ] thus diversified by intercourse with her friends and with her books, by study and recreation, mary's early life passed rapidly away. it has been already seen, that whatever could have tended to corrupt the mind or manners was carefully removed from the young queen. as soon as mary entered upon her teens, she and her companions, the two young princesses, henry's daughters, spent several hours every day in the private apartment of catherine de medicis, whose conversation, as well as that of the foreign ambassadors and other persons of distinction who paid their respects to her, they had thus an opportunity of hearing. conæus mentions, that mary was soon observed to avail herself, with great earnestness, of these opportunities of acquiring knowledge; and it has been hinted, that the superior intelligence she evinced, in comparison with catherine's own daughters, was the first cause of exciting that queen's jealousy. it was perhaps at some of these conferences that mary imperceptibly imbibed, from her future mother-in-law, and her not unfrequent visitor, nostradamus, a slight portion of that tendency to superstitious belief then so prevalent. one of the most remarkable characters about henry's court, was nicolas cretin, or nostradamus, as he was more commonly called, who combined in his own person the three somewhat incongruous professions of physician, astrologer, and philosopher. he asserted, that he was not only perfectly acquainted with the laws of planetary influence, but that, by the inspiration of divine power, he could predict the events of futurity. the style of his prophecies was in general sufficiently obscure; yet such was the reverence paid to learning in those days (and nostradamus was a very library of learning), that he was courted and consulted even by the first statesmen in france. mary had far too lively a fancy to escape the infection; and the force of this early bias continued to be felt by her more or less all her life. chapter iv. mary's marriage, personal appearance, and popularity. the time now approached when henry began to think of confirming the french authority in scotland, by consummating the contract of marriage which had so long existed between francis and mary. this was not, however, to be done without considerable opposition from several quarters. the constable montmorency, and the house of bourbon, already trembled at the growing influence of the guises, plainly foreseeing, that as soon as the niece of the duke and cardinal of lorraine became wife to the dauphin, and consequently, upon henry's death, queen of france, their own influence would be at an end. it is not improbable that montmorency aimed at marrying one of his own sons to mary. at all events, he endeavoured to persuade henry that he might find a more advantageous alliance for francis. the guises, however, were not thus to be overreached; and the king more willingly listened to their powerful representations in favour of the match, as it had long been a favourite scheme with himself. it would be uncharitable to ascribe to the agency of any of those who opposed it, an attempt which was made some time before by a person of the name of stuart, a scottish archer in the king's guards, to poison mary. stuart being detected, was tried, condemned, and executed, but made no confession which could lead to any discovery of his motives. it is most likely that he had embraced the reformed religion, and was actuated by a fanatical desire to save his country from the dominion of a catholic princess. francis, the young dauphin, who was much about mary's own age, was far inferior to her, both in personal appearance and mental endowments. he was of a very weakly constitution; and the energies of his mind seem to have been repressed by the feebleness of his body. but if unable to boast of any distinguishing virtues, he was undegraded by the practice of any vice. he was amiable, timid, affectionate, and shy. he was aware of his want of physical strength, and feared lest the more robust should make it a subject of ridicule. he appears to have loved mary with the tenderest affection, being probably anxious to atone to her, by every mark of devotion, for the sacrifice he must have seen she was making in surrendering herself to him, in all the lustre of her charms. yet there is good reason to believe that mary really loved francis. they had been playmates from infancy; they had prosecuted all their studies together; and though francis cared little for the pleasures of society, and rather shunned than encouraged those who wished to pay their court to him, mary was aware that, for this very reason, he was only the more sincere in his passion for her. it was not in mary's nature to be indifferent to those who evinced affection for her; and if her fondness for francis were mingled with pity, it has long been asserted, that "pity is akin to love". on the th of april , the nuptials took place. in december the preceding year, a letter from henry had been laid before the scotch parliament, requesting that some persons of rank should be sent over from scotland as commissioners to witness the marriage; and in compliance with this desire, the lord james, prior of st andrews, and eight other persons of distinction, arrived at the french court in march .[ ] their instructions commanded them to guard against french encroachments, upon the rights and privileges of scottish subjects; and, that no doubt might remain regarding the right of succession to the scottish throne, they were to obtain from the king of france a ratification of his former promise, to aid and support the duke of chatelherault in his claims upon the crown, in case mary died without issue. they were also to require a declaration to a similar effect from the queen and dauphin. all these demands were at once complied with. it has been alleged, however, that a very gross deceit was practised, upon this occasion, by the french court. it is said, that though, to satisfy the scotch commissioners, all their requests were ostensibly granted, henry took secret measures to render these grants entirely inefficacious. mary, it is asserted, on the th of april, signed three papers, in the first of which she made over the kingdom of scotland in free gift to the king of france, to be enjoyed by him and his heirs, should she die without children; in the second, (lest it might not be deemed expedient to insist upon the first,) she assigned to the king of france the possession of scotland, after her decease without children, till he should be reimbursed of a million pieces of gold, or any greater sum which he should be found to have expended on her during her residence in france; and, in the third, she protested, that whatever declarations she might subscribe, in compliance with the desire of the scotch parliament, touching the lineal succession of her crown, the genuine sense of her mind was contained only in the two preceding papers.[ ] if this dishonourable transaction really took place, whilst it cannot involve mary, a young and inexperienced girl of fifteen, in any serious blame, it certainly reflects the highest discredit both upon henry and his advisers of the house of guise. there is good reason, however, to believe, that these instruments, though they unquestionably exist, are forgeries. it was not an uncommon trick in those times, for the reformers to stir up jealousy against a catholic sovereign, by alleging, that he had promised away his country to some well known papist. the prince of condé, in december , was not aware of the authenticity of any such papers; for, if he had been, he would undoubtedly have mentioned them when he asked elizabeth's assistance to establish the protestant religion in france. on the contrary, he trumps up a ridiculous story, to which no one has ever given any credit, that mary had ceded her right to the crown of england, in behalf of the king of france's brother, henry duke of anjou. after mary's death, it was confidently reported, and with equal falsehood, that by her testament she had left england to the king of spain, unless her son became a roman catholic. there is, besides, internal evidence of a striking nature, that these deeds were forgeries. for its discovery, we are indebted to the industry and research of goodall.[ ] some of the provisions in the marriage-contract between francis and mary, are sufficiently remarkable to deserve being recorded. the jointure assigned by it to the queen, provided her husband died king of france, is , livres, or a greater sum, if a greater had ever been given to a queen of france. if her husband died only dauphin, the jointure was to be , livres. the eldest son of the marriage was to be king of france and scotland; and if there were no sons, the eldest daughter was to be queen of scotland only, with a portion of , crowns, as a daughter of france,--every younger daughter being allowed , crowns. should her husband die, mary was to be at liberty either to remain in france or return to scotland, with an assurance that her jointure would be always duly paid her. the dauphin was to bear the name and title of king of scotland, and enjoy all the privileges of the crown-matrimonial. the marriage, for which so many preparations had thus been made, was solemnized in the church of notre dame, the ceremony being performed by the cardinal of bourbon, archbishop of rouen. upon this occasion, the festivities were graced by the presence of all the most illustrious personages of the court of france; and when francis, taking a ring from his finger, presented it to the archbishop, who, pronouncing the benediction, placed it on the young queen's finger, the vaulted roof of the cathedral rung with congratulations, and the multitude without rent the air with joyful shouts. the spectacle was altogether one of the most imposing which, even in that age of spectacles, had been seen in paris. the procession, upon leaving the church, proceeded to the palace of the archbishop, where a magnificent collation was prepared,--largess, as it moved along, being proclaimed among the people, in the name of the king and queen of scots. in the afternoon, the royal party returned to the palace of the tournelles--catherine de medicis and mary sitting together in the same palanquin, and a cardinal walking on each side. henry and francis followed on horseback, with a long line of princes and princesses in their train. the chronicler of these nuptials is unable to conceal his rapture, when he describes the manner in which the palace had been prepared for their reception. its whole appearance, he tells us, was "light and beautiful as elysium." during supper, which was served upon a marble table in the great hall, the king's band of "one hundred gentlemen" poured forth delicious strains of music. the members of parliament attended in their robes; and the princes of the blood performed the duty of servitors--the duke of guise acting as master of the ceremonies. the banquet being concluded, a series of the most magnificent masks and mummeries, prepared for the occasion, was introduced. in the pageant, twelve artificial horses, of admirable mechanism, covered with cloth of gold, and ridden by the young heirs of noble houses, attracted deserved attention. they were succeeded by six galleys, which sailed into the hall, each rich as cleopatra's barge, and bearing on its deck two seats, the one filled by a young cavalier, who, as he advanced, carried off from among the spectators, and gently placed in the vacant chair, the lady of his love. a splendid tournament concluded these rejoicings. during the whole of these solemnities, every eye was fixed on the youthful mary; and, inspired by those feelings which beauty seldom fails to excite, every heart offered up prayers for her future welfare and happiness. she was now at that age when feminine loveliness is perhaps most attractive. it is not to be supposed, indeed, that in her sixteenth year, her charms had ripened into that full-blown maturity which they afterwards attained; but they were, on this account, only the more fascinating. some have conjectured that mary's beauty has been extolled far beyond its real merits; and it cannot be denied that many vague and erroneous notions exist regarding it. but that her countenance possessed in a pre-eminent degree the something which constitutes beauty, is sufficiently attested by the unanimous declaration of all cotemporary writers. it is only, however, by carefully gathering together hints scattered here and there, that any accurate idea can be formed of the lineaments of a countenance which has so long ceased to exist, unless in the fancy of the enthusiast. generally speaking, mary's features were more grecian than roman, though without the insipidity that would have attached to them, had they been exactly regular. her nose exceeded a little the grecian proportion in length. her hair was very nearly of the same colour as james v.'s--dark yellow, or auburn, and, like his, clustered in luxuriant ringlets. her eyes,--which some writers, misled by the thousand blundering portraits of her scattered everywhere, conceive to have been gray, or blue, or hazel,--were of a chestnut colour,--darker, yet matching well with her auburn hair. her brow was high, open, and prominent. her lips were full and expressive, as the lips of the stuarts generally were; and she had a small dimple in her chin. her complexion was clear, and very fair, without a great deal of colour in her cheeks. her mother was a woman of large stature, and mary was also above the common size. her person was finely proportioned, and her carriage exceedingly graceful and dignified.[ ] in this description of mary's personal appearance, we have placed a good deal of reliance on the research and accuracy of chalmers. it will be observed, that our account differs, in many essential particulars, from that of robertson, who says--"mary's hair was black, though, according to the fashion of that age, she frequently wore borrowed locks, and of different colours. her eyes were a dark gray; her complexion was exquisitely fine; and her hands and arms remarkably delicate, both as to shape and colour. her stature was of an height that rose to the majestic." where robertson discovered that mary's hair was black, or her eyes gray, he does not mention. that her eyes were _not_ black, we have the direct testimony of beal, clerk to the privy council of england, who was ordered by cecil to be present at the death of the scottish queen, and who describes her as having "chestnut-coloured eyes." as to her hair, and her other features, though melville, in his memoirs, certainly seems to imply that the former was auburn, yet, as he does not expressly say so, we suspect correct conclusions can be arrived at only by a reference to the best authenticated portraits which have been preserved of mary. this, however, is far from being a criterion by which opinions should be rashly formed. there are few persons in the whole range of history, likenesses of whom have been more eagerly sought after; and, in proportion to the anxiety manifested to secure originals, has been the temptation to mislead and deceive. almost all the paintings said to be originals of mary queen of scots, are the impositions of picture-dealers. when the demand for these paintings became general, it was not at all unusual to despatch emissaries over the continent to pick up every picture, the costume and general appearance of which in the least resembled the scottish queen. during mary's life, and for some time after her death, the fame of her beauty, and the interest attached to her fortunes, induced numerous ladies of rank, who flattered themselves that they were like her, to have portraits painted in the style then well understood by the phrase _à la mary stuart_. there was, in particular, a celebrated continental beauty of those days--a countess of mansfeldt--(we speak on the authority of a living artist of celebrity), who resembled mary in many particulars, and all whose portraits (nor were they few in number) when they afterwards came into the hands of the picture-dealers, were affirmed to be maries. thus, in the lapse of years, the truth became so involved in uncertainty, that even robertson, allowing himself to be too hastily misled, has lent his name to the dissemination of error. horace walpole, after having made extensive inquiries on this subject, has recorded, that he never could ascertain the authenticity and originality of any portrait of mary, except of that in the possession of the earl of morton, which was painted when she was at lochleven. chalmers, in order to come as near the truth as possible, employed mr pailou, an artist of ability, to compare the picture belonging to the earl of morton, with two or three other undoubted originals which have been discovered since walpole wrote. pailou commenced by sketching the outline of his picture from lord morton's original. he then proceeded to the examination of three genuine portraits of mary, one in the church of st andrew in antwerp, another in the scotch college at douay, and a third in the scotch college at paris. neither did he forget the profile heads of mary struck upon her coins, nor the marble figure representing her on her tomb in henry vii's chapel, which walpole thought a correct likeness. mr pailou thus made lord morton's picture the basis of his own, but, as he advanced, constantly referred to the others, "till he got the whole adjusted and coloured." though we cannot exactly approve of thus cooking up a picture from various different sources, and should be inclined to think, that too much was left by such a mode of procedure to the arbitrary taste of the artist, we nevertheless feel satisfied that mr pailou has hit upon a tolerably accurate likeness. his picture, engraved by scriven, forms the frontispiece to the second volume of chalmers's work. the brow, eyes, mouth, and chin, he has given with great success. but the painting is far from being without faults;--the face is a good deal too round and plump, the nose is made slightly aquiline--a decided mistake,--and the neck is much too short, at least so it appears in the engraving. the portrait of mary, which forms the frontispiece to the present volume, and on which we place greater reliance than on any with which we are acquainted, is an engraving executed expressly for this work, from an original picture of much merit.[ ] it was painted when mary was in france, by an italian artist of eminence, who flourished as her cotemporary in the sixteenth century, and whose name is on the canvas. it would have been impossible to say at what precise age it represented mary, though, from the juvenility of the countenance, it might have been concluded that it was taken a year or two before she became dauphiness, had not the painter fortunately obviated the difficulty, by inserting immediately after his own signature the date, which is , when she was just fourteen. it is upon this picture that we have chiefly founded our description of mary's personal appearance. what gives us the greater confidence in its authenticity and accuracy, is, that it very exactly corresponds with two other portraits, believed on good grounds to be originals. this is a strong circumstance, for it is a very common and just remark, that almost no two likenesses of mary agree. the paintings to which we allude are, first, one at the seat of logie almond, which represents mary at the same age, but in a religious habit. it gives precisely the same view of the left side of the face as the engraving in this volume does of the right. from the style and other circumstances, it is very probable, that both pictures were painted by the same artist. the second is in the possession of his grace the duke of hamilton, and is in one of the private apartments at hamilton palace. it represents mary at a somewhat more advanced period of life, but the features are quite the same. there is still a third picture, said to be an original, in the collection of the marquis of salisbury, at hatfield house, and which has been engraved for miss benger's memoirs, which very closely resembles our own. to be yet more assured, we have carefully examined the heads upon mary's gold and silver coins. some of these are inaccurate, but they have all a general resemblance to each other. a silver coin, of , and the gold real stamped in , agree minutely with our picture,--a circumstance which cannot but be considered a strong corroboration of its truth. it is unnecessary to make any apology to the reader for having entered thus minutely upon a subject of so much general interest.[ ] with regard to the asseverations of cotemporary writers, as to the effects which mary's beauty produced, many of them are almost too extravagant to be believed. they prove, nevertheless, that, whatever beauty may be, whether a mere fortunate arrangement of material atoms, or a light suffused upon the face, from the secret and etherial mind, it was a gift which nature had lavishly bestowed on mary. a year or two previous to her marriage, when walking in a religious procession, through the streets of paris, with a lighted torch in her hand, a woman among the crowd was so struck with her appearance, that she could not help stopping her to ask,--"are you not indeed an angel?" brantome, with more questionable sincerity, compares her, at the age of fifteen, to the sun at mid-day. he tells us also, that the brother of francis, afterwards charles ix., never saw even a picture of mary, without lingering to gaze upon it, declaring passionately, that he looked upon francis as the happiest man on earth, to possess a creature of so much loveliness. nay, brantome even goes the length of asserting, that no man ever saw mary who did not lose his heart to her. he is pleased, likewise, with some naïveté, to pay her several high compliments at the expense of her native country. it appears that mary, amidst all the gaieties of the french court, had not forgot her early residence at inchmahome, in the quiet lake of monteith. actuated by these recollections and other motives, she delighted to testify her regard for scotland in various ways; and, among others, by frequently wearing in public the graceful highland costume. the rich and national stuart tartan became her exceedingly; and brantome, who seems to have been greatly puzzled by the novelty of the dress, is nevertheless forced to declare, that when arrayed after "the barbarous fashion of the savages of her country, she appeared a goddess in a mortal body, and in a most outré and astonishing garb." mary herself, was so fond of this costume, that she wore it in one of the portraits which were taken of her in france. if she appeared so beautiful thus "_habillée à la sauvage_," exclaims brantome, "what must she not be in her rich and lovely robes made _à la française, ou l'espagnole_, or with a bonnet _à l'italienne_; or in her flowing white dress, contending in vain with the whiteness of her skin!" even when she sung, and accompanied herself upon the lute, brantome found occasion to discover a new beauty,--"her soft snowy hand and fingers, fairer than aurora's." "ah royaume d'escosse!" he touchingly adds, "je croy que, maintenant, vos jours sont encore bien plus courts qu'ils n'estoient, et vos nuits plus longues, puisque vous avez perdu cette princesse qui vos illuminoit!" the historian, castelnau, in like manner, pronounces mary "the most beautiful and accomplished of her sex;" and mezeray tells us, that "nature had bestowed upon her every thing that is necessary to form a complete beauty;" adding, that "by the study of the liberal arts and sciences, especially painting, music, and poetry, she had so embellished her natural good qualities, that she appeared to be the most amiable princess in christendom." on the occasion of her marriage, not only were the brains of all the jewellers, embroiderers, and tailors of paris put in requisition, but a whole host of french poets felt themselves suddenly inspired. epithalamiums poured in from all quarters, spiced with flattery of all kinds, few of which have been borne down the stream of time so honourably for their author's abilities as that of buchanan, who, having long struggled with poverty, had at last risen to independence, under the patronage of cardinal lorraine. this poem is well known, but is not more complimentary than that of joachim du bellay, who, after comparing mary to venus, concludes his song with these lines:-- "par une chaîne à sa langue attachée hercule à soi les peuple attiroit; mais celle ci tire ceux qu'elle voit par une chaîne à ses beaux yeux attachée." homage, so general, cannot have been entirely misplaced, or very palpably exaggerated. in scotland, through the instigation of the queen regent, mary's nuptials, which were far from being agreeable to a numerous party, were celebrated with probably less sincere, and certainly much more homely expressions of pleasure. orders were sent to the different towns "to make fyres and processions general." mons-meg, the celebrated great gun of edinburgh castle, was fired once; and there is a charge of ten shillings in the treasurer's accounts of that year paid to certain persons for bringing up the cannon "to be schote, and for the finding and carrying of her bullet after she was schote frae wardie muir to the castel of edinburgh,"--a distance of about two miles. a play was also enacted, but of what kind it is difficult to say, at the expense of the city of edinburgh. chapter v. mary the queen dauphiness, the queen, and the queen dowager of france. shortly after the espousals, mary and her husband retired to one of their princely summer residences. here she unostentatiously discharged the duties of a respectful and attentive wife, in a manner which gained for her the admiration of all who visited them. delightful as society and amusements must at that age have been to her, she readily accommodated herself to the peculiar temper of francis, and seemed willing, for his sake, to resign all the gaieties of the court. but the intriguing and restless ambition of her uncles could not allow her to remain long quiet. about this time, mary tudor, who had succeeded edward vi. on the english throne, died; and although the parliament of that country had declared that the succession rested in her sister elizabeth, it was thought proper to claim for mary stuart a prior right. the ground upon which they built this claim was the following. henry viii. married for his first wife catharine of arragon, widow of his brother arthur, and by her he had one child, mary. pretending after having lived with her eighteen years, that his conscience rebuked him for making his brother's wife the partner of his bed, he procured a divorce from catharine for the purpose of marrying anne boleyn, by whom he had also one daughter, elizabeth. growing tired of this new wife, she was sent to the scaffold to make way for jane seymour, by whom he had one son, edward. of this uxorious monarch's other three wives, it is unnecessary to speak. henry had procured from the british parliament a solemn act, declaring both his daughters illegitimate, and he left his crown to edward vi., who accordingly succeeded him. upon edward's death, the parliament, rescinding their former act, in order to save the nation from a civil war, called to the throne henry's eldest daughter mary,--not, however, without a protest being entered in behalf of the scotch queen by her guardians. upon mary's death, the opportunity again occurred of pressing the claims of the daughter of james v. the mother of that king, it will be remembered, who married his father james iv., was the eldest daughter of henry vii., and sister, consequently, of henry viii. henry was, therefore, mary's maternal grand-uncle; and if his wives, catharine and anne boleyn, were legally divorced, she had certainly a better right to the english crown than any of their illegitimate offspring. soon after the accession, however, of edward vi., the parliament, complying with the voice of the whole nation, had declared them legitimate; and as elizabeth now quietly took possession of the throne, and could hardly by any chance have been dispossessed, it was, to say the least, extremely ill-advised to push mary forward as a rival claimant. for various reasons, however, this was the policy which the guises chose to pursue. nor did they proceed to assert her right with any particular delicacy or caution. whenever the dauphin and his queen came into public, they were greeted as the king and queen of england; and the english arms were engraved upon their plate, embroidered upon their scutcheons and banners, and painted on their furniture.[ ] mary's favourite device, also, at this time, was the two crowns of france and scotland, with the motto, _aliamque moratur_, meaning that of england. the prediction made by the duke of alva, on observing this piece of empty parade, was but too fatally fulfilled,--"that bearing of mary stuart's," said he, "will not be easily borne." about this time mary seems to have been attacked with the first serious illness which had overtaken her in france. it was not of that acute description which confined her to bed, but was a sort of general debility accompanied with a tendency to frequent fainting. it is mentioned in forbes's state papers, that on one occasion, to prevent her from swooning in church, her attendants were glad to bring her wine from the altar. there were some at the french court who would have felt little grief had this illness ended fatally, considering how serious a blow mary's death would have been to the too predominating influence of the house of guise. in england, the news would have been particularly agreeable to elizabeth, whose ambassador at paris eagerly consoled her with the intelligence that mary was not expected to be of long continuance. the natural strength of her constitution, however, soon restored her to her former health and spirits. but it was destined that there was to be another and more unexpected death at the french court. henry ii., while exhibiting his prowess at a tournament, on the occasion of the marriage of his daughter elizabeth to philip of spain, in july , received a wound in the head from the spear of his antagonist, the count montgomery, which, though apparently not of much consequence at first, occasioned his dissolution eight days afterwards. a considerable change immediately took place in the aspect of the court. the stars of the duchess de valentinois, and of the constable montmorency, set at once; and that of catharine de medicis, though not entirely obscured, shone lower in the horizon. she was now only the second lady in france, mary stuart taking the precedence. the guises reigned along with her, and the house of bourbon trembled. catharine, who could bear no superior, more especially one young enough to be her own daughter, could ill disguise her chagrin. as a guardian, however, of her late husband's younger sons, the presumptive heirs to the crown, she was entitled to maintain her place and authority in the government. there is a curious little anecdote of her which shows how much the change in her situation was preying on her mind. as she was leaving the palace of the tournelles, to accompany francis to the louvre, where he was to appear as the new sovereign, she fell into a reverie, and in traversing the gallery, took a wrong turn, and was entirely separated from her party before she discovered her mistake. she soon overtook them, however, and as they passed out, said to mary,--"pass on, madam, it is now your turn to take precedence." mary accepted the courtesy, but with becoming delicacy insisted that catharine should enter the carriage first.[ ] there is something more affecting in the change which henry's death produced in the condition of the venerable montmorency and his family. he whom three monarchs had loved and respected, who had given dignity to their counsels, and ensured success to their arms, was not considered worthy of remaining in the palace of the feeble and entrammelled francis. with a princely retinue, he retired honourably to his mansion at chantilly. mary was now at the very height of european grandeur. the queen of two powerful countries--and the heir-presumptive of a third,--in the flower of her age,--and, from her superior mental endowments, much more worshipped, even in france, than her husband, she affords at this period of her history as striking an example as can be found of the concentration of all the blessings of fortune in one person. she stood unluckily on too high and glorious a pinnacle to be able to retain her position long, consistent with the _vices vitæ mortalium_. whilst she conducted herself with a prudence and propriety altogether remarkable, considering her youth and the susceptibility of her nature, she began to be regarded with suspicion at once by france, england, and scotland. in france, she was obliged to bear the blame of many instances of bigotry and over-severity in the government of her uncles;--in england, elizabeth took every opportunity to load with opprobrium a sister queen, whose descent, birth, station, and accomplishments, were so much superior to her own;--in scotland, the reformers, inspired by james stuart, who, with ulterior views of his own, was contented to act as the tool of elizabeth, laboured to make it be believed that mary was an uncompromising and narrow-minded catholic. in september , francis was solemnly crowned at rheims; and during the remainder of the season, he and mary, attended by their nobles, made various progresses through the country. in december, francis, whose health was evidently giving way, went, by the advice of his physicians, to blois, celebrated for the mildness of its climate. it affords a very vivid idea of the ignorant superstition of the french peasantry to learn, that on his journey thither, every village through which he passed was deserted. an absurd story had been circulated, and was universally believed, that the nature of francis's complaints were such, that they could only be cured by the royal patient bathing in the blood of young children. francis himself, although probably not informed of the cause, observed with pain how he was every where shunned; and, notwithstanding the soothing tenderness of mary, who accompanied him, is said to have exclaimed to the cardinal lorraine, "what have i done to be thus shunned and detested? they fly me; my people abhor me! it is not thus that the french used to receive their king."[ ] misfortunes, it is said, never come singly. whilst mary was performing the part of an affectionate nurse to her husband, she sustained an irretrievable loss in the death of her mother, the scottish regent, in june ; and in the december following, her husband, francis, died at orleans, in the th year of his age, and the th month of his reign.[ ] feeling that his exhausted constitution was sinking rapidly, and that his death was at hand, almost the last words he spoke were to testify his affection for mary, and his sense of her virtues. he earnestly beseeched his mother to treat her as her own daughter, and his brother to look upon her as a sister. he was a prince, says conæus, in whom, had he lived, more merit would probably have been discovered than most people suspected.[ ] the whole face of things in france was by this event instantly changed again. francis the little, as he was contemptuously termed by the french, in opposition to his father francis the great, was succeeded by his younger brother, charles ix. he being still a minor, his mother, catharine, contrived to get herself appointed his guardian, and thus became once more queen of france, the nobility, as chalmers remarks, being more inclined to relish a _real_ minority, than an imaginary _majority_. catharine's jealousy of mary stuart, of course extended itself, with greater justice, to her uncles of guise. it was now their turn to make way for montmorency; and the cardinal of lorraine, one of the most intriguing statesmen of the age, retired, in no very charitable mood of mind, to his archbishopric at rheims, where, in a fit of spleen, he declared he would devote himself entirely to religion. there is something exceedingly naïve and amusing in sir james melville's account of this "gret changement." "the queen-mother," says he, "was blyth of the death of king francis, her son, because she had na guiding of him, but only the duke of guise and the cardinal, his brother, by raisoun that the queen, our maistress, was their sister's dochter. sa, the queen-mother was content to be quit of the government of the house of guise; and for their cause (sake) she had a great mislyking of our queen." of montmorency, who, as soon as he heard of the illness of francis, commenced his journey towards the court, he says,--"the constable, also chargit to come to the court, looked for na less, and seamed to be seak, making little journees, caried in a horse-litter, drew time sae lang by the way, that the king, in the meantime, died. then he lap on horsbak and cam freely to the court and commandit, like a constable, the men of war that gardit the croun, by the duke of guise commandement, to pack them aff the toune. the queen-mother was also very glaid of his coming, that by his autority and frendship with the king of navarre, she mycht the better dryve the house of guise to the door." of mary, who, it may well be supposed, felt this change more than any one, melville says,--"our queen also, seeing her friends in disgrace, and knawing hirself no to be weil liked, left the court, and was a sorrowful widow when i took my leave at hir, in a gentilman's house, four myle fra orleans." to this "gentilman's house," or chateau, in the neighbourhood of orleans, mary had retired to shed in private those tears, which the death of her husband called forth. in losing francis, she had lost the playmate of her childhood, the husband of her youth, and what, by many women, would be considered as serious a loss as either, the rank and title of queen of france. it was here, probably, that she composed those verses to the memory of her deceased husband, which her biographers have so frequently copied, and which are so full of gentle and unaffected feeling. mary, however, was at this time a personage of too much importance in the politics and affairs of europe, to be left long unmolested to the indulgence of that sincere, but commonly temporary, sorrow of a widow of eighteen. new suitors were even now beginning to form hopes of an alliance with her; and two of the earliest in the field were, don carlos of spain, and the king of navarre. but mary was determined to listen to no proposals of a matrimonial nature, till she had arranged the plan of her future life. france was no longer for her the country it had once been. her affectionate father-in-law henry, and her amiable, though weak, husband francis, both of whom commanded for her the first rank in the state, were dead; her mother would never visit her more, for her tomb had already been erected at rheims, and her proud uncles had been banished from the court. mary had too high a spirit, and knew her own superiority too well, to brook for a moment the haughty control of catharine de medicis. she felt that not all the blood of all the merchants of italy, could ever elevate the queen-dowager to an equality with one who, as it is said she herself once expressed it, drew her descent from a centinary line of kings. catharine felt this painfully, and the more so, that when mary once more made her appearance at court, she perceived, in the words of miss benger, that "the charms of her conversation, her graceful address, her captivating accomplishments, had raised the _woman_ above the _queen_." in the mean time, by the reformed party in scotland, the news of the death of francis was received with any thing but sorrow. knox declared triumphantly that "his glory had perished, and that the pride of his stubborn heart had vanished into smoke." the lord james, her natural brother, was immediately deputed by the congregation to proceed to france, to ascertain whether the queen intended returning to her native country, and if she did, to influence her as much as possible in favour of the true gospel and its friends. nor were the catholics inactive at this critical juncture. a meeting was held, at which were present the archbishop of st andrews, the bishops of aberdeen, murray, and ross, the earls of huntly, athol, crawfurd, and sutherland, and many other persons of distinction, by whom it was determined to send as _their_ ambassador to mary, john lesly, afterwards bishop of ross, and one of the queen's staunchest friends, both during her life and after it. he was of course instructed to give her a very different account of the state of matters from that which the lord james would do. he was to speak to her of the power and influence of the catholic party; and to contrast their fidelity both to her and to her mother, with the rebellious proceedings of those who supported the covenant. the lord james went by the way of england, and lesly sailed from aberdeen for holland. both made good speed; and lesly arrived at vitry in champagne, where mary was then residing, only one day before the prior of st andrews. he lost no time in gaining admission to the queen; and though there is little doubt that his views were more sincere and honourable than those of her brother, it is at the same time very questionable whether the advice he gave her was judicious; and it is probably fortunate that mary's good sense and moderation led her to reject it. lesly commenced with cautioning her against the crafty speeches which he knew the lord james was about to make to her, assuring her that his principal object was to insinuate himself into her good graces, to obtain the chief management of affairs, and crush effectually the old religion. the prior, lesly assured her, was not so warm in the cause of the reformers, from any conviction of its truth, as from his wish to make it a stepping-stone for his own ambition. for these reasons, he advised her to bring with her to scotland an armed force, and to land at aberdeen, or some northern port, where the earl of huntly and her other friends would join her with a numerous army, at the head of which she might advance towards edinburgh, and defeat at once the machinations of her enemies. the queen, in reply to all this, merely desired that lesly should remain with her till she returned to scotland, commanding him to write, in the mean time, to the lords and prelates who sent him, to inform them of her favourable sentiments towards them, and of her intention to come speedily home.[ ] the day after lesly's audience, mary's old friend the lord james (for it will be remembered, that thirteen years before he had come to france with her, and he had in the interval paid her one or two visits) obtained an interview with his sister. he had every desire to retain the favourable place which he flattered himself he held in her estimation; and, though so rigid a reformer among his scottish friends, his conscience does not seem to have prevented him from paying all the court he could to his catholic sovereign. in the course of his conversation with her, he carefully avoided every subject which might have been disagreeable to mary. he beseeched her to believe, that she would not find the remotest occasion for any foreign troops in scotland, as the whole nation was prepared faithfully to obey her. this assurance was true, as it turned out; but it is not quite certain whether the prior of st andrews was thinking, at the time, so much of its truth, as of its being convenient, for various reasons, that mary should have no standing force, at her command, in her own kingdom. mary gave to her brother the same general sort of answer that she had previously given to lesly. at the same time, she was secretly disposed to attribute greater weight to his arguments, and treat him with higher consideration, for a reason which melville furnishes. it appears that the french noblemen, who, on the conclusion of peace with england had returned from scotland, had all assured her, that she would find it most for her interest to associate in her councils the leaders of the reformers,--particularly the prior himself,--the earl of argyle, who had married her natural sister, the lady jane stuart,--and maitland of lethington. it is worthy of notice, that, affairs of state having been discussed, the prior ventured to speak a word or two for his own interest. he requested that the earldom of murray might be conferred on him, and the queen promised to attend to his request on her return to scotland. having thus prudently discharged his commission, the lord james took his leave, visiting elizabeth on his way home, as he had already done before passing over into france. about the same time, many of the scotch nobility, in anticipation of her speedy return, came to pay their duty to the queen, and, among them, was the celebrated earl of bothwell.[ ] chapter vi. mary's return to scotland, and previous negotiations with elizabeth. elizabeth being informed of mary's intended movements, thought the opportunity a favourable one, for adjusting with her one or two of their mutual disagreements. mary's refusal to ratify the celebrated treaty of edinburgh, had particularly galled the english queen. most of the essential articles of that treaty had already been carried into effect; and as francis and mary had sent their ambassadors into scotland with full powers, they were bound according to the ordinary laws of diplomacy, to agree to whatever concessions their plenipotentiaries made. but, as robertson has remarked, cecil "had proved greatly an overmatch for monluc." in the sixth article, which was by far the most offensive to the scottish queen, he had got the french delegates to consent to a declaration, that francis and mary should abstain from using and bearing the title and arms of the kingdom of england, not only during the life of elizabeth, but "_in all times coming_." there was here so palpable a departure from all law and justice, that, if there was ever a case in which a sovereign was justified in refusing to sanction the blunders of his representatives, it was this. robertson's observations on the point are forcible and correct. "the ratification of this article," says he, "would have been of the most fatal consequence to mary. the crown of england was an object worthy of her ambition. her pretensions to it gave her great dignity and importance in the eyes of all europe. by many, her title was esteemed preferable to that of elizabeth. among the english themselves, the roman catholics, who formed at that time a numerous and active party, openly espoused this opinion; and even the protestants, who supported elizabeth's throne, could not deny the queen of scots to be her immediate heir. a proper opportunity to avail herself of all these advantages, could not, in the course of things, be far distant, and many incidents might fall in to bring this opportunity nearer than was expected. in these circumstances, mary, by ratifying the article in dispute, would have lost that rank which she had hitherto held among neighbouring princes; the zeal of her adherents must have gradually cooled; and she might have renounced, from that moment, all hopes of ever wearing the english crown." mary, therefore, cannot be, in fairness, blamed for her conduct regarding this treaty. but, as has been already said, she allowed herself to be persuaded to a very great imprudence, when she advanced, what she declared to be a present and existing claim on the english crown. this was an aggravation of the offence, which elizabeth could never pardon. she determined to retort upon mary, as efficiently though not quite so directly. she found means to hint to her friends in scotland, that it would not be disagreeable to her, were the earl of arran, eldest son of the duke of chatelherault, and, after his father, presumptive heir to the throne, to propose himself to her as a husband. this was accordingly done, and must have touched mary very closely, especially as she had no children by her husband francis. but as elizabeth had never any serious intention of accepting of arran's proposals, she was resolved upon taking another and much more unjustifiable method of harassing mary. knowing that she possessed the command of the seas, the english queen imagined that she had it in her power to prevent, if she chose, mary's return to her own kingdom. before granting her, therefore, as in common courtesy she was bound to do, a free passage, she determined on seizing the opportunity for again pressing the ratification of the treaty of edinburgh. with this view, she desired sir nicolas throckmorton, her ambassador at paris, to wait on the queen of scots, ostensibly to congratulate her on her recovery from an attack of ague, but in reality to press this matter upon her attention. the audience which mary granted to throckmorton upon this occasion, together with another which she gave him a few weeks afterwards, introduce us to her, for the first time, acting for herself, in her public and important capacity of queen of scotland. all historians unite in expressing their admiration of the talented and dignified manner in which she conducted herself, though only in her nineteenth year. we have fortunately a full account of both conferences, furnished by sir nicolas throckmorton himself, in his letters to the queen of england. the ambassador, on his first interview, having expressed elizabeth's happiness at mary's recovery, proceeded to renew the demand which had so frequently been made to her regarding the treaty of edinburgh. mary, in answer, said, that she begged to thank the queen her good sister for her congratulations, and though she was not yet in perfect health, she thanked god for her evident convalescence. as to the treaty of edinburgh, she begged to postpone giving any final answer in the affair until she had taken the advice of the nobles and estates of her own realm. "for though this matter," she said, "doth touch me principally, yet doth it also touch the nobles and estates of my realm; and, therefore, it is meet that i use their advice therein. heretofore they have seemed to be grieved that i should do any thing without them, and now they would be more offended if i should proceed in this matter of myself without their advice." she added, that she intended to return home soon, and that she was about to send an ambassador to elizabeth, to require of her the common favour of a free passage which princes usually ask of each other in such cases. in a spirit of conciliation and sound policy, she concluded with these words. "though the terms wherein we have stood heretofore have been somewhat hard, yet i trust, that from henceforth we shall accord together as cousins and good neighbours. i mean to retire all the frenchmen from scotland who have given jealousy to the queen my sister, and miscontent to my subjects; so that i will leave nothing undone to satisfy all parties, trusting the queen my good sister will do the like, and that from henceforth none of my disobedient subjects shall find aid or support at her hands."--seeing that mary was not to be moved from the position she had taken regarding this treaty, throckmorton went on to sound her upon the subject of religion. his object was to ascertain what course she intended to pursue towards the scottish reformers. mary stated to him distinctly her views upon this important matter, and there was a consistency and moderation in them hardly to have been expected from the niece of the cardinal of lorraine, had we not been previously aware of the strength of her superior mind. "i will be plain with you," said she to the ambassador. "the religion which i profess i take to be most acceptable to god; and indeed, i neither know, nor desire to know, any other. constancy becometh all people well, but none better than princes, and such as have rule over realms, and especially in matters of religion. i have been brought up in this religion, and who might credit me in any thing if i should show myself light in this case." "i am none of those," she added, "that will change their religion every year; _but i mean to constrain none of my subjects, though i could wish that they were all as i am; and i trust they shall have no support to constrain me_." it will be seen, in the sequel, whether mary ever deviated for a moment from the principles she here laid down. throckmorton ventured to ask, if she did not think many errors had crept into her church, and whether she had ever seriously weighed the arguments in support of the reformed opinions. "though i be young, and not well learned," she replied modestly, "yet have i heard this matter oft disputed by my uncle,--my lord cardinal, with some that thought they could say somewhat in the matter; and i found no great reason to change my opinion. but i have oft heard him confess, that great errors have come into the church, and great disorder among the ministers and clergy, of which errors and disorders he wished there might be a reformation." here this conference concluded.[ ] elizabeth, as soon as she understood that mary waited for the advice of her privy counsellors and her parliament, before ratifying the treaty of edinburgh, addressed a letter to the "states of scotland," as she was pleased to term them, but, in point of fact, only to her old allies the lords of the congregation. the object of this letter was to convey, in haughty and even insolent terms, a threat that, unless they secured their queen's assent to the treaty, they might cease to look for any aid or protection from her. in other words, its meaning was this:--through my interference, you have been able to establish the new gospel; your queen you know to be a catholic; and as it is not unlikely that she may associate in her councils your old enemies the catholic nobility, it is in me you trust to enable you to rebel successfully against your lawful sovereign. but i have no intention to give you my support for nothing; and unless your reformed consciences will permit of your insisting that mary stuart shall sign away her hereditary right of succession to the english throne, i shall henceforth have nothing more to do with you. no other interpretation can be put on such expressions as the following, couched in terms whose meaning sophistry itself could not hide. "in a matter so profitable to both the realms, we think it strange that your queen hath no better advice; and therefore we do require ye all, being the states of that realm upon whom the burden resteth, to consider this matter deeply, and to make us answer whereunto we may trust. and if you shall think meet, she shall thus leave the peace imperfect, by breaking of her solemn promise, contrary to the order of all princes, we shall be well content to accept your answer, and shall be as careless to see the peace kept, as ye shall give us cause; and doubt not, by the grace of god, but whosoever of ye shall incline thereto, shall soonest repent. you must be content with our plain writing." to this piece of "plain writing," the reformers, probably at the instigation of the lord james, sent a submissive and cringing answer. "your majesty," they say, "may be well assured, that in us shall be noted no blame, if that peace be not ratified to your majesty's contentment."--"the benefit that we have received is so recent, that we cannot suddenly bury it in forgetfulness. we would desire your majesty rather to be persuaded of us, that we, to our powers, will study to leave it in remembrance to our posterity." in other words,--whatever our own queen mary may determine on doing, we shall remain steady to your interests, and would much rather quarrel with her than with you. to this state of mind had elizabeth's machinations contrived to bring the majority of the young queen's subjects.[ ] in the meantime, mary had sent an ambassador into england to demand a safe conduct for her approaching voyage. this was expressly refused; and throckmorton was again ordered to request an audience with mary, to explain the motives of this refusal. "in this conference," observes robertson, "mary exerted all that dignity and vigour of mind of which she was so capable, and at no period of her life, were her abilities displayed to greater advantage." throckmorton had recourse to the endless subject of the treaty of , or, as it is more commonly called, the treaty of edinburgh, as the apology his mistress offered for having, with studied disrespect, denied the suit made by mary's ambassador, in the presence of a numerous audience,--a direct breach of courtly etiquette. mary, before answering throckmorton, commanded all her attendants to retire, and then said,--"i like not to have so many witnesses of my passions as the queen, your mistress, was content to have, when she talked with m. d'oysel. there is nothing that doth more grieve me, than that i did so forget myself, as to require of the queen, your mistress, that favour, which i had no need to ask. i may pass well enough home into my own realm, i think, without her passport or license; for, though the late king, your master, used all the impeachment he could, both to stay me and catch me, when i came hither, yet you know, m. l'ambassadeur, i came hither safely, and i may have as good means to help me home again, if i could employ my friends." "it seemeth," she added, with much truth, "that the queen, your mistress, maketh more account of the amity of my disobedient subjects, than she doth of me, their sovereign, who am her equal in degree, though inferior in wisdom and experience, her nighest kinswoman, and her next neighbour." she then proceeded very forcibly to state, once more, her reasons for refusing to ratify the treaty. it had been made, she said, during the life of francis ii., who, as her lord and husband, was more responsible for it than she. upon his death, she ceased to look for advice to the council of france, neither her uncles nor her own subjects, nor elizabeth herself, thinking it meet, that she should be guided by any council but that of scotland. there were none of her ministers with her; the matter was important; it touched both them and her; and she, therefore, considered it her duty to wait, till she should get the opinions of the wisest of them. as soon as she did, she undertook to send elizabeth whatever answer might appear to be reasonable. "the queen, your mistress," observed mary, "saith that i am young; she might say that i were as foolish as young, if i would, in the state and country that i am in, proceed to such a matter, of myself, without any counsel; for that which was done by the king, my late lord and husband, must not be taken to be my act; and yet i will say, truly, unto ye, and as god favours me, i did never mean otherwise, unto the queen, your mistress, than becometh me to my good sister and cousin, nor meant her any more harm than to myself. god forgive them that have otherwise persuaded her, if there be any such." it may seem strange, that as the sixth article was the only one in the whole treaty of edinburgh, which occasioned any disagreement, it was not proposed to make some alteration in it, which might have rendered it satisfactory to all parties. mary would have had no objection to have given up all claim upon the crown of england, during the lifetime of elizabeth, and in favour of children born by her in lawful wedlock,--if, failing these children, her own right was acknowledged. there could have been little difficulty, one would have thought, in expressing the objectionable article accordingly. but this amendment would not by any means have suited the views of elizabeth.[ ] to have acknowledged mary's right of succession would have been at once to have pointed out to all the catholics of europe, the person to whom they were to pay their court, on account not only of her present influence, but of the much greater which awaited her. besides, it might have had the appearance of leaving it doubtful, whether elizabeth's possession of the throne was not conceded to her, more as a favour than as a right. this extreme jealousy on the part of the english queen, originated in mary having imprudently allowed herself to be persuaded to bear the arms of england, diversely quartered with her own, at the time elizabeth was first called to the crown. at the interview we have been describing, throckmorton, being silenced with regard to the ratification of the treaty, thought he might with propriety advert to this other subject of complaint. "i refer it to your own judgment, madam," said he, "if any thing can be more prejudicial to a prince, than to usurp the title and interest belonging to him." mary's answer deserves particular attention. "m. l'ambassadeur," said she, "i was then under the commandment of king henry my father, and of the king my lord and husband; and whatsoever was then done by their order and commandments, the same was in like manner continued until both their deaths; _since which time, you know i neither bore the arms, or used the title of england_. methinks," she added, "these my doings might ascertain the queen your mistress, that that which was done before, was done by commandment of them that had power over me; and also, in reason, she ought to be satisfied, seeing i (now) order my doings, as i tell ye." with this answer throckmorton took his leave.[ ] seeing that matters could not be more amicably adjusted, mary prepared to return home, independent of elizabeth's permission. yet it was not without many a bitter regret that she thought of leaving all the fascinations of her adopted country, france. when left alone, she was frequently found in tears; and it is more than probable, that, as miss benger has expressed it, "there were moments when mary recoiled with indescribable horror from the idea of living in scotland--where her religion was insulted, and her sex contemned; where her mother had languished in misery, and her father sunk into an untimely grave." at last, however, the period arrived when it was necessary for her to bid a final adieu to the scenes and friends of her youth. she had delayed from month to month, as if conscious that, in leaving france, she was about to part with happiness. she had originally proposed going so early as the spring of , but it was late in july before she left paris; and as she lingered on the way, first at st germains, and afterwards at calais, august was well advanced before she set sail. the spring of this year, says brantome poetically, was so backward, that it appeared as if it would never put on its robe of flowers; and thus gave an opportunity to the gallants of the court to assert, that it wore so doleful a garb to testify its sorrow for the intended departure of mary stuart.[ ] she was accompanied as far as st germains by catharine de medicis, and nearly all the french court. her six uncles, anne of este, and many other ladies and gentlemen of distinction, proceeded on with her to calais. the historians castelnau and brantome were both of the queen's retinue, and accompanied her to scotland. at calais she found four vessels, one of which was fitted up for herself and friends, and a second for her escort; the two others were for the furniture she took with her. elizabeth, meanwhile, was not inattentive to the proceedings of the scottish queen. through the agency of her minister, cecil, she had been anxiously endeavouring to discover whether she would render herself particularly obnoxious either to catharine de medicis, or the leading men in scotland, by making herself mistress of mary's person on her passage homewards, and carrying her a prisoner into england. her ambassador, throckmorton, had given her good reason to believe that catharine was not disposed to be particularly warm in mary's defence.[ ] as to scotch interference, camden expressly informs us, that the lord james, when he passed through england on his return from france, warned elizabeth of mary's intended movements, and advised that she should be intercepted. this assertion, though its truth has been doubted, is rendered exceedingly probable by the contents of two letters, which have been preserved. the first is from throckmorton, who assures elizabeth that the lord james deserves her most particular esteem;--"your majesty," he says, "may, in my opinion, make good account of his constancy towards you; and so he deserveth to be well entertained and made of by your majesty, as one that may stand ye in no small stead for the advancement of your majesty's desire. since his being here (in france), he hath dealt so frankly and liberally with me, that i must believe he will so continue after his return home."[ ] the other letter is from maitland of lethington, one of the ablest men among the scotch reformers, and the personal friend and co-adjutor of the lord james, to sir william cecil. in this letter he says;--"i do also allow your opinion anent the queen our sovereign's journey towards scotland, whose coming hither, if she be enemy to the religion, and so affected towards that realm as she yet appeareth, shall not fail to raise wonderful tragedies." he then proceeds to point out, that, as elizabeth's object, for her own sake, must be to prevent the catholics from gaining ground in scotland, her best means of obtaining such an object, is to prevent a queen from returning into the kingdom, who "shall so easily win to her party the whole papists, and so many protestants as be either addicted to the french faction, covetous, inconstant, uneasy, ignorant, or careless."--"so long as her highness is absent," he adds, "in this case there is no peril; but you may judge what the presence of a prince being craftily counselled is able to bring to pass." "for my opinion," he concludes, "anent the continuance of amity betwixt these two realms, there is no danger of breach so long as the queen is absent; but her presence may alter many things."[ ] to make assurance doubly sure, cecil desired randolph, the english resident in scotland, to feel the pulse of the nobility. on the th of august , only a few days before mary sailed from france, randolph wrote from edinburgh an epistle to cecil, in which he assures him that it will be a "stout adventure for a _sick crazed woman_," (a singular mode of designating mary), to venture home to a country so little disposed to receive her. "i have shewn your honour's letters," he says, "unto the lord james, lord morton, lord lethington; _they wish, as your honour doth, that she might be stayed yet for a space; and if it were not for their obedience sake, some of them care not tho' they never saw her face_."--and again--"whatsomever cometh of this, he (lethington), findeth it ever best that she come not." knox also, it seems, had been written to, and had expressed his resolution to resist to the last mary's authority. "by such letters as ye have last received," says randolph, "your honour somewhat understandeth of mr knox himself, and also of others, what is determined,--he himself to abide the uttermost, and others never to leave him, until god hath taken his life."--"his daily prayer is, for the maintenance of unity with england, and that god will never suffer men to be so ungrate as by any persuasion to run headlong unto the destruction of them that have saved their lives, and restored their country to liberty."[ ] elizabeth having thus felt her way, and being satisfied that she might with safety pursue her own inclinations, was determined not to rest contented with the mere refusal of passports. throckmorton was ordered to ascertain exactly when and how mary intended sailing. the scottish queen became aware of his drift, from some questions he put to her, and said to him cuttingly,--"i trust the wind will be so favourable, as i shall not need to come on the coast of england; and if i do, then m. l'ambassadeur, the queen, your mistress, shall have me in her hands to do her will of me; and if she be so hard-hearted as to desire my end, she may then do her pleasure, and make sacrifice of me. peradventure, that casualty might be better for me than to live." throckmorton, however, made good his point, and was able to inform elizabeth that mary would sail either from havre-de-grace or calais, and that she would first proceed along the coast of flanders, and then strike over to scotland. for the greater certainty, he suggested the propriety of some spies being sent across to the french coast, who would give the earliest intelligence of her movements. profiting by this and other information, all the best historians of the time agree in stating, that elizabeth sent a squadron to sea with all expedition. it was only a thick and unexpected fog which prevented these vessels from falling in with that in which mary sailed. the smaller craft which carried her furniture, they did meet with, and, believing them to be the prize they were in search of, they boarded and examined them. one ship they detained, in which was the earl of eglinton, and some of mary's horses and mules, and, under the pretence of suspecting it of piracy, actually carried it into an english harbour. the affectation of "clearing the seas from pirates," as cecil expresses it, was a mere after-thought, invented to do away with the suspicion which attached itself to this unsuccessful attempt. its real purpose was openly talked of at the time. sir nicholas bacon, lord keeper, in a speech he made at a meeting of the privy council in , said frankly,--"think ye that the scottish queen's suit, made in all friendly manner, to come through england at the time she left france, and the denial thereof, unless the treaty were ratified, is by them forgotten, or else your sending of your ships to sea at the time of her passage?" camden, holinshed, spottiswoode, stranguage, and buchanan, all speak to the same effect; and elizabeth's intentions, though frustrated, hardly admit of a doubt.[ ] on the th of august , mary sailed out of the harbour of calais,--not without shedding, and seeing shed many tears. she did not, however, part with all the friends who had accompanied her to the coast. three of her uncles,--the duke d'aumale, the marquis d'elbeuf, and the grand prior,--the duke danville, son to montmorency, and afterwards constable of france, one of the most ardent and sincere admirers that mary perhaps ever had,--and many other persons of rank, among whom was the unfortunate poet chatelard, who fluttered like a moth round the light in which he was to be consumed,--sailed with her for scotland. just as she left the harbour, an unfortunate accident happened to a vessel, which, by unskilful management, struck upon the bar, and was wrecked within a very short distance of her own galley. "this is a sad omen," she exclaimed, weeping. a gentle breeze sprang up; the sails were set, and the little squadron got under way, consisting, as has been said, of only four vessels, for mary dreaded lest her subjects should suppose that she was coming home with any military force. the feelings of "_la reine blanche_," as the french termed her, from the white mourning she wore for francis, were at all times exceedingly acute. on the present occasion, her grief amounted almost to despair. as long as the light of day continued, she stood immoveable on the vessel's deck, gazing with tearful eyes upon the french coast, and exclaiming incessantly,--"farewell, france! farewell, my beloved country!" when night approached, and her friends beseeched her to retire to the cabin, she hid her face in her hands, and sobbed aloud. "the darkness which is now brooding over france," said she, "is like the darkness in my own heart." a little afterwards, she added,--"i am unlike the carthaginian dido, for she looked perpetually on the sea, when Æneas departed, whilst all my regards are for the land." having caused a bed to be made for her on deck, she wept herself asleep, previously enjoining her attendants to waken her at the first peep of day, if the french coast was still visible. her wishes were gratified; for during the night the wind died away, and the vessel made little progress. mary rose with the dawn, and feasted her eyes once more with a sight of france. at sunrise, however, the breeze returned, and the galley beginning to make way, the land rapidly receded in the distance. again her tears burst forth, and again she exclaimed,--"farewell, beloved france! i shall never, never, see you more." in the depth of her sorrow, she even wished that the english fleet, which she conjectured had been sent out to intercept her, would make its appearance, and render it necessary for her to seek for safety, by returning to the port from whence she had sailed. but no interruption of this kind occurred.[ ] it is more than likely, that it was during this voyage mary composed the elegant and simple little song, so expressive of her genuine feelings on leaving france. though familiarly known to every reader, we cannot deny ourselves the pleasure of inserting it here. adieu, plaisant pays de france! o my patrie, la plus cherie; qui a nourri ma jeune enfance. adieu, france! adieu, mes beaux jours! la nef qui déjoint mes amours, n'à cy de moi que la moitié; une parte te reste; elle est tienne; je la fie à ton amitié, pour que de l'autre il te souvienne![ ] brantome, who sailed in the same vessel with mary, and gives a particular account of all the events of this voyage, mentions, that the day before entering the frith of forth, so thick a mist came on, that it was impossible to see from the poop to the prow. by way of precaution, lest they should run foul of any other vessel, a lantern was lighted, and set at the bow. this gave chatelard occasion to remark, that it was taking a very unnecessary piece of trouble, so long at least as mary stuart remained upon deck, and kept her eyes open. when the mist, at length, cleared away, they found their vessel in the midst of rocks, from which it required much skill and no little labour to get her clear. mary declared, that so far as regarded her own feelings, she would not have looked upon shipwreck as a great calamity; but that she would not wish to see the lives of the friends who were with her endangered (among whom not the least dear were her four maries), for all the kingdom of scotland. she added, that as a bad omen had attended her departure so this thick fog seemed to be but an evil augury at her arrival. at length, the harbour of leith appeared in sight, and mary's eye rested, for the first time, upon arthur seat and the castle of edinburgh. chapter vii. mary's arrival at holyrood, with sketches of her principal nobility. mary landed in scotland with a mind full of anxiety and uncertainty. she came alone and unprotected, to assume the government of a country which had long been distinguished for its rebellious turbulence. the masculine spirit of her father had quailed before the storm. her mother, whose intellectual energy she well knew, had in vain attempted to bring order out of confusion, and harassed and worn out, had at length surrendered her life in the struggle. for the last two years, it is true, the country had enjoyed, not peace and tranquillity, but a cessation from an actual state of warfare. nevertheless, the seeds of discontent, and of mutual distrust and hatred, were as abundant as ever. mary's religion was well known; and her confirmed devotion to it, was by one party magnified into bigotry, and pronounced criminal; whilst by another, it was feared she would show herself too lukewarm in revenging the insults which the ancient worship had sustained. such being the state of things, how could a young, and comparatively inexperienced queen, just nineteen years of age, approach her kingdom otherwise than with fear and trembling? contrasted too with her former situation, that which she was now about to fill, appeared particularly formidable. in france, even during the life of her husband, and while at the very height of her power, few of the severer duties of government rested upon her. she had all the essential authority, without much of the responsibility of a sovereign. francis consulted her upon every occasion, and followed her advice in almost every matter in which she chose to interfere; but it was to him, or her uncles of guise, that the nation looked, when any of the state-machinery went wrong. it would be very different in scotland. by whatever counsel she acted, the blame of all unpopular measures would be sure to rest with her. if she favoured the protestants, the catholics would renounce her; if she assisted the catholics, the protestants would again be found assembling at perth, listening, with arms in their hands, to the sermons of john knox, pulling down the remaining monasteries, and subscribing additional covenants. is it surprising then, that she found it difficult to steer her course between the rocks of scylla and the whirlpools of charybdis? if misfortunes ultimately overtook her, the wonder unquestionably ought to be, not that they ever arrived, but that they should have been guarded against so long. nothing but the wisest and most temperate policy, could have preserved quietness in a country so full of the elements of internal discord. mary's system of government throughout all its ramifications, must have been such as no queen of her age could have established, had there not been more than an empty compliment, in those lines of buchanan, in which he addresses his royal mistress as one "quae sortem antevenis meritis, virtutibus annos, sexum animis, morum nobilitate genus." there is, besides, a natural feeling of loyalty, which, though it may be evanescent, hardly fails to be kindled in the breasts of the populace, at the sight of their native sovereign. the scots, though they frequently were far from being contented with the measures pursued by their monarchs, have been always celebrated for their attachment to their persons. mary, on her first landing, became aware of this truth. as soon as it was known that she intended returning from all the splendours of france, to the more homely comforts of the land of her birth, the people, flattered by the preference she was about to show them, abated somewhat of their previous asperity. they were the more pleased, that she came to them, not as the queen of france, who might have regarded scotland as only a province of her empire, but as their own exclusive and independent sovereign. they recollected that she had been at the disposal of the estates of the country, from the time she was seven days old, and they almost felt as if she had been a child of their own rearing. they knew, also, that she had made a narrow escape in crossing the seas; and the confidence she evidently placed in them, by casting anchor in leith roads, with only two galleys, did not pass unnoticed. but she had arrived sooner than was expected; for, so little were they aware of her intended motions, that when her two ships were first observed in the frith, from the castle of edinburgh, no suspicion was entertained that they carried the queen and her suite. it was not, till a royal salute was fired in the roads, that her arrival was positively known, and that the people began to flock in crowds to the shore. on the th or st of august, , the queen landed at leith. here she was obliged to remain the whole day, as the preparations for her reception at holyroodhouse were not completed. the multitude continued in the interval to collect at leith, and on the roads leading to the palace. on the road between leith and restalrig, and from thence to the abbey, the different trades and corporations of edinburgh were drawn up in order, lining the way with their banners and bands of music. towards evening, horses were brought for the queen and her attendants. when mary saw them, accustomed as she had been to the noble and richly caparisoned steeds of the parisian tournaments, she was struck both with the inferiority of their breed, and the poorness of their furnishings. she sighed, and could not help remarking the difference to some of her friends. "but they mean well," said she, "and we must be content." as she passed along, she was every where greeted with enthusiastic shouts of applause--the involuntary homage which the beauty of her countenance, the elegance of her person, and the graceful dignity of her bearing, could not fail to draw forth. bonfires were lighted in all directions; and though illuminations were then but indifferently understood in scotland, something of the kind seems to have been attempted. on her arrival at the palace, all the musicians of edinburgh collected below her windows, and in strains of most discordant music continued all night to testify their joy for her return. some of the more rigid reformers, willing to yield in their own way to the general feeling, assembled together in a knot, and sung psalms in her honour. among the musical instruments, the bagpipes were preeminently distinguished, which, not exactly suiting the uncultivated taste of brantome, he pathetically exclaims, "he! quelle musique! et quel repos pour sa nuit!"[ ] it is worth while remarking here, how knox, in his history of the reformation, betrays his chagrin at the affectionate manner in which mary was received. "the very face of the heavens, at the time of her arrival," he says, "did manifestly speak what comfort was brought into this country with her, by sorrow, dolor, darkness, and all impiety; for in the memory of man that day of the year was never seen a more dolorous face of the heavens, than was at her arrival, which two days after did so continue; for, besides the surface wet, and the corruption of the air, the mist was so thick and dark, that scarce could any man espy another the length of two pair of butts. the sun was not seen to shine two days before, nor two days after. that forewarning gave god to us, but alas! the most part were blind."[ ] knox proceeds to reprobate, in the severest terms, the unhallowed amusements which mary permitted at holyroodhouse. "so soon as ever her french fillocks, fiddlers, and others of that band, got the house alone, there might be seen skipping not very comely for honest women. her common talk was, in secret, that she saw nothing in scotland but gravity, which was altogether repugnant to her nature, for she was brought up in joyeusitye." if knox really believed in the omens he talks of, or thought the less of a young and beautiful woman for indulging in innocent recreation, his judgment is to be pitied. if he, in truth, did not give any credence to the one, and saw no sin in the other, his candour and sincerity cannot be very highly praised. m'crie, the able but too partial biographer of knox, and the defender of all his errors and failings, speaking of mary at this period, says;--"nursed from her infancy in a blind attachment to the roman catholic religion, every means had been employed before she left france, to strengthen this prejudice, and to inspire her with aversion to the religion which had been embraced by her people. she was taught that it would be the great glory of her reign, to reduce her kingdom to the obedience of the romish see, and to co-operate with the popish princes on the continent in extirpating heresy. with these fixed prepossessions, mary came into scotland, and she adhered to them with singular pertinacity to the end of her life."[ ] the whole of this statement is in the highest degree erroneous. we have seen that mary was _not_ nursed in a blind attachment to the catholic religion--some of her best friends, and even one or two of her preceptors, being attached to the new opinions. we have seen, that so far from having any "prejudice" strengthened before she left france, she was expressly advised to give her support to the reformers; and we have heard from her own lips, her mature determination to tolerate every species of worship throughout her kingdom. that she ever thought of "co-operating with the popish princes of the continent, that she might reduce her kingdom to the obedience of the romish see, and extirpate heresy," will be discovered immediately to be a particularly preposterous belief, when we find her intrusting the reins of government to the leaders of the reformed party. to this system of moderation, much beyond that of the age in which she lived, mary adhered, "with singular pertinacity, to the end of her life." m'crie, in proof of his gratuitous assertions, affirms, that she never examined the subjects of controversy between the papists and protestants. this also is incorrect, as he would have known, had he read that letter of throckmorton's, in which, as has been seen, she informed the ambassador of the frequent opportunities she had enjoyed of hearing the whole matter discussed in the presence of the cardinal lorraine; and the confession which that discussion extorted both from the cardinal and herself, of the necessity of some reformation among the catholics, though not to the extent to which the protestants pushed it. m'crie further objects, that mary never went to hear knox, or any of the reformed divines, preach. knox, from the invariable contempt with which he affected to treat mary, no doubt particularly deserved such a compliment; and as to the other divines, by all of whom she was hated, what would have been the use of leaving her own chapel to listen to sermons which could not have altered the firm conviction of her mind, and which, consequently, it would have been hypocrisy to pretend to admire? we return from this digression. the nobility, who now flocked to holyrood from all parts of the country, constituted that portion of the inhabitants of scotland, who, for many centuries, had exercised almost unlimited influence over their native sovereigns. their mutual dissensions during the late long minority, had a good deal weakened their respective strength; and the progress of time was gradually softening the more repulsive features of the feudal system. but still the scottish barons deemed themselves indispensable to the councils of their monarch, and entitled to deliver opinions, which they expected would be followed, on every affair of state. they collected at present, under the influence of a thousand contending interests and wishes. with some of the more distinguished figures in the group, it will be necessary to make the reader better acquainted. of the lord james, who was now shortly to become the earl of murray, the title by which he is best known in scottish history, a good deal has already been said. that he must secretly have regretted his sister's return to scotland, may be safely concluded, from the facts formerly stated. he was too skilful a politician, however, to betray his disappointment. had he openly ventured to oppose mary, the result would have been at all events uncertain, and his own ruin might have been the ultimate consequence. he considered it more prudent to use every means in his power to conciliate her friendship; and wrought so successfully, that before long, he found himself the person of by far the most consequence in the kingdom. mary, perhaps, trusted too implicitly to his advice, and left too much to his controul; yet it is difficult to see how she could have managed otherwise. it is but fair also to add, that for several years murray continued to keep his ambition (which, under a show of moderation, was in truth enormous) within bounds. nor does there appear to be any evidence sufficient to stamp murray with that deeper treachery and blacker guilt, which some writers have laid to his charge. the time, however, is not yet arrived for considering his conduct in connexion with the darker events of mary's reign. the leading fault of his administration is, that it was double-faced. in all matters of importance, he allowed himself to be guided as much by the wishes of elizabeth, secretly communicated to him, as by those of his own sovereign. he probably foresaw that, if he ever quarrelled with mary, it would be through the assistance of the english queen alone he could hope to retrieve his fortunes. this subservience to elizabeth, among those in whom she confided, was, indeed, the leading misfortune of mary's reign. had her counsellors been unbiassed, and her subjects undistracted by english intrigue, her prudent conduct would have got the better of the internal dissensions in her kingdom, and she would have governed in peace, perhaps in happiness. but it was elizabeth's jealous and narrow-minded policy, to prevent, if possible, this consummation. with infinite art, and, if the term is not debased by its application, with no little ability, she accomplished her wishes, principally through the agency of the ambitious and the self-interested, among mary's ministers. one of these, the earl of murray, unquestionably was. at the time of which we are writing, he was in his thirty-first year, possessing considerable advantages both of face and person, but of reserved, austere, and rather forbidding manners. murray's mother, who was the lady margaret erskine, daughter of lord erskine, had married sir robert douglas of lochleven. he had also, as has been mentioned, several illegitimate brothers, particularly lord john and lord robert, and one sister, jane, who married the earl of argyle, and to whom mary became very sincerely attached. associated with the earl of murray, both as a leader of the reformers, and as a servant of elizabeth, but not allowing his ambitious views to carry him quite so far as the earl, was william maitland of lethington, mary's secretary of state. he was the eldest son of sir richard maitland of lethington, and was about five years older than murray. he had been educated at the university of st andrews, and had travelled a good deal on the continent, where he studied civil law. john knox, in his history, claims the honour of having converted maitland to the reformed opinions. whether this be true or not, it is certain that, after having for some time co-operated with mary of guise, he finally deserted her, and continued to act with the reformers, as secretary of state, an office to which he had been appointed for life, in . it has been already seen, that a close and confidential intercourse subsisted between him and cecil; and that he too would have been glad, had mary's return to scotland been prevented. that maitland possessed an acute and subtle genius, there can be no doubt; that he had cultivated his mind to good purpose, and understood the art of composition as well as any man of the age, is undeniable. that his manners were more polished than those of most of the scottish nobility, is also true; but, that his talents were of that high and exquisite kind, which robertson and some other historians have described, does not appear. during his political career, many instances occur, which seem to imply a vacillating and unsteady temperament, a fault which can hardly be forgiven in a statesman. james douglas, earl of morton, another associate of murray, was one of the most powerful and least respectable of those who had embraced the reformation. restless, factious, crafty, avaricious and cruel, nothing could have saved him from general odium, but his pretended zeal for religion. this was a cloak for many sins; by flattering the vanity of knox and the other gospel-ministers, he contrived to cover the hollowness of his character, and to patch up a reputation for sanctity. in consequence of the rebellion of the earl of angus, his uncle, during the reign of james v., morton had been obliged to spend several years in england, where he lived in great poverty. but the only effect adversity had produced upon him, was a determination to be more rapacious when he recovered his power. his ambition was of a more contracted and selfish kind than murray's, and he had not so cool a head, or so cautious a hand. the duke of chatelherault, mary's nearest relation, being advanced in years, had retired from public life. the earl of arran, his son, who, it will be remembered, had been induced to propose himself as a husband for elizabeth, was of a weak and almost crazed intellect. indeed it was not long before the increasing strength of the malady made it necessary to confine him. he came to court, however, upon mary's arrival, and having been unsuccessful with elizabeth, chose to fall desperately in love with his own queen. but mary had always an aversion to him, originating no doubt in the want of delicacy towards her, which had characterized his negociations with elizabeth, and confirmed by his own presuming and disagreeable manners. his father's natural brother, the archbishop of st andrews, is the only other member of the family worth mentioning. he was still staunch to the roman catholic party; but had of late seen the wisdom of remaining quiet, and though he became rather a favourite with mary, it does not appear that he henceforth took a very active interest in public affairs.[ ] james hepburne, earl of bothwell, though some of the leading features of his character had hardly shown themselves at the period of which we speak, merits nevertheless, from the part he subsequently acted, especial notice at present. he had succeeded his father in his titles and estates in the year , when he was five or six and twenty years of age. he enjoyed not only large estates, but the hereditary offices of lord high admiral of scotland, sheriff of berwick, haddington and edinburgh, and baillie of lauderdale. with the exception of the duke of chatelherault, he was the most powerful nobleman in the southern districts of scotland. soon after coming to his titles, he began to take an active share in public business. in addition to his other offices, he was appointed the queen's lieutenant on the borders, and keeper of hermitage castle, by the queen regent, to whom he always remained faithful, in opposition to the lord james, and what was then termed the english faction. he went over to france on the death of francis ii. to pay his duty to mary, and on his return to scotland, was by her intrusted with the discharge of an important commission regarding the government. though all former differences were now supposed to have been forgotten, there was not, nor did there ever exist, a very cordial agreement between the earls of murray and bothwell. they were both about the same age, but their dispositions were very different. murray was self-possessed, full of foresight, prudent and wary. bothwell was bold, reckless, and extravagant. his youth had been devoted to every species of dissipation; and even in manhood, he seemed more intent on pleasure than on business. this was a sort of life which murray despised, and perhaps he calculated that bothwell would never aim at any other. but, though guided by no steady principles, and devoted to licentiousness, bothwell was nevertheless not the mere man of pleasure. he was all his life celebrated for daring and lawless exploits, and vanity or passion, were motives whose force he was never able to resist. unlike murray, who, when he had an end in view, made his advances towards it as cautiously as an indian hunter, bothwell dashed right through, as careless of the means by which he was to accomplish his object, as of the consequences that were to ensue. his manner was of that frank, open, and uncalculating kind, which frequently catches a superficial observer. they who did not study him more closely, were apt to imagine that he was merely a blustering, good-natured, violent, headstrong man, whose manners must inevitably have degenerated into vulgarity, had he not been nobly born, and accustomed to the society of his peers. but much more serious conclusions might have drawn by those who had penetration enough to see under the cloak of dissoluteness, in which he wrapped himself and his designs. with regard to his personal appearance, it does not seem to have been remarkably prepossessing. brantome says, that he was one of the ugliest men he had ever seen, and that his planners were correspondently outré.[ ] buchanan, who must have known bothwell well, and who draws his character with more accuracy than was to have been expected from so partial a writer, says, in his "detection:"--"was there in him any gift of eloquence, or grace of beauty, or virtue of mind, garnished with the benefits which we call of fortune? as for his eloquence and beauty, we need not make long tale of them, since both they that have seen him can well remember his countenance, his gait, and the whole form of his body, how gay it was; they that have heard him, are not ignorant of his rude utterance and blockishness." as to bothwell's religious opinions, buchanan remarks very truly, that wavering between the different factions, and despising either side, he counterfeited a love of both.[ ] such was the man of whom we shall have occasion to say so much in the course of these memoirs. in the lords ruthven and lindsay, remained unaltered all the characteristics of the ruder feudal chiefs, rendered still more repulsive by their bigoted zeal in favour of the reformed opinions. they were men of coarse and contracted minds, fit instigators to villany, or apt tools in the hands of those who were more willing to plan than to execute. opposed to all these nobles, was the great lay head of the catholic party in scotland, john, earl of huntly. his jurisdiction and influence extended over nearly the whole of the north of scotland, from aberdeen to inverness. he was born in , and had been a personal friend and favourite of james v. he ranked in parliament as the premier earl of scotland, and in , was appointed chancellor of the kingdom. he was always opposed to the english party, and had been taken prisoner at the battle of pinkie, fighting against the claims of edward vi., upon the infant mary. he made his escape, in , and as a reward for his services and sufferings, obtained, in the following year, a grant of the earldom of murray, which, however, he again resigned in . he continued faithful to the queen regent till her death. upon that occasion, we have seen that he and other nobles sent lesley, with certain proposals, to mary. he was an honourable man and a good subject, though the termination of his career was a most unfortunate one. the respect which his memory merits, is founded on the conviction, that he had too great a love for his country and sovereign ever to have consented to have made the one little better than tributary to england, or to have betrayed the other into the hands of her deadliest enemy. such were the men who were now to become mary's associates and counsellors. the names of most of them occur as members of the privy council which she constituted shortly after her return. it consisted of the duke of chatelherault, the earl of huntly, the earl of argyle, the earl of bothwell, the earl of errol, earl marschall, the earl of athol, the earl of morton, the earl of montrose, the earl of glencairn, the lord erskine, and the lord james stuart. in this council, the influence of the lord james, backed as it was by a great majority of protestant nobles, carried every thing before it. elizabeth, finding that mary had arrived safely in her own country, and had been well received there, lost no time in changing her tone towards the scottish queen. her english resident in scotland, was the celebrated randolph, whom she kept as a sort of accredited spy at mary's court. he has rendered himself notorious by the many letters he wrote to england upon scottish affairs. he had an acute, inquisitive, and gossiping turn of mind. his style is lively and amusing; and though the office he had to perform is not to be envied, he seems to have entered on it _con amore_, and with little remorse of conscience. his epistles are mostly preserved, and are valuable from containing pictures of the state of manners in scotland at the time, not to be found any where else, though not always to be depended on as accurate chronicles of fact. to randolph, the queen of england now wrote, desiring him to offer her best congratulations to mary upon her safe arrival. she sent him also a letter which he was to deliver to mary, in which she disclaimed ever having had the most distant intention of intercepting her on her voyage. mary answered elizabeth's letter with becoming cordiality. she, likewise, sent secretary maitland into england, to remain for some time as her resident at elizabeth's court. she was well aware for what purposes randolph was ordered to continue in edinburgh; and said, that as it seemed to be elizabeth's wish that he should remain, she was content, but that she would have another in england as crafty as he. maitland was certainly as crafty, but his craftiness was unfortunately too frequently directed against mary herself. chapter viii. john knox, the reformers, and the turbulent nobles. mary had been only a few days in scotland when she was painfully reminded of the excited and dangerous state of feeling which then prevailed on the important subject of religion. her great and leading desire was to conciliate all parties, and to preserve, unbroken, the public peace. with this view she had issued proclamations, charging her subjects to conduct themselves quietly; and announcing her intention to make no alteration in the form of religion as existing in the country at her arrival. notwithstanding these precautions, the first breach of civil order took place at the very palace of holyroodhouse. mary had intimated her intention to attend the celebration of a solemn mass in her chapel, on sunday the th of august, , the first sunday she spent in scotland. the reformers, as soon as they got the upper hand, had prohibited this service under severe penalties, and these principles of intolerance they were determined to maintain. mary had not interfered with their mode of worship; but this was not enough;--they considered themselves called upon to interfere with hers. in anticipation of the mass, for which she had given orders, the godly, knox tells us, met together and said,--"shall that idol be suffered again to take place within this realm? it shall not." they even repented that they had not pulled down the chapel itself at the time they had demolished most of the other religious houses; for the sparing of any place where idols were worshipped was, in their opinion, "the preserving the accursed thing." when sunday arrived, a crowd collected on the outside of the chapel; and lord lindsay, whose bigotry has been already mentioned, called out with fiery zeal,--"the idolatrous priests shall die the death, according to god's law." the catholics were insulted as they entered the chapel, and the tumult increased so much, that they feared to commence the service. at length, the lord james, whose superior discrimination taught him, that his party, by pushing things to this extremity, were doing their cause more harm than good, stationed himself at the door, and declared he would allow no evil-disposed person to enter. his influence with the godly was such, that they ventured not to proceed to violence against his will. he was a good deal blamed, however, by knox for his conduct. when the service was concluded, lord james's two brothers were obliged to conduct the priests home, as a protection to them from the insults of the people; and in the afternoon, crowds collected in the neighbourhood of the palace, who, by their disloyal language and turbulent proceedings, signified to the queen their disapprobation, that she had dared to worship her god in the manner which seemed to herself most consistent, both with the revealed and natural law. many of mary's friends, who had accompanied her from france, were so disgusted with the whole of this scene, that they announced their intention of returning sooner than they might otherwise have done. "would to god," exclaims knox, "that altogether, with the mass, they had taken good-night of the realm for ever!" on the following sunday, knox took the opportunity of preaching, what keith might have termed, another "thundering sermon" against idolatry. in this discourse he declared, that one mass was more fearful to him than ten thousand armed enemies would be, landed in any part of the realm on purpose to suppress the whole religion. no one will deny, that the earlier reformers of this and all other countries would, naturally and properly, look upon popish rites with far greater abhorrence than is done by the strictest protestants of more modern times. nor is it wonderful that the ablest men among them, (and john knox was one of those), should have given way so far to the feelings of the age, as to be unable to draw the exact line of distinction between the improvements of the new gospel, and the imperfections of the old. the faith which they established, was of a purer, simpler, and better kind than that from which they were converted. yet, making all these allowances, there does seem to have been something unnecessarily overbearing and illiberal in the spirit which animated knox and some of his followers. when contrasted with the mildness of mary at least, and even with the greater moderation observed in some of the other countries of europe, where the reformation was making no less rapid progress, the anti-catholic ardor of the good people of scotland must be allowed to have over-stepped considerably the just limits of christian forbearance. it is useful also to observe the inconsistencies which still existed in the reformed faith. whilst the catholic religion was reprobated, catholic customs springing out of that religion do not seem to have called forth any censure. on the very day on which knox preached the sermon already mentioned, a great civic banquet was given by the city of edinburgh to mary's uncles, the duke danville, and other of her french friends; and, generally speaking, sunday was, throughout the country, the favourite day for festivities of all kinds. the mark of attention paid to her relations pleased mary, but her pleasure was rendered imperfect, by perceiving how powerful and unlooked for an enemy both she and they had in john knox. aware of the liberal manner in which she had treated him and his party, she thought it hard that he should so unremittingly exert his influence to stir up men's minds against her. that this influence was of no insignificant kind, is attested by very sufficient evidence. knox was not a mere polemical churchman. his friends and admirers intrusted to him their temporal as well as spiritual interests. he was often selected as an umpire in civil disputes of importance; and persons whom the town-council had determined to punish for disorderly conduct, were continually requesting his intercession in their behalf. when differences fell out even among the nobility, he was not uncommonly employed to adjust them. he was besides, at that time, the only established clergyman in edinburgh who taught the reformed doctrines. there was a minister in the canongate, and another in the neighbouring parish of st cuthberts, but knox was _the_ minister of edinburgh. he preached in the church of st giles, which was capable of holding three thousand persons. to this numerous audience he held forth twice every sunday, and thrice on other days during the week. he was regular too in his attendance at the meetings of the synod and the general assembly, and was frequently commissioned to travel through the country to disseminate gospel truth. in , but not till then, a colleague was appointed to him. animated by a sincere desire to soften if possible our reformer's austere temper, mary requested that he might be brought into her presence two days after he had delivered his sermon against idolatry. knox had no objection whatever to this interview. to have it granted him at all would show his friends the importance attached to his character and office; and from the manner in which he determined to carry himself through it, he hoped to strengthen his reputation for bold independence of sentiment, and undeviating adherence to his principles. this was so far well; but knox unfortunately mingled rudeness with his courage, and stubbornness with his consistency. mary opened the conversation by expressing her surprise that he should have formed so very unfavourable an opinion of herself; and requested to know what could have induced him to commence his calumnies against her so far back as , when he published his book upon the "monstrous government of women."[ ] knox answered, that learned men in all ages considered their judgments free, and that, if these judgments sometimes differed from the common judgment of mankind, they were not to blame. he then ventured to compare his "first blast of the trumpet" to plato's work "on the commonwealth," observing, with much self-complacency, that both these books contained many new sentiments. he added, that what he had written was directed most especially against mary--"that wicked jezabel of england." the queen, perceiving that this was a mere subterfuge, said, "ye speak of women in general." knox confessed that he did so, but again went the length of assuring her, though the assurance seems to involve a contradiction, that he had said nothing "intended to trouble her estate." satisfied with this concession, mary proceeded to ask, why he could not teach the people a new religion without exciting them to hold in contempt the authority of their sovereign? knox found it necessary to answer this question in a somewhat round-about manner. "if all the seed of abraham," said he, "should have been of the religion of pharaoh, what religion should there have been in the world? or if all men, in the days of the roman emperors, should have been of the religion of the roman emperors, what religion should have been on the face of the earth? daniel and his fellows were subject to nebuchadnezzar and unto darius, and yet they would not be of their religion." "yea," replied mary promptly, "but none of these men raised the sword against their princes." "yet you cannot deny that they resisted," said knox, refining a little too much; "for those who obey not the commandment given them, do in some sort resist." "but yet," said the queen, perceiving the quibble, "they resisted not with the sword." the reformer felt that he had been driven into a corner, and determined to get out of it at whatever cost. "god, madam," said he, "had not given unto them the power and the means." "think ye," asked mary, "that subjects having the power may resist their princes?" "if princes exceed their bounds, madam," said knox, evidently departing from the point, "no doubt they may be resisted even by power." he proceeded to fortify this opinion with arguments of no very loyal kind; and mary, overcome by a rudeness and presumption she had been little accustomed to, was for some time silent. nay, randolph, in one of his letters, affirms that he "knocked so hastily upon her heart that he made her weep." at length she said, "i perceive then that my subjects shall obey you, and not me, and will do what they please, and not what i command; and so must i be subject to them, and not they to me." knox answered, that a subjection unto god and his church was the greatest dignity that flesh could enjoy upon the face of the earth, for it would raise it to everlasting glory. "but you are not the church that i will nourish," said mary; "i will defend the church of rome, for it is, i think, the true church of god." knox's coarse and discourteous answer shows that he was alike ignorant of the delicacy with which, in this argument, he should have treated a _lady_, and of the respect a _queen_ was entitled to demand. "your _will_, madam," said he, "is no reason; neither doth your thought make the roman harlot to be the true and immaculate spouse of jesus christ. wonder not, madam, that i call rome a harlot, for that church is altogether polluted with all kinds of spiritual fornication, both in doctrine and manners." whilst this speech must have deeply wounded the feelings of mary, a sincere catholic as she was, it cannot entitle the reformer to any praise on the score of its bravery and independence. knox knew that the whole country would, in a few days, be full of his conference with the queen. by yielding to her, he had nothing to gain; and, as his reputation was his dearest possession, he hoped to increase it by an unmanly display of his determined zeal. mary, perceiving what sort of a man she had to deal with, soon afterwards broke off the conversation.[ ] on the same day that the queen gave knox this audience, she made her first public entry into edinburgh. she rode up the canongate and high street, to the castle, where a banquet had been prepared for her. she was greeted, as she passed along, with every mark of respect and loyalty; and pains had been taken to give to the whole procession, as striking and splendid an air as possible. the town had issued proclamations, requiring the citizens to appear in their best attire, and advising the young men to assume a uniform, that they might make "the convoy before the court more triumphant." when mary left the castle after dinner, on her way back, a pageant which had been prepared was exhibited on the castle hill. the reformers could not allow this opportunity to pass, without reminding her that she was now in a country where their authority was paramount. the greater part of this pageant, represented the terrible vengeance of god upon idolaters. it was even, at one time, intended to have had a priest burned in effigy; but the earl of huntly declared, he would not allow so gross an insult to be offered to his sovereign. soon after paying this compliment to the city of edinburgh, mary determined upon making a progress through the country, that she and her subjects might become better acquainted with each other. she made this progress upon horseback, accompanied by a pretty numerous train. there appears at the time to have been only one wheeled carriage in scotland. it was a chariot, (as it is called in the treasurer's books), probably of a rude enough construction, which margaret of england brought with her when she married james iv. mary, no doubt, knew that it would have been rather adventurous to have attempted travelling on the scotch roads of that day in so frail and uncertain a vehicle. it is not, however, to be supposed, that a queen such as mary, with her lords and ladies well-mounted around her, could pass through her native country without being the object of universal admiration, even without the aid of so wonderful a piece of mechanism as a coach or a chariot. her first stage was to the palace at linlithgow. here she remained a day or two, and then proceeded to stirling. on the night of her arrival there, she made a very narrow escape. as she lay in bed asleep, a candle, that was burning beside her, set fire to the curtains; and had the light and heat not speedily awakened her, when she immediately exerted her usual presence of mind, she might have been burned to death. the populace said at the time, that this was the fulfilment of a very old prophecy, that a queen should be burned at stirling. it was only the bed, however, not the queen that was burned, so that the prophet must have made a slight mistake. on the sunday she spent at stirling, the lord james, finding perhaps, that his former apparent defence of the mass, had hurt his reputation among the reformers, corrected the error by behaving with singular impropriety in the royal chapel. he was assisted by the lord justice general, the earl of argyle, in conjunction with whom he seems to have come to actual blows with the priests. this affair was considered good sport by many. "but there were others," says randolph, alluding probably to mary, "that shed a tear or two." "it was reserved," chalmer's remarks, "for the _prime minister_ and the _justice general_, to make a riot in the house which had been dedicated to the service of god, and to obstruct the service in the queen's presence."[ ] leaving stirling, mary spent a night at lesly castle, the seat of the earl of rothes, a catholic nobleman. on the th of september she entered perth. she was everywhere welcomed with much apparent satisfaction; but in the midst of their demonstrations of affection, her subjects always took care to remind her that they were presbyterians, and that she was a papist. in the very pious town of perth, pageants greeted her arrival somewhat similar to those which had been exhibited to her on the castle hill at edinburgh. mary was not a little affected by observing this constant determination to wound her feelings. in riding through the streets of perth, she became suddenly faint, and was carried from her horse to her lodging. her acute sensibility often produced similar effects upon her health, although the cause was not understood by the unrefined multitude. with st andrews, the seat of the commendatorship of the lord james, she seems to have been most pleased, and remained there several days. she returned to edinburgh by the end of september, passing, on the way, through falkland, where her father had died. knox was much distressed at the manifestation of the popular feeling in favour of mary during this journey. he consoles himself by saying, that she polluted the towns through which she passed with her idolatry; and in allusion to the accident at stirling, remarks, "fire followed her very commonly on that journey."[ ] it was, perhaps, to counteract, in some degree, the impression which mary's affability and beauty had made upon her subjects, that soon after her return to edinburgh, a very singular proclamation was issued by the civil authorities of that town. it was couched in the following terms:--"october . . on which day the provost, baillies, council, and all the deacons, perceiving the priests, monks, friars, and others of the wicked rabble of the anti-christ the pope, to resort to this town, contrary to the tenor of a previous proclamation; therefore ordain the said proclamation, charging all monks, friars, priests, nuns, adulterers, fornicators, and all such filthy persons, to remove themselves out of this town and bounds thereof, within twenty-four hours, under the pain of carting through the town, burning on the cheek, and perpetual banishment."[ ] the insult offered to the sovereign of the realm, by thus attempting to confound the professors of the old religion with the most depraved characters in the country, was too gross to be allowed to pass unnoticed. mary did not bring these bigoted magistrates to trial,--she did not even imprison them, but with much mildness, though with no less firmness, she ordered the town-council instantly to deprive the provost and baillies of the offices they held, and to elect other better qualified persons in their stead.[ ] during the remainder of the year , the only public affairs of consequence, were the appointment of the lord james as the queen's lieutenant on the borders, where he proceeded to hold courts, and endeavoured, by great severity and many capital punishments, to reduce the turbulent districts to something like order; and the renewal on the part of queen elizabeth of the old dispute concerning the treaty of edinburgh. mary, having now had the benefit of advice from her council, without directly refusing what elizabeth asked, gave her, in pretty plain terms, to understand, that she could never think of signing away her hereditary title and interest to the crown of england. "we know," she says, in a letter she wrote to elizabeth on the subject, "how near we are descended of the blood of england, and what devices have been attempted to make us, as it were, a stranger from it. we trust, being so nearly your cousin, you would be loth we should receive so manifest an injury, as entirely to be debarred from that title, which, in possibility, may fall to us." most of mary's french friends had, by this time, returned home. her uncle, the marquis d'elbeuf, however, remained all winter with her. in losing the duke of danville, mary lost one of her warmest admirers; but it appears, that from his being already married, (though he could have obtained a divorce,) and from other considerations, mary rejected his addresses. many foreign princes were suing for the honour of her alliance, among whom were don carlos of spain, the archduke charles of austria, the king of sweden, the duke of ferrara, and the prince of condé; but mary did not yet see the necessity of an immediate marriage. among her own subjects, there were two who ventured upon confessing their attachment, and nourishing some hopes that she might be brought to view it propitiously. these were the earl of arran, already mentioned, and sir john gordon, second son of the earl of huntly. the former of these mary never liked; and though the latter far excelled him in accomplishments, both of body and mind, she does not seem to have given him encouragement either. inspired by mutual jealousy, these noblemen, of course, detested each other; but arran was the more factious and absurd. having taken offence at some slights which he supposed had been offered him, he had retired to st andrews, where he was believed, by those who knew his restless temperament, to be hatching sedition. upon one occasion--a sunday night in november--just before the queen had retired to bed, a report was suddenly spread through the palace, that arran had crossed the water at the head of a strong body of retainers, and was marching direct for holyroodhouse, with the intention of carrying off the queen to dumbarton castle, which was in the possession of his father, or to some other place of strength. this report, which gained credit, it was scarcely known how, excited the greatest alarm. mary's friends collected round her with as much speed as possible; the gates were closed, and the lords remained in arms within the court all night. arran did not make his appearance, and the panic gradually subsided,--though the nobles determined to keep guard every night for some time. this is the foundation of the assertion made by some writers, that mary kept a perpetual body guard, which, unfortunately, she never did during the whole of her reign. the duke of chatelherault, who came to court soon after, alleged, that the rumour which had gained credence against his son, was only a manoeuvre of his enemies; and though his son's conduct was, on all occasions, sufficiently outré, it is not unlikely that this allegation was true. another tumult, which soon afterwards occurred, shows how difficult it was, at this time, to preserve quietness and good order. it had been reported among the more dissolute nobles, that the daughter of a respectable merchant in edinburgh, was the _chere amie_ of the earl of arran. bothwell, always at home in any affair of this kind, undertook to introduce the marquis d'elbeuf to the lady; lord john, brother of the commendator of st andrews, was also of the party. they went to her house the first night in masks, and were admitted, and courteously entertained. returning next evening, they were disappointed to find, that the object of their admiration refused to receive their visits any longer. they proceeded, therefore, to break open the doors, and to create much disturbance in the house and neighbourhood. next day the queen was informed of their disorderly conduct, and she rebuked them sharply. but bothwell and the lord john, animated partly by their dislike to the house of hamilton, and partly by a turbulent spirit of contradiction, declared they would repeat their visit the very next night in despite of either friend or foe. their intentions being understood, the servants of the duke of chatelherault and arran thought themselves called upon to defend a lady whom their masters patronized. they assembled accordingly with jack and spear in the streets, determined to oppose force to force. bothwell wished for nothing else, and collected his friends about him in his own lodgings. the opposite party, however, increased much more rapidly than his, and began to collect in a threatening manner before his house. the magistrates saw the necessity of interfering; the alarm-bell was rung, and despatches were sent off to holyrood, to know what course was to be taken. the earls of argyle and huntly, together with the lord james, joined the civic authorities, and, proceeding out to the mob, made proclamation, that all men should instantly depart on pain of death. this had the desired effect; the streets gradually became quiet, and bothwell gave up his wild scheme. mary, next day, ordered both the duke of chatelherault and the earl of bothwell to appear before her. the first came accompanied by a crowd of protestants, and the latter with an equal number of catholics. but the queen was not to be over-awed, and having investigated the matter, bothwell was banished from court for ten days.[ ] this was only the prelude to a still more serious difference, which took place between these untamed and irascible nobles. the earl of arran appeared before the queen, and declared that a powerful conspiracy had been formed against the life of the lord james, upon whom the title of earl of mar, as preliminary to that of murray, had recently been conferred. this conspiracy, he said, had originated with himself and his father, who were beginning to tremble, lest the newly created earl's influence with the queen, might induce her to set aside the hamilton succession, in favour of her illegitimate brother. that the earl of mar had really proposed some such arrangement, seems to be established on good authority.[ ] the earl of huntly, together with mar's old enemy, bothwell, had been induced by the hamiltons to join in this plot. the intention was, to shoot the earl of mar when hunting with the queen, to obtain for the hamiltons his authority in the government, and to give the catholic party greater weight in the state. huntly's eldest son, the lord gordon, was also implicated in arran's confession. a few days before the whole of these plans were to be carried into execution, the weak and vacillating arran, according to his own declaration, had been seized with remorse of conscience; and, actuated by his ancient friendship for mar, and his love for the queen, determined on disclosing every thing. historians seem to have been puzzled, what degree of dependence they should place upon the truth of this strange story, told by one who was already half crazed, and soon afterwards altogether insane. that there is good reason, however, for giving credit to his assertions, is evident, from the manner in which all contemporary writers speak, and the fact, that the queen sent both him and bothwell to prison. when the affair was further investigated, it was found to involve so many of the first nobility of the land, and among others, arran's own father, chaltelherault, whom he could never be expected publicly to accuse, that mary resolved not to push matters to extremity against any one. she ordered the duke of chatelherault, however, to deliver up the castle of dumbarton; and, at the earl of mar's instigation, she kept bothwell a prisoner, first in the castle of st andrews, and afterwards in that of edinburgh, until he made his escape, and left the country for upwards of two years. it is remarkable, that this conspiracy should not have been hitherto dwelt upon at greater length, tending as it does to develope the secret motives by which the earl of mar was actuated in his subsequent feuds with the earl of huntly.[ ] it is worth recollecting too, though the fact has not been previously noticed, that this was the _first_ occasion on which bothwell aimed at making himself master of the queen's person. the design, though unsuccessful, shows the spirit which long continued to actuate him. had mary fallen into his hands at this period, it is not likely that she would ever have had it in her power to marry darnley, and the whole complexion of her fate might have been changed. in february , mary gave a series of splendid entertainments, on the occasion of the marriage of her favourite brother, james. he was then in the thirty-first year of his age, and chose for his wife lady agnes keith, eldest daughter of the earl of marschal. the marriage was solemnized in the church of st giles; and knox took advantage of the occasion, to offer the lord james a wholesome, but somewhat curiously expressed advice; "for," said the preacher to him, "unto this day has the kirk of god received comfort by you, and by your labours; in the which, if hereafter you shall be found fainter than you were before, it will be said that your wife has changed your nature." knox and his friends were subsequently much scandalized by "the greatness of the banquetting, and the vanity thereof," which characterized the honeymoon. the issue of this marriage was three daughters, two of whom married scotch noblemen, and the third died young.[ ] in august , mary commenced the progress into the north, which, in so far as some of her principal nobility were concerned, was attended with such very important consequences. chapter ix. mary's expedition to the north. the lord james, now earl of mar, had for some time felt, that so long as he was regarded with suspicion by the hamiltons, and with ill-concealed hatred by the earl of huntly and the gordons, his power could not be so stable, nor his influence so extensive, as he desired. if it is true that he had already proposed to mary to set aside the succession of the earl of arran, it is equally true that she had refused his request. foiled, therefore, in this, his more ambitious aim, he saw the necessity of limiting, in the meantime, to more moderate bounds, his views of personal preferment. with regard to the hamiltons, he had succeeded in securing their banishment from court, and in making them objects of suspicion and dislike to the queen. there was not indeed sufficient talent in the family ever to have made it formidable to him, had it not been that it was of the blood royal. though not possessing this advantage, the gordons were always looked upon by mar as more dangerous rivals. he had long nursed a secret desire, at least to weaken, if not to crush altogether, the power of huntly. in getting himself created earl of mar, he had made one step towards his object. the lands which went along with this title were part of the royal demesnes; but had for some time been held in fee by the earls of huntly. her brother had prevailed upon mary to recall them in his favour, and he was thus able to set himself down in the very heart of a country, which had hitherto acknowledged no master who did not belong to the house of gordon. huntly felt this encroachment bitterly; and it makes it the more probable, that he had secretly joined with arran in his plot upon mar; at any rate mar gave him full credit for having done so. their mutual animosity being thus exasperated, to the highest pitch, huntly left the court, and the prime minister waited anxiously for the first opportunity that might occur, to humble effectually the great leader of the catholics. in prosecution of his purpose, mar now obtained a grant under the privy seal of the earldom of murray. a grant under the privy seal constituted only an inchoate, not a complete title. to ratify the grant and make it legal, it was necessary to have the great seal also affixed to it. the great seal, however, was in the custody of huntly, as lord chancellor; and as mar well knew that the grant of this second earldom infringed upon huntly's rights even more than the former, he saw the propriety of keeping it secret for some time. the earldom of murray, which, with its lands and appurtenances, was bestowed upon huntly in , for his services in the war with england, had been again recalled by the crown in , when huntly fell into the displeasure of the queen-regent, in consequence of having refused to punish with fire and sword some highland rebels. but in , the title and lands were restored, not as a free grant, but as a lease during five years, to huntly, his wife and heirs, on the condition of a yearly payment of merks scots. till , therefore, huntly was entitled to consider himself master of all the lands and revenues of this earldom. but in , the title and lands were privately conferred upon the earl of mar. it is true, that he might have applied thus early only to prevent himself from being anticipated, and might not have intended to encroach on huntly's rights before the legal period of his enjoying them had expired. the advantage, however, he so eagerly took of an incident that occurred in the month of june , proves that mar had never any intention to keep his title to the earldom of murray locked up for three years.[ ] the father of james, lord ogilvy, had married one of the earl of huntly's sisters, who gave her some lands in liferent as her dowry. upon her husband's death, considerations induced her to surrender the liferent to her brother, and the earl then gave it to his son, sir john gordon. but lord ogilvy was displeased with his mother's conduct, and questioned its legality. the matter, however, was decided against him, though not before it had occasioned much bad blood between him and sir john gordon. these two noblemen unfortunately met on the streets of edinburgh; and though sir john had married ogilvy's sister, all ties of relationship were disregarded, and an affray took place, in which both were assisted by their respective servants. it does not exactly appear who was the aggressor in this scuffle, but, from the circumstances which led to it, the probability is, that it was ogilvy. both noblemen were severely wounded; and the magistrates, enraged at their breach of the peace, committed them to prison.[ ] mary with her court was at stirling, but the earl of mar obtained permission to depart for edinburgh, to examine into the whole affair. the son of the earl of huntly was now within his power, and he saw the advantages which might be made to accrue to himself in consequence. after examination, he ordered the lord ogilvy and his retainers to be set at liberty, but sir john gordon he sent to the common gaol. sir john, not liking to trust himself in such hands, made his escape, after remaining in prison for about a month, and proceeded to his father's house in the north to recite to him his grievances.[ ] such being the state of feeling subsisting between the queen's prime minister and these great northern chieftains, it can scarcely be allowed that robertson expresses himself correctly when he says, "the queen _happened_ to set out on a progress into the northern parts of the kingdom." her motions were at this time entirely regulated by the earl of mar, who, seeing the contempt which had been offered to her authority by the flight of his son, felt satisfied that mary could not pass through the extensive territories of huntly, without either giving or receiving some additional cause of offence, which would in all probability lead to consequences favourable to mar's ambition. unless this hypothesis be adopted, no rational cause can be assigned why the queen should have chosen this particular season for her visit to the north. from the recent suspicion which had attached to the earl of huntly, as one of arran's colleagues in a conspiracy against her favourite minister, and the still more recent conduct of his son sir john gordon, she certainly could have no intention to pay that family the compliment of honouring them with her royal presence as a guest. north of aberdeen, however, nearly the whole country was subservient to huntly; and if mary did not pass through it as a friend, she must as an enemy. this was the consideration that prompted the earl of mar to fix this year for the expedition. it was owing to negociations with elizabeth, concerning a personal interview between the two queens, that mary was unable to set out till towards the middle of august. the queen left edinburgh on horseback, as usual, attended by a very considerable train. among others, four members of her privy council went with her,--the earls of argyle, morton, marschall, and mar,--the three first of whom had no particular liking for huntly, and were, besides, entirely under the direction of the last. randolph also attended the queen in this journey, and furnishes some details concerning it. on the th of august, , she left stirling; and, after a disagreeable and fatiguing journey, arrived at old aberdeen on the th. here she remained for several days, and all the nobility in these parts came to pay their homage to her. among the rest were the earl and countess of huntly, who entreated her to honour them with a visit at huntly castle, informing her that they had endeavoured to make suitable preparations for her entertainment. mary, at mar's instigation of course, (for, as far as her own feelings were concerned, she must have looked with favour upon the first catholic peer of the realm), received them coldly. this was but a poor return for huntly's long tried fidelity to herself and family; for, whatever quarrels he may have had with the nobility, he had always preserved inviolate his respect for the royal prerogative. his son, sir john gordon, also came to aberdeen, and surrendered himself to the queen, to be dealt with as her justice might direct. he was neither tried nor taken into custody; but, with more refined policy, he was ordered by mar, and the rest of the queen's council, to proceed voluntarily to stirling castle, and there deliver himself, as a prisoner, to the keeper, lord erskine, mar's uncle. it was, no doubt, foreseen that this order, so disproportioned in its severity to the offence which occasioned it, would not be complied with, nor was it wished that it should. guided by similar advice, mary refused to visit the residence of the earl of huntly,--a refusal which was pathetically lamented by randolph, as it was "within three miles of her way, and the fairest house in this country." we learn from the same authority, that there was such a scarcity of accommodation, in old aberdeen, that randolph, and maitland the secretary, who had recently returned from england, were obliged to sleep together in the same bed. this is, perhaps, rendered the less remarkable, when we are informed that there were, at the university, only fifteen or sixteen scholars. on the st of september, mary left aberdeen for inverness; but, in the interval, the earl of mar, perceiving that there might be some occasion for their services, had collected a pretty strong body of men, who marched forward with the queen and her train. in journeying northwards, she travelled by rothiemay, grange, balvenie, and elgin, passing very near the earl of huntly's castle. no entreaty would induce her to enter it; but she permitted the earl of argyle and randolph to partake of its hospitality for two days. "the earl of huntly's house," says randolph, "is the best furnished that i have seen in this country. his cheer is marvellous great; his mind then, such, as it appeared to us, _as ought to be, in any subject, to his sovereign_." on the th of september, mary went from elgin to tarnaway, the baronial residence of the earldom of murray, and at that time in possession of a tenant of the earl of huntly. information being there received that sir john gordon's friends and vassals, exasperated at the over-degree of rigour with which he was treated, were assembling in arms; and that sir john, instead of going to stirling, had joined the rebels, a proclamation was issued, charging him to surrender, by way of forfeit, into the queen's hands, his houses and fortresses of findlater and auchindoune. this proclamation was expressed with a bitterness which must only have enraged the discontents the more. it required the surrender of these strongholds, with the avowed intention of breaking the power of the rebels, and in consideration of her majesty having heard "the many grievous complaints of the poor people of this country, hearing them to be _herreit_ (robbed) and oppressed by him and his accomplices, in times by-past; and fearing the like, or worse, should be done in time coming." the same proclamation described sir john gordon's wife as "lady findlater, his _pretended_ spouse."[ ] fearing that even all this might not be enough to induce huntly to take such steps as might be plausibly construed into treason, mar now, for the first time, produced his title to the earldom of murray, and assumed the name. the only meeting of council held north of aberdeen was at tarnaway, and at the first council after the queen had returned to aberdeen, we find mar's name changed to that of murray. robertson, who has followed buchanan's, or in other words murray's own account of the transactions in the north, in referring mar's assumption of the earldom of murray to a later date, forgets that it must have been sanctioned by mary and her council; and that the only opportunity for doing so, in the interval of their departure from, and return to aberdeen, was at tarnaway.[ ] this new insult upon himself and family was, as murray expected, deeply felt by the earl of huntly. he began to suspect that it was intended to ruin him; and in this extremity, with evident reluctance, he prepared to defend himself. mary, meanwhile, marched forward to inverness. "on her arrival," says robertson, "the commanding officer in the castle, _by huntly's orders_, shut the gates against her." the gates were shut, but certainly not by huntly's orders; for as soon as he heard that the castle had been summoned, he sent his express commands to the governor (who had acted upon his own responsibility) to surrender it. these commands, however, came too late; the castle had been taken by storm, and the governor put to death. what right the earl of murray, or even the queen herself, had to demand the surrender of the castle, which belonged hereditarily to lord george gordon, the earl of huntly's eldest son, does not appear. as chalmers remarks, the whole proceeding seems to have been illegal and unwarrantable. huntly, who was on his way to inverness, to attempt an arrangement of these disputes, by a personal interview with the queen, when he heard of the execution of the governor, returned to his castle.[ ] the gordons were now fairly roused; and, collecting their followers, they determined to act resolutely, but not as aggressors. mary was made to believe that she was in the midst of a hostile country; and though there was, in reality no intention to attack her, every means was taken to inspire her with fear, and to convince her of the treacherous designs of the earl of huntly. but mary, had a courageous spirit, when it was necessary to exert it. "in all those garbrilles," says randolph, "i never saw the queen moved,--never dismayed; nor never thought i that stomach to be in her that i find. she repented nothing, but when the lords and others at inverness came in the morning from the watch; that she was not a man, to know what life it was to lie all night in the fields, or to walk upon the causeway with a jack and knapsack, a glasgow buckler and a broadsword." on the th of september, the queen returned southwards. she had with her about two thousand men, and as she advanced, their number increased to . she marched by kilravock and tarnaway, to spynie castle. thence, she proceeded through the country of the gordons, crossing the spey at fochabers, and going by the way of cullen and banff. throughout the whole course of this march, murray took care to make her believe that she was in danger of being attacked every moment. if there had been any enemy to fight with, "what desperate blows," says randolph, "would not have been given, when every man should have fought in the sight of so noble a queen, and so many fair ladies!" the only incidents which seem to have occurred, were summonses to surrender, given by sound of trumpet at findlater house, and at deckford, mansions of sir john gordon. the keepers of both refused; but they were not acting upon their master's authority. having slept a night at the laird of banff's house, mary returned, on the d of september, to aberdeen. her entry into the new town, was celebrated by the inhabitants with every demonstration of respect. spectacles, plays, and interludes were devised; a richly wrought silver cup, with crowns in it, was presented to her; and wine, coals, and wax, were sent in great abundance to her lodgings. but the earl of murray, was not yet satisfied that he had humbled the gordons enough. it was true, that the lands of sir john had been forfeited,--that the castle of lord george had been captured,--and that the title and estates of the earldom of murray had been wrested from huntly. but huntly's power still remained nearly as great as ever; and it seemed doubtful whether murray would ever be able to seat himself quietly in his new possessions, situated as they were in the very heart of the earl's domains. the privy council were therefore prevailed upon to come to the resolution that the earl of huntly, in the language of randolph, "shall either submit himself, and deliver his disobedient son john, or utterly to use all force against him, _for the subversion of his house for ever_." to enforce this determination, murray levied soldiers, and sent into lothian and fife for officers in whom he could place confidence, particularly lindsay and grange. with what show of reason the unfortunate huntly could be subjected to so severe a fate, it is difficult to say. he had come to offer his obedience and hospitality to the queen, on her first arrival at aberdeen;--he remained perfectly quiet during her journey through that part of the country which was subject to him;--he sent to her, after she returned to aberdeen, the keys of the houses of findlater and deckford, which she had summoned unsuccessfully on her march from cullen to banff;--and he delivered to her, out of his own castle, a field-piece which the regent arran had long ago given to him, and which mary now demanded. he added, that "not only that, which was her own, but also his body and goods, were at her grace's commands."[ ] his wife, the countess of huntly, led captain hay, the person sent for the cannon, into the chapel at her castle, and placing herself at the altar, said to him,--"good friend, you see here the envy that is borne unto my husband. would he have forsaken god and his religion as those that are now about the queen's grace, and have the whole guiding of her, have done, my husband had never been put at as now he is. god, and he that is upon this holy altar, whom i believe in, will, i am sure, preserve, and let our true meaning hearts be known; and as i have said unto you, so, i pray you, let it be said unto your mistress. my husband was ever obedient unto her, and so will die her faithful subject."[ ] that mary should have given her sanction to these iniquitous proceedings, can only be accounted for by supposing, what was in truth the case, that she was kept in ignorance of every thing tending to exculpate huntly, whilst various means were invented to inspire her with a belief, that he had conceived, and was intent upon executing a diabolical plot against herself and government. it was given out, that his object was to seize upon the queen's person,--to marry her by force to his son sir john gordon,--and to cut off murray, morton, and maitland, his principal enemies.[ ] influenced by these misrepresentations, which would have been smiled at in later times, but which, in those days, were taken more seriously, the queen put the fate of huntly into the hands of murray. soon after her return to aberdeen, an expedition was secretly prepared against huntly's castle. if resistance was offered, the troops sent for the purpose were to take it by force, and if admitted without opposition, they were to bring huntly, a prisoner to aberdeen. intimation, however, of this enterprise and its object was conveyed to the earl, and he contrived to baffle its success. his wife received the party with all hospitality; threw open her doors, and entreated that they would examine the whole premises, to ascertain whether they afforded any ground of suspicion. but huntly himself, took care to be out of the way, having retired to badenoch.[ ] thus foiled again, murray, on the th of october, called a privy council, at which he got it declared, that unless huntly appeared on the following day before her majesty, "to answer to such things as are to lay to his charge," he should be put to the horn for his contempt of her authority, and "his houses, strengths, and friends, taken from him."[ ] however willing he might have been to have ventured thus into the lion's den, huntly could not possibly have appeared within the time appointed. on the th of october, he was therefore denounced a rebel in terms of the previous proclamation, and his lands and titles declared forfeited.[ ] even yet, however, huntly acted with forbearance. he sent his countess to aberdeen on the th, who requested admission to the queen's presence, that she might make manifest her husband's innocence. so far from obtaining an audience, this lady, who was respected and loved over the whole country, was not allowed to come within two miles of the court, and she returned home with a heavy heart. as a last proof of his fidelity, huntly sent a messenger to aberdeen, offering to enter into ward till his cause might be tried by the whole nobility. even this offer was rejected; and, goaded into madness, the unfortunate earl at length collected his followers round him, and, raising the standard of rebellion, not against the queen, but against murray, advanced suddenly upon aberdeen. this resolute proceeding excited considerable alarm at court. murray, however, had foreseen the probability of such a step being ultimately taken, and had been busy collecting forces sufficient to repel the attack. a number of the neighbouring nobility had joined him, who, not penetrating the prime minister's real motives, were not displeased to see so proud and powerful an earldom as that of huntly likely to fall to pieces. on the th of october, murray marched out of aberdeen at the head of about men. he found huntly advantageously stationed at corrachie, a village about fifteen miles from aberdeen. huntly's force was much inferior to that of murray, scarcely exceeding men. indeed, it seems doubtful, whether he had advanced so much for the purpose of fighting, as for the sake of giving greater weight to his demands, to be admitted into the presence of the queen, who, he always maintained, had been misled by false council. perceiving the approach, however, of his inveterate enemy murray, and considering the superiority of his own position on the hill of fare, he relinquished all idea of retreat, and determined, at any risk to accept the battle which was offered him. the contest was of short duration. the broadswords of the highlanders, even had the numbers been more equal, would have been no match for the spears and regular discipline of murray's lowland troops. their followers fled; but the earl of huntly and his two sons, sir john gordon and adam, a youth of seventeen, disdaining to give ground, were taken prisoners. the earl, who was advanced in life, was no sooner set upon horseback, to be carried triumphantly into aberdeen, than the thoughts of the ruin which was now brought upon himself and his family overwhelmed him; and, without speaking a word, or receiving a blow, he fell dead from his horse.[ ] sir john gordon who was pronounced the author of all these troubles, having been marched into aberdeen, was tried, condemned, and executed. he may have been an enemy of murray's, but so far from being a traitor to the queen, he was one of the most devoted admirers and attached subjects she ever had. yet murray took care to have it reported, that sir john, before he was beheaded, confessed, that if his father had taken aberdeen, he was determined to have "burned the queen, and as many as were in the house with her."[ ] so palpable a falsehood throws additional light upon the motives which instigated the prime minister throughout. with a refinement of cruelty, he insisted upon mary giving her public countenance to his proceedings, by consenting to be present at gordon's death. she was placed at a window, opposite to which the scaffold had been erected. gordon, who was one of the handsomest men of his times, observed her, and fixing his eyes upon her, "gave her to understand by his looks," says freebairn, "that her presence sweetened the death he was going to suffer only for loving her too well." he then fell upon his knees, and prepared to lay his head upon the block. mary, totally unable to stand this scene, was already suffused in tears; and when she was informed that the unskilful official, instead of striking off the head, had only mangled the neck, she fainted away, and it was some time before she could be recovered.[ ] adam gordon was indebted to his youth for saving him from his brother's fate. he lived to be, as his father had been, one of mary's most faithful servants. lord gordon, the late earl's eldest son, who was with his father-in-law, the duke of chatelherault, at hamilton, was soon afterwards seized and committed to prison, murray finding it convenient to declare him implicated in the earl's guilt. having remained under arrest for some months, he was tried and found guilty, but the execution of his sentence was left at the queen's pleasure. she sent him to dunbar castle; and as murray could not prevail upon her to sign the death-warrant, he had recourse to forgery; and had the keeper of the castle not discovered the deceit, the lord gordon's fate would have been sealed. mary was content with keeping him prisoner, till a change in her administration restored him to favour, and to the forfeited estates and honours of his father. one other incident connected with these tragical events is worth recording. means having been taken for the preservation of huntly's body, it was sent by sea to leith, and lay for several months at holyroodhouse. in the parliament which met in may , these melancholy remains were produced, to have sentence of forfeiture pronounced against them. to obviate if possible this additional calamity, the countess of huntly, widow of the deceased, appeared before the parliament, and with the spirit of a gordon requested to be heard in her late husband's defence. the request was refused; huntly's castles and houses were rifled of their property, his friends and vassals fined, and many escheats granted to those who had assisted in crushing this once noble family.[ ] murray having now no farther occasion for the queen's presence at aberdeen, the court moved southwards on the th of november. on her way home, she visited dunottar castle, montrose, arbroath, dundee, stirling, and linlithgow. she arrived at edinburgh on the d, having been absent upwards of three months. it is much to be regretted, that she ever undertook this northern expedition. though she had little or no share in its guilt, she had allowed herself to be made an effectual tool in the hands of murray, who was now more powerful than any minister of mary's ought to have been. he had forced the earl of bothwell into exile; he had brought the duke of chatelherault and arran into disgrace; and having accomplished the death of the courageous huntly, he had obtained for himself and friends the greater part of that nobleman's princely estates and titles. besides, he was more popular among the reformers than ever, for the destruction of the gordon family had been long wished for by them. in short, though without the name, he was the king of scotland, and his sister mary was his subject. chapter x. chatelard's imprudent attachment, and knox's persevering hatred. mary returned from her northern expedition towards the conclusion of the year . the two following years, and , undistinguished as they were by any political events of importance, were the quietest and happiest she spent in scotland. her moderation and urbanity had endeared her to her people; and, in her own well regulated mind, existed a spring of pure and abiding satisfaction. nevertheless, vexations of various sorts mingled their bitterness in her cup of sweets. an occurrence which took place early in , demands our attention first. the poet chatelard has been already mentioned as one of those who sailed in mary's train, when she came from the continent. he had attached himself to the future constable of france, the duke danville, and was a gentleman of good family and fortune, being by the mother's side the grand-nephew of the celebrated chevalier bayard. the manly beauty of his person was not unlike that of his ancestor; and, besides being well versed in all the more active accomplishments of the day, he had softened and refined his manners by an ardent cultivation of every species of belles-lettres. it was this latter circumstance that gained for him the occasional favourable notice of mary. a poetess herself, as much by nature as by study, her heart warmed towards those who indulged in the same delightful art. chatelard wrote both in french and italian; and, finding that mary deigned to read and admire his productions, he seems thenceforth to have made her the only theme of his enamoured and too presumptuous muse. to the queen this was no uncommon compliment. she received it, gracefully, and sometimes even amused herself with answering chatelard's effusions. this condescension almost turned the young poet's brain. he had left scotland with the duke danville, and mary's other french friends, at the end of the year ; but he eagerly seized the opportunity afforded him, by the civil wars in france, to return before twelve months had elapsed. the duke danville sent him to mary's court, there is every reason to believe, to press upon her attention once more his own pretensions to her hand. but chatelard, in the indulgence of his mad passion, forgot the duty he owed his master; and, for every word he spoke in prose for the duke, he spoke in verse twenty for himself. mary, long accustomed to this species of adulation, and looking upon flattery as a part of a poet's profession, smiled at the more extravagant flights of his imagination, and forgot them as soon as heard. these smiles, however, were fatal to chatelard. "they tempted him," says brantome, "to aspire, like phaeton, at ascending the chariot of the sun." in february , he had the audacity to steal into the queen's bedchamber, armed with sword and dagger, and attempted to conceal himself till mary should retire to rest. he was discovered by her maids of honour; and mary, though much enraged at his conduct, was unwilling, for a first offence, to surrender him to that punishment which she knew would be inflicted were it known to her privy council. she was contented with reprimanding him severely, and ordering him from her presence. this leniency was thrown away upon the infatuated chatelard. only two nights afterwards, the queen having, in the interval, left edinburgh for st andrews, he again committed the same offence. as she went to st andrews by the circuitous route of the queensferry, she slept the first night at dumfermline, and the second at burntisland. here chatelard insolently followed the queen into her bedroom, without attempting any concealment, and assigned, as the motive for his conduct, his desire to clear himself from the blame she had formerly imputed to him. mary commanded him to leave her immediately, but he refused; upon which she saw the necessity of calling for assistance. the earl of murray was at hand, and came instantly. the daring boldness of chatelard's conduct could no longer be concealed; the proper legal authorities were sent for from edinburgh; the poet was tried at st andrews, and was condemned to death. he was executed on the d of february, and conducted himself bravely, but as a confirmed enthusiast, even on the scaffold. he would not avail himself of the spiritual advice of any minister or confessor; but having read ronsard's hymn on death, he turned towards the place where he supposed the queen was, and exclaimed in an unfaltering voice, "farewell, loveliest and most cruel princess whom the world contains!" he then, with the utmost composure, laid his head upon the block, and submitted, with all resignation, to his fate.[ ] mary remained at st andrews till the middle of april, when she removed to loch leven, where she had better opportunities of enjoying her favourite amusements of hunting and hawking. she went thither in considerable grief, occasioned by the news she had lately received from france, of the death of two of her uncles, the duke of guise, and the grand prior. the former had been barbarously assassinated at the siege of orleans, by a protestant bigot of the name of poltrot; and the latter had been fatally wounded at the battle of dreux. alluding triumphantly to the murder of the duke of guise, knox expressed himself in these words, "_god_ has stricken that bloody tyrant." this enmity to the house of guise, which knox carried even beyond the grave, was now no novelty. some months before, he had taken occasion to preach a severe sermon against mary and her friends, in consequence of an entertainment she gave at holyrood, upon receiving news of her uncles' successes in the french civil wars. mary had, in consequence, sent for knox a second time, when he repeated to her the principal part of his sermon, in a manner which made it appear not quite so obnoxious as she had been induced to believe. she had then the magnanimity to tell him, that though his words were sharp, she would not blame him for having no good opinion of her uncles, as they and he were of a different religion. she only wished that he would not publicly misrepresent them, without sufficient evidence upon which to ground his charges. knox left mary, "with a reasonable merry countenance," and some one observing it, remarked, "he is not afraid!" knox's answer is characteristic, and does him credit, "why should the pleasing face of a gentlewoman affray me? i have looked in the faces of many angry men, and yet have not been afraid above measure." the third time that knox was admitted into mary's presence was at loch leven. this, as indeed every interview she had with the celebrated reformer, and she had only four, exhibits her character in a very favourable point of view. it appears, that whilst the queen reserved for herself the right of celebrating mass in her own chapel, it was prohibited throughout the rest of the kingdom. some instances had occurred in which this prohibition had been disregarded; and upon these occasions the over-zealous protestants had not scrupled to take the law into their own hands. mary wished to convince knox of the impropriety of this interference. he thought it necessary to defend his brethren; but his answer to the queen's simple question,--"will ye allow that they shall take my sword in their hands?"--though laboured, is quite inconclusive. that "the sword of justice is god's," may be a very good apopthegm, but would be a dangerous precept upon which to form a practical rule in the government of a state. mary, however, knowing by experience that it was hopeless to attempt to change knox's sentiments, and not wishing to enter into an argument with him, passed to other matters. though she disliked the rudeness of his manners, she had a respect for the unbending stoicism of his principles; and having too much good sense to hold any one responsible for the peculiarities of his belief, she could not help persuading herself, that she would finally soften the asperity of those with whom she disagreed, only upon articles of faith. with this view, she conversed with knox upon various confidential matters, and actually did succeed in winning for the moment the personal favour of her stern adversary. "this interview," observes dr m'crie, "shows how far mary was capable of dissembling, what artifice she could employ, and what condescensions she could make, when she was bent on accomplishing a favourite object." there is something very uncharitable in the construction thus put upon the queen's conduct. she had, no doubt, a favourite object in view; but that object was mutual reconcilement, and the establishment, as far as in her lay, of reciprocal feelings of forbearance and good will among all classes of her subjects. the "artifice" she used, consisted merely in the urbanity of her manners, and her determination to avoid all violence, in return for the violence which had been exhibited towards herself. soon after this conference, mary went to edinburgh, to open in person the first parliament which had been held since her return to scotland. its session continued only from the th of may, to the th of june ; but during that short period, business of some importance was transacted. the queen on the first day rode to the parliament house in her robes of state,--the duke of chatelherault carrying the crown, the earl of argyle the sceptre, and the earl of murray the sword.[ ] she was present on three or four occasions afterwards; but on the first day she made a speech to the representatives of her people, which was received with enthusiastic applause. this applause was wormwood to knox, who, with even more than his usual discourtesy towards a sex whom he seems to have despised, says,--"such stinking pride of women as was seen at that parliament, was never before seen in scotland." he was heartily borne out in his vituperations by the rest of the preachers. the rich attire which mary and the ladies of her court chose to wear, were abominations in their eyes. they held forth to their respective flocks against the "superfluity of their clothes," the "targeting of their tails," and "the rest of their vanity." it was enough, they said, "to draw down god's wrath not only upon these foolish women, but upon the whole realm." at this parliament the earldoms of huntly and sutherland were declared forfeited; an act was passed for preventing any one from summoning the lieges together without the queen's consent; some judicious legislative measures of a domestic nature were established; and an act of oblivion for all acts done from the th of march , to the first of september , was unanimously carried. this act of oblivion was declared to have no reference whatever to a similar act sanctioned by the treaty of edinburgh, the ratification of which was expressly avoided by the queen. its object, how--was precisely the same,--namely, to secure the reformers against any disagreeable consequences which might arise out of the violences they committed during the first heat of the reformation. an act of oblivion thus obtained as a free gift from mary, and not as a consequence of his favourite treaty of edinburgh, was by no means agreeable to knox. he assembled some of the leading members of parliament, and urged upon them the necessity of forcing from the queen a ratification of this treaty. even the protestant lords, however, felt how unjust such a demand would be. the earl of murray himself, one of knox's oldest and staunchest friends, refused to ask mary to take this step. knox, in consequence, solemnly renounced murray's friendship, and a coldness subsisted between them for nearly two years. foiled in his object, the reformer had recourse to his usual mode of revenge. he preached another "thundering sermon." the object of this sermon was to convince the people, that as soon as a parliament was assembled, they had the queen in their power to make her do what they chose. "and is this the thankfulness that ye render unto your god," said he, "to betray his cause, when ye have it in your hands to establish it as you please?" before concluding, he adverted to the report that her majesty would soon be married, and called upon the nobility, if they regarded the safety of their country, to prevent her from forming an alliance with a papist. "protestants as well as papists," says knox's biographer, "were offended with the freedom of this sermon, and some who had been most familiar with the preacher, now shunned his company." there must have been something more than usually bitter and unjust in a discourse which produced such results. it was the occasion of the last and most memorable interview which the reformer had with mary. as soon as she was made acquainted with the manner in which he had attacked her, she summoned him to her presence. he was accompanied to the palace by lord ochiltree, and some other gentlemen; but john erskine of dun, a man of a mild and gentle temper, was the only one allowed to enter mary's apartment along with knox. the reformer found his queen in considerable agitation. she told him she did not believe any prince had ever submitted to the usage she had experienced from him. "i have borne with you," she said, "in all your rigorous manner of speaking, both against myself, and against my uncles; yea, i have sought your favour by all possible means; i offered unto ye presence and audience whensoever it pleased ye to admonish me; and yet i cannot be quit of you." she then passionately burst into tears, so that, as knox says with apparent satisfaction, they could scarce "get handkerchiefs to hold her eyes dry; for the tears and the howling, besides womanly weeping, stayed her speech." the preacher, when he was allowed to speak, complacently assured her majesty that when it pleased god to deliver her from that bondage of darkness and error wherein she had been nourished, she would not find the liberty of his tongue offensive. he added, that in the pulpit he was not his own master, but the servant of him who commanded that he should speak plain, and flatter no flesh upon the face of the earth. mary told him that she did not wish for his flattery, but begged to know what rank he held in the kingdom to entitle him to interfere with her marriage. knox, whose self-esteem seldom forsook him, replied, that though neither an earl, lord, nor baron, he was a profitable and useful member of the commonwealth, and that it became him to teach her nobility, who were too partial towards her, their duty. "therefore, madam," he continued, "to yourself i say that which i spake in public: whensoever the nobility of this realm shall be content, and consent that you be subject to an unlawful husband, they do as much as in them lies to remove christ, to banish the truth, to betray the freedom of this realm, and perchance shall in the end do small comfort to yourself." language so unwarranted and uncalled for again drew tears from mary, and erskine, affected by her grief, attempted to soften down its harshness. knox looked on with an unaltered countenance, and comparing his sovereign to his own children, when he saw occasion to chastise them, he said,--"madam, in god's presence i speak. i never delighted in the weeping of any of god's creatures; yea, i can scarcely well abide the tears of mine own boys, when mine own hands correct them. much less can i rejoice in your majesty's weeping; but, seeing i have offered unto ye no just occasion to be offended, but have spoken the truth as my vocation craves of me, i must sustain your majesty's tears, rather than dare hurt my conscience, or betray the commonwealth by silence." that he might not be longer under the necessity of sustaining tears he could so ill abide, mary commanded him to leave her presence, and wait her pleasure in the adjoining room. here his friends who were expecting him, and who had overheard some of the conversation which had just taken place, perceiving how much he had excited the queen's just indignation, would hardly acknowledge him. in his own words, "he stood as one whom men had never seen." his confidence, however, did not forsake him. observing mary's maids of honour seated together, and richly dressed, he took the opportunity, that he might not lose his time, of giving them also some gratuitous advice. "fair ladies," he said with a smile, "how pleasant were this life of yours, if it should ever abide, and then in the end that we might pass to heaven with this gear: but fy upon that knave, death, that will come whether we will or not; and when he has laid on the arrest, then foul worms will be busy with this flesh, be it never so fair and so tender; and the silly soul i fear shall be so feeble, that it can neither carry with it gold, garnishing, targeting, pearl, nor precious stones." shortly afterwards erskine, who had somewhat pacified the queen, came to inform him that he was allowed to go home.[ ] as the queen and knox came just once more into public contact, and that only a few weeks after the date of the above interview, it may be as well to terminate our interference with the affairs of the reformer in this place. the queen having gone to stirling, a disturbance took place one sunday during her absence at the chapel of holyrood. some of her domestics and catholic retainers, had assembled for the celebration of worship, after the form of the romish church. the presbyterians were at the time dispensing in edinburgh the sacrament of the supper, and were consequently more zealous than usual in support of their own cause. hearing of the catholic practices carried on at holyrood, they proceeded thither in a body, burst into the chapel, and drove the priests from the altar. to quell the riot, the comptroller of the household was obliged to obtain the assistance of the magistrates, and even then it was not without difficulty that the godly were prevailed upon to disperse. two of their number, who had been more violent than the rest, had indictments served upon them for "forethought felony, hamesucken, and invasion of the palace." knox and his friends determined to save these two men from punishment, at whatever risk. the means they adopted to effect their purpose were of the most seditious kind. it was determined to overawe the judges by displaying the power of the accused; and with this view, knox wrote circular letters to all the principal persons of his persuasion, requesting them to crowd to edinburgh on the day of trial. he thus assumed to himself the prerogative of calling mary's subjects together, in direct opposition to one of the acts of the late parliament. when those letters were shown to the queen, and her privy council, at stirling, they were unanimously pronounced treasonable, and knox was summoned to appear before a convention of nobles, to be held in edinburgh a few weeks afterwards, for the purpose of trying him. it was, however, intimated to him, that as the queen wished to be lenient, if he would acknowledge his fault, and throw himself upon her mercy, little or no punishment would be awarded. he obstinately refused to make the slightest concession, and in consequence nearly lost the friendship of lord herries, with whom he had been long intimate. on the day of trial, public curiosity was much excited to know the result. the lords assembled in the council chamber at holyrood; the queen took her seat at the head of the table, and knox stood uncovered at the foot. the proceedings were opened by secretary maitland, who stated the grounds of the accusation, and explained in what manner the law had been infringed. knox made a declamatory and very unsatisfactory reply. the substance of his defence was, that there were lawful and unlawful convocations of the people, and that, as the act of parliament could not apply to the assembling of his congregation every sunday, neither could he be held to have transgressed it by writing letters to the heads of his church, calling them together upon a matter of vital importance to their religion. the sophistry of this reasoning was easily seen through. it was answered for the queen, that his sermons were sanctioned by government, and that their tendency was supposed to be peaceable; but that the direct purpose of the letters in question was to exasperate the minds of the lieges. one passage, in particular was read, in which knox said, alluding to the two persons who were indicted,--"this fearful summons is directed against them, to make, no doubt, a preparative on a few, that a door may be opened to execute cruelty upon a greater multitude." "is it not treason, my lords," said mary, "to accuse a prince of cruelty? i think there be acts of parliament against such whisperers." knox endeavoured to evade the force of this remark by a very evident quibble. "madam," he said, "cast up when you list the acts of your parliament, i have offended nothing against them; for i accuse not in my letter your grace, nor yet your nature, of cruelty. but i affirm yet again, that the pestilent papists who have inflamed your grace against those poor men at this present, are the sons of the devil, and therefore must obey the desires of their father, who has been a liar and a man-slayer from the beginning." more words were spoken on both sides, but nothing further was advanced that bore directly upon the subject in hand. it is worthy of notice, however, that knox, in the course of his defence, actually forgot himself so far as to institute a comparison between mary and the roman nero. at length, having been fully heard, he was ordered to retire, and after some discussion, the vote of guilty or not guilty was put to the nobles. there being a considerable preponderance of protestant lords at the meeting, it was carried that knox had not committed any breach of the laws. he evinces his triumph on this occasion by remarking spitefully in his history,--"that night was neither dancing nor fiddling in the court; for madam was disappointed of her purpose, whilk was to have had john knox in her will by vote of her nobility." his acquittal certainly disappointed mary; but it only served to convince her more and more, that bigotry and justice were incompatible. before concluding this chapter, one of the peculiarities of the scottish reformer's mind deserves to be noticed. that he was a strong thinker and a bold man, cannot be denied; yet, as has been before remarked, he himself confesses that he was much addicted to superstition. this weakness, if real, lowers him considerably in the scale of intellect; and, if affected, proves that, amidst all the pretensions of his new doctrines, he still retained a taint of priestly craft. alluding to the year of which we speak, ( ), he has incorporated into his history the following remarkable passage. "god from heaven, and upon the face of the earth, gave declaration that he was offended at the iniquity that was committed even within this realm; for upon the th day of january, there fell wet in great abundance, which in the falling freezed so vehemently, that the earth was but one sheet of ice. the fowls both great and small freezed, and could not fly; many died, and some were taken and laid before the fire, that their feathers might resolve; and in that same month the sea stood still, as was clearly observed, and neither ebbed nor flowed the space of twenty-four hours. in the month of february, the fifteenth and eighteenth days thereof, were seen in the firmament battles arrayed, spears and other weapons, and as it had been the joining of two armies. these things were not only observed, but also spoken and constantly affirmed by men of judgement and credit. but the queen and our court made merry."[ ] it would thus appear, that knox's mind was either a strange compound of strength and imbecility, courage and fear, sound sense and superstition, or that duplicity was more a part of his character than is generally supposed. chapter xi. the domestic life of mary, with some anecdotes of elizabeth. the summer and autumn of the year , were spent by mary in making various excursions through the country. she had not yet visited the west and south-west of scotland. shortly after the rising of parliament, she set out for glasgow, and from thence went on to dumbarton and loch-lomond. in the neighbourhood of its romantic scenery, she spent some days, and then crossed over to inverary, where she visited her natural sister, the countess of argyle, to whom she was much attached. upon leaving inverary, she passed over the argyleshire hills, and came down upon the clyde at dunoon. following the course of the river, she next visited toward castle, near the entrance of the bay of rothesay. here she crossed the frith of clyde, and landing in ayrshire, spent several weeks in this arcadian district of scotland. she then went into galloway, and before her return to edinburgh, visited dumfries, and other towns in the south. her next excursion was to stirling, callander, and dumblane, in the neighbourhood of which places she remained till late in the season. the earlier part of , she spent at perth, falkland, and st andrews; and in the autumn of this year, she again went as far north as inverness, and from thence into ross-shire. "the object of that distant journey," says chalmers, "was not then known, and cannot be completely ascertained." "she repassed through the country of the gordons, which had once been held out as so frightful. she remained a night at gartley, where there is still a ruined castle, and the parish whereof belongs even now to the duke of gordon. she rode forward to aberdeen, without seeing huntly's ghost, and went thence to dunnottar, where she remained a night, and thence, proceeding along the coast road, to dundee. she then crossed the tay into fife, and diverging for a few days to st andrews, she returned to edinburgh about the th of september, after an absence of two months." as we are speedily to enter upon a new and more bustling, though not a happier period, of mary's life, we should wish to avail ourselves of the present opportunity, to convey to the reader some notion of her domestic habits and amusements, and how, when left to herself, she best liked to fill up her time. the affability and gentleness of her manners, had endeared her even more than her personal attractions, to all who frequented her court. she had succeeded, by the firm moderation of her measures, not only in giving a more than ordinary degree of popularity to her government, but, by the polished amenity of her bearing, her powers of conversation, and varied accomplishments, she had imparted to the court of holyrood a refinement and elegance we in vain look for under the reign of any of her predecessors. there is a vast difference between an over-degree of luxuriousness and a due attention to the graces. under the influence of the former, a nation becomes effeminate, and addicted to every species of petty vice; under that of the latter, its characteristic virtues are called only more efficiently into action. the tree is not the less valuable divested of its rugged bark. it is to the example set by mary, that we are to attribute, in a great degree, that improvement in the manners and feelings of scotch society, which speedily placed this country more upon a par with the rest of civilized europe. had the precepts of john knox been strictly followed, the blue bonnets of a rigid, unbending presbyterianism would probably to this day have decorated the heads of two-thirds of the population. a scarcity which prevailed about the commencement of the year , drew from this stern reformer the assertion, that "the riotous feasting and excessive banqueting used in city and country, wheresoever the profane court repaired, provoked god to strike the staff of bread, and to give his maledictions upon the fruits of the earth." mary judged differently of the effects produced by these "profane banquetings,"--and so will the political economists of more modern times. it was only, after the performance of duties of a severer kind, that mary indulged in recreation. she sat some hours regularly every day with her privy council; and, with her work-table beside her and her needle in her hand, she heard and offered opinions upon the various affairs of state. to the poor of every description, she was, like her mother, exceedingly attentive; and she herself benevolently superintended the education of a number of poor children. to direct and distribute her charities, two ecclesiastics were appointed her _elcemosynars_; and they, under her authority, obtained money from the treasurer in all cases of necessity. she gave an annual salary also to an advocate for the poor, who conducted the causes of such as were unable to bear the expenses of a lawsuit; and to secure proper attention for these causes, she not unfrequently took her seat upon the bench when they came to be heard. her studies were extensive and regular. she was well versed in history, of which she read a great deal. every day after dinner she devoted an hour or two to the perusal of some latin classic, particularly livy, under the superintendence of george buchanan. in reward for his services, she gave him the revenue of the abbey of crossraguel in ayrshire, worth about _l._ a year. this grant was probably made at the request of the earl of murray, who was buchanan's patron, and to whom he always considered himself more indebted than to the queen. buchanan, whose talents for controversial writing it was foreseen might be useful, had also a pension of _l._ a year from elizabeth. mary had a competent knowledge of astronomy and geography; and her library in the palace of holyrood contained, among other things, two globes, which were at that time considered curiosities in scotland,--"the ane of the heavin, and the uther of the earth." she had, besides, several maps, and a few pictures, in particular portraits of her father, her mother, her husband francis ii., and montmorency. being fond of all sorts of exercises, she frequently received ambassadors and others, to whom she gave audience, in the palace gardens. she had two of these,--the southern and the northern; and, not contented with their more limited range, she often extended her walk through the king's park, and sometimes even along the brow of salisbury crags or arthur seat. she had gardens and parks attached to all her principal residences throughout scotland,--at linlithgow,--at stirling,--at falkland,--at perth,--and at st andrews. it was in one of her gardens at holyrood that she planted a sycamore she had brought with her from france, and which, becoming in time a large and valuable tree, was an object of curiosity and admiration even in our own day. it was blown down only about ten years ago, and its wood was eagerly sought after, to be made into trinkets and costly relics. to her female followers and friends, mary was ever attentive and kind. for her four maries, her companions from infancy, she retained her affection during all the vicissitudes of her fortune. at the period of which we write, she still enjoyed the society of all of them; but mary fleming afterwards became the wife of secretary maitland, and mary livingstone of lord semple. mary beaton and mary seaton remained unmarried. madame de pinguillon, who had come with the queen from france, and to whom she was extremely partial, continued in her service for several years, her husband being appointed master of the household. they both returned to their own country when the troubles in scotland began. there were many other ladies belonging to the court, whose names possess no interest, because unconnected with any of the events of history. mary's establishment was by no means expensive or extraordinary. she does not appear to have had so great a variety of dresses as elizabeth, yet she was not ill provided either. her common wearing gowns, as long as she continued in mourning, which was till the day of her second marriage, were made either of camlet, or damis, or serge of florence, bordered with black velvet. her riding-habits were mostly of serge of florence, stiffened in the neck and body with buckram, and trimmed with lace and ribands. in the matter of shoes and stockings, she seems to have been remarkably well supplied. she had thirty-six pair of velvet shoes, laced with gold and silver; she had ten pair of hose woven of gold, silver, and silk, and three pair woven of worsted of guernsey. silk stockings were then a rarity. the first pair worn in england were sent as a present from france to elizabeth. six pair of gloves of worsted of guernsey are also mentioned in the catalogue, still existing, of mary's wardrobe. she was fond of tapestry, and had the walls of her chambers hung with the richest specimens of it she could bring from france. she had not much plate; but she had a profusion of rare and valuable jewels. her cloth of gold, her turkey carpets, her beds and coverlids, her table-cloths, her crystal, her chairs and foot-stools covered with velvet, and garnished with fringes, were all celebrated in the gossiping chronicles of the day. the scottish queen's amusements were varied, but not in general sedentary. she was, however, a chess-player, and anxious to make herself a mistress of that most intellectual of all games. archery was one of her favourite out-of-door pastimes, and she indulged in it frequently in her gardens at holyrood. she revived the ancient chivalric exercise of riding at the ring, making her nobles contend against each other; and crowds frequently collected on the sands at leith to witness their trials of skill. tournaments mary did not so much like, because they tempted the courageous to what she thought unnecessary danger; and when obliged to be present at them in france, it was remarked, that her superior delicacy of feeling always marred her enjoyment, from the anticipation that they might end in bloodshed. these sentiments were probably strengthened by the unfortunate manner in which henry ii. met his death. the now almost obsolete, but then fashionable and healthful amusement of hawking, was much esteemed by mary. her attachment to it was hereditary, for both her father and grandfather were passionately fond of it. james v. kept a master-falconer, who had seven others under him. in , hawks of an approved kind were brought for mary from orkney; and in the same year, she sent a present of some of them to elizabeth. to riding and hunting, as has been already seen, mary had long been partial. within doors, mary found an innocent gratification in dancing, masquings, and music. she was herself, as has been seen, a most graceful dancer, moving, according to melville, "not so high, nor so disposedly," as elizabeth; by which we may understand that she danced, as they who have been taught in france usually do, with greater ease and self-possession, or, in other words, with less effort--less consciousness that she was overcoming a difficulty in keeping time, and executing the steps and evolutions of the dance. the masques and mummeries, which were occasionally got up, were novelties in scotland, and excited the anger of the reformers, though it is difficult to tell why. randolph, describing a feast at which he was present in , mentions that, at the first course, some one, representing cupid, made his appearance, and sung, with a chorus, some italian verses; at the second, "a fair young maid" sung a few latin verses; and at the third, a figure dressed as time concluded the mummery, with some wholesome piece of morality. upon other occasions, several of which will be alluded to afterwards, masques were performed upon a more extensive scale. these amusements were seldom or never allowed to degenerate into dissipation, by being protracted to untimely hours. mary was always up before eight o'clock;--she supped at seven, and was seldom out of bed after ten.[ ] the queen's taste in music had been cultivated from her earliest years. when almost an infant she had _minstrels_ attached to her establishment. on her return to scotland, she had a small band of about a dozen musicians--vocal and instrumental--whom she kept always near her person. five of these were violars, or players on the viol;[ ] three of them were players on the lute; one or two of them were organists, but the organs in the chapels at stirling and holyrood were the only ones which had been saved from the fury of the reformers; and the rest were singers, who also acted as _chalmer-chields_, or valets-de-chambre. mary could herself play upon the lute and virginals, and loved to hear concerted music upon all occasions. she even introduced into her religious worship a military band, in aid of the organ, consisting of trumpet, drum, fife, bagpipe, and tabor. it was as one skilled in music that david rizzio first recommended himself to mary. he came to edinburgh towards the end of the year , in the train of the ambassador from savoy. he was a piedmontese by birth, and had received a good education. his father was a respectable professional musician in turin, who, having a large family, had sent his two sons, david and joseph, to push their own way in nice, at the court of the duke of savoy. they were both noticed at that court, and were taken into the service of the duke of moretto, the ambassador already mentioned. the knowledge which david rizzio possessed of music, says a french writer, was the least of his talents: he had a polished and ready wit, a lively imagination, full of pleasant fancies, soft and winning manners, abundance of courage, and still more assurance. "he was," says melville, "a merry fallow, and a guid musician." he was, moreover, abundantly ugly, and past the meridian of life, as attested by all cotemporary writers of any authority. his brother, joseph, is scarcely mentioned in history, though it appears that he also attached himself to mary's court. at the time of david's arrival, the queen's three pages, or _sangsters_, who used to sing trios for her, wanted a fourth as a bass. rizzio was recommended, and he received the appointment, together with a salary of _l._ being not only by far the most scientific musician in the queen's household, but likewise well acquainted both with french and italian, rizzio contrived to make himself generally useful. in he was appointed mary's french secretary, and in this situation he continued till his death.[ ] an amusing peep into the interior of both the scots and english courts, afforded by sir james melville, will form an appropriate conclusion to this chapter. sir james returned from the continent to scotland in may . he found the queen at st johnstone; and she, aware of his fidelity, requested him to give up thoughts of going back to france, where he had been promised preferment. "she was so affable," says he, "so gracious and discreet, that she won great estimation, and the hearts of many both in england and scotland, and mine among the rest; so that i thought her more worthy to be served for little profit, than any other prince in europe for great commodity." but mary had too proud a spirit to submit to be served for nothing. she was by nature liberal almost to a fault. out of her french dowry she settled upon melville a pension of a thousand marks, and in addition, she begged him to accept of the heritage of the lands of auchtermuchty, near falkland. these he refused, as he was unwilling that she should dismember, on his account, her own personal property; but they were subsequently given to some one less scrupulous. sir james was soon afterwards sent by mary on an embassy to elizabeth, principally for the sake of expediting some matters connected with mary's intended matrimonial arrangements. the morning after his arrival in london, he was admitted to an audience by elizabeth, whom he found pacing in an alley in her garden. the business upon which he came being arranged satisfactorily, melville was favourably and familiarly treated by the english queen. he remained at her court nearly a fortnight, and conversed with her majesty every day, sometimes thrice on the same day. sir james, who was a shrewd observer, had thus an opportunity of remarking the many weaknesses and vanities which characterized elizabeth. in allusion to her extreme love of power, he ventured to say to her, when she informed him she never intended to marry, "madam, you need not tell me that; i know your stately stomach. you think, if you were married, you would be but queen of england; and now you are king and queen both; you may not suffer a commander." elizabeth was fortunately not offended at this freedom. she took sir james, upon one occasion, into her bedchamber, and opened a little case, in which were several miniature pictures. the pretence was to show him a likeness of mary, but her real object was, that he should observe in her possession a miniature of her favourite the earl of leicester, upon which she had written with her own hand, "my lord's picture." when melville made this discovery, elizabeth affected a little amiable confusion. "i held the candle," says sir james, "and pressed to see my lord's picture; albeit she was loth to let me see it; at length, i by importunity obtained the sight thereof, and asked the same to carry home with me unto the queen; which she refused, alleging she had but that one of his." at another time, elizabeth talked with sir james of the different costumes of different countries. she told him she had dresses of many sorts; and she appeared in a new one every day during his continuance at court. sometimes she dressed after the english, sometimes after the french, and sometimes after the italian fashion. she asked sir james which he thought became her best. he said the italian, "whilk pleasit her weel; for she delighted to show her golden coloured hair, wearing a kell and bonnet as they do in italy. her hair was redder than yellow, and apparently of nature." elizabeth herself seems to have been quite contented with its hue, for she very complacently asked sir james, whether she or mary had the finer hair? sir james having replied as politely as possible, she proceeded to inquire which he considered the more beautiful? the ambassador quaintly answered, that the beauty of either was not her worst fault. this evasion would not serve; though melville, for many sufficient reasons, was unwilling to say any thing more definite. he told her that she was the fairest queen in england, and mary the fairest in scotland. still this was not enough. sir james ventured, therefore, one step farther. "they were baith," he said, "the fairest ladies of their courts, and that the queen of england was whiter, but our queen was very lusome." elizabeth next asked which of them was of highest stature? sir james told her the queen of scots. "then she said the queen was over heigh, and that herself was neither over heigh nor over laigh. then she askit what kind of exercises she used. i said, that as i was dispatchit out of scotland, the queen was but new come back from the highland hunting; and that when she had leisure frae the affairs of her country, she read upon guid buiks the histories of divers countries; and sometimes would play upon the lute and virginals. she spearit gin she played weel; i said, raisonably for a queen." this account of mary's accomplishments piqued elizabeth's vanity, and determined her to give melville some display of her own. accordingly, next day one of the lords in waiting took him to a quiet gallery, where, as if by chance, he might hear the queen play upon the virginals. after listening a little, melville perceived well enough that he might take the liberty of entering the chamber whence the music came. elizabeth coquettishly left off as soon as she saw him, and, coming forward, tapped him with her hand, and affected to feel ashamed of being caught, declaring that she never played before company, but only when alone to keep off melancholy. melville made her a flattering speech, protesting that the music he had heard was of so exquisite a kind, that it had irresistibly drawn him into the room. elizabeth, who does not seem to have thought as people are usually supposed to do in polite society, that "comparisons are odious," could not rest satisfied, without putting, as usual, the question, whether mary or she played best? melville gave the english queen the palm. being now in good humour, she resolved that sir james should have a specimen of her learning, which it is well known degenerated too much into pedantry. she praised his french, asking if he could also speak italian, which, she said, she herself spoke reasonably well. she spoke to him also in dutch; but sir james says it was not good. afterwards, she insisted upon his seeing her dance; and when her performance was over, she put the old question, whether she or mary danced best. melville answered,--"the queen dancit not so high and disposedly as she did." melville returned to scotland, "convinced in his judgment," as he says, "that in elizabeth's conduct there was neither plain-dealing nor upright meaning, but great dissimulation, emulation, and fear that mary's princely qualities should too soon chase her out, and displace her from the kingdom." sir james, by way of contrast, concludes this subject with the following interesting account of mary's well-won popularity, prudence, modesty, and good sense. "the queen's majesty, as i have said, after her returning out of france to scotland, behaved herself so princely, so honourably and discreetly, that her reputation spread in all countries; and she was determined, and also inclined to continue in that kind of comeliness even to the end of her life, desiring to hold none in her company, but such as were of the best quality and conversation, abhorring all vices and vicious persons, whether they were men or women; and she requested me to assist her in giving her my good counsel how she might use the meetest means to advance her honest intention; and in case she, being yet young, might forget herself in any unseemly gesture or behaviour, that i would warn her thereof with my admonition, to forbear and reform the same. which commission i refused altogether; saying, that her virtuous actions, her natural judgment, and the great experience she had learned in the company of so many notable princes in the court of france, had instructed her so well, and made her so able, as to be an example to all her subjects and servants. but she would not have it so, but said she knew that she had committed divers errors upon no evil meaning, for lack of the admonition of loving friends, because that the most part of courtiers commonly flatter princes, to win their favour, and will not tell them the verity, fearing to tine their favour; and therefore she adjured me and commanded me to accept that charge, which i said was a ruinous commission, willing her to lay that burden upon her brother, my lord of murray, and the secretary lethington; but she said that she would not take it in so good a part of them as of me. i said, i feared it would cause me, with time, to tine her favour; but she said it appeared i had an evil opinion of her constancy and discretion, which opinion, she doubted not, but i would alter, after that i had essayed the occupation of that friendly and familiar charge. in the meantime, she made me familiar with all her most urgent affairs; but chiefly in her dealing with any foreign nation. she showed unto me all her letters, and them that she received from other princes; and willed me to write unto such princes as i had acquaintance of, and to some of their counsellors; wherein i forgot not to set out her virtues, and would show her again their answers, and such occurrences as passed at the time between countries, to her great contentment. for she was of a quick spirit, and anxious to know and to get intelligence of the state of other countries; and would be sometimes sad when she was solitary, and glad of the company of them that had travelled in foreign parts."[ ] this testimony in mary's favour, from a cotemporary author of so much respectability, is worth volumes of ordinary panegyrick. chapter xii. mary's suitors, and the machinations of her enemies. mary had now continued a widow for about three years, but certainly not from a want of advantageous offers. it was in her power to have formed almost any alliance she chose. there was not a court in europe, where the importance of a matrimonial connexion with the queen of scotland, and heir-apparent to the english throne, was not acknowledged. accordingly, ambassadors had found their way to holyrood palace from all parts of the continent. the three most influential suitors were, the duke of anjou, brother of mary's late husband, francis ii., and afterwards king of france, on the death of his other brother, charles ix.--the archduke charles of austria, third son of the emperor ferdinand--and don carlos of spain, heir-apparent to all the dominions of his father, philip ii. none of these personages, however, were destined to be successful. the death of the duke of guise, and the greater influence which consequently fell into the hands of catharine de medicis, made some alteration in the duke of anjou's prospects, and diminished his interest with mary. besides, it was considered dangerous to marry the brother of a late husband. the archduke charles found, that his proposals to the scottish queen excited so much the jealousy of his elder brother, maximilian, that it became necessary for him reluctantly to quit the field. it is not improbable that don carlos might have been listened to, had not mary found it necessary, for reasons which will be mentioned immediately, to give up all thoughts of a continental alliance. had she married carlos, she might have saved him from the untimely fate inflicted by parental cruelty in . of all the sovereigns who at this time watched mary's intentions with the most jealous anxiety, none felt so deeply interested in the decision she might ultimately come to, as elizabeth. to her, mary's marriage was a matter of the very last importance. if she connected herself with a powerful catholic prince, her former claims upon the english throne might be renewed; and her scottish armies, assisted by continental forces, might ultimately deprive elizabeth of her crown. even though mary did not proceed to such extremities, if she had a catholic husband, and more especially if there were any children of the marriage, all the catholics of europe would rally round her, and her power would be such, that her requests would be tantamount to commands. so far as elizabeth's own interests, and those of the kingdom over which she reigned, were involved, she was called upon to pay all due attention to the proceedings of so formidable a rival as mary. but the english queen's selfish and invidious policy far over-stepped the limits marked out by the laws of self-defence. having determined against marriage herself, she could not bear to think that the queen of scots should be any thing but a "barren stock" also. it made her miserable to know that her power should end with her life, whilst mary might become the mother of a long line of kings. she hoped, therefore, though she did not dare to avow her object, to be able to exert such influence with murray and the scottish reformers, that mary, by their united machinations, might find it impossible ever to form another matrimonial alliance; and with this view her first step was to inform "her good sister," that if she married without her consent, she would have little difficulty in prevailing upon the parliament of england to set aside her succession. driven hither and thither by so many contrary opinions and contending interests, it was no easy matter for the scottish queen to come to a final determination upon this subject. although, in her own words, "not to marry she knew could not be for her, and to defer it long many incommodities might ensue," she at the same time saw that there were insuperable reasons against a foreign alliance. the loss of her best and most powerful continental friend, the duke of guise, was one of these; another was, the avowed wish of elizabeth and the english nation; and the third, and that which weighed most forcibly, the earnest entreaties of her own subjects. the great proportion of the inhabitants of scotland were now protestants; and to have attempted to place over them a foreign catholic prince, would have been to have incurred the risk of throwing them at once into the arms of elizabeth, and of losing their allegiance for ever. mary was therefore willing to make a virtue of necessity, and to allow herself to be guided very much by "her good sister's discretion." this concession to the english queen was far from being agreeable to catharine de medicis and the french court. it seemed to be paving the way for a cessation of that friendship which had so long existed between france and scotland. catharine, altering her policy, began to treat mary with every mark of attention. she paid up the dowry she received from france, which had fallen into arrears, and requested mary to exercise as much patronage and influence in that country as she chose. elizabeth, however, had already suggested a husband for her; and, to the astonishment of every body, had named her favourite minion, dudley, earl of leicester. though the proposal of one of her own subjects, and one too, whom she had raised from comparative obscurity, was regarded by mary as little else than an insult, she agreed, that two commissioners upon her part, murray and maitland--should meet two of elizabeth's, the duke of bedford and randolph, to discuss the expediency of the match. at the conference, which took place at berwick, it was stated for mary, that she could never condescend to marry a newly-created english earl, having so long a list of princes of the blood-royal of the noblest houses of europe among her suitors; and it was added, boldly, that elizabeth seemed somewhat deficient even in self-respect, when she could think of recommending such a husband for a queen, her kinswoman. it is not at all likely, that either elizabeth, or the earl of leicester, expected or wished any other answer. elizabeth could hardly have done without her favourite; and the earl would have fallen into irretrievable disgrace, had he dared to confess a preference for any mistress over the one he already had. it was soon after this conference that randolph, by elizabeth's directions, repaired to the queen at st andrews, to ascertain from her own lips what were her real sentiments on the subject of marriage. he found her living very quietly in a merchant's house, with a small train. she had been wearied with the state and show of a court, and had determined to pass some weeks in her favourite retirement of st andrews, more as a subject than a queen. she made randolph dine and sup with her every day during his visit; and she frequently, upon these occasions, drank to the health of elizabeth. when randolph entered upon matters of business, mary said to him playfully,--"i sent for you to be merry, and to see how like a bourgeoise wife i live with my little troop; and you will interrupt our pastime with your great and grave matters? i pray ye, sir, if ye be weary here, return home to edinburgh; and keep your gravity and great embassade until the queen come thither; for, i assure ye, you shall not get her here, nor i know not myself where she is become. ye see neither cloth of estate, nor such appearance that you may think that there is a queen here; nor i would not that you should think that i am she at st andrews, that i was at edinburgh." randolph was thus, for the time, fairly bantered out of his diplomatic gravity. but next day, he rode abroad with the queen, and renewed the subject. mary then told him, that she saw the necessity of marrying, and that she would rather be guided in her choice by england than by france, or any other country after scotland. she frankly added, that her reason for paying this deference to elizabeth, was to obtain an acknowledgment of her right of succession to the english crown. she was making a sacrifice, she said, in renouncing the much more splendid alliances which had been offered her; and she could not be expected to do so without a return on the part of elizabeth. fearful that the crafty randolph might make a bad use of this open confession, she suddenly checked herself;--"i am a fool," she said, "thus long to talk with you; you are too subtle for me to deal with." but randolph, finding her in a communicative mood, was unwilling that the conversation should drop so soon. some further discourse took place, and mary, in conclusion, gave utterance to the following sentiments, which do honour both to her head and heart. "how much better were it," said she, "that we two being queens, so near of kin and neighbours, and being in one isle, should be friends and live together like sisters, than, by strange means, divide ourselves to the hurt of us both; and to say that we may for all that live friends, we may say and prove what we will, but it will pass both our powers. you repute us poor; but yet you have found us cumbersome enough. we have had loss; ye have taken scaith. why may it not be between my sister and me, that we, living on peace and assured friendship, may give our minds, that some as notable things may be wrought by us women, as by our predecessors have been done before. let us seek this honour against some other, rather than fall to debate amongst ourselves."[ ] mary, however, was by this time convinced of elizabeth's want of sincerity, and formed, therefore, a matrimonial plan of her own, which, she flattered herself, would be considered judicious by all parties. it will be recollected, that, during the troubles which ensued soon after mary's birth, matthew, earl of lennox, having drawn upon himself the suspicion, both of the protestant and catholic parties in scotland, retired into england, where henry viii. gave him his niece in marriage. the lady margaret douglas was daughter of the eldest daughter of henry vii., the princess margaret, who, upon the decease of her first husband james iv., had married the earl of angus, of which marriage the lady margaret was the issue. lennox, belonging as he did to the house of stuart, was himself related to the royal family of scotland; and his wife, failing the children of henry viii., and the direct line of succession by her mother's first husband james iv., in which line mary stood, was the legal heir to the crown of england. the first child of this marriage died in infancy. the second, afterwards known as henry stuart, lord darnley, was born in , and was, consequently, about four years younger than mary. this disparity in point of years, though unfortunate in another point of view, was not such as to preclude the possibility of an alliance between two persons, in whose veins flowed so much of the blood of the stuarts and the tudors. henry viii. had, along with his niece, bestowed upon lennox english lands, from which he derived a yearly revenue of fifteen hundred marks. his own estates in scotland were forfeited, so that he thus came to be considered more an english than a scottish subject. he had long, however, nourished the secret hope of restoring his fortunes in his native land. his wife, who was a woman of an ambitious and intriguing spirit, induced him, at an early period, to educate his son with a view to his aspiring to the hand of the scottish queen. on the death of francis ii. she went herself to paris, for the purpose of ingratiating herself with mary, and securing a favourable opinion for darnley. mary, probably, gave her some hope that she might, at a future date, take her proposals into serious consideration; for it appears, by some papers still preserved in the british museum, that few rejoiced more sincerely at the queen's safe arrival in scotland, than lady lennox. she is said to have fallen on her knees, and, with uplifted hands, thanked god that the scottish queen had escaped the english ships. for this piece of piety, and to show her the necessity of taking less interest in the affairs of elizabeth's rival, cecil sent lady lennox to prison for some months. seeing the difficulties which stood in the way of all her other suitors, mary, in the year , began seriously to think of darnley. a marriage with him would unite, in the person of the heir of such marriage, the rival claims of the stuarts and the tudors upon the english succession, failing issue by elizabeth; and it would give to scotland a native prince of the old royal line. it was difficult to see what reasonable objections could be made to such an alliance; and that she might at all events have an opportunity of judging for herself, mary granted the earl of lennox permission to return to scotland, in , after an exile of twenty years, and promised to assist him in reclaiming his hereditary rights. elizabeth, who was well aware of the ultimate views with which this journey was undertaken, and had certainly no desire to forward their accomplishment, made nevertheless no opposition to it. with her usual sagacity, she calculated that much discord and jealousy would arise, out of the earl's suit, in favour of his son. she knew that the house of hamilton, whose claims upon the scottish crown were publicly recognised, looked upon the lennox family as its worst enemies; and that the haughty nobility of scotland would ill brook to see a stripling elevated above the heads of all of them. besides, the principal estates of lennox now lay in england; and in the words of robertson, "she hoped by this pledge to keep the negotiation entirely in her own hands, and to play the same game of artifice and delay which she had planned out, if her recommendation of leicester had been more favourably received." in the parliament which assembled towards the end of the year , lennox was restored to his estates and honours. such of his possessions as had passed into the hands of the earl of argyle, were surrendered with extreme reluctance; and the duke of chatelherault, dreading the marriage with darnley, continued obstinate in his hatred. the earl of murray too, aware that this new connection would be a fatal blow to his influence, set his face against it from the first. maitland, on the contrary, who felt that he had been hitherto kept too much under by the prime minister, did not anticipate with any regret the decline of his ascendancy. the secretary, and most of the other members of the privy council, were assiduously courted by lennox. he made presents both to the queen and them of valuable jewels; but to murray, whose enmity he knew, he gave nothing.[ ] that murray's weight in the government, however, had not yet decreased, is apparent, from his procuring an enactment, to gratify the protestants, in the parliament of this year, making the attending of mass, except in the queen's chapel, punishable with loss of goods, lands, and life: and the archbishop of st andrews having infringed this act, was imprisoned, in spite of mary's intercession, for some months. early in , darnley obtained leave from elizabeth to set out for scotland. his ostensible purpose was to visit his father, and to see the estates to which he had been recently restored; but that his real object was to endeavour to win the good graces of mary, was no secret. elizabeth's wish being to involve mary in a quarrel, as well with some of her own nobility, as with england, there was much art in the plan she laid for its accomplishment. she consented that the earl of lennox should go into scotland to recover his forfeited estates, and that his son should follow him to share in his father's good fortune; she even went the length of recommending them both to the especial favour of the scottish queen; but of course said not a word of any suspicions she entertained of the projected alliance. as soon as it should appear that mary's resolution was taken, she would affect the greatest indignation at the whole proceedings, and pretend that they had been cunningly devised and executed, hoping either to break off the match altogether, or to make mary's nuptial couch, any thing but a bed of roses. thus was the scottish queen to be systematically harassed, and made miserable, to gratify the splenetic jealousy, and lull the selfish terrors, of her sister of england. darnley, in the midst of a severe snow-storm, travelled with all expedition to edinburgh. upon his arrival he found that mary was at wemyss castle in fife, whither, at his father's desire, he immediately proceeded. the impression which it is said he made upon the queen, at even his first interview, has been much exaggerated. chalmers, alluding principally to robertson's account of this matter, acutely remarks, "the scottish historians would have us believe, that mary fell desperately in love with darnley at first sight; they would have us suppose, as simply as themselves, that the widowed queen, at the age of twenty-two," (it should have been twenty-three), "who knew the world, and had seen the most accomplished gentlemen in europe, was a boarding-school miss, who had never till now seen a man." mary received darnley frankly, and as one whom she wished to like; but she had been too long accustomed to admiration, to be prepared to surrender her heart at the first glance. it was not mary's character to allow herself to be won before she was wooed. she was, no doubt, glad to perceive that darnley was one of the handsomest young men of the day. she said playfully, that "he was the lustiest and best proportioned long man she had seen." she might have said a good deal more; for all historians agree in noticing the grace of his person, the easy elegance of his carriage, the agreeable regularity of his features, and the animated expression of his countenance, lighted up, as it was, by a pair of dazzling eyes. he excelled too in all the showy and manly accomplishments so much in vogue among the young nobility. his riding and dancing were unrivalled; and to gratify mary, he avowed, whether real or affected, a great fondness for poetry and music. melville says quaintly, "he was of a heigh stature, lang and small, even and brent up; well instructed from his youth in all honest and comely exercises."[ ] it was not, however, darnley's exterior in which mary and her subjects were principally interested. the bent which nature and education had given to his mind and character, was a much more important subject of consideration. with regard to his religious sentiments, they seem to have sat loosely upon him; though his mother was a catholic, he himself professed adherence to the established church of england.[ ] in scotland, he saw the necessity of ingratiating himself with the reformers; and he went, the very first sunday he spent in edinburgh, to hear knox preach. but darnley's great misfortune was, that, before he had learned any thing in the school of experience, and in the very heat and fire of youth, he was raised to an eminence which, so far from enabling him to see over the heads of other men, only rendered him giddy, and made his inferiority the more apparent. he was naturally of a headstrong and violent temper, which might, perhaps, have been tamed down by adversity, but which only ran into wilder waste in the sunshine of prosperity. he was passionately fond of power, without the ability to make a proper use of it. it is not unlikely that, had he continued a subject for some years longer, and associated with men of sound judgment and practical knowledge, he might have divested himself of some of the follies of youth, and acquired a contempt for many of its vices. but his honours came upon him too suddenly; and the intellectual strength of his character, never very great, was crushed under the load. conscious of his inability to cope with persons of talent, he sought to gather round him those who were willing to flatter him on account of his rank, or to join him in all kinds of dissipation, with the view of sharing his ill-regulated liberality. of the duties of a courtier, he knew something; but of those of a politician, he was profoundly ignorant. the polish of his manners gained him friends at first; but the reckless freedom with which he gave utterance to his hasty opinions and ill-grounded prejudices, speedily converted them into enemies. he had only been a short time in scotland, when he remarked to one of the earl of murray's brothers, who pointed out to him on the map the earl's lands, "that they were too extensive." murray was told of this; and, perceiving what he had to expect when darnley became king, he took his measures accordingly. mary, whose affliction it was to have husbands far inferior to herself in mental qualifications, beseeched darnley to be more guarded in future. that he was somewhat violent and self-sufficient, she did not feel to be an insuperable objection, considering, as she did, the political advantages that might accrue from the alliance. she hoped that time would improve him; and besides, she did not yet know the full extent of his imperfections, as he had, of course, been anxious to show her only the fairer side of his character. melville speaks of him, even when he came to be most hated, as a young prince, who failed rather for lack of good counsel than of evil will. "it appeared to be his destiny," says he, "to like better of flatterers and evil company, than of plain speakers and good men; whilk has been the wreck of many princes, who, with good company, might have produced worthy effects." randolph himself allows, that for some weeks, his "behaviour was very well liked, and there was great promise of him." he had been about a month at court before he ventured to propose himself as a husband to mary; and at first she gave him but small encouragement, telling him she had not yet made up her mind, and refusing to accept of a ring, which he offered her.[ ] this was not like one who had fallen in love at first sight. but the queen invariably conducted herself with becoming self-respect towards darnley, permitting, as miss benger remarks, rather than inviting, his intentions. darnley, thus finding that, though the ball was at his foot, the game was not already won, saw it necessary to engage with his father's assistance, as powerful a party as possible to support his pretensions. sir james melville was his friend, and spoke in his favour to mary. all the lords who hated or feared murray did the same; among whom were, the earls of athol and caithness, and the lords ruthven and hume. a still more useful agent than any of these, darnley found in david rizzio, who, as the queen's french secretary, and one whose abilities she respected, had a good deal of influence with her. rizzio knew that for this very reason he was hated by murray, and others of the privy council. he was, therefore, not ill pleased to find himself sought after by her future husband, for he hoped thus to retain his place at court, and perhaps to rise upon the ruin of some of those who wished his downfal. an accidental illness which overtook darnley, when the queen, with her court, was at stirling, about the beginning of april , was another circumstance in his favour. at first, his complaint was supposed to be a common cold, but in a few days it turned out to be the measles. the natural anxiety which mary felt for darnley's recovery, induced her to exhibit a tenderer interest in him than she had ever done before. she paid him the most flattering attentions, and continued them unwearyingly, though her patient was provokingly attacked by an ague, almost immediately after his recovery from the measles.[ ] it is worth noticing, that while mary was thus occupied in attending to darnley, the earl of bothwell returned to scotland from his involuntary banishment. his former misdemeanours were not yet forgotten, and he was summoned by the queen and murray to take his trial in edinburgh; but not liking to trust himself in the hands of his ancient enemies, he again left the country for six months. he did not depart before giving utterance to several violent threats against murray and maitland, and speaking so disrespectfully of the queen, that randolph says she declared to him, upon her honour, that he should never receive favour at her hands.[ ] the queen of scots being now resolved to bestow her hand on darnley, sent her secretary, maitland, to london, to intimate her intentions, and to request elizabeth's approbation. this was the very last thing elizabeth meant to give. the matter had now arrived exactly at the point to which she had all along wished to bring it. she had prevailed upon mary to abandon the idea of a foreign alliance; she had induced her to throw away some valuable time in ridiculous negociations concerning the earl of leicester; she had consented, first that the earl of lennox, and then that his son darnley, should go into scotland; and she did not say a single syllable against it till she had allowed mary to be persuaded, that no marriage in christendom could be more prudent. it was now that the cloven-foot was to betray itself; that her faction was to be called upon to exert itself in scotland; that the cup was to be dashed from darnley's lips; and that mary was to be involved in the vortex of civil dissension. the historian castelnau, whom mary at this time sent as her ambassador to france, and who there obtained their majesties' consent to the marriage, mentions, that when he returned through england, he found the queen much colder than formerly, complaining that mary had subtracted her relation and subject, and that she was intending to marry him without her permission, and against her approbation. "and yet i am sure," adds castelnau, "that these words were very far from her heart; for she used all her efforts, and spared nothing to set this marriage a-going."[ ] elizabeth seldom did things by halves. she assembled her privy council, and, at the instigation of cecil, they gave it as their unanimous opinion, that "this marriage with my lord darnley appeared to be unmeet, unprofitable, and directly prejudicial to the sincere amity between both the queens."[ ] upon what reasons this sage determination was founded, the privy council did not condescend to state. it is not difficult, however, to do so for them, the more especially as an official paper is still preserved, drawn up by cecil himself, in which the explanations he attempts serve to disclose more fully his own and his queen's policy. he did not think this marriage "meet or profitable;" because, in the first place, it would have given great content to those who were anxious that mary's succession to the english crown should not be set aside; and in the second place, because, by representing it as dangerous, a plausible pretence would be furnished to all mary's enemies to join with elizabeth in opposing it, and harassing the queen of scots. cecil proceeds to point out explicitly how the harassing system was to be carried on. _first_, it was to be represented, that in france the houses of guise and lorraine, and all the other leading catholics; and in scotland, all who hated the duke of chatelherault and the hamiltons, and murray and the reformers, and were devoted to the authority of rome, approved of the marriage. _second_, it was to be spread abroad that the devil would stir up some of the friends of mary and darnley, to alienate the minds of elizabeth's subjects, and even to attempt the life of that sovereign; and, under the pretext of preventing such evils, the most rigorous measures might be taken against all suspected persons; and, _third_, tumults and rebellions in scotland were to be fomented in all prudent and secret ways.[ ] to report to mary the decision of her privy council, elizabeth sent sir nicolas throckmorton into scotland. he arrived at stirling on the th of may , and, in an audience which mary gave him, he set forth elizabeth's disliking and disallowance of what she was pleased to term "the hasty proceeding with my lord darnley." mary, with becoming dignity and unanswerable argument, replied, that she was sorry elizabeth disliked the match, but that, as to her "disallowance," she had never asked the english queen's permission,--she had only communicated to her, as soon as she had made up her own mind, the person whom she had chosen. she was not a little surprised, she added, at elizabeth's opposition, since it had been expressly intimated to her, through the english resident, randolph, that if she avoided a foreign alliance, "she might take her choice of any person within the realms of england or scotland, without any exception." her choice had fallen upon lord darnley, both from the good qualities she found in him, and because being elizabeth's kinsman and her's, and participating of the english and scottish blood royal, she had imagined that none would be more agreeable to her majesty and the realm of england. convinced, by so decided an answer to his remonstrance, that mary's resolution was fixed, throckmorton wrote to elizabeth, that she could not hope to stop the marriage, unless she had recourse to violence. but elizabeth had too much prudence to take up arms herself; all she wished was, to instigate others to this measure. accordingly, throckmorton, one of the wiliest of her diplomatic agents, received orders to deal with the scottish malcontents, and especially the earl of murray, whom he was to assure of elizabeth's support, should they proceed to extremities. murray was likewise invited to enter into a correspondence with cecil, an invitation with which he willingly complied;[ ] and to give the whole affair as serious an air as possible, a fresh supply of troops was sent to the earl of bedford, elizabeth's lieutenant of the borders; and her wardens of the marches were commanded to show no more favour to mary's subjects than the bare abstaining from any breach of peace. the earl of northumberland, who was attached to the lennox family, was detained in london; and lady lennox herself, was committed to the tower. lady somerset, who pretended a sort of title to the english succession in opposition to mary, was received very graciously at the court of westminster. means were used to induce secretary maitland to associate himself with murray, and the other discontents; and, all this time, that no suspicion of such insiduous enmity towards the scottish queen might be entertained on the continent, the good opinion of france and spain was carefully courted. elizabeth next wrote letters to lennox and darnley, commanding them both, as her subjects, to return to england without delay. randolph was desired to wait upon them, to know what answer they were disposed to give. he got little satisfaction from either;--lennox firmly, and darnley contemptuously, refused to obey the mandate of recall. randolph then waited upon the queen to ascertain her mind on the subject. mary felt keenly the contemptible jealousy and envy with which she was treated by elizabeth; and received the english resident with greater reserve than she had ever done before, "as a man new and first come into her presence that she had never seen." randolph asked, if she would give lennox and darnley permission to depart for england. mary smiled at the question, which was an artful one, and said,--"if i would give them leave, i doubt what they would do themselves; i see no will in them to return." randolph answered with insolence, that they must either return, or do worse; for that, if they refused, and were supported by mary in that refusal, the queen his mistress had the power and the will to be revenged upon both them and her. the queen of scots merely replied, that she hoped elizabeth would change her mind, and so dismissed randolph. satisfied of the integrity of her purpose, mary was not to be easily driven from it. she sent mr john hay to the english court, to state once more her anxious wish to avoid giving any just cause of offence to elizabeth, but at the same time to repeat, that she could not but consider as strange and vexatious, any opposition to a marriage, to which there did not seem to be one plausible objection. he was desired also to complain of the "sharp handling" which had been given to mary's aunt, the lady margaret douglas, countess of lennox. but her chief anxieties arose from the state of matters nearer home. the duke of chatelherault, and the earls of murray, argyle, and glencairn, had now openly declared themselves adverse to the marriage; and lethington and morton were suspected of giving it only a very doubtful support. there was, in consequence, a great change at mary's court. they who had formerly most influence kept away from it altogether; and a new set of men, little accustomed to state duties, such as montrose, fleming, cassils, montgomery, and others, came into favour. it was now that mary found rizzio, who was active, and well acquainted with all the details of public business, and was, besides, liked by darnley, of the greatest use to her; and being deserted by her more efficient, but too ambitious counsellors, she gladly availed herself of his services. chapter xiii. mary's marriage with darnley. murray, meanwhile, was busily organizing his scheme of rebellion. "their chief trust," says randolph, alluding to the earl and his associates, "next unto god, is the queen's majesty, (elizabeth,) whom they will repose themselves upon; not leaving in the meantime to provide for themselves the best they can." elizabeth was not backward to give them every encouragement. she wrote letters to the heads of the party; means were taken to win over to their views the general assembly, which met in june , the members of which, as randolph says, were "never more constant or more earnest;" and the nobles summoned by mary to a convention at perth, were all tampered with. but the great majority at this convention, gave their consent and approbation to the proposed marriage; and murray, in despair, begged randolph to inform his mistress, in the name of himself and those who had joined his faction, that they were "grieved to see such extreme folly in their sovereign; that they lamented the state of their country, which tended to utter ruin; and that they feared the nobility would be forced to assemble themselves together, so to provide for the state, that it should not utterly perish." in other words, they had made up their mind to rebellion; at all events, to prevent darnley from obtaining the crown, and an ascendancy over them,--and probably, if an opportunity should offer, to put mary in confinement, and rule the country themselves. this was exactly the state of feeling which elizabeth had long laboured to produce in scotland. "some that have already heard," says randolph, "of my lady's grace imprisonment," (meaning the countess of lennox), "like very well thereof, and wish both father and son to keep her company. the question hath been asked me, whether, if they were delivered us into berwick, we would receive them? i answered, that we could not nor would not refuse our own, in what sort soever they came unto us."[ ] but as it was felt that a plausible apology would be required for proceeding to these extremities, the earl of murray gave out that a conspiracy had been formed to assassinate him at the convention at perth. his story was, that there had been a quarrel between one of his own servants and another man, who was supported by retainers of athol and lennox, and that it had been arranged that they should renew their dispute at perth, and that he himself should be slain in the affray, which was expected to ensue. but the evidence of a plot against him rests only upon murray's own statement and when mary asked him to transmit in writing a more particular account of it, seeing that he made it his excuse for refusing to come to court, "it appeared to her highness and to her council, that his purgation in that behalf, was not so sufficient as the matter required;" and his excuse was not sustained.[ ] the treasonable views entertained by murray and his friends, are involved in no such doubt. in these times, the common mode of effecting a change in the government, was to seize the person of the sovereign; and all historians of credit agree in affirming, that murray was determined on making the experiment. on sunday, the first of july, , the queen was to ride with darnley and a small train of friends from perth to the seat of lord livingston at callander, the baptism of one of whose children she had promised to attend. murray knew that it would be necessary for her to pass, in the course of this journey, through several steep and wild passes, where she and her attendants might easily be overpowered. at what precise spot the attack was to be made, or whether that was not left to the chapter of accidents, does not appear. knox, who was, of course, too staunch a presbyterian directly to accuse the great lay-head of his church of so treasonable a design, says that the path of dron (a rugged pass about three miles south of perth), had been mentioned, whilst sir james melville and others, point out the kirk of beith, which stood on a solitary piece of ground, between dumfermline and the queensferry. but late upon the previous saturday night, a rumour reached mary of the contemplated plot. to prevent its execution, she ordered the earl of athol and lord ruthven, to collect immediately as strong a body of men as possible; and through their exertions, she left perth next morning at five, accompanied by three hundred horsemen well mounted. murray was waiting at loch leven, argyle at castle campbell, chatelherault at his house of kinneil, in the neighbourhood of the queensferry, and lord rothes, who had joined in the conspiracy, at a place called the parrot well, not far distant. the queen, however, to their great disappointment, having passed over the ground on which they intended to intercept her, both much earlier in the day, and much more strongly guarded than they had anticipated, they were obliged to remain quiet; indeed the earl of argyle did not come to join murray, till two hours after mary had ridden through kinross.[ ] on mary's return to edinburgh she found that an attempt had been made, through the conjoined influence of knox and murray, to stir up to sedition some of the more bigoted presbyterians--on the plea that darnley favoured popery. two or three hundred of the malcontents, or _brethren_, as knox calls them, assembled at st leonard's hill, and their mutinous proceedings might have led to disagreeable consequences, had not mary arrived just in time to disperse and overawe them.[ ] murray and his associates, keeping at a greater distance, held some secret meetings at loch-leven, and then assembling at stirling on the th of july, openly raised the standard of rebellion. but, amidst all these troubles, mary, conscious that she had right upon her side, remained undaunted, and, at no period of her life, did her strength of mind appear more conspicuous. to retain that confidence, which she knew the great majority of her subjects still placed in her, she issued proclamations announcing her determination to abstain, as she had hitherto done, from any interference in the matter of religion; she wrote, with her own hand, letters to many of her nobles, assuring them of the integrity of her intentions; and, she sent requisitions to all upon whom she could depend, calling on them to collect their followers, and come armed to her assistance. the earl of murray, on the other hand, having thrown off his allegiance to his own sovereign, became entirely subservient to the wishes and commands of elizabeth. he and his friends wrote to request that she would send them, as a proof of her sincerity in the cause, the sum of three thousand pounds to meet the expenses of the current year; and they would thus be able, they imagined, to carry every thing before them, unless mary received foreign assistance. they likewise suggested that lord hume, whose estates lay on the borders, and who was one of the scottish queen's most faithful servants, should be harassed by some ostensibly accidental incursions;--that the bishop of dumblane, who was to be sent on an embassy to the continent, should be delayed in london till "his budgets were rifled by some good slight or other;"--and that bothwell, whom mary was about to recall, to obtain his assistance in her present difficulties, should be "kept in good surety" for a time.[ ] to all this elizabeth replied, that if the lords suffered any inconvenience, "they should not find lack in her to succour them." she hinted, however, that the less money they asked the better, advising them "neither to make greater expense than their security makes necessary, nor less which may bring danger." "this letter," says keith, "is an evident demonstration of the english queen's fomenting and supporting a rebellion in scotland; and the rebellious lords knew too well what they had to trust to." one can hardly attempt to unravel, as has been done in the preceding pages, the secret causes which led to the iniquitous rebellion now organized, without feeling it almost a duty to express indignation both at the malicious interference of the english queen, and the overweening ambition and ingratitude of the earl of murray. mary's conduct, since her return from france, had been almost unexceptionable. the only fault she had committed, and the necessity of the times forced it on her, was yielding too implicitly to the counsels of her brother. these had been in some instances judicious, and in others, the natural severity of his temper had been rebuked by the mildness of mary; so that, take it for all in all, no government had ever been more popular in scotland than hers. her choice of lord darnley for a husband, so far from diminishing the estimation in which she was held by the great body of her subjects, only contributed to raise her in their opinion. for the sake of the political advantages which would result to her country from this alliance, she was willing to forego much more splendid offers; and, though the imperfections of darnley's character might ultimately be the means of destroying her own happiness, his birth and expectations were exactly such as gave him the best right to be the father of james vi. nor could his religious opinions be objected to, for, whatever they were, they did not influence the queen;--indeed, ever since she had known him, she had treated the protestants with even more than her usual liberality. at the baptism of lord livingston's child, she remained and heard a protestant sermon; and about the same time she intimated to some of the leaders of the reformers, that though she was not persuaded of the truth of any religion except of that in which she had been brought up, she would nevertheless allow a conference and disputation on the scriptures in her presence, and also a public preaching from the mouth of mr erskine of dun, whom she regarded as "a mild and sweet-natured man, with true honesty and uprightness."[ ] all these things considered, one is at a loss to conceive how, even in these restless times, any set of men dared to enter into rebellion against mary. but the selfish and insidious policy of elizabeth--the jealousy of the duke of chatelherault, in whose family rested the succession to the scottish crown, and who had hoped that his son arran might have obtained mary's hand--the envy and rage of the earl of argyle, who had been obliged to surrender to lennox some of his forfeited estates--and, above all, the artful and grasping spirit of murray, solve the enigma. whatever opinion may be entertained of mary's subsequent proceedings it appears but too evident, that the first serious troubles of her reign were forced upon her in spite of her utmost prudence, by the intrigues of enemies who were only the more dangerous, because they had for a time assumed the disguise of friends. whatever the hopes or wishes of the conspirators might be, mary resolved that they should not long have it in their power to make their desire to prevent her nuptials a pretext for continuing in arms. on sunday, the th of july , she celebrated her marriage with darnley, upon whom she had previously conferred various titles, and among others that of duke of albany.[ ] the banns of matrimony were proclaimed in the canongate church, the palace of holyrood being in that parish; and, as mary and darnley were first cousins, a catholic dispensation had been obtained from the pope. the ceremony was performed, according to the catholic ritual, in the chapel of holyrood, between five and six in the morning--an hour which appears somewhat strange to modern habits. john sinclair, dean of restalrig, and bishop of brechin, had the honour of presiding on the occasion. it was generally remarked, that a handsomer couple had never been seen in scotland. mary was now twenty-three, and at the very height of her beauty, and darnley, though only nineteen, was of a more manly person and appearance than his age would have indicated. the festivities were certainly not such as had attended the queen's first marriage, for the elegancies of life were not understood in scotland as in france; and, besides, it was a time of trouble when armed men were obliged to stand round the altar. nevertheless, all due observances and rejoicings lent a dignity to the occasion. mary, in a flowing robe of black, with a wide mourning hood, was led into the chapel by the earls of lennox and athol, who, having conducted her to the altar, retired to bring in the bridegroom. the bishop having united them in the presence of a great attendance of lords and ladies, three rings were put upon the queen's finger--the middle one a rich diamond. they then knelt together, and many prayers were said over them. at their conclusion, darnley kissed his bride, and as he did not himself profess the catholic faith, left her till she should hear mass. she was afterwards followed by most of the company to her own apartments, where she laid aside her sable garments, to intimate, that henceforth, as the wife of another, she would forget the grief occasioned by the loss of her first husband. in observance of an old custom, as many of the lords as could approach near enough were permitted to assist in unrobing her, by taking out a pin. she was then committed to her ladies, who, having attired her with becoming splendour, brought her to the ball-room, where there was great cheer and dancing till dinner time. at dinner, darnley appeared in his royal robes; and after a great flourish of trumpets, largess was proclaimed among the multitude who surrounded the palace. the earls of athol, morton, and crawfurd, attended the queen as sewer, carver, and cup-bearer; and the earls of eglinton, cassilis, and glencairn, performed the like offices for darnley. when dinner was over, the dancing was renewed till supper-time, soon after which the company retired for the night.[ ] the rejoicings that attended the commencement of darnley's career as king of scotland, were but of short duration. randolph, expressing the sentiments of elizabeth and the rebels, hesitated not to say, that "_god must either send the king a short end, or them a miserable life; that either he must be taken away, or they find some support, that what he intendeth to others may light upon himself_." chapter xiv. murray's rebellion. murray had now gone too far to recede, though, had he been so inclined, mary's leniency would willingly have given him the opportunity. mr john hay, who had formerly acted as her ambassador in england, and who was one of her brother's personal friends, was sent to him to declare the good will which both the earl of lennox and darnley bore towards him. mary even avowed her readiness to bring to trial any one he would accuse of having conspired against his life; but he had no evidence to prove that such a conspiracy had ever existed, much less to fix the guilt upon any individual. he had made the accusation originally, only the better to conceal his own nefarious purposes; for murray well understood the practical application of machiavel's maxim,--"calumniare audacter aliquid adhærebit." acting in concert with this nobleman, elizabeth now sent more imperative orders than before for the return of lennox and darnley. but the former answered, that, considering his wife had been committed to the tower for no fault on her part, he thought it unlikely that the climate of england would suit his constitution; and the latter said boldly and gallantly, that he now acknowledged duty and obedience to none but the queen of scots, whom he served and honoured; and though elizabeth chose to be envious of his good fortune, he could not discover why he should leave a country where he found himself so comfortable. randolph coolly replied, that he hoped to see the wreck and overthrow of as many as were of the same mind; "and so turning my back to him, without reverence or farewell, i went away."[ ] the disaffected lords, on their part, as soon as they heard of mary's marriage, and the proclamations in which she conferred upon her husband the rank and title of king, renewed their complaints with increased bitterness. the majority of their countrymen, however, saw through their real motives; and even knox allows it was generally alleged, that these complaints were "not for religion, but rather for hatred, envy of sudden promotion or dignity, or such worldly causes." the recalling of the earls bothwell and sutherland, and the restoring lord gordon to the forfeited estates and honours of his father, the earl of huntly, was another source of exasperation. from the tried fidelity of these noblemen, mary knew she could depend upon their services; though bothwell, personally, as we have already seen, was far from being agreeable to her. to put in the clearest point of view the utter worthlessness of all the grounds of offence which elizabeth and the scottish rebels pretended at this time to have against mary, a short and impartial account of a message sent by the english queen, early in august , and of the answer it received, will be read here with interest. the person who brought this message was one of elizabeth's inferior officials, of the name of tamworth, "a forward, insolent man," says camden, and, with marked disrespect, chosen for this very reason. he was ordered not to acknowledge darnley as king, and to give him no title but that which he had borne in england; but mary, "having smelt," as camden adds "the nature both of the message, and of the animal who brought it," would not admit him into her presence. his objections were therefore committed to writing, and the answer given in similar form. on the part of elizabeth it was stated, that her majesty had found mary's late proceedings, both towards herself and towards her subjects, very strange, upon diverse grounds. these, as they were brought forward, so were they replied to methodically and _seriatim_. _first_, elizabeth took god to witness, that her offer to mary, of any of her own subjects in marriage, was made sincerely and lovingly; and that she was grieved to hear that mary, listening to false council, had been made to think otherwise.--to this it was answered, that the queen of scots did not doubt elizabeth's sincerity and uprightness in her offer of a husband from england, and that no counsel had been given to induce her to change her opinion. _second_, elizabeth was much surprised, that notwithstanding the offer made by mary to sir nicolas throckmorton, to delay her marriage till the middle of august, that she might have longer time to prevail upon elizabeth to consent to it, she had consummated that marriage without giving her majesty any intimation, on the th of july, and had thereby disappointed both elizabeth and some foreign princes, who thought as strangely of the alliance as she did.--to this it was answered, that it was true, that though mary's resolution was fixed before sir nicolas throckmorton came into scotland, she had, nevertheless, promised to delay her marriage in the hope that the doubts entertained by elizabeth, as to the propriety of the said marriage, might in the meantime, be removed; but that this promise was made expressly on the condition, that commissioners should be appointed on both sides to discuss the matter, and that, as elizabeth refused to nominate any such commissioners, mary was relieved from her promise; that further, she had good reasons, known to herself and her own people, with which no other prince needed to interfere, for consummating her marriage at the time she did; and that, with regard to foreign princes thinking the alliance strange, she had a perfect knowledge of the opinions, and had obtained the express consent of the principal and greatest princes in christendom. _third_, elizabeth was astonished how mary, in direct opposition to the conditions of the treaty of peace, existing between england and scotland, could detain her majesty's subjects, lennox and darnley in scotland, having allured them thither under a pretence of suits for lands, but in reality to form an alliance without her majesty's consent and license,--an offence so unnatural, that the world spoke of it, and her majesty could not forget it.--to this it was answered, that mary marvelled not a little at the queen, her good sister, insisting any further upon this head, for she did not understand how it could be found strange that she detained within her realm the person with whom she had joined herself in marriage, or a scottish earl, whom elizabeth herself named by his scottish title, the more especially as they both came to her with elizabeth's consent and letters of recommendation; and that she had no doubt that the world spoke as sound sense would dictate, judging that her detaining of them was in no ways prejudicial to any treaty of peace, existing between the two realms, since no annoyance was intended towards elizabeth, her kingdom, or estate. _fourth_, elizabeth wondered that mary's ambassador, mr john hay, came to ask to be informed of her majesty's objections to the marriage, and of what she wished to be done, but had no authority either to agree to, or refuse her requests; and she therefore supposed that he had been sent more as a piece of empty form, than for any useful purpose.--to this it was answered, that mary, though willing to hear elizabeth's objections, if any such existed, and to endeavour to remove them, had yet expressly declared, that she would make such endeavour only through the medium of commissioners mutually agreed on; and that she was still so convinced of the expediency of the match, that though now married, she was still willing, if elizabeth wished it, to have its propriety discussed by such commissioners. _fifth_, elizabeth begged that an explanation might be given of a sentence in one of mary's french letters, which she found somewhat obscured, and which ran thus,--"je n'estimerois jamais que cela vienne de vous, et sans en chercher autre vengeance, j'aurois recours à tous les princes mes allies pour avec moi vous remonstrer ce que je vous suis par parentage. vous savez assez ce que vous avez resolu sur cela."--to this it was answered, that mary, by the whole of her letter, as well as the passage in question, meant no other thing but to express her desire to remain in perfect friendship and good intelligence with the queen her sister, from whom she expected such treatment as reason and nature required from one princess to another, who was her cousin; and that if, as god forbid, other treatment were received, which mary would not anticipate, she could do no less than lay her case before other princes, her friends and allies. _sixth_, elizabeth was grieved to see that mary encouraged fugitives and offenders from england, and practised other devices within her majesty's realm; and that, in her own kingdom, seduced by false counsellors and malicious information, she raised up factions among the nobility.--to this it was answered, that if the scottish queen really wished to offend elizabeth, she would not be contented with such paltry practices as those she was accused of towards english subjects;--and that, with regard to her proceedings in her own realm, as she had never interfered with elizabeth's order of government, not thinking it right that one state should have a finger in the internal policy of another, so she requested that elizabeth would not meddle with her's, but trust to her discretion, as the person most interested, to preserve peace and quietness. _seventh_, elizabeth warned mary to take good heed that she did not proceed in her intention to suppress and extirpate the religion already established in scotland, or to effect the suppression of the reformed faith in england, for that all such designs, consultations, intelligences, and devices, should be converted to the peril and damage of those that advised and engaged in them.--to this it was answered, that mary could not but marvel at elizabeth's fears for a religion upon which no innovation had ever been attempted, but for the establishment of which every arrangement had been made most agreeable to her scottish subjects; that as to an intention to interfere with the spiritual faith of england, she never heard of it before; but that, if any practices to such effect could be condescended on, they should instantly be explained and altered; and that, with regard to her designs, consultations, intelligences and devices, such as she really engaged in, would be found no vainer or more deceitful than those of her neighbours. _eighth_ and _lastly_, elizabeth wished that mary would not show herself so given to change, as to conceive evil of the earl of murray, whose just deserts she had so long acknowledged, for that by indifference and severity, there were plenty examples to prove, that many noble men had been constrained to take such measures for their own security, as they would otherwise never have resorted to; and that these were _part_ of the reasons why elizabeth was offended with mary.--to this it was answered, that mary wished her good sister would not meddle with the affairs of her scottish subjects any more than mary meddled with the affairs of elizabeth's english subjects; but that, if elizabeth desired any explanation of her conduct towards murray, it would be willingly given, as soon as elizabeth explained her motives for committing to the tower lady margaret, countess of lennox, mother-in-law and aunt of mary; and that, as soon as elizabeth stated any _other_ grounds of offence, they should be answered as satisfactorily as the above had been.[ ] having thus triumphantly replied to the english queen's irritating message, mary, in the true spirit of conciliation, had the magnanimity to propose that the following articles should be mutually agreed upon. on the part of the king and queen of scotland,--_first_, that their majesties being satisfied of the queen their sister's friendship, are content to assure the queen, that during the term of her life, or that of her lawful issue, they will not, directly or indirectly, attempt any thing prejudicial to their sister's title to the crown of england, or in any way disturb the quietness of that kingdom. _second_, they will enter into no communication with any subject or subjects of the realm of england, in prejudice of their said sister and her lawful issue, or receive into their protection any subjects of the realm of england, with whom their sister may have occasion to be offended. _third_, they will not enter into any league or confederation with any foreign prince, to the hurt, damage, and displeasure of the queen and realm of england. _fourth_, they will enter into any such league and confederation with the queen and realm of england, as shall be for the weal of the princes and subjects on both sides. and, _fifth_, they will not go about to procure in any way, alteration, innovation, or change in the religion, laws, or liberties of the realm of england, though it should please god at any time hereafter to call them to the succession of that kingdom. in consideration of these offers, the three following equally reasonable articles were to be agreed to, on the part of england;--_first_, that by act of parliament, the succession to the crown, failing elizabeth and her lawful issue, shall be established first, in the person of mary and her lawful issue, and failing them, in the person of the countess of lennox and her lawful issue, as by the law of god and nature, entitled to the inheritance of the said crown. _second_, that the second offer made by the king and queen of scotland be also made on the part of england; and, _third_, that the third offer shall be likewise mutual. to have agreed to these liberal articles would not have suited elizabeth's policy, and we consequently hear nothing farther concerning them. on the th of august , murray summoned the rebellious nobles to a public meeting at ayr, where it was resolved that they should assemble together in arms on the th. mary in consequence issued proclamations, calling upon her loyal subjects to come to edinburgh, with their kin, friends, and household, and provided for fifteen days, on the th of august. on that day she left edinburgh with a numerous force, and marched to linlithgow. before leaving the capital, measures were taken to prevent the discontented there from turning to advantage the absence of their sovereign. the provost, who was entirely under the management of knox, and strongly suspected to favour the rebels, was displaced, and a more trust-worthy civic officer appointed in his stead. knox himself, a few days before, had, been suspended from the discharge of his clerical duties, in consequence of a seditious and insulting sermon he delivered before the young king, who paid him the compliment of attending divine service in st giles's church, a sunday or two after his marriage. in this sermon the preacher, among other things, said, that god had raised to the throne, for the sins of the people, boys and women; adding, in the words of scripture,--"i will give children to be their princes, and babes shall rule over them: children are their oppressors, and women rule over them." in the same style of allusions grossly personal, he remarked, that "god justly punished ahab, because he did not correct his idolatrous wife, the harlot jezabel." it is singular, that knox never thought of objecting to mary's marriage with darnley, till he found that his patron, the earl of murray, to whom he was now reconciled, did not approve of it. he had said only a few months before that--"the queen being at stirling, order was given to secretary lethington to pass to the queen of england, to declare to that queen, mary was minded to marry her cousin, the lord darnley; and the rather, because he was so near of blood to both queens; for, by his mother, he was cousin-german to the queen of scotland, also of near kindred and the same name by his father;--his mother was cousin-german to the queen of england. here, mark god's providence: king james v., having lost his two sons, did declare his resolution to make the earl of lennox his heir of the crown; but he, prevented by sudden death, that design ceased. then came the earl of lennox from france, with intention to marry king james's widow; but that failed also: he marries mary douglas; and his son, lord darnley, marrieth queen mary, king james v.'s daughter: and so the king's desire is fulfilled, viz.--the crown continueth in the name and in the family." knox had changed his opinion (as even knox could sometimes do), both when he preached the above-mentioned sermon, and when, towards the end of august , he said, that the castle of edinburgh was "shooting against _the exiled for christ jesus' sake_."[ ] from linlithgow, mary advanced with an increasing force, first to stirling, and then to glasgow. here she was within a short distance of the rebel army, which, mustering about strong, had taken its position at paisley; "a fine pleasant village," says keith, "five miles w.s.w. from glasgow." but murray, not venturing to attack the royalists, made a circuit at some distance and, by a forced march, arrived unexpectedly at edinburgh, where he hoped to increase his force. in this hope he was grievously disappointed. finding that the provost, who was taken by surprise, had not sufficient strength to keep him without the walls, he entered the city by the west port, and immediately despatched messengers for assistance in every direction, and, by beat of drum, called upon all men who wished to receive wages "for the defence of the glory of god," to join his standard. but knox confesses, that few or none resorted to him, and that he got little or no support in edinburgh; although the preacher himself did all he could for his patron by prayers and exhortations, in which he denominated the rebels "the best part of the nobility, and chief members of the congregation."[ ] the truth is, that the current of popular opinion ran directly in favour of mary; for the _godly_ earl's real motives were well understood. as soon as the queen was made aware that she had missed her enemies, she marched back in pursuit of them, at the head of men, as far as callender. murray could only fly from a power which he knew he was not able to withstand. alarmed by mary's speedy return, he left edinburgh, and again passing her on the road, led his followers to lanark, and from thence to hamilton. with indomitable perseverance, the queen retraced her steps to glasgow, expecting murray would make an attempt upon that city. but finding there was no safety for him in this part of scotland, he suddenly turned off towards the south, and with as little delay as possible, retired into dumfries-shire. here, being near the borders, he expected that elizabeth would send him succour from england, and at all events, he could at any time make good his retreat into that country. the principal noblemen with him were the duke of chatelherault, the earls of argyle, glencairn, and rothes, and the lords boyd and ochiltree. morton and maitland remained with the queen; but the fidelity of both is much to be suspected, though the command of the main body of the royal army was intrusted to the former. the earl of lennox led the van, and the queen herself rode with her officers in a suit of light armour, carrying pistols at her saddle-bow; "her courage," says knox, "manlike, and always increasing." she did not think it worth while to follow murray into dumfries-shire, but preferred leading her army through fife, to st andrews, taking possession, on the way, of castle campbell, the seat of the rebel lord, argyle. elizabeth in the mean time was far from being inattentive to the interests of her servants in scotland. randolph wrote to cecil, that if she would assist them with men and more money, he doubted not but one country would receive both the queens; by which he meant, that the rebels would thus be able to fulfil their design, of sending mary prisoner into england.[ ] the earl of bedford informed his mistress of the arrival of her friends on the borders, and hinted to her that their cause was evidently not very popular in scotland, and that their force was much inferior to that of mary. elizabeth's letter, in answer, is as artful a piece of writing as has ever proceeded even from a female pen. afraid that she might go too far in assisting the losing party, she resolved to make it be believed that she acted against them, whilst in truth she secretly encouraged and supported them. with this view, she wrote to bedford, that in consequence of his representations, as well as those of randolph and others, she sent him three thousand pounds; one thousand of which was to be paid immediately to murray, in the most private way possible, and as if it came from bedford himself. the remainder was to be kept till occasion required its expenditure. "and where, we perceive," she continued, "by your sundry letters, the earnest request of the said earl of murray and his associates, that they might have at least of our soldiers to aid them, and that you also write, that though we would not command you to give them aid, yet if we would but wink at your doing herein, and seem to blame you for attempting such things, as you, with the help of others, should bring about, you doubt not but things would do well,--we are content, and do authorize you, if you shall see it necessary for their defence, to let them (as of your own adventure, and without notification that you have any direction therein from us), to have the number of soldiers, wherein you shall so precisely deal with them, that they may perceive your care to be such as, if it should otherwise appear, your danger should be so great, as all the friends you have could not be able to save you towards us. and so we assure you, our conscience moveth us to charge you so to proceed with them; and yet we would not that either of these were known to be our act, but rather to be covered with your own desire and attempt." having further mentioned, that she had written lately to mary, to assure that princess of her esteem and good will, elizabeth boldly affixed her signature to this memorable record of unblushing duplicity.[ ] but mary was not to be lulled into dangerous security. all her operations during this campaign were, as robertson has remarked, "concerted with wisdom, executed with vigour, and attended with success." at st andrews, she issued a proclamation, exposing the hollowness of the grounds upon which arms had been taken up against her, and showing that religion was only made a cloak to cover other more ungodly designs. alluding, in particular, to the earl of murray, upon whom she had bestowed so many benefits, this proclamation stated, that his insatiable ambition was not to be satisfied with heaping riches upon riches, and honour upon honour, unless he should also continue to have, as he had too long had, the queen and the whole realm in his own hands, to be used and governed at his pleasure. "by letters sent from themselves to us," mary says, "they make plain profession that the establishment of religion will not content them, but we must per force be governed by such council as it shall please them to appoint unto us." "the like," she adds, "was never demanded of any our most noble progenitors heretofore, yea, not even of governors or regents; but the prince, or such as occupied his place, ever chose his council of such as he thought most fit for the purpose. when we ourselves were of less age, and at our first arrival in our realm, we had free choice of our council at our pleasure; and now, when we are at our full majority, shall we be brought back to the state of pupils and minors, or be put under tutelage? so long as some of them bore the whole swing with us themselves, this matter was never called in question; but now, when they cannot be longer permitted to do and undo all things of their appetite, they will put a bridle in our mouths, and give us a council chosen after their phantasy! to speak it in plain language, they would be king themselves; or at the least, leaving to us the bare name and title, take to themselves the whole use and administration of the kingdom."[ ] after levying a small fine of two hundred marks from the town of dundee, which had given some countenance to the malcontents, mary and darnley returned to edinburgh. they there received such accounts of the increasing strength of the rebels, as induced them to determine on marching southwards. biggar was named as the place of rendezvous for the lieges, and they flocked in such crowds to join the standard of their sovereign, that the queen was enabled to advance towards the borders at the head of an army of , men. before this greatly superior force, murray and his partisans, including his english soldiers, retired to carlisle. he was closely followed thither, upon which his troops dispersed, and he himself and his friends sought refuge by flying further into england. mary, after visiting the castle of lochmaben, left bothwell, with some troops, to watch the borders; and, on the th of october, returned to edinburgh with the rest of her army.[ ] of the rebellious nobles thus forced into exile, the duke of chatelherault alone was able or willing to make his peace immediately. he and his sons were pardoned, on condition of their living abroad--a degree of leniency extended to them by mary, in opposition to the wishes of the house of lennox, which was anxious for the entire ruin of the hamiltons.[ ] murray and the rest, being kindly received by bedford, fixed their residence at newcastle, whence the earl himself, and the abbot of kilwinning, were deputed to proceed to the english court, and lay the state of their affairs before elizabeth, upon whose patronage they conceived they had peculiar claims. it was, however, no part of elizabeth's policy to befriend in their adversity those with whom she had associated herself in more prosperous days. as soon as she heard that murray was on his way to her court, she wrote to stop him, and to inform him that it was not meet for him to have any "open dealing" with her. but at bedford's earnest entreaty he was allowed to continue his journey, the object of which, he said, was to make some proposals for the "common cause."[ ] it was nevertheless a long while before he could obtain an audience of the queen; and when that honour was at length conceded to him, she had the confidence to ask him, with an unruffled countenance, how he, being a rebel to her sister of scotland, durst have the boldness to come within her realm? murray, in reply, ventured to speak of the support he had all along received from her; but as this was betraying her policy to her continental neighbours, it exasperated her to such a degree, that she declared he and his friends should never obtain any thing from her but scorn and neglect, unless he made a public recantation of such an assertion. with this demand both the earl and the abbot had the meanness to comply; and though sir nicolas throckmorton interfered in their behalf, and openly avowed that he had been sent into scotland expressly to make offers of assistance to the rebel lords, he could not save them from the degradation which elizabeth inflicted. they appeared before her when she was surrounded by the french and spanish ambassadors, and impiously affirmed, upon their knees, that her majesty had never moved them to any opposition or resistance against their own queen. as soon as they had uttered this falsehood, elizabeth said to them,--"now ye have told the truth; for neither did i, nor any in my name, stir you up against your queen. your abominable treason may serve for example to my own subjects to rebel against me. therefore, get ye out of my presence; ye are but unworthy traitors."[ ] sir james melville, speaking of this affair, says, with his usual quaintness, that "mary chasit the rebel lords here and there, till at length they were compellit to flee into england for refuge, to her that had promised, by her ambassadors, to wair (expend) her croun in their defence, in case they were driven to any strait for their opposition to the said marriage."--"but elizabeth," he adds, "handlit the matter sae subtilly, and the other twa sae blaitly, that she triumphed both over them and the ambassadors." the deputation returned quite chop-fallen, to their friends at newcastle, where they lived for some time in great poverty, and very wretchedly. such were the more immediate results of this piece of juggling on the part of elizabeth, and justly unsuccessful rebellion on that of murray. chapter xv. the earl of morton's plot. hitherto, mary's government had been prosperous and popular. various difficulties had, no doubt, surrounded her; but, by a prudence and perseverance, beyond her sex and age, she had so successfully encountered them, that she fixed herself more firmly than ever on the throne of her ancestors. the misfortunes, however, in which all the intrigues of her enemies vainly attempted to involve her, it was mary's fate to bring upon herself, by an act, innocent in so far as regarded her own private feelings, and praiseworthy in its intention to increase and secure the power and happiness of her country. this act was her marriage with darnley. from this fatal connexion, all mary's miseries took their origin; and as the sunshine which has as yet lighted her on her course, begins to gleam upon it with a sicklier ray, they who have esteemed her in the blaze of her prosperity, will peruse the remainder of her melancholy story with a deeper and a tenderer interest. let it at the same time be remembered, that the present memoirs come not from the pen of a partisan, but are dictated by a sacred desire to discover and preserve the truth. mary's weaknesses shall not be concealed; but surely, whilst the common frailties of humanity thus become the subjects of history, justice imposes the nobler and the more delightful duty of asserting the talents and vindicating the virtues of scotland's fairest queen. it was evident, that public affairs could not long continue in the position in which they now stood. with the earl of murray and the hamiltons, the greater number of mary's most experienced counsellors were in a state of banishment. at the head of those who remained was the crafty earl of morton, who, though he affected outward allegiance, secretly longed for the return of his old allies and friends of the protestant party. it was not indeed without some show of reason that the professors of the reformed faith considered their religion to be exposed at the present crisis to hazard. the king now openly supported popery; the most powerful of the lords of the congregation were in disgrace; several of the catholic nobility had lately been restored to their honours; some of the popish ecclesiastics had, by mary's influence, been allowed to resume their place in parliament; and above all, ambassadors arrived from the french king and her continental friends, for the express purpose of advising the queen to grant no terms to the expatriated nobles, and of making her acquainted, with the objects of the holy league which had been recently formed. this was the league between charles ix. and his sister the queen of spain, with the consent of her husband philip, and pope pius iv., and at the instigation of catherine de medicis and the duke of alva, to secure, at whatever cost, the suppression of the reformation throughout europe. so great a variety of circumstances, all seeming to favour the old superstition, alarmed the protestants not a little; but this alarm was unnecessarily exaggerated, and mary's intentions which were not known at the time, have been misrepresented since. robertson has asserted, that mary "instantly joined" the continental confederacy, and was willing to go any length for the restoration of popery. he would thus have us believe that she was a direct party to the horrible massacre of the hugonots in france; and that she would have spared no bloodshed to re-establish in scotland that form of worship which she herself, in conjunction with her parliament, had expressly abrogated. robertson goes further, and maintains, with a degree of absurdity so glaring that we are at a loss to understand why it should never before have been exposed, that "to this fatal resolution (that of joining the anti-protestant confederacy) may be imputed all the subsequent calamities of mary's life." why a secret contract which mary might have made with an ambassador from france, the terms or effects of which were never known or felt in any corner of scotland, should have produced "all her subsequent calamities," must remain an enigma to those who do not possess the same remarkable facility of tracing effects to their causes which seems to have been enjoyed by dr robertson. but it is extremely doubtful that mary ever gave either her consent or approbation to this league. robertson's authorities upon the subject by no means bear him out in his assertions. he affirms, that "she allowed mass to be celebrated in different parts of the kingdom; and declared that she would have mass free for all men who would hear it." but the first part of this information is supplied by the englishman bedford, who was not then in scotland, and the second rests upon the authority of the insidious randolph. robertson likewise mentions, that blackwood, in his "_martyre de marie_," says, "that the queen intended to have procured in the approaching parliament, if not the re-establishment of the catholic religion, at least something for the ease of catholics." but this announcement of what was _intended_ is so very unimportant, that even, if true, it requires no refutation; the more especially, as blackwood goes on to say, though robertson stops short, that this "something for the ease of catholics" was only to be a request that the protestants would be more tolerant.[ ] robertson however adds, that "mary herself, in a letter to the archbishop of glasgow, her ambassador in france, acknowledges '_that in that parliament she intended to have done some good with respect to restoring the old religion_.'" for this quotation from mary's letter, robertson refers to keith; but upon making the reference, it will be found that he has somewhat unaccountably garbled the original. all that mary wrote to her ambassador concerning the parliament was, that "the spiritual estate is placed therein in the ancient manner, _tending to have done some good_ anent restoring the old religion, and to have proceeded against our rebels according to their demerits."[ ] the different shade of meaning which robertson has given to this passage, is rather singular. having thus seen the weakness of these preliminary arguments against mary's willingness to countenance the reformed faith, it only remains to be inquired, whether she was a party to the confederacy formed at bayonne. it will be recollected, that the measures concocted by this confederacy were of the most sanguinary and savage description. it was resolved, "by treachery and circumvention, by fire and the sword, utterly to exterminate the protestants over christendom." it might very fairly be asked, and the question would carry with it its own answer, whether such a scheme, uncertain as its results were, and sure to produce in the mean time civil war and confusion wherever its execution was attempted, was at all consistent either with mary's established policy, or her so earnestly cherished hopes of succession to the english crown? robertson, however, says, "she instantly joined the confederacy;" and dr gilbert stuart, an historian of greater research and more impartiality, allows himself to believe the same thing. these writers ground their belief on what they have found in sir james melville and in keith. but the former gives us not the slightest reason to suppose that mary had any thing to do with the league, although he allows that the representations of the french ambassador tended to harden her heart towards the earl of murray and the other rebels.[ ] it would even appear, by his memoirs, that mary was never asked to become a party to the confederacy; for sir james simply states, that the ambassadors came "with a commission to stay the queen in nowise to agree with the lords protestants that were banished." conæus, in his life of mary, leaves entirely the same impression, and rather strengthens it.[ ] as to keith, he nowhere goes the length of robertson or stuart,--merely remarking that the letters from france tended much to hinder the cause of the banished lords. he gives, it is true, in his appendix, an extract of a letter from randolph to cecil, in which we find it stated, on the very dubious authority of the english resident, that the "band to introduce popery through all christendom, was signed by queen mary." but if mary had actually done so, it would have been with the utmost secrecy, and surely, above all, she would have concealed such a step from the spy of elizabeth. this letter is given at full length by robertson; and on perusing the whole, it expressly appears, that randolph spoke only from hearsay; for he adds, "if the copy of his band _may be gotten_, it shall be sent as i conveniently may." in the same letter he mentions that most of the nobles had been asked to attend mass, in compliment to the foreign ambassadors, and that they had all refused; enumerating, among others, fleming, livingston, lindsay, huntly, and bothwell; "and of them all, bothwell is the stoutest, but worst thought of." these lords must have had little dread of the consequences, else they would not have ventured to refuse. the truth is, randolph's common practice was, to convert into a fact every report which he knew would be agreeable to cecil and his mistress; and so little reliance did they place upon the accuracy of his information, that it does not appear elizabeth ever took any notice of his statement regarding the band, which she would eagerly have done had it been true. so much, therefore, for robertson's declaration, that "to this fatal resolution may be imputed all the subsequent calamities of mary's life." they would have been few, indeed, had they taken their origin in any countenance she gave to the ferocious wickedness of continental bigotry.[ ] there does not, then, exist a shadow of proof that mary contemplated the subversion of the reformed religion in scotland, though it may safely be admitted that she was greatly perplexed what course to pursue towards the expatriated rebels. on the one hand, elizabeth petitioned in their behalf, well knowing she could depend on their co-operation, as soon as they were again in power; and her petition was warmly supported by murray's friends in scotland,--some for the sake of religion,--many for their own private interests,--and a few because they believed his return would be for the good of the country. on the other hand, the catholic party was delighted to be rid of such formidable adversaries, and their wishes were enforced by those of mary's uncle, the cardinal of lorraine. besides, though disposed to be lenient almost to a fault, she cannot but have felt just indignation against men who had so grossly abused her kindness, and insulted her authority. it was in the midst of these contending opinions and interests, that a parliament was summoned, first for the th of february , and afterwards prorogued till the th of march, at which it was determined that, in one way or other, the subject should be set at rest. the matter would then most probably have terminated unfavourably for murray, had not the whole affair assumed a new feature, and been hurried on to an unexpected and violent conclusion, under influences on which it would have been difficult to have calculated. mary had been darnley's wife only a few months, when a painful conviction was forced upon her of the error she had committed in so far as regarded her own happiness, in uniting her fortunes with a youth so weak, headstrong, and inexperienced. the homage, whether real or affected, which before his marriage darnley paid to mary,--his personal graces and accomplishments,--and the care he took to keep as much as possible in the background, the numerous defects of his character, had succeeded in securing for him a place in mary's heart, and, what he considered of greater importance, a share of her throne. but as soon as the object of his ambition was obtained, the mask was thrown aside. he broke out into a thousand excesses,--offended almost all the nobility,--and forgetting, or misunderstanding the kind of men he had to deal with, cherished a wild and boyish desire to make his own will law. he changed from the protestant to the catholic religion; but the catholics had no confidence in him, whilst john knox and the reformers lifted up their voices loudly against his apostasy. he was addicted to great intemperance in his pleasures; was passionately fond of his hounds and hawks, grossly licentious, and much given to drinking. upon one occasion, his indulgence in this latter vice made him so far forget himself, that at a civic banquet where the queen and he were present, he dared to speak to her so brutally, that she left the place in tears.[ ] but there were other causes, besides the imperfections of darnley's character, which served to sow dissension between him and his young wife. it would be wrong to say that they were mutually jealous of each other's love of power, for this would be to put mary on an equality with her husband, who was queen in her own right, while darnley had no title to any authority beyond what she chose to confer on him. in the first ardor of her affection, however, she permitted him, with the confiding generosity of sincere attachment, to carry every thing his own way; and he was too conceited and selfish to appreciate as it deserved, the value of the trust she thus reposed in him. "all honour," says randolph, "that may be attributed unto any man by a wife, he hath it wholly and fully,--all praise that may be spoken of him, he lacketh not from herself,--all dignities that she can endow him with, are already given and granted. no man pleaseth her that contenteth not him. and what may i say more? she hath given over unto him her whole will, to be ruled and guided as himself best liketh."[ ] this was nothing more than the conduct naturally to be expected from a woman who warmly loved her husband, and who, in the ingenuous integrity of her heart, believed him worthy of her love. had this indeed been the case, no evil consequences could have resulted from the excess of kindness she lavished on him; but with all his fair exterior, darnley was incapable of understanding or estimating aright the mind and dispositions of mary stuart. had he even in part answered the expectations she had formed of him,--had he listened to the prudent councils of sir james melville, and others whom mary requested he would associate near his person,--and had he continued those affectionate attentions which she had a right to expect, but had far too proud a spirit to ask, he might have obtained from her every honour he desired. but what she felt that slighted love did not call upon her to yield, it was in vain to expect to win from her by force or fear; and the consequence was, that about this time, what was technically termed the _crown matrimonial_, became a great source of dissension between herself and her husband. on the day that mary gave her hand to darnley, she conferred upon him the title of king of scotland; and his name, in all public writs, was signed, in some before, and in others after her own. the public coin of the realm, issued subsequent to the marriage, also contained his name.[ ] but though darnley had the title, and to a certain extent the authority of a king, it was never mary's intention to surrender to him an influence in the administration greater then her own. this was the object, however, at which his discontented and restless spirit aimed, and it was to achieve it that he demanded the _crown-matrimonial_,--a term used only by scottish historians, by many of whom its exact import does not appear to have been understood. in its more limited acceptation, it seems to have conferred upon the husband, who married a wife of superior rank, the whole of her power and dignity, so long as their union continued. thus, if a countess married an esquire, he might become, by the marriage-contract, a _matrimonial earl_; and, during the life of the countess, her authority was vested in her husband, as entirely as if he had been an earl by birth. but it was in a more extended sense that darnley was anxious for this matrimonial dignity. knowing it to be consistent with the laws of scotland, that a person who married an heiress, should keep possession of her estate, not only during his wife's life, but till his own death, he was desirous of having a sovereign sway secured in his own person, even though mary died without issue. in the first warmth of her attachment to darnley, the queen might have been willing, with the consent of parliament, to gratify his ambition; but as soon as his unstable and ill-regulated temper betrayed itself, she felt that she was called upon, both for her own sake, and that of the country, to refuse his request. the more opposition darnley experienced, the more anxious he became, as is frequently the case, to accomplish his wishes. it was now for the first time, that he found rizzio's friendship fail him. that italian, whom the bigotry of the reformers, and the ignorant prejudices of more recent historians, have buried under a weight of undeserved abuse, was one of the most faithful servants mary ever had. he approved of her marriage with darnley for state reasons, and had, in consequence, incurred the hatred of murray and his party, whilst darnley, on the contrary, had courted and supported him. but rizzio loved his mistress too well to wish to see her husband become her master. his motives, it is true, may not have been altogether disinterested. he knew he was a favourite with mary, and that he would retain his situation at court so long as her influence was paramount; but he had not the same confidence in the wayward and vacillating darnley, who was too conceited to submit to be ruled, and too weak to be allowed to govern. the consequence naturally was, that a coldness took place between them, and that the consideration with which mary continued to treat rizzio, as her foreign secretary, only served to increase darnley's disaffection. such was the state of matters, when the earl of morton, secretly supported by maitland, and more openly by the lords ruthven and lindsay, determined on making use of darnley's discontent to forward his own private interests, and those of some of his political friends. his object was, in the first place, to strengthen his own party in the government, by securing the return of murray, argyle, rothes, and the other banished lords; and in the second, to prevent certain enactments from being passed in the approaching parliament, by which mary intended to restore to her ecclesiastics a considerable portion of church lands, which he himself, and other rapacious noblemen, had unjustly appropriated. these possessions were to be retained only by saving the rebels from the threatened forfeitures, and thus securing a majority in parliament. but mary, with a firmness which was the result of correct views of good government, was now finally resolved not to pardon murray and his accomplices. for offences of a far less serious nature, elizabeth was every month sending her subjects to the block; and it would have argued imbecility and fickleness in the queen of scots, so soon to have forgotten the treachery of her own, and her husband's enemies. there was scarcely one of her ministers, except rizzio, who had the courage and the good sense to confirm her in these sentiments; and he continued to retain his own opinion, both in this affair and that of the crown-matrimonial, notwithstanding the open threats of darnley, the mysterious insinuations of morton, and the attempt at bribery on the part of murray. this last nobleman, who had played the hypocrite so abjectly before elizabeth and her court, did not scruple, in his selfish humility, to offer his respects, and to send presents to one whom he had always been accustomed to call, in the language of his historian buchanan, "an upstart fellow," "a base miscreant," "a contemptible mushroom," and to whom he had never before given any thing but "a sour look."[ ] it may therefore be said, that there were, at this time, four powerful parties connected with scotland;--mary was at the head of one,--morton of another,--darnley of a third,--and murray of the fourth. but so long as the queen retained her ascendency, the other three factions could have little hope of arriving at their respective objects. mutually to strengthen each other, a coalition very naturally suggested itself, founded upon the principle of a reciprocity of benefits. the idea was soon matured, and the plan of operations concocted with a secrecy and callous cruelty, worthy of morton. the usual expedient was adopted, of drawing up and signing a formal bond, or set of articles, which were entered into between henry, king of scotland, and james, earl of murray, archibald, earl of argyle, andrew, earl of rothes, robert, lord boyd, andrew, lord ochiltree, and certain others "remaining in england;" in which it was stipulated, on the part of the lords, that, at the first parliament which should be held after their return, they should take such steps as would secure to darnley a grant of the crown-matrimonial for all the days of his life; and that, whoever opposed this grant, they should "seek, pursue, and extirpate out of the realm of scotland, or take and slay them,"--language, it will be observed, which had a more direct application to mary than to any one else. on the part of darnley, and in return for these favours, it was declared, that he should not allow, in as much as in him lay, any forfeiture to be led against them; and that, as soon as he obtained the crown-matrimonial, he should give them a free remission for all crimes,--taking every means to remove and punish any one who opposed such remission.[ ] in plain language, these articles implied neither more nor less than high treason, and place darnley's character, both as a husband and a man, in the very worst point of view, showing him as a husband to be wofully deficient in natural affection, and as a man to be destitute of honour, and incapable of gratitude. morton's intrigues having proceeded thus far, there seemed to be only one other step necessary to secure for him the accomplishment of his purposes. mary, strong in the integrity of her own intentions, and in the popularity of her administration, did not suspect the secret machinations which were carried on around her; and of this over-degree of confidence in the stability of her resources, morton determined to take advantage. he saw that a change in the government must be effected at whatever risk, though he knew that nothing but a sudden and violent measure could bring it about. it was now february;--parliament was to meet on the th of march, and on the th the trial of the absent lords was to come on, and after they had been forfeited, the church-lands would be restored to their rightful owners. if mary's person, however, could be seized,--if her principal anti-protestant ministers could be removed from about her,--and if darnley could be invested for a time with the supreme command, these disagreeable consequences might be averted, and the parliament might be either prorogued, or intimidated into submission. but, without a shadow of justice, to have openly ventured upon putting the queen in ward, would have been too daring and dangerous. a scheme therefore was formed, by which, under the pretence of caring for her personal safety, and protecting the best interests of the country, she was to be kept, as long as they should think necessary, from exercising her own independent authority. by this scheme it was resolved to make david rizzio the victim and the scape-goat of the conspiracy. morton and his accomplices well knew that rizzio was generally hated throughout scotland. the reformers, in particular, exaggerating his influence with the queen, delighted in representing him as the minion of the pope, and the servant of antichrist, and there were no terms of abuse too gross which they did not direct against the unfortunate italian. it would, therefore, give a popular effect to the whole enterprise, were it to be believed that it was undertaken principally for the sake of ridding the country from so hateful an interloper. many historians, confounding the effect with the cause, have been puzzled to explain why rizzio's murder should have led so immediately to the return of murray and his friends; they forget that it was, on the contrary, a determination to secure their return, and to discover a plausible pretext for retaining mary a prisoner in her own palace, that led to the murder. in the meantime, rizzio was not without some apprehensions for his personal safety. the scots, though they seldom evince much reluctance to secure their own advancement in foreign countries, are of all nations the most averse to allow strangers to interfere with their affairs at home. aware that they have little enough for themselves, they cannot bear to see any part of what they consider their birthright given away to aliens, however deserving. rizzio's abilities, and consequent favour with the queen, were the means of placing in his hands so much power and wealth, that he incurred the hatred and envy of almost every one about court. in the homely but expressive language of melville, "some of the nobility would gloom upon him, and some of them would shoulder him and shoot him by, when they entered in the chamber, and found him always speaking with her majesty." buchanan, that able but most prejudiced and disingenuous historian, expressing the prevalent sentiments of the day, says that, "the low birth and indigent condition of this man, placed him in a station in which he ought naturally to have remained unknown to posterity; but that which fortune called him to act and to suffer in scotland, obliges history to descend from its dignity to record his adventures." as if "low birth and indigent condition" have ever been, or will ever be, barriers sufficient to shut out genius and talent from the road to greatness. but rizzio was in truth far from being of that officious, conceited, and encroaching disposition, which buchanan has ascribed to him. sir james melville, who knew him well, gives quite an opposite impression of his character. he mentions, that not without some fear, rizzio lamented his state to him, and asked his council how to conduct himself. sir james told him, that strangers ought to be cautious how they meddled too far in the affairs of foreign countries, for that, though he was her majesty's continental secretary, it was suspected a great deal of scottish business also passed through his hands. "i advised him," says melville, "when the nobility were present, to give them place, and pray the queen's majesty to be content therewith; and shewed him for an example, how i had been in so great favour with the elector palatine, that he caused set me at his own table, and the board being drawn, used to confer with me in presence of his whole court. whereat divers of them took great indignation against me, which, so soon as i perceived, i requested him to let me sit from his own table with the rest of his gentlemen, and no more to confer with me in their presence, but to send a page for me, any time that he had leisure, to come to him in his chamber; which i obtained, and that way made my master not to be hated, nor myself to be envied; and willed him to do the like, _which he did_, and said unto me afterwards, that the queen would not suffer him, but would needs have him to use himself in the old manner." melville then spoke to mary herself upon the subject, and she expressly told him, that signor david rizzio "meddled no further but in her french writings and affairs, as her other french secretary had done before."[ ] rizzio's religion was another reason why he was so very unpopular. it was confidently asserted that he was in the pay of the pope; and that he was in close correspondence with the cardinal of lorraine. be this as it may, the support he undoubtedly gave, so far as lay in his power, to the scottish catholics, was of itself enough, in these times of bigotry, to make his assassination be considered almost a virtue. besides, there were some more personal and private grounds for morton and his friends wishing to get rid of the secretary. there is a remarkable passage in blackwood's _martyre de marie_, by which it would appear, that it was not the original intention of the conspirators to assassinate rizzio, but merely to secure the person of mary; and that it was in consequence of rizzio's fidelity to the queen, and refusal to sanction such a proceeding, that they afterwards changed their plan. "the earl of morton," says blackwood, "had apartments in the royal palace.[ ] there lodged there also her majesty's secretary, david rizzio, a piedmontese, and a man of great experience, and well versed in affairs of state. he was much respected by his mistress, not for any beauty or external grace that was in him, being rather old, ugly, austere, and disagreeable, but for his great fidelity, wisdom, and prudence, and on account of several other good qualities which adorned his mind. but, on the other hand, his master (the king) hated him greatly, both because he had laboured to effect the re-establishment of the house of hamilton," (the duke of chatelherault, it will be recollected, was the only one of the rebels who had been pardoned), "and because _he had not only refused to become a party to, but had even revealed to the queen_ a certain conspiracy that had been concluded on between his highness and the rebels, by which it was resolved to shut up her majesty in a castle, under good and sure guard, that darnley might gain for himself all authority, and the entire government of the kingdom. my lord ruthven, the head of this conspiracy, entertained the greatest ill-will against the poor secretary, because he had neither dared nor been able to conceal from her majesty, that he had found ruthven and all the conspirators assembled together in council in a small closet, and had heard her husband express himself with especial violence and chagrin. besides, morton, fearing greatly the foresight and penetration of this man, whom he knew to be entirely opposed to his designs, resolved to accomplish his death, and in so doing comply with the advice which had been given him by the english court." this is a passage of much interest, and puts in a clear and strong point of view the treasonable designs of this formidable conspiracy.[ ] chapter xvi. the assassination of david rizzio. it was on the evening of saturday the th of march ,[ ] that the conspirators determined to strike the blow, which was either to make or mar them.[ ] the retainers of morton, and the other lords his accomplices, assembled secretly in the neighbourhood of the palace, to the number of nearly five hundred. they were all armed, and when it became dark, morton, who took the command, led them into the interior court of holyroodhouse, which, in his capacity of lord high chancellor of the kingdom, he was able to do, without much difficulty or suspicion. it had been arranged, that he should remain to guard the entry to the palace, whilst ruthven, with a select party, was to proceed to the queen's chamber. patrick lord ruthven was exactly the sort of person suited for a deed of cowardice and cruelty, being by nature cursed with dispositions which preferred bigotry to religion, and barbarism to refinement. he was now in the forty-sixth year of his age, and had been for some months confined to a sick-bed, by a dangerous disease.[ ] though scarcely able to walk, he nevertheless undertook to head the assassins. he wore a helmet, and a complete suit of armour concealed under a loose robe.[ ] mary, altogether unsuspicious of the tragedy about to be performed, sat down to supper, as usual, at seven o'clock. there were with her only her illegitimate sister, the countess of argyle, her brother the lord robert stuart, and her foreign secretary, david rizzio. beaton, her master of the household, erskine, an inferior attendant, and one or two other servants of the privy chamber, were in waiting at a side-table; or, in the words of stranguage, "tasting the meat taken from the queen's table, at the cupboard, as the servants of the privy chamber use to do."[ ] it is a curious and interesting fact, that notwithstanding all the changes which time has wrought on the palace of holyrood, the very cabinet in which mary supped, on this eventful evening, as well as the adjoining rooms and passages through which the conspirators came, still exist, in nearly the same state in which they were in the year . the principal staircase, in the north-west tower, leads up to the queen's chamber of presence;--passing through this apartment, a door opens into mary's bedroom, where her own bed yet stands, although its furniture is now almost in tatters. it was in the small closet or cabinet off her bed-room, containing one window, and only about twelve feet square, that mary sat at supper on the th of march, two hundred and sixty-two years ago. communicating with darnley's chamber, immediately beneath, there was, and is, a private passage into mary's bedroom, by which it could be entered, without previously passing through the presence-chamber. the approach to this passage from the queen's room is concealed by a piece of wainscot, little more than a yard square, which hangs upon hinges in the wall, and opens on a trap-stair. it had been originally proposed to seize rizzio in his own apartment; but this plan was abandoned, for two reasons; _first_, because it was less certain, since it was often late before rizzio retired for the night, since he sometimes did not sleep in his own room at all, but in that of another italian belonging to the queen's household, named signor francis, and since there were back-doors and windows, through which he might have effected his escape; and, _second_, because it would not have so much intimidated mary, and would have made it necessary to employ another party to secure her person--the chief object of the conspirators.[ ] to ascertain whether there was any thing to hinder the execution of their design, darnley, about eight o'clock, went up the private stairs, and, entering the small room where his wife was supping, sat down familiarly beside her. he found, as he expected, his victim rizzio in attendance, who, indeed, owing to bad health, and the little estimation in which he was held by the populace, seldom went beyond the precincts of the palace.[ ] he was dressed, this evening, in a loose _robe-de-chambre_ of furred damask, with a satin doublet, and a hose of russet velvet; and he wore a rich jewel about his neck, which was never heard of after his death.[ ] the conspirators having allowed sufficient time to elapse, to be satisfied that all was as they wished, followed the king up the private way, which they chose in order to avoid any of the domestics who might have been in the presence-chamber, and given an alarm. they were headed by the lord ruthven, and george douglas, an illegitimate son of the late earl of angus, and the bastard brother of darnley's mother, the lady lennox; a person of the most profligate habits, and an apt instrument in the hands of the earl of morton. these men, followed by as many of their accomplices as could crowd into the small room where mary sat, entered abruptly and without leave; whilst the remainder, to the number of nearly two score, collected in her bedroom. ruthven, with his heavy armour rattling upon his lank and exhausted frame, and looking as grim and fearful as an animated corpse, stalked into the room first, and threw himself unceremoniously into a chair. the queen, with indignant amazement, demanded the meaning of this insolent intrusion, adding, that he came with the countenance, and in the garb of one who had no good deed in his mind. turning his hollow eyes upon rizzio, ruthven answered, that he intended evil only to the villain who stood near her. on hearing these words, rizzio saw that his doom was fixed, and lost all presence of mind; but mary, through whose veins flowed the heroic blood of james v., and his warlike ancestors, retained her self-possession. she turned to her husband, and called upon him for protection; but perceiving that he was disposed to remain a passive spectator of the scene, she ordered ruthven to withdraw under pain of treason, promising, that if rizzio was accused of any crime, it should be inquired into by the parliament then assembled. ruthven replied only by heaping upon the unfortunate secretary a load of abuse; and, in conclusion, declared the determination of the conspirators to make themselves masters of rizzio's person. rizzio, scarcely knowing what he did, pressed close into the recess at the window, with his dagger drawn in one hand, and clasping the folds of mary's gown with the other. in spite of every threat, he remained standing behind her, and continually exclaiming in his native language, and in great agitation, _giustizia! giustizia!_ mary's own person was thus exposed to considerable danger, and the assassins desired darnley to take his wife in his arms and remove her out of the way. the confusion and terror of the scene now increased a hundredfold;--the master of the household, and the three or four servants of the privy-chamber, attempted to turn lord ruthven out of the room;--his followers rushing to his support, overturned the supper-table, threw down the dishes and the candles, and, with hideous oaths, announced their resolution to murder rizzio. their own impetuosity might have frustrated their design; for, had not the countess of argyle caught one of the candles in her hand as it was falling, they would have been involved in darkness, and their victim might have escaped. the first man who struck rizzio was george douglas. swords and daggers had been drawn, and pistols had been presented at him and at the queen; but no blow was given, till douglas, seizing the dirk which darnley wore at his side, stabbed rizzio over mary's shoulder, though, at the moment, she was not aware of what he had done. the unhappy italian was then forcibly dragged out into the bed-room, and through the presence-chamber, where the conspirators, gathering about him, speedily completed the bloody deed, leaving in his body no fewer than fifty-six wounds. he lay weltering in his gore at the door of the presence-chamber for some time; and a few large dusky spots, whether occasioned by his blood or not, are to this day pointed out, which stain that part of the floor. the body was afterwards thrown down the stairs, and carried from the palace to the porter's lodge, with the king's dagger still sticking in his side. he was obscurely buried next day; but, subsequently, more honourably near the royal vault in holyrood chapel.[ ] such was the unhappy end of one who, having come into scotland poor and unbefriended, had been raised, through the queen's penetration and his own talents, to an honourable office, the duties of which he discharged with fidelity. if his rise was sudden, his fall was more so; for, up to the very day of his assassination, many of the scottish nobility, says buchanan, "sought his friendship, courted him, admired his judgment, walked before his lodgings, and observed his levee." but death no sooner put an end to his influence, than the memory of the once envied italian was calumniated upon all hands. knox even speaks approvingly of his murder, (as he had formerly done of that of cardinal beaton), assuring us that he was slain by those whom "god raised up to do the same"--an error, indicating a distorted moral perception, from the reproach consequent on which, his biographer, m'crie, has unsuccessfully endeavoured to defend him.[ ] the reformer adds to his notice of rizzio, a story which suits well the superstitious character of the times, and which buchanan has repeated. he mentions, that there was a certain john daniot, a french priest, and a reputed conjuror, who told rizzio "to beware of a bastard." rizzio, supposing he alluded to the earl of murray, answered, that no bastard should have much power in scotland, so long as he lived; but the prophecy was considered to be fulfilled, when it was known that the bastard, douglas, was the first who stabbed him.[ ] in the meantime, the earl of morton, who had been left below, to guard the gates, being informed that rizzio was slain, and that ruthven and darnley retained possession of the queen's person, made an attempt to seize several of the nobility who lodged in the palace, and whom he knew to be unfavourable to his design of restoring the banished lords. whether it was his intention to have put them also to death, it is difficult to say; but it is at all events not likely that he would have treated them with much leniency. the noblemen in question, however, who were the earls of huntly, bothwell, and athol, the lords fleming and livingston, and sir james balfour, contrived, not without much difficulty, to effect their escape. the two first let themselves down by ropes at a back window; athol, who was supping in the town with maitland, was apprised of his danger, and did not return to holyrood that night. he, or some of the fugitives, hastened to the provost of edinburgh, and informed him of the treasonable proceedings at the palace. the alarm-bell was immediately rung; and the civic authorities, attended by five or six hundred of the loyal citizens, hastened down to holyrood, and called upon the queen to show herself, and assure them of her safety. but mary, who was kept a prisoner in the closet in which she had supped, was not allowed to answer this summons, the conspirators well knowing what would have been the consequences. on the contrary, as she herself afterwards wrote to her ambassador in france, she was "extremely threatened by the traitors, who, in her face, declared, that if she spoke to the town's people they would cut her in collops, and cast her over the walls." darnley went to the window, and informed the crowd that he and the queen were well, and did not require their assistance; and morton and ruthven told them, that no harm had been done, and beseeched them to return home, which, upon these assurances, they consented to do. a scene of mutual recrimination now took place between mary and her husband, which was prolonged by the rude and gross behaviour of ruthven. that barbarian, returning to the queen's apartment, after having imbrued his hands in the blood of rizzio, called for a cup of wine, and having seated himself, drained it to the dregs, whilst mary stood beside him. being somewhat recovered from the extreme terror she had felt when she saw her secretary dragged away by the assassins, she rebuked ruthven for his unmannerly conduct; but he only added insulting language to the crimes he had already committed. perceiving, however, that her majesty was again growing sick and ill, (and even without considering, what the conspirators well knew, that she was in the seventh month of her pregnancy, her indisposition will excite little wonder), he proposed to the king that they should retire, taking care to station a sufficiently strong guard at the door of mary's chamber. "all that night," says mary, "we were detained in captivity within our chamber, and not permitted to have intercommunion scarcely with our servant-women."[ ] next morning, although it was sunday, the conspirators issued a proclamation in the king's name, and without asking the queen's leave, proroguing the parliament,--and commanding all the temporal and spiritual lords, who had come to attend it, to retire from edinburgh. illegal as it was, this proclamation was obeyed; for morton, and his accomplices, had the executive power in their own hands, and mary's more faithful subjects were taken so much by surprise, that they were unable to offer any immediate resistance. mary herself was still kept in strict confinement; and the only attempt she could make to escape, which was through the assistance of sir james melville, failed. sir james was allowed to leave the palace early on the forenoon of sunday; and, as he passed towards the outer gate, mary happened to be looking over her window, and called upon him imploringly for help. "i drew near unto the window," says melville, "and asked what help lay in my power, for that i should give. she said, 'go to the provost of edinburgh, and bid him, in my name, convene the town with speed, and come and relieve me out of these traitors' hands; but run fast, for they will stay you.'" the words were scarcely spoken, before some of the guards came up, and challenged sir james. he told them, he "was only passing to the preaching in st giles's kirk," and they allowed him to proceed. he went direct to the provost, and delivered his commission from the queen; but the provost protested he did not know how to act, for he had received contrary commands from the king; and, besides, the people, he said, were not disposed to take up arms to revenge rizzio's death. sir james was, therefore, reluctantly obliged to send word to mary, by one of her ladies, that he could not effect her release. in the course of the day, mary was made acquainted with rizzio's fate, and she lamented the death of her faithful servant with tears. between seven and eight in the evening, the earls of murray and rothes, with the other banished lords, arrived from england. during the whole of the night, and all next day, the queen was kept as close a prisoner as before. morton and his accomplices, however, now found themselves in a dilemma. they had succeeded in bringing home their rebel friends, in proroguing or dissolving the parliament, in conferring upon darnley all the power he wished, in murdering rizzio, and in chasing from court the nobles who had formed part of the administration along with him. but to effect these purposes, they had grossly insulted their lawful sovereign, and had turned her own palace into a prison, constituting themselves her gaolers. having achieved all their more immediate objects, the only remaining question was--what were they to do with the queen? if they were to set her at liberty, could they expect that she would tamely forget the indignities they had offered her, or quietly submit to the new state of things they had established? had they, on the other hand, any sufficient grounds for proceeding to further extremities against her? would the country allow a sovereign, whose reign had been hitherto so prosperous, to be at once deprived of her crown and her authority?[ ] daring as these men were, they could hardly venture upon a measure so odious. besides, darnley, always vacillating, and always contemptible, was beginning to think he had gone too far; and, influenced by something like returning affection for his beautiful consort, who was probably in a month or two to make him a father, he insisted that the matter should now be allowed to rest where it was, provided mary would promise to receive into favour the lords who had returned from banishment, and would grant a deed of oblivion to all who had taken a part in the recent assassination. morton, ruthven, murray, and the rest, were extremely unwilling to consent to so precarious an arrangement; but darnley overruled their objections. on monday evening, articles were drawn up for their security, which he undertook to get subscribed by the queen; and, trusting to his promises, all the conspirators, including the lords who had just returned, withdrew themselves and their retainers from holyroodhouse, and went to sup at the earl of morton's.[ ] as soon as mary found herself alone with darnley, she urged, with all the force of her superior mind, every argument she could think of, to convince him how much he erred in associating himself with the existing cabal. she was not aware of the full extent to which he was implicated in their transactions; for he had assured her, that he was not to blame for rizzio's murder, and as yet she believed him innocent of contriving it. she spoke to him therefore, with the confidence of an affectionate wife, with the winning eloquence of a lovely woman, and with the force and dignity of an injured queen. she at length satisfied him, that his best hopes of advancement rested in her, and not on men who having first renounced allegiance to their lawful queen, undertook to confer upon him a degree of power which was not their's to bestow. darnley further learned from mary, that huntly, bothwell, athol, and others, had already risen in her behalf, and yielding to her representations and entreaties, he consented that they should immediately make their escape together. at midnight, accompanied only by the captain of the guard and two others, they left the palace, and rode to dunbar without stopping. in a few days, mary having been joined by more than one half of her nobility, found herself at the head of a powerful army. the conspirators, on the other hand, seeing themselves betrayed by darnley and little supported by the country, were hardly able to offer even the shadow of resistance to the queen. still farther to diminish the little strength they had, mary resolved to make a distinction between the old and the new rebels; and, influenced by reasons on which morton had little calculated, she consented to pardon murray, argyle, and others, who immediately resorted to her, and were received into favour. after remaining in dunbar only five days, she marched back in triumph to edinburgh, and the conspirators fled in all directions to avoid the punishment they so justly deserved. morton, maitland, ruthven, and lindsay betook themselves to newcastle, where, for aught that is known to the contrary, they occupied the very lodgings which murray and his accomplices had possessed a week or two before. the whole face of affairs was now altered; and mary, who for some days had suffered so much, was once more queen of scotland. "and such a change you should have seen," says archbishop spottiswood, "that they who, the night preceding, did vaunt of the fact (rizzio's murder) as a godly and memorable act, affirming, some truly, some falsely, that they were present thereat,--did, on the morrow, forswear all that before they had affirmed." but it was not in mary's nature to be cruel, and her resentments were never of long continuance. two persons only were put to death for their share in rizzio's slaughter, and these were men of little note. before the end of the year, most of the principal delinquents, as will be seen in the sequel, were allowed to return to court. lord ruthven, however, died at newcastle of his old disease, a month or two after his flight thither. his death occasioned little regret, and his name lives in history only as that of a titled murderer.[ ] chapter xvii. the birth of james vi. mary's vigorous conduct had again put her in possession of that rightful authority of which so lawless an attempt had been made to deprive her; but though restored to power, she was far from being likewise restored to happiness. the painful conviction was now at length forced upon her, that she had not in all the world one real friend. she felt that the necessities of her situation forced her to associate in her councils men, who were the slaves of ambition, and whose heartless courtesies were offered to her, only until a prospect of higher advantages held out a temptation to transfer them to another. she had not been long in her own kingdom, before bothwell and others contemplated seizing her person, and assassinating her prime minister, the earl of murray;--she had hardly succeeded in frustrating these designs, when murray himself directed his strength against her; and now, still more recently, the husband, for whose sake she had raised armies to chase her brother from the country, had aimed at making himself independent, and, to ingratiate himself with traitors, had scrupled not to engage in a deed of wanton cruelty, personally insulting to his wife and sovereign. ignorant where to turn for repose and safety, mary began to lose much of the natural vivacity and buoyancy of her temper; and to feel, that in those turbulent times, she was endowed with too little of that dissimulation, which enabled her sister elizabeth to steer so successfully among the rocks and shoals of government. in a letter written about this period to one of her female relations in france, she says, touchingly, "it will grieve you to hear how entirely, in a very short time, i have changed my character, from that of the most easily satisfied and care-chasing of mortals, to one embroiled in constant turmoils and perplexities." "she was sad and pensive," says sir james melville, "for the late foul act committed in her presence so irreverently. so many great sighs she would give that it was pity to hear her, and over-few were careful to comfort her." but the perfidy of her nobles mary could have borne;--it was the disaffection and wickedness of her husband that afflicted her most. anxious to believe that he told her the truth, when he asserted that he was not implicated in the murder of rizzio, she rejoiced to see him issue a proclamation, declaring that he was neither "a partaker in, nor privy to, david's slaughter." but the truth was too notorious to be kept long concealed. randolph wrote to cecil on the th of april :--"the queen hath seen all the covenants and bands that passed between the king and the lords, and now findeth that his declaration before her and council, of his innocency of the death of david, was false; and is grievously offended, that by their means he should seek to come to the crown matrimonial." hence sprang the grief which, in secret, preyed so deeply upon mary's health and spirits. few things are more calculated to distress a generous mind, than to discover that the object of its affections is unworthy the love which has been lavished upon it. the young and graceful darnley, laying at mary's feet the real or pretended homage of his heart, was a very different person from the headstrong and designing king, colleaguing with her rebels, assassinating her faithful servant, and endeavouring to snatch the crown from her head. "that very power," says robertson, "which, with liberal and unsuspicious fondness she had conferred upon him, he had employed to insult her authority, to limit her prerogative, and to endanger her person: such an outrage it was impossible any woman could bear or forgive." yet mary looked upon these injuries, coming as they did from the man whom she had chosen to be the future companion of her life, "more in sorrow than in anger;" and though she shed many a bitter tear over his unworthiness, she did not cease to love him. in the midst of these anxieties, the time for the queen's delivery drew near. after a short excursion to stirling and the neighbourhood, in which she was accompanied by darnley, murray, bothwell and others, she returned to edinburgh, and, by the advice of her privy council, went to reside in the castle, as the place of greatest security, till she should present the country with an heir to the throne. during the months of april and may, she lived there very quietly, amusing herself with her work and her books, and occasionally walking out, for she had no wheeled carriage. she occupied herself, too, in endeavouring to reconcile those of her nobility whom contrary interests and other circumstances had disunited. it cost her no little trouble to prevail upon the two most faithful of her ministers, the earl of huntly her chancellor, and bothwell her lord high admiral, to submit to the returning influence of their old enemy the earl of murray. it was especially galling to them, that murray and argyle were the only persons, in addition to the king, allowed to reside in the castle with mary. but it was her own wish to have her husband and her brothers beside her on the present occasion; and no representations made by bothwell or huntly could alter her resolution. yet these two earls went the length of assuring the queen, that murray had entered into a new conspiracy with morton, and that they would probably put in ward both herself and her infant, as soon as it was born. surrounded as mary was by traitors, she could not know whether this information was true or not; but her returning affection for murray prevailed over every other consideration.[ ] elizabeth was all this time narrowly watching the progress of affairs in scotland. murray's restoration to favour pleased her much; and, to reconcile morton and his friends to the failure of their plots, she secretly countenanced and protected them. with her usual duplicity, however, she sent to edinburgh henry killigrew, to congratulate mary on her late escape, and to assure her that she would give directions to remove morton out of england. she likewise recalled randolph, of whose seditious practices mary had complained; but, as if to be even with the scottish queen, she commanded killigrew to demand the reason why a certain person of the name of ruxby, a rebel and a papist, had been protected in scotland? it would have been better for elizabeth had she allowed this subject to rest. though ruxby feigned himself a refugee from england on account of religion, he had in reality been privately sent to scotland by elizabeth herself, and her secretary cecil. the object of his mission was to find out whether mary carried on any secret correspondence with the english catholics. for this purpose, he was to pretend that he was a zealous supporter of her right and title to the crown of england; and that he had some influence with the english catholics, all of whom, he was to assert, thought as he did. having thus ingratiated himself with mary, he was immediately to betray any discoveries he might make to cecil. the scheme was ingeniously enough contrived; coming as an avowed enemy to elizabeth, and she herself actually supplying credentials to that effect, no suspicion was for some time entertained of his real designs. that he was able to learn any thing which could afford the english queen reasonable ground of offence, is not likely; for though several communications in cipher passed between him and cecil, their contents were never made public. shortly before killigrew's arrival, ruxby's real character had been accidentally discovered; and when the ambassador, more for the sake of aiding than of hindering the spy in the prosecution of his object, made a _pro forma_ request that he should not be harboured any longer, mary instantly ordered him to be apprehended, and all his writings and ciphers to be seized and examined. the indubitable evidence which they afforded of elizabeth's systematic cunning, forced a smile from mary, and might have brought a blush to the cheek of her rival. the queen of scots, however, did not condescend to give any utterance to the feelings which this affair must have inspired; and nothing further is known of elizabeth's disgraced and detected minion.[ ] early in june, perceiving that the time of her delivery was at hand, mary wrote letters to her principal nobility, requiring them to come to edinburgh during that juncture. she then made her will, which she caused to be thrice transcribed;--one copy was sent to france, a second committed to the charge of her privy council, and the third she kept herself. the day preceding her delivery, she wrote, with her own hand, a letter to elizabeth, announcing the event, but leaving a blank "to be filled," says melville, "either with a son or a daughter, as it might please god to grant unto her." on wednesday the th day of june , between nine and ten in the morning, the queen was safely delivered of a son. the intelligence was received every where, throughout scotland, with sincere demonstrations of joy. "as the birth of a prince," says keith, "was one of the greatest of blessings that god could bestow upon this poor divided land; so was the same most thankfully acknowledged by all ranks of people, according as the welcome news thereof reached their ears." in edinburgh, the triumph continued for several days; and, upon the first intimation of the event, all the nobility in the town, accompanied by most of the citizens, went in solemn procession to the high church, and offered up thanksgiving for so signal a mercy shown to the queen and the whole realm. when the news was conveyed to england, it was far from being heard with so much satisfaction. it was between eleven and twelve on the morning of the th, that the lady boyne came to sir james melville, and told him, that their prayers being granted, he must carry mary's letter to london with all diligence. "it struck twelve hours," says sir james, "when i took my horse, and i was at berwick that same night. the fourth day after, i was at london,"--a degree of despatch very unusual in those times. melville found elizabeth at greenwich, "where her majesty was in great merriness, and dancing after supper. but so soon as the secretary cecil sounded the news in her ear of the prince's birth, all merriness was laid aside for that night; every one that was present marvelling what might move so sudden a changement. for the queen sat down with her hand upon her haffet (cheek), and bursting out to some of her ladies, how that the queen of scotland was lighter of a fair son, and that she was but a barren stock." next morning, elizabeth gave melville a formal audience, at which, having had time for preparation, she endeavoured to dissemble her real feelings; though, by over-acting her part, she made them only the more apparent. she told him gravely, that the joyful news he brought her, had recovered her out of a heavy sickness, which had held her for fifteen days! "then i requested her majesty," says melville, "to be a gossip unto the queen, for our _comers_ are called gossips in england, which she granted gladly to be. then, i said, her majesty would have a fair occasion to see the queen, which she had so oft desired. at this she smiled, and said, that she would wish that her estate and affairs might permit her; and promised to send both honourable lords and ladies to supply her room."[ ] chapter xviii. mary's treatment of darnley, and alleged love for the earl of bothwell. as soon as she had sufficiently recovered to be able to quit the castle, mary resolved on leaving the fatigues of government behind, and going for some time into the country. her infant son was intrusted to the care of the earl of mar as his governor, and the lady mar as his governess. the time was not yet arrived to make arrangements regarding his education; but the general assembly had already sent a deputation to the queen, to entreat that she would allow him to be brought up in the reformed religion. to this request mary avoided giving any positive answer; but she condescendingly took the infant from the nurse, and put it into the arms of some of the divines. a prayer was pronounced over it; and spottiswood assures us, that, at the conclusion, the child gave an inarticulate murmur, which the delighted presbyterians construed to be an _amen_. it was the seat of the earl of mar at alloa that the queen first visited. being not yet equal to the fatigues of horseback, she went on board a vessel at newhaven, and sailed up the forth. she was accompanied by murray and others of her nobility.[ ] buchanan, whose constant malice and misrepresentation become at times almost ludicrous, says--"not long after her delivery, on a day very early, accompanied by very few that were privy of her council, she went down to the waterside at a place called the new-haven; and while all marvelled whither she went in such haste, she suddenly entered into a ship there prepared for her. with a train of thieves, all honest men wondering at it, she betook herself to sea, taking not one other with her."--"when she was in the ship," he says elsewhere, "among pirates and thieves, she could abide at the pump, and joyed to handle the boisterous cables."[ ] it is thus this trustworthy historian describes a sail of a few hours, enjoyed by mary and her court. darnley, who, though not very contented either with himself or any one else, was about this time much in the queen's company, went to alloa by land, and remained with mary the greater part of the time she continued at the earl of mar's. the uneasiness he suffered, and the peevish complaints to which he was continually giving utterance, were occasioned by the want of deference, with which he found himself treated by all mary's ministers. but the general odium into which he had fallen, was entirely to be attributed to his own folly. between him and the earl of murray there had long existed a deadly hatred against each other; in associating himself with morton, and plotting against huntly and bothwell, he had irremediably offended these noblemen; and in deserting morton and his faction, he had forever lost the friendship of the only men who seemed willing to regard him with any favour. the distressing consciousness of neglect occasioned by his own misconduct, was thus forced upon him wherever he turned; and instead of teaching him a lesson of humility, it only served to sour his temper, and pervert his feelings. the queen was deeply grieved to see him so universally hated; and anxiously endeavoured to make herself the connecting link between him and her incensed nobility. this was all she could do; for, even although she had wished it, she could not have dismissed, to please him, such of her ministers as he considered obnoxious; a measure so unconstitutional would have led to a second rebellion. but she hoped by treating her husband kindly, and showing him every attention herself, to make it be understood that she expected others would be equally respectful. having spent some days together at alloa, mary and darnley went to peebles-shire to enjoy the amusement of hunting; but finding little sport, they returned on the th of august to edinburgh. thence, they went to stirling, taking the young prince with them, whom they established in stirling castle. bothwell, in the meantime, in his capacity of lieutenant of the borders, was in some of the southern shires attending the duties of his charge.[ ] it is necessary to detail these facts thus minutely, as mary's principal calumniator, buchanan, endeavours to establish, by a tissue of falsehoods, that immediately after her delivery, or perhaps before it, she conceived a criminal attachment for bothwell. this absurdity has gained credit with several later writers, and particularly with robertson, whose knowledge of mary's motions and domestic arrangements at the period of which we speak, appears to have been very superficial. yet he may be regarded as even a more dangerous enemy than the former. buchanan's virulence and evident party spirit, carry their own contradiction along with them; whilst robertson, not venturing to go the same lengths, (though guided in his belief entirely by buchanan), imparts to the authority on which he trusts a greater air of plausibility, by softening down the violence of the original, to suit the calmer tone of _professedly_ unprejudiced history. in the progress of these memoirs, it will not be difficult to show that robertson's affected candour, or too hastily formed belief, is as little to be depended on as buchanan's undisguised malice. buchanan wishes it to be believed, in the first place, that mary entertained a guilty love for rizzio. he then proceeds to assert, that in little more than three months after his barbarous assassination, she had fallen no less violently in love with bothwell, although, in the meantime, she had been employed in giving birth to her first child, by a husband, whom he allows she doated on nine or ten months before. to bolster up this story, he perverts facts with the most reckless indifference. one specimen of his style we have already seen in his account of the queen's voyage to alloa; and proceeding with his narrative, we find him positively asserting in the sequel, that for the two or three following months, mary was constantly in the company of bothwell, and of bothwell alone, knowing as he must have done all the while, that murray and darnley, bothwell's principal enemies, were her chief associates, and that bothwell spent most of the time in a distant part of the kingdom. robertson dates even more confidently than buchanan, the commencement of mary's love for bothwell at a period prior to her delivery. but upon this hypothesis, it is surely odd, that murray and argyle were permitted by the queen to reside in the castle previous to and during her confinement, whilst the same favour was peremptorily refused to bothwell; and it is no less odd, that shortly after her delivery, secretary maitland, at the intercession of the earl of athol, was received once more into favour, in direct opposition to the wishes of bothwell. it is no doubt possible, that notwithstanding this presumptive evidence to the contrary, mary may at this very time have had a violent love for bothwell; but are we to give credit to the improbability, merely because buchanan was the slave of party feeling, and robertson disposed to be credulous? are the detected fabrications of the one, entitled to any better consideration than the gratuitous suppositions of the other? "strange and surprisingly wild," says keith, "are the accounts given by knox, but more especially by buchanan, concerning the king and queen about this time. i shall not reckon it worth while to transcribe them here; and the best and shortest confutation i could propose of them is, to leave my readers the trouble, or rather satisfaction, to compare the same with the just now mentioned abstracts (of despatches from randolph to cecil) and the three following authentic letters," from the french and scottish ambassadors and the queen's privy council.[ ] robertson, it is true, after having asserted, that "bothwell all this while was the queen's prime confident," and that he had acquired a "sway over her heart," proceeds to confess, that "such delicate transitions of passion can be discerned only by those who are admitted near the persons of the parties, and who can view the secret workings of the heart with calm and acute observation." "neither knox nor buchanan," he adds, "enjoyed these advantages. their humble station allowed them only a distant access to the queen and her favourite; and the ardour of their zeal, and the violence of their prejudices rendered their opinions rash, precipitate, and inaccurate." this is apparently so explicit and fair, that the only wonder is, upon what grounds robertson ventured to make _his_ accusation of mary, having thus shown how little dependence was to be placed on the only authorities which supported him in it. it appears that he came to his conclusions by a process of his own, which rendered him independent both of knox and buchanan. "subsequent historians," he says, "can judge of the reality of this reciprocal passion only by its _effects_." robertson must of course have been aware that he thus opened the gate to a flood of uncertainty, seeing that the same effects may spring from a hundred different causes. if a man be found dead, before looking for his murderer, it is always proper to inquire whether he has been murdered. besides, if effects are to be made the criterion by which to form an opinion, the greatest care must be taken that they be not misrepresented. mary must not be said to have been a great deal in bothwell's company, at a time she was almost never with him, and she must not be described as being seldom with her husband, at a time they were constantly together. laing is another and still later writer, who has produced a very able piece of special pleading against mary, in which a false colouring is continually given to facts. "after her delivery," he says, "she removed secretly from the castle, and was followed by darnley to alloa, stirling, meggetland, and back again to edinburgh, as if she were desirous to escape from the presence of her husband." that darnley _followed_ mary, is an assumption of mr laing's own. conceited as the young king was, he would rather never have stirred out of his chamber again, than have condescended to follow so perseveringly one who wished to avoid him, first to alloa, then to stirling, then into peebles-shire, then back again to edinburgh, and once more to stirling. the only correct part of laing's statement is, that mary chose to go by water to alloa, whilst darnley preferred travelling by land; perhaps because he wished to hunt by the way, or call at the seats of some of the nobility. the distance, altogether, was only twenty miles; and the notion that mary removed "_secretly_" from the castle, for the important purpose of taking an excursion to alloa, is absolutely ludicrous. in support of his assertion that mary had lost her heart to bothwell, laing proceeds to mention, that, shortly after the assassination of rizzio, the earl, for his successful services, was loaded with favours and preferment. that mary should have conferred some reward upon a nobleman whose power and fidelity were the chief means of preserving her on a tottering throne, is not at all unlikely; but, to make that reward appear disproportioned to the occasion, laing _misdates_ the time when most of bothwell's offices of trust were bestowed upon him. several of them were his by hereditary right, such as those of lord high admiral, and the sheriffships of berwick, haddington, and edinburgh. part of his authority on the borders he had acquired during the time of the late queen-regent, mary's mother, having been made her lieutenant, and keeper of hermitage castle, in ; and it was immediately after his restoration to favour, during the continuance of murray's rebellion, that he was appointed lieutenant of the west and middle marches, a situation which implied the superiority of the abbeys of melrose and haddington.[ ] the only _addition_ made to bothwell's possessions and titles, in consequence of his services after rizzio's death, was that of the castle and lordship of dunbar, together with a grant of some crown lands.[ ] there is another circumstance connected with bothwell, which we omitted to mention before, but which may with propriety be stated here. at the period of which we write, when he is accused of being engaged in a criminal intercourse with mary, he had been only two or three months married to a wife every way deserving of his love. three weeks before the death of rizzio, he had espoused, in the thirty-sixth year of his age, the lady jane gordon, the sister of his friend, the earl of huntly. she was just twenty, and was possessed of an elegant and cultivated understanding. they were married at holyrood, on the d of february , after the manner of the reformed persuasion, in direct opposition to mary's wishes. she entertained them, however, at a banquet on the first day; and the feasting and rejoicings continued for a week. "the queen desired," says knox, "that the marriage might be made in the chapel at the mass, which the earl bothwell would in no ways grant."[ ] was there any love existing at this time between mary and her minister? robertson and laing seem to think there was. choosing to judge of mary's feelings towards bothwell by _effects_, not of effects by feelings, they quote several passages from the letters of one or two of the foreign ambassadors then in scotland, which mention that bothwell possessed great influence at court. that these ambassadors report no more than the truth may be very safely granted; though certainly there is no evidence to show that he enjoyed so much weight as murray, or more than huntly. yet he deserved better than the former, for he had hitherto, with one exception, continued as faithful to mary, as he had previously been to her mother. the letters alluded to, only repeat what randolph had mentioned six months before. so early as october , only two months after mary's marriage with darnley, and when her love for him remained at its height, randolph wrote to cecil; "my lord bothwell, for his great virtue, doth now all, next to the earl of athol."[ ] was mary in love with bothwell at this date? or was it with the earl of athol? and did she postpone her attachment to bothwell, till he should prove his for her, by becoming the husband of the lady jane gordon?--we proceed with our narrative. having spent some time with darnley at stirling, mary returned to edinburgh, for the despatch of public business, on the th or th of september. she wished darnley to accompany her; but as he could not, or would not, act with either murray's or huntly's party, he refused. on the st, she came again to stirling; but was recalled once more to edinburgh, by her privy council, on the d. she left the french ambassador, le croc, with the wayward darnley, hoping that his wisdom and experience might be of benefit to him.[ ] the distinction which, from this period up to the hour of his death, darnley constantly made between his feelings for mary herself, and for her ministers, is very striking. with mary he was always willing to associate, and she had the same desire to be as much as she could with him; but with the conditions he exacted, and by which alone she was to purchase much of his company, it was impossible for her to comply. she might as well have given up her crown at once, as have dismissed all those officers of state with whom darnley had quarrelled. the truth is, her husband's situation was a very unfortunate one. his own imbecility and unlawful ambition, had brought upon him general odium; but if he had possessed a stronger mind, or a greater stock of hypocrisy, he might have re-established himself in the good graces of at least a part of the scottish nobility. but he had neither the prudence to disguise his sentiments, nor the ability to maintain them. "he had not learned," says chalmers, "to smile, and smile, and be a villain. he was still very young, and still very inexperienced; and the queen could not easily govern without the aid of those odious men,"--his enemies. mary had been only a few days in edinburgh, when she received a letter from the earl of lennox, darnley's father, which afflicted her not a little. lennox, who resided principally at glasgow, had gone to stirling to visit his son; and darnley had there communicated to him a design, his present discontents had suggested, which was to leave the country and proceed to the continent. both lennox and le croc, "a wise aged gentleman," as holinshed calls him, had done all they could to divert him from so mad a purpose; but his resolution seemed to be fixed. mary immediately laid her father-in-law's letter before her privy council, who "took a resolution to talk with the king, that they might learn from himself the occasion of this hasty deliberation of his, if any such he had; and likewise, that they might thereby be enabled to advise her majesty after what manner she should comport herself in this conjuncture."[ ] on the evening of the very day that this resolution was adopted, (the th of september), darnley himself arrived at holyrood;--but being informed that the earls of argyle, murray, and rothes were with the queen, he declared he would not enter the palace till they departed.[ ] the queen took this petulant behaviour as mildly as possible; and glad of his arrival, even condescended to go forth from the palace to meet her husband, and conducted him to her own apartment, where they spent the night together.[ ] next day, mary prevailed upon her husband to attend a meeting of her council. they requested to be informed by the king, whether he had actually resolved to depart out of the realm, and if he had, what were the motives that influenced him, and the objects he had in view. they added, "that if he could complain of any of the subjects of the realm, be they of what quality soever, the fault should be immediately repaired to his satisfaction." mary herself took him by the hand, and speaking affectionately to him, "besought him, for god's sake, to declare if she had given him any occasion for this resolution."[ ] she had a clear conscience, she said, that in all her life she had done no action which could any ways prejudge either his or her own honour; but, nevertheless, that as she might, perhaps, have given him offence without design, she was willing to make amends, as far as he should require,--and therefore "prayed him not to dissemble the occasion of his displeasure, if any he had, nor to spare her in the least manner."[ ] darnley answered distinctly, that he had no fault to find with the queen; but he was either unable or unwilling to explain further. with the stubborn discontent of a petted child, he would neither say one thing nor another--neither confess nor deny. without agreeing to alter his determination, whatever it might be, and it was perhaps, after all, only a trick contrived to work upon mary's affections, and intimidate her into his wishes, he at length took his leave. upon going away, he said to the queen, "farewell, madam; you shall not see my face for a long while." he next bade le croc farewell; and then turning coldly to the lords of the council, he said, "gentlemen, adieu."[ ] shortly afterwards, mary received a letter from darnley, in which he complained of two things. "one is," says maitland, "that her majesty trusts him not with so much authority, nor is at such pains to advance him, and make him be honoured in the nation, as she at first was. and the other point is, that nobody attends him, and that the nobility deserts his company. to these two points the queen has made answer, that if the case be so, he ought to blame himself, not her; for that in the beginning she had conferred so much honour upon him, as came afterwards to render herself very uneasy, the credit and reputation wherein she had placed him having served as a shadow to those who have most heinously offended her majesty; but, howsoever, that she has, notwithstanding this, continued to show him such respect, that although they who did perpetrate the murder of her faithful servant, had entered her chamber with his knowledge, having followed him close at the back, and had named him the chief of their enterprise,--yet would she never accuse him thereof, but did always excuse him, and was willing to appear as if she believed it not. and then as to his being not attended,--the fault thereof must be charged upon himself, since she has always made an offer to him of her own servants. and for the nobility, they come to court, and pay deference and respect, according as they have any matters to do, and as they receive a kindly countenance; but that he is at no pains to gain them, and make himself beloved by them, having gone so far as to prohibit these noblemen to enter his room, whom she had first appointed to be about his person. if the nobility abandon him, his own deportment towards them is the cause thereof; for if he desire to be followed and attended by them, he must, in the first place, make them to love him, and to this purpose must render himself amiable to them; without which, it will prove a most difficult task for her majesty to regulate this point, especially to make the nobility consent that he shall have the management of affairs put into his hands; because she finds them utterly averse to any such matter."[ ] no answer or explanation could be more satisfactory; and the whole affair exhibits a highly favourable view of mary's conduct and character. le croc accordingly says, in the letter already quoted,--"i never saw her majesty so much beloved, esteemed, and honoured; nor so great a harmony amongst all her subjects as at present is, by her wise conduct, for i cannot perceive the smallest difference or division." that darnley ever seriously intended to quit the country, it has been said, is extremely uncertain. it would appear, however, according to knox, that he still harboured some chimerical design of making himself independent of mary, and with this view he treacherously wrote to the pope, and the kings of spain and france, misrepresenting the state of affairs, and offering, with their assistance, to re-establish the catholic religion. copies of these letters, knox adds, fell into mary's hands, who, of course, took steps to prevent their meeting with any attention at the continental courts.[ ] but be this matter as it may, (and its truth rests upon rather doubtful authority, since we find no mention of it, either by the lords of privy council or the french ambassador), it is certain that darnley's determination, hastily formed, was as hastily abandoned.[ ] shortly after her husband's departure from edinburgh, the queen, attended by her officers of state, set out upon a progress towards the borders, with the view, in particular, of holding justice-courts at jedburgh. the southern marches of scotland were almost always in a state of insubordination. the recent encouragement which the secret practices, first of murray and afterwards of morton, both aided by elizabeth, had given to the turbulent spirit of the borderers, called loudly for the interference of the law. mary had intended to hold assizes in liddisdale in august, but on account of the harvest, postponed leaving edinburgh till october. on the th or th of that month, she sent forward bothwell, her lieutenant, to make the necessary preparations for her arrival, and on the th, the queen and her court set out,--the noblemen and gentlemen of the southern shires having been summoned to meet her with their retainers at melrose. on the th she arrived at jedburgh. there, or it may have been on her way from melrose, she received the disagreeable news, that on the very day she left edinburgh, her lieutenant's authority had been insulted by some of the unruly borderers, and that soon after his reaching his castle of hermitage, a place of strength about eighteen miles from jedburgh, he had been severely and dangerously wounded. different historians assign different reasons for the attack made on bothwell. some say that morton had bought over the tribe of elliots, to revenge his present disgrace upon one whom he considered an enemy. others, with greater probability, assert, that it was only a riot occasioned by thieves, whose lawless proceedings bothwell wished to punish. but whichever statement be correct, the report of what had actually taken place was, as usual, a good deal exaggerated when it reached mary. being engaged, however, with public business at jedburgh, she was prevented, for several days, from ascertaining the precise truth for herself. finding that she had leisure on the th of the month, and being informed that her lieutenant was still confined with his wounds, she paid him the compliment, or rather discharged the duty of riding across the country with some attendants, both to inquire into the state of his health, and to learn to what extent her authority had been insulted in his person. she remained with him only an hour or two, and returned to jedburgh the same evening.[ ] the above simple statement of facts, so natural in themselves, and so completely authenticated, acquires additional interest when compared with the common version of this story which buchanan and his follower robertson have contrived to render prevalent. "when the news that bothwell was in great danger of his life," says buchanan, "was brought to the queen _at borthwick_, though the _winter_ was very sharp, she _flew in haste_, first to melrose, then to jedburgh. there, though she received certain intelligence that bothwell was alive, yet, being impatient of delay, and not able to forbear, though in such a bad time of the year, notwithstanding the difficulty of the way, and the danger of robbers, she put herself on her journey with such attendants as hardly any honest man, though he was but of a mean condition, would trust his life and fortune to. from thence she returned again to jedburgh, and there she was mighty diligent in making great preparations for bothwell's being brought thither."[ ] the whole of this is a tissue of wilful misrepresentation. no one, unacquainted with buchanan's character, would read the statement without supposing that mary proceeded direct from borthwick to hermitage castle, scarcely stopping an hour by the way. now, if mary heard of bothwell's accident at borthwick (which is scarcely possible), it must have been, at the latest, on the th of october, or more probably on the evening of the th; but, so far from being in a hurry in consequence, it appears, by the privy council register, that she did not reach jedburgh till the th, and, by the privy seal register, that she did not visit hermitage castle till the th of the month.[ ] had she really ridden from borthwick to the hermitage and back again to jedburgh in one day, she would have performed a journey of nearly seventy miles, which she could not have done even though she had wished it. as to her employing herself, on her return to jedburgh, "in making great preparations for bothwell's being brought thither," she certainly must have made extremely good use of her time, for she returned on the evening of the th, and next day she was taken dangerously ill. the motives which induced buchanan to propagate falsehood concerning mary, are sufficiently known; but, being known, robertson ought to have been well convinced of the truth of his allegations before he drew inferences upon such authority. but the doctor had laid down the principle, that he was to judge of mary's love for bothwell by its _effects_; and it became, therefore, convenient for him to assert, that her visit to hermitage castle was one of those effects. "mary _instantly_ flew thither," he says, "with an impatience which strongly marks the anxiety of a lover, but little suiting the dignity of a queen." now, "instantly," must mean, that she allowed at all events six, and probably seven days to elapse; and that, too, after being informed of the danger one of the most powerful and best affectioned of her nobility had incurred in her behalf. robertson must have thought it strange, that she staid only an hour or two at the castle. "upon her finding bothwell slightly wounded," says tytler, "was it love that made her in such a violent haste to return back the same night to jedburgh, by the same bad roads and tedious miles? surely, if love had in any degree possessed her heart, it must have supplied her with many plausible reasons for passing that night in her lover's company, without exposing herself to the inconveniences of an uncomfortable journey, and the inclemencies of the night air at that season." if mary had been blamed for an over-degree of callousness and indifference, there would have been almost more justice in the censure. with honest warmth chalmers remarks, that "the _records_ and the _facts_ laugh at robertson's false dates and frothy declamation."[ ] on the th of october, mary was seized with a severe and dangerous fever, and for ten days her life was esteemed in great danger; indeed, it was at one time reported at edinburgh, that she was dead. the fever was accompanied with fainting or convulsion-fits, of an unusual and alarming description. they frequently lasted for three or four hours; and during their continuance, she was, to all appearance, lifeless. her body was motionless; her eyes closed; her mouth fast; her feet and arms stiff and cold. upon coming out of these, she suffered the most dreadful pain, her whole frame being collapsed, and her limbs drawn writhingly together. she was at length so much reduced, that she herself began to despair of recovery. she summoned together the noblemen who were with her, in particular murray, huntly, rothes, and bothwell, and gave them what she believed to be her dying advice and instructions. bothwell was not at jedburgh when the queen was taken ill, nor did he show any greater haste to proceed thither when he heard of her sickness than she had done to visit him, it being the th of october before he left hermitage castle.[ ] after requesting her council to pray for her, and professing her willingness to submit to the will of heaven, mary recommended her son to their especial care. she entreated that they would give every attention to his education, suffering none to approach him, whose example might pervert his manners or his mind, and studying to bring him up in all virtue and godliness. she strongly advised the same toleration to be continued in matters of religion, which she had practised; and she concluded, by requesting that suitable provision should be made for the servants of her household, to whom mary was scrupulously attentive, and by all of whom she was much beloved. fortunately however, after an opportunity had been thus afforded her of evincing her strength of mind, and willingness to meet death, the violence of her disease abated, and her youth and good constitution triumphed over the attack. darnley, who was with his father at glasgow, probably did not hear of the queen's illness till one or two days after its commencement; but as soon as he was made acquainted with her extreme danger, he determined on going to see her. here again, we discover the marked distinction that characterized darnley's conduct towards his wife and towards her nobility. with mary herself he had no quarrel; and though his love for her was not so strong and pure as it should have been, and was easily forgotten when it stood in the way of his own selfish wishes, he never lost any opportunity of evincing his desire to continue on a friendly footing with her. when he last parted from her at holyrood, he had said that she should not see him for a long while; but startled into better feelings by her unexpected illness, he came to visit her at jedburgh, on the th of october. the queen was, by this time, better; but her convalescence being still uncertain, darnley's arrival was far from being agreeable to her ministers. should mary die, one or other of them would be appointed regent, an office to which they knew that darnley, as father to the young prince, had strong claims. it was their interest, therefore, to sow dissension in every possible way, between the queen and her husband; and they trembled lest the remaining affection they entertained for each other, might be again rekindled into a more ardent flame. mary, when cool and dispassionate, they knew they could manage easily; but mary, when in love, chose, like most other women, to have her own way. they received darnley, on the present occasion, so forbiddingly, and gave him so little countenance, that having spent a day and a night with mary, he was glad again to take his departure, and leave her to carry on the business of the state, surrounded by those designing and factious men who were weaving the web of her ruin. on the th of november, the queen, with her court, left jedburgh, and went to kelso, where she remained two days. she proceeded thence to berwick, attended by not fewer than knights and gentlemen on horseback. from berwick, she rode to dunbar; and from dunbar, by tantallan to craigmillar, where she arrived on the th of november , and remained for three weeks, during which time an occurrence of importance took place. end of volume first. printed by j. hutchison, for the heirs of d. willison. footnotes: [ ] polydore, lib. . quoted by leslie--"defence of mary's honour," preface, p. xiv.--apud anderson, vol. i. [ ] knox seems not only to justify the assassination of cardinal beaton, but to hint that it would have been proper to have disposed of his successor in the same way. "these," says he, "_are the works of our god_, whereby he would admonish the tyrants of this earth, that, in the end, he will be revenged of their cruelty, what strength soever they make in the contrary. but such is the blindness of man, as david speaks, that the posterity does ever follow the footsteps of their wicked fathers, and principally in their impiety: for how little differs the cruelty of that bastard, that yet is called bishop of st andrews, from the cruelty of the former, we will after hear."--knox's hist. of the reformation, p. . [ ] dalyell's "fragments of scottish history." [ ] keith, p. .--knox's history, p. - . [ ] m'crie's life of knox, vol. i. p. . [ ] m'crie's life of knox, vol. ii. p. . [ ] the biographer of knox goes perhaps a little too far, when he proposes to alleviate the sorrow felt for the loss of these architectural monuments of superstition, by reminding the antiquarian that _ruins_ inspire more lively sentiments of the sublime and beautiful than more perfect remains. this is a piece of ingenuity, but not of sound reasoning. it is rather a curious doctrine, that a cathedral or monastery does not look best with all its walls standing.--m'crie's life of knox, vol. i. p. . [ ] it is worth while observing with what a total want of all christian charity knox speaks of the death of mary of guise. alluding to her burial, he says:--"the question was moved of her burial: the preachers boldly gainstood that any superstitious rites should be used within that realm, which god of his mercy had begun to purge; and so was she clapped in a coffin of lead, and kept in the castle from the th of june until the th of october, when she, by pinyours, was carried to a ship, and so carried to france. what pomp was used there, we neither hear nor yet regard; but in it we see that she, that delighted that others lay without burial, got it neither so soon as she herself (if she had been of the counsel in her life) would have required it, neither yet so honourable in this realm as sometimes she looked for. it may perchance be a pronosticon, that the guisean blood cannot have any rest within this realm." elsewhere he says--"within few days after, began her belly and loathsome legs to swell, and so continued till that god did execute his judgment upon her." and again--"god, for his mercy's sake, rid us of the rest of the guisean blood. amen." as keith remarks, it was not by this spirit that the apostles converted the world.--keith, p. . [ ] m'crie's life of knox, vol. . p. . [ ] by the kindness of mr brown of glasgow, the ingenious delineator of the royal palaces of scotland, we are enabled to give, as the vignette to the present volume, a view of this palace, exhibiting the window of the very room where mary was born, which is the large window on the first floor, immediately under the flight of birds. [ ] sadler's state papers and letters, vol. i. p. . [ ] whittaker, vol. iv. p. . [ ] mezeray, histoire de france, tom. iii. p. . [ ] miss benger's memoirs, vol. i. p. , et seq. [ ] melville's memoirs of his own life, p. . [ ] in transcribing dates it may be proper to mention, that we do not observe the old division of the year. down till , the french began the year at easter; but it was then altered to the st of january, by the chancellor l'hopital. in scotland till , and in england till , the year began on the th of march. thus, in all the state papers and letters of the age, written between the st of january and the th of march, the dates invariably belong to what we should now consider the preceding year. it is useful to be aware of this fact; though it is unnecessary for a writer of the present day, to deviate from the established computation of time.--anderson's collections, vol. i.--preface, p. li.; and laing, vol. i. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] goodall's examination, vol. l. p. , et seq. the motto which goodall put upon his title page, "pandere res altà terrâ et caligine mersas," he has in more than one instance amply justified. [ ] mezeray, castelnau, brantome, thuanus, chalmers, miss benger. [ ] this picture originally belonged to lord robert stuart, earl of orkney, one of mary's natural brothers, and is now in the possession of william trail, esq. of woodwick, orkney, into whose family it came, together with other relics of the earl, by the marriage of an ancestor of mr trail, to one of his descendants. _vide_ appendix a. [ ] it is to the kindness of john watson gordon, esq. deservedly one of the most eminent portrait-painters in scotland, that we are indebted, both for the use of the painting from which the engraving has been made, and for several of the facts we have stated above. mr gordon has executed three copies of the picture--all of them exceedingly beautiful and accurate--possessing the merits, without any of the dusky dimness, which time has thrown over the original. [ ] the coat of arms borne by francis and mary is worth describing. the coat was borne baron and femme;--the first contained the coat of the dauphin, which took up the upper half of the shield, and consisted of the arms of france. the lower half was impaled quarterly. in _one_ and _four_ the arms of scotland, and in _two_ and _three_ those of england. over the whole was half an escutcheon the sinister half being obscured or cut off, to denote that the english crown was in the possession of another, to the bearer's prejudice. under the arms were four lines in french, thus wretchedly translated by strype, in his "annals of queen elizabeth." "the arms of mary queen dauphiness of france, the noblest lady in earth for till advance, of scotland queen and of england, also of france, as god hath providet it so." keith, p. . chalmers, vol. d, p. . a painting (probably a copy) containing these arms, and the above motto, is preserved in mary's apartments at holyroodhouse. [ ] miss benger, vol. ii. p. . [ ] miss benger, vol. ii. p. . [ ] miss benger erroneously antedates the death of francis, on the th of november. see her _memoirs_, vol. ii. p. . chalmers, who is the very historian of dates, gives a copy of the inscription on the tomb of francis, which of course settles the point, vol. ii. p. . miss benger does not appear to have seen this inscription. [ ] conæus in jebb, vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, p. and . [ ] keith, p. , & seq. [ ] keith, p. , et seq. [ ] keith, p. , et seq. [ ] robertson says, that the amendment would not have been approved of by "_either_ queen." he alleges that mary had only "suspended" the prosecution of her title to the english crown; and that "she determined to revive her claim, on the first prospect of success." that robertson has, in this instance, done injustice to mary, is evident, from the exact consistency of her future conduct, with what will be found stated in the text.--_robertson_, _vol._ ii. _p._ . [ ] keith, p. . et seq. robertson says, that at the period of these conferences, mary was only in her eighteenth year; but, as they both took place in , she must have been in her nineteenth year, which keith confirms, who says (page ), "the readers having now perused several original conferences, will, i suppose, clearly discern the fine spirit and genius of that princess, who was yet but in the th year of her age." [ ] brantome in jebb, vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, p. . throckmorton writes, "thereto the queen-mother said, the king, my son, and i, would be glad to do good betwixt the queen, my sister, your mistress, and the queen, my daughter, and shall be glad to hear that there were good amity betwixt them; for neither the king, my son, nor i, nor any of his council, will do harm in the matter, _or show ourselves other than friends to them both_." [ ] keith, p. . [ ] keith, appendix, p. . [ ] robertson, appendix, no. .--from the cotton library. [ ] keith, p. .--chalmers, vol. ii. p. --stranguage, p. --and freebairn, p. . [ ] brantome in jebb, vol. ii. p. , et seq.--keith, p. --and freebairn, p. et seq. [ ] several translations of this song have been attempted, but no translation can preserve the spirit of the original. adieu, thou pleasant land of france! the dearest of all lands to me, where life was like a joyful dance-- the joyful dance of infancy. farewell my childhood's laughing wiles, farewell the joys of youth's bright day; the bark that bears me from thy smiles, bears but my meaner half away. the best is thine;--my changeless heart is given, beloved france! to thee; and let it sometimes, though we part, remind thee with a sigh of me. mary was not the only one who commemorated in verse her departure from france. numerous _vaudevilles_ were written upon the occasion, several of which are preserved in the _anthologie française_. [ ] jebb, vol. ii. p. . keith, p. . miss benger, vol. ii. p. . in an anonymous french work, entitled, "histoire de marie stuart, reine d'ecosse et de france," &c. respectably written on the whole, there is an amusing mistake concerning the locality of holyroodhouse. in tom. i. p. , it is said, "the queen landed at leith, and then departed for l'islebourg," (the name anciently given to edinburgh), "a celebrated abbey a mile or two distant. in this abbey mary remained for three weeks, and in the month of october took her departure for edinburgh." this departure for edinburgh alludes to the visit which mary paid, a short time after her arrival, to the castle. [ ] the day that his present majesty george iv. arrived at leith, in august (whose landing and progress to holyroodhouse, though much more brilliant, resembled in some respects that of his ancestor mary), was as wet and unfavourable as the weather so piously described by knox. was this a "forewarning" also of the "comfort" our gracious sovereign brought into the country? if knox believed in _warnings_, there is no telling to what conclusions these warnings might have led. [ ] m'crie's life of knox, vol. ii. p. . [ ] miss benger (vol. ii. p. ) erroneously supposes, that the archbishop of st andrews had died before mary's return to scotland. she should have known that it was he who presided at the baptism of james vi., of which ceremony she gives so particular an account. see keith, p. , and chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] jebb, vol. ii. p. . chalmers, vol. ii. p. . [ ] buchanan's detection, in anderson's collections, vol. ii. p. and . [ ] this is apparently the first time mary had ever expressed to knox her sentiments regarding this pamphlet. he had been treated less ceremoniously by elizabeth. but knowing the respect in which she was held by the protestants, he saw it for his interest to attempt to pacify her, and wrote to her several conciliatory letters. elizabeth put a stop to them, by desiring cecil, to forward to knox the following laconic epistle, which merits preservation as a literary curiosity:--"mr knox! mr knox! mr knox! there is neither male nor female: all are one in christ, saith paul. blessed is the man who confides in the lord! i need to wish you no more prudence than god's grace; whereof god send you plenty. w. cecil." chalmers, vol. ii. p. . knox himself gives a somewhat different edition of this letter, (hist. of the reformation, p. .) where chalmers found the above, he does not mention. [ ] knox's history of the reformation, p. , & seq.--keith, p. . it is worth observing, that knox is the only person who gives us any detailed account of these interviews, and he, of course, represents them in as favourable a light for himself as possible. "the report," says randolph, "that knox hath talked with the queen, maketh the papists doubt what will become of the world."--"i have been the more minute in the narrative of this curious conference," says m'crie, "because it affords the most satisfactory refutation of the charge that knox treated mary with rudeness and disrespect." different people have surely different modes of defining rudeness and respect. [ ] keith supposes erroneously, that this disturbance took place in the chapel at holyrood. randolph, his authority, though his expressions are equivocal, undoubtedly alludes to the royal chapel at stirling. keith, p. and . [ ] knox, p. . [ ] keith, p . [ ] it is worth while attending to the very partial and grossly perverted account which knox gives of this proclamation, actually introducing into his history an edition of it, fabricated by himself. he then proceeds to find fault with the magistrates for yielding to "_jezabel's_" commands, and remarks, in allusion to a counter proclamation which the queen issued, that the town should be patent to all her lieges until they were found guilty of some offence,--"the queen took upon her greater boldness than she and balaam's bleating priests durst have attempted before. and so murderers, adulterers, thieves, whores, drunkards, idolaters, and all malefactors got protection under the queen's wings, under colour that they were of her religion. and so got the devil freedom again, whereas before he durst not have been seen by daylight upon the common streets. lord deliver us from that bondage!"--knox, p. - . [ ] randolph in keith, p. . [ ] goodall, vol. i. p. , et seq. [ ] freebairn's translation of bois guilbert, p. , et seq.--knox's history, p. .--chalmers, vol. i. p. , and vol. ii. p. .--keith, p. and .--and goodall, vol. i. p. . [ ] knox, p. .--chalmers, vol. ii. p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. .; vol. ii. p. , et seq.; and p. , et seq. [ ] knox, p. .; goodall, vol. i. p. .--chalmers says, that sir john gordon's antagonist was not a lord ogilvy, but only james ogilvy of cardell, a son of the deceased alexander ogilvy of findlater. but as he does not give any authority for this assertion, we have preferred following knox, goodall, and robertson. [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. .; and vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. , and vol. ii. p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. ii. p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] "the time and place for perpetrating this horrid deed," says robertson, "were frequently appointed; but the executing of it was wonderfully prevented by some of those unforeseen accidents which so often occur to disconcert the schemes, and to intimidate the hearts of assassins." there is something strangely inconsistent between this statement, and that which robertson makes immediately afterwards in a note, where he says,--"we have imputed the violent conduct of the earl of huntly to a sudden start of resentment, without charging him with any premeditated purpose of rebellion." and that huntly did not intend to seize the queen and her ministers, the historian argues upon these grounds:--" st, on the queen's arrival in the north, he laboured in good earnest to gain her favour, and to obtain a pardon for his son.-- d, he met the queen, first at aberdeen and then at rothiemay, whither he would not have ventured to come had he harboured any such treasonable resolution.-- d, his conduct was irresolute and wavering, like that of a man disconcerted by an unforeseen danger, not like one executing a concerted plan.-- th, the most considerable persons of his clan submitted to the queen, and found surety to obey her commands; had the earl been previously determined to rise in arms against the queen, or to seize her ministers, it is probable he would have imparted it to his principal followers, nor would they have deserted him in this manner," yet in direct opposition to this view of the matter, robertson, in telling the story of huntly's wrongs, throws upon him the whole blame, and entirely exculpates murray.--robertson, vol. i. p. , et seq. [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. , and vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. ii. p. . [ ] knox, p. .--buchanan's history, book xvii.--chalmers, vol. i. p. , and vol. ii. p. , whose authority is a letter of randolph, preserved in the paper office, and written the evening of the very day on which the battle took place. randolph, though not on the field himself, had two servants there, and saw the dead body of the earl, when it was brought into aberdeen. robertson and others have said, that huntly, who was very corpulent, was slain on the field, or trodden to death in the pursuit. chalmers, however, has truth on his side, when he remarks, that "doctor robertson, who never saw those instructive letters (of randolph), grossly misrepresents the whole circumstances of that affair at corrachie; he says, 'huntly advanced with a considerable force towards aberdeen, and filled the queen's _small court_ with the _utmost consternation_; and that murray had only a handful of men in whom he could confide; but, by his steady courage and prudent conduct, gained a miraculous victory.' for the assertion of murray's having only a _handful of men_, he quotes keith, p. , in which there is not one word of the _force_ at corrachie on either side. the force there spoken of is what the queen had about her _two months before_ on her first progress into the north, not on her return to aberdeen, after new troops had been raised, and old ones summoned to that premeditated and barbarous scene." knox is also a better authority upon this subject than robertson. he gives the following curious account of the earl's death and subsequent fate:--"the earl, immediately after his taking, departed this life, without any wound, or yet appearance of any stroke, whereof death might have ensued; and so, because it was late, he was cast over athwart a pair of creels, and so was carried to aberdeen, and was laid in the tolbooth thereof, that the response which his wife's witches had given might be fulfilled, who all affirmed (as the most part say), that that same night he should be in the tolbooth of aberdeen, without any wound upon his body. when his lady got knowledge thereof, she blamed her principal witch, called janet; but she stoutly defended herself (as the devil can ever do), and affirmed that she gave a true answer, albeit she spoke not all the truth; for she knew that he should be there dead." knox, p. . "it is a memorable fact," chalmers elsewhere remarks, "that huntly and sutherland" (who was forfeited soon afterwards, as implicated in this pretended rebellion) "were two of those nobles who had sent bishop lesley to france, with offers of duty and services to the queen, while murray, maitland, and other considerable men offered their duties and services to elizabeth." [ ] randolph in keith, p. . [ ] little did mary then dream of fotheringay. [ ] in buchanan's _cameleon_, a severe satire, written at the request of his patron the earl of murray, when that nobleman quarrelled with secretary maitland, we have the following ridiculous account of the secret motives which led to this disastrous northern expedition. "the queen, by advice of her uncles, devised to destroy the earl of murray, thinking him to be a great bridle to refrain her appetites, and impediment to live at liberty of her pleasure; not that he ever used any violence anent her, but that his honesty was so great that she was ashamed to attempt any thing indecent in his presence. she, then, being deliberate to destroy him, by the earl of huntly, went to the north and he in her company; and howbeit the treason was opened plainly, and john gordon lying not far off the town (aberdeen) with a great power, and the earl of murray expressly lodged in a house separate from all other habitation, and his death by divers ways sought,--this cameleon (maitland) whether for simpleness or for lack of foresight, or for boldness of courage, i refer to every man's conscience that doth know him, he alone could see no treason, could fear no danger, and could never believe that the earl of huntly would take on hand such an enterprise." this statement, while it gives some notion of the dependence to be placed on buchanan's accuracy when influenced by party feelings, betrays, at the same time, the important secret, that maitland saw and felt the injustice of huntly's persecution.--buchanan's cameleon, p. . [ ] brantome in jebb, p. , & seq.--chalmers, vol. i. p. .--freebairn, p. --and histoire de marie stuart, tom. i. p. . knox, as usual, gives a highly indecorous and malicious account of this affair, his drift being to make his readers believe (though he does not to venture to say so in direct terms) that mary had first tempted, and then betrayed chatelard; and that she was anxious to have him despatched secretly, that he might not stain her honour by a public confession. if such were really the fact, it is odd that chatelard should have been brought to a scaffold, which was surrounded by thousands, and that, even according to knox himself, he said nothing relating to mary but what is narrated in the text.--vide knox's history, p. . [ ] chalmers, in his account of the opening of this parliament, seems to have committed an error. he says, (vol. i. p. .) "the queen came to parliament in her robes _and was crowned_." that any coronation took place, is not at all likely. chalmers surely had forgotten that mary was crowned at stirling by cardinal beaton just twenty years before. there was no reason why the ceremony should have been repeated. chalmers' mistake is probably founded upon the following passage, in a letter of randolph's, quoted by keith, p. --"the parliament began th may, on which day the queen came to it in her robes _and crowned_." the word _was_ is an interpolation of chalmers. but as randolph goes on immediately to say,--"the duke carried the crown, argyle the sceptre, &c.," chalmers probably thought mary could not at the same time wear the crown. but the crown of state, carried upon state occasions, was no doubt different from the crown made expressly to be worn by the reigning queen. buchanan puts the matter beyond a doubt, for he says explicitly;--"the queen, _with the crown on her head_, and in her royal robes, went in great pomp to the parliament house--a new sight to many." buchanan's history, book xvii. [ ] knox's history of the reformation, p. et seq. [ ] knox, p. . [ ] keith, p. and .--chalmers, vol. i. p. , et seq.--whittaker, vol. iii, p. .--miss benger, vol. ii, p. , et seq. [ ] these violars were all scotchmen, and two of them were of the name of dow,--"a name," says chalmers, "consecrated to music." having never heard of this consecration before, we think it not unlikely that chalmers has mistaken dow for gow. _vide_ chalmers, vol. ii. p. . [ ] jebb, vol. ii. p. . chalmers, vol. i. p. , and vol. ii. p. . tytler's enquiry, vol. ii. p. et seq.; histoire de marie stuart, p. ; and laing, vol. i. p. . [ ] melville's memoirs, p. - . the french historian castelnau, speaks in exactly similar terms. when sent by the king of france as ambassador to mary, "i found that princess," he says, "in the flower of her age, esteemed and adored by her subjects, and sought after by all neighbouring states, in so much that there was no great fortune or alliance that she might not have aspired to, not only because she was the relation and successor of the queen of england, but because she was endowed with more graces and perfection of beauty than any other princess of her time."--castelnau in jebb, vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, p. .--chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] chalmers says (vol. i. p. ), that the "countess of lennox sent murray a diamond," which, though true, is not supported by the authority he quotes--randolph in keith, who says (p. )--"lennox giveth to the queen and most of the council jewels; but none to murray." the authority chalmers ought to have quoted is melville (p. ), who, on his return from his embassy to england, brought some presents with him from lady lennox, who was then not aware of the precise state of parties in scotland. "my lady lennox," says melville, "sent also tokens: to the queen a ring with a fair diamont; ane emerald to my lord her husband, who was yet in scotland; a diamont to my lord of murray; ane orloge or montre (watch) set with diamonts and rubies, to the secretary lethington; a ring with a ruby to my brother sir robert; for she was still in good hope that her son, my lord darnley, should come better speed than the earl of leicester, anent the marriage with the queen. she was a very wise and discreet matron, and had many favourers in england for the time." [ ] in confirmation of the fact, that he was "well-instructed," it may be mentioned, that, before he was twelve years old, he wrote a tale, called "_utopia nova_." some ballads are also ascribed to him; and bishop montague, in his preface to the works of james vi., mentions, that he translated valerius maximus into english. his only literary effort, which seems to have been preserved, is a letter he wrote when about nine years old from temple newsome, his father's principal seat in yorkshire, to his cousin mary tudor, queen of england. it deserves insertion as a curiosity: "like as the monuments of ancient authors, most triumphant, most victorious, and most gracious princess, declare how that a certain excellent musician, timotheus musicus, was wont, with his sweet-proportioned and melodious harmony, to inflame alexander the great, conqueror and king of macedonia, to civil wars, with a most fervent desire, even so, i, remembering with myself oftentimes how that (over and besides such manifold benefits as your highness heretofore hath bestowed on me) it hath pleased your most excellent majesty lately to accept a little plot of my simple penning, which i termed _utopia nova_; for the which, it being base, vile, and maimed, your majesty hath given me a rich chain of gold;--the noise (i say) of such instruments, as i hear now and then, (although their melody differ much from the sweet strokes and sounds of king alexander's timotheus), do not only persuade and move, yea prick and spur me forward, to endeavour my wits daily (all vanities set apart) to virtuous learning and study, being thereto thus encouraged, so oftentimes by your majesty's manifold benefits, gifts, and rewards; but also i am enflamed and stirred, even now my tender age notwithstanding, to be serving your grace, wishing every hair in my head for to be a worthy soldier of that same self heart, mind and stomach, that i am of. but where as i perceive that neither my wit, power, nor years, are at this present corresponding unto this, my good will: these shall be, therefore, (most gracious princess) most humbly rendering unto your majesty immortal thanks for your rich chain, and other your highness' sundry gifts, given unto me without any my deservings, from time to time. trusting in god one day of my most bounden duty, to endeavour myself, with my faithful hearty service, to remember the same. and being afraid, with these my superfluous words to interturb (god forfend) your highness, whose most excellent majesty is always, and specially now, occupied in most weighty matters, thus i make an end. praying unto almighty god most humbly and faithfully to preserve, keep, and defend your majesty, long reigning over us all, your true and faithful subjects, a most victorious and triumphant princess. amen.--from temple newsome, the th march . your majesty's most bounden and obedient subject and servant, henry darnley.[*] [*] ellis's collection of "original letters illustrative of english history." second series, vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] melville's memoirs, p. . [ ] mary's conduct upon this occasion may be compared with that of elizabeth to her favourite essex; but the scottish queen's motives were of a far purer and better kind. "when essex," says walpole, "acted a fit of sickness, not a day passed without the queen's sending after to see him; and she once went so far as to sit long by him, and order his broths and things." "it may be observed," remarks chalmers, "that mary was engaged (or rather secretly resolved) to marry darnley, but elizabeth only flirted with essex." [ ] keith, p. , and chalmers, vol. ii. p. , et seq. [ ] castelnau in keith, p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] keith, appendix, p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] of chatelherault, argyle, murray, morton, and glencairn, all of whom were summoned to the convention, only morton came. keith, p. . [ ] keith, p. , et seq.--chalmers, vol. i. p. , et seq.; vol. ii. p. .--tytler, vol. i. p. , et seq. melville's account of this conspiracy is, that murray and the other lords "had made a mynt to tak the lord darnley, in the queen's company, at the raid of baith, and to have sent him in england as they allegit. i wot not what was in their minds, but it was ane evil-favoured enterprise whereintil the queen was in danger, either of kepping (imprisonment) or heart-breaking; and as they had failed in their foolish enterprise, they took on plainly their arms of rebellion." melville, p. . there is some reason to believe, that knox was implicated in this conspiracy; for, in the continuation of his history, written by his amanuensis, richard bannatyne, under the authority of the general assembly, it appears that a mr hamilton, minister of st andrews, had openly accused him of a share in it; and though knox noticed the accusation, it does not appear that he ever satisfactorily refuted it.--goodall, vol. i. p. . [ ] keith, p. --spottiswoode, p. . [ ] keith, p. , _et seq._ [ ] keith, p. . [ ] buchanan says, foolishly enough, that the predictions of "wizardly women" contributed much to hasten this marriage. they prophesied, it seems, that if it was consummated before the end of july, it would be happy for both; if not, it would be the source of much misery. it is a pity that these predictions were not true. [ ] randolph in robertson, appendix, no. xi.--keith, p. . miss benger, vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, p. and . this was a day or two before darnley's marriage. [ ] keith, appendix no. vii. p. , et seq. [ ] m'crie's life of knox, vol. ii. p. ; and tytler's enquiry, vol. i. p. and . [ ] knox, p. . [ ] keith, appendix, p. . [ ] robertson, appendix to vol. i. nos. xii. and xiii. [ ] keith, appendix, p. . [ ] keith, p. , and chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. , and keith, p. . [ ] keith, p. .--melville, p. . [ ] blackwood in jebb, vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] melville's memoirs, p. . [ ] conæus in jebb, vol. ii. p. . [ ] dr stuart, in support of his statements on this subject, quotes, in addition to the authorities already mentioned, mezeray "histoire de france," tome , and thuanus, "historia sui temporis," lib. xxxvii. but we suspect he has done so at random; for, on referring to these works, we have been unable to discover any thing which bears upon the matter. chalmers, who is in general acute and explicit enough, says, that these ambassadors came "to advise the queen not to pardon the expatriated nobles;" vol. ii. p. . laing, who writes with so much _apparent_ candour and _real_ ability against mary that he almost makes "the worse appear the better reason," has avoided falling into the gross error of robertson. "it would be unjust," he says, "to suppose, that, upon acceding to the holy league, for the preservation of the catholic faith, she was apprised of the full extent of the design to exterminate the protestants by a general massacre throughout christendom; but the instructions from her uncle rendered her inexorable towards the banished lords."--laing's preliminary dissertation to the history of scotland, vol. i. p. . [ ] keith, p. and . [ ] goodall, vol. i. p. . [ ] several of these pennies, as they were called, both of gold and silver, remain to this day; and some of them have been already noticed. in december , there was stamped a silver penny, called the _mary rial_, bearing on one side a tree, with the motto, _dat gloria vires_; and the circumscription, _exsurgat deus, et dissipentur inimici ejus_; and, on the other, _maria et henricus, dei gratia, regina et rex scotorum_. speaking of this coin, keith says, that "the famous ewe-tree of crookston, the inheritance of the family of darnley, in the parish of paisley, is made the reverse of this new coin; and the inscription about the tree, _dat gloria vires_, is no doubt with a view to reflect honour on the lennox family. this tree, he adds, which stands to this day, is of so large a trunk, and so well spread in its branches, that it is seen at several miles distance."--keith, p. , and appendix, p. .--it stands no longer. [ ] buchanan's history.--melville's memoirs.--keith, p. . [ ] goodall, vol. i. p. . [ ] melville's memoirs, p. and . [ ] we translate from the original french of an edition, of the _martyre de la royne d'escosse_, printed at antwerp, in the year ,--which very nearly agrees with the edition in jebb, vol. ii. p. . [ ] buchanan alone, of all the scottish historians, has dared to insinuate the probability of an illicit intercourse having subsisted between mary and rizzio; and the calumny is too self-evidently false to merit a moment's notice. every respectable writer reprobates so disgusting a piece of scandal, however unfavourably inclined towards mary in other respects. camden, castelnau, robertson, hume, tytler, laing, and dr stuart, all of whom think it worth while to advert to the subject in notes, put the falsehood of buchanan's assertion beyond the most distant shadow of a doubt. indeed, it is paying it too great a compliment to advert to it at all. [ ] miss benger, oddly enough, says, it was on saturday the th of april; a mistake into which no other historian with whom we are acquainted has fallen.--miss benger's memoirs, vol. ii. p. . [ ] the parliament had met upon the th, and mary had opened it in person, unattended by darnley, who refused to give it his countenance; but no business of importance had as yet been transacted. [ ] this disease was "an inflammation of the liver, and a consumption of the kidneys."--_keith_, _appendix_, _p._ . [ ] blackwood in jebb, vol. ii. p. .--goodall, vol. i. p. . [ ] stranguage, p. .--crawford's memoirs, p. . [ ] keith, appendix, p. . [ ] conæus in jebb. vol. ii. p. . [ ] robertson's appendix to vol. i. no. xv. [ ] keith, p. .--appendix, p. .--melville's memoirs, p. .--buchanan's history of scotland, book xvii.--martyre de marie in jebb, vol. ii. p. .--knox, p. .--holinshed's chronicles, p. .--robertson, appendix to vol. i. no. xv.--some historians have maintained, that rizzio was actually despatched in mary's presence. but this is not the fact, for mary remained ignorant of his fate till next day. in a letter which the earl of bedford and randolph wrote to the privy council of england, giving an account of this murder, and which has been published in the first series of "ellis's original letters, illustrative of english history," (vol. ii. p. ), we find these words:--"he was not slain in the queen's presence, as was said." holinshed and others are equally explicit. it has been likewise said, that it was not intended to have killed him that evening; but to have tried him next day, and then to have hanged or beheaded him publicly. that there is no foundation for this assertion, is proved by the authorities quoted above; and to these may be added the letter from morton and ruthven to throckmorton, and "the bond of assurance for the murder to be committed," granted by darnley to the conspirators, on the st of march, both preserved by goodall, vol. i. p. and . that the conspirators meant, as others have insisted, to take advantage of the situation in which mary then was, and terrify her into a miscarriage, which might have ended in her death, is unsupported by any evidence; nor can we see what purposes such a design would have answered. [ ] vide m'crie's life of knox, vol. i. p. . [ ] knox, p. .--buchanan, book xvii. [ ] keith, p. --and appendix, . [ ] that something of the kind was actually contemplated, we learn from mary herself. "in their council," she says in the letter already quoted, "they thought it most expedient we should be warded in our castle of stirling, there to remain till we had approved in parliament all their wicked enterprises, established their religion, and given to the king the crown-matrimonial, and the whole government of our realm; or else, by all appearance, firmly purposed to have put us to death, or detained us in perpetual captivity."--keith, appendix, p. . [ ] ruthven's "discourse" concerning the murder of rizzio, in keith, appendix, p. . [ ] keith, p. .--stuart's history of scotland, p. , et seq. [ ] melville's memoirs, p. --goodall, vol. i. p. .--chalmers, vol. ii. p. . [ ] melville's memoirs, p. .--keith, p. . [ ] melville's memoirs, p. . [ ] keith, p. , and chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] buchanan's history, book xviii.--his "detection," in anderson's collections, vol. ii. p. .; and his "oration," p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. , et seq. goodall, vol. i. p. , et seq. [ ] keith, p. . [ ] knox, p. --anderson, vol. i. p. --tytler, vol. ii. p. --chalmers, vol. ii. p. - . [ ] knox, p. , and chalmers, p. . [ ] knox, p. . chalmers, vol. ii. p. and . laing, vol. i. p. . in the first edition of tytler's "vindication," bothwell, being confounded with the former earl, his father, was said to be about fifty-nine at this period. in the second edition, tytler partly corrected his error, but not entirely; for he stated bothwell's age to be forty-three when he married. chalmers, who is seldom wrong in the matter of dates, has settled the question. [ ] chalmers, vol. ii. p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. and . [ ] maitland's official letter to catherine de medicis, in keith, p. . [ ] these noblemen, it may be observed, instead of being the friends, were the personal and political enemies of bothwell, with whom darnley was less displeased than with them. [ ] goodall, vol. i. p. .--keith, p. . [ ] le croc's letter in keith, p. . [ ] maitland's letter in keith, p. . [ ] keith, idem, p. and . [ ] keith, idem, p. . [ ] knox, p. . [ ] the turn which buchanan gives to the whole of this affair, in the work he libellously calls a "history," scarcely deserves notice. "in the meantime," he veraciously writes in his eighteenth book, "the king, finding no place for favour with his wife, is sent away with injuries and reproaches; and though he often tried her spirit, yet by no offices of observance could he obtain to be admitted to conjugal familiarity as before; whereupon he retired, in discontent, to stirling." in his "detection," he is still more ludicrously false. "in the meantime," he writes, "the king commanded out of sight, and with injuries and miseries banished from her, kept himself close with a few of his servants at stirling; for, alas! what should he else do? he could not creep into any piece of grace with the queen, nor could get so much as to obtain his daily necessary expenses, to find his servants and horses. and, finally, with brawlings lightly rising for every small trifle, and quarrels, usually picked, he was chased out of her presence; yet his heart, obstinately fixed in loving her, could not be restrained, but he must needs come back to edinburgh of purpose, with all kind of serviceable humbleness, to get some entry into her former favour, and to recover the kind society of marriage: who once again, with most dishonourable disdain excluded, once again returns from whence he came, there, as in solitary desert, to bewail his woful miseries." anderson, vol. ii. p. .--another equally honest record of these times, commonly known by the name of "murray's or cecil's journal," the former having supplied the information to the latter, to answer his own views at a subsequent period, says,--"at this time, the king coming from stirling, _was repulsed with chiding_." the same journal mentions, that, on the th of september, mary lodged in the chequer house, and met with bothwell,--a story which buchanan disgustingly amplifies in his detection, though the privy council records prove that the queen lodged in her palace of holyrood on the th with her privy council and officers of state in attendance. as to buchanan's complaint, that the king was stinted in his necessary expenses, the treasurer's accounts clearly show its falsehood. "the fact is," says chalmers, "that he was allowed to order, by himself, payments in money and furnishments of necessaries from the public treasurer. and the treasurer's accounts show that he was amply furnished with necessaries at the very time when those calumnious statements were asserted by men who knew them to be untrue. on two days alone, the th and st of august, the treasurer, by the king and queen's order, was supplied with a vast number of articles for the king's use alone, amounting to _l._, which is more than the queen had for six months, even including the necessaries which she had during her confinement."--chalmers, vol. i. p. . these minute details would be unworthy of attention, did they not serve to prove the difficulty of determining whether buchanan's patron, who was also mary's prime minister, or the historian himself, possessed the superior talent for misrepresentation. [ ] birrel's diary.--keith, p. .--goodall, vol. i. p. .--chalmers, vol. i. p. , vol. ii. p. and . [ ] buchanan's history, book xviii.; and in his, "detection," he repeats the same story, with still more venom. [ ] both of these registers are quoted by chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] miss benger's observations upon this subject are judicious and forcible. "it was not till the th, the queen, with her officers of state, passed to hermitage castle, twenty miles distant, whether to confer with bothwell on business, respecting the motives for the late outrage on his person, or purely as a visit of friendship and condolence, a respectful, and as it should seem, well-merited acknowledgement of his loyal services, must be left to conjecture. it is, however, not improbable, since the earl of morton was, at that time, known to be in the neighbouring march of cessford, that mary might be anxious to ascertain from bothwell's lips, whether he ascribed the attack on his person to that nobleman's instigation. in morton's behalf she had long been importuned by murray, by elizabeth, and maitland, and, at a proper time, meant to yield to their solicitations; but the discovery of a new treason, would have altered her proceedings; to ascertain the fact was, therefore, of importance. by whatever considerations mary was induced to pay this visit, there appears not (when calumny is discarded), any specific ground for the suspicion, that she then felt for bothwell a warmer sentiment than friendship; in all her affections, mary was ardent and romantic, and though it should have been admitted, that she had gone to hermitage castle, merely to say one kind word to the loyal servant, whose blood had lately flowed in her service, she had, two years before, made a far greater effort to gratify a _female_ friend, when she rode to callender, to assist at the baptism of lord livingston's child, regardless of the danger which awaited her, from murray and his party."--memoirs, vol. ii. p. . we have dwelt too long on a calumny unsupported by any respectable evidence. [ ] chalmers, vol. ii. p. . generously made available by the internet archive/canadian libraries.) _just published, vols. post vo, price l. s. boards,_ the lairds of fife. veluti in speculum. printed for constable & co., edinburgh; and hurst, chance & co., london. life of mary queen of scots. vol. ii. constable's miscellany of original and selected publications in the various departments of literature science, & the arts. vol. xxv. life of mary queen of scots, vol. ii. [illustration: lochleven castle. drawn by w. brown engraved by w. miller] edinburgh: printed for constable & co. edinburgh: and hurst, chance & co. london. . life of mary queen of scots. by henry glassford bell, esq. in two volumes. vol. ii. "ayez memoire de l'ame et de l'honneur de celle qui a este votre royne." _mary's own words._ edinburgh: printed for constable & co. edinburgh; and hurst, chance & co. london. . contents of vol. ii. page chapter i. the proposal of a divorce between mary and darnley, and the christening of james vi chapter ii. occurrences immediately preceding darnley's death chapter iii. the death of darnley chapter iv. bothwell's trial and acquittal chapter v. bothwell's seizure of the queen's person, and subsequent marriage to her chapter vi. the rebellion of the nobles, the meeting at carberry hill, and its consequences chapter vii. mary at loch-leven, her abdication, and murray's regency chapter viii. mary's escape from loch-leven, and the battle of langside chapter ix. mary's reception in england, and the conferences at york and westminster chapter x. mary's eighteen years' captivity chapter xi. mary's trial and condemnation chapter xii. mary's death, and character an examination of the letters, sonnets, and other writings, adduced in evidence against mary queen of scots addendum errata in vol. i. preface, p. v, for "_eminent_," read "_imminent_." page , for "_on the th of august , mary sailed out of the harbour of calais_," read "_on the th of august_," &c. page , for "_knapsack_," read "_knapscap_." life of mary queen of scots. chapter i. the proposal of a divorce between mary and darnley, and the christening of james vi. it was in december , during mary's residence at craigmillar, that a proposal was made to her by her privy council, which deserves particular attention. it originated with the earl of bothwell, who was now an active cabinet minister and officer of state. murray and darnley, the only two persons in her kingdom to whom mary had been willing to surrender, in a great degree, the reins of government, had deceived her; and finding her interests betrayed by them, she knew not where to look for an adviser. rizzio had been faithful to her, and to him she listened with some deference; but it was impossible that he could ever have supplied the place of a prime minister. the earl of morton was not destitute of ambition sufficient to have made him aspire to that office; but he chose, unfortunately for himself, to risk his advancement in espousing darnley's cause, in opposition to the queen. both, in consequence, fell into suspicion; morton was banished from court, and murray again made his appearance there. but, though she still had a partiality for her brother, mary could not now trust him, as she had once done. gratitude and common justice called upon her not to elevate him above those men, (particularly huntly and bothwell), who had enabled her to pass so successfully through her recent troubles. she made it her policy, therefore, to preserve as nice a balance of power as possible among her ministers. bothwell's rank and services, undoubtedly entitled him to the first place; but this the queen did not choose to concede to him. the truth is, she had never any partiality for bothwell. his turbulent and boisterous behaviour, soon after her return from france, gave her, at that period, a dislike to him, which she testified, by first committing him to prison, and afterwards ordering him into banishment. he had conducted himself better since his recall; but experience had taught mary the deceitfulness of appearances; and bothwell, though much more listened to than before, was not allowed to assume any tone of superiority in her councils. she restored maitland to his lands and place at court, in such direct opposition to the earl's wishes, that, so recently as the month of august ( ), he and murray came to very high words upon the subject in the queen's presence. after rizzio's murder, some part of maitland's lands had been given to bothwell. these murray wished him to restore; but he declared positively, that he would part with them only with his life. murray, enraged at his obstinacy, told him, that "twenty as honest men as he should lose their lives, ere he saw lethington robbed;" and through his influence with his sister, maitland was pardoned, and his lands given back.[ ] thus mary endeavoured to divide her favours and friendship among murray, bothwell, maitland, argyle the justice-general, and huntly the chancellor. it was in this state of affairs, when the contending interests of the nobility were in so accurate an equilibrium, that bothwell's daring spirit suggested to him, that there was an opening for one bold and ambitious enough to take advantage of it. as yet, his plans were immatured and confused; but he began to cherish the belief that a dazzling reach of power was within his grasp, were he only to lie in wait for a favourable opportunity to seize the prize. with these views, it was necessary for him to strengthen and increase his resources as much as possible. his first step was to prevail on murray, huntly, and argyle, about the beginning of october, to join with him in a bond of mutual friendship and support;[ ] his second was to lay aside any enmity he may have felt towards morton, and to intimate to him, that he would himself petition the queen for his recall; his third and boldest measure, was that of arranging with the rest of the privy council the propriety of suggesting to mary a divorce from her husband. bothwell's conscience seldom troubled him much when he had a favourite end in view. he was about to play a hazardous game; but if the risk was great, the glory of winning would be proportionate. darnley had fallen into general neglect and odium; yet he stood directly in the path of the earl's ambition. he was resolved that means should be found to remove him out of it; and as there was no occasion to have recourse to violence until gentler methods had failed, a divorce was the first expedient of which he thought. he knew that the proposal would not be disagreeable to the nobility; for it had been their policy, for some time back, to endeavour to persuade the nation at large, and mary in particular, that it was darnley's ill conduct that made her unhappy, and created all the differences which existed. nor were these representations altogether unfounded; but the queen's unhappiness arose, not so much from her husband's ingratitude, as from the impossibility of retaining his regard, and at the same time discharging her duty to the country. though the nobles were determined to shut their eyes upon the fact, it was nevertheless the share which they held in the government, and the necessity under which mary lay to avail herself of their assistance, which alone prevented her from being much more with her husband, and a great deal less with them. there were even times, when, perplexed by all the thousand cares of greatness, and grievously disappointed in the fulfilment of her most fondly cherished hopes, mary would gladly have exchanged the splendors of her palace for the thatched roof and the contentment of the peasant. it was on more than one occasion that sir james melville heard her "casting great sighs, and saw that she would not eat for no persuasion that my lords of murray and mar could make her." "she is in the hands of the physicians," le croc writes from craigmillar, "and is not at all well. i believe the principal part of her disease to consist in a deep grief and sorrow, which it seems impossible to make her forget. she is continually exclaiming "would i were dead!"[ ] "but, alas!" says melville, "she had over evil company about her for the time; the earl bothwell had a mark of his own that he shot at."[ ] one of his bolts bothwell lost no time in shooting; but it missed the mark. by undertaking to sue with them for morton's pardon, and by making other promises, he prevailed on murray, huntly, argyle and lethington, to join him in advising the queen to consent to a divorce. it could have been obtained only through the interference of the pope, and murray at first affected to have some religious scruples; but as the suggestion was secretly agreeable to him, it was not difficult to overcome his objections. "take you no trouble," said lethington to him, "we shall find the means well enough to make her quit of him, so that you and my lord of huntly will only behold the matter, and not be offended thereat." the lords therefore proceeded to wait upon the queen, and lay their proposal before her. lethington, who had a better command of words than any among them, commenced by reminding her of the "great number of grievous and intolerable offences, the king, ungrateful for the honour received from her majesty, had committed." he added, that darnley "troubled her grace and them all;" and that, if he was allowed to remain with her majesty, he "would not cease till he did her some other evil turn which she would find it difficult to remedy." he then proceeded to suggest a divorce, undertaking for himself and the rest of the nobility, to obtain the consent of parliament to it, provided she would agree to pardon the earl of morton, the lords ruthven and lindsay, and their friends, whose aid they would require to secure a majority. but lethington, and the rest, soon found that they had little understood mary's real sentiments towards her husband. she would not at first agree even to talk upon the subject at all; and it was only after "every one of them endeavoured particularly to bring her to the purpose," that she condescended to state two objections, which, setting aside every other consideration, she regarded as insuperable. the first was, that she did not understand how the divorce could be made lawfully; and the second, that it would be to her son's prejudice, rather than hurt whom, she declared she "would endure all torments." bothwell endeavoured to take up the argument, and to do away with the force of these objections, alleging, that though his father and mother had been divorced, there had never been any doubt as to his succession to his paternal estates; but his illustrations and lethington's oratory met with the same success. mary answered firmly, "i will that you do nothing, by which any spot may be laid on my honour and conscience; and therefore, i pray ye rather let the matter be in the estate as it is, abiding till god of his goodness put a remedy to it. that you believe would do me service, may possibly turn to my hurt and displeasure." as to darnley, she expressed a hope that he would soon change for the better; and, prompted by the ardent desire she felt to get rid, for a season, of her many cares, she said she would perhaps go for a time to france, and remain there till her husband acknowledged his errors. she then dismissed bothwell and his friends, who retired to meditate new plots.[ ] on the th of december, mary proceeded to stirling, to make the necessary arrangements for the baptism of her son, which she determined to celebrate with the pomp and magnificence his future prospects justified. darnley, who had been with the queen a week at craigmillar castle, and afterwards came into edinburgh with her, had gone to stirling two days before.[ ] ambassadors had arrived from england, france, piedmont, and savoy, to be present at the ceremony. the pope also had proposed sending a nuncio into scotland; but mary had good sense enough to know, that her bigoted subjects would be greatly offended, were she to receive any such servant of antichrist. it may have occurred to her, besides, that his presence might facilitate the negotiations for the divorce proposed by her nobility, but which she was determined should not take place. she, therefore, wrote to the great spiritual head of her church, expressing all that respect for his authority which a good catholic was bound to feel; but she, at the same time, contrived to prevent his nuncio, cardinal laurea, from coming further north than paris.[ ] the splendour of mary's preparations for the approaching ceremony, astonished not a little the sober minds of the presbyterians. "the excessive expenses and superfluous apparel," says knox, "which were prepared at that time, exceeded far all the preparations that ever had been devised or set forth before in this country." elizabeth, as if participating in mary's maternal feelings, ordered the earl of bedford, her ambassador, to appear at stirling with a very gorgeous train; and sent by him as a present for mary a font of gold, valued at upwards of _l._ in her instructions to bedford, she desired him to say jocularly, that it had been made as soon as she heard of the prince's birth, and that it was large enough then; but that, as he had now, she supposed, outgrown it, it might be kept for the next child. it was too far in the season to admit of elizabeth's sending any of the ladies of her own realm into scotland; she, therefore, fixed on the countess of argyle to represent her as godmother, preferring that lady, because she understood her to be much esteemed by mary. to meet the extraordinary expenditure occasioned by entertaining so many ambassadors, the queen was permitted to levy an assessment of , _l._ it may appear strange, how a taxation of this kind could be imposed without the consent of parliament; but it was managed thus. the privy council called a meeting both of the lords temporal and spiritual, and of the representatives of the boroughs, and informed them that some of the greatest princes in christendom had requested permission to witness, through their ambassadors, the baptism of the prince. it was therefore moved, and unanimously carried, that their majesties should be allowed to levy a tax for "the honourable expenses requisite." the tax was to be proportioned in this way; six thousand pounds from the spiritual estate;--four thousand from the barons and freeholders;--and two thousand from the boroughs.[ ] till the ceremony of baptism took place, the queen gave splendid banquets every day to the ambassadors and their suites. at one of these a slight disturbance occurred, which, as it serves to illustrate amusingly the manners of the times, is worth describing. there seems to have been some little jealousy between the english and french envoys upon matters of precedence; and mary on the whole was inclined to favour the english, being now more connected with england than with france. it happened, however, that at the banquet in question, a kind of mummery was got up, under the superintendance of one of mary's french servants, called sebastian, who was a fellow of a clever wit. he contrived a piece of workmanship, in the shape of a great table; and its machinery was so ingeniously arranged, that, upon the doors of the great hall in which the feast was to be held, being thrown open, it moved in, apparently of its own accord, covered with delicacies of all sorts. a band of musicians, clothed like maidens, singing and accompanying themselves on various instruments, surrounded the pageant. it was preceded, and this was the cause of the offence, by a number of men, dressed like satyrs, with long tails, and carrying whips in their hands. these satyrs were not content to ride round the table, but they put their hands behind them to their tails, wagging them in the faces of the englishmen, who took it into their heads that the whole was done in derision of them, "daftly apprehending that which they should not seem to have understood." several of the suite of the earl of bedford, perceiving themselves thus mocked, as they thought, and the satyrs "wagging their tails or rumples," were so exasperated, that one of them told sir james melville, if it were not in the queen's presence, "he would put a dagger to the heart of the french knave sebastian, whom he alleged did it for despite that the queen made more of them than of the frenchmen." the queen and bedford, who knew that the whole was a mere jest, had some trouble in allaying the wrath of the hot-headed southerns. in the midst of these festivities, mary had various cares to perplex her, and various difficulties to encounter. when she first came to stirling, she found that darnley had not chosen to go, as usual, to the castle, but was residing in a private house. he left it, however, upon the queen's arrival, and took up his residence in the castle with her,--a fact of some consequence, and one which murray has himself supplied.[ ] but darnley's sentiments towards mary's ministers, continued unchanged; and it was impossible to prevail upon them to act and associate together, with any degree of harmony, even in presence of the ambassadors. mary was extremely anxious to prevent her husband from exposing his weakness and waywardness to foreigners; but he was as stubborn as ever; and though he had given up thoughts of going abroad, it was only because he hoped to put into execution some new plot at home. surrounded by gayeties, he continued sullen and discontented, shutting himself up in his own apartment, and associating with no one, except his wife and the french envoy, le croc, for whom he had contracted a sort of friendship. to heighten his bad humour, elizabeth, according to camden, had forbidden bedford, or any of his retinue, to give him the title of king. the anger inspired by his contempt of her authority, on the occasion of his marriage, had not yet subsided; and there is not a state paper extant, in which she acknowledges darnley in other terms than as "henry stuart, the queen of scotland's husband." it seems likely that this, added to the other reasons already mentioned, was the cause why darnley refused to be present at the christening of his son.[ ] mary had another cause of vexation. the baptism was to be performed after the catholic ritual, and the greater part of her nobility, in consequence, not only refused to take any share in the ceremony, but even to be present at it. all mary's influence with murray, huntly, and bothwell, was exerted in vain. they did not choose to risk their character with the reformers, to gratify her. "the queen laboured much," says knox, "with the noblemen, to bear the salt, grease, and candles, and such other things, but all refused." on the th of december , the baptism, for which so many preparations had been made, took place.[ ] the ceremony was performed between five and six in the afternoon. the earls of athol and eglinton, and the lords semple and ross, being of the catholic persuasion, carried the instruments. the archbishop of st andrews, assisted by the bishops of dumblane, dunkeld, and ross, received the prince at the door of the chapel. the countess of argyle held the infant at the font, and the archbishop baptized him by the name of charles james, james charles, prince and steward of scotland, duke of rothesay, earl of carrick, lord of the isles, and baron of renfrew; and these names and titles were proclaimed three times by heralds, with sound of trumpet. mary called her son charles, in compliment to the king of france, her brother-in-law; but she gave him also the name of james, because, as she said, her father, and all the good kings of scotland, his predecessors, had been called by that name. the scottish nobles of the protestant persuasion, together with the earl of bedford, remained at the door of the chapel; and the countess of argyle had afterwards to do penance for the share she took in the business of the day,--a circumstance which shows very forcibly the power of the clergy at this time, who were able to triumph over a queen's representative, a king's daughter, and their sovereign's sister. it is also worthy of notice, that of the twelve earls, and numerous lords then in the castle, only two of the former, and three of the latter, ventured to cross the threshold of a catholic chapel.[ ] elizabeth was probably not far wrong, in supposing that her font had grown too small for the infant james. he was a remarkably stout and healthy child, and as le croc says, he made his gossips feel his weight in their arms. mary was very proud of her son, and from his earliest infancy, the establishment of his household was on the most princely scale. the lady mar was his governess. a certain mistress margaret little, the spouse of alexander gray, burgess of edinburgh, was his head-nurse; and for her good services, there was granted to her and her husband, in february , part of the lands of kingsbarns in fife, during their lives. the chief nurse had four or five women under her, "keepers of the king's clothes," &c. five ladies of distinction were appointed to the honourable office of "rockers" of the prince's cradle. for his kitchen, james, at the same early age, had a master-cook, a foreman, and three other servitors, and one for his pantry, one for his wine, and two for his ale-cellar. he had three "chalmer-chields," one "furnisher of coals," and one pastry-cook or confectioner. five musicians or "violars," as they are called, completed the number of his household. to fill so many mouths, there was a fixed allowance of provisions, consisting of bread, beef, veal, mutton, capons, chickens, pigeons, fish, pottages, wine and ale. thus, upon the life of the infant, the comfortable support of a reasonable number of his subjects depended.[ ] the captivating grace and affability of mary's manners, won for her, upon the baptismal occasion, universal admiration. she sent home the ambassadors with the most favourable impressions, which were not less loudly proclaimed, because she enriched them, before they went, with gifts of value. to bedford, in particular, she gave a chain of diamonds, worth about six or seven hundred pounds. to other individuals of his suite, she gave chains of pearl, rings, and pictures.[ ] but she was all the time making an effort to appear happier and more contented than she really was. "she showed so much earnestness," says le croc, "to entertain all the goodly company, in the best manner, that this made her forget, in a good measure, her former ailments. but i am of the mind, however, that she will give us some trouble as yet; nor can i be brought to think otherwise, so long as she continues to be so pensive and melancholy. she sent for me yesterday, and i found her laid on the bed weeping sore. i am much grieved for the many troubles and vexations she meets with." mary did not weep without cause. one source of uneasiness, at the present moment, was the determination of her ministers to force from her a pardon for the earl of morton, and seventy-five of his accomplices. as some one has remarked, her whole reign was made up of plots and pardons. her chief failing indeed, was the facility with which she allowed herself to be persuaded to forgive the deadliest injuries which could be offered to her. murray, from the representations he had made through cecil, had induced elizabeth to desire bedford to join his influence to that of mary's privy council in behalf of morton. the consequence was, that the queen could no longer resist their united importunities, and, with two exceptions, all the conspirators against rizzio were pardoned. these exceptions were, george douglas, who had seized the king's dagger, and struck rizzio the first blow; and andrew kerr, who, in the affray, had threatened to shoot the queen herself. robertson, with great inaccuracy, has said, that it was to the solicitations of bothwell alone that these criminals were indebted for their recall. it would have been long before bothwell, whose weight with mary was never considerable, could have obtained, unassisted, her consent to such a measure; and the truth of this assertion is proved by the clearest and directest testimony. in a letter which bedford wrote to cecil on the th of december, we meet with the following passage:--"the queen here hath now granted to the earl of morton, to the lords ruthven and lindsay, their relaxation and pardon.[ ] _the earl of murray hath done very friendly towards the queen for them, so have i, according to your advice_; the earls bothwell and athol, and all other lords _helped_ therein, or else such pardons could not so soon have been gotten."[ ] it is no doubt true, that bothwell was glad of this opportunity to ingratiate himself with morton, and that, in the words of melville, he "packed up a quiet friendship with him;"--but it is strange that robertson should have been so ignorant of the real influence which secured a remission of their offences from mary. darnley was of course greatly offended that any of his former accomplices should be received again into favour. they would return only to force him a few steps farther down the ladder, to the top of which he had so eagerly desired to climb. they were recalled too at the very time when he had it in contemplation, according to common report, to seize on the person of the young prince, and, after crowning him, to take upon himself the government as his father. whether this report was true or not, (and perhaps it was a belief in it which induced the queen to remove shortly afterwards from stirling to edinburgh), it is certain that darnley declared he "could not bear with some of the noblemen that were attending in the court, and that either he or they behoved to leave the same."[ ] he accordingly left stirling on the th of december, the very day on which morton's pardon was signed, to visit his father at glasgow. but it was not with mary he had quarrelled, with whom he had been living for the last ten days, and whom he intended rejoining in edinburgh, as soon as she had paid some christmas visits in the neighbourhood of stirling.[ ] chapter ii. occurrences immediately preceding darnley's death. we are now about to enter upon a part of mary's history, more important in its results, and more interesting in its details, than all that has gone before. a deed had been determined on, which, for audacity and villany, has but few parallels in either ancient or modern story. the manner of its perpetration, and the consequences which ensued, not only threw scotland into a ferment, but astonished the whole of europe; and, even to this day, the amazement and horror it excited, continue to be felt, whenever that page of our national history is perused which records the event. ambition has led to the commission of many crimes; but, fortunately for the great interests of society, it is only in a few instances, of which the present is one of the most conspicuous, that it has been able to involve in misery, the innocent as well as the guilty. but, even where this is the case, time rescues the virtuous from unmerited disgrace, and, causing the mantle of mystery to moulder away, enables us to point out, on one hand, those who have been unjustly accused, and, on the other, those who were both the passive conspirators and the active murderers. a plain narrative of facts, told without violence or party-spirit, is that upon which most reliance will be placed, and which will be most likely to advance the cause of truth by correcting the mistakes of the careless, and exposing the falsehoods of the calumnious. the earl of bothwell was now irrevocably resolved to push his fortunes to the utmost. he acted, for the time, in conjunction with the earl of murray, though independently of him, using his name and authority to strengthen his own influence, but communicating to the scarcely less ambitious murray only as much of his plans as he thought he might disclose with safety. bothwell was probably the only scottish baron of the age over whom murray does not appear ever to have had any control. his character, indeed, was not one which would have brooked control. on mary's return home, so soon as he perceived the ascendancy which her brother possessed over her, he entered into a conspiracy with huntly and others, to remove him. the conspiracy failed, and bothwell left the kingdom. he was not recalled till murray had fallen into disgrace; and though the earl was subsequently pardoned, he never regained that superiority in mary's councils he had once enjoyed. but bothwell hoped to secure the distinction for himself; and, that he might not lose it as murray had done, after it was once gained, he daringly aimed at becoming not merely a prime minister, but a king. the historians, therefore, (among whom are to be included many of mary's most zealous defenders), who speak of bothwell as only a "cat's-paw" in the hands of murray and his party, evidently mistake both the character of the men, and the positions they relatively held. murray and bothwell had both considerable influence at court; but there was no yielding on the part of either to the higher authority of the other, and the queen herself endeavoured, upon all occasions, to act impartially between them. we have found her frequently granting the requests of murray in opposition to the advice of bothwell; and there is no reason to suppose, that, when she saw cause, she may not have followed the advice of her lord high admiral, in preference to that of her brother. a circumstance which occurred only a few days after the baptism of james vi., strikingly illustrates the justice of these observations. it is the more deserving of attention, as the spirit of partiality, which has been unfortunately so busy in giving an erroneous colouring even to mary's most trifling transactions, has not forgotten to misrepresent that to which we now refer. darnley's death being resolved, bothwell began to consider how he was to act after it had taken place. he probably made arrangements for various contingencies, and trusted to the chapter of accidents, or his own ingenuity, to assist him in others. but there was one thing certain, that he could never become the legal husband of mary, so long as he continued united to his own wife, the lady jane gordon. anticipating, therefore, the necessity of a divorce, and aware that the emergency of the occasion might not permit of his waiting for all the ordinary forms of law, he used his interest with the queen at a time when his real motives were little suspected, to revive the ancient jurisdiction of the catholic consistorial courts, which had been abolished by the reformed parliament of , and the ordinary civil judges of commissary courts established in their place. in accordance with his request, mary restored the archbishop of st andrews, the primate of scotland, to the ancient consistorial jurisdiction, granted him by the canon laws, and discharged the commissaries from the further exercise of their offices. thus, bothwell not only won the friendship of the archbishop, but secured for himself a court, where the catholic plea of consanguinity might be advanced,--the only plausible pretext he could make use of for annulling his former marriage. this proceeding, however, in favour of the archbishop and the old faith, gave great offence to the reformed party; and when the primate came from st andrews to edinburgh, at the beginning of january, for the purpose of holding his court, his authority was very strenuously resisted. the earl of murray took up the subject, and represented to mary the injury she had done to the true religion. bothwell, of course, used every effort to counteract the force of such a representation; but he was unsuccessful. by a letter which the earl of bedford wrote to cecil from berwick, on the th of january , we learn that the archbishop was not allowed to proceed to the hearing of cases, and that "because it was found to be contrary to the religion, and therefore not liked of by the townsmen; _at the suit of my lord of murray_, the queen was pleased to revoke that which she had before granted to the said bishop." probably the grant of jurisdiction was not "revoked," but only suspended, as bothwell subsequently availed himself of it; but even its suspension sufficiently testifies, that mary, at this period, listened implicitly and exclusively neither to one nor other of her counsellors.[ ] in the meantime, darnley, who, as we have seen, left stirling for glasgow on the th of december, had been taken dangerously ill. historians differ a good deal concerning the nature of his illness, which is by some confidently asserted to have been occasioned by poison, administered to him either before he left stirling, or on the road, by servants, who had been bribed by bothwell; and by others is as confidently affirmed to have been the small-pox, a complaint then prevalent in glasgow. on the whole, the latter opinion seems to be the best supported, as it is confirmed by the authority both of the english ambassador, and of the cotemporary historians, lesley and blackwood. knox, buchanan, melville, crawford, birrell and others, mention, on the other hand, that the belief was prevalent, that the king's sickness was the effect of poison. but as the only evidence offered in support of this popular rumour is, that "blisters broke out of a bluish colour over every part of his body," and as this may have been the symptoms of small-pox as well as of poison, the story does not seem well authenticated. besides, in the letter which mary is alleged to have written a week or two afterwards to bothwell from glasgow, she is made to say that darnley told her he was ill of the small-pox. whether the letter be a forgery or not, this paragraph would not have been introduced, unless it had contained what was then known to be the fact. be this matter as it may, it is of more importance to correct a mistake into which robertson has not unwillingly fallen, regarding the neglect and indifference with which he maintains mary treated her husband, during the earlier part of his sickness. we learn, in the first place, by bedford's letter to cecil, already mentioned, that as soon as mary heard of darnley's illness, she sent her own physician to attend him.[ ] and, in the second place, it appears, that it was some time before darnley's complaint assumed a serious complexion; but that, whenever mary understood he was considered in danger, she immediately set out to visit him. "the queen," says crawford, "was no sooner informed of his danger, than she hasted after him."--"as soon as the rumour of his sickness gained strength," says turner (or barnestaple), "the queen flew to him, thinking more of the person to whom she flew, than of the danger which she herself incurred."--"being advertised," observes lesley, "that darnley was repentant and sorrowful, she without delay, thereby to renew, quicken, and refresh his spirits, and to comfort his heart to the amendment and repairing of his health, lately by sickness sore impaired, hasted with such speed as she conveniently might, to see and visit him at glasgow." thus, robertson's insinuation falls innocuous to the ground. it was on the th of january that mary returned from stirling to edinburgh, having spent the intermediate time, from the th of december, in paying visits to sir william murray, the comptroller of her household, at tullibardin, and to lord drummond at drummond castle. as is somewhere remarked, "every moment now begins to be critical, and every minuteness and specific caution becomes necessary for ascertaining the truth, and guarding against slander." the probability is, that bothwell was not with mary either at tullibardin or drummond castle. meetings of her privy council were held by her on the d and th of january; and it appears by the register, that bothwell was not present at any of them. chalmers is of opinion, that, during the early part of january he must have been at dunbar, making his preparations, and arranging a meeting with morton. when the queen arrived at edinburgh on the th, she lodged her son, whom she brought with her, in holyroodhouse. a few days afterwards, she set out for glasgow to see her husband. her calumniators, on the supposition that she had previously quarrelled with darnley, affect to discover something very forced and unnatural in this visit. but _mary had never quarrelled with darnley_. he had quarrelled with her ministers, and had been enraged at the failure of his own schemes of boyish ambition, but against his wife he had himself frequently declared he had no cause of complaint. mary, on her part, had always shown herself more grieved by darnley's waywardness than angry at it. only a day or two before going to glasgow, she said solemnly, in a letter she wrote to her ambassador at paris,--"as for the king, our husband, god knows always our part towards him."--"god willing, our doings shall be always such as none shall have occasion to be offended with them, or to report of us any way but honourably."[ ] so far, therefore, from there being any thing uncommon or forced in her journey to glasgow, nothing could be more natural, or more likely to have taken place. "darnley's danger," observes dr gilbert stuart, with the simple eloquence of truth, "awakened all the gentleness of her nature, and she forgot the wrongs she had endured. time had abated the vivacity of her resentment, and after its paroxysm was past, she was more disposed to weep over her afflictions, than to indulge herself in revenge. the softness of grief prepared her for a returning tenderness. his distresses effected it. her memory shut itself to his errors and imperfections, and was only open to his better qualities and accomplishments. he himself, affected with the near prospect of death, thought, with sorrow, of the injuries he had committed against her. the news of his repentance was sent to her. she recollected the ardour of that affection he had lighted up in her bosom, and the happiness with which she had surrendered herself to him in the bloom and ripeness of her beauty. her infant son, the pledge of their love, being continually in her sight, inspirited her sensibilities. the plan of lenity which she had previously adopted with regard to him; her design to excite even the approbation of her enemies by the propriety of her conduct; the advices of elizabeth by the earl of bedford to entertain him with respect; the apprehension lest the royal dignity might suffer any diminution by the universal distaste with which he was beheld by her subjects, and her certainty and knowledge of the angry passions which her chief counsellors had fostered against him--all concurred to divest her heart of every sentiment of bitterness, and to melt it down in sympathy and sorrow. yielding to tender and anxious emotions, she left her capital and her palace, in the severest season of the year, to wait upon him. her assiduities and kindnesses communicated to him the most flattering solacement; and while she lingered about his person with a fond solicitude, and a delicate attention, he felt that the sickness of his mind and the virulence of his disease were diminished." on arriving at glasgow, mary found her husband convalescent, though weak and much reduced. she lodged in the same house with him; but his disease being considered infectious, they had separate apartments. finding that his recent approach to the very brink of the grave had exercised a salutary influence over his mind and dispositions, and hoping to regain his entire confidence, by carefully and affectionately nursing him during his recovery, she gladly acceded to the proposal made by darnley, that she should take him back with her to edinburgh or its vicinity. she suggested that he should reside at craigmillar castle, as the situation was open and salubrious; but for some reason or other, which does not appear, he objected to craigmillar, and the queen therefore wrote to secretary maitland to procure convenient accommodation for her husband, in the town of edinburgh.[ ] darnley disliked the lords of the privy council too much to think of living at holyrood; and besides, it was the opinion of the physicians, that the young prince, even though he should not be brought into his father's presence, might catch the infection from the servants who would be about the persons of both. but when mary wrote to maitland, she little knew that she was addressing an accomplice of her husband's future murderer. the secretary showed her letter to bothwell, and they mutually determined on recommending to darnley the house of the kirk-of-field, which stood on an airy and healthy situation to the south of the town, and which, therefore, appeared well suited for an invalid, although _they_ preferred it because it stood by itself, in a comparatively solitary part of the town.[ ] on monday, january th, mary and darnley left glasgow. they appear to have travelled in a wheeled carriage, and came by slow and easy stages to edinburgh. they slept on monday night at callander. they came on tuesday to linlithgow, where they remained over wednesday, and arrived in edinburgh on thursday. the kirk-of-field, in which, says melville, "the king was lodged, as a place of good air, where he might best recover his health," belonged to robert balfour, the provost or head prebendary of the collegiate church of st mary-in-the-field, so called because it was beyond the city wall when first built. when the wall was afterwards extended, it enclosed the kirk-of-field, as well as the house of the provost and prebendaries. the kirk-of-field with the grounds pertaining to it, occupied the site of the present college, and of those buildings which stand between infirmary and drummond street. in the extended line of wall, what was afterwards called the potter-row port, was at first denominated the kirk-of-field port, from its vicinity to the church of that name. the wall ran east from this port along the south side of the present college, and the north side of drummond street, where a part of it is still to be seen in its original state. the house stood at some distance from the kirk, and the latter, from the period of the reformation, had fallen into decay. the city had not yet stretched in this direction much farther than the cowgate. between that street and the town wall, were the dominican convent of the blackfriars, with its alms-houses for the poor, and gardens, covering the site of the present high school and royal infirmary,--and the kirk-of-field and its provost's residence. the house nearest to it of any note was hamilton house, which belonged to the duke of chatelherault, and some part of which is still standing in college wynd.[ ] it was at first supposed, that darnley would have taken up his abode there; but the families of lennox and hamilton were never on such terms as would have elicited this mark of friendship from the king. the kirk-of-field house stood very nearly on the site of the present north-west corner of drummond street. it fronted the west, having its southern gavel so close upon the town-wall, that a little postern door entered immediately through the wall into the kitchen. it contained only four apartments; but these were commodious, and were fitted up with great care. below, a small passage went through from the front door to the back of the house; upon the right hand of which was the kitchen, and upon the left, a room furnished as a bedroom, for the queen, when she chose to remain all night. passing out at the back-door, there was a turnpike stair behind, which, after the old fashion of scottish houses, led up to the second story. above, there were two rooms corresponding with those below. darnley's chamber was immediately over mary's; and on the other side of the lobby, above the kitchen, a "garde-robe" or "little-gallery," which was used as a servant's room, and which had a window in the gavel, looking through the town-wall, and corresponding with the postern door below. immediately beyond this wall, was a lane shut in by another wall, to the south of which were extensive gardens.[ ] during the ten days which darnley spent in his new residence, mary was a great deal with him, and slept several nights in the room we have described below her husband's, this being more agreeable to her, than returning at a late hour to holyrood palace. darnley was still much of an invalid, and his constitution had received so severe a shock, that every attention was necessary during his convalescence. a bath was put up for him, in his own room, and he appears to have used it frequently. he had been long extremely unpopular, as has been seen, among the nobles; but following the example which mary set them, some were disposed to forget their former disagreements, and used to call upon him occasionally, and among others, hamilton, the archbishop of st andrews, who came to edinburgh about this time, and lodged hard by in hamilton house. mary herself, after sitting for hours in her husband's sick-chamber, used sometimes to breathe the air in the neighbouring gardens of the dominican convent; and she sometimes brought up from holyrood her band of musicians, who played and sung to her and darnley. thus, every thing went on so smoothly, that neither the victim nor his friends could in the least suspect that they were all treading the brink of a precipice. bothwell had taken advantage of mary's visit to glasgow, to proceed to whittingham, in the neighbourhood of dunbar, where he met the earl of morton, and obtained his consent to darnley's murder. to conceal his real purpose, bothwell gave out at edinburgh, that he was going on a journey to liddesdale; but, accompanied by secretary maitland, whom he had by this time won over to his designs, and the notorious archibald douglas, a creature of his own, and a relation of morton, he went direct to whittingham. there, the trio met morton, who had only recently returned from england, and opened to him their plot. morton heard of the intended murder without any desire to prevent its perpetration; but before he would agree to take an active share in it, he insisted upon being satisfied that the queen, as bothwell had the audacity to assert, was willing that darnley should be removed. "i desired the earl bothwell," says morton in his subsequent confession, "to bring me the queen's hand write of this matter for a warrant, and then i should give him an answer; otherwise, i would not mell (intermeddle) therewith;--which warrant he never purchased (procured) unto me."[ ] but though morton, refused to risk an active, he had no objections to take a passive part in this conspiracy. bothwell, maitland, and douglas, returned to edinburgh, and he proceeded to st andrews, with the understanding, that bothwell was to communicate with him, and inform him of the progress of the plot. accordingly, a day or two before the murder was committed, douglas was sent to st andrews, to let morton know that the affair was near its conclusion. bothwell, however, was well aware that what he had told the earl regarding the wishes of the queen, was equally false and calumnious. of all persons in existence, it was from her that he most wished to conceal his design; and as for a written approval of it, he knew that he might just as well have applied to darnley himself. douglas was, therefore, commanded to say to morton, evasively, "that the queen would bear no speech of the matter appointed to him." morton, in consequence, remained quietly in the neighbourhood of st andrews till the deed was done.[ ] the earl of murray was another powerful nobleman, who, when the last act of this tragedy was about to be performed, withdrew to a careful distance from the scene. it is impossible to say whether murray was all along acquainted with bothwell's intention; there is certainly no direct evidence that he was; but there are very considerable probabilities. when a divorce was proposed to mary at craigmillar, she was told that murray would look through his fingers at it; and this design being frustrated, by the queen's refusal to agree to it, there is every likelihood that bothwell would not conceal from the cabal he had then formed, his subsequent determination. that he disclosed it to morton and maitland, is beyond a doubt; and that murray again consented "to look through his fingers," is all but proved. it is true he was far too cautious and wily a politician, to plunge recklessly, like bothwell, into such a sea of dangers and difficulties; but he was no friend to darnley,--having lost through him much of his former power; and however the matter now ended, if he remained quiet, he could not suffer any injury, and might gain much benefit. if bothwell prospered, they would unite their interests,--if he failed, then murray would rise upon his ruin. only three days before the murder, the lord robert stuart, murray's brother, having heard, as buchanan affirms of the designs entertained against darnley's life, mentioned them to the king. darnley immediately informed mary, who sent for lord robert, and in the presence of her husband and the earl of murray, questioned him on the subject. lord robert, afraid of involving himself in danger, retracted what he had formerly said, and denied that he had ever repeated to darnley any such report. high words ensued in consequence; and even supposing that murray had before been ignorant of bothwell's schemes, his suspicions must now have been roused. perceiving that the matter was about to be brought to a crisis, he left town abruptly upon sunday, the very last day of darnley's life, alleging his wife's illness at st andrews, as the cause of his departure. the fact mentioned by lesley, in his "defence of queen mary's honour," that on the evening of this day, murray said, when riding through fife, to one of his most trusty servants,--"this night, ere morning, the lord darnley shall lose his life," is a strong corroboration of the supposition that he was well informed upon the subject.[ ] there were others, as has been said, whom bothwell either won over to assist him, or persuaded to remain quiet. one of his inferior accomplices afterwards declared, that the earl showed him a bond, to which were affixed the signatures of huntly, argyle, maitland, and sir james balfour, and that the words of the bond were to this effect:--"that for as much as it was thought expedient and most profitable for the commonwealth, by the whole nobility and lords undersubscribed, that such a young fool and proud tyrant should not reign, nor bear rule over them, for diverse causes, therefore, these all had concluded, that he should be put off by one way or other, and who-soever should take the deed in hand, or do it, they should defend and fortify it as themselves, for it should be every one of their own, reckoned and holden done by themselves."[ ] to another of his accomplices, bothwell declared that argyle, huntly, morton, maitland, ruthven, and lindsay, had promised to support him; and when he was asked what part the earl of murray would take, his answer was,--"he does not wish to intermeddle with it; he does not mean either to aid or hinder us."[ ] but whoever his assistants were, it was bothwell's own lawless ambition that suggested the whole plan of proceeding, and whose daring hand was to strike the final and decisive blow. everything was now arranged. his retainers were collected round him;--four or five of the most powerful ministers of the crown knew of his design, and did not disapprove of it;--the nobles then at court were disposed to befriend him, from motives either of political interest or personal apprehension;--darnley and the queen were unsuspicious and unprotected. a kingly crown glittered almost within his grasp; he had only to venture across the rubicon of guilt, to place it on his brow. chapter iii. the death of darnley. it was on sunday, the th of february , that the final preparations for the murder of darnley were made. to execute the guilty deed, bothwell was obliged to avail himself of the assistance of those ready ministers of crime, who are always to be found at the beck of a wealthy and depraved patron. there were eight unfortunate men whom he thus used as tools with which to work his purpose. four of these were merely menial servants;--their names were, dalgleish, wilson, powrie, and nicolas haubert, more commonly known by the sobriquet of french paris. he was a native of france, and had been a long while in the service of the earl of bothwell; but on his master's recommendation, who foresaw the advantages he might reap from the change, he was taken into the queen's service shortly before her husband's death. bothwell was thus able to obtain the keys of some of the doors of the kirk-of-field house, of which he caused counterfeit impressions to be taken.[ ] the other four who were at the "deed-doing," were persons of somewhat more consequence. they were small landed proprietors or _lairds_, who had squandered their patrimony in idleness and dissipation, and were willing to run the chance of retrieving their ruined fortunes at any risk. they were the laird of ormiston, hob ormiston his uncle, "or father's brother," as he is called, john hepburn of bolton, and john hay of tallo. bothwell wished maitland, morton, and one or two others, to send some of their servants also to assist in the enterprise; but if they ever promised to do so, it does not appear that they kept their word. archibald douglas, however, who had linked himself to the fortunes of bothwell, was in the immediate neighbourhood with two servants, when the crime was perpetrated.[ ] till within two days of the murder, bothwell had not made up his mind how the king was to be killed. he held various secret meetings with his four principal accomplices, at which the plan first proposed was to attack darnley when walking in the gardens adjoining the kirk-of-field, which his returning health enabled him to visit occasionally when the weather was favourable. but the success of this scheme was uncertain, and there was every probability that the assassins would be discovered.[ ] it was next suggested that the house might easily be entered at midnight, and the king stabbed in bed. but a servant commonly lay in the same apartment with him, and there were always one or two in the adjoining room, who might have resisted or escaped, and afterwards have been able to identify the criminals. after much deliberation, it at length occurred that gunpowder might be used with effect; and that, if the whole premises were blown up, they were likely to bury in their ruins every thing that could fix the suspicion on the parties concerned. powder was therefore secretly brought into edinburgh from the castle of dunbar, of which bothwell had the lordship, and was carried to his own lodgings in the immediate vicinity of holyrood palace.[ ] it then became necessary to ascertain on what night the house could be blown up, without endangering the safety of the queen, whom bothwell had no desire should share the fate of her husband. she frequently slept at the kirk-of-field; and it was difficult to ascertain precisely when she would pass the night at holyrood.[ ] in his confession, hay mentions, that "the purpose should have been put in execution upon the saturday night; but the matter failed, because all things were not in readiness." it is not in the least unlikely that this delay was owing to mary's remaining with her husband that evening. on sunday, bothwell learned that the queen intended honouring with her presence a masque which was to be given in the palace, at a late hour, on the occasion of the marriage of her french servant sebastian, to margaret carwood, one of her waiting-maids. he knew therefore that she could not sleep at the kirk-of-field that night, and took his measures accordingly. at dusk he assembled his accomplices, and told them that the time was come when he should have occasion for their services.[ ] he was himself to sup between seven and eight at a banquet given to the queen by the bishop of argyle, but he desired them to be in readiness as soon as the company should break up, when he promised to join them.[ ] the queen dined at holyrood, and went from thence to the house of mr john balfour, where the bishop lodged. she rose from the supper-table about nine o'clock, and, accompanied by the earls of argyle, huntly, and cassils, she went to visit her husband at the kirk-of-field. bothwell, on the contrary, having called paris aside, who was in waiting on the queen, took him with him to the lodgings of the laird of ormiston.[ ] there he met hay and hepburn, and they passed down the blackfriars wynd together. the wall which surrounded the gardens of the dominican monastery ran near the foot of this wynd. they passed through a gate in the wall, which bothwell had contrived to open by stealth, and, crossing the gardens, came to another wall immediately behind darnley's house.[ ] dalgleish and wilson had, in the meantime, been employed in bringing up, from bothwell's residence in the abbey, the gunpowder he had lodged there. it had been divided into bags, and the bags were put into trunks, which they carried upon horses. not being able to take it all at once, they were obliged to go twice between the kirk-of-field and the palace. they were not allowed to come nearer than the convent-gate at the foot of blackfriars wynd, where the powder was taken from them by ormiston, hepburn, and hay, who carried it up to the house. when they had conveyed the whole, they were ordered to return home; and as they passed up the blackfriars' wynd, powrie, as if suddenly conscience-struck, said to wilson, "jesu! whatna a gait is this we are ganging? i trow it be not good."[ ] neither of these menials had seen bothwell, for he kept at a distance, walking up and down the cowgate, until the others received and deposited the powder. a large empty barrel had been concealed, by his orders, in the convent gardens, and into it they intended to have put all the bags; and the barrel was then to have been carried in at the lower back door of darnley's house, and placed in the queen's bedroom, which, it will be remembered, was immediately under that of the king. paris, as the queen's valet-de-chambre, kept the keys of the lower flat, and was now in mary's apartment ready to receive the powder. but some delay occurred in consequence of the barrel turning out to be so large that it could not be taken in by the back door; and it became necessary therefore to carry the bags one by one into the bedroom, where they emptied them in a heap on the floor. bothwell, who was walking anxiously to and fro, was alarmed at this delay, and came to inquire if all was ready. he was afraid that the company up stairs, among whom was the queen, with several of her nobility and ladies in waiting, might come suddenly out upon them, and discover their proceedings. "_he bade them haste_," says hepburn, "_before the queen came forth of the king's house; for if she came forth before they were ready, they would not find such commodity_."[ ] at length, every thing being put into the state they wished, they all left the under part of the house, with the exception of hepburn and hay, who were locked into the room with the gunpowder, and left to keep watch there till the others should return.[ ] bothwell, having dismissed the others, went up stairs and joined the queen and her friends in darnley's apartment, as if he had that moment come to the kirk-of-field. shortly afterwards, paris also entered; and the queen, being either reminded of, or recollecting her promise, to grace with her presence sebastian's entertainment, rose, about eleven at night, to take leave of her husband. it has been asserted, upon the alleged authority of buchanan, that, before going away, she kissed him, and put upon his finger a ring, in pledge of her affection. it seems doubtful, however, whether this is buchanan's meaning. he certainly mentions, in his own insidious manner, that mary endeavoured to divert all suspicions from herself, by paying frequent visits to her husband, by staying with him many hours at a time, by talking lovingly with him, by paying every attention to his health, by kissing him, and making him a present of a ring; but he does not expressly say that a kiss and ring were given upon the occasion of her parting with darnley for the last time.[ ] it is not at all unlikely, that the fact may have been as buchanan is supposed to state; but as it is not a circumstance of much importance, it is unnecessary to insist upon its being either believed or discredited so long as it is involved in any uncertainty. buchanan mentions another little particular, which may easily be conceived to be true,--that, in the course of her conversation with her husband this evening, mary made the remark, that "just about that time last year david rizzio was killed." bothwell, at such a moment, could not have made the observation; but it may have come naturally enough from mary, or darnley himself.[ ] accompanied by bothwell, argyle, huntly, cassils, and others, mary now proceeded to the palace, going first up the blackfriars' wynd, and then down the canongate. just as she was about to enter holyrood house, she met one of the earl of bothwell's servants (either dalgleish or powrie), whom she asked where he had been, that he smelt so strongly of gunpowder? the fellow made some excuse, and no further notice was taken of the circumstance.[ ] the queen proceeded immediately to the rooms where sebastian's friends were assembled; and bothwell, who was very anxious to avoid any suspicion, and, above all, to prevent mary from suspecting him, continued to attend her assiduously. paris, who carried in his pocket the key of mary's bed-room at the kirk-of-field, in which he had locked hay and hepburn, followed in the earl's train. upon entering the apartment where the dancing and masquing was going on, this frenchman, who had neither the courage nor the cunning necessary to carry him through such a deed of villany, retired in a melancholy mood to a corner, and stood by himself wrapt in a profound reverie. bothwell, observing him, and fearing that his conduct might excite observation, went up to him, and angrily demanded why he looked so sad, telling him in a whisper, _that if he retained that lugubrious countenance before the queen, he should be made to suffer for it_. paris answered despondingly, that he did not care what became of himself, if he could only get permission to go home to bed, for he was ill. "no," said bothwell, "you must remain with me; would you leave those two gentlemen, hay and hepburn, locked up where they now are?"--"alas!" answered paris, "what more must i do this night? i have no heart for this business." bothwell put an end to the conversation, by ordering paris to follow him immediately.[ ] it is uncertain whether the queen had retired to her own chamber before bothwell quitted the palace, or whether he left her at the masque. buchanan, always ready to fabricate calumny, says, that the queen and bothwell were "in long talk together, in her own chamber after midnight." but the falsehood of this assertion is clearly established; for buchanan himself allows, that it was past eleven before mary left the kirk-of-field, and dalgleish and powrie both state, that bothwell came to his own lodgings from the palace about twelve. if, therefore, he was at the masque, as we have seen, he had no time to talk with the queen in private; and, if he had talked with the queen, he could not have been at the masque. it is most likely that mary continued for some time after bothwell's departure at sebastian's wedding, for sebastian was "in great favour with the queen, for his skill in music and his merry jesting." as soon as bothwell came to his "own lodging in the abbey," he exchanged his rich court dress for a more common one. instead of a black satin doublet, bordered with silver, he put on a white canvass doublet, and wrapt himself up in his riding-cloak. taking paris, powrie, wilson and dalgleish with him, he then went down the lane which ran along the wall of the queen's south gardens, and which still exists, joining the foot of the canongate, where the gate of the outer court of the palace formerly stood. passing by the door of the queen's garden, where sentinels were always stationed, the party was challenged by one of the soldiers, who demanded, "who goes there?" they answered, "friends." "what friends?" "friends to my lord bothwell." they proceeded up the canongate till they came to the netherbow port, or lower gate of the city, which was shut. they called to the porter, john galloway, and desired him to open to friends of my lord bothwell. galloway was not well pleased to be raised at so late an hour, and he kept them waiting for some time. as they entered, he asked, "what they did out of their beds at that time of night?" but they gave him no answer. as soon as they got into the town, they called at ormiston's lodgings, who lived in a house, called bassyntine's house, a short way up the high street, on the south side; but they were told that he was not at home. they went without him, down a close below the blackfriars wynd, till they came to the gate of the convent gardens already mentioned. they entered, and, crossing the gardens, they stopped at the back wall, a short way behind darnley's residence. here, dalgleish, wilson, and powrie, were ordered to remain; and bothwell and paris passed in, over the wall. having gone into the lower part of the house, they unlocked the door of the room in which they had left hay and hepburn, and the four together held a consultation regarding the best mode of setting fire to the gunpowder, which was lying in a great heap upon the floor. they took a piece of lint, three or four inches long, and kindling one end of it, they laid the other on the powder, knowing that it would burn slowly enough to give them time to retire to a safe distance. they then returned to the convent gardens; and having rejoined the servants whom they had left there, the whole group stood together, anxiously waiting for the explosion. darnley, meantime, little aware of his impending fate, had gone to bed within an hour after the queen had left him. his servant, william taylor, lay, as was his wont, in the same room. thomas nelson, edward simmons, and a boy, lay in the gallery, or servant's apartment, on the same floor, and nearer the town-wall. bothwell must have been quite aware, that from the mode of death he had chosen for darnley, there was every probability that his attendants would also perish. but when lawless ambition once commences its work of blood, whether there be only one, or a hundred victims, seems to be a matter of indifference.[ ] the conspirators waited for upwards of a quarter of an hour without hearing any noise. bothwell became impatient; and unless the others had interfered, and pointed out to him the danger, he would have returned and looked in at the back window of the bedroom, to see if the light was burning. it must have been a moment of intense anxiety and terror to all of them. at length, every doubt was terminated. with an explosion so tremendous, that it shook nearly the whole town, and startled the inhabitants from their sleep, the house of the kirk-of-field blew up into a thousand fragments, leaving scarcely a vestige standing of its former walls. paris, who describes the noise as that of a storm of thunder condensed into one clap, fell almost senseless, through fear, with his face upon the earth. bothwell himself, though "a bold, bad man," confessed a momentary panic. "i have been at many important enterprises," said he, "but i never felt before as i do now." without waiting to ascertain the full extent of the catastrophe, he and his accomplices left the scene of their guilt with all expedition. they went out at the convent-gate, and, having passed down to the cowgate, they there separated, and went up by different roads to the netherbow-port. they were very desirous to avoid disturbing the porter again, lest they should excite his suspicion. they therefore went down a close, which still exists, on the north side of the high street, immediately above the city gate, expecting that they would be able to drop from the wall into leith wynd; but bothwell found it too high, especially as a wound he had received at hermitage castle, still left one of his hands weak. they were forced, therefore, to apply once more to john galloway, who, on being told that they were friends of the earl bothwell, does not seem to have asked any questions. on getting into the canongate, some people were observed coming up the street; to avoid them, bothwell passed down st mary's wynd, and went to his lodgings by the back road. the sentinels, at the door of the queen's garden again challenged them, and they made the usual answer, that they were friends of the earl bothwell, carrying despatches to him from the country. the sentinels asked,--"if they knew what noise that was they had heard a short time before?" they told them they did not.[ ] when bothwell came home, he called for a drink; and, taking off his clothes, went to bed immediately. he had not lain there above half an hour when the news was brought him that the house of the kirk-of-field had been blown up, and the king slain. exclaiming that there must be treason abroad, and affecting the utmost alarm and indignation, he rose and put on the same clothes he had worn when he was last with the queen. the earl of huntly and others soon joined him, and, after hearing from them as much as was then known of the matter, it was thought advisable to repair to the palace, to inform mary of what had happened. they found her already alarmed, and anxious to see them, some vague rumours of the accident having reached her. they disclosed the whole melancholy truth as gradually and gently as possible, attributing darnley's death either to the accidental explosion of some gunpowder in the neighbourhood, or to the effects of lightning. mary's distress knew no bounds; and seeing that it was hopeless to reason with her in the first anguish of her feelings, bothwell and the other lords left her just as day began to break, and proceeded to the kirk-of-field.[ ] there they found every thing in a state of confusion;--the edifice in ruins, and the town's-people gathered round it in dismay. of the five persons who were in the house at the time of the explosion, one only was saved. darnley, and his servant william taylor, who slept in the room immediately above the gunpowder, had been most exposed to its effects, and they were accordingly carried through the air over the town wall, and across the lane on the other side, and were found lying at a short distance from each other in a garden to the south of this lane,--both in their night-dress, and with little external injury. simmons, nelson, and the boy, being nearer the town-wall, were only collaterally affected by the explosion. they were, however, all buried in the ruins, out of which nelson alone had the good fortune to be taken alive. the bodies were, by bothwell's command, removed to an adjoining house, and a guard from the palace set over them.[ ] darnley and his servant being found at so great a distance, and so triflingly injured, it was almost universally supposed at the time, and for long afterwards, that they had been first strangled or assassinated, and then carried out to the garden. this supposition is now proved, beyond a doubt, to have been erroneous. if darnley had been first murdered, there would have been no occasion to have blown up the house; and if this was done, that his death might appear to be the result of accident, his body would never have been removed to such a distance as might appear to disconnect it with the previous explosion. before the expansive force of gunpowder was sufficiently understood, it was not conceived possible that it could have acted as in the present instance; and various theories were invented, none of which were so simple or so true, as that which accords with the facts now established. it is the depositions already quoted that set the matter at rest; for, having confessed so much of the truth, there could have been no reason for concealing any other part of it. hepburn declared expressly, that "he knew nothing but that darnley was blown into the air, for he was handled with no men's hands that he saw;" and hay deponed that bothwell, some time afterwards, said to him, "what thought ye when ye saw him blown into the air?" hay answered,--"alas! my lord, why speak ye of that, for whenever i hear such a thing, the words wound me to death, as they ought to do you."[ ] there is nothing wonderful in the bodies having been carried so far; for it is mentioned by a cotemporary author, that "they kindled their train of gunpowder, which inflamed the whole timber of the house, and troubled the walls thereof in such sort, that great stones of the length of ten feet, and of the breadth of four feet, were found blown from the house a far way."[ ] besides, after the minute account, which a careful collation of the different confessions and depositions has enabled us to give, of the manner in which bothwell spent every minute of his time, from the period of the queen's leaving darnley, till the unfortunate prince ceased to exist, it would be a work of supererogation to seek to refute, by any stronger evidence, the notion that he was strangled. it is, however, somewhat remarkable, that, even in recent times, authors of good repute should have allowed themselves to be misled by the exploded errors of earlier writers. "the house," says miss benger, "was invested with armed men, some of whom watched without, whilst others entered to achieve their barbarous purpose; these having strangled darnley and his servant with silken cords, carried their bodies into the garden, and then blew up the house with powder."[ ] this is almost as foolish as the report mentioned by melville, that he was taken out of his bed, and brought down to a stable, where they suffocated him by stopping a napkin into his mouth; or, as that still more ridiculous story alluded to by sanderson, that the earl of dunbar, and sir roger aston, an englishman, who chose to hoax his countrymen, by telling them that he lodged in the king's chamber that night, "having smelt the fire of a match, leapt both out at a window into the garden; and that the king catching hold of his sword, and suspecting treason, not only against himself, but the queen and the young prince, who was then at holyrood house with his mother, desired him (sir roger aston) to make all the haste he could to acquaint her of it, and that immediately armed men, rushing into the room, seized him single and alone, and stabbed him, and then laid him in the garden, and afterwards blew up the house."[ ] buchanan, crawford and others, fall into similar mistakes; but knox, or his continuator, writes more correctly, and mentions, besides, that medical men "being convened, at the queen's command, to view and consider the manner of darnley's death," were almost unanimously of opinion that he was blown into the air, although he had no mark of fire.[ ] henry stuart, lord darnley, duke of albany and king of scotland, perished in the twenty-first year of his age, and the eighteenth month of his reign. the suddenness and severity of his fate excited a degree of compassion, and attached an interest to his memory, which, had he died in the ordinary course of nature, would never have been felt. he had been to scotland only a cause of civil war,--to his nobility an object of contempt, of pity, or of hatred,--and to his wife a perpetual source of sorrow and misfortune. any praise he may deserve must be given to him almost solely on the score of his personal endowments; his mind and dispositions had been allowed to run to waste, and were under no controul but that of his own wayward feelings and fancies. keith, in the following words, draws a judicious contrast between his animal and intellectual qualities. "he is said to have been one of the tallest and handsomest young men of the age; that he had a comely face and pleasant countenance; that he was a most dexterous horseman, and exceedingly well skilled in all genteel exercises, prompt and ready for all games and sports, much given to the diversions of hawking and hunting, to horse-racing and music, especially playing on the lute; he could speak and write well, and was bountiful and liberal enough. but, then, to balance these good natural qualifications, he was much addicted to intemperance, to base and unmanly pleasures; he was haughty and proud, and so very weak in mind, as to be a prey to all that came about him; he was inconstant, credulous, and facile, unable to abide by any resolutions, capable to be imposed upon by designing men, and could conceal no secret, let it tend ever so much to his own welfare or detriment."[ ] with all his faults, there was no one in scotland who lamented him more sincerely than mary. she had loved him deeply; and whilst her whole life proves that she was incapable of indulging that violent and unextinguishable hatred which prompts to deeds of cruelty and revenge, it likewise proves that it was almost impossible for her to cease to esteem an object for which she had once formed an attachment. murray must himself have allowed the truth of the first part of this statement; and for many days before his death, darnley had himself felt the force of the latter. she had, no doubt, too much good sense to believe that darnley, in his character of king, was a loss to the country; but the tears she shed for him, are to be put down to the account, not of the queen, but of the woman and the wife. chapter iv. bothwell's trial and acquittal. during the whole of the day that succeeded her husband's death, (monday the th of february ), mary shut herself up in her own apartment, and would see no one. bothwell was anxious to have conversed with her, but overpowered with grief, she was unable to listen to any thing he wished to say.[ ] in the meantime all was confusion and dismay in edinburgh, and wherever the news of this strange murder arrived, a thousand contradictory reports went abroad. some suspected one thing, and some another; and it must be recollected, that although, at a subsequent date, facts came out sufficient to fix the guilt upon those who had really committed the crime, as yet there was nothing but mere vague conjecture. mary herself was lost in wonder and doubt. most of the nobility who were near her wished to persuade her, at bothwell's instigation, that her husband's death was either the effect of accident, or that it had been brought about by the malice and villany of some obscure and ignoble traitors; and every endeavour being thus made to mislead her, she was the very last who could be expected to know the truth. accordingly, it appears by a letter she wrote to the archbishop of glasgow, her ambassador at paris, on tuesday the th (two days after the murder), that she was still but very imperfectly informed even of the manner of darnley's death. this letter, at once so simple and natural, must not be omitted here. she had, the same morning, received a despatch from her ambassador, in which he had expressed a fear, that the pardon she had lately given to morton, ruthven, lindsay and others, might involve her in trouble. mary's answer was as follows: "most reverend father in god, and trust counsellor, we greet you well: we have received this morning your letters of the th january, by your servant robert dury, containing in part such advertisement as we find by effect over true, albeit the success has not altogether been such as the authors of that mischievous fact had preconceived in their mind, and had put it in execution, if god in his mercy had not preserved us and reserved us, as we trust, to the end that we may take a vigorous vengeance of that mischievous deed, which, before it should remain unpunished, we had rather lose life and all. the matter is horrible, and so strange, that we believe the like was never heard of in any country. this night past, being the th february, a little after two hours after midnight, the house wherein the king was lodged was in an instant blown in the air, he lying sleeping in his bed, with such a vehemency, that of the whole lodging, walls, and other, there is nothing remaining,--no, not a stone above another, but all either carried far away, or dung in dross to the very ground-stone. it must be done by force of powder, and appears to have been a mine.[ ] by whom it has been done, or in what manner, it appears not as yet. we doubt not but, according to the diligence our council has begun already to use, the certainty of all shall be obtained shortly; and the same being discovered, which we wot god will never suffer to lie hid, we hope to punish the same with such rigour, as shall serve for example of this cruelty to all ages to come. at all events, whoever has taken this wicked enterprise in hand, we assure ourself it was devised as well for us as for the king; for we lay all the most part of all the last week in that same lodging, and were there accompanied with the most part of the lords that are in this town, that same night at midnight, and of very chance tarried not all night, by reason of some masque in the abbey; but we believe it was not chance, but god that put it in our head.[ ] we despatch this bearer upon the sudden, and therefore write to you the more shortly. the rest of your letter we shall answer at more leisure, within four or five days, by your own servant; and so, for the present, commit you to almighty god.--at edinburgh, the th day of february - .--marie r."[ ] in accordance with the resolution intimated in the above letter, to seek out and vigorously punish her husband's murderers, a proclamation was issued upon wednesday the th, immediately after an inquisition had been taken by the justice-general, offering a reward of two thousand pounds, and "an honest yearly rent," to whosoever should reveal "the persons, devisers, counsellors, or actual committers of the said mischievous and treasonable murder," and promising besides to the first revealer, although a partaker of the crime, a free pardon. the same proclamation declared, that as "almighty god would never suffer so horrible a deed to lie hid, so, before it should remain untried, the queen's majesty, unto whom of all others the case was most grievous, would rather lose life and all."[ ] in the mean time, not knowing but that the same traitors who had murdered her husband, might intend a similar fate for herself, mary removed to the castle, as a place of greater security than holyrood palace. there she remained shut up in a dark chamber, hung with black, till after darnley's burial. he lay in the chapel at holyrood, from the th to the th of february. his body having been embalmed, he was then interred in the royal vault, in which king james v., together with his first wife, magdalene, and his two infant sons, mary's brothers, lay. buchanan, and his follower laing, have both insisted upon the nocturnal secrecy and indifference with which the funeral ceremony was conducted. "the nobles that were there present," says buchanan, "decreed, that a stately and honourable funeral should be made for him; but the queen ordered it so, that he was carried by private bearers in the night-time, and was buried in no manner of state." the interpretation to be put upon this insidious passage is, that the protestant lords proposed to bury darnley after the presbyterian form, and that mary refused her consent, and, in consequence, only the catholics attended. "the ceremonies indeed," says lesley, "were the fewer, because that the greatest part of the council were protestants, and had before interred their own parents without accustomed solemnities."[ ] that mary's calumniators should have insisted upon this circumstance at all, only shows how eager they were to avail themselves of everything which they could pervert to their own purposes. had mary wished to act the hypocrite, nothing could have been easier for her than to have made a great parade at darnley's funeral. bothwell, in the mean time, kept as quiet as possible, attending, as usual, at court, and taking care always to be present at the meetings of the privy council. but he had lighted a torch which was not to be extinguished, till it had blazed over scotland, and kindled his own funeral pyre. on whatever grounds the suspicion had gone abroad, (and it is difficult to say why public attention should so soon have been directed to him as the perpetrator of the late murder, unless we suppose murray, or some of his other accomplices, to have been now eager to publish his guilt, in order to accomplish his ruin), it is at all events certain, that in a few days after the proclamation for the discovery of the assassins had been issued, a placard was set up at night, on the door of the tolbooth of edinburgh, in which it was affirmed, that the earl of bothwell, together with a mr james balfour, a mr david chalmers, and a mr john spence, were the persons principally concerned in the crime, and that the queen herself was "assenting thereto." it might be reasonably concluded, that no notice whatever would be taken of an anonymous paper thus expressed; but the queen, even although it insultingly accused herself, was so anxious to have the matter of the murder investigated, that she caused another proclamation to be issued, without waiting for the advice of her privy council, desiring the author of the placard to divulge his name, and promising that if he could show there was any truth in any part of his averment, he should receive the promised reward.[ ] a second placard was stuck up in answer, requiring the money to be lodged in honest hands, and three of the queen's servants, whom it named, to be put in arrest; and undertaking, as soon as these conditions were complied with, that the author and four friends would discover themselves. this was so palpable an evasion, that it of course met with no attention. to suppose that government would take upon itself the charge of partiality, and place the public money in what an anonymous writer might consider "honest hands," was too grossly absurd to have been proposed by any one who really wished to do his country a service. the circumstance of bothwell's name being mentioned in these placards, in conjunction with that of the queen, probably operated in his favour with mary. conscious of her own innocence, she would very naturally suppose that the charge was equally calumnious in regard to him; for if she knew it to be false in one particular, what dependence could she place upon its truth in any other? at the same time, she could not of course see her husband murdered, almost before her eyes, without making various surmises concerning the real author and cause of his death. her accusers, however, seem to suppose that she ought to have been gifted with an almost miraculous power of discovering the guilty. only a few days before, every thing had been proceeding smoothly; and she herself, with renovated spirits, was enjoying the returning health and affection of her husband. in a moment the scene was overclouded; her husband was barbarously slain; and all scotland was in a ferment. yet around the queen all wore the same aspect. murray was living quietly in fife; her secretary maitland was proceeding as usual with the official details of public business; the earl of morton had not yet returned to court, and he also was in fife; the archbishop of st andrews was busied in bolstering up the last remains of catholicism; athol, caithness, huntly, argyle, bothwell, cassils, and sutherland, were attending their sovereign, as faithful and attached servants ought. where then was she to look for the traitor who had raised his hand against her husband's life and her own happiness? whom was she to suspect? was it murray?--he had left town without any sufficient cause, on the very day of darnley's death, and had hated him ever since he put his foot in scotland. was it morton?--he had returned recently from banishment, and that banishment had been the result of darnley's treachery, and had not morton assassinated rizzio, with far less grounds of offence? was it argyle?--the lennox family had stripped him of some of his possessions, and the king's death might, perhaps, be the means of restoring them to him. was it the hamiltons?--they were the hereditary enemies of the house of lennox, and darnley had blasted for ever their hopes of succession to the throne. was it huntly? was it athol? was it bothwell? it was less likely to be any of these, because darnley had never come into direct collision with them. by what art, or superior penetration, was mary to make a discovery which was baffling the whole of scotland? was she surrounded by the very men who had done the deed, and who used every means to lead her astray from the truth; yet was she to be able to single out the criminal at a glance, and hurl upon him her just indignation?[ ] worn out by her griefs and her perplexities, her doubts and her fears, mary's health began to give way, and her friends prevailed upon her to leave for a short time her confinement in edinburgh castle, and visit seaton house, a country residence of which she was fond, only seven miles off. lesley, after describing mary's melancholy sojourn in the castle, adds, that she would have "continued a longer time in this lamentable wise, had she not been most earnestly dehorted by the vehement exhortations and persuasions of her council, who were moved thereto by her physicians informations, declaring to them the great and imminent dangers of her health and life, if she did not in all speed break up and leave that kind of close and solitary life, and repair to some good open and wholesome air; which she did, being thus advised, and earnestly thereto solicited by her said council."[ ] she went to seaton on the th of february, accompanied by a very considerable train, among whom were the earls of argyle, huntly, bothwell, arbroath, the archbishop of st andrews, the lords fleming and livingston, and secretary maitland.[ ] it was here that a correspondence took place between the queen and the earl of lennox, darnley's father, which deserves attention. in his first letter, the earl thanked her majesty for the trouble and labour she took to discover and bring to trial those who were guilty of the "late cruel act;" but as the offenders were not yet known, he beseeched her highness to assemble, with all convenient diligence, the whole nobility and estates of the realm, that they, acting in conjunction with her majesty, might take such steps as should seem most likely to make manifest the "bloody and cruel actors of the deed." this letter was dated the th of february . mary replied to it on the st; and in her answer, assured lennox that in showing him all the pleasure and goodwill in her power, she did only her duty, and that which her natural affection prompted, adding, that on that affection he might always depend, "so long as god gave her life." as to the assembling of her nobility, she informed him, that shortly before the receipt of his letter, she had desired a parliament to be summoned, and that as soon as it met, the death of darnley would be the first subject which it would be called upon to consider. lennox wrote again on the th, to explain, that when he advised her majesty to assemble her nobility, he did not allude to the holding of a parliament, which he knew could not be done immediately. but because he had heard of certain placards which had been set up in edinburgh, in which certain persons were named as the devisers of the murder, he requested that these persons should be apprehended and imprisoned, that the nobility and council should be assembled, and that the writers of the placards should be required to appear before them, and be confronted with those whom they had accused; and that if they refused to appear, or did not make good their charge, the persons slandered should be exonerated and set at liberty. a proposal so very unconstitutional could not have been made by lennox, unless misled by the ardour of his paternal feelings, or instigated by some personal enmity towards bothwell. if mary had ventured to throw into prison every one accused in an anonymous bill, there is no saying where the abuse might have ended. the most worthless coward might have thus revenged himself upon those he hated; and law and justice would have degenerated into despotism, or civil anarchy. the queen, therefore, informed lennox, that although, as she had already written, she had summoned a parliament, and should lay the matter of the murder before it, it was never her intention to allow it to sleep in the mean time. her lords and council would of course continue to exert themselves, but her _whole_ nobility could not be assembled till the parliament met. as to his desire, that the persons named in the placards should be apprehended, there had been so many, and so contrary statements made in these placards, that she knew not to which in particular he alluded; and besides, that she could not find herself justified in throwing any of her subjects into prison upon such authority; but that, if he himself would condescend upon the names of such persons as he thought deserved a trial, she would order that trial to take place immediately. she was anxious that lennox should take this responsibility upon himself, for she had hitherto been kept much in the dark, and was glad to have the assistance of one almost as desirous as herself to come to the truth. she invited him, therefore, in her letter of the st of march, to write to her again immediately, with any other suggestion which might occur to him, because she was determined "not to omit any occasion which might clear the matter." it was the th of march before lennox again addressed the queen. he thanked her majesty for her attention to his wishes; he marvelled that the names of the persons upon the placards, against whom the greatest suspicions were entertained, "_had been kept from her majesty's ears_;" and, as she requested it, he now named them himself, putting the earl of bothwell first, and several other inferior persons after him. he did not undertake to be their accuser, confessing that he had no evidence of their guilt; but he said he greatly suspected bothwell, and hoped "her majesty, now knowing their names, and being a party, as well and more than he was, although he was the father, would take order in the matter according to the weight of the cause." mary, who had by this time returned to edinburgh, wrote to lennox, the very day after the receipt of his letter, that she had summoned her nobility to come to edinburgh the first week of april; and that, as soon as they came, the persons named in his letter should "abide and underlie such trial, as by the laws of the realm was usual."--"they being found culpable," mary added, "in any way of that crime and odious fact, named in the placards, and whereof you suspect them, we shall even, according to our former letter, see the condign punishment as vigorously and extremely executed as the weight of that fact deserves; for, indeed, as you write, we esteem ourself a party if we were resolute of the authors." she further entreated lennox to come to edinburgh, that he might be present at the trial, and lend his assistance to it. "you shall there have experience," she concluded, "of our earnest will and effectuous mind to have an end in this matter, and the authors of so unworthy a deed really punished."[ ] the queen, having waited anxiously till something should occur which might lead to the detection of the murderers, hoped that a clue to the mystery was now about to be discovered. it was a bold and perhaps almost too strong a measure, to arraign a nobleman so powerful, and apparently so respected as bothwell, of so serious a crime, upon such vague suspicion; but if mary in this instance exceeded the due limits of her constituted authority, it was an error which leant to virtue's side, and the feelings of an insulted queen and afflicted wife must plead her excuse. her privy council, which she summoned immediately upon the receipt of lennox's last letter, and before whom she laid it, passed an act directing the trial of the earl of bothwell, and the other suspected persons named by lennox. the trial was fixed to take place on the th day of april ; letters were directed to the earl of lennox to inform him of it, and proclamations were made in edinburgh, glasgow, dumbarton, and other places, calling upon all who would accuse bothwell, or his accomplices, to appear in court on the day appointed.[ ] the council, however, would not authorize the imprisonment of the suspected persons, seeing that it was only anonymous placards which had excited that suspicion. as soon as the earl of lennox got intimation of the intended trial, he set out for edinburgh from his estate in dumbartonshire. not choosing to proceed thither direct, in consequence of the enmity which he knew bothwell must bear to him, he went to stirling, where it was understood he was engaged in collecting all the evidence in his power. nor can bothwell be supposed to have felt very easy, under the prospect of his approaching trial. he counted, however, on the good offices of his friends among the nobility; and having removed all who might have been witnesses against him, and brought into edinburgh a numerous body of retainers, he resolved to brazen out the accusation with his usual audacity. he even affected to complain that he had not been treated with sufficient fairness; that a paper affixed privately to the door of the tolbooth had been made the means of involving him in serious trouble; and that, instead of the usual term of forty days, only fifteen had been allowed him to prepare for his defence.[ ] he assumed the air, therefore, of an injured and innocent man; and he was well borne out in this character by the countenance he received from most of the lords then at court. we learn from killigrew, that twenty days after bothwell had been placarded, he dined with him at the earl of murray's, who had by this time returned from fife, in company with huntly, argyle, and lethington.[ ] the day of trial now drew near; but, to her astonishment, mary received a letter only twenty-four hours before it was to take place, from the earl of lennox, who did not exactly see how he was to carry through his accusation, and therefore wished that the case should be postponed. the letter was dated from stirling, and mentioned two causes which he said would prevent him from coming to edinburgh; one was sickness, and the other the short time which had been allowed him to prepare for making good his charge. he asked, therefore, that the queen would imprison the suspected persons, and would delay the trial till he had collected his friends and his proofs.[ ] this request disappointed mary exceedingly. she had hurried on the trial as much to gratify lennox as herself; but she now saw that, in asking for it at all, he had been guided more by the feeling of the moment, than by any rational conviction of its propriety. to postpone it without the consent of the accused, who had by this time made the necessary preparations for their defence, was of course out of the question; and, if the time originally mentioned was too short, why did lennox not write to that effect, as soon as he received intimation of the day appointed? if she put off the trial now, for any thing she knew it might never come on at all. her enemies, however, were determined, whatever she did, to discover some cause of complaint;--if she urged it on, they would accuse her of precipitancy; if she postponed it, they would charge her with indifference. elizabeth, in particular, under the pretence of a mighty anxiety that mary should do what was most honourable and requisite, insolently suggested that suspicion might attach to herself, unless she complied with the request made by lennox. "for the love of god, madam," she hypocritically and insidiously wrote to mary, "conduct yourself with such sincerity and prudence, in a case which touches you so nearly, that all the world may have reason to pronounce you innocent of a crime so enormous, which, unless they did, you would deserve to be blotted out from the rank of princesses, and to become odious even to the vulgar, rather than see which, i would wish you an honourable sepulchre."[ ] just as if any one _did_ suspect mary, or as if any monarch in christendom would have dared to hint the possibility of her being an adulterous murderess, except her jealous rival elizabeth, pining in the chagrined malevolence of antiquated virginity. the real motives which dictated this epistle became the more apparent, when we learn that it was not written till the th of april, and could not at the very soonest reach edinburgh till the morning of the very day on which the trial was to take place, and probably not till after it was over. the truth is, the very moment she heard of darnley's death, elizabeth had eagerly considered in her own mind the possibility of involving "her good sister" in the guilt attached to those who had murdered him, and was now the very first who openly attempted to lead the thoughts of the scottish queen's subjects into that channel;--she was the very first who commenced laying the train which produced in the end so fatal a catastrophe. on saturday, the th of april , a justiciary court was held in the tolbooth of edinburgh, for the trial of the earl of bothwell. the lord high justice the earl of argyle presided, attended by four assessors, or legal advisers, two of whom, mr james macgill and mr henry balnaves, were senators of the college of justice; the third was robert pitcairn, commendator of dumfermlin, and the fourth was lord lindsay. the usual preliminary formalities having been gone through, the indictment was read, in which bothwell was accused of being "art and part of the cruel, odious, treasonable, and abominable slaughter and murder, of the umwhile the right high and mighty prince the king's grace, dearest spouse for the time to our sovereign lady the queen's majesty."[ ] he was then called as defender on the one side, and matthew earl of lennox, and all others the queen's lieges, who wished to pursue in the matter, on the other. bothwell appeared immediately at the bar, supported by the earl of morton, and two gentlemen who were to act as his advocates. but the earl of lennox, or other pursuers, though frequently called, did not appear. at length robert cunningham, one of lennox's servants, stepped forward, and produced a writing in the shape of a protest, which his master had authorized him to deliver. it stated, that the cause of the earl's absence was the shortness of time, and the want of friends and retainers to accompany him to the place of trial; and it therefore objected to the decision of any assize which might be held that day. in reply to this protest, the letters of the earl of lennox to the queen, in which he desired that a short and summary process might be taken against the suspected persons, were produced and read; and it was maintained by the earl of bothwell's counsel, that the trial ought to proceed immediately, according to the laws of the realm, and the wish of the party accused. the judges, having heard both sides, were of opinion that bothwell had a right to insist upon the trial going on. a jury was therefore chosen, which does not seem to have consisted of persons particularly friendly to the earl. it was composed of the earls of rothes, caithness, and cassils, lord john hamilton, son to the duke of chatelherault, lords ross, semple, herries, oliphant, and boyd, the master of forbes, gordon of lochinvar, cockburn of langton, sommerville of cambusnethan, mowbray of barnbougle, and ogilby of boyne. bothwell pled _not guilty_; and, no evidence appearing against him, the jury retired, and were out of court for some time. when they returned, their verdict, delivered by the earl of caithness, whom they had chosen their chancellor, unanimously acquitted bothwell of the slaughter of the king.[ ] immediately after his acquittal, bothwell, as was customary in those times, published a challenge, in which he offered to fight hand to hand, with any man who would avow that he still suspected him to have had a share in the king's death; but nobody ventured openly to accept it.[ ] as far, therefore, as appearances were concerned, he was now able to stand upon higher ground than ever, and boldly to declare, that whosoever was guilty, he had been found innocent. accordingly, at the parliament which met on the th of april, he appeared in great state, with banners flying, and a numerous body of retainers; and in compliment to him, an act was passed, in which it was set forth, that "by a licentious abuse lately come into practice within this realm, there had been placards and bills and tickets of defamation, set up under silence of night, in diverse public places, to the slander, reproach and infamy of the queen's majesty and diverse of the nobility; which disorder, if it were suffered to remain longer unpunished, would redound not only to the great hurt and detriment of all noblemen in their good fame, private calumniators having by this means liberty to backbite them, but also the common weal would be disturbed, and occasion of quarrel taken upon false and untrue slander;"--it was therefore made criminal to put up any such placards, or to abstain from destroying them as soon as they were seen. at this parliament, there was also an act passed on the subject of religion, which is deserving of notice. "the same queen," says chalmers, "who is charged by robertson with attempting to suppress the reformed discipline, with the aid of the bishops, passed a law, renouncing all foreign jurisdiction in ecclesiastical affairs,--giving toleration to all her subjects to worship god in their own way,--and engaging to give some additional privileges." this is one of the most satisfactory answers which can be given to the supposition, that mary was in any way a party in the continental persecution of the hugonots. the earl of murray was not present either at this parliament, or the trial which immediately preceded it. actuated by motives which do not exactly appear, and which historians have not been able satisfactorily to explain, he obtained permission from mary, in the beginning of april, to leave scotland, and, on the th, he set off for france, visiting london and the court of elizabeth on his way. there is something very unaccountable, in a man of murray's ambition thus withdrawing from the scene of action, just at the very time when he must have been anticipating political events of the last importance. his conduct can be rationally explained, only by supposing, that it was suggested by his systematic caution. he was not now, nor had he ever been since his rebellion, mary's exclusive and all-powerful prime minister;--yet he could not bear to fill a second place; and he knew that, if any civil war occurred, the eyes of many would immediately be turned towards him. if he remained in the country, he would necessarily be obliged to take a side as soon as the dissensions broke out, and might find himself again associated with the losing party; but, if he kept at a distance for a while, he could throw his influence, when he chose, into the heaviest scale, and thus gain an increase of popularity and power. these were probably the real motives of his present conduct, and, judging by the result, no one can say that he reasoned ill. that he was aware of every thing that was about to happen, and that he urged bothwell forward into a net, from whose meshes he knew he could never be disengaged, as has been maintained so positively by whittaker, chalmers, and others, does not appear. the peremptoriness with which these writers have asserted the truth of this unfounded theory, is the leading defect of their works, and has tended to weaken materially the chain of argument by which they would otherwise have established mary's innocence. that bothwell, as they over and over again repeat, was the mere "cat's-paw" of murray, is a preposterous belief, and argues a decided want of knowledge of bothwell's real character. but supposing that he had been so, nothing could be more chimerical than the idea, that after having made him murder darnley, murray would wish to see him first acquitted of that murder, and then married to the queen, for the vague chance that both might be deposed, and he himself called to succeed them as regent. "would it ever enter into the imagination of a wise man," asks robertson, "first to raise his rival to supreme power, in hopes that, afterwards, he should find some opportunity of depriving him of that power? the most adventurous politician never hazarded such a dangerous experiment; the most credulous folly never trusted such an uncertain chance." murray probably winked at the murder, because he foresaw that it was likely to lead to bothwell's ruin. when he left the country, he may not have been altogether aware of bothwell's more ambitious objects; but if he was, he would still have gone, for his staying could not have prevented their attempted execution; and if they induced a civil war, whosoever lost, he might contrive to be a gainer. he acted selfishly and unpatriotically, but not with that deliberate villany with which he has been charged. chapter v. bothwell's seizure of the queen's person, and subsequent marriage to her. every thing appeared now to be going smoothly with bothwell, and he had only to take one step more to reach the very height of his ambition. mary's hand and scotland's crown were the objects he had all along kept steadily in view. the latter was to be obtained only through the medium of the former, and hence his reason for removing darnley, and willingly submitting to a trial, from which he saw he would come off triumphantly. the question he now anxiously asked himself was, whether it was likely that mary could be persuaded to accept him as a husband. he was aware, that in the unsettled state of the country, she must feel that, unless married to a person of strength and resolution, she would hardly be able to keep her turbulent subjects in order; and he was of opinion, that it was not improbable she would now cast her eyes upon one of her own nobility, as she could no where else find a king who would be so agreeable to the national prejudices. yet he had a lurking consciousness, that he himself would not be the object of her choice. she had of late, it was true, given him a considerable share in the administration; but he felt that she had done so, more as a matter of state policy, and to preserve a balance of power between himself and her other ministers, than from any personal regard. the most assiduous attentions which it was in his power to pay her, had failed to kindle in her bosom any warmer sentiment; for though she esteemed him for his fidelity as an officer of state, his manners and habits as a man, were too coarse and dissolute to please one of so much refinement, sensibility and gentleness, as mary stuart. bothwell therefore became secretly convinced that it would be necessary for him to have recourse to fraud, and perhaps to force. had mary loved him, their marriage would have been a matter of mutual agreement, and would have taken place whenever circumstances seemed to make it mutually advisable; but as it was, artifice and audacity were to be his weapons; nor were they wielded by an unskilful hand. the parliament which met on the th of april , continued to sit only till the th of the same month; and on the evening of the following day, bothwell invited nearly all the lords who were then in edinburgh to a great supper, in a tavern kept by a person of the name of ainsly, from which circumstance, the entertainment was afterwards known by the name of "_ainsly's supper_." after plying his guests with wine, he produced a document, which he had himself previously drawn up, and which he requested them all to sign. it was in the form of a bond; and in the preamble, after expressing their conviction that james earl of bothwell, lord hales, crichton, and liddisdale, great admiral of scotland, and lieutenant to the queen over all the marches, had been grossly slandered in being suspected of having a share in the murder of darnley, and that his innocence had been fully and satisfactorily proved at his late trial, they bound themselves, as they should answer to god, that whatever person or persons should afterwards renew such calumniation, should be proceeded against by them with all diligence and perseverance. after this introduction, evidently meant to aid in removing any lingering suspicion which the queen might still entertain of bothwell's guilt, the bond went on to state, that, "moreover, weighing and considering the present time, and how our sovereign, the queen's majesty, is destitute of a husband, in which solitary state the common weal of this realm may not permit her highness to continue and endure, but at some time her highness, in appearance, may be inclined to yield unto a marriage,--therefore, in case the former affectionate and hearty services of the said earl (bothwell), done to her majesty from time to time, and his other good qualities and behaviour, may move her majesty so far to humble herself as, preferring one of her own native born subjects unto all foreign princes, to take to husband the said earl, we, and every one of us under subscribing, upon our honours and fidelity, oblige ourselves, and promise, not only to further, advance, and set forward the marriage to be solemnized and completed betwixt her highness and the said noble lord, with our votes, counsel, fortification and assistance, in word and deed, at such time as it shall please her majesty to think it convenient, and as soon as the laws shall permit it to be done; but, in case any should presume, directly or indirectly, openly, or under whatsoever colour or pretence, to hinder, hold back, or disturb the same marriage, we shall, in that behalf, hold and repute the hinderers, adversaries, or disturbers thereof, as our common enemies and evil-willers; and notwithstanding the same, take part with, and fortify the said earl to the said marriage, so far as it may please our said sovereign lady to allow; and therein shall spend and bestow our lives and goods against all that live or die, as we shall answer to god, and upon our own fidelities and conscience; and in case we do the contrary, never to have reputation or credit in no time hereafter, but to be accounted unworthy and faithless traitors."[ ] this bond having been read and considered, all the nobles present, with the exception of the earl of eglinton, who went away unperceived, put their signatures to it. "among the subscribers," says robertson, "we find some who were the queen's chief confidents, others who were strangers to her councils, and obnoxious to her displeasure; some who faithfully adhered to her through all the vicissitudes of her fortune, and others who became the principal authors of her sufferings; some passionately attached to the romish superstition, and others zealous advocates for the protestant faith. no common interest can be supposed to have united men of such opposite interests and parties, in recommending to their sovereign a step so injurious to her honour, and so fatal to her peace. this strange coalition was the effect of much artifice, and must be considered as the boldest and most masterly stroke of bothwell's address." it is, indeed, impossible to conceive that such a bond was so numerously subscribed on the mere impulse of the moment. before obtaining so solemn a promise of support from so many, he must have had recourse to numerous machinations, and have brought into action a thousand interests. he must, in the first place, have influenced morton, his brother-in-law huntly, argyle, and others; and having secured these, he would use them as agents to bring over as many more. the rest, finding that so formidable a majority approved of the bond, would not have the courage to stand out, for they would fear the consequences if bothwell ever became king. among the names attached to this bond are those of the archbishop of st andrews, the bishops of aberdeen, dumblane, brechin, and ross, the earls of huntly, argyle, morton, cassils, sutherland, errol, crawfurd, caithness, and rothes, and the lords boyd, glamis, ruthven, semple, herries, ogilvie, and fleming.[ ] here was an overwhelming and irresistible force, enlisted by bothwell in his support. the sincerity of many of the subscribers he probably had good reason to doubt; but what he wanted was to be able to present himself before mary armed with an argument which she would find it difficult to evade, and if she yielded to it, his object would be gained. he was afraid, however, to lay the bond openly and fairly before her; he dreaded that her aversion to a matrimonial connexion with him might weigh more powerfully than even the almost unanimous recommendation of her nobility. but having already gone so far, he was resolved that a woman's will should not be any serious obstacle to his wishes. the whole affair of the supper was, for a short time, kept concealed from mary; and though bothwell's intentions and wishes began to be pretty generally talked of throughout the country, she was the very last to hear of them. when the lord herries ventured on one occasion to come upon the subject with the queen, and mentioned the report as one which had gained considerable credit, "her majesty marvelled," says melville, "to hear of such rumours without meaning, and said _that there was no such thing in her mind_." only a day or two after the bond was signed, she left edinburgh to visit the prince her son, who was then in the keeping of the earl of mar at stirling. before she went, bothwell ventured to express his hopes to her, but she gave him an answer little agreeable to his ambition. "the bond being once obtained," mary afterwards wrote to france, "bothwell began afar off to discover his intention, and to essay if he might by humble suit purchase our good will."--"but finding an answer nothing correspondent to his desire, and casting from before his eyes all doubts that men use commonly to revolve with themselves in similar enterprises,--the backwardness of our own mind--the persuasions which our friends or his enemies might cast out for his hindrance--the change of their minds whose consent he had already obtained, with many other incidents which might occur to frustrate him of his expectation,--he resolved with himself to follow forth his good fortune, and, all respect laid apart, either to tine all in one hour, or to bring to pass that thing he had taken in hand."[ ] this is a clear and strong statement, describing exactly the feelings both of bothwell and mary at this period. the earl did not long dally on the brink of his fate. ascertaining that mary was to return from stirling on the th, he left edinburgh with a force of nearly men well mounted, under the pretence of proceeding to quell some riots on the borders. but he had only gone a few miles southward, when he turned suddenly to the west, and riding with all speed to linlithgow, waited for mary at a bridge over the almond about a mile from that town. the queen soon made her appearance with a small train, which was easily overpowered, and which indeed did not venture to offer any resistance. the earl of huntly, secretary maitland, and sir james melville, were the only persons of rank who were with the queen; and they were carried captive along with her; but the rest of her attendants were dismissed. bothwell himself seized the bridle of mary's horse, and turning off the road to edinburgh, conducted her with all speed to his castle at dunbar.[ ] the leading features of this forcible abduction, or _ravishment_, as it is commonly called by the scottish historians, have been greatly misrepresented by robertson and laing. both of these writers mention, as a matter of surprise, that mary yielded without struggle or regret, to the insult thus offered her. that she yielded without struggle,--that is to say, without any attempt at physical resistance, is exceedingly probable; for when was a party of a dozen persons, riding without suspicion of danger, able to offer resistance to a thousand armed troopers? there is little wonder that they were surrounded and carried off, "without opposition," as laing expresses it; for by a thousand soldiers, a dozen sir william wallaces would have been made prisoners "without opposition." but the very number which bothwell brought with him, and which even mary's worst enemies allow was not less than six hundred, proves that there was no collusion between him and the queen. had it been only a pretended violence, to afford a decent excuse for mary's subsequent conduct, fifty horsemen would have done as well as a thousand; but bothwell knew the queen's spirit, and the danger of the attempt, and came prepared accordingly. but it is urged, that, if displeased, she must have expressed her resentment to those who were near her. and there is certainly no reason to suppose that she was silent, though neither huntly nor lethington would be much influenced by her complaints, for they had both secretly attached themselves to bothwell. sir james melville, who was more faithful to the queen, was dismissed from dunbar the day after her capture, lest she should have employed him to solicit aid for her relief, as she had formerly done on the occasion of the murder of rizzio.[ ] mary herself, in the letter already quoted, sets the matter beyond dispute, for she there gives a long and interesting detail, both of her own indignation, and of the arts used by bothwell to appease it.[ ] nothing, indeed, can be more contrary to reason, than to suppose this abduction a mere device, mutually arranged to deceive the country. if mary had really loved bothwell and was anxious to marry him, it would have been the very last thing she would have wished to be believed, whether she thought him guilty of darnley's murder or not, that she gave him her hand, after he had been publicly acquitted, and all her principal nobility had declared in his favour, only in consequence of a treasonable act, committed by him against her person. if she hoped to live in peace and happiness with him, why should she have allowed it to be supposed, that she acted from necessity, rather than from choice, or that she yielded to a seducer, what she would not give to a faithful subject? this pre-arranged ravishment, would evidently defeat its own purpose, and would serve as a pretence suggested by mary herself, for every malcontent in scotland to take up arms against her and bothwell. it was a contrivance directly opposed to all sound policy, and certainly very unlike the open and straight-forward manner in which she usually went about the accomplishment of a favourite purpose. "but one object of the seizure," says laing, "was the vindication of her precipitate marriage." where was the necessity for a precipitate marriage at all? was mary so eager to become the wife of bothwell, with whom, according to the veracious buchanan, she had long been indulging an illicit intercourse, that she could not wait the time required by common decency to wear her widow's garb for darnley? was he barbarously murdered by her consent on the th of february, on the express condition that she was to have bothwell in her arms as her husband on the th of may? was she, indeed, so entirely lost to every sense of female delicacy and public shame,--so utterly dead to her own interests and reputation,--or so very scrupulous about continuing a little longer her unlicensed amours, that, rather than suffer the delay of a few months, she would thus run the risk of involving herself in eternal infamy? even supposing that she was perfectly assured the artifice would remain undiscovered,--was her conscience so hardened, her feelings so abandoned, and her reason so perverted, as to enable her to anticipate gratification from a marriage thus hastily concluded, with so little queenly dignity, or female modesty, and with a man who was not yet divorced from his own wife? there is but one answer which can be given to these questions, and that answer comes instinctively to the lips, from every generous heart, and well-regulated mind. for ten days bothwell kept mary in dunbar "sequestrated," in her own words, "from the company of all her servants, and others of whom she might have asked counsel, and seeing those upon whose counsel and fidelity she had before depended, already yielded to his appetite, and _so left alone, as it were, a prey to him_."[ ] closely shut up as she was, she long hoped that some of her more loyal nobles would exert themselves to procure her deliverance. but not one of them stirred in her behalf, for bothwell was at this time dreaded or courted by all of them, and finding the person of the queen thus left at his disposal, he did not hesitate to declare to her, that he would make her his wife, "who would, or who would not,--yea, whether she would herself or not."[ ] mary, in reply, charged him with the foulest ingratitude; and his conduct, she told him, grieved her the more, because he was one "of whom she doubted less than of any subject she had."[ ] but he was not now to be driven from his purpose. he spent his whole time with mary; and his whole conversation was directed to the one great object he had in view. he called to his aid every variety of passion; sometimes flinging himself at her feet, and imploring her to pardon a deed which the violence of his love had made imperative; and, at other times, giving vent to a storm of rage, and threatening dishonour, imprisonment, and death, if she hesitated longer to comply with his demands. mary herself is the best chronicler of these distracting scenes, although it must be observed, that she did not write of them till bothwell had achieved his purpose; and consequently, making a virtue of necessity, she was anxious to place them in as favourable a point of view as possible. "being at dunbar," she says, "we reproached him the honour he had to be so esteemed of us, the favour we had always shewn him, his ingratitude, with all other remonstrances which might serve to rid us out of his hands. albeit we found his doing rude, yet were his answer and words but gentle, that he would honour and serve us, and would noways offend us, asking pardon of the boldness he had taken to convoy us to one of our own houses, whereunto he was driven by force, as well as constrained by love, the vehemency whereof had made him to set apart the reverence, which naturally, as our subject, he bore to us, as also for safety of his own life. and then began to make us a discourse of his whole life, how unfortunate he had been to find men his unfriends whom he had never offended; how their malice never ceased to assault him on all occasions, albeit unjustly; what calumnies they had spread of him, touching the odious violence perpetrated in the person of the king our late husband; how unable he was to save himself from the conspiracies of his enemies, whom he could not know by reason that every man professed himself outwardly to be his friend; and yet he found such hidden malice that he could not find himself in surety, unless he were insured of our favour to endure without alteration; and on no other assurance of our favour could he rely, unless it would please us to do him that honour to take him to husband, protesting always that he would seek no other sovereignty but as formerly, to serve and obey us all the days of our life; joining thereunto all the honest language that could be used in such a case."[ ] but these arguments were of no avail, and he was obliged to go a step farther. "when he saw us like to reject all his suit and offers," says mary, "in the end he shewed us how far he had proceeded with our whole nobility and principals of our estates, and what they had promised him under their handwriting. if we had cause then to be astonished, we leave to the judgment of the king and queen, (of france), our uncle, and our other friends." "many things we resolved with ourself, but never could find an outgait (deliverance); and yet he gave us little space to meditate with ourself, ever pressing us with continual and importunate suit." "as by a bravade in the beginning, he had won the first point, so ceased he never till, by persuasions and importunate suit, _accompanied not the less with force_, he has finally driven us to end the work begun, at such time, and in such form, as he thought might best serve his turn; wherein we cannot dissemble that he has used us otherwise than we would have wished, or yet have deserved at his hand; having more respect to content them, by whose consent granted to him beforehand, he thinks he has obtained his purpose, than regarding our contentation, or weighing what was convenient for us."[ ] bothwell had kept mary at dunbar for nearly a week, when, in order to make it be believed that her residence there was voluntary, he ventured to call together a few of the lords of the privy council on whom he could depend, and on the th of april there was one unimportant act of council passed, concerning provisions for the royal household. from the influence he at that time possessed over the scottish nobles, bothwell might have held a privy council every day at dunbar, and whether he allowed the queen, _pro forma_, to be present or not, nobody would have objected to any thing he proposed.[ ] in the meantime, mutual actions of divorce were raised by bothwell and his wife, the lady jane gordon, and being hurried through the courts, only a few days elapsed before they were obtained.[ ] this is another circumstance which tends to prove, that bothwell's seizure of mary was not collusive; for had it been so, she would certainly never have allowed it to take place till these actions had been decided. the die was now cast; mary was in bothwell's fangs, and her ruin was completed. on the d of may , he thought it expedient to conduct her, closely guarded, from dunbar to the castle of edinburgh. when they came near the town, he desired his followers to conceal their arms, lest it should be supposed that he was still keeping the queen an unwilling prisoner. but the truth broke out in spite of his precautions; for at the foot of the canongate, mary was about to turn her horse towards holyrood, upon which bothwell himself seized the bridle, and conducted her up the high street to the castle, which was then in the keeping of sir james balfour, who was entirely subservient to bothwell.[ ] he was now resolved that his marriage should be consummated with as little delay as possible, having wrung a consent to it from the unfortunate queen, by means of which, it is impossible to think without shuddering. in the state to which she was reduced, she had no alternative; she chose the least of two evils, in becoming, with an aching heart, the wife of her ravisher. yet it would appear, that she did not herself take a single step to advance the matter. three days after she arrived at the castle, a person of the name of thomas hepburn, (probably a relation of the hepburn who was engaged with bothwell in darnley's murder), was sent to craig, knox's colleague in the church of st giles, to desire that he would proclaim the banns of matrimony betwixt the queen and bothwell. but the clergyman refused, because hepburn brought no authority from the queen.[ ] neither mary nor bothwell were so ignorant as to suppose that any minister would publish banns without receiving a written or personal order; and hepburn would hardly have been sent on so idle an errand, had not the queen been still reluctant to surrender herself to one whose person and manners she had never liked, and who was now so odious to her. but not a voice was raised,--not a sword was drawn to protect her,--and what resource was left? in a day or two, the lord justice clerk conveyed a written mandate to craig; but the preacher, had still some scruples: not thinking such a marriage agreeable to the laws either of god or man, he insisted upon seeing the queen and bothwell, before he gave intimation of it. he was admitted to a meeting of the privy council, where bothwell presided, but at which mary does not seem to have been present. "in the council," says craig, "i laid to his charge the law of adultery, the ordinance of the kirk, the law of ravishing, the suspicion of collusion betwixt him and his wife, the sudden divorcement and proclaiming within the space of four days, and lastly, the suspicion of the king's death, which his marriage would confirm; but he answered nothing to my satisfaction."--"therefore, upon sunday, after i had declared what they had done, and how they would proceed, whether we would or not, i took heaven and earth to witness, that i abhorred and detested that marriage, because it was odious and scandalous to the world; and _seeing the best part of the realm did approve it, either by flattery or by their silence_, i desired the faithful to pray earnestly, that god would turn it to the comfort of this realm."[ ] it was not till after the banns had been twice proclaimed, that bothwell allowed the queen, on the th of may, to come forth from the castle for the first time. he conducted her himself to the court of session, where he persuaded her to affix her signature to two deeds of great importance to him. the bond he had obtained from the nobles, recommending him as a husband to the queen, has been already fully described; but when the lords put their names to it, they were not aware that bothwell would, in consequence, conceive himself entitled to have recourse to violence; and they now became alarmed lest the queen should imagine that they were themselves implicated in an act which many of them, though they did not yet venture to express their sentiments, viewed with disgust. by way of precaution, therefore, they required bothwell to obtain, from her majesty, a written promise, that she would not at any time hereafter impute to them as a crime the consent they had given to the bond. here is another argument against the idea of collusion between mary and bothwell; for in that case, so far from having any thing to fear, bothwell's friends would have known that nothing could have recommended them more to mary, than the countenance they gave his marriage; and if, for the sake of appearances, she wished it to be believed that she was forced into it, she would certainly have carefully avoided recording her approval of the previous encouragement given to bothwell by her nobility. mary's calumniators are thus placed between the horns of a dilemma. if she did not consent to the abduction, then the marriage was not one of her choice; if she did, then why defeat the only object she had in view, which was to deceive her subjects, by publicly declaring that the lords who signed the bond had done nothing to displease her? and why, moreover, should such a declaration have been thought necessary, either by bothwell or his friends? the deed which mary signed in the court of session, and which, taking this view of it, is worthy of every attention, was subjoined to a copy of the bond, and expressed in these words: "the queen's majesty having seen and considered the bond above written, promises, on the word of a princess, that she, nor her successors, shall never impute as crime or offence, to any of the persons subscribers thereof, their consent and subscription to the matter above written therein contained; nor that they nor their heirs shall never be called nor accused therefor; nor yet shall the said consent or subscribing be any derogation or spot to their honour, or they esteemed undutiful subjects for doing thereof, notwithstanding whatever thing can tend or be alleged in the contrary. in witness whereof, her majesty has subscribed the same with her own hand."[ ] on the same day, mary granted a formal pardon to bothwell, before all the lords of session and others, for his late conduct, in taking her to, and holding her in dunbar, "contrary to her majesty's will and mind," which is also very much against the supposition of collusion. it states,--"that albeit her highness was commoved for the present time of her taking at the said earl bothwell; yet for his good behaviour, and thankful service in time past, and for more thankful service in time coming, her highness stands content with the said earl, and has forgiven and forgives him, and all others his accomplices, being with him in company at the time, all hatred conceived by her majesty, for the taking and imprisoning of her, at the time foresaid."[ ] all these preparations having been made, mary at length became the wife of bothwell, after he had been previously created duke of orkney. even in the celebration of the marriage ceremony, the despotic power which bothwell now exercised over the unhappy and passive queen, is but too evident. she, who had never before failed in a single instance, to observe the rites of her own faith, however tolerant she was to those who professed a different persuasion, was now obliged, in opposition to all the prejudices of education, and all the principles of her religion, to submit to be married according to the form of the protestant church. adam bothwell, bishop of orkney, who, though holding an episcopal order, had lately renounced that heresy, and joined the reformers, presided on the occasion. the marriage took place, not at mass in the queen's chapel, but in the council chamber, where, after a sermon had been delivered, the company separated, with little demonstrations of mirth.[ ] melville, who came to court the same evening, mentions some particulars, which show how the dissolute bothwell chose to spend his time:--"when i came to the court," he says, "i found my lord duke of orkney, sitting at his supper. he said i had been a great stranger, desiring me to sit down and sup with him. the earl of huntly, the justice-clerk, and diverse others, were sitting at the table with him. i said that i had already supped. then he called for a cup of wine, and drank to me, that i might pledge him like a dutchman. he made me drink it out to grow fatter, 'for,' said he, 'the zeal of the commonweal has eaten ye up, and made ye lean.' i answered, that every little member should serve to some use; but that the care of the commonweal appertained most to him, and the rest of the nobility, who should be as fathers to it. then he said, i well knew he would find a pin for every bore. then he discoursed of gentlewomen, speaking such filthy language, that i left him, and passed up to the queen, who was very glad at my coming."[ ] such was the man who was now inseparably joined to mary, and who, by fraud and villany, had made himself, for the time, so absolute in scotland, that her possession of the throne of her ancestors, nay, her very life, seems to have depended upon his will and pleasure. chapter vi. the rebellion of the nobles, the meeting at carberry hill, and its consequences. mary's first step, after her marriage, was to send, at her husband's desire, ambassadors into england and france, to explain to these courts the motives by which she had been actuated. the instructions given to these ambassadors, as buchanan has justly remarked, and after him the french historians de thou and le clerc, were drawn up with much art. they came, no doubt, from the pen of bothwell's friend, secretary maitland; and they recapitulate so forcibly all the earl's services, both to mary and her mother, enlarge so successfully upon his influence in scotland, his favour with the nobility, and their anxiety that he should become king; and finally, colour so dexterously his recent conduct, that after their perusal, one is almost induced to believe that the queen could not have chosen a better husband in all christendom. of course, mary would herself see them before they were despatched, as they are written in her name; and the consent she must have given to the attempt made in them to screen her husband from blame, confirms the belief that she did not plan, along with him, the scheme of the abduction; for she would, in that case, have represented, in a much stronger light, the consequences necessarily arising from it. if she had consented to such a scheme, it must have been with the view of making it be believed that her marriage with a suspected murderer (suspected at least by many, though probably not by mary herself), was a matter of necessity; and she could never have been so inconsistent as labour to convince her foreign friends, that though violence had been used in the first instance, she had ultimately seen the propriety of voluntarily becoming bothwell's wife. but it was her sincere and laudable desire, now that she was married, to shelter her husband as much as possible; and, conscious of her own innocence, she did not anticipate that the measures she took in his behalf might be turned against herself. it must indeed be distinctly remembered, in tracing the lamentable events which followed this marriage, that though force and fraud were not perhaps employed on the very day of its consummation, yet that they had previously done their utmost, and that it was not the queen who surrendered herself to bothwell, but bothwell who forced himself upon the queen. though mary attempted to conceal her misery from the prying eye of the world, they who had an opportunity of being near her person easily saw that her peace of mind was wrecked. so little love existed either on the one side or the other, that even the days usually set aside for nuptial rejoicings, were marked only by suspicions and wranglings. they remained together at holyrood from the th of may to the th of june; but during the whole of that time, bothwell was so alarmed, lest she should yet break from him, and assert her independence, that he kept her "environed with a continual guard of two hundred harquebuziers, as well day as night, wherever she went;"--and whoever wished an audience with her, "it behoved him, before he could come to her presence, to go through the ranks of harquebuziers, under the mercy of a notorious tyrant,--a new example, wherewith this nation had never been acquainted; and yet few or none were admitted to her speech, for his suspicious heart, brought in fear by the testimony of an evil conscience, would not suffer her subjects to have access to her majesty as they were wont to do."[ ] the letter from which these passages are quoted, deserves, at this period of mary's history, every attention, for it was written, scarcely two months after her marriage, by the lords who had associated themselves against bothwell, but who had not yet discovered the necessity of implicating mary in the guilt with which they charged him. the declarations therefore, they then made, contrasted with those which ambition and selfishness afterwards prompted, prove their sincerity in the first instance, and their wickedness in the last. "they firmly believe," they say, "that whether they had risen up against her husband or not, _the queen would not have lived with him half a year to an end_, as may be conjectured by the short time they lived together, and _the maintaining of his other wife at home at his house_." this last fact is no less singular than it is important. it seems distinctly to imply, that though bothwell was divorced from his first wife, and that though her brother, the earl of huntly, had given his consent to the divorce, yet that in reality, the dissolution of the marriage was, on the part of bothwell, merely _pro forma_, to enable him to prosecute his scheme of ambition, that his attachment to the lady jane gordon continued unabated, and that if mary had ever loved him, she must have loved him, knowing that he did not return her affection. no wonder that under such an accumulation of miseries--the suspicion with which she was regarded by foreign courts,--the ready hatred of many of her more bigoted presbyterian subjects,--the dependence, almost amounting to a state of bondage, in which she was kept,--and the brutal treatment she experienced from her worthless husband,--no wonder that mary was heard, in moments almost of distraction, to express an intention of committing suicide.[ ] her heart was broken,--her prospects were blighted,--her honour, which was dearer to her than life, was doubted. she was a queen without the command of her subjects,--a wife without the love of her husband. the humblest peasant in scotland was more to be envied than the last daughter of the royal line. but bothwell was not permitted to triumph long in the success of his villany. many, even of his own friends, now began to think that he had carried through his measures with too high a hand. they were willing that he should have won mary by fair means, but not by foul; and when they saw that he had not only imperatively thrust himself upon her as a husband, but was taking rapid strides towards making himself absolute in scotland, they trembled for the freedom of the constitution, and the safety of the commonweal. with an imprudence equal to his audacity, bothwell was at no pains either to disguise his wishes, or to conciliate the good will of those whose assistance might have been valuable. with the restless uneasiness of one conscious of guilt, and dreading its probable consequences, he scrupled not to avow his anxiety to get into his possession the person of the young prince, and had even "made a vaunt already among his familiars, that if he could get him once into his own hands, he should warrant him from revenging his father's death."[ ] but the prince was lodged in the castle of stirling, in the custody of the earl of mar, a nobleman of approved fidelity and honour, who positively refused to deliver him up. it was not easy, however, to divert bothwell from his object; and though the queen did not countenance it, being, on the contrary, rather desirous that her son should remain with mar, yet he ceased not to cajole and threaten, by turns, until all scotland was roused into suspicion and anger.[ ] a number of the nobility met at stirling, and entered into an association to defend the person of the prince; and they soon saw, or thought they saw, the necessity of taking active measures to that effect. on the th of may, proclamations were issued at edinburgh, intimating the intention of the queen and bothwell to proceed, with a strong force, to the borders, to suppress some disturbances there, and requiring all loyal subjects to assemble in arms at melrose. it was immediately rumoured that this expedition was only a pretence, and that bothwell's real design was to march to stirling, there to make himself master of the castle and its inhabitants. in a second proclamation, made for the purpose, this suspicion was characterized as most unfounded; but whether just or not, it had taken a strong hold of the public mind, and was not easily removed. the prince's lords, as they were called, the chief of whom were argyle, athol, morton, mar, and glencairn, busied themselves in collecting their followers, as if in compliance with the requisition to assemble at melrose. on the th or th of june , bothwell took the queen with him from the palace of holyrood to the castle of borthwick, situated about eight miles to the south of edinburgh, having discovered, only a day or two before, that edinburgh was no longer a safe residence for him. sir james balfour, the governor of the castle, seeing so strong a party start up against his former patron, had allowed himself to be tampered with, and bothwell now suspected that he held the castle not for him, but for the lords at stirling. he feared, that balfour might be persuaded by them to sally down to holyrood with a party of troops, and carry him off a prisoner to the castle, and therefore thought it wise to withdraw to a safer distance. it was not long before the nobility at stirling heard of bothwell's retreat to borthwick, and they resolved to take advantage of it. they advanced unexpectedly from stirling, and, marching past edinburgh, suddenly invested the castle of borthwick. it was with great difficulty that bothwell and the queen escaped to dunbar, and the lords then fell back upon edinburgh. huntly commanded there for bothwell; but though, at his request, the magistrates shut the gates of the city, the opposite party found little difficulty in forcibly effecting an entrance. huntly, and the rest of bothwell's friends, still trusting to sir james balfour's fidelity, retreated into the castle. the opposite faction, with morton at its head, immediately issued proclamations, in which they demanded the assistance of all loyal subjects, on the grounds, "that the queen's majesty, being detained in captivity, was neither able to govern her realm, nor try the murder of her husband, and that they had assembled to deliver her and preserve the prince."[ ] these proclamations prove, that no feelings of hostility were as yet entertained or expressed against mary. one of them, issued at edinburgh on the th of june, commences thus:--"the lords of secret council and nobility, understanding that james, earl of bothwell, put violent hands on our sovereign lady's most noble person upon the th day of april last, and thereafter warded (imprisoned) her highness in the castle of dunbar, which he had in keeping, and, before a long space thereafter, conveyed her majesty, environed with men of war, and such friends and kinsmen of his as would do for him, ever into such places where he had most dominion and power, her grace being destitute of all counsel and servants, during which time the said earl seduced, by unlawful ways, our said sovereign to a dishonest marriage with himself, which, from the beginning, is null and of no effect." and the proclamation concludes with announcing their determination, "to deliver the queen's majesty's most noble person forth of captivity and prison," and to bring bothwell and his accomplices to trial, both for the murder of darnley, and for "the ravishing and detaining of the queen's majesty's person," as well as to prevent the enterprise intended against the prince.[ ] can any thing establish an historical fact more explicitly than such evidence? bothwell was, in the meantime, busily collecting his friends at dunbar. in a few days, upwards of men had resorted to him, more because the queen was with him, than from any love they bore himself; and, as he was unwilling that the hostile lords should be allowed time to collect their strength, he marched, with this force, from dunbar on the th of june. when the news of his approach reached edinburgh, the lords immediately advanced to meet him, though with a somewhat inferior strength. the two armies did not come in sight of each other till the morning of the th, when bothwell's troops were discovered upon carberry hill, a rising ground of some extent between musselburgh and dalkeith. the lords, who had spent the night at musselburgh, made a circuit towards dalkeith, that they also might get on the high ground, and took up a position to the west of bothwell. it was here discovered that neither party was very anxious to commence an engagement; and the french ambassador, le croc, spent several hours in riding between both armies, and endeavouring to bring them to terms of mutual accommodation, being authorized on the part of the queen, to promise that the present insurrection would be willingly forgiven, if the lords would lay down their arms and disband their followers. but the earl of morton answered, "that they had taken up arms _not against the queen_, but against the murderer of the king, whom, if she would deliver to be punished, or at least put from her company, she should find a continuation of dutiful obedience from them and all other good subjects."[ ] le croc, despairing of effecting his purpose, unwillingly quitted the field, and returned to edinburgh. but both parties were still desirous to temporize,--bothwell, because he hourly expected reinforcements from lord herries and others,--and the lords, because they also looked for an accession of strength, and because the day was hot, and the sun shining strong in their faces.[ ] to draw out the time, bothwell made a bravado of offering to end the quarrel, by engaging in single combat any lord of equal rank who would encounter him. kircaldy of grange, one of the best soldiers of the day, and murray of tullibardin, both expressed their willingness to accept the challenge, but were rejected on the score of inferiority in rank. lord lindsay then offered himself, and him bothwell had no right to refuse. it was expected, therefore, that the whole quarrel would be referred to them, the queen herself, though at the head of an army superior to that of her opponents, having consented, that a husband to whom she had so short a while been married, and for whom the veracious buchanan would have us believe she entertained so extravagant an affection, should thus unnecessarily risk his life. twenty gentlemen on either side were to attend, and the ground was about to be marked out, when the lords changed their minds, and declared they did not choose that lord lindsay should take upon himself the whole burden of a quarrel in which they all felt equally interested.[ ] in these negotiations the day passed over. it was now between seven and eight in the evening, and a battle must have ensued, either that night or next morning, had not an unexpected step been taken by the queen. without betraying bothwell, she formed a resolution to rid herself from the bondage in which he kept her. she sent to desire that kircaldy of grange should come to speak with her, and she intimated to him her willingness to part from bothwell as was demanded, if morton and the other lords would undertake to conduct her safely into edinburgh, and there return to their allegiance. this overture, on being reported by grange, was at once accepted, provided mary agreed to dismiss bothwell on the field. it may be easily conceived that to bothwell himself such an arrangement was not particularly agreeable, and could never have entered the imagination, much less have been the deliberate proposal, of a loving and obedient wife. historians, we think, have not sufficiently insisted on the strong presumption in mary's favour, afforded by her conduct at carberry hill. it is true, that there might have been an understanding between her and bothwell, that as soon as she was re-instated in her power, she would recall him to a share of her throne and bed. but even supposing that, notwithstanding the alleged violence of her love, she had been willing to consent to a temporary separation, both she and bothwell knew the spirit of the men they had to deal with too well, to trust to the chance of outwitting them, after yielding to their demands. mary must have been aware, that if she parted with bothwell at all, she in all probability parted with him for ever. had she truly loved him, she would rather have braved all risks (as she did with darnley when murray rebelled) than have abandoned him just at the crisis of his fortune. but she had at no period felt more than the commonest friendship for bothwell; and since she had been seized by him at the bridge of almond, she had absolutely hated him. melville, accordingly, expresses himself regarding this transaction in these terms. "albeit her majesty was at carberry hill, i cannot name it to be her army; for many of them that were with her, were of opinion that she had intelligence with the lords; chiefly such as understood of the earl bothwell's mishandling of her, and many indignities that he had both said and done unto her since their marriage. he was so beastly and suspicious, that he suffered her not to pass a day in patience, or without giving her cause to shed abundance of salt tears. thus, part of his own company detested him; and the other part believed that her majesty would fain have been quit of him, but thought shame to be the doer thereof directly herself."[ ] melville adds, that so determined was bothwell not to leave the field if he could avoid it, that he ordered a soldier to shoot grange when he overheard the arrangement which he and the queen were making. it was "not without great difficulty," says another cotemporary writer, that mary prevailed upon bothwell to mount his horse, and ride away with a few followers back to dunbar.[ ] there is no wonder;--but that a wife of one month's standing, who is said for his sake to have murdered her former husband, should permit, nay beseech him, thus to sneak off a field he might have won, had she allowed him to fight, is indeed strange and unaccountable. when bothwell left carberry hill, he turned his back upon a queen and a throne;--he left hope behind, and must have seen only ruin before. as soon as her husband had departed, mary desired grange to lead her to the lords. morton and the rest came forward to meet her, and received her with all due respect. the queen was on horseback, and grange himself walked at her bridle. on riding up to the associated nobles, she said to them,--"my lords, i am come to you, not out of any fear i had of my life, nor yet doubting of the victory, if matters had gone to the worst; but i abhor the shedding of christian blood, especially of those that are my own subjects; and therefore i yield to you, and will be ruled hereafter by your counsels, trusting you will respect me as your born princess and queen."[ ] alas! mary had not calculated either on the perfidy of the men to whom she had surrendered herself, or on the vulgar virulence of their hired retainers, who, having been disappointed in their hopes of a battle, thought they might take their revenge, by insulting the person of a roman catholic sovereign, now for the first time standing before them somewhat in the light of a suitor and a prisoner. they led her into edinburgh between eight and nine in the evening; and the citizens, hearing of the turn which affairs had taken, came out in great crowds, and lined the way as they passed. the envy and hatred of the more bigoted part of the rabble did not fail to exhibit itself. royalty in misfortune, like a statue taken from its pedestal, is often liable to the rudest handling, simply because it has fallen from a height which previously kept it at a distance from the multitude. there had long rancoured in the bosoms of the more zealous and less honest presbyterians, an ill-concealed jealousy of mary's superiority; and in the mob which now gathered round her, the turbulent and unprincipled led the way, as they commonly do in a mob, to insult and outrage. so far from being allowed to return to edinburgh as a queen, and to take possession of her wonted state, mary was forced to ride as a captive in a triumphal show. the hatred which was borne towards bothwell was transferred to her, and the lords, at the head of whom was the crafty morton, forgetting the proclamation they had made only two days before, announcing their intention to rescue the queen from the bondage in which she was held, only took her from one tyrant to retain her in the hands of many. as the cavalcade proceeded, a banner was displayed in front, on which was represented the king lying dead at the foot of a tree, and the young prince upon his knees near him, exclaiming--"judge and revenge my cause, o lord!" the people shouted with savage exultation, as this ensign was carried past, and turning their eyes on the queen, who was dissolved in tears, they scrupled not, by the coarse malice of their expressions, to add to the agony of her feelings. when mary arrived in edinburgh, and found she was not to be taken to holyrood house, (from which, indeed, the lords had previously carried off much of her valuable furniture), she gave up all for lost, and in her despair called upon all who came near her to rescue her from the hands of traitors. but an excitement had just been given to the public mind, which it required some hours of sober reflection to allay. no one interfering in her behalf, she was taken to the provost's house in the high street, where she was lodged for the night. the crowd gradually dispersed, and the lords were left to themselves to arrange their future plan of procedure. kircaldy of grange, was the only one among them who was disposed to act honourably. he reminded them that he had been commissioned to assure the queen of their loyal services, provided she parted from bothwell, and came over to them,--and as she had fulfilled her part of the agreement, he did not think it right that they should fail in theirs. influenced by these representations, a division might thus have taken place among themselves, had not morton fallen on an expedient to silence the scruples of grange. he produced a letter, which he alleged mary had just written to bothwell, and which he had intercepted, in which she was made to declare, that she was resolved never to abandon him, although for a time she might be obliged to yield to circumstances. kircaldy, possessing all the blunt sincerity of a soldier, and being little given to suspicion, was startled by this letter, and left morton, in consequence, to take his own way. that the pretended epistle was in truth a mere hasty forgery, is proved to demonstration, by the fact that, important as such a document would have been, it was never afterwards alluded to by the lords, nor produced in evidence along with the other papers they so laboriously collected to lay before elizabeth's commissioners. from this specimen of their honesty, we may guess what reliance is to be placed on the authenticity of writings, subsequently scraped together by men who, on the spur of the moment, executed a forgery so clumsily, that they were unable to avail themselves of it on any future occasion. but morton's intriguing spirit was again busily at work; and having the queen's person once more in his possession, and being apparently supported by the people, he was determined on taking a step which would secure him elizabeth's lasting gratitude, and might ultimately raise him to the regency of scotland. he, therefore, veered suddenly round; and though he had asserted, on the th of june, that mary was kept in unwilling bondage by bothwell, he saw it prudent to maintain on the th, that there was no man in scotland to whom she was so passionately attached. in support of this assertion, the letter became a necessary fabrication; and morton well knew that a political falsehood, though credited only for a day, may be made a useful engine in the hands of a skilful workman. it would appear, however, that a night's reflection operated a considerable change in the minds of the ever-fluctuating populace. in the course of the th, they collected before the provost's house; and the queen having come several times to the window, and represented to them strongly the iniquity of the constraint in which she was kept by her own nobles who had betrayed her, a general feeling began to manifest itself in her favour. morton and his colleagues no sooner perceived this change, than they waited on the queen, and, with the most consummate hypocrisy, protested that she had quite mistaken their intentions, and that, to convince her of their sincerity, they should immediately replace her in the palace of holyrood. mary listened to them, and was again deceived. in the evening, as if to fulfil their promise, they conducted her to holyrood, morton walking respectfully on one side of her horse, and athol on the other. but when she reached the palace, she was as strictly watched as ever; and about midnight, to her terror and surprise, they suddenly came to her, and forcing her to disguise herself in an ordinary riding-habit, mounted her on horseback, and rode off, without informing her whither she was going. she was escorted by the lords ruthven and lindsay, and, after riding all night, arrived at the castle of loch-leven early in the morning. this castle was a place of considerable strength, standing on a small island in the centre of the lake, which is ten or twelve miles in circumference. it was possessed by lady douglas, the lady of loch-leven, as she was commonly called, the widow of sir robert douglas, and mother to the earl of murray, by james v. "it is needless to observe," says keith, "how proper a place this was for the design of the rebels, the house being surrounded with water on all sides, for the space, at shortest, of half a mile; and the proprietors of it being so nearly related to some principal persons among them, in whom, therefore, they could the more securely confide. and indeed it has been said, that the lady loch-leven answered the expectation of the lords to the full, having basely insulted the captive queen's misfortune, and bragged, besides, that she herself was king james v.'s lawful wife, and her son, the earl of murray, his legitimate issue, and true heir of the crown. the lady loch-leven was not only mother to the earl of murray, but likewise to the lord lindsay's lady, by her husband robert douglas of loch-leven. the family of loch-leven was moreover heirs-apparent to that of morton; and to that family they did actually succeed some time after. the lord ruthven also had to wife a natural daughter of the earl of angus;--all which considerations centering together in one, made the house of loch-leven, humanly speaking, a most sure and close prison for the royal captive."[ ] to give an air of something like justice to a measure so violent and unexpected, morton and his friends endeavoured to sanction it by what they were pleased to term an act of privy council. they experienced, however, no little difficulty in determining on the proper mode of expressing this act. they recollected the proclamations in the queen's favour to which they had so recently put their names; they recollected also the solemn engagement into which they had entered at carberry hill; and though _might_ was with them of greater value than _right_, they did not choose, if they could avoid it, to stand convicted of treason in the face of the whole country. they tried, therefore, to excuse the step they had taken, by asserting, that though they still believed her majesty had unwillingly married bothwell, and had been kept in bondage by him, and that, though she had quitted his company for theirs at carberry, yet that after they had "opened and declared unto her highness her own estate and condition, and the miserable estate of this realm, with the danger that her dearest son the prince stood in, requiring that she would suffer and command the murder and authors thereof to be punished, they found in her majesty such untowardness and repugnance thereto, that rather she appeared to fortify and maintain the said earl bothwell and his accomplices in the said wicked crimes." the truth of this statement is directly contradicted by the transactions of the th of june, when mary, though at the head of an army, had agreed to do every thing the lords desired, and when, with a degree of facility only to be accounted for on the supposition that she was anxious to escape from his company, she had separated herself finally from bothwell in the face of the whole world. so far from charging her with "fortifying" and "maintaining" him in his crimes, these lords themselves declared, on the th, that they had assembled "to deliver their sovereign's most noble person out of bondage and captivity;" and, a month afterwards, they told the english ambassador they "firmly believed the queen would not have lived with bothwell half a year to an end."[ ] in addition to this act of privy council, which was no doubt the production of morton, and is signed by him and athol, and six other noblemen of less note, a bond of association was drawn up the same day, in which an explanation was given at greater length, of the system on which the lords were about to proceed. it is a remarkable feature of this bond, that, in so far as mary is concerned, it very materially contradicts the act of council. instead of containing any accusation against her, it represents her throughout as having been the victim of force and fraud. it commences by stating the conviction of the subscribers, that bothwell was the murderer of darnley, and that, had he himself not taken means to prevent a fair trial, he would have been convicted of the crime. it goes on to assert, that, adding wickedness to wickedness, the earl had treasonably, and without any reverence for his native prince, carried her prisoner to his castle at dunbar, and had afterwards pretended unlawfully to marry her; which being accomplished, his cruel and ambitious nature immediately showed itself, "no nobleman daring to resort to her majesty to speak with her without suspicion, unless in his presence and hearing, and her chamber-doors being continually watched by armed men." it is therefore maintained that their interference was necessary, both on account of the "shameful thraldom" in which the queen was kept, and the great danger of the young prince, her only son. they had taken up arms, they say, against bothwell, and to deliver their sovereign; and though they had already chased him from his unlawful authority, they considered themselves obliged to continue in arms till "the authors of the murder and ravishing were condignly punished, the pretended marriage dissolved, their sovereign relieved of the thraldom, bondage, and ignominy, which she had sustained, and still underlies by the said earl's fault, the person of the innocent prince placed in safety, and, finally, justice restored and uprightly administered to all the subjects of the realm."[ ] this, then, was all the length to which morton and the other lords, as yet ventured. they had sent mary to loch-leven, merely to keep her at a safe distance from bothwell; and as soon as they had seized his person, or driven him from the kingdom, it was of course implied that they would restore their sovereign to her throne. they did not hint, in the most distant manner, that she was in the least implicated in the guilt of her husband's death; and they expressly declared that, for every thing which had taken place since, bothwell alone was to blame. judging by their own words, they entertained as much respect for the queen as ever; and the impression they gave to the country was, that they intended she should remain at loch-leven only for a short time, and that so far from meaning to punish one whom they accused of no crime, by forcing from her an abdication of her crown, and condemning her to perpetual imprisonment, they would soon be found rallying round her, and conducting her back to her capital in triumph. these may have been the hopes entertained by some; but they forgot that morton, who was at the head of the new faction, had assassinated rizzio, and countenanced the murder of darnley;--and that murray, though at present in france, had left the country only till new disturbances should afford new prospects for his inordinate ambition. chapter vii. mary at lochleven, her abdication, and murray's regency. scotland was now in the most unfortunate condition in which a country could possibly be. like a ship without a pilot, it was left at the mercy of a hundred contrary opinions; and it was not long before there sprung out of these two opposing currents or distinct parties, known by the name of the queen's and the prince's. morton and his friends calling themselves the prince's lords, continued at edinburgh; whilst the queen's nobles assembled at hamilton palace in very considerable force, having among them, besides the hamiltons, huntly, (who had been allowed by sir james balfour to escape from the castle of edinburgh, in which he had taken shelter some time before), argyle, (who, though he had at first joined with morton and mar at stirling, when they announced their determination to keep the prince out of bothwell's hands, never intended taking up arms against the queen), rothes, caithness, crawfurd, boyd, herries, livingston, seaton, ogilvie, and others.[ ] morton laboured to effect a coalition with these lords; but though he employed the mediation of the general assembly, they would not consent to any proposals he made them. buchanan himself is forced to allow, that affairs took a very different turn from what was expected. "for popular envy being abated, partly by time, and partly by the consideration of the uncertainty of human affairs, commiseration succeeded; nay, some of the nobility did then no less bewail the queen's calamity than they had before execrated her cruelty."[ ] the truth is, that mary's friends were at this time much more numerous than her enemies; but unfortunately they were not sufficiently unanimous in their councils, to be able to take any decisive steps in her behalf. morton earnestly laboured to increase the popularity of his faction by every means in his power. to please the multitude, he apprehended several persons, whom he accused of being implicated in the murder of darnley; and though he probably knew them to be innocent, they were all condemned and executed, with the exception of sebastian, the queen's servant, who was seized with the view of casting suspicion on mary herself, but who contrived to escape.[ ] thus, they who blamed mary for being too remiss in seeking out and punishing the murderers, were able to console themselves with the reflection, that, under the new order of things, persons were iniquitously executed for the sake of appearances, by those who had themselves been bothwell's accomplices. against bothwell himself, morton, for his own sake, proceeded with more caution. it was not till the th of june, that letters were addressed to the keeper of the castle at dunbar, ordering him to deliver up his charge, because he had received and protected bothwell; and, on the same day, a proclamation was issued, offering the moderate reward of a thousand crowns to any one who should apprehend the earl.[ ] it is singular that these lords, who were so fully convinced of his criminality, not only allowed him to depart unmolested from carberry hill, but took no steps, for ten days afterwards, towards securing his person. the precise period at which bothwell left dunbar, the efforts he made to regain his authority in scotland, and in general, most of the particulars of his subsequent fate, are not accurately known. he entered, no doubt, into correspondence with the noblemen assembled at hamilton; but probably received from them little encouragement, as it was the queen's cause, not his, in which they were interested. he then retired to the north, where he possessed estates as duke of orkney, and some influence with his kinsman, the bishop of murray. as soon as his flight thither was known, grange and tullibardin were sent in pursuit of him, with several vessels which were fitted out on purpose. hearing of their approach, bothwell fled towards the orkney and shetland islands, and, being closely followed, was there very nearly captured. his pursuers were at one time within gun-shot of his ship, and it must have been taken, had not the vessels of grange and tullibardin, in the very heat of the chase, both struck upon a sunken rock, which bothwell, either because his pilot was better acquainted with the seas, or because his ship was lighter, avoided. they were, however, fortunate enough to seize some of his accomplices, who were brought to edinburgh, and having been tried and condemned, made the confessions which have been already referred to, and by which the particulars of the murder became known. bothwell himself proceeded to denmark, imagining that the king of that country, frederick ii., who was distantly related to mary, through her great-grandmother margaret of denmark, the spouse of james iii., might be disposed to interest himself in his behalf. but finding that the circumstances under which he had left scotland, would prevent him from appearing at the danish court with so much _eclat_ as he desired, he ventured on enriching his treasury, by making a seizure of one or two merchantmen, trading in the north seas. these practices were discovered; a superior force was fitted out against him; and he was carried into a danish port, not as an exiled prince, but as a captive pirate. he was there thrown into prison without ceremony; and though he lost no time in letting his name and rank be known to the government, it does not appear that the discovery operated greatly in his favour. he was retained in durance for many years, the king of denmark neither choosing to surrender him to elizabeth or his enemies in scotland, nor thinking it right to offend them by restoring him to liberty, so long at least as mary herself remained a prisoner. broken down by misfortune, and perhaps assailed by remorse, bothwell is believed to have been in a state of mental derangement for several years before his death. there can be no doubt that he died miserably; and he seems, even in this life, to have paid the penalty of his crimes, if any earthly penalty could atone for the misery he brought on the innocent victim of his lawless ambition and systematic villany. his character may be summed up in the words of our great poet:-- "tetchy and wayward was thy infancy; thy schooldays frightful, desp'rate, wild, and furious; thy prime of manhood daring, bold, and venturous; thy age confirmed, proud, subtle, sly, and bloody."[ ] in the meantime, foreign courts were not inattentive to the state of affairs in scotland. an ambassador arrived from mary's friends in france; but finding, to his astonishment, that she was imprisoned, and that some of the nobility had usurped the government, he refused to acknowledge their authority, and immediately left the country. elizabeth's messenger, who came about the same time, was less scrupulous; and, indeed, few things could have given that queen greater satisfaction, than the turn which scottish affairs had recently taken. in the letters she sent by her ambassador sir nicholas throckmorton, are discovered all that duplicity, affected sincerity, and real heartlessness, which so constantly distinguish the despatches of cecil and his mistress. after taking it for granted, in direct opposition to the declarations of the rebel lords themselves, that mary had given her consent to the hasty marriage with bothwell, and that she was consequently implicated in all his guilt, elizabeth proceeds with no little contradiction, to assure her good sister that she considers her imprisonment entirely unjustifiable. but the insincerity of her desire, that the queen of scots should recover her liberty, is evinced by the very idle conditions she suggests should first be imposed upon her. these are, that the murderers of darnley should be immediately prosecuted and punished, and that the young prince should be preserved free from all danger;--just as if mary could punish murderers before they were discovered or taken, unless, indeed, she chose to follow the example of her lords, and condemn the innocent; and as if she had lost the natural affection of a mother, and would have delivered her only son to be butchered, as his father had been. in short, morton and his colleagues had no difficulty in perceiving, that though elizabeth thought it necessary, for the sake of appearances, to pretend to be displeased with them, yet that they had, in truth, never stood higher in her good graces. they well knew, as they had observed in the case of murray, and experienced in their own, that elizabeth seldom said what she meant, or meant what she said. but to put her conduct on the present occasion in a still clearer light, the reader will be somewhat surprised to learn, that throckmorton brought with him into scotland two distinct sets of "instructions," both bearing the same date (june th ), the one of which was to be shown to mary, and the other to the rebel lords. in the former, she expresses the greatest indignation at the queen's imprisonment, and threatens vengeance on all her enemies. in the latter, the lords are spoken of in a much more confidential and friendly manner. they are told, that elizabeth thought it requisite to send an ambassador; but that he came to solicit nothing that was not for the general weal of the realm; and that, if she were allowed to mediate between their queen and them, "they should have no just cause to mislike her doings," because she would consent to nothing that was not "for their security hereafter, and for quietness to the realm." nay, she even desired throckmorton to assure them, that she "meant not to allow of such faults as she hears _by report_ are imputed to the queen of scots, but had given him strictly in charge to lay before, and to _reprove her_, in her name, for the same."--"and in the end also," she adds, "we mean not with any such partiality to deal for her, but that her princely state being preserved, she should conform herself to all reasonable devices that may bring a good accord betwixt her and her nobility and people." thus she was to take upon herself to reprove mary for faults which "_she heard by report were imputed to her_;" and to insist, though she herself was of opinion that she had been unlawfully imprisoned, that she should enter into negotiations with her rebel subjects, which would compromise her dignity, and even impugn her character.[ ] when throckmorton came into scotland, in july , although he was allowed no more access to the queen than had been granted to the french ambassador, yet, as his instructions authorized him to treat with the lords of secret council, he of course remained. from them he received an explanation of their late proceedings, containing some of the most glaring contradictions ever exhibited in a state paper. they do not throw out the most distant suspicion of the queen being implicated in bothwell's guilt; on the contrary, they continue to express their conviction that she became his wife very unwillingly, and only after force had been used; but they allege, as their reason for imprisoning her, the change which took place in her mind an hour or two after she parted with her husband at carberry hill. they state, that, immediately after, bothwell, "caring little or nothing for her majesty" left her to save himself, and that after she, caring as little for him, had parted company from him, and voluntarily come with them to edinburgh, they all at once, and most unexpectedly, "found her passion so prevail in maintenance of him and his cause, that she would not with patience hear speak any thing to his reproof, or suffer his doings to be called in question; but, on the contrary, offered to give over the realm and all, so that she might be suffered to enjoy him, with many threatenings to be revenged on every man who had dealt in the matter."[ ] this was surely a very sudden and inexplicable change of mind; for, in the very same letter, with an inconsistency which might almost have startled themselves, these veracious lords declare, that "the queen, their sovereign, had been led captive, and, by fear, force, and other extraordinary and more unlawful means, compelled to become bed-fellow to another wife's husband;" that even though they had not interfered, "she would not have lived with him half a year to an end;" and that at carberry hill, a separation voluntary on both sides took place. was it, therefore, for a moment to be credited, that during the short interval of a few hours, which elapsed between this separation and mary's imprisonment in loch-leven, she could either have so entirely altered her sentiments regarding bothwell, or, if they had in truth never been unfavourable, so foolishly and unnecessarily betrayed them, as to convince her nobility, that to secure their own safety, and force her to live apart from him, no plan would be of any avail, but that of shutting her up in a strong and remote castle? and even if this expedient appeared advisable at the moment, did they think that, if mary was now restored to liberty, she would set sail for denmark, and join bothwell in his prison there? no; they did not go so far; for, in conclusion, they assured throckmorton, that, "knowing the great wisdom wherewith god hath endowed her," they anticipated that within a short time her mind would be settled, and that as soon as "by a just trial they had made the truth appear, she would conform herself to their doings."[ ] "by the above answer," says keith, "i make no doubt but my readers will be ready enough to prognosticate what shall be the upshot of sir nicholas throckmorton's negotiations with the rebels in favour of our queen." there can be no doubt that the same motives (whatever these might be) which led to mary's imprisonment, would have equal force in keeping her there. the whole history of this conspiracy may be explained in a few words. when morton and the other lords took up arms at stirling, they were, to a certain extent, sincere; they believed (especially those of them who had been his accomplices) that bothwell was the murderer of darnley, and that he was anxiously endeavouring to get the young prince into his power. this they determined to prevent, and having won over sir james balfour, the governor of the castle, they advanced to edinburgh. bothwell retired to dunbar, taking the queen along with him. but the lords knew that mary entertained no affection for her husband, and they therefore hoped to create a division between them. they accomplished this object at carberry hill, and reconducted the queen to edinburgh. there, though not sorry that she had parted from her husband, mary did not express any high approbation of the conduct of lords who, when she was first seized by bothwell, did not draw a sword in her defence, and now that she had become his wife, according to their own express recommendation recorded in the bond they had given him, openly rebelled against the authority with which they had induced her to intrust him. morton recollected at the same time his share in rizzio's assassination, and the disastrous consequences which ensued, as soon as mary made her escape from the thraldom in which he had then kept her for several days. he determined not to expose himself to a similar risk now, especially as he had an army at his command; if he disbanded it, he might be executed as a traitor,--if he remained at the head of it, he might become regent of scotland. these were the secret motives by which his conduct was regulated;--having taken one step he thought he might venture to go on with another; he commenced with defending the son, and ended by dethroning the mother. four different plans were now in agitation, by adopting any of which it was thought the troubles of the kingdom might be brought to a conclusion. the first was suggested by the queen's friends assembled at hamilton; their proposal was, to restore the queen to her liberty and throne, having previously bound her, by an express agreement, to pardon the rebel lords, to watch over the safety of the prince, to consent to a divorce from bothwell, and to punish all persons implicated in the murder of darnley. the other three schemes came from morton and his party, and were worthy of the source from which they came. the _first_ was, to make the queen resign all government and regal authority in favour of her son, under whom a council of the nobility should govern the realm, whilst she herself should retire to france or england, and never again return to her own country. the _second_ was, to have the queen tried, to condemn her, to keep her in prison for life, and to crown the prince. the _third_ was, to have her tried, condemned, and executed,--a measure which would have disgraced scotland in even its most barbarous times, and which nothing but the violence of party feeling could now have suggested.[ ] the english ambassador, knowing the wishes of his mistress, did not hesitate to assure her that there was no probability of any of the more lenient proposals being adopted; and he took care to remind the lords, that "it would be convenient for them so to proceed, as that by their doings they should not wipe away the queen's infamy, and the lord bothwell's detestable murder, and by their outrageous dealings bring all the slander upon themselves." at morton's request, he likewise suggested to elizabeth, that it would be proper to send a supply of ten or twelve thousand crowns to aid the lords in their present increased expenditure; and this he said was the more necessary, because lethington and others had reminded him that, notwithstanding all her majesty's fair words, murray, morton, and the rest, "had in their troubles found cold relief and small favour at her majesty's hands."[ ] no wonder that, in moments when his better nature prevailed, throckmorton felt disgusted with the double part he was obliged to act, and spoke "honestly and plainly" of it to melville. "yea," says sir james, "he detested the whole counsel of england for the time, and told us friendly what reasoning they held among themselves to that end; namely, how that one of their finest counsellors (cecil) proposed openly to the rest, that it was needful for the welfare of england, to foster and nourish the civil wars, as well in france and in flanders, as in scotland; whereby england might reap many advantages, and be sought after by all parties, and in the meantime live in rest, and gather great riches. this advice and proposition was well liked by most part of the council; yet an honest counsellor stood up and said, it was a very worldly advice, and had little or nothing to do with a christian commonweal."[ ] the earl of murray was in the meantime anxiously watching the progress of affairs in scotland, and, though still in france, had so contrived, that he possessed as much influence in the counsels of the nation as morton himself. the lords indeed had long been in close correspondence with him. letters from them were forwarded to him by cecil, who exchanged frequent communications with murray; and, on the th of june, four days before throckmorton left london for scotland, cecil wrote to the english ambassador at paris, that "murray's return into scotland was much desired, for the weal both of england and scotland."[ ] but as murray had attempted to ingratiate himself at the french court, by exaggerating his fidelity to mary, he found it impossible to disengage himself immediately from the connexions he had there made, not anticipating so sudden a revolution in the state of affairs at home. he sent, however, an agent into scotland, of the name of elphinston, whom he commissioned to attend to his interests, and whom the lords allowed to visit the queen at loch-leven, though they refused every body else. it is not likely that morton, who had thus a second time been engaged in setting up a ladder for murray to ascend by, was altogether pleased to find that he could not obtain the first place for himself. as soon as he determined to force mary to abdicate the crown, he saw that he would be obliged to yield the regency to murray, supported as that nobleman was, both by his numerous friends in england and scotland, and the earnest recommendations of knox and the other preachers, who, in their anxiety to see their old patron once more lord of the ascendant, "took pieces of scripture, and inveighed vehemently against the queen, and persuaded extremities against her, by application of the text."[ ] morton, however, consoled himself with the reflection, that he was in great favour with murray, and that, by acting in concert with him, he would enjoy a scarcely inferior degree of power and honour. preparatory to extorting from her an abdication, the lords anxiously circulated a report, that the queen was devotedly and almost insanely attached to bothwell. they did not venture, it is true, to put this attachment to the test, by publicly offering her reasonable terms of accommodation, which, if she had refused, all men would have acknowledged her infatuation, and deserted her cause;--they brought her to no trial,--they proved her guilty of no crime; all they did was to endeavour to impose upon the vulgar. they asserted that mary would not agree to prosecute the perpetrators of the murder, after she had already prosecuted them,--and that she would not consent to abandon a husband whom she had already abandoned, and with whom, they themselves had declared, only a few weeks before, she could not, under any circumstances, have lived for many months. throckmorton, who was willing enough to propagate all the absurd falsehoods they told him, wrote to elizabeth,--"she avoweth constantly that she will live and die with him; and saith, that if it were put to her choice to relinquish her crown and kingdom, or the lord bothwell, she would leave her kingdom and dignity, to go as a simple damsel with him; and that she will never consent that he shall fare worse, or have more harm than herself."[ ] but the numerous party in favour of the queen openly avowed their disbelief of these reports; and elizabeth herself, who began to fear that, in sending throckmorton to the rebel lords, she had countenanced the weaker side, wrote to her ambassador on the th of august in the following terms, which, as they are used by an enemy so determined as elizabeth, speak volumes in favour of mary:--"we cannot perceive, that they, with whom they have dealt, can answer the doubts moved by the hamiltons, who, howsoever they may be carried for their private respects, yet those things which they move will be allowed by all reasonable persons. for if they may not, being noblemen of the realm, be suffered to hear the queen, their sovereign, declare her mind concerning the reports which are made of her by such as keep her in captivity, how should they believe the reports, or obey them which do report it?"[ ] that mary refused to return to her throne, unless bothwell was placed upon it beside her, is an assertion so ridiculous, that no time need be lost in refuting it. that she may not have chosen to submit to an immediate divorce from one whom all her nobility had recommended to her as a husband, and by whom she might possibly have a child, is within the verge of probability. she would naturally be anxious to avoid doing any thing which would be equivalent with acknowledging her belief of his guilt, and might have appeared to implicate her in the suspicion attached to him. she had not married bothwell till he had been judicially acquitted; and were she to consent to be divorced from him before he was again tried, she would seem to confess, that she had previously sanctioned a procedure possessing the show of justice, without the substance.[ ] there can be no doubt, however, that if bothwell's guilt had been distinctly proved to her, and if she could have disunited herself from him without injury to her reputation or her prospects, she would have been the very last person to have objected either to see darnley's death revenged, or herself freed from an alliance into which she had been forced against her will. but the lords of secret council, conscious as they were of the injustice of their proceedings, had gone too far to recede, and were determined not to rest satisfied with any half-measures. on the th of july , lord lindsay and sir robert melville (brother to sir james), were commissioned to pass to loch-leven, and to carry with them deeds or instruments of abdication.[ ] these instruments were three in number. by the first, mary was made to resign the crown in favour of her son,--by the second, to constitute the earl of murray regent during his nonage,--and, by the third, to appoint a council to administer the government until murray's return home, and, if he should refuse to accept of the regency, until her son's majority. it was of course well known to the rebels, that the queen would not willingly affix her signature to deeds by which she was to surrender all power, and to reduce herself at once to the station of a subject, without receiving in return any promise of liberty, or the enjoyment of a single worldly good. yet they had the effrontery to aver, that rather than submit to a separation from one with whom "she could not have lived half-a-year to an end," she preferred becoming a landless and crownless pensioner, on the bounty of such men as morton and his accomplices. were we to single out the day in mary's whole life in which it might be fairly concluded that she suffered the most intense mental anguish, we should fix on the th of july , the day on which the commissioners had their audience. shut up in a gloomy edifice, which, though dignified with the name of a castle, was little else than a square tower of three stories; and instead of a numerous assemblage of obsequious nobles, attended by only three or four female servants;--it must have required a more than common spirit of queenly fortitude to support so great a reverse of fortune.[ ] but the misery of her situation was now to be increased a hundred fold, by a blow the severest she had yet experienced. when the report first reached her, that it was in contemplation to force her to abdicate her crown, she indignantly refused to believe so lawless an attempt possible. mary had been all her life fond of power, and proud of her illustrious birth and rank; and there were few subjects on which she dwelt with greater pleasure, than her unsullied descent from a "centenary line of kings." was she now, without a struggle, to surrender the crown of the stuarts into the hands of the bastard murray, or the blood-stained morton? was she to submit to the bitter mockery, introduced in the very preamble to the instrument of demission, which stated, that, ever since her arrival in her realm, she had "employed her body, spirit, whole senses and forces, to govern in such sort, that her royal and honourable estate might stand and continue with her and her posterity, and that her loving and kind lieges might enjoy the quietness of true subjects;" but that, being now wearied with the fatigues of administration, she wished to lay down her sceptre?[ ] even though prepared to lay it down, was she also to countenance falsehood, and practise dissimulation? when the commissioners arrived at lochleven, sir robert melville, knowing that lindsay was personally disagreeable to his sovereign, came to her at first alone. opening to her his errand, and, addressing her with respect, and professions of attachment (for she had often employed him before about her person, or as her ambassador to foreign courts), he urged every argument he could think of to persuade her to affix her signature to the deeds. she listened to him with calm dignity and unshaken resolution. she heard him describe the distracted state of scotland--the impossibility of ever prevailing on all parties to submit again to her sway--the virulence of her enemies, and the apparent lukewarmness of her friends. she allowed him to proceed from these more general topics, to others more intimately connected with her own person. she listened to his assurance, that, if she continued obstinate, it was determined to bring her to trial,--to blacken her character, by accusing her of incontinency, not only with bothwell, but with others, and of the murder of her late husband, and, upon whatever evidence, to condemn and execute her.[ ] but she remained unmoved, and preserved the same composure of manner, though not without many a secret throb of pain, at the discovery of the utter ingratitude and perfidy of those whom she had so often befriended and advanced. as a last expedient, melville produced a letter from throckmorton, in which the ambassador advised her to consult her personal safety, by consenting to an abdication--a somewhat singular advice to be given by one who affected to have come into scotland for the express purpose of securing her restoration to the throne.[ ] but she only remarked on this letter, that it convinced her of the insincerity of elizabeth's promises of assistance. melville now saw that there was no alternative, and that lindsay must be called in to his assistance. notorious for being one of the most passionate men in scotland, lindsay burst into the queen's presence, with the instruments in his hands, and rage sparkling in his eyes. mary, for the first time, became agitated, for she recollected the evening of rizzio's murder, when lindsay stood beside the gaunt form of ruthven, instigating him to the commission of that deed of cruelty. with fearful oaths and imprecations, this unmannered barbarian, entitled to be called a man only because he bore the external form of one, vowed, that unless she subscribed the deeds without delay, he would sign them himself with her blood, and seal them on her heart.[ ] mary had a bold and masculine spirit; but, trembling under the prospect of immediate destruction, and imagining that she saw lindsay's dagger already drawn, she became suddenly pale and motionless, and would have fallen in a swoon, had not a flood of tears afforded her relief. melville, moved perhaps to contrition by the depth of her misery, whispered in her ear, that instruments signed in captivity could not be considered valid, if she chose to revoke them when she regained her liberty. this suggestion may have had some weight; but almost before she had time to attend to it, lindsay's passion again broke forth, and, pointing to the lake which surrounded her confined residence, he swore that it should become her immediate grave, if she hesitated one moment longer. driven to distraction, and scarcely knowing what she did, mary seized a pen, and without reading a line of the voluminous writings before her, she affixed her name to each of them, as legibly as her tears would permit. the commissioners then took their departure, secretly congratulating themselves, that, by a mixture of cunning and ferocity, they had gained their end. mary, no longer a queen, was left alone to the desolate solitude of her own gloomy thoughts.[ ] as soon as lord lindsay returned to edinburgh, and notified the success of his mission, it was determined by morton and his associates that the prince should be crowned with as little delay as possible. sir james melville, who was considered a moderate man by both parties, was sent to the lords at hamilton, to invite their concurrence and presence on the occasion. he was received courteously; but the nobility there would not agree to countenance proceedings which they denounced as treasonable. on the contrary, perceiving the turn which matters were about to take, they retired from hamilton to dumbarton, where they prepared for more active opposition. they signed a bond of mutual defence and assistance, in which they declared, that owing to the state of captivity in which the queen was detained at loch-leven, her majesty's subjects were prevented from having free access to her, and that it therefore became their duty to endeavour to procure her freedom, by all lawful means, however strong the opposition that might be offered. this bond was signed by many persons of rank and influence, among whom were the archbishop of st andrews, the earls of argyle and huntly, and the lords ross, fleming, and herries.[ ] on the th of july , james was publicly crowned at stirling. he was anointed by adam, bishop of orkney, in the parish church, and the earl of morton took the oath of coronation in the prince's name, who was little more than a year old. on returning in procession to the castle, the earl of athol carried the crown, morton the sceptre, glencairn the sword, and mar the new made king. all public writs were thenceforth issued, and the government was established, in the name and authority of james vi.[ ] the infant king was in the power of his mother's deadliest enemies; and of course they resolved that neither her religion nor modes of thinking should be transmitted to her son. buchanan was appointed his principal tutor, and if early precept can ever counteract natural affection, there is good reason to suppose, that, together with her crown, the filial love of her child was taken from mary. only a few days after the coronation, the earl of murray returned to scotland. he came by the way of london, where he concocted his future measures with cecil and elizabeth. he had some difficulty in fixing on the course which would be most expedient for him to pursue. he knew that the regency was about to be offered to him; but he also knew how unlawfully his sister's abdication had been obtained, and that there was a strong party in scotland who were still bent on supporting her authority. were he at once to place himself at the head of a faction which might afterwards turn out to be the weaker of the two, he incurred the risk of falling from his temporary eminence lower than ever. he resolved therefore, with his usual caution, to feel his way before he took any decisive step. sir james melville was sent to meet him at berwick; and from him he learned that even morton's lords had by this time split into two parties, and that while one-half were of opinion that murray should accept of the regency without delay, and give his approval to all that had been done in his absence, the other, among whom were mar, athol, lethington, tullibardin, and grange, prayed him to bear himself gently and humbly towards the queen, and to get as much into her favour as possible, as her majesty was of "a clear wit, and princely inclination," and the time might come when they would all wish her at liberty to rule over them.[ ] murray, who adopted on this occasion elizabeth's favourite maxim,--"_video et taceo_," disclosed his mind to no one, until he ascertained for himself the precise state of affairs, and of public feeling in scotland. to be the better informed, he determined on visiting the queen personally at loch-leven. he was accompanied by athol, morton, and lindsay. when mary saw her brother, a crowd of recollections rushing into her mind, she burst into tears, and it was some time before she could enter into conversation with him. at length she desired that the others would retire, and they had then a long private conference, of which the particulars are not fully known. mary had flattered herself that she might place some reliance on murray's affection and gratitude, but she had egregiously mistaken his character. having, by this time, secretly resolved to accept the regency at all hazards, his only desire was to impress her with a belief, that he assumed that office principally with the view of saving her from a severer fate, and that he was actually conferring a favour on her by taking her sceptre into his own hands. reduced already to despair, the queen listened, with tears in her eyes, to murray's representations, and at length became convinced of his sincerity, and thanked him for his promises of protection. thus the earl and his friends were able to give out, that mary confirmed, by word of mouth, what she had formerly signed with her hand, and that she entreated her brother to accept the government.[ ] besides, if she were ever restored to the throne, she would not be disposed to treat with severity one who had been artful enough to persuade her, that, in usurping her authority, he was doing her a service. on the d of august , james, earl of murray, was proclaimed regent; and, in the tolbooth of edinburgh, before the justice clerk and others, he took the oaths, and accepted the charge. he first, however, made a long discourse, in which, with overacted humility, he stated his own insufficiency, and expressed a desire that the office had been conferred on some more worthy nobleman.[ ] but his scruples were easily conquered; and, under the title of regent, he became, in fact, king of scotland, until james vi. should attain the age of seventeen.[ ] he proceeded to establish himself in his government by prudent and vigorous measures. he made himself master of the castles of edinburgh and dunbar, and other places of strength; he contrived either to bring over to his own side, or to overawe and keep quiet, most of the queen's lords; and he severely chastised such districts as continued disaffected. a parliament was summoned in december, at which the imprisoning and dethroning of the queen were declared lawful, and, what is remarkable, the reason assigned for these measures had never been hinted at before murray's return,--that there was certain proof that she was implicated in the murder of darnley. this proof was stated to consist in certain "private letters, written wholly with the queen's own hand." they were not produced at the time, but will come to be examined more particularly afterwards. all that need be remarked here, is the sudden change introduced by the regent into the nature of the allegations against mary. it had been always given out previously, that she was kept in loch-leven, because she evinced a determination to be again united to bothwell; but now, an entirely new and more serious cause was assigned for her detention.[ ] chapter viii. mary's escape from lochleven, and the battle of langside. with few comforts and no enjoyments, mary remained closely confined in the castle of loch-leven. her only resources were in herself, and in the religion whose precepts she was ever anxious not only to profess, but to practise. though deprived of liberty and the delights of a court, she was able to console herself with the reflection, that there is no prison for a soul that puts its trust in its god, and that all the world belongs to one who knows how to despise its vanities. yet the misfortunes which had overtaken her were enough to appal the stoutest heart. her husband had been murdered, she herself forced into an unwilling marriage, her kingdom taken from her, her child raised up against her, her honour defamed, and her person insulted,--all within the short space of four months. history records few reverses so sudden and so complete. many a masculine spirit would have felt its energies give way under so dreadful a change of fortune; and if mary was able to put in practice the roman maxim, _ne cedere malis, sed contra audentior ire_, it would be to exalt vice and libel virtue to suppose, that she could have been inspired with strength for so arduous a task by aught but her own integrity. it was not these more serious calamities alone whose load she was doomed to bear; there were many petty annoyances to which she was daily and hourly subject. margaret erskine, the lady of loch-leven, and widow of sir robert douglas, who fell at the battle of pinkie one-and-twenty years before, was a woman of a proud temper and austere disposition. soured by early disappointment, for, previous to her marriage with sir robert, she had been one of the rejected mistresses of james v., she chose to indulge her more malignant nature in continually exalting her illegitimate offspring the earl of murray above his lawful queen, now her prisoner. her servants, of course, took their tone from their mistress; and there was one in particular, named james drysdale, who held a place of some authority in her household, and who, having had some concern in the murder of rizzio, and being a bigoted and unprincipled fanatic, entertained the most deadly hatred against mary, and had been heard to declare, that it would give him pleasure to plunge a dagger into her heart's blood. this savage probably succeeded in spreading similar sentiments among the other domestics; and thus the queen's very life seemed to hang upon the prejudices and caprices of menials.[ ] but numerous and violent as mary's enemies may have been, few could remain near her person, without becoming ardently attached to her. hence, throughout all her misfortunes, her own immediate attendants continued more than faithful. at loch-leven, it is true, although her rebellious nobles had been willing to allow her a suitable train, the absence of accommodation would have rendered their residence there impossible. one or two female, and three or four male servants, were all, over whom mary, the queen of scotland, and dowager of france, could now exercise the slightest control. of these, john beaton was the individual upon whose assiduity she placed most reliance. but the influence which the fascination of her manners, and the beauty of her person, obtained for her, over two of the younger branches of the house of loch-leven, made up for the want of many of her former attendants. the persons alluded to were george douglas, the youngest son of lady douglas, about five-and-twenty years of age, and william douglas, an orphan youth of sixteen or seventeen, a relative of the family, and resident in the castle. so forcibly was george douglas, in particular, impressed with the injustice of mary's treatment, that he resolved on sparing no pains till he accomplished her escape; and his friend william, though too young to be of equal service, was not less ardent in the cause.[ ] george commenced operations, by informing mary's friends in the adjoining districts of scotland, of the design he had in view, and establishing a communication with them. at his suggestion, lord seaton, with a considerable party, arrived secretly in the neighbourhood of loch-leven, and held themselves in readiness to receive the queen as soon as she should be able to find her way across the lake. nor was it long before mary made an attempt to join her friends. on the th of march , she had a glimpse of liberty so enlivening, that nothing could exceed the bitterness of her disappointment. suffering as she did, both in health and spirits, she had contracted a habit of spending a considerable part of the morning in bed. on the day referred to, her laundress came into her room before she was up, when mary, according to a scheme which douglas had contrived, immediately rose, and resigning her bed to the washer-woman, dressed herself in the habiliments of the latter. with a bundle of clothes in her hand, and a muffler over her face, she went out, and passed down unsuspected to the boat which was waiting to take the laundress across the lake. the men in it belonged to the castle; but did not imagine any thing was wrong, for some time. at length one of them observing, that mary was very anxious to keep her face concealed, said in jest,--"let us see what kind of a looking damsel this is;" and attempted to pull away her muffler. the queen put up her hands to prevent him, which were immediately observed to be particularly soft and white, and a discovery took place in consequence. mary, finding it no longer of any use, threw aside her disguise, and, assuming an air of dignity, told the men that she was their queen, and charged them upon their lives to row her over to the shore. though surprised and overawed, they resolutely refused to obey, promising, however, that if she would return quietly to the castle, they would not inform sir william douglas or his mother that she had ever left it. but they promised more than they were able to perform, for the whole affair was soon known, and george douglas, together with beaton and sempil, two of mary's servants, were ordered to leave the island, and took up their residence in the neighbouring village of kinross.[ ] but neither the queen nor her friends gave up hope. george douglas continued indefatigable, though separated from her; and william supplied his place within the castle, and acted with a degree of cautious and silent enterprise beyond his years. it was probably in reference to what might be done by him, that a small picture was secretly conveyed to mary, representing the deliverance of the lion by the mouse.[ ] little more than a month elapsed from the failure of the first attempt, before another was adventured, and with better success. on sunday, the second of may, about seven in the evening, william douglas, when sitting at supper with the rest of the family, managed to get into his possession the keys of the castle, which his relation, sir william, had put down beside his plate on the table. the young man immediately left the room with the prize, and, locking the door of the apartment from without, proceeded to the queen's chamber, whom he conducted with all speed, through a little postern gate, to a boat which had been prepared for her reception. one of her maids, of the name of jane kennedy, lingered a few moments behind, and as douglas had locked the postern gate in the interval, she leapt from a window, and rejoined her mistress without injury. lord seaton, james hamilton of rochbank, and others who were in the neighbourhood, had been informed by a few words which mary traced with charcoal on one of her handkerchiefs, and contrived to send to them, that she was about to make another effort to escape, and were anxiously watching the arrival of the boat. nor did they watch in vain. sir william douglas and his retainers, were locked up in their own castle; and the queen, her maid, and young escort, had already put off across the lake. it is said that douglas, not being accustomed to handle the oar, was making little or no progress, until mary herself, taking one into her own hands, lent him all the aid in her power. it was not long before they arrived safely at the opposite shore, where lord seaton, hamilton, douglas, beaton, and the rest, received the queen with every demonstration of joyful loyalty. little time was allowed, however, for congratulations; they mounted her immediately upon horseback, and surrounding her with a strong party, they galloped all night, and having rested only an hour or two at lord seaton's house of niddry, in west lothian, they arrived early next forenoon at hamilton. mary's first tumultuous feelings of happiness, on being thus delivered from captivity, can hardly be imagined by those who have never been deprived of the blessing of liberty. it is fair, however, to state, that her happiness was neither selfish nor exclusive; and it deserves to be recorded to her honour, that till the very latest day of her life, she never forgot the services of those who so essentially befriended her on this occasion. she bestowed pensions upon both the douglases,--the elder of whom, became afterwards a favourite with her son james vi., and the younger is particularly mentioned in mary's last will and testament. nor was the faithful beaton allowed to go unrewarded.[ ] the news that mary was arrived at hamilton, and that noblemen and troops were flocking to her from all quarters, was so astounding, that the regent, who was not many miles off, holding courts of justice at glasgow, refused at first to credit the report. he would soon, however, (without other evidence) have discovered its truth, from the very visible change which took place even among those whom he had previously considered his best friends. "a strange alteration," says keith, "might be discovered in the minds and faces of a great many; some slipped privately away, others sent quietly to beg the queen's pardon, and not a few went publicly over to her majesty." in this state of matters, murray was earnestly advised to retire to stirling, where the young king resided; but he was afraid that his departure from glasgow might be considered a flight, which would at once have animated his enemies and discouraged his friends. he, therefore, resolved to continue where he was, making every exertion to collect a sufficient force with as little delay as possible. he was not allowed to remain long in suspense regarding mary's intentions, for she sent him a message in a day or two, requiring him to surrender his regency and replace her in her just government; and before the earls, bishops, lords, and others, who had now gathered round her, she solemnly protested, that the instruments she had subscribed at loch-leven were all extorted from her by fear. sir robert melville, one of those who, in this new turn of affairs, left murray's party for the queen's, gave his testimony to the truth of this protest, as he had been a witness of the whole proceeding. the abdication, therefore, was pronounced _ipso facto_ null and void; and murray having issued a proclamation, in which he refused to surrender the regency, both parties prepared for immediate hostilities. the principal lords who had joined the queen, were argyle, huntly, cassils, rothes, montrose, fleming, livingston, seaton, boyd, herries, ross, maxwell, ogilvy, and oliphant. there were, in all, nine earls, nine bishops, eighteen lords, and many barons and gentlemen. in a single week, she found herself at the head of an army of men. hamilton, not being a place of strength, they determined to march to dumbarton, and to keep her majesty there peaceably, until she assembled a parliament, which should determine on the measures best suited for the safety of the common weal.[ ] on thursday the th of may , murray was informed that the queen with her troops was on her way from hamilton to dumbarton, and would pass near glasgow. he instantly determined to intercept her on the road; for should she reach dumbarton, which was then, and had long been in the possession of the hamiltons, she would be comparatively beyond his reach, and would have time to collect so great a strength, that she might once more chase him out of scotland. besides, the loss of a battle, where the army on either side consisted of only a few thousand men, though it might in all probability be fatal to mary, was not of so much consequence to the regent. he therefore assembled his troops, which mustered about strong, on the green of glasgow; and being informed that the queen was marching upon the south side of the clyde, he crossed that river, and met her at a small village called langside, on the water of cart, about two miles to the south of glasgow. mary was anxious to avoid a battle, for she knew that murray himself possessed no inconsiderable military talent, and that kircaldy of grange, the best soldier in scotland, was with him. but party spirit ran so high, and the hamiltons and the lennoxes, in particular, were so much exasperated against each other, that as soon as they came within sight, it was evident that nothing but blows would satisfy them. the main body of the queen's army was under the command of the earl of argyle; the van was led by claud hamilton, second son of the duke of chatelherault; and the cavalry was under the conduct of lord herries. the earl of huntly would have held a conspicuous place in the battle, but he had set off from hamilton a few days before to collect his followers, and did not return till it was too late. murray himself commanded his main body, and the earl of morton the van; whilst to grange was intrusted the special charge of riding about over the whole field, and making such alterations in the position of the battle as he deemed requisite. nothing now intervened between the two armies but a hill, of which both were anxious to gain possession, the one marching from the east, and the other from the west. it happened, however, that the ascent on the side next mary's troops was the steepest, and a stratagem suggested by grange secured the vantage-ground to the regent. he ordered every man who was mounted to take up a foot soldier behind him, and ride with all speed to the top of the hill, where they were set down, and instantly formed into line. argyle was therefore obliged to take his position on a lesser hill, over against that occupied by murray. a cannonading commenced upon both sides, and continued for about half an hour but without much effect. at length, argyle led his forces forward, and determined if possible to carry the heights sword in hand. the engagement soon became general, and advantages were obtained upon both sides. the earl of morton, who came down the hill to meet argyle, succeeded in driving back the queen's cannoneers and part of her infantry; whilst on the other hand, lord herries, making a vigorous charge on murray's cavalry, put them to rout. judiciously abstaining from a long pursuit, he returned to attack some of the enemy's battalions of foot, but as he was obliged to advance directly up hill, he was unable to make much impression on them. in the meantime, with the view of obtaining more equal ground, argyle endeavoured to lead his troops round towards the west, and it was to counteract this movement that the most desperate part of the engagement took place. all the forces of both parties were gradually drawn off from their previous positions, and the whole strength of the battle on either side was concentrated upon this new ground. for half an hour the fortune of the day continued doubtful; but at length the queen's troops began to waver, and a re-inforcement of two hundred highlanders, which arrived just at the fortunate moment for murray, and broke in upon argyle's flank, decided the victory. the flight soon afterwards became general; and though the loss of lives on the queen's side did not exceed three hundred, a great number of her best officers and soldiers were made prisoners.[ ] mary had taken her station upon a neighbouring eminence to watch the progress of the fight. her heart beat high with a thousand hopes and fears, for she was either to regain the crown of her forefathers, or to become a fugitive and a wanderer she knew not where. it must have been with emotions of no common kind, that her eye glanced from one part of the field to another;--it must have been with throbbing brow and palpitating heart, that she saw her troops either advance or retreat; and when at length she beheld the goodly array she had led forth in the morning, scattered over the country, and all the lords who had attended her with pride and loyalty, seeking safety in flight, no wonder if she burst into a passion of tears, and lamented that she had ever been born. but the necessity of the moment fortunately put a check to this overwhelming ebullition of her feelings. with a very small retinue of trusty friends, among whom was the lord herries, she was quickly hurried away from the scene of her disasters. she rode off at full speed, taking a southerly direction towards galloway, because from thence she could secure a passage either by sea or land into england or france. she never stopped or closed her eyes till she reached dundrennan, an abbey about two miles from kirkcudbright, and at least sixty from the village of langside.[ ] she remained two days at dundrennan, and there held several anxious consultations with the few friends, who had either accompanied her in her flight, or who joined her afterwards. lord herries, her principal adviser, gave it as his decided opinion, that she ought to sail immediately for france, where she had relations on whose affection she could depend, even though they should not be able to secure her restoration to the throne of scotland. but mary could not brook the idea of returning as a fugitive to a country she had left as a queen; and besides, had she placed herself under the protection of catholics, she might have exasperated her own subjects, and would certainly have displeased elizabeth and the people of england. she was disposed also to place some reliance on the assurances of friendship she had lately received from the english queen. she was well aware of the hollowness of most of elizabeth's promises; but in her present extremity, she thought that to cross the sea would be to resign her crown forever. after much hesitation, she finally determined on going into england, and desired herries to write to elizabeth's warden at carlisle, to know whether she might proceed thither. without waiting for an answer, she rode to the coast on sunday the th of may, and with eighteen or twenty persons in her train, embarked in a fishing-boat, and sailed eighteen miles along the shore, till she came to the small harbour of workington, in cumberland. thence she proceeded to the town of cockermouth, about twenty-six miles from carlisle. lord scroope, the warden on these frontiers, was at this time in london; but his deputy, a gentleman of the name of lowther, having sent off an express to the court, to intimate the arrival of the queen of scots, assembled, on his own responsibility, the men of rank and influence in the neighbourhood, and having come out to meet the queen, conducted her honourably to the castle of carlisle, with the assurance, that, until elizabeth's pleasure was known, he would protect her from all her enemies. as soon as the important news reached elizabeth, that mary was now within her dominions, and consequently at her disposal, she perceived that the great end of all her intrigues was at length achieved. it was necessary, however, to proceed with caution, for she did not yet know either the precise strength of mary's party in scotland, or the degree of interest which might be taken by france in her future fate. she, therefore, immediately despatched lord scroope, and sir francis knollys her vice-chamberlain, to carlisle, with messages of comfort and condolence. mary, who anxiously waited their arrival, anticipated that they would bring consolatory assurances. her spirits began to revive, and she was willing to believe that elizabeth would prove her friendship by deeds, as well as by words. but this delusion was destined to be of only momentary duration.[ ] chapter ix. mary's reception in england, and the conferences at york and westminster. if there had been a single generous feeling still lurking in elizabeth's bosom, the time was now arrived when it should have discovered itself. mary was no longer a rival queen, but an unfortunate sister, who, in her hour of distress, had thrown herself into the arms of her nearest neighbour and ally. during her imprisonment in scotland, elizabeth had avowed her conviction of its injustice; and, if it was unjust that her own subjects should retain her in captivity, it would of course be much more iniquitous in one who had no right to interfere with her affairs, and who had already condemned such conduct in others. if it was too much to expect that the english queen would supply her with money and arms, to enable her to win back the crown she had lost, it was surely not to be doubted that she would either allow her to seek assistance in france, or, if she remained in england, would treat her with kindness and hospitality. all these hopes were fallacious; for, "with elizabeth and her counsellors," as robertson has justly observed, "the question was, not what was most just or generous, but what was most beneficial to herself and the english nation." on the th of may , lord scroope and sir francis knollys arrived at carlisle. they were met at some little distance from the town by lord herries, who told them, that what the queen his mistress most desired, was a personal interview with elizabeth. but they had been instructed to answer, that they doubted whether her majesty could receive the queen of scots, until her innocence from any share in the murder of her husband was satisfactorily established.[ ] thus, the ground which elizabeth had resolved to take was at once discovered. she was to affect to treat the scottish queen with empty civility, whilst in reality she detained her a prisoner, until she had arranged with murray the precise accusation which was to be brought against her, and which, if it succeeded in blackening her character, might justify subsequent severities. mary could not at first believe that she would be treated with so much treachery; but circumstances occurred every day to diminish her confidence in the good intentions of the english queen. under the pretence that there was too great a concourse of strangers from scotland, lord scroope and sir francis knollys ordered the fortifications of carlisle castle to be repaired, and mary was not allowed to ride out to any distance. the most distinguished of the few friends who were now with her, and who remained faithful to her to the end of her life, were lesley, bishop of ross,--the lords herries, livingston, and fleming, and george and william douglas. she had also her two secretaries, curl and nawe, who afterwards betrayed her,--and among other servants, beaton, and sebastian the frenchman; there were likewise the ladies livingston and fleming, mary seaton, lord seaton's daughter, and other female attendants.[ ] mary's first interview with the envoys from elizabeth, prepossessed them both in her favour. "we found her," they said, "to have an eloquent tongue and a discreet head, and it seems by her doings, that she has stout courage, and a liberal heart adjoined thereto." when they told her that the queen, their mistress, refused to admit her to her presence, mary burst into tears, and expressed the bitterest disappointment. checking her grief, however, and assuming a tone of becoming dignity, she said, that if she did not receive without delay, the aid she had been induced to expect, she would immediately demand permission to pass into france, where she did not doubt she would obtain what the english queen denied.[ ] in the meantime, as she was not allowed to proceed to london herself, she despatched lord herries to superintend her interests there; and shortly afterwards, it being represented to her that her person was not in safety so long as she continued so near the borders, she consented to be removed further into england, and was conveyed to bolton castle, a seat of lord scroope, in the north riding of yorkshire.[ ] the regent murray, on his part, was any thing but inactive. he forced the earl of huntly, who had collected upwards of men, and was marching to the queen's assistance when he heard of the unfortunate battle of langside, to retire to the north, and disband the greater part of his troops; he put to flight the remains of the queen's army, which had been again gathered by argyle and cassils; and, assembling a parliament, he procured acts of forfeiture and banishment against many of the most powerful lords of the opposite party. elizabeth, perceiving his success, had no desire to check the progress of his usurped authority, whatever professions to the contrary she chose to make to mary. on the th of june, she wrote murray a letter, in which she addressed him as her "right trusty, and right well-beloved cousin;" told him falsely that the queen of scots had confided to her the examination of the differences between herself and her subjects; and advised him to take such steps as would place his own side of the question in the most favourable point of view. murray had no objection to make elizabeth the umpire between himself and his sister, well assured that she would ultimately decide in his favour, lest the rival, whom she had once found so formidable, should again become a source of jealousy and alarm. but mary had never dreamt of appealing to elizabeth as to a judge, and she now learned with indignation that her rebellious nobles were to be encouraged to come before that queen on the same footing with herself. when she asked for a personal interview, it was that she might speak to her cousin as to a friend and equal, of the wrongs she had suffered. she had voluntarily undertaken to satisfy the english queen, as soon as they conversed together, of her innocence from all the charges which had been brought against her; but she was not to degrade herself by entering into a controversy with her subjects regarding these charges. accordingly, as soon as she discovered elizabeth's insidious policy, she addressed a letter to her, in which she openly protested against it. the letter was in french, and to the following effect:-- "madam, my good sister, i came into your dominions to ask your assistance, and not to save my life. scotland and the world have not renounced me. i was conscious of innocence; i was disposed to lay all my transactions before you; and i was willing to do you honour, by making you the restorer of a queen. but you have afforded me no aid, and no consolation. you even deny me admittance to your presence. i escaped from a prison, and i am again a captive. can it expose you to censure, to hear the complaints of the unfortunate? you received my bastard brother when he was in open rebellion; i am a princess, and your equal, and you refuse me this indulgence. permit me then to leave your dominions. your severity encourages my enemies, intimidates my friends, and is most cruelly destructive to my interests. you keep me in fetters, and allow my enemies to conquer my realm. i am defenceless; and they enjoy my authority, possess themselves of my revenues, and hold out to me the points of their swords. in the miserable condition to which i am reduced, you invite them to accuse me. is it too small a misfortune for me to lose my kingdom? must i, also, be robbed of my integrity and my reputation? excuse me, if i speak without dissimulation. in your dominions i will not answer to their calumnies and criminations. to you, in a personal conference, i shall at all times be ready to vindicate my conduct; but to sink myself into a level with my rebellious subjects, and to be a party in a suit or trial with them, is an indignity so vile, that i can never submit to it. i can die, but i cannot meet dishonour. consult, i conjure you, what is right and proper, and entitle yourself to my warmest gratitude; or, if you are inclined not to know me as a sister, and to withhold your kindness, abstain at least from rigour and injustice. be neither my enemy nor my friend; preserve yourself in the coldness of neutrality; and let me be indebted to other princes for my re-establishment in my kingdom."[ ] unmoved by the forcible representations contained in this and other letters, elizabeth resolved to treat the queen of scots only with greater severity than before, in the hope of intimidating her into a compliance with her wishes. it was with this view that she had removed her to bolton, where she took care that she should be strictly guarded, and not allowed to hold any intercourse with the loyal part of her scottish subjects. lord fleming, too, whom mary wished to send as her ambassador to france, was stopped; and she was given distinctly to understand, that she must not expect any of her commands to be obeyed, unless they met with elizabeth's approval. the english privy council, of course, sanctioned their sovereign's severity; and gave it as their opinion, that, until an inquiry had taken place into the whole conduct of the scottish queen, it would not be consistent with the honour or safety of the realm to afford her the aid she required. the result of all these machinations,--a result which elizabeth contrived to bring about with the most consummate art,--was, that mary agreed to nominate commissioners to meet the earl of murray and the lords associated with him, and to authorize them, before commissioners to be appointed by elizabeth, to state the grievances of which their mistress, the queen of scots, complained. murray approved of this arrangement, because he foresaw from the first how it would end; and mary consented to it, because she was led to believe, that murray and his accomplices were summoned solely that they might answer to her complaints. well aware that their answer could not be satisfactory, she fondly imagined that she would soon be restored to the power they had usurped. the important _conference_, as it was termed, between the three sets of commissioners, was appointed to be held at york. mary's commissioners were lesley, bishop of ross, the lords herries, livingston, and boyd, gavin hamilton, commendator of kilwinning, sir john gordon of lochinvar, and sir james cockburn of stirling.[ ] murray associated with himself the earl of morton, bothwell, bishop of orkney, pitcairn, commendator of dunfermlin, and lord lindsay. macgill and balnaves, two civilians, buchanan, whose pen was always at the regent's command "through good report and bad report," secretary maitland, and one or two others, came with them as legal advisers and literary assistants.[ ] on the part of elizabeth, the commissioners were thomas howard duke of norfolk, thomas ratcliffe earl of sussex, and sir ralph sadler; and they were invested with full authority to arrange all the differences and controversies existing between her "dear sister and cousin, mary queen of scots," and james earl of murray.[ ] on the th of october , the conference was opened with much solemnity at york. "the great abilities of the deputies on both sides," observes robertson, "the dignity of the judges before whom they were to appear, the high rank of the persons whose cause was to be heard, and the importance of the points in dispute, rendered the whole transaction no less illustrious than it was singular. the situation in which elizabeth appeared on this occasion, strikes us with an air of magnificence. her rival, an independent queen, and the heir of an ancient race of monarchs, was a prisoner in her hands, and appeared, by her ambassadors, before her tribunal. the regent of scotland, who represented the majesty, and possessed the authority of a king, stood in person at her bar, and the fate of a kingdom, whose power her ancestors had often dreaded, but could never subdue, was now absolutely at her disposal." it may, however, be remarked, that the "magnificence" of power depends, in a great degree, on the manner in which that power has been acquired; and when it is recollected that, by secretly and diligently fomenting civil disturbances in scotland, elizabeth first attacked mary's peace, and then undermined her authority, and that, having subsequently assumed the mask of a friend, only to conceal the scowl of an enemy, she had forcibly arrogated the rank of a judge, her "air of magnificence" is discovered to be little else than stage-trick. the "instructions" given to her commissioners, are of themselves sufficient to show that her desire was not to extinguish, but to encourage animosities between the queen of scots and her subjects. she had previously assured mary, in order to induce her to send commissioners to york at all, that so far from intending to use any form or process by which her subjects should become her accusers, "she meant rather to have such of them, as the queen of scots should name, called into the realm, to be charged with such crimes as the said queen should please to object against them; _and if any form of judgment should be used, it should be against them_."[ ] but as soon as she had persuaded mary, by these specious promises, to come into court, she resolved to alter the features of the cause. she instructed her commissioners to listen particularly to the requests and complaints of the earl of murray, and to assure him privately, that if he could prove mary to have been implicated in her husband's murder, she should never be restored to the throne. nay, she went further; she desired it to be intimated to the regent, that even though he could not prove mary's guilt, yet, that if he could attach sufficient suspicion to her, it would be left to himself and his friends to determine under what conditions they would again consent to receive her into scotland. this was as much encouragement as murray could desire; for he knew that, by artifice and effrontery, a shade of suspicion might be made to attach itself even to the most perfect. mary's commissioners, on the other hand, though doubting much the impartiality of the party which was to arbitrate between them, felt strong in the justice of their cause; and after protesting that their appearance was not to be construed as implying any surrender of her independence on the part of their mistress, or of feudal inferiority to the crown of england, they proceeded to give in their complaint. it contained a short review of the injuries the queen of scots had suffered since her marriage with bothwell;--of the rebellion of morton and others,--of her voluntary surrender at carberry hill,--of her imprisonment in loch-leven,--of the abdication that had been forced from her,--of the coronation of her infant son, and the assumed regency of the earl of murray,--of her defeat at langside,--and of the undutiful conduct in which the regent had since persevered.[ ] to this complaint it was answered, at great length, by murray, that the earl of bothwell having forcibly carried off the person of the queen to the castle of dunbar, and kept her there a prisoner for some time, had, in the end, suddenly accomplished "a pretended marriage," which, confirming the nobility in the belief that the earl was the chief author of the murder of the king, made them determine to take up arms to relieve those who were unjustly calumniated, and to rescue the queen from the bondage of a tyrant, who had presumptuously attempted to ravish and marry her, though he could neither be her lawful husband, nor she his lawful wife;--that bothwell came against these nobility, "leading the queen in his company, as a defence and cloak to his wickedness;" but that, as the quarrel was intended only against him, the queen was received by the nobles, and led by them into edinburgh, as soon as she consented to part from the earl;--that she was then requested to agree that the murderers should be punished, and that the pretended marriage into which she had been led, should be dissolved;--that to this request she only answered, by rigorously menacing all who had taken up arms in her cause, and declaring she would surrender her realm altogether, "so she might be suffered to possess the murderer of her husband;"--that, perceiving the inflexibility of her mind, they had been compelled to "sequestrate her person" for a season;--that, during this time, she had voluntarily renounced the government, finding herself wearied by its fatigues, and perceiving that she and her people could not well agree; and that she had appointed, during the minority of her son, the earl of murray regent of the realm, and that every thing he had done since had been in accordance with the legal authority with which she had thus invested him;--and that he therefore required, in behalf of his sovereign lord the king, to be allowed peaceably to enjoy and govern the country.[ ] the "reply" of mary's commissioners, to this feeble and disingenuous "answer" of the earl of murray, was quite as candid as it was conclusive. it was stated for mary, that, so far from having been aware, at the time of her marriage, that bothwell was "known," or "affirmed," to be the "chief author" of the horrible murder committed on her late husband, she had seen him solemnly acquitted of all suspicion by a regular trial, according to the laws of the realm, and that most of her principal nobility had solicited her to accept of him as a husband, promising him service, and her highness loyal obedience,--not one of them, either before or after the marriage, having warned her to avoid it, or expressed their discontent with it, till they suddenly appeared in arms;--that, at carberry hill, she willingly parted with bothwell, as they themselves had seen; but that, if he were in truth guilty of the crimes imputed to him, which she did not then believe, they were to blame for permitting him to escape;--that, upon being taken into edinburgh, where they had promised to reverence her as their queen, she found herself treated as their captive;--that, so far from showing any persevering attachment to bothwell, she repeatedly declared it to be her wish, that the estates of the realm should examine into all the charges which had been made against him;--that, notwithstanding, she had been forcibly carried off under shade of night, and imprisoned against her will in the castle of loch-leven, where she was afterwards made to subscribe instruments of abdication, only through the fear of present death;--that, consequently, the pretended coronation of her son was an unlawful and treasonable proceeding, and the pretended nomination of the earl of murray as regent, a proof of itself that force and fraud had been used; for, even supposing she had been willing to abdicate, if she had been left to her own free choice, there were others whom she would have preferred to appoint to the chief rule during her son's minority;--that, therefore, she required the queen of england to support and fortify her in the peaceable enjoyment and government of her realm, and to declare the pretended authority usurped by others null from the beginning.[ ] "so far," says hume, "the queen of scots seemed plainly to have the advantage in the contest; and the english commissioners might have been surprised, that murray had made so weak a defence." the truth is, that not only were the english commissioners surprised, but the regent himself felt painfully conscious, that he had entirely failed to offer even a plausible pretext for the dethronement of his sister, and his own usurpation. elizabeth also, anxious as she was to befriend him, saw that she would be imperatively required, by every principle of justice and good government, to take measures against him, were the discussion allowed to terminate at the point to which it had now been brought. means were therefore taken to inform murray, that unless he was able to strengthen his case, and to bring his charges more directly home, the matter would in all probability go against him. upon this the regent held a consultation with his friends, maitland and buchanan, and the necessity of bringing into play a new device, which had been prepared as a corps-de-reserve, was by all of them felt and acknowledged. though no evidence had been adduced against her, mary had already been accused by her brother of having had a share in the murder of darnley. but as the charge was made soon after his return from france, it was strongly suspected to have been invented only to justify himself for retaining her in loch-leven. now, however, seeing the emergency of his affairs, he determined that something like evidence of its truth should be produced. this evidence consisted of a collection of certain letters and sonnets, alleged to be in the queen's own hand, and addressed to the earl of bothwell, containing passages which testified at once her love for him, and her guilt towards darnley. but here the question very naturally occurs, why these important documents should not have been brought forward in the earlier part of the conference; and as robertson, in endeavouring to account for the delay, appears to have fallen into a mistake, it will be worth while examining, for a moment, the soundness of his hypothesis. the duke of norfolk, elizabeth's principal commissioner, was one of the most powerful of all her nobility, and, since mary's arrival in england, he had formed the ambitious project of ascending the scottish throne by means of a marriage with her. with this view, he had already engaged extensively in secret intrigues, and had, in particular, prevailed on lethington to approve of his plans, and promise him his support. but robertson asserts further, that soon after his arrival at york, he won over murray also to his views, and persuaded him to keep back, for a time, the heaviest part of his accusation against mary, that her character might not be so fatally blackened. the historian's assertion, however, is unsupported by the evidence he adduces in its favour, his references to anderson, to goodall, and to his own appendix, being quite unsatisfactory. whatever promises murray may, at a subsequent date, have made to norfolk, it clearly appears that no charge against mary was delayed one hour at york, in consequence of any understanding between these two noblemen. it had been all along the regent's determination, not to have recourse to the letters, if he could make out a case without them; and even after he perceived that he would require their aid, he did not produce them openly, till they had been first shown privately to the english commissioners, and their opinion obtained concerning them. it was on the th of october that the conference commenced; and on the th, lethington, macgill, and buchanan, in a secret interview with norfolk, sussex, and sadler, laid before them the mysterious documents. the nature of their contents was communicated to elizabeth on the th, and she was requested to mention in reply, whether, when publicly adduced and authenticated, they would be sufficient to secure mary's condemnation. murray, therefore, cannot at this time, have entered into any agreement with the duke of norfolk; for, so far from keeping back his box-full of letters, he was nervously anxious to ascertain, as speedily as possible, whether elizabeth would attach any weight to them, or allow them to be branded as palpable forgeries. had robertson attended a little more to dates, he would have discovered, that so far from wishing to favour the views of the duke of norfolk, murray informed elizabeth regarding the letters and their contents, on the very day on which he gave in his first "answer" to mary's commissioners. nor had these letters been entirely unheard of till now; for, though they had never been exhibited, they had been expressly alluded to nearly a year before, in an act published by the lords of secret council, on the th of december , in which it was asserted, that by the discovery of certain of the queen's private letters, sent by her to the earl of bothwell, it was "most certain that she was art and part of the actual device and deed of the murder of the king."[ ] the same assertion was subsequently repeated, founded upon the same alleged proof, in one of the acts of the parliament called by murray. the only legitimate conclusion therefore to be drawn from his unwillingness to bring forward these letters at york, and make good, by their means the sole charge against the queen which could justify his usurpation of her authority, is, that he was afraid to expose such fabrications to the eye of day, until he should have received elizabeth's assurance that she would treat them with becoming consideration, and assign to them an air of importance, even though forgery, with brazen audacity, was stamped upon their face.[ ] as soon as elizabeth heard of the letters, and reflected on the turn which they might give to the case, she determined on taking the whole of the proceedings under her own immediate superintendence, and with this view removed the conference from york to westminster. to the commissioners previously appointed, she there added the earls of arundel and leicester, lord clinton, sir nicolas bacon, and sir william cecil. mary at first expressed satisfaction at this new arrangement, but several circumstances soon occurred which proved, that no favour was intended to her by the change. that which galled her most, was the marked attention paid to the earl of murray. though elizabeth refused mary a personal interview, she admitted her rebellious brother to that honour, and thus glaringly deviated from the impartiality which ought to have been observed by an umpire. accordingly, the queen of scots commanded her commissioners, the bishop of ross and lord herries, to complain of this injustice. not to be received into elizabeth's presence, she could regard in no other light but as an assumption of superiority,--a parade of rigid righteousness,--and an affected dread of contamination, which, whilst it was meant to imply the purity of the maiden queen, aimed at exciting suspicion of the purity of another. continuing to believe that her scottish rebels had been called before the english commissioners at her instance, mary had consented that her representatives should proceed from york to westminster, to make her complaints as a free sovereign. in her instructions to the bishop of ross, and those associated with him, she expressly told them, that the conference was appointed "only for making a pacification between her and her rebellious subjects, and restoring her to her realm and authority." she never lost sight of the fact, that she did not appeal to elizabeth as a suppliant, but as an equal; and she always took care to preserve high and dignified ground. but to depart from this, and before the tribunal of hampton court, in which such men as cecil were able to procure any decision they chose, to undertake to answer every calumnious charge which might be brought against her, never entered into her imagination. "it is not unknown to us," she wrote to her commissioners from bolton, "how hurtful and prejudicial it would be to us, our posterity and realm, to enter into foreign judgment or arbitrement before the queen our good sister, her council, or commissioners, either for our estate, crown, dignity or honour;--we will and command you, therefore, that you pass to the presence of our said dearest sister, her council and commissioners, and there, in our name, extend our clemency toward our disobedient subjects, and give them appointment for their offences committed against us and our realm,--so that they may live, in time coming, in surety under us their head."--"and, in case they will otherwise proceed, then we will and command you to dissolve this present diet and negotiation, and proceed no further therein, for the causes foresaid."[ ] it may well be conceived, therefore, that when mary heard of elizabeth's kind and familiar treatment of the earl of murray, "the principal of her rebels," she was not a little indignant. she immediately sent word to her commissioners, that, before proceeding a step further in the negotiation, she considered it right that she should be put on at least an equal footing with the pretended regent,--for she did not choose that greater respect should be shown to her rebels than to her and her true subjects. there were other three points, of which she thought she had also just cause to complain. _first_, that though she had come into england on the assurance of friendship, and of her own free will, she had not only seen no steps taken to restore her to her realm and authority, but had most unexpectedly found herself detained a prisoner, and her confinement rendered closer every day;--_second_, that though, at elizabeth's request, she had desired her loyal subjects in scotland to abstain from hostilities, yet the earl of murray had not been prevented from molesting and invading them;--and, _third_, that having already established the utter groundlessness of the charges brought against her, instead of finding herself reinstated on her throne, the conference had been merely removed to a greater distance, where she could not communicate with her commissioners so frequently and speedily as was necessary. in consideration of these premises, and especially in consideration of the treatment of the earl of murray, "you shall break the conference," she continued, "and proceed no further therein, but take your leave, and come away. and if our sister allege that, at the beginning, she were content our cause should be conferred on by commissioners, it is true. but since our principal rebels have free access towards her to accuse us in her presence, and the same is denied to us, personally to declare our innocence, and answer to their calumnies, being held as prisoner, and transported from place to place, though we came into her realm, of our free will, to seek her support and natural amity, we have resolved to have nothing further conferred on, except we be present before her, as the said rebels."[ ] in the mean time, before these letters arrived, the commissioners had held several sittings at westminster; and elizabeth having personally informed murray, that if he would accuse the queen of scots of a share in the murder of darnley, and produce the letters he had in his possession, she would authorize his continuance in the regency, he no longer hesitated. on the th of november, after protesting that he had been anxious to save, as long as possible, the mother of his gracious king, james vi., from the perpetual infamy which the discovery of her shame would attach to her, and that he was now forced to disclose it, in his own defence, because it was maintained, that his previous answer to the complaint made against him was not sufficient, murray, in conjunction with his colleagues, presented to the english commissioners an "eik" or addition to their "answer," in which they formally charged mary with the murder. as to the reluctance so hypocritically avowed, it has been already seen, that so far back as december , precisely the same charge, though unsupported by any evidence, was brought forward in the scottish parliament; and having then served its purpose, was allowed to lie dormant for eleven months. it is true, that there was then, no less than now, a palpable contradiction between this accusation, and the grounds which had always previously been assigned, both for mary's "sequestration" in loch-leven, and her alleged voluntary abdication. it was not till the public mind had been inflamed, and till opposing interests contributed to involve the truth in obscurity, that the notorious fact was denied or concealed, that mary had been forced into an unwilling marriage with bothwell, and that her abduction, and imprisonment in the castle of dunbar, were themselves an answer to any suspicion, that she was one of his accomplices in darnley's slaughter. but now that mary was a prisoner, in the hands of a jealous rival, the regent naturally supposed, that some contradictions would be overlooked; and all at once, assuming a tone of the utmost confidence, and undertaking "to manifest the naked truth," he ventured on couching his assertion in these terms:--"it is certain, and we boldly and constantly affirm, that as james, some time earl of bothwell, was the chief executor of the horrible and unworthy murder, perpetrated in the person of king henry, of good memory, father to our sovereign lord, and the queen's lawful husband,--so was she of the fore-knowledge, counsel, and device, persuader and commander of the said murder to be done, maintainer and fortifier of the executors thereof, by impeding and stopping of the inquisition and punishment due for the same, according to the laws of the realm, and, consequently, by marriage with the said james, some time earl bothwell, dilated and universally esteemed chief author of the above named murder."[ ] in support of this new charge, the letters and other documents were referred to, and it was promised to produce them as soon as they were called for. before they were able to inform their mistress of the unexpected turn which affairs had taken, mary's commissioners received her instructions from bolton, to proceed no further in the conference. they therefore stated to elizabeth, that though they were heartily sorry to perceive their countrymen, with a view to colour their unjust and ungrateful doings, had committed to writing a charge of so shameful a sort, they nevertheless could not condescend to answer it, having begun the conference at york as plaintives, and having afterwards found their relative positions altered, murray being admitted into her majesty's presence, to advance his calumnious falsehoods, and mary being expected to defend herself against them, though kept in imprisonment at a distance. at the same time, according to mary's commands, they said that, although the proceedings of the regent were altogether intolerable and injurious, they would not yet dissolve the conference, provided their mistress were permitted to appear in her own person before the queen of england and her nobility.[ ] to this request elizabeth would not agree. her real motive was the fear of truth; that which she assigned was sufficiently preposterous. "as to your desire," she said to mary's commissioners, "that your sovereign should come to my presence to declare her innocence in this cause, you will understand, that from the beginning why she was debarred therefrom, was through the bruit and slander that was passed upon her, that she was participant of such a heinous crime as the murder of her husband; and i thought it best for your mistress's weal and honour, and also for mine own, that trial should be taken thereof before her coming to me; _for i could never believe, nor yet will, that ever she did assent thereto_."[ ] if elizabeth had been anxious to see justice done, she could very easily have overcome the squeamish dread of being brought into contact with mary, the more especially as she arrogated for herself the superior character of judge, as it was only "bruit and slander" that implicated her "dearest sister," and as she did not, according to her own confession, believe her guilty, _even after she had been informed of the existence of the love-letters, and made acquainted with their contents_. both parties, however, continuing alike resolute, the commissioners of the queen of scots intimated, that in so far as they were concerned, the conference might be considered closed. it is here of some importance to point out, that both robertson and hume have deduced an argument against mary, from their own erroneous manner of stating the proceedings of the conference at westminster. according to the narrative of both these historians, the reader is led to believe, that mary was perfectly willing to go on till the moment that murray accused her of being a sharer in darnley's murder, but that, as soon as this charge was made, she drew back as if afraid to meet it. robertson and hume would have themselves discovered how unfair this view of the matter was, had they taken the trouble to attend to the dates of the documents connected with the transaction. by these they would have seen, that mary refused to proceed on the d of november , unless admitted equally with the earl of murray into elizabeth's presence, and that murray's accusation was not produced till the th.[ ] thus so far from "recoiling from the inquiry at the critical moment," as hume expresses it, she did not hesitate to proceed until she had rebutted every thing which had been advanced against her, and stood on even higher ground than before. it will besides be immediately found, that notwithstanding her previous determination to the contrary, she was no sooner informed of the existence of letters alleged to have been written by her to bothwell, than she was willing to enter into a proof of their authenticity. it would not have suited elizabeth's views to allow the contending parties to slip through her fingers, before arriving at any definite conclusion. she therefore fell upon an expedient by which she hoped, although the queen of scots had withdrawn from the conference, and it consequently should have been considered at an end, to attach to her so great a degree of suspicion, that she might safely detain her from her own realm. she ordered murray and his colleagues to be called before her commissioners; and the scene having been arranged before-hand with them, she commanded the regent to be rebuked for accusing his native sovereign of a crime so horrible, that if it could be proved true, she would be infamous to all princes in the world. the regent readily answered, that finding he had displeased her majesty, he had no objections to show the commissioners "a collection made in writing of the presumptions and circumstances" by which he had been guided in the charge he had advanced against mary, and which would satisfy them that it had not been made without due grounds and consideration. this was all that elizabeth wished. in however glaring a point of view it placed her injustice, she rejoiced that mary's commissioners were no longer attending the conference; for she would now be able to represent to the world, without fear of contradiction, the overwhelming strength of murray's evidences, and hold them out as the justification of her own severity. these hopes and plans, however, were very nearly frustrated by the boldness and decision of mary's conduct. as soon as she received intelligence of this new accusation, and of the means by which it was to be supported, she resolved that her own innocence and its falsehood should be made apparent; and for this purpose, she even consented to depart from her former demand of being personally admitted to elizabeth's presence. she wrote to her commissioners to resume the duties which they had intermitted, and to renew the conference once more. "we have seen the copy," she said, "which you have sent us of the false and unlawful accusation presented against us by some of our rebels, together with the declarations and protestations made by you thereon before the queen of england, our good sister's commissioners, wherein you have obeyed our commands to refuse consenting to any further proceedings, if the presence of our sister were refused us. but that our rebels may see that they have not closed your mouths, you may offer a reply to the pretended excuse and cloak of their wicked actions, falsity and disloyalty, whereof you had no information before, it being a thing so horrible, that neither we nor you could have imagined it would have fallen into the thoughts of the said rebels."[ ] a reply was accordingly made, in which the "eik" was maintained to be false in every particular, and nothing but a device, contrived to justify murray's own "detestable doings and ambitious purpose." the writings, or at least copies of them, which had been adduced in support of the regent's charge, were required to be delivered; and it was intimated, that mary would undertake to prove, that the very men who now accused her of murder, were themselves the first inventors, and some of them the executors of the deed. it will at first appear hardly credible, but it is nevertheless true, that elizabeth refused to allow duplicates of the evidence against her to be sent to mary. on the contrary, she now hastened to break up the conference; murray was sent back to his regency, and the queen of scots detained in closer captivity than ever; and though she even yet petitioned to see the writings, elizabeth refused to surrender them, except upon conditions with which mary's commissioners would not comply. they had formally accused the regent and his adherents of a share in bothwell's guilt; yet the latter had been permitted "to depart into scotland without abiding to hear the defence of the queen of scotland's innocency, nor the trial and proof of their detection, which was offered to verify and prove them guilty of the same crime, but were fully released, and no end put to the cause, according to the equity and justice thereof. it did not appear meet, therefore, that their sovereign should make any further answer, unless her rebels were made to remain within the realm until the trial ended."[ ] as no decision had been pronounced against mary, and as the regent had been allowed to depart, leave was also asked for her to return to scotland, or proceed to france, as she might think fit. this, however, was expressly refused; but it was insultingly promised, that if she would yield up the crown and government of scotland in favour of her son the prince, she would be permitted to remain privately and quietly in england. mary, of course, rejected the proposal with scorn. "the eyes of all europe," she said, "are upon me at this moment; and were i thus tamely to yield to my adversaries, i should be pronouncing my own condemnation. a thousand times rather would i submit to death, than inflict this stain upon my honour. the last words i speak shall be those of the queen of scotland."[ ] thus ended this famous conference, which elizabeth had opened with so many professions of friendship, which she conducted with so much duplicity, and which she concluded without any conclusion, except that of endeavouring to blacken the character of her sister mary, and give plausibility to her continued imprisonment. to a certain extent it answered her purpose. she had won the reputation, in the eyes of those who looked only at the surface of things, of having endeavoured to do justice between the queen of scots and her nobility; she had secured the favour of the regent; and had obtained a strong hold of the person of her rival, whom she now doomed to lingering and hopeless captivity.[ ] chapter x. mary's eighteen years' captivity. the last eighteen years of mary's life were spent in imprisonment, and are comparatively a blank in her personal history. she was transported, at intervals, from castle to castle, and was intrusted sometimes to the charge of one nobleman, and sometimes of another; but for her the active scenes of life were past,--the splendour and the dignity of a throne were to be enjoyed no longer,--the sceptre of her native country was never more to grace her hand,--her will ceased to influence a nation,--her voice did not travel beyond the walls that witnessed her confinement. she came into england at the age of twenty-five, in the prime of womanhood, the full vigour of health, and the rapidly ripening strength of her intellectual powers. she was there destined to feel in all its bitterness, that "hope delayed maketh the heart sick." year after year passed slowly on, and year after year her spirits became more exhausted, her health feebler, and her doubts and fears confirmed, till they at length settled into despair. premature old age overtook her, before she was past the meridian of life; and for some time before her death, her hair was white "with other snows than those of age." yet, during the whole of this long period, amid sufferings which would have broken many a masculine spirit, and which, even in our own times, have been seen to conquer those who had conquered empires, mary retained the innate grace and dignity of her character, never forgetting that she had been born a queen, or making her calamities an excuse for the commission of any petty meanness, which she would have scorned in the day of her prosperity. full of incident as her previous life had been,--brilliant in many of its achievements, fortunate in some, and honourable in all, it may be doubted whether the forbearance, fortitude, and magnanimity, displayed in her latter years, does not redound more highly to her praise, than all that preceded. many important events took place, and intrigues of various kinds were carried on, between the years , and , but as it is not the intention of this work to illustrate any parts of the history either of scotland or england, which do not bear immediate reference to the queen of scots, nothing but a summary of them, in so far as they were connected with her, need be introduced here. it was on the th of january , that the earl of murray and the scottish commissioners obtained permission to return home, the regent having previously received from elizabeth a loan of _l._, lent him "for the maintenance of peace between the realms of england and scotland," or in other words, as a bribe to secure his co-operation in all time coming.[ ] mary, on the contrary, was removed from bolton, to the castle of tutbury in staffordshire, farther in the interior of england, and was placed under the charge of lord shrewsbury, to whom tutbury belonged. elizabeth was unwilling to allow her captive to remain long in any one place, lest she should form connections and friendships, which might lead to arrangements for an escape. besides, sir francis knollys had represented, that unless it was determined to keep the scottish queen so close a prisoner, that she should not be allowed to ride out occasionally, which would be death to her, she could not remain any longer at bolton, for want of forage and provisions.[ ] during the year, she was taken about by shrewsbury, on occasional visits, to several mansions which he possessed in different parts of england; but tutbury was her head-quarters; and wherever she went, she was very strictly guarded. "if i might give advice," says one of cecil's friends, in a letter he wrote to him about this time, "there should very few subjects of this land have access to a conference with this lady; for, beside that she is a goodly personage (and yet in truth not comparable to our sovereign), she hath withal an alluring grace, a pretty scotch speech, and a searching wit, clouded with mildness. the greatest person about her is the lord livingston, and the lady his wife, which is a fair gentlewoman. she hath nine women more, fifty persons in her household, with ten horses. lord shrewsbury is very watchful of his charge; but the queen overwatches them all, for it is one of the clock at least every night ere she go to bed. i asked her grace, since the weather did cut off all exercise abroad, how she passed the time within? she said, that all the day she wrought with her needle, and that the diversity of the colours made the work seem less tedious; and she continued so long till even pain made her give over; and with that laid her hand upon her left side, and complained of an old grief newly increased there. she then entered upon a pretty disputable comparison between carving, painting, and working with the needle, affirming painting, in her own opinion, for the most commendable quality."[ ] but though mary thus attempted to beguile her solitude, the thought of her unjust imprisonment never ceased to prey upon her mind. elizabeth and cecil tried to defend themselves upon four grounds; but they were all alike weak. they said, _first_, that she was a lawful prisoner by good treaties. but as they did not mention to what treaties they alluded, chalmers supposes they meant the same kind of treaties "which justify the barbary powers to detain all christians as slaves." they said, _secondly_, that she could not be suffered to depart, till she had satisfied the wrong she had done to elizabeth, in openly claiming the crown of england, and not making any just recompense. but the disavowal of that claim was all the recompense that was necessary; and though mary had made the claim when married to francis, she had expressly given it up ever since his death. they said, _thirdly_, that elizabeth possessed a superiority over the crown of scotland. but this antiquated notion, arising from the subservience of john baliol to edward i., in , had long been relinquished, and had never been acknowledged in any treaty between the two nations. they said, _fourthly_, that the queen of england was bound to attend to the petition of her subjects "in matters of blood." but though lord and lady lennox had been brought forward to present a petition against mary, it was evident that elizabeth had no power either to grant or refuse such petition, the queen of scots not being one of her subjects. though mary's enemies, however, prevailed, her friends were by no means discomfited. in scotland, murray found that only one half of the kingdom was disposed to submit to his authority; and it was not till after a protracted and disastrous civil war, that he was able to free himself from the resolute hostility of chatelherault, argyle, huntly, and others. in england, the duke of norfolk was more active than ever in his intrigues. so far from being alarmed by the pretended discoveries to her prejudice, he openly expressed his conviction of their falsehood, and prevailed upon a number of the english nobility to second, to the best of their power, his honourable proposals to the queen of scots.[ ] though it does not appear that he was able to obtain a personal interview with mary, many letters passed between them; and as she soon perceived that her best chance of restoration to the throne of scotland was by joining her interests with those of norfolk, (whose power and estates were so extensive, that melville calls him the greatest subject in europe,) she promised that, though little disposed to form a new alliance, after the experience she had already had of matrimony, she would nevertheless bestow her hand on him as soon as she should regain her liberty, through his means. the duke's machinations, however, which had been hitherto carefully concealed from elizabeth, at length reached her ears, and in the utmost indignation she scrupled not, with her usual arbitrary violence, to send him to the tower, where she kept him a close prisoner for upwards of nine months,--while the earls of arundel, pembroke, and leicester, who had favoured his views, all fell into disgrace. mary was watched more narrowly than before; and hastings, earl of huntingdon, who pretended a superior right to the english succession, was joined with shrewsbury in the commission of superintending her imprisonment. norfolk had not been long in the tower, when an open rebellion broke out in the northern counties, headed by the earls of northumberland and westmoreland. it is difficult to ascertain the precise causes which led to it. though there is no reason to believe that mary gave it any encouragement, it seems to have borne some reference to her; for in the "declaration" published by the earls, one ground of complaint was the want of a law for settling the succession. they marched also towards tutbury, with the evident intention of restoring mary to freedom, which they might have succeeded in doing, had she not been removed with all expedition to coventry. elizabeth sent an army against the rebels, and they were speedily dispersed;--westmoreland concealed himself on the borders; but northumberland, proceeding further into scotland, was seized by murray, and confined in the castle of loch-leven,--probably in the very apartments which mary had occupied. the year opened with an event which materially affected the state of public affairs in scotland, and which to mary was the occasion of many mingled feelings. elizabeth, perceiving the danger which accrued to herself from detaining a prisoner of so much importance, had commenced a negotiation with the earl of murray for replacing his sister in his hands, when she received the unexpected and unwelcome intelligence of his assassination. the manner and cause of his death are sufficiently known to all who are acquainted with scottish history; and though nothing can justify a murder committed to gratify private revenge, yet it is impossible to read the story of the wrongs which the regent had heaped upon hamilton of bothwellhaugh, without feeling towards the latter more of pity than of hatred. next to mary herself, no one had held so prominent a place in scotland as the earl of murray; and there is no one concerning whose character historians have more widely differed. there can be no doubt that, like most human characters, it was a very mixed one; but it is to be feared that the evil preponderated. ambition was his ruling passion, and the temptations which his birth, rank, and fortune, held out for its indulgence, unfortunately led him into errors and crimes which, had he been contented with an humbler sphere, he would in all probability have avoided. there are various sorts of ambition, and the most dangerous is not always that which is most apparent and reckless. murray was ambitious under the cloak of patriotism, and the mask of religion. he had enough of knowledge of mankind to be aware, that no one could so safely play the villain as he who maintained a high name for integrity. hence, though he may have loved honesty to a certain extent, for its own sake, he loved it a great deal more for the sake of the advantages to be derived from a reputation for possessing it. he was perhaps constitutionally religious; but though he was very willing to fight as a leader in the armies of the reformation, it is somewhat questionable that he would have served the good cause with equal zeal, had he been obliged to fill only a subordinate place in its ranks. there is every reason to believe that in many cases he did good only that he might the more safely do wrong; and that he rigidly observed all the external forms of religion, only that the less suspicion might attach to him when he infringed its precepts. he had enough of moral rectitude to understand the distinctions between right and wrong, but too much selfishness to observe them unostentatiously, and too much prudence to disregard them openly. thus to the casual observer he appeared strong in unshaken integrity, and full of the odour of sanctity. he possessed the art, which few but profound politicians can acquire, of going in the wrong path, as if he were in the right, and of gaining more estimation for his errors, than others do for their virtues. his conduct towards his sister was altogether unjustifiable; yet with the exception of his rebellion on the occasion of her marriage with darnley, which was the least objectionable, because the boldest and most straight-forward part of the whole, he contrived to inflict, and to see inflicted, the deadliest injuries, as if he unwillingly submitted to them, rather than actively instigated them. he had little warmth of feeling; but what he had, prompted him to affect to feel as he never in reality did. he possessed all the talent compatible with cunning; he had abundance of military skill, and was not deficient in personal courage. he was not often cruel, because he saw it for his interest to be humane; he was a patron of literature, and attentive to his friends, because patronage and a numerous body of friends confer power. he affected nevertheless an ostentatious austerity in his manners, which it was impossible to reconcile with the worldliness of his pursuits. in short, he had so involved his whole character in disingenuousness, under a show of every thing that was exactly the reverse, that he was probably not aware himself when he acted from good, and when from bad motives. he had far too much ambition to be an upright man, and far too much good sense to be an undisguised villain. notwithstanding all the ill usage she had received from him, mary shed tears when she heard of his untimely death; and to record this fact, is the highest euloguim which need be passed on his memory. the scots chose the earl of lennox regent in the place of murray, whilst elizabeth, says robertson, "adhering to her old system with regard to scottish affairs, laboured, notwithstanding the solicitations of mary's friends, to multiply and to perpetuate the factions which tore in pieces the kingdom." at the same time, she pretended to enter into a new negotiation with mary, as she frequently did at subsequent periods, when hard pressed by any of the more powerful friends of the queen of scots. but after appointing commissioners, and requiring morton and others to meet them from scotland, the affair ended as it began; mary still continued in her prison, and morton returned home, no proposals having been made, to which either of the parties would agree. about this period elizabeth's temper was particularly soured, by an excommunication which pope pius v. issued against her, and which she erroneously supposed had been prepared in concert with mary. a person of the name of felton, affixed a copy of the pope's bull on the gate of the bishop of london's palace, and, refusing either to fly or conceal himself, he was seized and executed for the crime. in her ill humour, elizabeth also ordered that mary should not be allowed to go abroad, and she did not revoke this order, until strong representations were made to her of the cruel effect produced by it on the health of the queen, whose constitution was now much broken. the weakness in one of her sides which had long pained her, had of late greatly increased, and she was obliged to have recourse to strengthening baths of white wine.[ ] during this year she was removed from tutbury to chatsworth, and from chatsworth she was taken to the earl of shrewsbury's castle at sheffield,--"a town," says camden, "of great renown for the smiths therein." she had not at the most above thirty attendants, among whom the principal were lord and lady livingston, her young friend william douglas, castel her french physician, and roulet her french secretary. the latter died when she was at sheffield, and his death afflicted her much. all communication with her friends at a distance was denied her; and her letters were continually intercepted, and either copies, or the originals, sent to cecil. yet she had too proud a spirit to give way to unavailing complaints; and when she wrote to inquire after her faithful servant the bishop of ross, whom elizabeth had put into confinement, from a jealousy of his exertions for his mistress, all she allowed herself to say was, that she pitied poor prisoners, for she was used like one herself. in the year , the duke of norfolk, who had been by this time discharged from the tower, had the imprudence to renew his intrigues for the liberation of mary, and his own marriage with her. the secret correspondence was renewed between them; and the queen of scots sent him, says stranguage, "a long commentary of her purposes, and certain love-letters in a private character, known to them two." the duke was now resolved either to make or mar his fortune; and, deeply engaging in the dangerous game he was playing, he scrupled not to have recourse to many highly treasonable practices. he set on foot negotiations both with one rodolphi, a florentine merchant, residing in london, and an agent of the court of rome, and with the spanish ambassador; and with them he boldly entered into an extensive conspiracy, which, if successful, would entirely have subverted the government. his plan was, that the duke of alva should land in england with a numerous army, and should be immediately joined by himself and friends. they were then to proclaim mary's right to the throne, call upon all good catholics to support them, and march direct for london. the pope, and the king of spain, readily entered into the scheme; and every thing appeared to be proceeding according to his wishes, when the treachery of one of norfolk's servants made elizabeth acquainted with the whole conspiracy. the duke was immediately seized, and thrown into prison; and, after several private examinations, he was tried for high treason, found guilty, and condemned to death. elizabeth, who cultivated a reputation for extreme sensibility, affected the greatest reluctance to sign the warrant for norfolk's execution. but she was at length able to shut her heart against his many noble qualities, his princely spirit, and valuable services, and she ordered him to be led to the scaffold. he there confessed that he had been justly found guilty, in so far as he had dealt with the queen of scots, in weighty and important business, without the knowledge of his own queen. he died, as he had lived, with undaunted courage. when the executioner offered him a napkin to cover his eyes, he refused it, saying, "i fear not death;" and, laying his head on the block, it was taken off at one blow. elizabeth was extremely anxious to implicate mary in norfolk's guilt, and, for this purpose, sent commissioners to her to reproach her with her offences. mary heard all they had to say with the utmost calmness; and, when they called upon her for her answer, she replied, that though she was a free queen, and did not consider herself accountable, either to them or their mistress, she had, nevertheless, no hesitation to assure them of the injustice of their accusations. she protested that she had never imagined any detriment to elizabeth by her marriage with norfolk,--that she had never encouraged him to raise rebellion, or been privy to it, but was, on the contrary, most ready to reveal any conspiracy against the queen of england which might come to her ears,--that though rodolphi had been of use to her in the transmission of letters abroad, she had never received any from him,--that as to attempting an escape, she willingly gave ear to all who offered to assist her, and in hope of effecting her deliverance, had corresponded with several in cipher,--that so far from having any hand in the bull of excommunication, when a copy of it was sent her, she burned it after she had read it,--and that she held no communication with any foreign state, upon any matters unconnected with her restoration to her own kingdom. satisfied with this reply, the commissioners returned to london.[ ] all the miseries of civil war were in the meantime desolating the kingdom of scotland. the earl of lennox was a feeble and very incompetent successor to murray. perceiving him unable to maintain his authority, and observing that the current of popular feeling was becoming stronger against the unjust imprisonment which mary was suffering, many of those who had stood by murray deserted to the opposite faction. among the rest were secretary maitland and kircaldy of grange, the first the ablest statesman, and the second the best soldier in the country. it was now almost impossible to say which side preponderated. both parties levied armies, convoked parliaments, fought battles, besieged towns, and ordered executions. "fellow-citizens, friends, brothers," says robertson, "took different sides, and ranged themselves under the standards of the contending factions. in every county, and almost in every town and village, _kingsmen_ and _queensmen_ were names of distinction. political hatred dissolved all natural ties, and extinguished the reciprocal good-will and confidence which hold mankind together in society. religious zeal mingled itself with these civil distinctions, and contributed not a little to heighten and to inflame them." one of the most successful exploits performed by the regent, was the taking of the castle of dumbarton from the queen's lords. the archbishop of st andrews, whom he found in it, was condemned to be hanged without a trial, and the sentence was immediately executed. no bishop had ever suffered in scotland so ignominiously before; and while the king's adherents were glad to get rid of one who had been very zealous against them, the nobles who supported the queen were exasperated to the last degree by so violent a measure, and their watchword became,--"think on the archbishop of st andrews!" lennox was sacrificed to his memory; for the town of stirling having been suddenly taken, in an expedition contrived by grange, lennox, after he had surrendered himself prisoner, was shot by command of lord claud hamilton, brother to the deceased archbishop; and in his room, the earl of mar was elected regent. in the year , mary's cause sustained a serious injury, by the atrocious massacre of the hugonots in france, which exasperated all the protestants throughout europe, and made the very name of a catholic sovereign odious. although mary herself, so far from having lent any countenance to this massacre, had expressly avowed her unwillingness to constrain the conscience of any one, and had been all her life the strenuous advocate of toleration, yet, recollecting her connexion with charles ix. and catharine de medicis, whose sanguinary fury made itself so conspicuous on this melancholy occasion, her enemies took care that she should not escape from some share of the blame. elizabeth, in particular, taking advantage of the excitement which had been given to public feeling, used every exertion to secure the circulation of buchanan's notorious "detection of mary's doings," which had been published a short time before. she ordered cecil to send a number of copies to walsingham, her ambassador at paris, that they might be presented to the king, and leading persons of the french court. "it is not amiss," cecil wrote, "to have divers of buchanan's little latin books to present, if need be, to the king, as from yourself, and likewise to some of the other noblemen of his council; for they will serve to good effect to disgrace her, _which must be done before other purposes can be attained_." cecil himself printed and circulated a small treatise, in the shape of a letter, from london to a friend at a distance, giving an account of the "detection," and the credit it deserved. the publication, on the other hand, of bishop lesley's "defence of queen mary's honour," was positively interdicted; and lesley was obliged to send the manuscript abroad, before he was able to present it to the world. to such low and cowardly devices were elizabeth and her minister under the necessity of resorting, to blacken the character of mary, and justify their own iniquitous proceedings![ ] in scotland, too, mary's party, beginning to see the hopelessness of the cause, was gradually dwindling away. through mar's exertions, a general peace might have been obtained, had not morton's superior influence and persevering cruelty drawn out the civil war to the last dregs. mar, finding himself thwarted in every measure he proposed for the tranquillity of his country, fell into a deep melancholy, which ended in his death, before he had been a year in office. morton succeeded him without opposition, and immediately proceeded to very violent measures against all the queen's friends, who were now divided into two parties, the one headed by chatelherault and huntly, and the other by maitland and grange. after gaining some advantages over both, he concluded a peace with the former; and having invested the castle of edinburgh on all sides, in conjunction with some troops which elizabeth sent to his assistance, he at length forced the latter to surrender. kircaldy of grange, the bravest and most honest man in scotland, was hanged at the cross of edinburgh; and secretary maitland, who, with all his talents, had vacillated too much to be greatly respected, anticipating a similar fate, avoided it by a voluntary death, "ending his days," says melville, "after the old roman fashion." about the same time, john knox concluded his laborious, and, in many respects, useful life, in the th year of his age. appearing as he did, in treacherous and turbulent times, the rough unpolished integrity of knox demands the higher praise, because it enabled him the more successfully to maintain an influence over the minds of his countrymen, and effect those important revolutions in their modes of thought and belief, which his superior abilities pointed out to him as conducive to the moral and religious improvement of the land. he had many failings, but they were to be attributed more to the age to which he belonged, than to any fault of his own. his very violence and acrimony, his strong prejudices, and no less confirmed partialities, were perhaps the very best instruments he could have used for advancing the cause of the reformation. he was without the cunning of murray, the fickleness of maitland, or the ferocity of morton. he pursued a steady and undeviating course; and though loved by few, he was reverenced by many. courage, in particular,--and not the mere common-place courage inspired by the possession of physical strength, but the far nobler courage arising from a consciousness of innate integrity,--was the leading feature of his mind. morton never spoke more truly than when he said at the grave of knox,--"here lies he who never feared the face of man." in the year , mary, at her own earnest request, was removed, for the benefit of her health, from sheffield to the wells at buxton. the news she had lately received from scotland, and the apparent annihilation of all her hopes, had affected her not a little. "though she makes little show of any grief," the earl of shrewsbury wrote to cecil, "yet this news nips her very sore." at buxton, which was then the most fashionable watering-place in england, she was obliged to live in complete seclusion; and it may easily be conceived, that the waters could be of little benefit to her, without the aid of air, exercise, and amusement. lesley, though detained at a distance, took every means in his power to afford her consolation, and wrote two treatises, after the manner of seneca, expressly applicable to her condition; both of which he sent to her. the first was entitled,--"_piæ afflicti animi meditationes divinaque remedia_," and the second,--"_tranquillitatis animi conservatio et munimentum_." she thanked him for both of these productions, and assured him, that she had received much benefit from their perusal. with many parts of the first, in particular, she was so pleased, that she occupied herself in paraphrasing them into french verse.[ ] lesley was soon afterwards allowed by elizabeth to pass into france, where he long continued to exert himself in the cause of his mistress, visiting, on her account, several foreign courts, and exposing himself to many inconveniences and hardships. he died at a good old age in , and his memory deserves to be cherished, both for the many amiable qualities he possessed in private life, and his inflexible fidelity and attachment to the queen of scots.[ ] in , a fresh misfortune overtook mary, in the death of her brother-in-law, charles ix. he was succeeded on the throne by the duke of anjou, who took the title of henry iii., and was little inclined to exert himself in the cause of his sister, having been long at enmity with the house of guise. but a still more fatal blow was the death of her uncle, the cardinal of lorraine, who had ever made it a part of his policy to identify her interests with his own, and to whom she had always been accustomed to turn, with confidence, in her greatest distresses. from this period to the year , mary seems to have been nearly forgotten by all parties. elizabeth, satisfied with keeping her rival securely imprisoned, busied herself with other affairs of political moment; and, in scotland, as the prince grew up, and years passed on, death, or other causes, gradually diminished the number of mary's adherents; and though the country was far from being in tranquillity, the dissensions assumed a new shape, for even they who opposed the regency of the earl of morton, found it more for their interest to associate themselves with the young king than with the absent queen. mary became gradually more solitary and more depressed. though yet only in the prime of womanhood, she had lived to see almost all her best friends, and some of her worst enemies, depart from the world before her. the specious murray,--the imbecile lennox,--hamilton, the last supporter of catholicism,--knox, the great champion of the reformation,--the gentle mar,--the brilliant but misguided norfolk,--the gallant kircaldy,--and the sagacious maitland,--had all been removed from the scene; and in the melancholy solitude of her prison, she wept to think that she should have been destined to survive them. but elizabeth had no sympathy for her griefs, and every rumour which reached her ear, only served as an excuse for narrowing and rendering more irksome mary's captivity. even the few female friends who had been at first allowed to attend her, were taken from her; no congenial society of any sort was allowed her; it was rarely, indeed, that she was permitted to hunt or hawk, or take any exercise out of doors; and the wearisome monotony of her sedentary life, at once impaired her health and broke down her spirits. the manner in which she spoke of her own situation, in letters she wrote about this period to france and elsewhere, is not the less affecting, that it is characterized by that mental dignity and queenly spirit which no afflictions could overcome. "i find it necessary," she wrote from tutbury in , "to renew the memorial of my grievances respecting the remittance of my dowry, the augmentation of my attendants, and a change of residence,--circumstances apparently trivial, and of small importance to the queen, my good sister, but which i feel to be essential to the preservation of my existence. necessity alone could induce me to descend to earnest and reiterated supplications, the dearest price at which any boon can be purchased. to convey to you an idea, of my present situation, i am on all sides enclosed by fortified walls, on the summit of a hill which lies exposed to every wind of heaven: within these bounds, not unlike the wood of vincennes, is a very old edifice, originally a hunting lodge, built merely of lath and plaster, the plaster in many places crumbling away. this edifice, detached from the walls, about twenty feet, is sunk so low, that the rampart of earth behind the wall is level with the highest part of the building, so that here the sun can never penetrate, neither does any pure air ever visit this habitation, on which descend drizzling damps and eternal fogs, to such excess, that not an article of furniture can be placed beneath the roof, but in four days it becomes covered with green mould. i leave you to judge in what manner such humidity must act upon the human frame; and, to say every thing in one word, the apartments are in general more like dungeons prepared for the reception of the vilest criminals, than suited to persons of a station far inferior to mine, inasmuch as i do not believe there is a lord or gentleman, or even yeoman in the kingdom, who would patiently endure the penance of living in so wretched an habitation. with regard to accommodation, i have for my own person but two miserable little chambers, so intensely cold during the night, that but for ramparts and entrenchments of tapestry and curtains, it would be impossible to prolong my existence; and of those who have sat up with me during my illness, not one has escaped malady. sir amias can testify that three of my women have been rendered ill by this severe temperature, and even my physician declines taking charge of my health the ensuing winter, unless i shall be permitted to change my habitation. with respect to convenience, i have neither gallery nor cabinet, if i except two little pigeon-holes, through which the only light admitted is from an aperture of about nine feet in circumference; for taking air and exercise, either on foot or in my chair, i have but about a quarter of an acre behind the stables, round which somers last year planted a quickset hedge, a spot more proper for swine than to be cultivated as a garden; there is no shepherd's hut but has more grace and proportion. as to riding on horseback during the winter, i am sure to be impeded by floods of water or banks of snow, nor is there a road in which i could go for one mile in my coach without putting my limbs in jeopardy; abstracted from these real and positive inconveniences, i have conceived for this spot an antipathy, which, in one ill as i am, might alone claim some humane consideration. as it was here that i first began to be treated with rigour and indignity, i have conceived, from that time, this mansion to be singularly unlucky to me, and in this sinister impression i have been confirmed by the tragical catastrophe of the poor priest of whom i wrote to you, who, having been tortured for his religion, was at length found hanging in front of my window."[ ] in , mary made a still more melancholy representation of her condition. "i am reduced to such an excessive weakness," she says, "especially in my legs, that i am not able to walk a hundred steps, and yet i am at this moment better than i have been for these six months past. ever since last easter, i have been obliged to make my servants carry me in a chair; and you may judge how seldom i am thus transported from one spot to another, when there are so few people about me fit for such an employment."[ ] in the midst of all this distress, it was only from resources within herself that she was able to derive any consolation. her religious duties she attended to with the strictest care, and devoted much of her time to reading and writing. at rare intervals, she remembered her early cultivation of the muses; and she even yet attempted occasionally to beguile the time with the charms of poetry. she produced several short poetical compositions during her imprisonment; and of these, the following sonnet, embodying so simply and forcibly her own feelings, cannot fail to be read with peculiar interest: "que suis je, helas! et de quoi sert ma vie? je ne suis fors q'un corps privé de coeur; un ombre vain, un objet de malheur, qui n'a plus rien que de mourir envie. plus ne portez, o ennemis, d'envie a qui n'a plus l'esprit à la grandeur! je consomme d'excessive douleur,-- votre ire en bref ce voira assouvie; et vous amis, qui m'avez tenu chere, souvenez vous, que sans heur--sans santé je ne saurois aucun bon oeuvre faire: souhaitez donc fin de calamité; et que ci bas étant assez punie, j'aye ma part en la joye infinie."[ ] but the most celebrated of all mary's efforts during her captivity, is a long and eloquent letter she addressed to elizabeth, in , when she heard that her son's person had been seized at the raid of ruthven,--and when, dreading, with maternal anxiety, that he might be involved in the woes which had overtaken herself, she gave vent to those feelings which had long agitated her bosom, and which she now, with pathetic force, laid before elizabeth, as the author of all her misfortunes. the ability and vigour with which this letter is written, well entitle it, as dr stuart has remarked, to survive in the history of the scottish nation. it was mary's own wish that it should do so. "i am no longer able," she says, "to resist laying my heart before you; and while i desire that my just complaints shall be engraved in your conscience, it is my hope that they will also descend to posterity, to prove the misery into which i have been brought by the injustice and cruelty of my enemies. having in vain looked to you for support against their various devices, i shall now carry my appeal to the eternal god, the judge of both, whose dominion is over all the princes of the earth. i shall appeal to him to arbitrate between us; and would request you, madam, to remember, that in his sight nothing can be disguised by the paint and artifices of the world." she proceeds to recapitulate the injuries she had sustained from elizabeth ever since she came to the throne of scotland,--reminding her, that she had busied herself in corrupting her subjects and encouraging rebellion; that when imprisoned in loch-leven, she had assured her, through her ambassador, throckmorton, that any deed of abdication she might subscribe, was altogether invalid; yet that, upon her escape, though she at first allured her by fair promises into england, she had no sooner arrived there, than she was thrown into captivity, in which she had been kept alive only to suffer a thousand deaths; that she had tried for years to accommodate herself to that captivity, to reduce the number of her attendants, to make no complaint of the plainness of her diet, and the want of ordinary exercise, to live quietly and peaceably, as if she were of a far inferior rank, and even to abstain from correspondence with her friends in scotland; but that the only return she had experienced for her good intentions was neglect, calumny, and increasing severity. "to take away every foundation of dispute and misunderstanding between us," mary continued, "i invite you, madam, to examine into every report against me, and to grant to every person the liberty of accusing me publicly; and while i freely solicit you to take every advantage to my prejudice, i only request that you will not condemn me without a hearing. if it be proved that i have done evil, let me suffer for it; if i am guiltless, do not take upon yourself the responsibility, before god and man, of punishing me unjustly. let not my enemies be afraid that i aim any longer at dispossessing them of their usurped authority. i look now to no other kingdom but that of heaven, and would wish to prepare myself for it, knowing that my sorrows will never cease till i arrive there." she then speaks of her son, and entreats that elizabeth would interfere in his behalf. she concludes with requesting, that some honourable churchman should be sent to her, to remind her daily of the road she had yet to finish, and to instruct her how to pursue it, according to her religion, in which she would wish to die as she had lived. "i am very weak and helpless," she adds, "and do beseech you to give me some solitary mark of your friendship. bind your own relations to yourself; let me have the happiness of knowing, before i die, that a reconciliation has taken place between us, and that, when my soul quits my body, it will not be necessary for it to carry complaints of your injustice to the throne of my creator."[ ] the only result which this letter produced, was a remonstrance from elizabeth which she sent by beal, the clerk of her privy council, against such unnecessary complaints.[ ] in scotland, meanwhile, the event of greatest consequence which had taken place, was the trial and execution of the earl of morton, for having been _art_ and _part_ in the murder of darnley. morton's intolerable tyranny having rendered him odious to the greater part of the nobility, and the young king having nearly arrived at an age when he could act and think for himself, he found it necessary, very unwillingly, to retire from office. he did not, even then, desist from carrying on numerous intrigues; and it was rumoured, that he intended seizing the king's person, and carrying him captive into england. whether there was any truth in this report or not, it is certain that james became anxious to get rid of so factious and dangerous a nobleman. the only plausible expedient which occurred to him, or his council, was, to accuse morton of a share in bothwell's guilt. his trial does not seem to have been conducted with any very scrupulous regard to justice. but a jury of his peers was allowed him; and they, having heard the evidence in support of the charges, found him guilty of having been in the council or knowledge of the conspiracy against the late king, of concealing it, and of being _art_ and _part_ in the murder. it was to the latter part of this verdict alone that morton objected. he confessed that he knew of the intended murder, and had concealed it, but positively disclaimed having been _art_ and _part_ in it. this seems, however, to have been a distinction without a difference. on the st of june , he was condemned to the block, and next day the sentence was executed. the instrument called the _maiden_, which was used to behead him, he had himself brought into scotland, and he was the first to suffer by it. his head was placed on the public gaol at edinburgh, and his body buried privately by a few menials. he had been universally hated, and there was hardly one who lamented his death. chapter xi. mary's trial and condemnation. the closing scene of mary's life was now rapidly approaching. debilitated as she was by her long confinement, and the many painful thoughts which had been incessantly preying on her peace of mind, it is not likely that she could have long survived, even though she had been left unmolested within the walls of her prison. but she had been the source of two much jealousy and uneasiness to elizabeth, to be either forgotten or forgiven. weak as she was in body, and destitute alike of wealth and power, her name had nevertheless continued a watchword and a tower of strength, not only to all her own friends throughout christendom, but to all who were disposed, from whatever cause, to stir up civil dissensions and broils in england. scarcely a conspiracy against elizabeth's person and authority had been contrived for the last sixteen years, with which the queen of scots was not supposed to be either remotely or immediately connected. nor is it to be denied, that appeals were made to her sufferings and cruel treatment, to give plausibility to many an enterprise which was anti-constitutional in its object, and criminal in its execution. other less objectionable enterprises mary herself expressly countenanced, for she always openly declared, that being detained a captive by force, she considered herself fully entitled to take every means that offered to effect her escape. she acted solely upon a principle of self-defence. whenever a nobleman of influence like norfolk, or a man of integrity like lesley, undertook to arrange a scheme for her release, she willingly listened to their proposals, and was ever ready to act in concert with them. she had been detained in strict ward in a realm into which she had come voluntarily, or rather into which she had been seduced by specious promises and offers of assistance; and it would have been against every dictate of common sense and common justice, to suppose that she had not a right to free herself from her unwarrantable imprisonment. it is true, that many of her attempts, mixed up as they were with the interested and ambitious projects of others, gave elizabeth no little inconvenience and anxiety. but this was the price she must have laid her account with paying for the pleasure of seeing the queen of scots a helpless hostage in her hands. to discourage the numerous plots which were formed, either by mary's real or pretended adherents, a number of persons of the first rank in the kingdom entered into a solemn "association," in which they bound themselves to defend elizabeth against all her enemies, "and if any violence should be offered to her life, in order to favour the title of any pretender to the crown, not only never to allow or acknowledge the person or persons _by_ whom, or _for_ whom such a detestable act should be committed, but, as they should answer to the eternal god, to prosecute such person or persons to the death, and pursue them with the utmost vengeance to their overthrow and extirpation." the parliament, which met in , sanctioned this association; and, alarmed by the recent discovery of a fanatical design, on the part of a roman catholic, to assassinate the queen, because she had been excommunicated by the pope, they passed an act, by which they determined, with the most arbitrary injustice, "that if any rebellion should be excited in the kingdom, or any thing attempted to the hurt of her majesty's person, _by_ or _for_ any person pretending a title to the crown, the queen should empower twenty-four persons, by a commission under the great seal, to examine into and pass sentence upon such offences; and that, after judgment given, a proclamation should be issued, declaring the persons whom they found guilty excluded from any right to the crown; and her majesty's subjects might lawfully pursue every one of them to the death; and that, if any design against the life of the queen took effect, the persons _by_ or _for_ whom such a detestable act was executed, and their issues, being in any wise assenting or privy to the same, should be disabled for ever from pretending to the crown, and be pursued to death, in the like manner." that the persons _by_ whom any of these faults were committed, should be punished, was in strict accordance with equity; but that the persons _for_ whom they might be supposed to be done, should be considered as much involved in their guilt, was alike contrary to law and reason. the discontented were forming plots every year against elizabeth, and, with the very existence of many of these plots, mary was unacquainted; yet, by this statute, she was made answerable for all of them. there is little wonder, therefore, if she considered it only a forerunner of greater severities; and it was not long before an occasion occurred which afforded a plausible pretext for making a practical application of it. in the year , three english priests, who had been educated in a catholic seminary at rheims, and over whose minds the most illiberal superstition held unlimited sway, actually conceived the belief, that the bull of excommunication, issued by pope pius v. against elizabeth, had been dictated under the immediate inspiration of the holy ghost. they looked, consequently, upon that sovereign with a fanatical hatred, which they determined, if possible, to gratify. having contrived to win over one or two others to their own way of thinking, and, in particular, an officer of the name of savage, and another priest of the name of ballard, they sent them into england to disseminate their principles among all on whose co-operation they thought they could depend; and, in the meantime, they set on foot a negotiation with the spanish ambassador in paris, through whose means they hoped to obtain the assistance of a foreign force. he gave them a promise of encouragement, only on condition that they secured a strong party in england, and that means were taken to remove elizabeth. among the first persons to whom savage and ballard communicated their designs, was anthony babington, a young gentleman of estate and fortune in derbyshire. having resided for some time in france, he had formed an acquaintance with the archbishop of glasgow, and from him had heard so many eulogiums on mary, that he became inspired with the most enthusiastic feelings in her favour, and cherished a romantic desire of performing some exploit which might secure for him her gratitude and esteem. by his advice and assistance, a knowledge of the conspiracy was intrusted to a number of persons of respectability of the roman catholic persuasion; and a secret correspondence was set on foot with the queen of scots, through the medium of her secretaries naw and curl. mary, however, was not disposed to give the conspirators much encouragement. she had been now so long accustomed to despair, and was so convinced of the fallaciousness of hope, that she was almost inclined to turn away from it, as from something painful. she had grown indifferent about her future fate, and had endeavoured to resign herself to the prospect of ending her days in captivity. besides, she had the recent act of parliament before her eyes; and she was well aware, that though she did nothing but attempt an escape, she would be held responsible for the whole plot, whatever its extent or criminality might be. it is, however, not at all unlikely that she may, notwithstanding, have authorized her secretaries to write once or twice to babington and his associates; but that she gave them any support in their designs against elizabeth, was never proved, and is not to be believed. it was indeed with no little difficulty that mary was able to hold any epistolary communication at all with her friends, so strictly was she watched by sir amias paulet and sir drue drury, to whose custody she had been committed, and who kept her in the castle of chartley in staffordshire. the conspirators were obliged to bribe one of the servants, who conveyed to the queen or her secretaries, the letters which they deposited in a hole in the wall, and put the answers into the same place, from which they took them privately, when it was dark. every thing seemed to proceed smoothly, and all the necessary arrangements were now concluded. the different conspirators had different tasks allotted to them; by some a rebellion was to be excited in several parts of the kingdom at once; six others bound themselves by solemn oaths to assassinate elizabeth; and babington himself undertook to head a strong party, which he was to lead to the rescue of the queen of scots. nor were they to be destitute of foreign assistance as soon as the first blow was struck, and the first symptoms of internal commotion appeared. so inspired were these infatuated men with an idea of the glory of the revolution they were about to achieve, that they had medals prepared representing themselves assembled together, with babington in the midst, and bearing the motto,--"_hi mihi sunt comites quos ipsa pericula ducunt._" but in all their fancied security and enthusiasm, they were ignorant that every step they took was known to elizabeth and her minister walsingham, and that they were advancing only to the foot of their own scaffold. it was through the treachery of one of their own associates of the name of polly, one of walsingham's accredited spies, who had joined them only that he might betray them, that all their proceedings were discovered, and attentively watched. savage, ballard, and the other four who were bent on the murder of elizabeth, had already come up to london, and were lying in wait for the first favourable opportunity to execute their purpose; and, as walsingham was anxious to have complete evidence of their guilt in his possession before apprehending them, they were allowed to remain unmolested for some time. the queen, however, fearing for her personal safety, at length insisted on their being seized, remarking, that, "in not taking heed of a danger when she might, she seemed more to tempt god than to hope in him." ballard was first arrested; his accomplices, struck with astonishment and dismay, fled out of london; but, after lurking for some days in woods and byeways, cutting off their hair, disfiguring their faces, and submitting to every kind of deprivation and hardship to avoid the hot search which was made for them, they were at length taken; and so much had the public feeling been excited against them, that, when they were brought into london, the bells of the city were rung, and bonfires kindled in the streets. walsingham had arranged his measures so effectively, that all the other conspirators, who were scattered throughout the kingdom, were also seized and brought to the capital within a very short time. fourteen of the principal inventors of the plot were immediately tried, condemned, and executed. no mercy whatever was shown to them; for elizabeth seldom forgave her enemies.[ ] but, in the death of these men, only one part of elizabeth's vengeance was gratified. the wrongs and the merits of the queen of scots had been the means of imparting to this conspiracy a degree of respectability; and she, therefore, was regarded as the chief culprit. walsingham had ascertained, that communications of some sort or another had passed between mary's secretaries and the conspirators; and before she was aware that babington's plot had been discovered, he sent down sir thomas gorges to chartley to take her by surprise, and endeavour to discover some additional grounds of suspicion. sir thomas arrived just as she was about to ride out in a wheeled carriage which had been procured for her, and, without permitting her to alight, he rudely told her of babington's fate; then entering the castle, he committed naw and curl into custody; and, breaking into the private cabinets of the queen, he seized all her letters and papers, and sent them off immediately to elizabeth. he took possession too of all her money, "lest she should use it for corruption." she herself was not allowed to return to chartley for some days, but conveyed about from one castle to another. when she was at length brought back, and saw how she had been plundered in her absence, she could not refrain from weeping bitterly. "there are two things, however," she said in the midst of her tears, "which they cannot take away,--my birth and my religion."[ ] in the excited state of feeling which then prevailed in the nation, and the fears which her subjects entertained for the safety of their sovereign, elizabeth perceived that she might now safely proceed to those extremities against mary which she had so long meditated, but which considerations of selfish prudence had hitherto prevented her from putting into execution. she asserted, that not only her own life, but the religion and peace of the country were at stake, and that either the queen of scots must be removed, or the whole realm given up as a sacrifice. by her own injustice, she had involved herself in inconveniences; and as soon as she began to feel their effects, she pretended to be indignant at the innocent victim of her tyranny. but it was not without difficulty that she brought all her ministers to think on this subject precisely as she herself did. many of them did not hesitate to state their conviction, that mary had neither set on foot nor countenanced babington's plot, and that, however the conspirators might have interwoven her name with it, she could not be punished for what she could not have prevented. besides, they urged that she was not likely to live long at any rate, and that it would be more for the honour of the kingdom to leave her unmolested for the short remainder of her days. nevertheless, by elizabeth's exertions, and those of walsingham, who had always courted the favour of his mistress by the most persevering persecution of mary, opposition was at length silenced, and the trial of the queen of scots finally determined. to give as much dignity, and as great a semblance of justice as possible to a proceeding so unwarrantable as that of calling upon her to answer for an imaginary offence, forty of the most illustrious persons in the kingdom were appointed commissioners, and were intrusted with the charge of hearing the cause, and deciding upon the question of life or death. on the th of september , mary had been taken from chartley to the castle of fotheringay in northamptonshire, where she was more strictly watched than ever by sir amias paulet, who was a harsh and inflexible gaoler. on the th of october, elizabeth's commissioners arrived, the great hall of the castle having been previously fitted up as a court-room for their reception. they would have proceeded with the trial immediately; but a difficulty occurred, which, though they scarcely can have failed to anticipate, they were not prepared to obviate. mary refused to acknowledge their jurisdiction, denying that they possessed any right either to arraign or try her. "i am no subject to elizabeth," she said, "but an independent queen as well as she; and i will consent to nothing unbecoming the majesty of a crowned head. worn out as my body is, my mind is not yet so enfeebled as to make me forget what is due to myself, my ancestors, and my country. whatever the laws of england may be, i am not subject to them; for i came into the realm only to ask assistance from a sister queen, and i have been detained an unwilling prisoner." for two days the commissioners laboured in vain to induce mary to appear before them; and as she assigned reasons for refusing, which it was impossible for fair argument to invalidate, recourse was at length had to threats. they told her that they would proceed with the trial, whether she consented to be present or not; and that, though they were anxious to hear her justification, they would nevertheless conclude that she was guilty, and pronounce accordingly, if she refused to defend herself. it would have been well had mary allowed them to take their own way; but, conscious that she was accused unjustly, she could not bear to think that she excited suspicion, by refusing the opportunity of establishing her innocence. actuated by this honourable motive, she at length yielded, after solemnly protesting that she did not, and never would, acknowledge the authority which elizabeth arrogated over her. on the th of october the trial commenced. the upper half of the great hall of fotheringay castle was railed off, and at the higher end was placed a chair of state, under a canopy, for the queen of england. upon both sides of the room benches were arranged in order, where the lord chancellor bromley, the lord treasurer burleigh, fourteen earls, thirteen barons, and knights and members of the privy council, sat. in the centre was a table, at which the lord chief justice, several doctors of the civil law, popham, the queen's attorney, her solicitors, sergeants and notaries, took their places. at the foot of this table, and immediately opposite elizabeth's chair of state, a chair, without any canopy, was placed for the queen of scots. behind, was the rail which ran across the hall, the lower part of which was fitted up for the accommodation of persons who were not in the commission.[ ] there was never, perhaps, an occasion throughout the whole of mary's life on which she appeared to greater advantage than this. in the presence of all the pomp, learning, and talent of england, she stood alone and undaunted; evincing, in the modest dignity of her bearing, a mind conscious of its own integrity, and superior to the malice of fortune. elizabeth's craftiest lawyers and ablest politicians were assembled to probe her to the quick,--to press home every argument against her, which ingenuity could devise and eloquence embellish,--to dazzle her with a blaze of erudition, or involve her in a maze of technical perplexities. mary had no counsellor--no adviser--no friend. her very papers, to which she might have wished to refer, had been taken from her; and there was not one to plead her cause, or defend her innocence. yet was she not dismayed. she knew that she had a higher judge than elizabeth; and that great as was the array of lords and barons that appeared against her, posterity was greater than they, and that to its decision all things would be finally referred. her bodily infirmities imparted only a greater lustre to her mental pre-eminence; and not in all the fascinating splendor of her youth and beauty--not on the morning of her first bridal day, when paris rang with acclamations in her praise--was mary stuart so much to be admired, as when, weak and worn out, she stood calmly before the myrmidons of a rival queen, to hear and refute their unjust accusations, her eye radiant once more with the brilliancy of earlier years, and the placid benignity of a serene conscience, lending to her countenance its undying grace. elizabeth's attorney-general opened the pleadings. he began by referring to the act of parliament, in which it was made capital to be the person _for_ whom any design was undertaken against the life of the queen. he then described the late conspiracy, and attempted to establish mary's connexion with it, by producing copies of letters which, he alleged, she had written to babington himself and several of his accomplices. to these having added letters from babington to her, and the declarations and confessions which had been extorted from her secretaries, he asserted that the case was made out, and wound up his speech with a laboured display of legal knowledge and forensic oratory. mary was now called upon for her defence; and she entered on it with composure and dignity. she denied all connexion with babington's conspiracy, in so far as he entertained any designs injurious to elizabeth's safety or the welfare of her kingdom;--she allowed that the letters which he was said to have addressed to her might be genuine, but it had not been proved that she ever received them;--she maintained that her own letters were all garbled or fabricated;[ ] that as to the confessions of her secretaries, they had been extorted by fear, and were therefore not to be credited; but that, if they were in any particulars true, these particulars must have been disclosed at the expense of the oath of fidelity they had come under to her when they entered her service, and that men who would perjure themselves in one instance were not to be trusted in any;--she objected besides that they had not been confronted with her according to an express law enacted in the thirteenth year of elizabeth's reign "that no one should be arraigned for intending the destruction of the prince's life, but by the testimony and oath of two lawful witnesses, _to be produced face to face before him_;"--she maintained, that even supposing she were to allow the authenticity of many of the papers adduced against her, they would not prove her guilty of any crime; for she was surely doing no wrong, if, after a calamitous captivity of nineteen years, in which she had lost forever her youth, her health, and her happiness, she made one last effort to regain the liberty of which she had been so unfairly robbed; but that as to scheming against the life of the queen her sister, it was an infamy she abhored;--"i would disdain," said she "to purchase all that is most valuable on earth by the assasination of the meanest of the human race; and worn out, as i now am, with cares and sufferings, the prospect of a crown is not so inviting that i should ruin my soul in order to obtain it. neither am i a stranger to the feelings of humanity, nor unacquainted with the duties of religion, and it is my nature to be more inclined to the devotion of esther, than to the sword of judith. if ever i have given consent by my words, or even by my thoughts, to any attempt against the life of the queen of england, far from declining the judgment of men, i shall not even pray for the mercy of god."[ ] elizabeth's advocates were not a little surprised at the eloquent and able manner in which mary conducted her defence. they had expected to have every thing their own way, and to gain an easy victory over one unacquainted with the forms of legal procedure, and unable to cope with their own professional talents. but they were disappointed and baffled; and in order to maintain their ground even plausibly, they were obliged to protract the proceedings for two whole days. nor, after all, did the commissioners venture to pronounce judgment, but adjourned the court to the star-chamber at westminster, where they knew that mary would not be present, and where, consequently, they would have no opposition to fear.[ ] on the th of october, they assembled there, and having again examined the secretaries, naw and curl, who appear to have been persons of little fidelity or constancy, and who confirmed their former declarations, a unanimous judgment was delivered, that "mary, commonly called queen of scots and dowager of france, was accessary to babington's conspiracy, and had compassed and imagined divers matters within the realm of england, tending to the hurt, death, and destruction of the royal person of elizabeth, in opposition to the statute framed for her protection."[ ] elizabeth ordered this verdict to be laid before her parliament, which assembled a few days afterwards; and, at walsingham's instigation, its legality was not only confirmed, but the lord chancellor was sent up with an address to the queen, in which, after stating their conviction that her security was incompatible with mary's life, they requested that she would give the sentence effect, by ordering her immediate execution. elizabeth, though conscious that, if her personal safety had been endangered, she had herself to blame, was rejoiced at the opportunity at length afforded her, for gratifying her long cherished hatred. she affected, however, to be greatly perplexed how to act. she declared that, if she were not afraid of endangering the welfare of her people, she would freely pardon mary for all her treasonable practices, and she beseeched the house to endeavour to discover some less severe method of procedure. the parliament, as she expected, replied firmly, that they could not recommend any more lenient measure; and in the pedantic language of the day, called to elizabeth's remembrance the examples of god's vengeance upon saul for sparing agag, and on ahab for sparing benhadad. elizabeth still affected to be irresolute; and indeed it was not unlikely that she was so in reality; for, though anxious to have mary removed, she was not so hardened and insane as not to know, that however it might be sanctioned by the world, murder was as criminal and as contrary to the unchanging code of moral justice, when commanded by a queen, as when perpetrated by a peasant. she desired that her parliament should be content for the present "with an answer without an answer." "if i should say, that i will not do what you request, i might say perhaps more than i intend; and if i should say i will do it, i might plunge myself into as much inconvenience as you endeavour to preserve me from." all this manoeuvring was for the purpose of conveying to the nation an impression of her extreme sensibility, and generous hesitation. another reason why elizabeth did not choose to be over-precipitate, was her fear of giving any deadly offence to foreign courts. she ordered the sentence against mary to be published both throughout her own kingdom and abroad, and she waited anxiously to observe the sensation which it should create, and the steps that might be taken in consequence. she need not, however, have given herself much uneasiness upon this score. henry iii. of france had never been more than a very lukewarm advocate for the queen of scots, and the remonstrances he occasionally made in her behalf, were rather for the sake of appearances, than because he was anxious that they should be successful. on the present occasion, startled by the imminence of his cousin's danger, he seems to have been a little more in earnest, and ordered his ambassador to make as forcible a representation as possible against the iniquitous severity that was intended. but elizabeth knew that his rage would evaporate in words, and paid little attention to the harangue. in scotland, the young king, james, was surrounded by ministers who had sold themselves to england, and elizabeth was well aware, that though he might bark, he dared not bite. besides, the sentiments regarding his mother, which had been carefully instilled into him from his earliest years, were not such as were likely to inspire him with any decided wish to protect and avenge her. he had been constantly surrounded by her deadliest enemies, and the lesson which buchanan taught him daily, was a lesson of hatred towards his only surviving parent. his succession also to the english crown, greatly depended on the friendship of elizabeth; and she was able, in consequence, to maintain an ascendancy over him, which he dared not venture to resist. he was not, however, so entirely destitute of all ordinary filial sentiments as to consent to remain a quiet spectator of his mother's execution. "his opinion is," said his worthless minion the master of gray, "that it cannot stand with his honour to be a consenter to take his mother's life, but he does not care how strictly she be kept; and is content that all her old knavish servants should be hanged."[ ] to prevent if possible a catastrophe which "did not stand with his honour," he sent the master of gray and sir robert melville as his ambassadors to london, to press his objections upon the attention of elizabeth. the latter was true to the cause in which he had been sent, and his remonstrances were vigorous and sincere. but gray, wishing to curry favour with elizabeth, assured her that she had no cause to fear the king's resentment, for he was of an irresolute character and timid disposition, and that whatever might happen, he would never think of embroiling himself in a disastrous war with england. elizabeth listened with evident satisfaction to these artful insinuations; and desired her minister walsingham, to inform the scottish monarch, that mary's doom was already fixed by the decision of the nation, and that his mistress the queen had it not in her power to save her. james received this intelligence with grief, but not with the spirit that became the only child of mary stuart. instead of putting himself at the head of an army, and marching into the heart of england, he was contented to communicate his mother's unfortunate condition to his subjects, and order prayers to be said for her in all the churches,--"that it might please god to enlighten her with the light of his truth, and to protect her from the danger which was hanging over her." in the mean time, messengers had been sent to the queen of scots, to report to her the sentence of the commissioners, and to prepare her for the consequences which might be expected to follow. so far from receiving the news with dismay, mary solemnly raised her hands to heaven, and thanked god that she was so soon to be relieved from her troubles. they were not yet, however, at a close; and even during the short remainder of her life, she was to be still further insulted. her keepers, sir amias paulet and sir drue drury, refused any longer to treat her with the reverence and respect due to her rank and sex. the canopy of state, which she had always ordered to be put up in her apartment wherever she went, was taken down, and every badge of royalty removed. it was intimated to her, that she was no longer to be regarded as a princess, but as a criminal; and the persons who came into her presence stood before her without uncovering their heads, or paying her any obeisance. the attendance of a catholic priest was refused, and an episcopalian bishop sent in his stead, to point out and correct the errors of her ways. mary bore all these indignities with a calm spirit, which rose superior to them, and which proved their unworthiness, by bringing them into contrast with her own elevation of mind. "in despite of your sovereign and her subservient judges," said she, "i will die a queen. my royal character is indelible, and i will surrender it with my spirit to the almighty god, from whom i received it, and to whom my honour and my innocence are fully known."[ ] in december , she wrote her last letter to elizabeth; and though from an unfriended prisoner to an envied and powerful sovereign, it evinces so much magnanimity and calm consciousness of mental serenity, that it is impossible to peruse it, without confessing elizabeth's inferiority, and mary's triumph. it was couched in the following terms: "madam, i thank god from the bottom of my heart, that, by the sentence which has been passed against me, he is about to put an end to my tedious pilgrimage. i would not wish it prolonged, though it were in my power, having had enough of time to experience its bitterness. i write at present only to make three last requests which, as i can expect no favour from your implacable ministers, i should wish to owe to your majesty, and to no other. _first_, as in england, i cannot hope to be buried according to the solemnities of the catholic church, (the religion of the ancient kings, your ancestors and mine, being now changed,) and as in scotland they have already violated the ashes of my progenitors, i have to request, that, as soon as my enemies have bathed their hands in my innocent blood, my domestics may be allowed to inter my body in some consecrated ground; and, above all, that they may be permitted to carry it to france, where the bones of the queen, my most honoured mother, repose. thus, that poor frame, which has never enjoyed repose so long as it has been joined to my soul, may find it at last when they will be separated. _second_, as i dread the tyranny of the harsh men, to whose power you have abandoned me, i entreat your majesty that i may not be executed in secret, but in the presence of my servants and other persons, who may bear testimony of my faith and fidelity to the true church, and guard the last hours of my life, and my last sighs from the false rumours which my adversaries may spread abroad. _third_, i request that my domestics, who have served me through so much misery, and with so much constancy, may be allowed to retire without molestation wherever they choose, to enjoy for the remainder of their lives the small legacies which my poverty has enabled me to bequeath to them. i conjure you, madam, by the blood of jesus christ, by our consanguinity, by the memory of henry vii., our common father, and by the royal title which i carry with me to death, not to refuse me those reasonable demands, but to assure me, by a letter under your own hand, that you will comply with them; and i shall then die as i have lived, your affectionate sister and prisoner, mary, queen of scots."[ ] whether elizabeth ever answered this letter, does not appear; but it produced so little effect, that epistles from her to sir amias paulet still exist, which prove that, in her anxiety to avoid taking upon herself the responsibility of mary's death, she wished to have her privately assassinated or poisoned. paulet, however, though a harsh and violent man, positively refused to sanction so nefarious a scheme. yet in the very act of instigating murder, elizabeth could close her eyes against her own iniquity, and affect indignation at the alleged offences of another.[ ] but perceiving at length, that no alternative remained, she ordered her secretary davidson to bring her the warrant for mary's execution, and after perusing it, she deliberately affixed her signature. she then desired him to carry it to walsingham, saying, with an ironical smile, and in a "merry tone," that she feared he would die of grief when he saw it. walsingham sent the warrant to the chancellor, who affixed the great seal to it, and despatched it by beal, with a commission to the earls of shrewsbury, kent, derby, and others, to see it put in execution. davidson was afterwards made the victim of elizabeth's artifice,--who, to complete the solemn farce she had been playing, pretended he had obeyed her orders too quickly, and doomed him in consequence to perpetual imprisonment.[ ] chapter xii. mary's death, and character. on the th of february , the earls, who had been commissioned to superintend mary's execution, arrived at fotheringay. after dining together, they sent to inform the queen, that they desired to speak with her. mary was not well, and in bed; but as she was given to understand that it was an affair of moment, she rose, and received them in her own chamber. her six waiting maids, together with her physician, her surgeon, and apothecary, and four or five male servants, were in attendance. the earl of shrewsbury, and the others associated with him, standing before her respectfully, with their heads uncovered, communicated, as gently as possible, the disagreeable duty with which they had been intrusted. beal was then desired to read the warrant for mary's execution, to which she listened patiently; and making the sign of the cross, she said, that though she was sorry it came from elizabeth, she had long been expecting the mandate for her death, and was not unprepared to die. "for many years," she added, "i have lived in continual affliction, unable to do good to myself or to those who are dear to me;--and as i shall depart innocent of the crime which has been laid to my charge, i cannot see why i should shrink from the prospect of immortality." she then laid her hand on the new testament, and solemnly protested that she had never either devised, compassed, or consented to the death of the queen of england. the earl of kent, with more zeal than wisdom, objected to the validity of this protestation, because it was made on a catholic version of the bible; but mary replied, that it was the version, in the truth of which she believed, and that her oath should be therefore only the less liable to suspicion. she was advised to hold some godly conversation with the dean of peterborough, whom they had brought with them to console her; but she declined the offer, declaring that she would die in the faith in which she had lived, and beseeching them to allow her to see her catholic confessor, who had been for some time debarred her presence. this however they in their turn positively refused.[ ] other topics were introduced, and casually discussed. before leaving the world, mary felt a natural curiosity to be informed upon several subjects of public interest, which, though connected with herself, and generally known, had not penetrated the walls of her prison. she asked if no foreign princes had interfered in her behalf,--if her secretaries were still alive,--if it was intended to punish them as well as her,--if they brought no letters from elizabeth or others,--and above all, if her son, the king of scotland, was well, and had evinced any interest in the fate of a mother who had always loved and never wronged him. being satisfied upon these points, she proceeded to inquire when her execution was to take place? shrewsbury replied, that it was fixed for the next morning at eight. she appeared startled and agitated for a few minutes, saying that it was more sudden than she had anticipated, and that she had yet to make her will, which she had hitherto deferred, in the expectation that the papers and letters which had been forcibly taken from her, would be restored. she soon, however, regained her self-possession; and informing the commissioners that she desired to be left alone to make her preparations, she dismissed them for the night. during the whole of this scene, astonishment, indignation, and grief, overwhelmed her attendants, all of whom were devoted to her. as soon as the earls and their retinue retired, they gave full vent to their feelings, and mary herself was the only one who remained calm and undisturbed. bourgoine, her physician, loudly exclaimed against the iniquitous precipitancy with which she was to be hurried out of existence. more than a few hours' notice was allowed, he said, to the very meanest criminal; and to limit a princess, with numerous connections both at home and abroad, to so brief a space, was a degree of rigour which no guilt could authorize. mary told him, that she must submit with resignation to her fate, and learn to regard it as the will of god. she then requested her attendants to kneel with her, and she prayed fervently for some time in the midst of them. afterwards, while supper was preparing, she employed herself in putting all the money she had by her into separate purses, and affixed to each, with her own hand, the name of the person for whom she intended it. at supper, though she sat down to table, she eat little. her mind, however, was in perfect composure; and during the repast, though she spoke little, placid smiles were frequently observed to pass over her countenance. the calm magnanimity of their mistress, only increased the distress of her servants. they saw her sitting amongst them in her usual health, and, with almost more than her usual cheerfulness, partaking of the viands that were set before her; yet they knew that it was the last meal at which they should ever be present together; and that the interchange of affectionate service upon their part, and of condescending attention and endearing gentleness on her's, which had linked them to her for so many years, was now about to terminate for ever. far from attempting to offer her consolation, they were unable to discover any for themselves. as soon as the melancholy meal was over, mary desired that a cup of wine should be given to her; and putting it to her lips, drank to the health of each of her attendants by name. she requested that they would pledge her in like manner; and each, falling on his knee, and mingling tears with the wine, drank to her, asking pardon at the same time, for all the faults he had ever committed. in the true spirit of christian humility, she not only willingly forgave them, but asked their pardon also, if she had ever forgotten her duty towards them. she beseeched them to continue constant to their religion, and to live in peace and charity together, and with all men. the inventory of her wardrobe and furniture was then brought to her; and she wrote in the margin, opposite each article, the name of the person to whom she wished it should be given. she did the same with her rings, jewels, and all her most valuable trinkets; and there was not one of her friends or servants, either present or absent, to whom she forgot to leave a memorial.[ ] these duties being discharged, mary sat down to her desk to arrange her papers, to finish her will, and to write several letters. she previously sent to her confessor, who, though in the castle, was not allowed to see her, entreating that he would spend the night in praying for her, and that he would inform her what parts of scripture he considered most suited for her perusal at this juncture. she then drew up her last will and testament; and without ever lifting her pen from the paper, or stopping at intervals to think, she covered two large sheets with close writing, forgetting nothing of any moment, and expressing herself with all that precision and clearness which distinguished her style in the very happiest moments of her life. she named as her four executors, the duke of guise, her cousin-german; the archbishop of glasgow, her ambassador in france; lesley, bishop of ross; and monsieur de ruysseau, her chancellor. she next wrote a letter to her brother-in-law, the king of france, in which she apologized for not being able to enter into her affairs at greater length, as she had only an hour or two to live, and had not been informed till that day after dinner that she was to be executed next morning. "thanks be unto god, however," she added, "i have no terror at the idea of death, and solemnly declare to you, that i meet it innocent of every crime. the bearer of this letter, and my other servants, will recount to you how i comported myself in my last moments." the letter concluded with earnest entreaties, that her faithful followers should be protected and rewarded. her anxiety on their account, at such a moment, indicated all that amiable generosity of disposition, which was one of the leading features of mary's character.[ ] about two in the morning, she sealed up all her papers and said she would now think no more of the affairs of this world, but would spend the rest of her time in prayer and commune with her own conscience. she went to bed for some hours; but she did not sleep. her lips were observed in continual motion, and her hands were frequently folded and lifted up towards heaven.[ ] on the morning of wednesday the th of february, mary rose with the break of day; and her domestics, who had watched and wept all night immediately gathered round her. she told them that she had made her will, and requested that they would see it safely deposited in the hands of her executors. she likewise beseeched them not to separate until they had carried her body to france; and she placed a sum of money in the hands of her physician to defray the expenses of the journey. her earnest desire was, to be buried either in the church of st dennis, in paris, beside her first husband francis, or at rheims, in the tomb which contained the remains of her mother. she expressed a wish too, that, besides her friends and servants, a number of poor people and children from different hospitals should be present at her funeral, clothed in mourning at her expense, and each, according to the catholic custom, carrying in his hand a lighted taper.[ ] she now renewed her devotions, and was in the midst of them, with her servants praying and weeping round her, when a messenger from the commissioners knocked at the door, to announce that all was ready. she requested a little longer time to finish her prayers, which was granted. as soon as she desired the door to be opened, the sheriff, carrying in his hand the white wand of office, entered to conduct her to the place of execution. her servants crowded round her, and insisted on being allowed to accompany her to the scaffold. but contrary orders having been given by elizabeth, they were told that she must proceed alone. against a piece of such arbitrary cruelty they remonstrated loudly, but in vain; for as soon as mary passed into the gallery, the door was closed, and believing that they were separated from her forever, the shrieks of the women and the scarcely less audible lamentations of the men were heard in distant parts of the castle. at the foot of the staircase leading down to the hall below, mary was met by the earls of kent and shrewsbury; and she was allowed to stop to take farewell of sir andrew melvil, the master of her household, whom her keepers had not allowed to come into her presence for some time before. with tears in his eyes, melvil knelt before her, kissed her hand, and declared that it was the heaviest hour of his life. mary assured him, that it was not so to her. "i now feel, my good melvil," said she, "that all this world is vanity. when you speak of me hereafter, mention that i died firm in my faith, willing to forgive my enemies, conscious that i had never disgraced scotland my native country, and rejoicing in the thought that i had always been true to france, the land of my happiest years. tell my son," she added, and when she named her only child of whom she had been so proud in his infancy, but in whom all her hopes had been so fatally blasted, her feelings for the first time overpowered her, and a flood of tears flowed from her eyes,--"tell my son that i thought of him in my last moments, and that i have never yielded, either by word or deed, to aught that might lead to his prejudice; desire him to preserve the memory of his unfortunate parent, and may he be a thousand times more happy and more prosperous than she has been." before taking leave of melvil, mary turned to the commissioners and told them, that her three last requests were, that her secretary curl, whom she blamed less for his treachery than naw, should not be punished; that her servants should have free permission to depart to france; and that some of them should be allowed to come down from the apartments above to see her die. the earls answered, that they believed the two former of these requests would be granted; but that they could not concede the last, alleging, as their excuse, that the affliction of her attendants would only add to the severity of her sufferings. but mary was resolved that some of her own people should witness her last moments. "i will not submit to the indignity," she said, "of permitting my body to fall into the hands of strangers. you are the servants of a maiden queen, and she herself, were she here, would yield to the dictates of humanity, and permit some of those who have been so long faithful to me to assist me at my death. remember, too, that i am cousin to your mistress, and the descendant of henry vii.; i am the dowager of france, and the anointed queen of scotland." ashamed of any further opposition, the earls allowed her to name four male and two female attendants, whom they sent for, and permitted to remain beside her for the short time she had yet to live.[ ] the same hall in which the trial had taken place, was prepared for the execution. at the upper end was the scaffold, covered with black cloth, and elevated about two feet from the floor. a chair was placed on it for the queen of scots. on one side of the block stood two executioners, and on the other, the earls of kent and shrewsbury; beal and the sheriff were immediately behind. the scaffold was railed off from the rest of the hall, in which sir amias paulet with a body of guards, the other commissioners, and some gentlemen of the neighbourhood, amounting altogether to about two hundred persons, were assembled. mary entered leaning on the arm of her physician, while sir andrew melvil carried the train of her robe. she was in full dress, and looked as if she were about to hold a drawing-room, not to lay her head beneath the axe. she wore a gown of black silk, bordered with crimson velvet, over which was a satin mantle; a long veil of white crape, stiffened with wire, and edged with rich lace, hung down almost to the ground; round her neck was suspended an ivory crucifix; and the beads which the catholics use in their prayers, were fastened to her girdle. the symmetry of her fine figure had long been destroyed by her sedentary life; and years of care had left many a trace on her beautiful features. but the dignity of the queen was still apparent; and the calm grace of mental serenity imparted to her countenance at least some share of its former loveliness. with a composed and steady step she passed through the hall, and ascended the scaffold,--and as she listened unmoved, whilst beal read aloud the warrant for her death, even the myrmidons of elizabeth looked upon her with admiration.[ ] beal having finished, the dean of peterborough presented himself at the foot of the scaffold, and with more zeal than humanity, addressed mary on the subject of her religion. she mildly told him, that as she had been born, so she was resolved to die, a catholic, and requested that he would not annoy her any longer with useless reasonings. but finding that he would not be persuaded to desist, she turned away from him, and falling on her knees, prayed fervently aloud,--repeating, in particular, many passages from the psalms. she prayed for her own soul, and that god would send his holy spirit to comfort her in the agony of death; she prayed for all good monarchs, for the queen of england, for the king her son, for her friends, and for all her enemies. she spoke with a degree of earnest vehemence, and occasional strength of gesticulation, which deeply affected all who heard her. she held a small crucifix in her hands, which were clasped, and raised to heaven; and at intervals a convulsive sob choked her voice. as soon as her prayers were ended, she prepared to lay her head on the block. her two female attendants, as they assisted her to remove her veil and head-dress, trembled so violently that they were hardly able to stand. mary gently reproved them,--"be not thus overcome," she said; "i am happy to leave the world, and you also ought to be happy to see me die so willingly." as she bared her neck, she took from around it a cross of gold, which she wished to give to jane kennedy; but the executioner, with brutal coarseness, objected, alleging that it was one of his perquisites. "my good friend," said mary, "she will pay you much more than its value;" but his only answer was, to snatch it rudely from her hand. she turned from him, to pronounce a parting benediction on all her servants, to kiss them, and bid them affectionately farewell. being now ready, she desired jane kennedy to bind her eyes with a rich handkerchief, bordered with gold, which she had brought with her for the purpose; and laying her head upon the block, her last words were,--"o lord, in thee i have hoped, and into thy hands i commit my spirit." the executioner, either from a want of skill, or from agitation, or because the axe he used was blunt, struck three blows before he separated her head from her body. his comrade then lifted the head by the hair, (which, falling in disorder, was observed to be quite grey), and called out, "god save elizabeth, queen of england!" the earl of kent added, "thus perish all her enemies;"--but, overpowered by the solemnity and horror of the scene, none were able to respond, "amen!"[ ] mary's remains were immediately taken from her servants, who wished to pay them the last sad offices of affection, and were carried into an adjoining apartment, where a piece of old green baize, taken from a billiard-table, was thrown over that form which had once lived in the light of a nation's eyes. it lay thus for some time; but was at length ordered to be embalmed, and buried, with royal pomp, in the cathedral at peterborough,--a vulgar artifice used by elizabeth to stifle the gnawing remorse of her own conscience, and make an empty atonement for her cruelty. twenty-five years afterwards, james vi. wishing to perform an act of tardy justice to the memory of his mother, ordered her remains to be removed from peterborough to henry vii.'s chapel, in westminster abbey. a splendid monument was there erected, adorned with an inscription, which, if it spoke truth, james must have blushed with shame and indignation whenever he thought of his mother's fate. mary stuart, queen of scots, died in the forty-fifth year of her age. if the events of her life have been faithfully recorded in the preceding pages, the estimate which is to be formed of her character cannot be a matter of much doubt. to great natural endowments,--to feelings constitutionally warm,--and to a disposition spontaneously excellent, were added all the advantages which education could confer or wealth purchase. that she was one of the most accomplished and talented women of the age, even her enemies allow. but talents do not always insure success, nor accomplishments command happiness; and by few persons in the whole range of history was this truth more fatally experienced than by mary stuart. at first sight, her life and fate seem almost a paradox. that one upon whom most of the common goods of fortune had been heaped with so lavish a hand,--one who was born to the enjoyment of all the rank and splendour which earth possesses,--one whose personal charms and fascinations obtained for her an empire over the heart, more lasting and honourable than that which her birth gave her over a nation,--that even she should have lived to lament that she had ever beheld the light of day, is one of those striking examples of the uncertainty of all human calculations regarding happiness, which, while it inspires the commonest mind with wonder, teaches a deeper lesson of philosophy to the wisely reflective. circumstances are not so much the slaves of men, as men are of circumstances. mary lived at an age, and in a country, which only rendered her risk the greater the more exalted her station. in france, where civilization had made more progress, she might perhaps have avoided the evils which overtook her at home; but in scotland, a princess possessing the refinement of a foreign court, and though with a large proportion of the virtues and captivations of her sex, not entirely destitute of some of its weaknesses, could hardly expect to cope with the turbulent spirit, the fanatical enthusiasm, the semi-barbarous prejudices of the times, without finding her own virtues immerged in the crowd of contending interests, and the vortex of fierce passions that surrounded her. mary's failings, almost without an exception, "leant to virtue's side." they arose partly from too enthusiastic a temperament, and partly from a want of experience. although she lived forty-four years and two months, it ought to be remembered that she was just twenty-five when she came into england, and that all the most important events of her history happened between sixteen and twenty-five. with feelings whose strength kept pace with the unsuspicious generosity of her nature, mary was one who, in an especial manner, stood in need of experience, to teach what the world calls wisdom. the great mass of mankind, endowed with no finer susceptibilities, and influenced by no hidden impulses of soul or sense, fall into the common track naturally and easily. but they whom heaven has either cursed or blessed with minds, over which external circumstances exercise a deeper sway, whose fancies are more vivid, and whose impressions are more acute, require the aid of time to clip the wings of imagination,--to cast a soberer shade over the glowing pictures of hope,--and to teach the art of reducing an ideal standard of felicity and virtue, to one less romantic, but more practical. had she continued longer in public life, there is every probability that the world would have been forced to own, without a dissenting voice, the talent which mary possessed. in youth, genius is often indicated only by eccentricity and imprudence; but its errors are errors of judgment, which have their origin in an exuberance of sensibility. the sentiments of the heart have burst forth into precocious blossom long before the reasoning faculties have reached maturity. her youth was mary's chief misfortune, or rather it was the source from which most of her misfortunes sprung. she judged of mankind not as they were, but as she wished them to be. conscious of the sincerity of her own character, and the affectionate nature of her own dispositions, she formed attachments too rashly, and trusted too indiscriminately. she often found, when it was too late, that she had been deceived; and the consequence was, that she became diffident of her own judgment, and anxious to be guided by that of others. here again, however, she fell into an opposite extreme. in yielding, on her return to scotland, so implicitly to the counsels of murray, she did what few queens, young and flattered as she had been, would have done, and what, had she been older, or more experienced, she ought not to have done. but the highest degree of excellence, both in the material and the moral world, arises out of the skilful combination of many discordant elements. time must be allowed them to settle down into an harmonious arrangement; and time is all that is required. before the age of five-and-twenty, it is not to be supposed that mary's character had acquired that strength and stability which it would afterwards have attained. nor was it desirable that it should; for an old head upon youthful shoulders is contrary to nature, and the anomaly frequently ends with a youthful head upon old shoulders. mary was young--she was beautiful--she was admired--she was a woman; and to expect to have found, in the spring-time of her life, the undeviating consistency, and the cool calculations of riper years, would have been to imagine her that "faultless monster whom the world ne'er saw." but, considering the situation in which she was placed--the persons by whom she was surrounded--the stormy temper of the age--the pious and deep-rooted prejudices of her subjects against the creed which she professed--the restless jealousy of the sovereign who reigned over the neighbouring and more powerful country of england--the unfortunate though not precipitate marriage with lord darnley,--it may be very safely asked, where there is to be found an example of so much moderation, prudence, and success, in one so recently introduced to the arduous cares of government? had mary been vain, headstrong, opinionative, and bigotted, she would never have yielded, as she did, to the current of popular opinion which then ran so tumultuously;--she would never have condescended to expostulate with knox,--she would never have been ruled by murray,--she would never have so easily forgiven injuries and stifled resentments. she was in truth only too facile. she submitted too tamely to the insolence of knox; she was too diffident of herself, and too willing to be swayed by murray; she was too ready to pardon those who had given her the justest cause of offence; she was too candid and open, too distrustful of her own capacity, too gentle, too generous, and too engaging. but if her faults consisted only in an excess of amiable qualities, or in those strong feelings which, though properly directed, were not always properly proportioned, the question naturally occurs, why the queen of scots should have suffered so much misery? "to say that she was always unfortunate," observes robertson, "will not account for that long and almost uninterrupted succession of calamities which befel her; we must likewise add, that she was often imprudent." here the historian first mistates the fact, and then draws an inference from that mistatement. no "long and uninterrupted succession of calamities" befel mary. she experienced an almost unparalleled reverse of fortune, but that reverse was sudden and complete. she sunk at once from a queen into a captive,--from power to weakness,--from splendor to obscurity. so long as she was permitted to be the arbitress of her own fortune, she met and overcame every difficulty; but when lawless and ambitious men wove their web around her, she was caught in it, and could never again escape from its meshes. had she stumbled on from one calamity to another, continuing all the while a free agent, robertson's remark would have been just. but such was not her case;--the morning saw her a queen, and the evening found her a captive. the blow was as sudden as it was decisive; and her future life was an ineffectual struggle to escape from the chains which had been thrown round her in a moment, and which pressed her irresistibly to the ground. a calamity which no foresight could anticipate, or prudence avert, may overtake the wisest and the best; and such to mary was the murder of darnley, and bothwell's subsequent treason and violence. if to these be added the scarcely less iniquitous conduct of elizabeth, the treachery of morton, the craftiness of murray, and the disastrous defeat at langside, it needs no research or ingenuity to discover, that her miseries were not of her own making. should a still more comprehensive view of this subject be taken, and the whole life of the queen of scots reviewed, from her birth to her death, it will be found that, however great her advantages, they were almost always counterbalanced by some evil, which necessarily attended or sprung out of them. she was a queen when only a few months old; but she was also an orphan. she was destined, from her earliest childhood, to be the wife of the future monarch of france; but she was, in consequence, taken away from her native country, and the arms of her mother. the power and talents of her uncles of guise were constantly exerted in her behalf; but she shared, therefore, in the hatred and jealousy in which they were held by a numerous party, both at home and abroad. her residence and education, at the court of henry ii., insured the refinement of her manners and the cultivation of her mind; but it excited the suspicions and the fears of the people of scotland. she was beautiful even to a proverb; but her beauty obtained for her as much envy as praise. she possessed the heart of her husband francis; but she only felt his loss the more acutely. she returned to her own kingdom as the queen-dowager of france; but her power and her pretensions made the english dread, and did not prevent her heretical subjects from openly braving, her authority. she married darnley in the hopes of brightening her prospects, and securing her happiness; but he was the main cause of overclouding the one, and destroying the other. she was freed, by his death, from the wayward caprices of his ill-governed temper; but she escaped from one yoke only to be forced into another a thousand times worse. she loved her brother, and loaded him with favours; but he repaid them by placing himself upon her throne, and chasing her from the country. she escaped into england; but there she met with reproaches instead of assistance, a prison instead of an asylum, a mortal enemy instead of a sister, an axe and a scaffold instead of sympathy and protection.[ ] mary's misfortunes, therefore, may be safely asserted not to have been the result of her imprudence or her errors. but justice is not satisfied with this merely negative praise. the queen of scots was one who needed only to have been prosperous, to be in the eyes of the world all that was great and good. and though the narrow-minded are only too ready, at all times, to triumph over the fallen, and to fancy, that where there is misery there is also guilt, they must nevertheless own, that there are some whose character only rises the higher, the more it is tried. if, on the one hand, the temptations to which mary was exposed be duly considered,--her youth,--the prejudices of her education,--and the designing ministers by whom she was surrounded;--and, on the other, her conduct towards the reformers, towards her enemies, towards her friends, towards all her subjects,--the deliberate judgment of calm impartiality, not of hasty enthusiasm, must be, that illustrious as her birth and rank were, she possessed virtues and talents which not only made her independent of the former, but raised her above them. in her better days, the vivacity and sweetness of her manners, her openness, her candour, her generosity, her polished wit, her extensive information, her cultivated taste, her easy affability, her powers of conversation, her native dignity and grace, were all conspicuous, though too little appreciated by the less refined frequenters of the scottish court. nor did she appear to less advantage in the season of calamity. on the contrary, she had an opportunity of displaying in adversity a fortitude and nobility of soul, which she herself might not have known that she possessed, had she been always prosperous. her piety and her constancy became more apparent in a prison than on a throne; and of none could it be said more truly than of her,--"_ponderibus virtus innata resistit_." in the glory of victory and the pride of success, it is easy for a conquering monarch to float down the stream of popularity; but it is a far more arduous task to gain a victory over the natural weaknesses of one's own nature, and, in the midst of sufferings, to triumph over one's enemies. mary did this; and was a thousand times more to be envied, when kneeling at her solitary devotions in the castle of fotheringhay, than elizabeth surrounded with all the heartless splendor of hampton court. as she laid her head upon the block, the dying graces threw upon her their last smiles; and the sublime serenity of her death was an argument in her favour, the force of which must be confessed by incredulity itself. mary was not destined to obtain the crown of england, but she gained instead the crown of martyrdom.[ ] "many of us," said the archbishop of bruges, who was appointed to preach mary's funeral sermon in the church of notre dame at paris, "many of us have seen in this very place the queen whom we now deplore, on her bridal morning and in her royal robes, so resplendent with jewels, that they shone like the light of day, or like her own beauty, which was more resplendent still. nothing was to be discovered around or within but embroidered hangings, and cloth of gold, and precious tapestry, and couches and thrones occupied by kings and queens, and princes and nobles, who had come from all parts to be present at the festival. in the palace were magnificent banquets, and pageants, and masquerades; in the streets and squares, joustings, tournaments, and processions. it seemed as if the overwhelming brilliancy of our age was destined to surpass the richest pomp of every preceding age,--even the times when greece and rome were in all their splendor. a brief space has passed away like a cloud, and we have seen _her_ a captive whom we saw in triumph,--a prisoner, who set the prisoners free,--poor, who gave away so liberally,--disdained, who was the fountain of honour. we have seen _her_, who was a two-fold queen, in the hands of a common executioner, and that fair form, which graced the nuptial couch of the greatest monarch in christendom, dishonoured on a scaffold. we have seen that loveliness, which was one of the wonders of the world, broken down by long captivity, and at length effaced by an ignominious death. if this fatal reverse teaches the uncertainty and vanity of all human things, the patience and incomparable fortitude of the queen we have lost, also teach a more profitable lesson, and afford a salutary consolation. every new calamity gave her an opportunity of gaining a new victory, and of evincing new proofs of her piety and constancy. it seems certain, indeed, that providence made her affliction conspicuous, only to make her virtue more conspicuous. others leave to their successors the care of building monuments, to preserve their name from oblivion; but the life and death of this lady are her monument. marble, and brass, and iron decay, or are devoured by rust; but in no age, however long the world may endure, will the memory of mary stuart, queen of scots, and dowager of france, cease to be cherished with affection and admiration."[ ] an examination of the letters, sonnets, and other writings, adduced in evidence against mary queen of scots. o place and greatness! millions of false eyes are stuck upon thee! volumes of report run with these false and most contrarious guests upon thy doings! thousand 'scapes of wit make thee the father of their idle dream, and rack thee in their fancies.---- shakespeare. considering the very opposite opinions which have been long entertained, regarding the character and conduct of the queen of scots, no memoirs of her life would be complete, that did not contain some examination of the evidence upon which they who believe her guilty principally rest their conviction. this evidence consists of eight letters, eleven love-sonnets, and one marriage contract, all alleged to have been written in the queen's own hand, and addressed to the earl of bothwell. in corroboration of these, another contract, said to have been written by the earl of huntly, and signed by the queen; and the confessions and depositions of some of the persons who were known to be implicated in bothwell's guilt, were likewise produced. of the letters, two were supposed to have been written from glasgow, at the time mary went thither to visit darnley when he was ill, and are intended to prove her criminal connection with bothwell; two or three from the kirk-of-field, for the purpose of facilitating the arrangements regarding the murder; and the rest after that event, and before her abduction, to show that the whole scheme of the pretended ravishment was preconcerted between them. the precise time at which it is pretended the sonnets were composed, does not appear; but expressions in them prove, that it must have been posterior to the queen's residence at dunbar. the contract of marriage, in mary's own hand, though without date, must have been written very soon after darnley's death, and contained a promise never to marry any one but bothwell. the contract, said to be in huntly's hand, was dated at seton, the th of april , eight weeks after darnley's death, a week before bothwell's trial and acquittal, and three weeks before he was divorced from his first wife. the confessions and depositions are various, but only in one or two of them is any allusion made to mary. the letters, sonnets, and contracts, were said to have been discovered in a small gilt coffer, which the earl of bothwell left in the castle of edinburgh, in the custody of sir james balfour, at the time he fled from edinburgh to borthwick, about a month after his marriage, and shortly before the affair at carberry hill. after his discomfiture there, he is stated to have sent his servant, dalgleish, into edinburgh from dunbar, to demand the coffer from balfour. sir james, it was said, delivered it up, but at the same time gave intimation to the earl of morton, who seized dalgleish, and made himself master of the box and its contents. the letters and sonnets, which were written in french, were afterwards all translated into scotch, and three into latin. anxious to put beyond a doubt, either the forgery or the authenticity of these writings, numerous authors have exercised their ingenuity and talents, in a most minute and laborious examination, not only of their leading features, but of every line, and almost of every word. it would seem, however, not to be necessary, in so far as the great interests of truth are concerned, to descend to such microscopic investigation, and tedious verbal criticism, as have extended pages into volumes, and rendered confused and tiresome, disquisitions which might otherwise have been simple and interesting. if mary's innocence is to be established, it must not be by the discovery of petty inconsistencies, or trifling inaccuracies. if her guilt is to be proved, the impartial reader is not to be satisfied with vague suspicions or ingenious suggestions, but must have a body of evidence set before him, which, if it does not amount to actual demonstration, contains a circumstantial strength equally calculated to convince. it may be observed, at the outset, that unless the conclusions, to which these writings would lead, be corroborated by the established facts of history, it cannot be expected that a great deal of weight will be attached to them. besides, it must not be forgotten, that as the originals have been lost, it is by means of translations alone that their alleged contents are known to the world. upon their authority, mary is accused of having first committed adultery, and then murder. whatever opinion may have been formed of her from her behaviour during the rest of her existence,--however gentle her dispositions may have appeared,--however strong her sense of the distinction between right and wrong,--however constant her religious principles,--however wise her government,--however excellent the culture of her mind,--if the letters are to be credited, the whole was either hypocrisy from beginning to end, or, (overcome by some sudden impulse,) a year of gross criminality was introduced into the very middle of a well spent life. if she made so rapid a descent into a career of vice, she as rapidly rose again; and reassuming the character she had laid aside, lived and died with the purity of a saint, and the fortitude of a martyr. it cannot therefore be upon slight grounds that evidence so fatal to her reputation is to be admitted; and there will be little necessity to engage in minute cavilling, or to enter upon points of minor importance, if, by a distinct statement of some of the leading arguments against its authenticity, the whole shall be made to appear nugatory, improbable, and unentitled to credit. the evidences naturally divide themselves into the two heads of _external_ and _internal_; and, without further preface, it will be best to consider these in succession. the external evidences.--it was on the th of june , that dalgleish was seized, with the box and writings. the official account given by buchanan is,--"that in the castle of edinburgh there was left by the earl bothwell, before his flying away, and was sent for by one george dalgleish, his servant, who was taken by the earl of morton, a small gilt coffer, not fully a foot long, being garnished in sundry places with the roman letter f, under a king's crown, wherein were certain letters and writings well known, and by oaths, to be affirmed to have been written with the queen of scots own hand, to the earl of bothwell."[ ] the question to be decided is, whether these letters and writings are genuine, or whether they can be proved to be fabrications? that the latter is the correct conclusion, appears on the following grounds. _first_, the conduct of murray, morton, and others of the scottish nobility, on various occasions, proves that ambition was the ruling passion of their lives. murray's iniquitous extermination of the gordons in , the influence he afterwards exercised in mary's councils, and his unjustifiable opposition to her marriage with darnley, carried even the length of open rebellion, illustrate his character no less clearly, than the share he had in the murder of rizzio, and his proceedings after the meeting at carberry hill, do that of morton. a train of events, arising out of the audacious machinations of bothwell, placed mary at the disposal of men thus devoted to the attainment of power. yielding to their irresistible desire to secure its possession, they first imprisoned, and then dethroned their sovereign. she escaped from their hands, and, though driven from the country, threatened to return with foreign aid, to place herself at the head of her own party, which was still powerful, and to force from them their usurped authority. the urgency of the case called for a bold and decisive remedy. if mary could prove, as there was no doubt she could, that, according to all the facts yet before the world, she had suffered severely and unjustly, they must either fall upon some means to vindicate their own actions, or be ruined for ever. nothing would more naturally suggest itself than the expedient they adopted. the circumstance of mary having been actually married to the man who murdered her former husband, opened a door to the very worst suspicions; and if they could artfully conceal the events which led to the marriage, and which not only justified it, but made it a matter of necessity, they hoped still to retain possession of the government. they were aware, indeed, that by their own proclamations and acts of council, they had acknowledged mary's innocence, and pointed out the real cause of her connection with bothwell; and it was now not enough, after they had involved themselves in deeper responsibility, merely to retract their former allegations. they were called upon to show _why_ they departed from them;--they were called upon to prove, that when they first imprisoned her, though they confessed the queen was innocent, they were now satisfied she was guilty. there was a positive necessity for the appearance of the letters; and if they had not been fortunately discovered, just at the proper time, murray and his colleagues must either have had recourse to some other expedient, or have consented to mary's restoration, and their own disgrace. _second_, that mary may have written love-letters to francis ii., and to darnley, before and after she was married to them, is not unlikely; that she wrote sonnets and letters of affection to many of her friends, both male and female, is beyond a doubt; but that she would ever have written such letters and sonnets to the earl of bothwell, whom she never loved, whom she at one time threw into prison, and at another sent into banishment, whom she knew to be a married man, and whose marriage she had herself countenanced and encouraged, is against all probability. if bothwell had never become mary's husband, history does not record one circumstance, which would at all lead to the belief, that she was attached to him. her very marriage, when fairly and fully considered, only makes the fact more certain, that she had no regard for bothwell, else there would have been no forcible abduction on his part, or pretended reluctance on hers. even though she had consented to marry bothwell, which the clearest evidence proves her not to have done, it would afford no presumption against her, that he was afterwards discovered to have been the murderer of darnley. he had not only been legally acquitted, but all her chief nobility had recommended him to her as a husband, stating the grounds of their recommendation to be the high opinion they entertained of his worth and loyalty. robertson, laing, and others, it is true, copying buchanan, have laboured to show, that mary discovered in various ways her extreme partiality for bothwell. most of their arguments have been already considered elsewhere; but it will be worth while attending for a moment to such of the circumstances collected by robertson, and drawn up in formidable array, in the "critical dissertation" subjoined to his history of scotland, as have not yet been noticed. the answers and explanations which immediately suggest themselves are so entirely satisfactory, that we can only wonder the historian did not himself perceive them. robertson states, that on the th of february , five days after the murder, mary bestowed on bothwell the reversion of the superiority of the town of leith, and that this grant was of much importance, as it gave him both the command of the principal port in the kingdom, and a great ascendancy over the citizens of edinburgh. but this assignation, as is expressly stated in the charter, was made to bothwell as a reward for his faithful services, both to mary's mother and to herself, especially on the occasion of rizzio's death, and must have been in contemplation for some time; nor can it be supposed to have occupied the queen's thoughts, at a moment when she was refusing to see any one, and was shut up by herself in a dark room, a prey to the bitterest regrets. it ought to be recollected, besides, that she had not yet conferred on bothwell any adequate recompense for his fidelity and exertions after her escape from morton; and that the grant of the superiority of the town of leith, was only a very tardy acknowledgment of her obligations. she made presents of a similar description to others of her nobility about the same time: if any of them had afterwards forced her into a marriage, these gifts might have been raked up with equal plausibility, to prove that she was then in love with morton, huntly, secretary maitland, or any body else. at the parliament which assembled on the th of april , ratifications of grants were passed to many of the principal persons in the realm; and among others to the earl of mar, morton, crawford, caithness, and lord robert stuart.[ ] it will not be asserted, that mary was attached to any of these persons; and is there any thing wonderful that she included in the list of those to whom she made donations, her lord high admiral? the case, no doubt, would have been worse, had she known that bothwell was the murderer of darnley, but throughout the whole of this discussion, it must be remembered, that if mary was really innocent, she could not believe bothwell guilty till he had been actually proved so. robertson states further, that two days after the trial, mary allowed bothwell to carry the sceptre before her when she went to open the parliament; that she there granted him a ratification of all the vast possessions and honours which she had conferred upon him; and that, when sir james melville warned her of the danger which would attend a marriage with that nobleman, she not only disregarded his admonition, but discovered to bothwell what had passed. but, as to the carrying of the sceptre, it was surely not to be expected, that after a full acquittal, without even the shadow of evidence being advanced against him, mary could have ventured to refuse his accustomed honours to the most powerful noble in the realm. as to the parliamentary ratification of "all the vast possessions and honours which she had conferred upon him," the misrepresentation is glaring in the extreme; for she never conferred on bothwell any vast possessions and honours, and the ratification alluded only to certain lands which were given him, to defray his charges in keeping the castle of dunbar.[ ] bothwell no doubt enjoyed "vast possessions and honours;" but they were mostly hereditary, or had been obtained by him before mary came into the kingdom. and as to the manner in which mary took sir james melville's warning,--the facts were these:--sir james received a letter out of england, from a person of the name of bishop, telling him that it had been rumoured (and there is no wonder, considering the bond which had been previously obtained from the nobility) that bothwell was to be married to her majesty, and assuring him, that if she consented to such an alliance, it would be much against her own reputation and interest. when sir james showed this letter to mary, she immediately sent, not for bothwell, but for secretary maitland, to whom she handed it, expressing her surprise at its contents, and her suspicion that it was only a device on the part of some of bothwell's enemies, who wished to ruin him in her estimation. she afterwards took an opportunity to speak of it to bothwell himself, who affected to be highly indignant, and was so enraged against melville, that, had not mary interfered, he would have forced him to fly from the court to save his life. bothwell's rage is easily accounted for, considering the designs he then had in view, and the necessity for concealing them. but had he known that mary was disposed to favour them, he would of course have taken the whole matter much more coolly. when melville came upon the subject with mary, she assured him that she did not contemplate any such alliance, and she had in like manner previously told lord herries, that "there was no such thing in her mind."[ ] if deductions like those of robertson, so contrary to the premises on which they are founded, be allowed, it is impossible to say to what belief they may not be made to lead. robertson states, lastly, that even after mary had been separated from bothwell, and confined in loch-leven, her affection for him did not abate; and that the fair conclusion from all these circumstances is, that had mary really been accessory to the murder of her husband, "she could scarcely have taken any other steps than those she took, nor could her conduct have been more repugnant to all the maxims of prudence or of decency." but that mary's affection for a man she had never loved, continued after she had left him to his fate, at carberry hill, and gone publicly over in the face of the whole world to his bitterest enemies, (on whose authority alone robertson's assertion is made, though expressly contradicted by their own previous declarations, as well as by mary's statements whenever she regained her liberty), is not to be believed; and had she been really innocent, "she could scarcely have taken any other steps than those she took," nor could her conduct have been more accordant with all the maxims of prudence and propriety. _third_, supposing mary to have actually written the letters to bothwell, it may very fairly be asked,--why he was so imprudent as preserve them?--why he chose to keep only eight?--why he put them all into the same box?--and why he should ever have intrusted that box to the custody of sir james balfour? it is extremely difficult to answer satisfactorily any of these questions. the only explanation which the first admits of, is, that bothwell was afraid lest mary should afterwards quarrel with him, and resolved therefore not to destroy the evidence of her participation in the murder. but if he acted upon this principle, why did he limit himself to a collection of eight letters? if mary ever corresponded with him at all, he must have had in his possession many more of her epistles; for the first of the series which has been preserved, is evidently not the letter of one commencing a correspondence, but of one who writes as a matter of course, to a person whom she has often written to before. it may be said, perhaps, that none of her previous letters bore upon the subject of darnley's murder; but they must at all events have contained expressions of affection, which would have served as an indirect proof of her guilt. if, by preserving these documents, and running the risk of their falling into the hands of his enemies, who would so eagerly use them to his disadvantage, bothwell thought he was choosing the least of two dangers, he would certainly have been anxious to make his evidence of mary's connexion with him as full and complete as possible. accordingly, some love-sonnets, and a contract of marriage, were said to have been put into the same box, but only eight letters; as if, during the whole course of his amour with the queen, and all its anxious days and nights, she had limited herself to eight epistolary testimonials of her love. but having preserved them, and having limited their number to eight, and having chosen to put them, not into a strong iron box locked and pad-locked, of which he alone kept the key, but into a "small gilt coffer" which never belonged to him at all, but had been a gift to mary from her first husband francis,--why was he so very absurd as send them to sir james balfour in the castle of edinburgh, at the very time that a rebellion was rising in the nation, and that he was beginning to suspect balfour's fidelity? they were sent, we are informed, "before his flying away" from edinburgh, in the beginning of june . was this the moment at which he would be disposed to part with writings he had so carefully treasured? if he was afraid that his enemies would advance upon edinburgh, why did he not take the "small gilt coffer" with him to dunbar, instead of sending it to the very place where it was sure to become their prey? if the letters were in truth forged, it was necessary for the forgers to concoct as plausible a story concerning them as possible. they knew it was not likely that bothwell would send them to the castle tied up as an open packet; and the idea of a box would therefore occur to them. but as they had not in their possession any box which belonged to bothwell, they were forced to make use of what they could get; and finding at holyrood, when they rifled the palace of most of the queen's valuables, the coffer in question, they would readily avail themselves of it. it would further occur to them, that bothwell could not be supposed to have left the letters at holyrood, which was not a place of any strength; and as they had not followed him to dunbar, they were obliged to give out that he had made the castle of edinburgh their hiding-place. but if the letters had not been forgeries, and if they had been really preserved by bothwell, they would have been more numerous,--they would not have been kept in one of mary's trinket-boxes,--and they would never have found their way out of his own hands into the custody of sir james balfour. _fourth_, the next improbability connected with this story, is, that bothwell sent to reclaim the letters at the time alleged. on the th of september , murray, before going into england, to attend the conference at york, gave the earl of morton a receipt for the "silver box, overgilt with gold, with all missive letters, contracts or obligations for marriage, sonnets or love ballads, and all other letters contained therein, sent and passed betwixt the queen and james, sometime earl bothwell; which box, and whole pieces within the same, were taken and found with umwhile george dalgleish, servant to the said earl bothwell, upon the th day of june, in the year of god ."[ ] this, then, was exactly five days after bothwell had fled from carberry hill, and when edinburgh was in the possession of the opposite faction, with whom sir james balfour had now associated himself. dalgleish, it appears, who was well known to be a servant of bothwell, was able not only to effect an entrance into edinburgh, though the city was strictly guarded, but was received into the castle, and had the box actually delivered to him by balfour. how he happened to be afterwards discovered, and his property taken from him, is not made out. if balfour privately intimated to morton what he had done, then he at once acted knavishly towards bothwell, and most inconsiderately towards those whom he wished to befriend; for dalgleish might have either baffled pursuit, or he might have secreted the box, or destroyed its contents before he was taken. thus we have a tissue of improbabilities, pervading the whole of this part of the narrative. bothwell could never send to edinburgh castle for writings he would never have deposited there: and most especially he would never send, when he himself was a fugitive, and that fortress, along with the adjacent town, in the hands of his enemies. nor would balfour have surrendered a box so precious; nor, if he did, would dalgleish have allowed it again to become the prey of those from whom it was most wished to conceal it. _fifth_, what was done with the letters immediately after morton and the other lords got possession of them? bothwell had been already accused of the murder of darnley; his former acquittal had been declared unjust; he had been separated from the queen; and she herself had been sequestrated in loch-leven, until the whole affair should be duly investigated. surely, then, the discovery of these letters would be regarded with signal satisfaction, and the associated lords would lose not a moment in announcing their existence to the nation, as the best justification of their own proceedings. they had sent mary, it is true, to loch-leven, somewhat precipitately, five days before they were aware of her enormous guilt; but if their own ambition had prompted that step, they would now be able to free themselves from blame, and would silence at once the boldest of the queen's defenders. as it appears by the records, that a meeting of privy council was held on the st of june, the very day after dalgleish was seized, we shall surely find that all the papers were produced, and their contents impressively recorded in the council-books. nothing of the kind took place; and though morton was present at the meeting, not a single word was said of the letters.[ ] again, on the th of june, an act was passed for sanctioning the imprisonment of the queen in loch-leven, and a proclamation issued for apprehending the earl of bothwell; but though the latter was accused of having "treasonably ravished" the person of her highness the queen, and also of being the "principal author of the late cruel murder," no hint was given of the evidence which had been recently discovered against him, and which, indeed, had it been in their possession, would have directly contradicted the assertion, that bothwell had been guilty of "treasonable ravishment," or of keeping the queen in "thraldom and bondage;" for it would have appeared, that he had obtained her previous consent for every thing he had done.[ ] between this date and the th of july, several other meetings of council were held, and acts published, but not a whisper was heard concerning these important letters. when sir nicolas throckmorton was sent by elizabeth, as her ambassador into scotland, the lords presented him, on the th of july, with a formal justification of their doings; but, in all that long and laboured paper, the letters were never once alluded to. on the contrary, in direct opposition to them, such passages as the following occur more than once:--"how shamefully the queen, our sovereign, was led captive, and, by fear, force, and (as by many conjectures may be well suspected) other extraordinary and more unlawful means, compelled to become bed-fellow to another wife's husband, and to him who, not three months before, had in his bed most cruelly murdered her husband, is manifest to the world, to the great dishonour of her majesty, us all, and this whole nation."--"it behoved us, assuredly, to have recommended the soul of our prince, and of the most part of ourselves, to god's hands; and as we may firmly believe the soul also of our sovereign the queen, who should not have lived with him half a year to an end, as may be conjectured by the short time they lived together, and the maintaining of his other wife at home in his house."--"the respects aforesaid, with many others, and very necessity, moved us to enterprise the quarrel we have in hand, which was only intended against the earl of bothwell's person, to dissolve the dishonourable and unlawful conjunction under the name of marriage."[ ] these are positive declarations, which not only bear no reference to the box of love-letters, but which deliberately and conclusively give the lie to their contents. when was it, then, that these momentous letters were introduced to the world? the lords, not satisfied with "sequestrating the person" of the queen, forced from her an abdication of her throne on the th of july. surely, before venturing on so audacious a proceeding, these criminal writings would be made known to the country. but no; we in vain expect to hear any thing of them;--"shadows, clouds, and darkness" still rest upon them. at length, a fresh actor returned to that scene, in which he had formerly played with so much success; and _his_ inventive genius brought the mystery to light. early in august, the earl of murray rejoined his old associates; and on the d of that month, he was proclaimed regent. it was necessary for him, shortly afterwards, to hold a parliament; and the queen's party being then almost as strong as his own, it was still more necessary for him to fall upon some means to justify his usurpation, as well as those severe proceedings against mary to which he had given his sanction. accordingly, after he had been in scotland four months, and had cautiously prepared his body of written evidence, we find it mentioned, _for the first time_, in an act of council, passed on the th of december, only ten days before the meeting of parliament, and evidently in anticipation of that event. in this act it is expressly declared, "that the cause and occasion of the private conventions of the lords, barons and others, and consequently their taking of arms, and coming to the field, and the cause and occasion of the taking of the queen's person, upon the th day of june last, and holding and detaining of the same within the house and place of loch leven, continually since, presently, and in all time coming, and generally all other things invented, spoken, or written by them since the th day of february last, (upon which day umwhile king henry was shamefully and horribly murdered), unto the day and date hereof, touching the queen's person, cause, and all things depending thereon, was in the said queen's own default, in as far as, by diverse her privy letters, written and subscribed with her own hand, and sent by her to james earl of bothwell, chief executor of the said horrible murder, as well before the committing thereof as after, and by her ungodly and dishonourable proceeding in a private marriage with him, suddenly and unprovisedly thereafter, it is most certain that she was privy, art and part, and of the actual device and deed of the forementioned murder."[ ] the ensuing parliament passed an act, which, after a preamble expressed in nearly the same words, sanctioned the queen's imprisonment and murray's regency;[ ] and nothing more whatever is known or heard of these "privy letters," till nearly the end of the following year, . with regard to these acts of council and parliament, it is to be remarked, in the first place, that they refer to the letters as the grounds upon which the nobles took up arms, separated the queen from bothwell at carberry hill, and imprisoned her at loch-leven; although, according to a subsequent confession, the letters were not discovered till after she had been in captivity for five days, and although, in all the proclamations and acts of the time, mary's innocence was openly allowed, and the bondage in which she had been kept by bothwell as openly proclaimed. it is to be remarked, in the second place, that no account is given, either of the contents of these letters, of the time of their discovery, or of the evidence by which their authenticity was ascertained. dalgleish was at the very moment in custody, and a few days afterwards was tried and executed for his share in darnley's death, of which he made a full confession. but why was he not brought forward and examined concerning the letters; and why is there not a word about them in his confession?[ ] why was dalgleish never mentioned as having any connection with the letters at all till after he was dead? and if it was originally intended to refer to the letters as the authorities on which the lords sent mary to loch-leven, may it not be fairly concluded, that the idea of their having been taken from dalgleish on the th of june, was an after-thought, when it became necessary to account for the manner in which they had fallen into their hands? was it, besides, enough to satisfy the nation to allude, in vague and general terms, to the existence of documents of so much weight? if they were thus obscurely locked up in murray's custody,--if nothing further was said about them but that they existed,--if all the nobility of scotland were not requested to come and examine them,--if they were not printed and published that the people might see them, and feel convinced that the lords had acted justly, can it be cause of wonder, that, not only all mary's friends, but even elizabeth herself, intimated doubts of their authenticity? _sixth_, if it is strange that these important writings were so long kept from the public eye, it is no less strange, that, when they were at length produced, a degree of caution and hesitation was observed regarding them not a little suspicious. if the regent had been satisfied of their authenticity, he would fearlessly have exhibited them to all who were interested in their contents. even allowing that he had a fair excuse for concealing them so long, he would have been eager to challenge for them, when he at last determined to bring them forward, the minutest examination, so that the most sceptical might be convinced they were genuine. if he acted honestly, and, on the authority of these writings, believed his sister unworthy of continuing on the scottish throne, he must have been anxious that the whole country should acknowledge the propriety of his conduct; or if he had himself been misled, he ought not to have been unwilling to have had the forgery pointed out to him, and mary restored to the government. but we look in vain for any thing frank, open, and candid, in murray's proceedings. when the conference began at york, there was not a word said of the letters, till it was found that, without their aid, no plausible answer could be given to the complaints made by mary. even then they were not boldly produced, and openly laid before the commissioners; but maitland, macgill, wood, and buchanan, were sent to hold a "private and secret conference" with norfolk and his colleagues, in which they produced the letters and other papers, and asked their opinion concerning them.[ ] as soon as elizabeth was informed of their contents, she removed the conference to westminster; and mary sent her commissioners thither, still ignorant of the alleged existence of any such writings. it was not till the th of december that the letters made their appearance in an official manner. as elizabeth herself, departing from the impartiality of an umpire, had already secretly encouraged their production, and as she had evidently entered into murray's views regarding them, there was now surely no further trepidation or concealment. but what is the fact? on only _two_ occasions were the originals of these writings ever shown; and on neither occasion does their authenticity appear to have been at all determined. on the th of december, "they produced seven several writings, written in french, and avowed by them to be written by the said queen; which seven writings being copied, were read in french, and a due collation made thereof, as near as could be, by reading and inspection, and made to accord with the originals, which the said earl of murray required to be re-delivered, and did thereupon deliver the copies, being collationed."[ ] here, therefore, nothing was done except comparing copies with what were called originals, to see that they agreed. these copies were left in the hands of the commissioners, and the originals, by whoever they were written, were immediately returned to murray. on the th of december, they again made their appearance, for the second and last time; "and being read, were duly conferred and compared, for the manner of writing and fashion of orthography, with sundry other letters, long since heretofore written, and sent by the said queen of scots to the queen's majesty."[ ] was this all the proof that was offered? yes; the whole. elizabeth, who was no less anxious than murray himself to blacken the character of the queen of scots, was allowed to supply the letters with which the other writings were to be compared; and, for any thing that is known to the contrary, these "other letters, long since heretofore written," were only a few more forgeries from the same hand, prepared for the very use to which they were applied. and be this as it may, is it likely that, by a hasty collation of this kind, any accurate decision could be formed; or that, in a single forenoon, a number of different individuals could come to a conclusion on so very nice a point as a comparison of hands, especially having before them so great a number of documents to decide upon? it is a maxim in law, that "_fallacissimum genus probandi sit per comparationem litterarum_;" and surely the fallaciousness of such a proof was not diminished by the hasty examination given to them by some english nobles, probably unacquainted previously with the writing of the queen of scots. but could mary herself, it will be asked, refuse to acknowledge her own hand? her commissioners would of course be allowed to see the original letters; if not the whole, at least some of them, would be given to them, that they might transmit them to their mistress; and she being either unable to deny them, would confess her guilt, or, perceiving them to be fabrications, would point out the proofs. but nothing of all this was done. mary's commissioners were not present at the only meetings at which the originals were produced; and when they afterwards applied for a sight of them, or for copies, they were put off from time to time till the conference was dissolved, and murray sent back to scotland. "suppose a man," says tytler, "was to swear a debt against me, and offered to prove it by bond or bill of my handwriting; if i knew this bond to be a false writing, what would be my defence? show me the bond itself, and i will prove it a forgery. if he withdrew the bond, and refused to let me see it, what would be the presumption? surely that the bond was forged, and that the user was himself the forger. the case is precisely similar to the point in hand. the queen, we have seen, repeatedly demands to see the principal writings themselves, which she asserts are forged. elizabeth herself says the demand is most reasonable. what follows? is this reasonable demand of mary complied with? far from it; so far from seeing or having inspection of the originals, even copies of them are refused to her and her commissioners."[ ] under these circumstances, and as the writings were seen only twice by a few of the english nobility, and then locked up again in murray's box, that they once existed may perhaps be granted, but that they were what they pretended to be, cannot be believed to have been ever proved. _seventh_, having effected the purpose they were meant to achieve, it might have been expected that these letters would be carefully preserved in the public archives of the scottish nation;--that, as they had been the means of bringing about a revolution in the country, they would be regarded not as private, but as public property;--and that murray would be anxious to lodge them where they might be referred to, both by his cotemporaries and posterity, as documents with which his own reputation, no less than that of his sister, was indissolubly connected. here again, however, the impartial inquirer is disappointed. the regent appears to have kept these writings close in his own possession till his death, and they then fell into the hands of his successor, the earl of lennox. towards the end of january , lennox delivered them to morton; and after morton's execution, the box and its contents became the property of the earl of gowrie. knowing that he would be less anxious to maintain their authenticity, not being influenced by any of the motives which had actuated murray, lennox, and morton, and fearing lest the whole trick should be discovered, elizabeth became now very anxious to obtain them. she ordered her ambassador in scotland, in , to promise gowrie, that if he would surrender them, he should "be requited to his comfort and contentment, with princely thanks and gratuity." but gowrie was neither to be bribed nor persuaded; he knew the value of the papers too well, and the power which their possession gave him, both over james and elizabeth. as long as they befriended him, he would be silent; but should he ever be cast off by them, he would proclaim their fabrication, and remove the stains they had cast upon mary's honour. elizabeth's earnest endeavours to get them into her own possession can be accounted for, only on the supposition that she knew them to be forgeries; for it was in that case alone, that any dangerous use could have been made of them. subsequent to the correspondence with gowrie, in , nothing further is known of these writings. in , gowrie was executed as a traitor, on account of the conspiracy in which he had engaged, and many of his effects fell into the hands of james vi.; but whether these documents were among them, is uncertain. in so far as the originals are concerned, this celebrated body of evidence is little else than a mere shadow. it was never spoken of at all, till long after it had been discovered,--it was not produced till long after it had been first spoken of,--it appeared only for a few hours before persons predisposed to give it all credit,--it then returned to its former obscurity, and not even _copies_ but merely _translations_, are all that were ever presented to the world, on which to form an opinion. it is strange that any importance should have ever been attached to papers, which were never fairly exposed to the light, and which the jaws of darkness so soon devoured.[ ] _eighth_, though it would be perhaps as difficult to prove a negative, as to demonstrate the spuriousness of writings which do not exist, and which were hardly ever seen, the presumption against them is increased a hundred-fold, if it can be clearly established, that the same men who produced them were more than once guilty of deliberate forgery. this could be done in many instances; but it will be enough to mention two, which are sufficiently glaring. the first is the letter which morton exhibited before mary was taken to loch-leven, and which was never afterwards referred to or produced, even at the time when evidence of all kinds was raked up against her. it was a letter which would not only have gone a great way to corroborate the others, but, as it did not implicate the queen in darnley's murder, was exactly the sort of apology that was wished for keeping her "sequestrated" at loch-leven, and forcing from her an abdication. even though all the other epistles had been kept back, this might have been safely engrossed in the minutes of morton's privy council, and referred to again and again by the king's lords, as the great justification of their conduct. if by any chance a reason could be found, why it was first produced, and again concealed, it would still be impossible to discover why it alone was withdrawn, when all the rest were laid before elizabeth. there is but one solution of the enigma, which is, that it was too hasty a fabrication to bear minute examination, and that, though it misled kircaldy of grange, morton and murray were themselves ashamed of it. a second and even more remarkable example of forgery is to be found in one of the papers which murray showed to the english commissioners at york, but which he afterwards thought it prudent to withdraw when the writings were more publicly produced at westminster. this paper was described as,--"the queen's consent given to the lords who subscribed the bond for the promotion of the said james earl bothwell to her marriage."[ ] in the "private and secret conference," which lethington, macgill, wood, and buchanan, had with the commissioners at york; "they showed unto us," say the latter, "a copy of a band, bearing date the th of april , to the which the most part of the lords and counsellors of scotland have put to their hands; and, as they say, more for fear than any liking they had of the same. which band contained two special points,--the one a declaration of bothwell's purgation of the murder of the lord darnley, and the other a general consent to his marriage with the queen, so far forth as the law and her own liking should allow. and yet, in proof that they did it not willingly, they procured a warrant which was now showed unto us, bearing date the th of april, signed with the queen's hand, whereby she gave them license to agree to the same; affirming, that before they had such a warrant, there was none of them that did or would set to their hands, saving only the earl of huntly."[ ] this must have been a very curious and interesting warrant; and it is somewhat surprising, that it had never been heard of before. it was a very strong link in the chain; and spoke volumes of mary's love for bothwell, which carried her so far that she not only secretly wished, but openly requested her nobles to recommend him to her as a husband. besides, if the warrant was genuine, it must have been seen by all the lords who were present at "ainsly's supper;" and they must have been consequently well aware that there was no such thing as a forcible abduction of the queen's person. so far from supposing that bothwell ever kept her in "unlawful bondage," or forced her into a "pretended marriage," they would know that she had shown greater anxiety to possess him than he had to secure her. their only wonder would be, that after so far overcoming the natural modesty of her sex, as to point out to them one of her own subjects, whom she asked them to advise her to marry, she should so palpably have contradicted herself, as to give out afterwards that it was not till she had been carried off, and till every argument had been used which power could supply, or passion suggest, that she reluctantly agreed to become his wife. if she openly and formally licensed her nobles to recommend him, what was the use of all her subsequent affected reluctance? but it was not murray's business to explain this problem. the warrant spoke for itself, and it was with it only that he had to do. what, then, were the comments which he made on it at westminster, and the conclusive presumptions against mary which he drew from it? _the "warrant" was not produced at westminster at all, and not a single allusion was made to it._[ ] this fact alone is sufficient to mark the credit it deserves. it could do no harm to show it privately to norfolk, sussex, and sadler; but it would not have answered so well to have advanced it publicly, as all the nobility of scotland would at once have known it to be a fabrication. the probability is, that this "warrant," or "consent," was neither more nor less than a garbled copy of the pardon which bothwell obtained from mary, for the lords who had signed the bond, when he brought her out of the castle of edinburgh on the th of may, the day previous to her marriage; and she would never have been asked for this pardon if she had before recommended the bond.[ ] if murray and his party are thus detected in fabrications so gross, that they themselves, however anxious to bolster up their cause, were afraid to make use of them, what dependence is to be placed upon the authenticity of any writings they chose to produce? _ninth_, it was bothwell who murdered darnley; it was bothwell who seized the person of the queen; it was bothwell who was married to her; it was bothwell whose daring ambition waded through blood and crime, till at length he set his foot upon a throne. but his triumph was of short duration. the queen left him, and went over to his enemies; and he himself was forced into a miserable exile. it was this reverse of fortune which he had all along dreaded; and it was to be prepared for the evil day, that he had preserved the eight letters and love-sonnets so carefully in the small gilt box. he had determined, that whatever might happen, he should never lose his hold over mary, but that, as she had participated in his guilt, she should be made to share his subsequent fortunes. he cannot have been well pleased with her conduct at carberry hill; and it was perhaps to revenge himself upon her, that he sent dalgleish for the casket, part of the contents of which he may have intended to disclose to the world. dalgleish and the casket were seized, but the secret of mary's criminality was still in bothwell's possession; and there was surely no occasion that he should become odious in the eyes of all men, whilst his paramour and accomplice preserved her reputation. did he never, then, throughout the whole course of his life, utter a word, or issue a declaration, or make a confession which in the slightest degree implicated mary? it is surely a strong presumption in her favour if he never did. before darnley was murdered, bothwell went to meet morton at whittingham, to consult him on the subject. morton told him, that unless he could produce proof, under the queen's hand, of her consent to have her husband removed, he would not interfere in the matter. before going to whittingham, bothwell must have received the two letters which mary is alleged to have written to him from glasgow; _yet he was unable to show morton any writing to corroborate his assertion, that the queen would not be offended at the proposed murder_. he promised, however, that he would do all he could to procure the warrant which morton desired. some time afterwards, "i being at st andrews," says morton in his confession, "to visit the earl of angus a little before the murder, mr archibald douglas came to me there, both with write and credit of the earl bothwell, to show unto me that the purpose of the king's murder was to be done, and near a point; and to request my concurrence and assistance thereunto. my answer to him was, that i would give no answer to that purpose, seeing i had not got the queen's warrant in write, which was promised; and therefore, seeing the earl bothwell never reported any warrant of the queen to me, i never meddled further with it."[ ] as all that morton wished, before giving bothwell his active support, was "the queen's hand-write of the matter for a warrant," what would have been more natural or easy for bothwell than to have produced any of the letters he had got from mary, which would exactly have answered the purpose, and satisfied all morton's scruples? as bothwell told him that the queen approved of the design, he could not have any objection to make good that assertion, by any written evidence in his possession. he need not even have shown the whole of any one letter, but only such detached parts of it as bore directly on the subject in question. it is strange, that bothwell should have gone so far, and should have been so anxious to secure the co-operation of morton; yet, that he did not obviate the only objection which morton started, by putting into his hands a letter, or letters, which, if they ever existed, he must have then had.[ ] various occasions occurred afterwards, which held out every inducement to bothwell to produce the letters and accuse the queen. passing over his silence at carberry hill, notwithstanding her desertion of him there, and during all the rest of the time that he remained in scotland, it may be mentioned, that murray, shortly after he had been appointed regent, wrote to the king of denmark, to request that bothwell should be delivered up to him. the king refused, on several grounds, and among others, that bothwell maintained he had been unjustly driven from the kingdom,--that he had been legally tried and acquitted,--that he had been lawfully married to the queen,--and that _no blame whatever attached to her_.[ ] not at all satisfied with this answer, mr thomas buchanan was afterwards sent out to denmark, to procure, if possible, bothwell's surrender. buchanan, of course, made himself acquainted with all that bothwell had been saying and doing, since he fled from scotland; and in january , he sent home a full account of his discoveries to his constituents. the letter was addressed to the earl of lennox, who was then regent; but it fell first into the earl of morton's hands, who was at the time in london. perceiving that it contained matter by no means favourable to their cause, and afraid lest it might produce some effect on the mind of elizabeth, he played the same game with her he had formerly been so successful in with mary, and passed off upon her a garbled copy as a genuine transcript of the original. "we had no will," the earl of morton wrote to lennox, "that the contents of the letter should be known, fearing that some words and matters mentioned in the same being dispersed here as news, would rather have hindered than furthered our cause. and, therefore, being desired at court to show the letter, we gave to understand that we had sent the principal away, and delivered a copy, omitting such things as we thought not meet to be shown, as your grace may perceive by the like copy, which also we have sent you herewith; which you may communicate to such as your grace thinks it not expedient to communicate the whole contents of the principal letter unto."[ ] both the original despatch and the spurious copy have unfortunately been lost, or were more probably destroyed by lennox himself; so that their contents can only be conjectured; but it is evident, that so far from tending to hurt mary's reputation, they must rather have served to exculpate her. in the year , mary wrote to the archbishop of glasgow, that she had received intelligence of bothwell's death, and that, before his decease, he had declared himself the murderer of darnley, and expressly freed her from any share in it, attesting her innocence in the most solemn manner. "if this be true," mary added, "this testimony will be of great importance to me against the false calumnies of my enemies. i therefore beseech you to take every means in your power to discover the real state of the case."[ ] the archbishop proposed, in consequence, to send a messenger to denmark, to procure a properly authenticated copy of the testament, but for want of money and other causes, it appears that he was never able to carry his intentions into effect. the confession was transmitted to elizabeth by the king of denmark, but its publication was anxiously suppressed by her;[ ] and is now lost. its place, however, has been not unsatisfactorily supplied by a discovery which has recently been made in the royal library at drottningholm, entitled, a "declaration of the earl of bothwell," made by him when a prisoner at copenhagen in the year . it contains a full account of all the principal events of his past life; and though it was written, not as a confession, but as a justification, and is consequently an artful piece of special pleading in his own defence, and not always particularly accurate in its detail of facts, it cannot fail nevertheless to be regarded as an interesting and important document. one thing is especially to be remarked, that throughout the whole, he never attempts in the most distant manner to implicate mary in the blame attachable to his own conduct. on the contrary, he speaks of her throughout with the utmost respect. it may be said, that if bothwell had accused mary, he could not have defended himself, and that he abstained only from a selfish motive. there were, however, a thousand different degrees of responsibility with which he might have charged mary. there was no necessity to have accused her of the murder of darnley, or of a criminal attachment to him; but if it had been the truth, it would certainly have been for his own interest, to have proved that the queen loved him sincerely and warmly. even this he does not venture to state; and the impression left by the whole tone of the declaration unquestionably is, that he felt it would be for his advantage to say as little about mary as possible, knowing that, of all others he had offended most against her, and that to attempt to cast any imputation upon her innocence, would be only to throw a darker shade over his own villany.[ ] _tenth._--some historians have ventured to assert, that however little credit they might be disposed to give to the statements of such men as murray and morton, they have been somewhat startled to find that mary herself never denied them very positively, or evinced much indignation against them. these historians cannot have looked very deeply into the records on this subject, else they would have found that the fact was exactly the reverse of what they suppose it to have been. "and yet is there one injury more," says bishop lesley, "that doth grieve and molest this good guiltless lady more than all their foretold villanous pranks played by them against her, and surely not without just cause of grief; for, indeed, it far passeth and exceedeth them all, and that is, their shameful and most traitorous defaming her, being altogether innocent therein, with the death of her husband, as though that she had suborned the earl of bothwell thereto, and rewarded him therefor with the marriage of her own body."[ ] it is altogether unnecessary to refer to any particular authorities upon this subject; for a volume might be easily filled with letters, despatches, and instructions from mary, which not only deny her guilt, but, by the arguments they contain, go very far to establish her innocence. a communication, which she addressed, in the year , to the states of scotland, must, however, be mentioned, as it distinctly shows what her feelings then were towards bothwell; for whom, indeed, she had so little affection, that, very soon after her arrival in england, she lent a favourable ear to the proposals of marriage made by the duke of norfolk. her letter to the scottish parliament is to be considered in connection with this contemplated marriage. its purpose was, to obtain the sanction of the states to a divorce from bothwell; and she alluded to him in the following terms: "forasmuch as we are credibly informed, by sundry and diverse noblemen of our realm, that the pretended marriage, some time contracted, and in a manner solemnized, between us and james earl of bothwell, was, for diverse respects, unlawful, and may not of good conscience and law stand betwixt us, (albeit it seemed otherwise to us and our council at that time);--considering, therefore, with ourselves, and thinking that the same does touch us as highly in honour and conscience that it daily and hourly troubles and vexes our spirit quite through, we are moved to seek remedy."[ ] the very lords, however, who had before affected so much anxiety to free her from that "ungodly alliance," now refused to take any steps towards forwarding the divorce; and they were thus convicted of another inconsistency.[ ] little more than eighteen months had elapsed since they had not only imprisoned her, but forced her to surrender her crown, because, as they alleged, she "would not consent, by any persuasion, to abandon the lord bothwell for her husband, but avowed constantly that she would live and die with him, saying, that if it were put to her choice to relinquish her crown and kingdom, or the lord bothwell, she would leave her kingdom and dignity to go as a simple damsel with him, and would never consent that he would fare worse, or have more harm than herself."[ ] yet she now expressly asked a divorce from this lord bothwell, her connection with whom had "daily and hourly troubled and vexed her spirit;" and the lords, forgetting all their former protestations, were not disposed to accede to it. nor was it by mary herself alone, that a direct contradiction was given to the defamatory accusations of the regent and his associates. numerous state papers exist which show, that all the impartial and disinterested part, not only of her own nobility, but of elizabeth's, considered her entirely innocent. in the year , letters were addressed to the queen of england, by many of the lords of scotland, which spoke very strongly in her favour. among the signatures to these, will be found the names of the archbishop of st andrews, the earl of huntly, argyle, crawfurd, errol, rothes, cassils, eglinton, and caithness, and the lords fleming, ross, sanquhar, ogilvy, boyd, oliphant, drummond, maxwell, and others.[ ] in england, the great number of lords and gentlemen of the first rank who joined with norfolk in aid of mary, affords perhaps a still stronger presumption in her favour. but robertson, on the other hand, asserts that her father and mother-in-law, lord and lady lennox, were convinced of her guilt. by attaching himself to the prince's faction, lennox came to be elected regent, and that he was willing to believe, or affect to believe, all that mary's enemies advanced, cannot be matter of much wonder; for he had in truth identified his interests with those of murray and morton, and if their fabrications had been detected, he must have suffered along with them. but in so far as regards the countess of lennox, robertson's statement is directly contrary to the fact. he quotes a letter, it is true, written by mary to that lady in the year , in which, with ingenuous sincerity, the queen laments that the countess should allow herself to be persuaded to think evil of her; and it was perhaps partly in consequence of this appeal, that lady lennox began to consider the subject more seriously. robertson either did not know, or chose to conceal the fact, that she saw cause soon after receiving mary's letter decidedly to change her opinions. in , mary wrote to the archbishop of glasgow to this effect:--"the countess of lennox, my mother-in-law, died about a month ago. this good lady, thanks to god, has been in very good intelligence and correspondence with me for the last five or six years. she has confessed to me, by diverse letters under her hand which i carefully keep, the wrong she did me in the unjust prosecutions which she allowed to proceed against me in her name, and which originated, partly in erroneous information, but principally in the express commands of the queen of england, and persuasions of those of her council who were always averse to our reconciliation. as soon as she became persuaded of my innocence, she desisted from these prosecutions, and resolutely refused to countenance the proceedings which were carried on against me under her name."[ ] thus, however prejudiced her husband necessarily was, the countess was unable to resist the force of truth, as soon as she was allowed to judge for herself. it may further be mentioned, that in france there was scarcely an individual who thought mary guilty; and that the funeral orations which were ordered by the government to be preached upon her death, were attended by hundreds, who wept over the injuries and the misfortunes of their beloved queen-dowager.[ ] it appears, therefore, both by mary's own declarations, repeated over and over again with undeviating consistency, up to the very hour of her death, when she passed into the presence of her maker, solemnly protesting her innocence, and by the deliberate opinions of nearly all her cotemporaries who are deserving of credit, that the strongest and most positive contradiction was given to the malicious insinuations of the opposite party. _eleventh, and lastly._--a considerable number of bothwell's accomplices were tried, condemned and executed, for their share in the murder; and before their death, they all made depositions and confessions which still exist, and have been printed by goodall, anderson, laing, and others. among these are the examinations, depositions, and confessions, of powrie, dalgleish, hay, hepburn and paris; the evidence of nelson, darnley's servant, and the confessions of ormiston, and the earl of morton. here, then, is a tolerably voluminous collection of facts, supplied by those who were most intimate with bothwell, and who, if he had any undue intimacy with the queen, would in all probability have known something concerning it, and have had it in their power to throw some light upon the subject. these documents, therefore, will be anxiously read by all who aim at discovering the real perpetrators and devisers of the murder. the result of their readings will be the discovery, that in every one of these documents, which is properly authenticated and ascertained to be genuine, bothwell, and bothwell alone, is mentioned as the executor of the deed; and there is not a syllable in any of them which can be construed to the disadvantage of the queen. on the contrary, various particulars are mentioned, which have a direct tendency to disprove her connexion with him. some of these have been already alluded to; but a few of the circumstances most decisive in the queen's favour may be recapitulated here. . hepburn deponed, that as it took longer time to get the powder into the lower part of darnley's house than was expected, bothwell became impatient, and told them to make haste, for they would not find so much commodity if the queen came out.[ ] . hepburn and paris deponed, that bothwell got false keys made for opening all the doors of the house in which darnley lodged, for which he would have had no occasion, if the queen had been in the plot with him.[ ] . ormiston being asked if ever the queen spoke to him at any time concerning the murder, or if he knew what was her mind unto it, replied--"as i shall answer to god, she spoke never to me, nor i to her, of it, nor i know nothing of her part, but as my lord bothwell told me." as if alluding to some bribe which had been offered him, if he would accuse the queen, he added,--"i will not speak but the truth for all the gold of the earth, which i desire you, good minister, bear record of, and as you have written, i pray you read over to me; let me also see it."[ ] . paris can have had no suspicion that the queen countenanced the proposed murder; for, in the conversation he had with bothwell, when the earl first disclosed his intention to him, he beseeched him to desist from his enterprise, telling him that he was "already the most powerful nobleman in the country, and that, having lately married, he ought now or never to be anxious to keep himself out of trouble."[ ] . paris further deponed, that bothwell asked him to procure the key of the queen's chamber, at the kirk-of-field, telling him that he had got him transferred to the queen's service, solely in the hope of finding him useful on this occasion. had mary herself known of the plot, bothwell need not have run the risk of disclosing it to paris.[ ] . though dalgleish was minutely examined regarding all the circumstances of the murder, not one question was put to him upon the subject of the box and letters which were of so much importance; nor was it ever mentioned till after his death, that the casket had been in his custody. on the th of june , dalgleish is said to have been seized, and this is probably the fact; he was examined six days afterwards, before morton and the other lords of the privy council, and his examination has been preserved entire. "this remarkable particular," says tytler, "naturally occurs to be observed in it, that it was surely of great importance for morton, who then had the box in his custody, to have confronted dalgleish with the persons who apprehended him, and to have asked him some questions relating to this box; such as, whether or not this box was in his custody when he was seized?--what orders he received from his master bothwell concerning it?--who delivered it to him? or where he found it?--whether open, or locked?--if open, what it contained? and where he was to have carried it? dalgleish, and the persons who seized him, in a matter so recent, only six days before, could have given distinct answers to those questions."[ ] there can be little doubt, that as no such questions were put, no such transaction, as the seizure of a box and papers had taken place. laing endeavours to account for this very suspicious circumstance in the following manner: "the depositions are strictly confined to the murder, as the design was to procure judicial evidence against bothwell and his associates, not to implicate the queen in his guilt." but in the first place, these letters were themselves the very best "judicial evidence" they could have found; and in the second, questions might have been put concerning them, without, in the mean time making any disclosure of their contents. the total silence of the privy council, and of dalgleish, is fatal to their supposed existence. . the earl of morton confessed, that though he told bothwell he would give him more active assistance if he could show him any writing of the queen, which proved that she sanctioned the murder; yet that bothwell, after undertaking to procure such writing, was never able to fulfil his promise; and this was at a time posterior to the date of some of the love-letters, which mary was afterwards alleged to have written to him. thus, these confessions, depositions, and examinations, though they were collected with the anxious wish of eliciting some circumstances which would seem to criminate mary, must have been felt by the rebel lords themselves, to be as much in her favour as it was possible for any negative evidence to be.[ ] having thus stated the leading external evidences against the genuineness of these letters, it will be worth while to examine, for a moment, robertson's "external proofs" in support of them,--which, when contrasted with those stated above, will be found to be of little weight. the historian argues for their authenticity, on the following grounds:--_first_, "murray and the nobles who adhered to him, affirmed, upon their word and honour, that the letters were written with the queen's own hand, with which they were well acquainted." this is a very powerful argument to begin with, as if men who forged letters for a particular purpose, would themselves confess that they were forged. _second_, "the letters were publicly produced in the parliament of scotland, december , and were so far considered as genuine, that they are mentioned in the act against mary, as one chief argument of her guilt." this is nothing but a repetition, in other words, of the former powerful argument; for the parliament of december was the parliament assembled by murray, after he had been elected regent, and he was able to secure the passing of any act he chose. where robertson learned, that at this parliament "the letters were publicly produced," does not appear, as his reference to goodall (vol. ii. p. ) by no means authorizes the assertion. _third_, "the letters seem to have been considered genuine by elizabeth's commissioners, both at york and westminster, as appears by letters which norfolk, sussex, and sadler, wrote from york; and as, in the journal of the proceedings at hampton court, it is said that, when the letters supposed to be written by the queen of scots, 'were duly conferred and compared for the manner of writing and fashion of orthography, with sundry other letters long since heretofore written, and sent by the said queen of scots to the queen's majesty, in the collation no difference was found.'" it has been seen, however, that whatever norfolk chose to write concerning those letters with the view of pleasing elizabeth, and concealing from her his own engagements and designs, he was, in truth, so little influenced by them, that he avowed a passion for mary, and risked his life and fortune in order to become her husband. it has been also seen, that the hasty collation, made by the nobles at hampton court, of these pretended letters, with others, "long since heretofore written" and furnished by elizabeth herself, is, in truth, no collation at all, or one upon which no dependence be placed. _fourth_, "the earl of lennox, both in public, and in a private letter he wrote to his own wife, so expressed himself, that it is plain he not only thought the queen guilty, but believed the authenticity of her letters to bothwell." this matter has been already investigated. the regent lennox was obliged to maintain mary's guilt for his own sake; and it is scarcely to be supposed he would have been so imprudent as write to his wife, to inform her that the opinions he had so strenuously supported before the world were not those of his heart and conscience. murray himself would as soon have acknowledged that the letters were fabricated as lennox. but it is a strong fact, that, though she had every inducement to think as her husband did, lady lennox believed mary innocent. these are all robertson's "external proofs of the genuineness of mary's letters."[ ] the external evidence against these writings, is probably enough to convince every impartial reader that they are forgeries. but, as they exist in one shape or other, it may be as well to go a step further, and see whether their perusal will strengthen or weaken the belief of their fabrication. this brings us to the second division of the subject, which will not detain us so long as the first. internal evidences.--considering the weight which mary's enemies have attached to these letters, the first question the impartial inquirer would naturally ask is, whether properly authenticated copies of what mary is alleged to have written can still be seen,--whether the _ipsissima verba_ which she used have been preserved,--and whether an opportunity can thus be had of judging of the precise shade of meaning of particular passages, and of the general style and tenor of these strange compositions. in answer to these inquiries it has to be stated, that the letters, as taken out of the casket, were exhibited only to a few noblemen, who acted under elizabeth; and that nothing but translations of them are now extant. the latin edition of buchanan's "detection," published in , contained only the three first letters translated into latin; in the scottish edition, all the eight letters were translated into scotch.[ ] the originals were thus left at the mercy of translators; and, in particular, at the mercy of such a translator as buchanan, who cannot be supposed to have had any great desire to be scrupulously accurate. in , a french edition of the "detection" was published at london, to which were subjoined seven french letters and the love-sonnets. for two hundred years, no one doubted but that these were mary's original letters, and they were always referred to as such in any controversies which took place on the subject. in , however, mr walter goodall, keeper of the advocates' library at edinburgh, published his "examination of the letters," and showed, in the clearest manner, that these seven french letters were nothing but re-translations from the latin and scottish translations which had been previously published. this was certainly an important and interesting discovery, although it scarcely warranted the conclusion which goodall thought he was entitled to draw from it, that no french copy of the letters had, in reality, ever existed until the latin and scottish editions were first fabricated. robertson and others have maintained more justly, that, though they acknowledge goodall to have proved that the existing french copies of the letters are only translations from translations, there is, nevertheless, no reason to believe that these are the french letters which were produced by murray at york and westminster, copies of which they grant have never been given to the world. that this is the true state of the case, appears by the french editor's own admission in his preface. "the letters subjoined to this work," he says, "were written by the queen, partly in french and partly in scotch, and were afterwards translated altogether into latin; but having no knowledge of the scottish language, i have preferred translating accurately from the latin copy, lest, by being over scrupulous about changing a single syllable, i might frustrate the reader in his desire to ascertain precisely to whom the fault of the execrable murder, and other enormities mentioned in them, ought to be ascribed."[ ] thus, both by the ignorance which this translator evinces, in alleging, contrary to the assertions which had been made by murray, that the letters were originally written partly in french and partly in scotch, and, by his own confession, that he preferred translating from the latin wherever he could get it, rather than from the scotch, it is perfectly evident that no such thing as the original french letters have ever appeared, and that the french letters which do exist, are not so much to be depended on as even the scotch or latin, which were probably translated directly from the epistles which murray produced. in what condition, then, do we find these wonderful letters about which so much has been written? we have three in latin, eight in scotch, and seven in french. the french are only re-translations from the latin and scottish; and they, in their turn, are translations from the invisible french originals. and under whose superintendence were these translations, into the scottish and latin, made? it must have been either under that of murray, or of elizabeth and cecil. the former, after merely showing the letters at westminster, took them back with him to scotland; but intrusted the latter with copies.[ ] it is not very likely that the scottish translation could be made in england; and the three that have been rendered into latin, have been commonly attributed to george buchanan. laing, however, labours to show, that this is a mistake, and that the translation was made by a dr wilson, elizabeth's master of requests. be this as it may, in what court of law or equity would such documents as these be admitted as evidence? the grossest errors have often been made by translators, even where they were anxious to be as faithful as possible. yet we are now called upon to form an opinion of letters, which exist in languages different from that in which they were originally written, and which are either translations from translations, or translations executed by those who had every motive and desire to pervert the original, and make it appear much worse than it really was. what jury would for a moment look at such letters? what impartial judge would allow his mind to be biassed by them, altered and garbled as they must unquestionably be, even supposing that their originals once existed? it was to buchanan's detection that these letters were always subjoined. at westminster, murray produced a book of articles, in five parts, containing certain presumptions, likelihoods and circumstances, whereby it should evidently appear, that as bothwell was the chief murderer of the king, so was the queen a deviser and maintainer thereof. "from the explanation given in buchanan's history," says laing, "the book of articles corresponds, and was undoubtedly the same with the detection of the doings of mary."[ ] buchanan, identifying as he did, his interests with those of murray, was from the first one of the most active of the queen's prosecutors. the dependence to be placed upon his accuracy and honesty as a controversialist, has been already pretty clearly established; and the sort of translations he would make, of any of mary's writings, may be very easily conjectured. laing, however, claims the merit of a discovery, which, at first sight, appears somewhat remarkable. it is a copy of one of the eight love-letters, in the original french, and found in the state-paper office in a book containing, "letters upon scottish affairs to queen elizabeth." whether it be in the original french or not, it is certainly different from the french translation published with the french edition of the detection in , and has altogether a greater air of originality about it. but being confessedly only a copy, it is quite impossible to say whether it is mary's french, or that of some one who chose to write french in her name. it is, besides, remarkable, that, even though it could be proved to demonstration to be a copy of a genuine letter, it does not contain a single word which, in the slightest degree, implicates mary. introduced, it is true, as one of a series, all of which, it is maintained, were addressed to bothwell, something suspicious might easily be made out of it. but, as it stands by itself, it must be taken by itself; and as it bears no address or date, it may just as well be supposed to have been written to darnley, or even to a female friend. the subject spoken of, is the ungrateful conduct of one of mary's female attendants; and the advice of the person to whom it is written is asked, as to what is proper to be done in consequence. to this person, whoever it was, several natural terms of endearment are also applied, such as, "_mon coeur_," and, "_ma chere vie_;" and these are all the grounds of suspicion which this "copy from the state-paper office," contains.[ ] having thus shown the extreme uncertainty which must attend any argument against mary, founded on any minute or literal examination of these letters, a very few objections further may be stated to them, upon evidences which they themselves afford. although it is impossible to form any opinion of the _words_ which mary may have used in these letters, some conclusions may be drawn from the _sentiments_ which the translators of course pretend not to have altered. these are, in many respects, directly contradictory of the character which history proves her to have possessed. whatever follies mary may have committed--whatever weaknesses she may have fallen into--it cannot be denied, even by her worst enemies, that she was a woman of a proud spirit, and too much accustomed to admiration and flattery, to consider her esteem a gift of little value. yet, through all these writings, she is made to evince a degree of ardour and forwardness of affection for bothwell, at once against every notion of female delicacy, and all probability. she is continually made to express fears that he does not return her love with an equal warmth,--that he loves his wife, the lady jane gordon, better than he does her,--and that he is not so zealous in bringing about their mutual purposes as she could wish. if bothwell had ever carried on these criminal intrigues with mary, one of his first objects would have been to remove from her mind all suspicion that he was not in truth devotedly attached to her. whether he was successful in deceiving her or not, is it likely that mary queen of scots, whose hand had been sought by all the first princes in christendom, would have condescended to servility, meanness, and abject cringing in her advances to him? if the letters were forged, murray would naturally wish to put in as strong a point of view as possible, mary's anxiety to urge bothwell on to all the crimes which he perpetrated. but if letters had been really written by her, many compunctious visitings of conscience would surely be apparent in them,--many a fear would be expressed,--many a symptom would be discovered of the reluctance with which she yielded to the overwhelming strength of bothwell's passion and entreaties. yet in these letters nothing of the kind is to be found. passages occur continually, in which, far from there being any of the conscious confusion and hesitation which would necessarily have marked the style of one who was, for the first time, deviating so far from the paths of virtue, nothing is to be discovered but the hardened vice and shameless effrontery of a confirmed and _masculine villain_. another peculiarity is to be observed in the first and longest of these letters. in describing a conversation which she had with darnley at glasgow, mary is made to give very minutely all his defence of his own conduct, in reply to some charges which she brought against him; and to make it evident that he was in the right, and that she herself, even when instigating bothwell to his murder, must have felt him to be so. "this is another proof of forgery," says whittaker; "that the queen should repeat all the king's defences of himself, and should not repeat her replies to them, is contrary to every principle of the human heart. our natural fondness for ourselves puts us constantly upon a conduct the very reverse of all this. we shorten the defences, we lengthen the replies; or, if we are fair enough to give the full substance of the former, we are always partial enough to do the same by the latter."[ ] the forger, however, in his anxiety to throw as much odium as possible upon mary, was willing to diminish some of even bothwell's responsibility, and disposed to vindicate darnley entirely; but he took a clumsy method of effecting his purpose. notwithstanding these considerations, robertson was of opinion, as usual, that the style and sentiments of these letters tended on the whole to prove that they were genuine. his principal reason for entertaining this belief is, that "there are only imperfect hints, obscure intimations, and dark expressions in the letters, which, however convincing evidence they might furnish if found in real letters, bear no resemblance to that glare and superfluity of evidence which forgeries commonly contain." "had mary's enemies been so base as to have recourse to forgery, is it not natural to think, that they would have produced something more explicit and decisive?"--"mary's letters, especially the first, are filled with a multiplicity of circumstances extremely natural in a real correspondence, but altogether foreign to the purpose of the queen's enemies, and which it would have been perfect folly to have inserted, if they had been altogether imaginary and without foundation." there is some plausibility in this view of the subject; and laing and others have dwelt upon it at great length, and with much confidence. but it is divested of all force as soon as we come to consider the manner in which these letters would be prepared, if they were in truth forgeries. the long time which elapsed after mary's imprisonment in loch-leven, before any allusion was made to them, and the still longer time they were allowed to lie dormant after their existence had been first asserted, has been already described. upon the hypothesis that they were fabrications, it was during this period that murray and his associates were engaged in preparing them; and they would probably reason on the following grounds, as to what ought to be the nature of their contents. the point they wished to establish was, "that as the earl of bothwell was chief executor of the horrible and unworthy murder; so was the queen of the fore-knowledge, counsel, device, persuader and commander of the said murder to be done." they knew that, in so far as appearances went, nothing made this latter part of the assertion in the least probable, except the circumstance of mary having been married to bothwell, which they themselves had declared was a forced marriage, and which mary had proved to be so by taking the first opportunity which occurred to desert him. it had become necessary, however, even at the expense of their own consistency to accuse the queen of having acted in concert with bothwell throughout. no evidence whatever would establish this fact, (the more especially as all the confessions and depositions of bothwell's accomplices tended to exculpate her), except writings under her own hand acknowledging her guilt. in order to make it appear possible that mary had committed an account of that guilt to paper, the idea of letters to a confidential friend naturally suggested itself; and to none could these letters with so much propriety be addressed as to bothwell himself; because, having subsequently married him, it was to be shown that it was her inordinate affection for him that induced her to wish for the death of darnley. the train being thus laid, the next question was, in what precise manner mary was to be made to address bothwell. the forgers would at once perceive, that it would not do to make her speak straight out, and in plain terms command the perpetration of the murder, and arrange all the preliminary steps for it. this would have been to represent mary as at once a messalina and a medea,--which even murray felt would have been going too far. the letters were to show her guilt, but to show it in such a manner as she herself might be naturally supposed to have exhibited it, had she actually written them;--and nothing therefore was to be introduced but those "imperfect hints, obscure intimations, and dark expressions," which, without the "glare and superfluity" of common forgeries, furnished convincing evidence when found in letters alleged to be real. murray, morton, maitland, and buchanan, were no ordinary forgers; and if they were not able to conceive and express the whole so artfully, that it would cost some difficulty to detect them, then, forgery in every instance must be hopeless and manifest. there were, besides, two circumstances which afforded them peculiar facilities, and of which they were no doubt glad to avail themselves. the first was, that mary's hand-writing was not very difficult of imitation. "it was formed," says goodall, "after what is commonly called italic print, which it much resembled both in beauty and regularity."[ ] all the letters being shaped according to certain definite rules, there would be fewer singularities in the writing, and less danger of the forger committing mistakes. mary herself alluded to the facility with which her hand could be imitated, in her instructions to her commissioners on the opening of the conferences, and mentioned also another important fact. "in case they allege," she says, "that they have any writings of mine, which may infer presumption against me, you shall desire the principals to be produced, and that i myself may have inspection thereof, and make answer thereto. for you shall affirm, in my name, i never wrote any thing concerning that matter to any creature; and if any such writings be, they are false and feigned, forged and invented by themselves, only to my dishonour and slander. and there are divers in scotland, both men and women, that can counterfeit my hand-writing, and write the like manner of writing which i use, as well as myself, and principally such as are in company with themselves."[ ] "there are sundry who can counterfeit her hand-write," says lesley, "who have been brought up in her company, of whom there are some assisting themselves, as well of other nations as of scotland. and i doubt not but your majesty," (he is addressing elizabeth), "and divers others of your highness's court, has seen sundry letters sent here from scotland, which would not be known from her own hand-write; and it may be well presumed, in so weighty a cause, that they who have put hands on their prince, imprisoned her person, and committed such heinous crimes, if a counterfeit letter be sufficient to save them, to maintain their cause, and conquer for them a kingdom, will not leave the same unforged, '_cum si violandum est jus, imperii causa violandum est_.'" in still further confirmation of these facts, blackwood mentions that the hand-writing of mary beaton, one of her maids of honour, could not possibly be distinguished from that of the queen;[ ] and camden and other contemporary authors speak of it as a matter of established notoriety, that maitland often counterfeited her hand.[ ] the second facility which the forgers enjoyed, arose from their either possessing among them, or having access to, many genuine letters of mary. this is a circumstance of some consequence, and has scarcely been sufficiently attended to by the various writers on the subject. it at once obviates robertson's cause of wonder, that the letters should be "filled with a multiplicity of circumstances, extremely natural in a real correspondence, but altogether foreign to the purpose of the queen's enemies." in all probability, mary wrote to her secretary maitland from glasgow, and had of course written to him a hundred times before. there is every reason to believe also, that she corresponded with maitland's wife, mary fleming, who had been one of her friends and attendants from infancy. murray must have had in his possession numerous letters from his sister. where then was the difficulty of founding these forgeries upon writings which were not forgeries, and of making it almost impossible for any one but mary herself to detect what was genuine in them from what was fabricated? many passages might be introduced which mary had actually written, but which she had applied in some very different manner; and here and there might be artfully interwoven a few sentences which she never wrote, but which seemed so naturally connected with the rest, that they fixed upon her soul the guilt of adultery and murder. there is nothing which ought to be more constantly borne in mind, whenever these writings are read or discussed, than the probability, we might almost say the certainty, that the originals contained parts which had been actually written by mary, although neither addressed to bothwell, nor ever meant to be twisted into the sense which was afterwards put upon them; and which appeared the true meaning only, in consequence of their having been so much garbled and disfigured. were we disposed to enter still more minutely into an examination of these writings, it would not be difficult to show, as goodall, tytler, whittaker and chalmers, have in various instances done, that they abound in many other symptoms of forgery, which, though not perhaps conclusive, when taken separately, make up, when combined, a very strong presumption against them. it might be shown, for example, _first_, that as mary, in all probability, did not set off for glasgow till friday the th of january , and staid a night at callendar on the way, it is quite impossible she could have been at glasgow on saturday the th, though her second letter ends with these words:--"from glasgow, this saturday, in the morning."[ ] she is thus made to have written two letters from glasgow, one of them a very long one, by saturday morning; while, in point of fact, she could not have reached that town till saturday afternoon. "_non sunt hæc satis divisa temporibus._"[ ] it might be shown, _second_, that these letters were neither addressed, signed, nor sealed; and that, in the words of whittaker, "it violates every principle of probability to suppose, that letters with such a plenitude of murderous evidence in them should be sent open."[ ] it might be shown, _third_, that before the appearance of the letters, they were differently described at different times, as if they were gradually undergoing changes;--that in the act of privy council, in which they are first referred to, they are mentioned as mary's "privy letters, written and _subscribed_ with her own hand;"--but in the act of parliament passed a few weeks afterwards, they are only spoken of as "_written wholly_ with her own hand," not, "written and subscribed;"[ ]--that though at first nothing was spoken of as having been found in the box but the "privy letters," "written and subscribed with her own hand," and afterwards only "wholly written with her own hand," yet, before the box made its appearance at york, love-sonnets and contracts of marriage were also found in it;--and that at york and westminster only five letters were laid before the commissioners, though the number afterwards printed was eight. "did the three remaining letters," asks whittaker, "lie still lower in the box, under the contracts and sonnets, and so escape the notice of the rebels?"[ ] it might be shown, _fourth_, that all the letters are contradicted and overthrown by the first three lines of the ninth sonnet, which are, in french, ----"pour luy aussi j'ay jeté mainte larme, premier qu'il fust de ce corps possesseur, _du quel alors il n'avoit pas le coeur_;" and in english--"for him also i shed many a tear, when he first made himself possessor of this body, _of which he did not then possess the heart_."[ ] in the letters, mary is made, with the most violent protestations of love, to suggest arrangements for her pretended abduction by bothwell; yet here she expressly says, that when he first carried her off, he did not possess her heart. how then could she have written him love-letters before this event? these and other things might be insisted on. the sonnets and contracts of marriage might be also minutely examined and proved, both to contradict one another, and to be liable, in a still stronger degree, to almost all the objections which have been advanced against the letters.[ ] but it is much better to rest mary's innocence on the broad basis of her life and character, and a distinct statement of leading and incontrovertible facts, than on wranglings about dates, or disputations concerning detached incidents and ill-authenticated papers. from a full review of the proof on both sides, and an ample examination of all the principal facts advanced in the controversy, it appears evident that one of two conclusions must be formed. either that mary, having formed a criminal attachment to bothwell, encouraged him to perpetrate the murder, and that, having thus become responsible for at least an equal share of the guilt, was justly imprisoned and dethroned; or that, never having had any excessive love for bothwell, she was altogether ignorant of his designs, and irresponsible for his crimes, of which his own lawless ambition made her the victim, and with which the treachery of murray, morton and elizabeth, too successfully contrived to involve her for the remainder of her life. that the latter conclusion is that to which impartial inquiry must inevitably lead, these memoirs, it is hoped, have sufficiently established. that the arguments in mary's favour, drawn from the history of her life and death, are not invalidated by the contents of the "gilt coffer," it has been the object of the present examination to prove. it has been seen, first, by external evidence, that these papers are spurious, because the notorious ambition of morton and murray, and the perilous predicament in which it finally placed them, rendered their fabrication necessary to save themselves from ruin,--because mary could not have written any love-letters or sonnets to bothwell, for whom, at best, she never felt any thing but common regard, and who was obliged to seize and carry off her person, in order to force her into an unwilling marriage,--because such letters, if they had been written, would not have been preserved by bothwell, or, if preserved, would have been more numerous,--because the story of their discovery is altogether improbable, since bothwell, for the most satisfactory reasons, would never have thought of sending for them to the castle of edinburgh on the th of june ,--because not a word was said about them long after they were discovered, but, on the contrary, motives quite inconsistent with their contents assigned for sequestrating mary's person in loch-leven,--because, though dalgleish was tried, condemned, and executed, not a question was put to him, as appears by his examination, still extant, concerning these letters,--because the originals were only produced twice, and _that_ under suspicious and unsatisfactory circumstances,--because nothing but translations, and translations from translations, of these originals, now exist, from which no fair arguments can be drawn,--because murray and his associates have been convicted of open forgery in several other instances, and are therefore the more liable to be doubted in this,--because bothwell not only never accused mary, but was unable to show morton any writing of her's sanctioning the murder, and, by subsequent declarations, seems to have exculpated her from all share in it,--because mary herself invariably denied that she had ever written such letters, undertaking to prove that they were fabrications, if the originals, or even copies, were shown to her,--because lady lennox, darnley's mother, many of the most respectable of the scottish nobility, norfolk, and a numerous party in england, and all her continental friends, avowed their belief of her innocence,--because the confessions and depositions of bothwell's accomplices, so far from implicating, tended to acquit her of all blame, though the persons by whom the depositions were made had every inducement to accuse her, if it had been in their power,--and because the external evidence, advanced in support of the letters by robertson and others, is entirely nugatory. it has been seen, second, by internal evidence, that the letters are spurious,--because the translations differ from each other,--because the style and composition of many passages, are not such as could ever have come from mary's pen,--because every facility was given to forgery by the nature of her handwriting, and by the access which the forgers had to genuine letters and papers, of which they could make a partial use,--because, at the time in which they are alleged to have been written, mary was, in all probability, not at the places from which they are dated,--because the letters contradict each other, and are all contradicted by the sonnets,--and because the arguments in support of them, drawn from internal evidence by robertson and others, are equally inconclusive with their external proofs. if mary's innocence, from all the blacker crimes with which she has been charged, must still continue matter of doubt, it is not too much to declare all history uncertain, and virtue and vice merely convertible terms. addendum. through the kindness of william traill, esq. of woodwick, orkney, we are enabled to give the following authentic genealogical account of the manner in which the interesting portrait of mary queen of scots, engraved for this work, and particularly described in vol. i. chap. iv., came into the possession of his family. "sir robert stewart of strathdon, son of king james v., by eupham, daughter of alexander, st lord elphingston, obtained a grant of the crown lands of orkney and shetland from his sister queen mary in . he was created earl of orkney by his uncle james vi., th october . he married lady jean kennedy, daughter of gilbert, fourth earl of cassils. "george traill, son of the laird of blebo in fife, married, first, jean kennedy of carmunks, a relative of the earl's lady. he accompanied the earl to orkney; got a grant from the earl of the lands of quandale, in the island of ronsay, and, as stewart or factor, managed the affairs of the earldom. by jean kennedy he had one son, the first thomas traill of holland. he afterwards married isobel craigie of gairsay, by whom he had james traill of quandale, who married ann baikie of burness. lady barbara stewart, the earl's youngest daughter, married hugh halcro of halcro, a descendant of the royal family of denmark, and who possessed a great part of the islands of orkney. for her patrimony, the earl wadset to halcro lands, in widewall, ronaldsvoe, and in south ronaldshay, which lands were afterwards redeemed by patrick stewart, the earl's eldest son, . _vide_ bishop law's rentall . lady barbara, being the youngest and the last of the earl's family, succeeded to her father's furniture, plate, pictures, and other moveables, and amongst the rest, the family picture of queen mary. hugh halcro of that ilk, the eldest son of this marriage, succeeded his father, and married jean, daughter of william stewart of mains and burray. _vid._ charters and . in , this hugh halcro executed a settlement in favour of hugh his oye, and his heirs; whom failing, to patrick his brother; whom failing, to harry fiar of aikrs; whom failing, to edward of hauton; whom all failing, to the name of halcro. hugh the oye, married margaret, daughter of james stewart of gromsay. _vid._ charter by him in her favour of lands in south ronaldshay and the island cava, th june . their son, hugh halcro of that ilk, married barbara greem, by whom he had two daughters, jean and sibella halcro. jean married alexander mouat swenze, and sibella married james baikie of burness; and the estate of halcro was divided between these families by decreet-arbitral, st and d december ,--arthur baikie of tankerness, and john kennaday of carmunks, arbiters; which decreet is in the possession of the present william traill of woodwick, esquire, as is the picture of queen mary, and other family relics." end of volume second. printed by j. hutchison, for the heirs of d. willison. footnotes: [ ] robertson, appendix to vol. i. no. xvii. [ ] keith, appendix, p. . [ ] keith, preface, p. vii. [ ] melville's memoirs, p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. .--keith, p. ; appendix, p. .--anderson, vol. ii. p. . vol. iv. p. and .--"martyre de marie," in jebb, vol. ii. p. . it would be difficult to explain why robertson, who, in the dissertation subjoined to his history, allows the authenticity of the documents which detail the particulars of this important conference at craigmillar, should not have taken the slightest notice of it in his history. there is surely something indicative of partiality in the omission. miss benger, who is not always over-favourable to mary, remarks on her decision regarding a divorce;--"it is difficult to develope the motives of mary's refusal. had she secretly loved bothwell, she would probably have embraced the means of liberty; and had she already embarked in a criminal intrigue, she would not have resisted the persuasions of her paramour. if, influenced alone by vindictive feelings, she sought her husband's life, she must have been sensible that, when the nuptial tie was dissolved, he would be more easily assailable. why then did she recoil from the proposal, unless she feared to compromise herself by endangering darnley's safety, or that some sentiments of affection still lingered in her heart? it has been supposed, that she dreaded the censures which might be passed on her conduct in france; or that she feared to separate her interests from those of her husband, lest she should injure her title to the english crown. all these objections are valid when addressed to reason, but passion would have challenged stronger arguments."--memoirs, vol. ii. p. .--blackwood, in his _martyre de marie_, mentions, that mary upon this occasion told her nobility, that "her husband was yet young, and might be brought back to the right path, having left it principally in consequence of the bad advice of those who were no less his enemies than her's."--"this answer," adds blackwood, "was far from being agreeable to the lords, proving to them that her majesty's present estrangement from her husband was more from the necessity of the times, than because she had ceased to love him." [ ] chalmers, vol. ii. p. .--keith, preface, p. vii. [ ] the above transaction, in which there is so little mystery, has been converted by robertson into "a negociation, secretly carried on by mary, for subverting the reformed church." he cannot, it is true, very easily reconcile the "negotiation" with the fact that, "at the very time, she did not scruple publicly to employ her authority towards obtaining for the ministers of that church a more certain and comfortable subsistence." "during this year," he tells us, "she issued several proclamations and acts of council for that purpose, and readily approved of every scheme which was proposed for the more effectual payment of their stipends." the historian might have inquired a little more closely into the real nature of her correspondence with the court of rome, before charging mary with "falsehood and deceit," and availing himself of the subject to point a moral. [ ] keith, p. . [ ] anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] that darnley was actually absent upon this occasion, we are not quite satisfied. robertson says he was, on the authority of le croc's letter in keith, preface, p. vii.; and after him, most writers on the subject state the fact as beyond a doubt. all, however, that le croc says is this:--"the king had still given out, that he would depart two days before the baptism; but when the time came on, he made no sign of removing at all, only he still kept close within his own apartment. the very day of the baptism, he sent three several times, desiring me either to come and see him, or to appoint him an hour, that he might come to me in my lodgings." this is no direct evidence that the king was absent from the christening. neither does buchanan furnish us with any; he merely says, with his usual accuracy and love of calumny, that "her lawful husband was not allowed necessaries at the christening; nay, was forbid to come in sight of the ambassadors, who were advised not to enter into discourse with the king, though they were in the same part of the castle the most part of the day."--history, book xviii. nor does knox say any thing definite upon the subject; but keith, crawford, and spottswood, though not referred to by robertson, seem to support his opinion. let the fact, however, be as it may, it is not of great consequence. the erroneousness of the popular belief, that darnley, during the whole of this time, resided in a citizen's house in the town of stirling, is more deserving of being pointed out and corrected. [ ] knox, p. .--keith, preface, p. vii. [ ] keith, p. .--knox, p. .--the historie of king james the sext, p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. ii. p. . [ ] melville, p. . [ ] the ruthven here spoken of is the son of the lord ruthven, who took so active a part in the murder. [ ] chalmers, vol. ii. p. and . [ ] keith--preface, p. viii. [ ] keith, p. . [ ] keith, p. .--laing, vol. ii. p. .--chalmers, vol. ii. p. .--whittaker, in endeavouring to prove (vol. ii. p. ) that the catholic ecclesiastical courts had never been deprived of their jurisdiction, and that, consequently, there was no _restoration_ of power to the archbishop of st andrews, evidently takes an erroneous view of this matter. in direct opposition to such a view, knox, or his continuator, has the following account of the transaction:--"at the same time, the bishop of st andrews, by means of the earl of bothwell, procured a writing from the queen's majesty, to be obeyed within the diocess of his jurisdiction, in all such causes as before, in time of popery, were used in the consistory, and, therefore, to discharge the new commissioners; and for the same purpose, came to edinburgh in january, having a company of one hundred horses, or more, intending to take possession according to his gift lately obtained. the provost being advertised thereof by the earl of murray, they sent to the bishop three or four of the council, desiring him to desist from the said matter, for fear of trouble and sedition that might rise thereupon; whereby he was persuaded to desist at that time."--knox, p. . this account is not quite correct, in so far as the earl of murray alone, unsupported by mary's authority, is described as having diverted the archbishop from his purpose. [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. ; and vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, preface p. viii. [ ] anderson, vol. iv. p. .--goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. .--et seq. [ ] birrel's dairy, p. .--laing, vol. i. p. . [ ] keith, p. .--anderson, vol. ii. p. .--goodall, vol. ii. p. .--chalmers, vol. i. p. .--vol. ii. p. , and .--laing, vol. i. p. .--and vol. ii. p. .--whittaker, vol. iii. p. , and .--arnot's history of edinburgh, p. . whittaker has made several mistakes regarding the house of the kirk-of-field. he describes it as much larger than it really was; and, misled by the appearance of a gun-port still remaining in one part of the old wall, and which arnot supposed had been the postern-door in the gavel of the house, he fixes its situation at too great a distance from the college, and too near the infirmary. sir walter scott, in his "tales of a grandfather," (vol. iii. p. .) has oddly enough fallen into the error of describing the kirk-of-field, as standing "just _without_ the walls of the city." [ ] morton's confession in laing, vol. ii. p. ; and archibald douglas's letter, ibid. p. . [ ] idem. [ ] lesley's defence in anderson, vol. i. p. .--buchanan's history, p. .--laing, vol. ii. p. . [ ] ormiston's confession in laing, vol. ii. p. . [ ] paris's confession in laing, vol. ii. p. - . [ ] paris's deposition in laing, vol. ii. p. . [ ] laing, vol. ii. p. and . [ ] deposition of hepburn--anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, preface, p. viii. [ ] anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] ibid. vol. ii. p. . [ ] laing, appendix, p. . [ ] deposition of john hay in anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] deposition of william powrie, in anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] ibid. vol. ii. p. . [ ] buchanan's _history_, book xviii. may be compared with his _detection_ in anderson, vol. i. p. and . [ ] buchanan's _history_, book xviii. [ ] freebairn's life of mary, p. and . [ ] deposition of paris in laing, vol. ii. p. . [ ] evidence of thomas nelson, anderson, vol. iv. p. . [ ] the confessions and depositions in anderson, vol. ii. and vol. iv; and in laing, vol. ii. [ ] melville's memoirs, p. . lesley in anderson, vol. i. p. . freebairn, p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. .--goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] laing, vol. ii. p. et . [ ] historie of king james the sext, p. . [ ] miss benger, vol. ii. p. . [ ] sanderson's life of mary, p. .--freebairn, p. . [ ] knox, p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] melville, p. . [ ] the notion that the powder, with which the kirk-of-field was blown up, had been placed in a mine, dug for the purpose, was for a while very prevalent. mary, of course, never suspected that it had been put into her own bedroom; but the truth came out as soon as the depositions of bothwell's accomplices were published. why whittaker should still have continued to believe that a mine had been excavated, it is difficult to understand. laing very justly ridicules the absurdity of such a belief. [ ] there is a sincere piety in this rejection of the word "chance." mary was steadily religious all her life, and certainly nothing but a pure and upright spirit could have induced her, on the present occasion, to appeal to her creator, and say, "it was not chance, but god." [ ] keith, preface, p. viii. [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] lesley in anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] laing's remarks upon this subject, are exceedingly weak. he seems to suppose that mary, for the mere sake of appearances, ought to have thrown into prison some of her most powerful nobility. he adds,--"if innocent, she must have suspected somebody, and the means of detection were evidently in her hands. the persons who provided or furnished the lodging,--the man to whom the house belonged,--the servants of the queen, who were intrusted with the keys,--the king's servants who had previously withdrawn, or were preserved, at his death,--her brother, lord robert, who had apprised him of his danger, were the first objects for suspicion or inquiry; and their evidence would have afforded the most ample detection." laing does not seem to be aware, that he is here suggesting the very steps which mary actually took. she had not, indeed, herself examined witnesses, which would have been alike contrary to her general habits and her feelings at the time; but she had ordered the legal authorities to assemble every day, till they ascertained all the facts which could be collected. nor does laing seem to remember, that bothwell had it in his power to exercise over these legal authorities no inconsiderable control, and to prevail upon them, as he in truth did, to garble and conceal several circumstances of importance which came out. [ ] killigrew, the english ambassador, sent by elizabeth to offer her condolence, mentions, that he "found the queen's majesty in a dark chamber so as he could not see her face, but by her words she seemed very doleful."--chalmers, vol. ii. p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] _vide_ these letters in anderson, vol. i. p. , or keith, p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. i. p. , _et seq._ [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. . the above fact is no proof, as chalmers alleges, that murray was connected with the conspirators; but it shows, that whatever his own suspicions or belief were, he did not choose to discountenance bothwell. could mary ever suppose that the _godly_ earl of murray would entertain a murderer at his table? [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] robertson--appendix to vol. i. no. xix. [ ] anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. ii. p. , et seq.--and keith, p. , et seq. [ ] anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. ; and keith, p. . [ ] keith, p. .--there are extant two lists of the names of the subscribers, and these differ in one or two particulars from each other; but the one was only a list given to cecil from memory by john reid, buchanan's clerk; the other is a document authenticated by the subscription of sir james balfour, who was at the time clerk of register and privy council. the chief difference between these two copies is, that reid's list contains the name of the earl of murray, though on the th of april he was out of the realm of scotland. it has been supposed that the bond, though not produced, might have been drawn up some time before, and that murray put his name to it before going away. this is possible, but, considering murray's cautious character, not probable. the point does not seem one of great importance, though by those who are anxious to make out a case against murray rather than against bothwell, it is deemed necessary to insist upon it at length. perhaps bothwell forged murray's signature, to give his bond greater weight both with the nobles and with the queen; although one name more or less could not make much difference either to her or them. [ ] keith, p. . [ ] keith, p. .--melville's memoirs, p. .--whittaker, vol. iii. p. and . [ ] melville, p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. .--keith, p. . [ ] melville, p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. . et seq. there is something so peculiar in the last passage quoted above, and bothwell's conduct was so despotic, during the whole of the time he had mary's person at his disposal, that whittaker's supposition seems by no means unlikely, that the _force_ to which mary alludes was of the most culpable and desperate kind. "throughout the whole of the queen's own account of these transactions," he observes, "the delicacy of the lady, and the prudence of the wife, are in a continual struggle with facts,--willing to lay open the whole for her own vindication, yet unable to do it for her own sake and her husband's, and yet doing it in effect." vide whittaker, vol. iii. p. . et seq.--melville is still more explicit upon the subject, p. . and in a letter from "the lords of scotland," written to the english ambassador, six weeks after the ravishment, it is expressly said, that "the queen was led captive, and by fear, force, and (as by many conjectures may be well suspected) other extraordinary and more unlawful means, compelled to become the bedfellow to another wife's husband."--see the letter in keith p. . [ ] vide laing, vol. i. p. , and vol. ii. p. , and whittaker, vol. iii. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] history of james vi., p. .--buchanan's history, book xvii.--keith, p. .--whittaker, vol. iii. p. . [ ] "i plainly refused," says craig, in his account of this matter, which still remains among the records of the general assembly, "because he (hepburn) had not her handwriting; and also the constant bruit that my lord had both ravished her and kept her in captivity."--anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. .--keith, p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] history of james vi. p. .--keith, p. .--melville, p. .--whittaker, vol. iii. p. . et seq. upon this subject, lord hailes has judiciously remarked:--"after mary had remained a fortnight under the power of a daring profligate adventurer, few foreign princes would have solicited her hand. some of her subjects might still have sought that honour, but her compliance would have been humiliating beyond measure. it would have left her at the mercy of a capricious husband,--it would have exposed her to the disgrace of being reproached in some sullen hour, for the adventure at dunbar. mary was so situated, at this critical period, that she was reduced to this horrid alternative, either to remain in a friendless and most hazardous celibacy, or to yield her hand to bothwell."--_remarks on the history of scotland_, _p._ . [ ] melville, p. . [ ] letter from the lords of scotland to sir nicholas throckmorton, in keith, p. . [ ] melville, p. . [ ] melville, p. . [ ] keith, p. .--melville, p. .--knox, p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] knox, p. . [ ] laing, appendix, p. . [ ] laing, appendix, vol. ii. p. . knox says that it was bothwell who drew back; but the authority to which we have referred is more to be depended on. [ ] melville, p. . [ ] laing, appendix, vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] keith, p. .--melville, p. .--knox, p. .--laing, appendix, vol. ii. p. . [ ] laing, appendix, vol. ii. p. .--anderson, vol. i. p. .--keith, p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] buchanan's history, book xviii. [ ] keith, p. , et seq. [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] the above account of bothwell's adventures and fate, after he left scotland, is taken principally from melville, and the history of james vi. but an interesting and original manuscript, entitled a "declaration of the earl of bothwell," which was made at copenhagen, in the year , for the satisfaction apparently of the danish government, has recently been discovered, and an authenticated copy of it having been transmitted to this country in august , a careful translation from the old french in which it is written, was presented to the public in "the new monthly magazine," for june . satisfied as we are of the authenticity of this "declaration," we have availed ourselves of some of the information it supplies, though, of course, great allowance must be made for the colouring bothwell has artfully given to the transactions he details. we shall have more to say of this "declaration" afterwards; at present, it is necessary only to refer to it. [ ] keith, p. and . [ ] keith, p. . it is worth noticing, that no proof of this absurd falsehood is offered--no allusion being even made to the letter which had been shown to grange, and which, though only the first of a series of forgeries, yet having been hastily prepared to serve the purpose of the hour, seems to have been destroyed immediately. [ ] keith, ibid. [ ] keith, p. . [ ] throckmorton's letter in keith, p. , et seq. [ ] melville's memoirs, p. . [ ] whittaker, vol. i. p. . [ ] throckmorton in keith, p. . [ ] robertson, appendix to vol. i. no. xxi. [ ] robertson, appendix to vol. i. no. xxii. [ ] throckmorton, in one of his letters, mentions explicitly, that mary had given him the very reasons stated above for refusing to renounce bothwell. but as throckmorton could communicate with mary only through the channel of the rebel lords, who, he says, "_had sent him word_," it is not at all improbable, that her message may have been a good deal garbled by the way. the passage in throckmorton's letter is as follows:--"i have also persuaded her to conform herself to renounce bothwell for her husband, and to be contented to suffer a divorce to pass betwixt them. she hath sent me word, that she will in no wise consent unto that, but rather die: grounding herself upon this reason, taking herself to be seven weeks gone with child; by renouncing bothwell, she should acknowledge herself to be with child of a bastard, and to have forfeited her honour, which she will not do to die for it. i have persuaded her to save her own life and her child, to choose the least hard condition." robertson--appendix to vol. i. no. xxii. it was, perhaps, this passage in throckmorton's despatch to england, that gave rise to a vulgar rumour, which was of course much improved by the time it reached france. le laboureur, an historian of much respectability, actually asserts that the queen of scots had a daughter to bothwell, who was educated as a religieuse in the convent of notre dame at soissons. _vide_ laboureur addit. aux mem. de castelnau, p. . of course, the assertion is altogether unfounded. [ ] some historians have asserted, that lord ruthven accompanied the two commissioners mentioned in the text. but this is not the case, for he was present at a conference with the english ambassador, throckmorton, on the very day the others were at lochleven. throckmorton in keith, p. . [ ] pennant, in his "tour in scotland," thus describes lochleven, and the island where the queen resided:--"lochleven, a magnificent piece of water, very broad but irregularly indented; is about twelve miles in circumference, and its greatest depth about twenty-four fathoms. some islands are dispersed in this great expanse of water, one of which is large enough to feed several head of cattle; but the most remarkable is that distinguished by the captivity of mary stuart, which stands almost in the middle of the lake. the castle still remains, consists of a _square tower_, a small yard with two round towers, a chapel, and the ruins of a building, where (it is said) the unfortunate princess was lodged. in the square tower is a dungeon, with a vaulted room above, over which had been three other stories."--tour in scotland, vol. i. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] keith, p. .--whittaker, vol. i. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. , and . [ ] leslie, p. .--jebb, vol. ii. p. and . [ ] goodall, ibid.--freebairn, p. .--whittaker, vol. i. p. . _et seq._--chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] history of james vi. p. . keith, p. . [ ] melville's memoirs, p. . keith, p. . et seq. [ ] throckmorton's letter in keith, p. et seq. [ ] what mark antony, according to shakespeare, said of cæsar, might be, with propriety, applied to the earl of murray: "you all did see that, on the lupercal, i thrice presented him a kingly crown, which he did thrice refuse.--was this ambition?" [ ] anderson, vol. ii. p. and .--chalmers, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. .--anderson, vol. ii. p. et seq. [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. , and chalmers, vol. i. p. and . [ ] jebb, vol. ii. p. .--keith, p. --and chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] sir william drury's letter in keith, p. . [ ] buchanan's cameleon, p. . [ ] jebb, vol. ii. p. and .--keith, p. .--freebairn, p. , et seq.--chalmers, vol. i. p. , et seq. the interest taken in queen mary by george douglas, is ascribed by mackenzie to a motive less pure than the affection of a good subject. his chief characteristic, we are told by that author, was an excessive love of money, and it was by bribing him, he asserts, with the best part of what gold and jewels she had about her, that mary prevailed upon him to assist her. but this statement does not seem well authenticated. another story, still more improbable, was told by the earl of murray to the english ambassador, sir william drury, namely, that mary had entreated him to allow her to have a husband, and had named george douglas as the person she would wish to marry. murray must have fabricated this falsehood, in order to lower the dignity of the queen; but he surely forgot that the reason assigned in justification of her imprisonment in loch-leven, was her alleged determination not to consent to a separation from bothwell. how then did she happen to wish to marry another? see sir william drury's letter in keith, p. . [ ] keith, p. , et seq. [ ] buchanan, book xix.--melville's memoirs, p. . et seq.--keith, p. .--calderwood, crawfurd, and holinshed. the accounts which historians give of this battle are so confused and contradictory, that it is almost impossible to furnish any very distinct narrative of it, even by collating them all. robertson hardly attempts any detail, and the few particulars which he does mention, are in several instances erroneous. [ ] keith, p. and .--anderson, vol. iv. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. iv. p. . et seq.--keith, p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. iv. p. .--chalmers, vol. i. p. . even at carlisle, mary was always strictly watched. in one of his letters to cecil, knollys writes thus:--"yesterday, her grace went out at a postern, to walk on the playing green, towards scotland; and we, with twenty-two halberdeers, diverse gentlemen and other servants, waited upon her. about twenty of her retinue played at foot-ball before her the space of two hours, very strongly, nimbly, and skilfully,--without any foul play offered, the smallness of their ball occasioning their fair play. and before yesterday, since our coming, she went but twice out of the town, once to the like play of foot-ball, in the same place, and once she rode out a hunting the hare, she galloping so fast upon every occasion, and her whole retinue being so well horsed, that we, upon experience thereof, doubting that, upon a set course, some of her friends out of scotland might invade and assault us upon the sudden, for to rescue and take her from us; we mean hereafter, if any such riding pastimes be required that way, so much to fear the endangering of her person by some sudden invasion of her enemies, that she must hold us excused, in that behalf." [ ] anderson, vol. iv. p. .--stuart, vol. i. p. . it is of dr stuart's translation that we have availed ourselves. [ ] anderson, vol. iv. part ii. p. . [ ] buchanan, book xix. it is worth remarking, that of these particular friends of murray, the two commissioners, lord lindsay and the commendator of dunfermlin, and the two lawyers, macgill and balnaves, sat on the trial of bothwell when he was unanimously acquitted. yet they afterwards accused the queen of consenting to an unfair trial. [ ] anderson, vol. iv. part ii. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. iv. part i. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] we do not at present stop the course of our narrative to examine these letters more minutely, but we shall devote some time to their consideration afterwards. [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] ibid. p. . [ ] ibid. p. . [ ] ibid. p. and . [ ] ibid. p. . [ ] ibid. p. . [ ] ibid. p. and . [ ] there is one other circumstance connected with this conference, which, though not bearing any immediate reference to mary, is worth mentioning. we allude to the challenges which passed between lord lindsay, one of murray's commissioners, and lord herries, one of mary's most constant and faithful servants. lindsay, whose passionate violence we have formerly had occasion to notice, attempted to force a quarrel upon herries, by writing him the following letter: "lord herries,--i am informed that you have spoken and affirmed, that my lord regent's grace and his company here present, were guilty of the abominable murder of the late king, our sovereign lord's father. if you have so spoken, you have said untruly, and have lied in your throat, which i will maintain, god willing, against you, as becomes me of honour and duty. and hereupon i desire your answer. subscribed with my hand, at kingston, the twenty-second day of december . patrick lindsay." to this epistle lord herries made the following spirited reply: "lord lindsay,--i have seen a writing of yours, the d of december, and thereby understand,--'you are informed that i have said and affirmed, that the earl of murray, whom you call your regent, and his company, are guilty of the queen's husband's slaughter, father to our prince; and if i said it, i have lied in my throat, which you will maintain against me as becomes you of honour and duty.' in respect they have accused the queen's majesty, mine and your native sovereign, of that foul crime, far from the duty that good subjects owed, or ever have been seen to have done to their native sovereign,--i have said--'there is of that company present with the earl of murray, guilty of that abominable treason, in the fore-knowledge and consent thereto.' that you were privy to it, lord lindsay, i know not; and if you will say that i have specially spoken of you, you lie in your throat; and that i will defend as of my honour and duty becomes me. but let any of the principal that is of them subscribe the like writing you have sent to me, and i shall point them forth, and fight with some of the traitors therein; for meetest it is that traitors should pay for their own treason. herries. london, d of december ." no answer appears to have been returned to this letter, and so the affair was dropped.--goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] strype, vol. i. p. .--chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] stranguage, p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. .--anderson, vol. ii. p. .--stuart, vol. ii. p. .--chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. iii. p. . [ ] see "an account of the life and actions of the reverend father in god, john lesley, bishop of ross," in anderson, vol. iii. p. vii. [ ] miss benger, vol. ii. p. . [ ] additions to the memoirs of castelnau, p. , et seq. [ ] laing, vol. ii. p. . alas! what am i?--what avails my life? does not my body live without a soul?-- a shadow vain--the sport of anxious strife, that wishes but to die, and end the whole. why should harsh enmity pursue me more? the false world's greatness has no charms for me; soon will the struggle and the grief be o'er;-- soon the oppressor gain the victory. ye friends! to whose remembrance i am dear, no strength to aid you, or your cause, have i; cease then to shed the unavailing tear,-- i have not feared to live, nor dread to die; perchance the pain that i have suffered here, may win me more of bliss thro' god's eternal year. [ ] see the whole of this letter in whittaker, vol. iv. p. . camden translated it into latin, and introduced it into his history; but he published only an abridged edition of it, which dr stuart has paraphrased and abridged still further; and mademoiselle de keralio has translated dr stuart's paraphrased abridgment into french, supposing it to have been the original letter. stuart, vol. ii. p. .--keralio, histoire d'elisabethe, vol. v. p. . [ ] chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] they were hanged on two successive days, seven on each day; and the first seven, among whom were ballard, babington, and savage, were cut down before they were dead, embowelled, and then quartered.--_stranguage_, _p._ . [ ] stranguage, p. .--chalmers, vol. i. p. et seq. [ ] in the first series of ellis's collection of "original letters illustrative of english history," there is given a fac simile of the plan, in lord burleigh's hand, for the arrangement to be observed at the trial of the queen of scots. as it is interesting, and brings the whole scene more vividly before us, the following explanatory copy of it will be perused with interest. [illustration: the upper end of the gret chambre at fordynghay cast.] _below, in another hand, apparently in answer to lord burleigh's direction, is the following_: "this will be most convenientlye in the greatt chamber; the lengthe whereof is in all xxiij. yerds with the windowe: whereof there may be fr. the neither part beneth the barre viij. yerds: and the rest for the upper parte. the breadeth of the chamber is vij. yerds. "there is another chambre for the lords to dyne in, the lengthe is xiiij. yerds; the breadeth, vij. yerdes; and the deppeth iij. yerdes dim." [ ] as an example of some of the mistakes which the fabricators of these letters committed, it may be mentioned, that in one of them, dated the th of july , mary is made to say,--"i am not yet brought so low but that i am able to handle my cross-bow for killing a deer, and to gallop after the hounds on horseback, as this afternoon i intend to do, within the limits of this park, and could otherwhere if it were permitted." yet on the d of june previous, sir amias paulet informed walsingham--"the scottish queen is getting a little strength, and has been out in her coach, and is sometimes carried in a chair to one of the adjoining ponds to see the diversion of duck-hunting; but she is not able to walk without support on each side." see chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] camden, p. , et seq.--stranguage, p. , et seq.--robertson, book vii.--stuart, vol. ii. p. , et seq. [ ] it deserves notice, that no particulars of the trial at fotheringay have been recorded, either by mary herself, or any of her friends, but are all derived from the narrative of two of elizabeth's notaries. if mary's triumph was so decided, even by their account, it may easily be conceived that it would have appeared still more complete, had it been described by less partial writers. [ ] camden, p. , et seq. [ ] murdin, p. . [ ] camden. [ ] jebb, vol. ii. p. . [ ] tytler, vol. ii. p. , et seq., and p. .--chalmers, vol. i. p. .--tytler gives a strong and just exposition of the shameful nature of the queen's correspondence with paulet. the reader cannot fail to peruse the following passage with interest: "the letters written by elizabeth to sir amias paulet, queen mary's keeper in her prison at fotheringay castle, disclose to us the true sentiments of her heart, and her steady purpose to have mary privately assassinated. paulet, a rude but an honest man, had behaved with great insolence and harshness to queen mary, and treated her with the utmost disrespect. he approached her person without any ceremony, and usually came covered into her presence, of which she had complained to queen elizabeth. he was therefore thought a fit person for executing the above purpose. the following letter from elizabeth displays a strong picture of her artifice and flattery, in order to raise his expectations to the highest pitch. 'to my loving amias. '_amias, my most faithful and careful servant_, god reward thee treblefold for the most troublesome charge so well discharged. if you knew, _my amias_, how kindly, beside most dutifully, my grateful heart accepts and praiseth your spotless endeavours and faithful actions, performed in so dangerous and crafty a charge, it would ease your travail, and rejoice your heart; in which i charge you to carry this most instant thought, that i cannot balance in any weight of my judgment the value that i prize you at, and suppose no treasure can countervail such a faith. and you shall condemn me in that fault that yet i never committed, if i reward not such desert; yea let me lack when i most need it, if i acknowledge not such a merit, _non omnibus datum_.'[*] having thus buoyed up his hopes and wishes, walsingham, in his letters to paulet and drury, mentions the proposal in plain words to them. 'we find, by a speech lately made by her majesty, that she doth note in you both a lack of that care and zeal for her service, that she looketh for at your hands, in that you have not in all this time (of yourselves, without any other provocation) found out some way to shorten the life of the scots queen, considering the great peril she is hourly subject to, so long as the said queen shall live.'--in a post-script: 'i pray you, let both this and the enclosed be committed to the fire; as your answer shall be, after it has been communicated to her majesty, for her satisfaction.' in a subsequent letter: 'i pray you let me know what you have done with my letters, because they are not fit to be kept, that i may satisfy her majesty therein, who might otherwise take offence thereat.' what a cruel snare is here laid for this faithful servant! he is tempted to commit a murder, and at the same time has orders from his sovereign to destroy the warrant for doing it. he was too wise and too honourable to do either the one or the other. had he fallen into the snare, we may guess, from the fate of davidson, what would have been his. paulet, in return, thus writes to walsingham:--'your letters of yesterday coming to my hand this day, i would not fail, according to your directions, to return my answer with all possible speed; which i shall deliver unto you with great grief and bitterness of mind, in that i am so unhappy, as living to see this unhappy day, in which i am required, by direction of my most gracious sovereign, to do an act which god and the law forbiddeth. my goods and life are at her majesty's disposition, and i am ready to lose them the next morrow if it shall please her. but god forbid i should make so foul a shipwreck of my conscience, or leave so great a blot to my poor posterity, as shed blood without law or warrant." [*] what a picture have we here, of the heroine of england! wooing a faithful servant to commit a clandestine murder, which she herself durst not avow! the portrait of king john, in the same predicament, practising with hubert to murder his nephew, then under his charge, shows how intimately the great poet was acquainted with nature. o my gentle hubert, we owe thee much! within this wall of flesh, there is a soul, counts thee her creditor, and with advantage means to pay thy love, and, my good friend, thy voluntary oath lives in this bosom dearly cherished. [ ] mackenzie's lives of the scottish writers, vol. iii. p. .--robertson, vol. ii. p. .--chalmers, vol. i. p. . [ ] la mort de la royne d'ecosse in jebb, vol. ii. p. . [ ] jebb, vol. ii. p. . et seq. [ ] "mary's testament and letters," says ritson the antiquarian, "which i have seen, blotted with her tears in the scotch college, paris, will remain perpetual monuments of singular abilities, tenderness, and affection,--of a head and heart of which no other queen in the world was probably ever possessed." [ ] jebb, vol. ii. p. , et seq. [ ] history of fotheringay, p. . [ ] among these attendants were her physician bourgoine, who afterwards wrote a long and circumstantial narrative of her death, and jane kennedy, formerly mentioned on the occasion of mary's escape from loch-leven. [ ] narratio supplicii mortis mariae stuart in jebb, vol. ii. p. .--la mort de la royne d'ecosse in jebb, vol. ii. p. and .--camden, p. . [ ] jebb, vol. ii. p. , et seq. [ ] see mezeray, histoire de france, tome iii. [ ] "we may say of mary, i believe, with strict propriety," observes whittaker, "what has been said of one of her royal predecessors,--'the gracious duncan,' that she "had borne her faculties so meek, had been so clear in her great office, that her virtues, will plead, like angels, trumpet-tongued, against _the deep damnation of her taking off_." [ ] "oraison funebre" in jebb, vol. ii. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. .--keith, p. . [ ] melville, p. . et seq. [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] keith, p. . [ ] haynes, p. .--stuart, vol. i. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, p. .--anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] ibid. . [ ] tytler, vol. i. p. . [ ] there is preserved at hamilton palace, a small silver box, said to be the very casket which once contained the letters. laing, who appears to believe in the genuineness of this relic somewhat too hastily, mentions, that "the casket was purchased from a papist by the marchioness of douglas (a daughter of the huntly family) about the period of the restoration. after her death, her plate was sold to a goldsmith, from whom her daughter-in-law anne, heiress and dutchess of hamilton, repurchased the casket." "for the following accurate and satisfactory account of the casket," adds mr laing, "i am indebted to mr alexander young, w. s., to whom i transmitted the description of it given in morton's receipt, and in the memorandum prefixed to the letters in buchanan's 'detection.'" "'the silver box is carefully preserved in the charter-room at hamilton palace, and answers exactly the description you have given of it, both in size and general appearance. i examined the outside very minutely. on the first glance i was led to state, that it had none of those ornaments to which you allude, and, in particular, that it wanted the crowns, with the italic letter _f_. instead of these, i found on one of the sides the arms of the house of hamilton, which seemed to have been engraved on a compartment, which had previously contained some other ornament. on the top of the lock, which is of curious workmanship, there is a large embossed crown with _fleurs de lis_, but without any letters. upon the bottom, however, of the casket, there are two other small ornaments--one near each end, which, at first sight, i thought resembled our silver-smiths' marks; but, on closer inspection, i found they consisted each of a royal crown above a _fleur de lis_, surmounting the italic letter _f_.'"--laing, vol. ii. p. . upon this description of the box, it may be remarked, that it does _not_ exactly agree with the account given of it by buchanan; for it would appear, that in the casket preserved at hamilton, there are only two italic _f's_; while buchanan describes it as "a small gilt coffer, not fully a foot long, being _garnished in sundry places_ with the roman letter f, under a king's crown," an expression he would not have used, had there been only two of these letters. besides, there seems to have been a king's crown above each; but on the coffer at hamilton, there is only one crown on the top of the lock, and not above the letter f. antiquarians, however, have investigated subjects of less curiosity, and have been willing to believe upon far more slender data. [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. ; and p. . [ ] the authentic "warrant" and "consent," has been already described, _supra_, vol. ii. p. , and may be seen at length in anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] laing, appendix, vol. ii. p. . [ ] see in further corroboration of the facts stated above, a letter of archibald douglas to the queen of scots, in robertson's appendix, or in laing, vol. ii. p. . [ ] "nec ullam hac in causa reginæ accusationem intervenire."--see the king of denmark's letter in laing, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] keith, appendix, p. . [ ] jebb, vol. ii. p. .--keith, appendix, p. . [ ] see the new monthly magazine, no. liv. p. . [ ] lesley's "defence" in anderson, vol. i. p. . [ ] miss benger, appendix, vol. ii. p. . [ ] buchanan, book xix.--stuart, vol. i. p. . [ ] robertson, appendix to vol. i. no. xxii. [ ] anderson, vol. iv. part i. p. and . [ ] keith, appendix, p. . [ ] jebb, vol. ii. p. . [ ] anderson, vol. ii. p. . [ ] anderson, ibid. p. .--laing, vol. ii. p. . [ ] laing, appendix p. . [ ] laing, vol. ii. p. . [ ] ibid. p. . [ ] tytler, vol. i. p. . [ ] it is unnecessary to enter into any discussion regarding the second confession of paris, which has been so satisfactorily proved to be spurious, by tytler, whittaker, and chalmers, and on which robertson acknowledges "no stress is to be laid," on account of the "improbable circumstances" it contains. see tytler, vol. i. p. .--whittaker, vol. ii. p. .--chalmers, vol. ii. p. .--robertson, vol. iii. p. . [ ] robertson, vol. iii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. and .--robertson, vol. iii. p. . [ ] the french edition of the detection, p. .--goodall, vol. i. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] laing, vol. i. p. . [ ] see the letter in laing, vol. ii. p. ; and an unsuccessful attempt to give a criminal interpretation to it, in vol. i. p. . it is quite unnecessary to allude here to several other flimsy forgeries which, at a later period, have been attempted to be palmed upon the world as genuine letters of mary. in , a book was published, entitled, "the genuine letters of mary queen of scots, to james earl of bothwell, found in his secretary's closet after his decease, and now in the possession of a gentleman at oxford. translated from the french by edward simmons, late of christ-church college, oxford." these had only to be read, to be seen to be fabrications. yet so late as the year , a compilation was published by dr hugh campbell, containing, among other things, eleven letters, which the doctor thought were original love-letters of the queen to bothwell, although, with a very trifling variation, they were the same as those published in ; only, not being described as translations, and being written in comparatively modern english, which mary never could write, they bear still more evidently the stamp of forgery. this is put beyond a doubt, by a short examination of them, published by murray, london, , and entitled, "a detection of the love-letters, lately attributed, in hugh campbell's work, to mary queen of scots; wherein his plagiarisms are proved, and his fictions fixed." [ ] whittaker, vol. ii. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. i. p. --laing, vol. i. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] jebb, vol. ii. . [ ] camden, p. .--tytler, vol. i. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] it is proper to state, that robertson has considered this argument at some length; and though he has not overturned, he has certainly invalidated the strength of the evidence adduced by goodall in support of it.--goodall, vol. i. p. .--whittaker, vol. i. p. .--chalmers, vol. ii. p. .--laing, vol. i. p. . [ ] whittaker, vol. i. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. & . [ ] whittaker, vol. i. p. . [ ] goodall, vol. ii. p. . [ ] regarding these sonnets, the curious reader may consult whittaker, vol. iii. p. .--stuart, vol. i. p. .--jebb, vol. ii. p. --and laing, vol. i. p. . . . and . for remarks on the marriage-contracts, see goodall, vol. ii. p. & , and vol. i. p. .--whittaker, vol. i, p. , and stuart, vol, i. p. . scottish history from contemporary writers no. ii. mary queen of scots =english history from contemporary writers.= edited by prof. f. york powell. in mo volumes, averaging pages, with illustrations, neatly bound in cloth, cut flush, or cloth, uncut edges, comprising extracts from the chronicles, state papers, and memoirs of the time, chronologically arranged. with introductions, notes, accounts of authorities, tables, maps, illustrations, etc. =edward iii. and his wars= ( - ). edited by w. j. ashley, m.a. cut edges, s.; uncut edges, s. d. =the misrule of henry iii.= ( - ). edited by the rev. w. h. hutton, m.a. cut edges, s.; uncut edges, s. d. =strongbow's conquest of ireland.= edited by f. p. barnard, m.a. cut edges, s.; uncut edges, s. d. =simon of montfort and his cause= ( - ). edited by the rev. w. h. hutton, m.a. cut edges, s.; uncut edges, s. d. =the crusade of richard i.= edited by t. a. archer. pp. cut edges, s.; uncut edges, s. d. =s. thomas of canterbury.= by rev. w. h. hutton. pp. cut edges, s. d.; uncut edges, s. =england under charles ii., from the restoration to the treaty of nimwegen.= edited by w. taylor. cut edges, s.; uncut edges, s. d. =the wars of the roses.= edited by miss e. thompson. pp. . cut edges, s.; uncut edges, s. d. =the jews of angevin england.= edited by j. jacobs. xxix, pp. . cut edges, s.; uncut edges, s. d. =king alfred.= edited by f. york powell. _in the press._ =scottish history from contemporary writers.= =the days of james iv.= edited by g. gregory smith, m.a. . cut edges, s.; uncut edges, s. d. =mary queen of scots.= edited by r. s. rait. . cut edges, s.; elegant cloth cover, top gilt, edges trimmed, s. illustration: the blairs portrait. scottish history from contemporary writers. no. ii. mary queen of scots - _extracts from the english, spanish, and venetian state papers, buchanan, knox, lesley, melville, the "diurnal of occurrents," nau, &c. &c._ arranged and edited by robert s. rait m.a. (aberdon.) exhibitioner of new college, oxford london david nutt, - strand printed by ballantyne, hanson & co. at the ballantyne press preface the life of the queen of scots presents so many different lines of interest, that, in a volume of the present size, it is necessary to make and adhere to a selection from among the numerous possible varieties of treatment. the attention of the reader has, therefore, been concentrated upon the six active years in mary's life, from her arrival in scotland in august , to her imprisonment in lochleven castle in june . documents bearing on the "english wooing" and the other events of mary's minority and residence in france have, accordingly, been omitted, except in so far as they are required for an intelligible introduction to the main theme of the book. most of them, indeed, would be more relevant to a volume having for its subject the history of the scottish reformation. it is hoped that such extracts as have been chosen will, with the connecting notes, be sufficient to indicate the position of affairs in . the struggle which had convulsed scotland for twenty years, was, on its theoretical side, a contest between roman catholicism and protestantism. on its practical side, it was a rivalry between two political parties; the one, headed by the queen-dowager, mary of guise, and cardinal beaton, aiming at the maintenance of the ancient alliance with france; and the other, led by the protestant nobles and the reformed clergy, striving towards an understanding with england. before mary's arrival, the popular, or english party, had made good its position, and the understanding between the nobles and queen elizabeth continued undisturbed. such wish or power as mary possessed for the re-establishment of a definite alliance with france, was lessened by her personal dislike to catharine de medici, and by her position as nearest heir to the english throne. the editor's main aim has been to place before the reader, as fairly as possible, the evidence for the divergent views of mary's life and character. for this purpose, considerable space has been devoted to the conferences at york and westminster, in and , which, although themselves outside the period specially chosen, yet refer to the events that fall within it. the selection of extracts has also been influenced by a desire to give prominence to the condition of scotland at the time, and to the religious difficulty associated with the person of john knox; while an attempt has been made to bring into relief the personality of the rival queens. the editor desires to acknowledge the courtesy of the right reverend monsignor chisholm, rector of blairs college, bishop-designate of aberdeen, who has sanctioned the reproduction of the blairs portrait. he has also to acknowledge the assistance of professor w. l. davidson of aberdeen; mr. herbert fisher, fellow of new college; and the editor of the series, who have read the proof-sheets. mr. swinburne's translation of mary's last poem (p. ) is printed by kind permission, and mr. t. f. henderson has allowed the editor to use the documents first printed in his "casket letters and mary queen of scots." r. s. r. new college, oxford, _february _. contents sect. page i. from mary's birth to her return to scotland from france ii. from mary's arrival in scotland to the darnley marriage iii. from the darnley marriage to the rizzio murder iv. murder of rizzio to murder of darnley v. from the murder of darnley to the flight into england vi. the conferences at york and westminster vii. the documents viii. the end appendices list of illustrations . queen mary _frontispiece_ (_from the painting preserved in st. mary's college, blairs, aberdeen._) . linlithgow palace . holyrood house (_the north-west end of holyrood, shown in the foreground, contains queen mary's rooms._) . queen mary's signet ring (_preserved in the british museum._) facsimile of queen mary's signature and monogram . lochleven castle . hand-bell used by queen mary . effigy of queen mary in westminster abbey (_erected by her son, king james, in ._) _nos. , , , , and are from photographs by messrs. wilson, aberdeen; nos. and by messrs. taunt, oxford. for full information regarding nos. and , see "catalogue of antiquities" &c., exhibited in the museum of the archæological institute of great britain and ireland, , pp. - (edin. )._ illustration: linlithgow palace, queen mary's birthplace. mary queen of scots section i from mary's birth to her return to scotland from france _contents_ . lindsay's account of her birth and her father's death. . her education and character in france. (_a_) letter of the privy council of scotland. (_b_) conn's list of her accomplishments. . lesley's account of her betrothal and marriage. . lesley's account of the death of mary of guise. . the disputed clause in the treaty of edinburgh. . act of the scots parliament establishing the reformation. . quotations from the english and venetian diplomatic correspondence narrating (_a_) the death of francis ii., and its effect on mary. (_b_) the negotiations between elizabeth and mary. (_c_) the attempt to capture mary on her way to leith. the birth of the queen. _lindsay of pitscottie: history of scotland_, ed. of , p. . [mary was born at linlithgow on december nd, . her father, james v., was dying at falkland, broken-hearted after the defeat at solway moss. the reference in the following passage is, of course, to the succession of the house of stewart to the crown, through marjory bruce. king james died on december th.] _death of james v._ by this the post came to the king out of linlithgow, showing to him good tidings, that the queen was delivered. the king enquired whether it was a man-child or a woman. the messenger said: "it is a fair daughter." the king answered: "adieu, farewell; it came with a lass and it will pass with a lass." and so he recommended himself to the mercy of almighty god, and spake little from that time forth, but turned his back unto his lords, and his face unto the wall.... in this manner he departed.... he turned him upon his back, and looked, and beheld all his nobles and lords about him, and gave a little smile of laughter, then kissed his hand, and offered the same to all his nobles round about him; thereafter held up his hands to god, and yielded his spirit to god. on the death of james v. the earl of arran was made regent, and negotiations were commenced by henry viii. for the marriage of the infant queen of scots to his son, afterwards edward vi. after much discussion, a treaty to this effect was concluded in july between the scots and english commissioners. the relations of the two countries, however, almost immediately became strained, and war broke out in the end of the year, and in a treaty of alliance was made between scotland and france against england, the scots to receive french help against the english forces, and to marry their queen to the dauphin. mary landed in france in august . the earl of arran was made duke of chatelherault by henry ii., but ceased to be governor of scotland in april , when the queen mother, mary of guise, became regent. _the little queen_ --april. queen mary's life in france--character of the queen. _register of the privy council of scotland._ _item._--thereafter the said master of erskine shall report to the king {of france}, how rejoiced the queen's grace and my lord governor were of the news of our sovereign lady's welfare, and to hear that the king's highness was so well contented with her grace, and that she was so able to increase in virtue, and that the king's majesty takes such consolation, seeing the beginning of her up-bringing to have been so good, that he hopes some day to see his son the husband of one of the most virtuous princes that man can desire: beseeching god of his infinite goodness that his highness may see not only the thing that his noble heart desires, but also that our sovereign lady be after this so endued with the graces of god that she may by her birth {offspring} make his highness to be called the grandfather of one of the most virtuous princes in the world, and king long to reign prosperously over both realms. _her accomplishments_ her education and accomplishments. _conaeus._ (_jebb: de vita ac rebus_, vol. ii. p. .) her main course of study was directed towards the attainment of the best european languages. so graceful was her french that the judgment of the most learned men recognised her command of the language; nor did she neglect spanish or italian, although she aimed rather at an useful knowledge than at a pretentious fluency. she followed latin more readily than she spoke it. the charm of her poetry owed nothing to art. her penmanship was clear, and (what is rare in a woman) swift. her excellence in singing arose from a natural, not an acquired, ability to modulate her voice: the instruments she played were the cittern, the harp, and the harpsichord. being very agile, she danced admirably to a musical accompaniment, yet with beauty and comeliness, for the silent and gentle movement of her limbs kept time to the harmony of the chords. she devoted herself to learning to ride so far as it is necessary for travelling or for her favourite exercise of hunting, thinking anything further more fitted for a man than for a woman.... several tapestries worked by her with wonderful skill are yet to be seen in france, dedicated to the altars of god, especially in the monastery in which she was nurtured on her first arrival in the kingdom. _the "handfasting"_ .--april. mary's betrothal and marriage to the dauphin. _lesley's history of scotland_ (_bannatyne club_, pp. - ). all things necessary for the marriage of the queen of scots with the dauphin being prepared, and the whole nobility and estates of the realm being convened at paris, upon the th day of april , in the great hall of the palace of the louvre, in presence of king henry of france, of the queen his wife, and a great number of cardinals, dukes, earls, bishops, and noblemen, the "fianzellis," otherwise called the handfasting {betrothal}, was made with great triumph, by the cardinal of lorraine, between the excellent young prince francis, eldest son to the most valiant, courageous, and victorious prince, henry, king of france, and mary, queen, inheritor of the realm of scotland, one of the fairest, most civil and virtuous princesses of the whole world, with great solemnity, triumph, and banqueting; and upon the next sunday, being the th of april, the marriage was solemnised and completed betwixt them by the cardinal of bourbon, archbishop of rouen, in notre dame kirk of paris; where the bishop of paris made a very learned and eloquent sermon, in presence and assistance of the king, queen, and many prelates, noblemen, ladies, and gentlemen of all estates and callings, with most excellent triumph, and the heralds crying with loud voices three sundry times, "largess"; casting to the people great quantity of gold and silver of all kinds and sorts of coin, where there was great tumult of people, every one troubling and pressing others for greediness to get some part of the money. after which there were as great solemnities used in the kirk, with as great dignity and reverence as was possible, which being done, they entered into the bishop's palace, where there was a sumptuous and princely dinner prepared for the whole company; and after they had dined, there was used a princely dancing, called the ball royal, to the great comfort and pleasure of all being there present; and how soon the ball was ended, they passed to the great hall of the palace royal, where they supped with so great magnificence, pomp, and triumph, that none of the assistance there had ever seen the like; and there presently was given to the dauphin the title of king dauphin, so that he and the queen were called the king and queen dauphin. _progress of events_ [in connection with the marriage settlements, an assurance was given to the scots parliament of the maintenance of its liberties, and of the succession of the nearest heir, in case of mary's death without issue. (_acts_ ii. - .) but, at the same time, mary was induced to sign three documents transferring her rights, in case of her decease without issue, to the king of france, his heirs and successors. see labanoff, "lettres, instructiones et mémoires de marie stuart," vol. i. pp. - .] events moved rapidly between and mary's return to scotland in . in november mary tudor died, and henry ii. caused francis and mary to assume the arms of england. in june henry ii. died, and francis ii. succeeded. meanwhile, in scotland, the reformation was making progress. in the protestants formed themselves into "the congregation of the lord," and signed the national covenant to abolish roman catholicism. after the death of henry ii., when it seemed probable that the guises would guide the government of scotland, the discontent broke into open rebellion. the insurgents obtained help from elizabeth, and proposed a marriage between the english queen and the earl of arran, the heir of the duke of chatelherault, who stood next in the order of succession to the scottish throne. the queen-dowager took refuge in edinburgh castle, and had the assistance of french troops. the lords of the congregation and their english allies commenced the siege of leith, but with small success. the illness of mary of guise led to the conclusion of peace, and to the formulating of the treaty of edinburgh, which was the cause of a long dispute between elizabeth and mary stuart. _a reconciliation_ .--june . the death of the queen regent. _lesley's history of scotland, dalrymple's translation, scottish text society_, vol. ii. pp. - . now the queen regent, almost at an end, through force of her sickness, for she was infected with sore sickness, commands all the nobility of both the parties to be brought before her, who were in edinburgh. and to them she declared and plainly showed the necessity of peace and concord between them, how great it was. she related the old bond of the perpetual friendship that was ever between scots and french, lately confirmed by the matrimony and marriage of the queen's daughter, and how or what way they should keep it with all diligence.... she affirms it above all things most necessary that they see to it, that as soon as the conditions are agreed upon, both english and french in haste pass out of scotland, lest that if only the frenchmen go, the englishmen come in haste in greater companies upon the scots borders, and invade them in earnest. all the gentlemen severally she persuades, that before all they remember the privilege of their nation and native country. when she had said this she burst into a torrent of tears. of those whom she thought she had in any way offended she very gently asks pardon. and to them by whom in any way she was offended she wishes all kindness, gives her blessing, and with all her heart her everlasting benison, as we call it. to show and plainly declare that what she here said was unfeigned, and without all kind of dissimulation, she receives all her nobles with all pleasure, with a pleasant countenance, and even embraces them with the kiss of love. with all the rest she shakes hands, ... so that there was none of so hard a heart, or stout a stomach, or adamant a mind in all that company, whom to think of moved not to tears.... but the next day, which was monday, she died and departed this life. .--july. the treaty of edinburgh. _rymer's f[oe]dera_, vol. xv. p. . [the treaty of edinburgh provided that both the french soldiers who had come to help the queen regent, and the english soldiers who aided the insurgents, should leave the kingdom, and it renounced mary's claim to the throne of england: whether absolutely or only with reference to elizabeth, is a matter of dispute. the clauses to which mary objected are here quoted.] ... it is agreed that the said most christian king and queen mary, and each of them, abstain henceforth from using the said title and bearing the arms of the kingdom of england or of ireland, and that they will forbid and prohibit their subjects, so that no one in the kingdom of france and scotland and their provinces, or in any part of them, do in any way use the said title or arms, and that they will, as far as possible, provide and guard that nobody in any way commingle the said arms with the arms of the kingdoms of france and scotland. _the scottish reformation_ the abolition of roman catholicism by the scottish parliament. _acts of parliament of scotland_, august , . therefore it is statute and ordained in this present parliament ... that no manner of person or persons say mass, nor yet hear mass, nor be present thereat, under the pain of confiscation of all their goods, moveable and unmoveable, and punishing of their bodies at the discretion of the magistrate within whose jurisdiction such persons happen to be apprehended, for the first fault; banishment from the realm, for the second fault; and justifying to the deed {_i.e._ capital punishment} for the third fault. and ordains all sheriffs, stewards, baillies, and their deputies, provosts and baillies of burghs, and other judges whatsoever within this realm, to take diligent suit and inquisition within their bounds, when any such usurped ministry is in use, mass-saying, or they that be present at the doing thereof, ratifying and approving the same, and take and apprehend them to the effect that the pains above written may be executed upon them. december . the death of francis ii. _venetian calendar_, vol. vii. december , . michiel surian, venetian ambassador in france, to the doge and senate. on the st instant i informed your serenity that the king was worse, and this last night i wrote that his life was despaired of. he now still continues lingering without any other hope than in the mercy of god.... the whole court is now constantly engaged at prayers, and processions are being made in all the churches of the city. december . it has pleased our lord god that the most christian king, last night a little before midnight, should pass to a better life, and end the agony in which he lay from saturday evening until the day of his death. _a dolorous wife_ .--december . mary's devotion to francis ii. _throckmorton to elizabeth. foreign calendar, elizabeth._ the th of this present, at eleven of the clock at night, he departed to god, leaving as heavy and dolorous a wife, as of right she had good cause to be, who by long watching with him during his sickness, and painful diligence about him, and specially by the issue thereof, is not in best tune of her body, but without danger. _la reine blanche_ .--december . proposals for mary's return to scotland, and for a second marriage. _throckmorton to the council. foreign calendar, elizabeth._ now that death hath thus disposed of the late french king, whereby the scottish queen is left a widow, one of the special things your lordships have to consider, and to have an eye to, is the marriage of that queen. during her husband's life there was no great account made of her, for that being under bond of marriage and subjection of her husband (who carried the burden and care of all matters) there was offered no great occasion to know what was in her. but since her husband's death she hath showed (and so continueth) that she is both of great wisdom for her years, modesty, and also of great judgment in the wise handling herself and her matters, which, increasing with her years, cannot but turn greatly to her commendation, reputation, honour, and great benefit of her and her country.... immediately upon her husband's death she changed her lodging, withdrew herself from all company, and became so solitary and exempt of all worldliness that she doth not to this day see daylight, and so will continue out forty days. .--june . mary's intentions regarding religion on her return. _throckmorton to the queen. foreign calendar, elizabeth._ "well," said she {mary}, "i will be plain with you, and tell you what i would all the world should think of me. the religion that i profess i take to be most acceptable to god, and, indeed, neither do i know, nor desire to know, any other. constancy doth become most folks well, but none better than princes and such as hath rule over realms, and especially in the matter of religion. i have been brought up in this religion, and who might credit me in anything if i should show myself light in this case?" _request for a passport_ _ibid._, july . the queen of scotland, queen dowager of france, desires to obtain the following from her good sister, the queen of england, and has charged m. d'oysel to the same effect:-- . a passport for her, with a clause that if she arrives in any part of england, she may tarry there, and purchase provisions and necessaries, and if it seems good to her, that she may leave her ships and pass by land to scotland. . another safe conduct for her to pass through england to scotland with her train, and one hundred horses, mules, &c. . another safe conduct, with commission for the said m. d'oysel to go and return through england to scotland. [d'oysel had an interview with elizabeth, who inquired about the ratification of the treaty of edinburgh, and declined to grant the safe-conduct "except she (mary) shall first accord to do those things that by her promise, under her hand and seal, she is bound to do."--_foreign calendar, july th, ._] _a wordy warfare_ .--july . throckmorton to queen elizabeth. _cabala_, pp. - . _language that becometh a queen_ ... the th of this present, in the afternoon, i had access to the said queen of scotland ... the said queen sat down, and made me sit also by her; she then commanded all the audience to retire them further off, and said: monsieur l'ambassadeur, i know not well my own infirmity, nor how far i may with my passion be transported, but i like not to have so many witnesses of my passions, as the queen, your mistress, was content to have when she talked with monsieur d'oysel. there is nothing that doth more grieve me, than that i did so forget myself, as to require of the queen, your mistress, that favour which i had no need to ask; i needed no more to have made her privy to my journey, than she doth me of hers; i may well enough pass home into my own realm, i think, without her passport or license; for though the late king, your master (said she), used all the impeachment he could both to stay me and to catch me when i came hither, yet you know, monsieur l'ambassadeur, i came hither safely, and i may have as good means to help me home again as i had to come hither, if i would employ my friends.... let the queen, your mistress, think that it will be thought very strange amongst all princes and countries, that she should first animate my subjects against me, and now being widow, to impeach my going into my own country. i ask her nothing but friendship. i do not trouble her state, nor practise with her subjects; and yet i know there be in her realm that be inclined enough to bear offers; i know also they be not of the mind she is of, neither in religion or other things. the queen, your mistress, doth say that i am young and do lack experience! indeed (quoth she), i confess, i am younger than she is, and do want experience. but i have age enough and experience to use myself towards my friends and kinsfolks friendly and uprightly; and i trust my discretion shall not so fail me, that my passion shall move me to use other language of her than it becometh of a queen, and my next kinswoman.... i answered, madam, i have declared unto you my charge commanded by the queen, my mistress, and have no more to say to you on her behalf, but to know your answer for the ratification of the treaty. the queen answered, i have aforetime showed you, and do now tell you again, that it is not meet to proceed in this matter, without the advice of the nobles and states of mine own realm, which i can by no means have until i come amongst them.... but i pray you, monsieur l'ambassadeur (quoth she), tell me how vieth this strange affection in the queen, your mistress, towards me? i desire to know it, to the intent that i may reform myself if i have failed. i answered ... as soon as the queen, my mistress, after the death of her sister, came to the crown of england, you bore the arms of england diversely quartered with your own, and used in your country notoriously the style and title of the queen, my mistress, which was never by you put in use in queen mary's time.... monsieur l'ambassadeur (said she), i was then under the commandment of king henry, my father, and of the king, my lord and husband; and whatsoever was done then by their order and commandments, the same was in like manner continued until both their deaths, since which time, you know, i neither bore the arms nor used the title of england.... it were no great dishonour to the queen my cousin, your mistress, though i, a queen also, did bear the arms of england; for, i am sure, some, inferior to me, and that be not on every side so well apparented as i am, do bear the arms of england. you cannot deny (quoth she) but that my grandmother was the king her father's sister, and (i trow) the eldest sister he had. i do assure you, monsieur l'ambassadeur, and do speak unto you truly as i think, i never meant nor thought matter against the queen, my cousin.... and so i took my leave of the said queen for that time. _to die might be better than to live_ ... and to the intent i might better decipher, whether the queen of scotland did mind to continue her voyage, i did, the ... st of july ... repair to the said queen of scotland to take my leave of her.... the said queen made answer, monsieur l'ambassadeur, if my preparations were not so much advanced as they are, peradventure the queen your mistress's unkindness might stay my voyage; but now i am determined to adventure the matter, whatsoever come of it. i trust (quoth she) the wind will be so favourable, as i shall not need to come on the coast of england; and if i do, then, monsieur l'ambassadeur, the queen your mistress shall have me in her hands to do her will of me; and if she be so hard-hearted as to desire my end, she may then do her pleasure, and make sacrifice of me; peradventure that casualty might be better for me than to live; in this matter (quoth she) god's will be fulfilled. "_adieu, plaisant pays de france_" .--august . the voyage from france to scotland. _cecil to the earl of sussex. wright's elizabeth_, vol. i. p. . the scottish queen was the th of this month at boulogne, and meaneth to take shipping at calais. neither those in scotland nor we here do like her going home. the queen's majesty hath three ships in the north seas to preserve the fishers from pirates. i think they will be sorry to see her pass. _cecil to throgmorton_, august . _hardwicke's state papers_, vol. i. p. . the th of this present, in the morning early, she {mary} arrived at leith with her two galleys, her whole train not exceeding sixty persons of meaner sort.... the queen's majesty's ships that were upon the seas to cleanse them from pirates saw her and saluted her galleys, and staying her ships examined them of pirates and dismissed them gently. one scottish ship they detain, as vehemently suspected of piracy. _from the charges against the countess of lennox in foreign calendar_, . (may .) she loves not the queen ... hearing that the queen of scots had passed through the seas, she sat down and gave god thanks, declaring to those by how he had always preserved that princess at all times, especially now, "for when the queen's ships were almost near taking of the scottish queen, there fell down a mist from heaven that separated them and preserved her." section ii from mary's arrival in scotland to the darnley marriage _contents_ . knox's description of mary's reception, and his opinion of the queen. . randolph's account of mary's public entry into edinburgh. . illustrations of the religious difficulty. (_a_) proclamation of the privy council. (_b_) randolph's account of mary's first high mass. (_c_) popular songs against the pope. . mary on the treaty of edinburgh. . the conduct of affairs at the beginning of the reign. (_a_) cecil's opinion. (_b_) randolph's impressions of murray, lethington, and knox. (_c_) the huntly rebellion as narrated by randolph. (_d_) the passing of the sentence on huntly's embalmed corpse. . knox's account of the châtelar affair. . knox's account of the famine of . . knox on the opening of parliament. . one of knox's interviews with the queen. . mary's marriage-troubles. (_a_) references selected from the diplomatic correspondence from march to march . (_b_) early suspicions of the darnley marriage. (_c_) melville's experiences in london. (_d_) further diplomatic correspondence. _sorrow, dolour, and darkness_ the queen's arrival in scotland. _laing's edition of knox's history of the reformation in scotland_, vol. i. pp. - . _the first mass_ the th day of august , betwixt seven and eight hours before noon, arrived mary, queen of scotland, then widow, with two galleys out of france. in her company (besides her gentlewomen, called the maries) were her uncles, the duc d'aumale, the grand prior, the marquess d'elbeuf. there accompanied her also d'amville, son to the constable of france, with other gentlemen of inferior condition, besides servants and officers. the very face of the heaven at the time of her arrival did manifestly speak what comfort was brought into this country with her (to wit) sorrow, dolour, darkness, and all impiety; for in the memory of man that day of the year was never seen a more dolorous face of the heaven, than was at her arrival, which two days after did so continue: for besides the surface wet, and corruption of the air, the mist was so thick and dark that scarce might any man espy another the length of two pair of butts; the sun was not seen to shine two days before nor two days after. that forewarning, god gave unto us; but alas! the most part were blind.... fires of joy were set forth at night, and a company of most honest men with instruments of music, and with musicians, gave their salutations at her chamber window: the melody (as she alleged) liked her well; and she willed the same to be continued some nights after with great diligence. the lords repaired to her from all quarters, and so was nothing understood but mirth and quietness, till the next sunday, which was the th of august, when preparations began to be made for that idol of the mass to be said in the chapel; which pierced the hearts of all. the godly began to bolden, and then began openly to speak, _shall that idol be suffered again to take place within this realm? it shall not._ the lord lindsay (then but master) with the gentlemen of fife, and others, plainly cried in the close or yard, _the idolatrous priests should die the death, according to god's law_. one that carried in the candle was evil afraid; but then began flesh and blood fully to show itself. there durst no papist, neither yet any that came out of france, whisper: but the lord james, the man whom all the godly did most reverence, took upon him to keep the chapel-door. his best excuse was, that he would stop all scotsmen to enter in to the mass; but it was and is sufficiently known, that the door was kept that none should have entry to trouble the priest, who, after the mass was ended, was committed to the protection of the lord john of coldingham and the lord robert of holyrood house, who then were both protestants, and had communicate at the table of the lord. betwixt them both was the priest conveyed to his chamber. and so the godly departed with grief of heart, and after noon repaired to the abbey in great companies, and gave plain signification, that they could not abide that the land, which god by his power had purged from idolatry, should in their eyes be polluted again. _a proud mind and a crafty wit_ knox's opinion of the queen. _ibid._, p. . john knox his own judgment, being by some of his familiars demanded what he thought of the queen, said, "if there be not in her a proud mind, a crafty wit, and an indurate heart against god and his truth, my judgment faileth me." .-- nd september. the queen's public entry into edinburgh. _thomas randolph to cecil. wright's elizabeth_, vol. i. p. . upon tuesday last she made her entry. she dined in the castle. the first sight that she saw after she came out of the castle was a boy of six years of age, that came as it were from heaven out of a round globe, that presented unto her a bible and a psalter, and the keys of the gates, and spake unto her the verses which i send you. then, for the terrible significations of god upon idolatry, there were burnt korah, dathan, and abiram, in the time of their sacrifice. they were minded to have a priest burned at the altar, at the elevation. the earl of huntly stayed {stopped} that pageant, but hath played many as wicked as that since he came hither. he bare that day the sword. [the following are the lines to which randolph referred. as only the first stanza has appeared in print before, the verses are given in their original form.] illustration: holyrood. _a "needefull" gift_ a ballad of welcome. welcome, o souveraine! welcome, o natyve quene! welcome to us your subiects great and small! welcome, i say, even from the verie splene,[ ] to edinburgh your syttie principall. whereas your people with harts both one and all doth here{in} offer to your excellence two proper volumes[ ] in memoriall as gyfte most gainand[ ] to a godlie prince. wherein your grace may reade to understande the perfett waye unto the hevennes hie, and how to rule your subiects and your land, and how your kingdom stablished shalbe, judgment and wysdome therein shall ye see. here shall you find your god his due commande, and who the contrarie does wilfullie, how them he threatens with his scurge and wand. ane gyfte more precious cold[ ] we none present nor yet more needefull to your excellence, qwylk[ ] is gode's lawes his words and testament trewlie translate with frutefull diligence, qwylk to accepte with humble reverence the provist present most hartelie you exorte with the hole subiects due obedience, together with the keyes of their porte. in signe that they[ ] and all that they possess bodie and good shall ever reddie be to serve you as their souveraine hie mistress both daye and {night} after thair bound dutie: besechinge[ ] your grace in this necessitie thair {too} shorte tyme and {their} godwill[ ] consether[ ] accepte their harts and take it pacientlie that may be done, seing all is yours together. -------------------------------------------------------------------- [ ] spleen. [ ] the volumes were a bible and a psalter "coverit with fine purpour velvet." _cf._ the _diurnal of occurrents_, september , , which gives some additional details, and mentions that the child "delivered also to her hieness three writings, the tenour whereof is uncertain." [ ] gainful. [ ] could. [ ] which. [ ] ms. to them. [ ] beseeching. [ ] goodwill. [ ] consider. -------------------------------------------------------------------- _a tolerant proclamation_ illustrations of the religious difficulty--proclamation regarding religion. _register of the privy council of scotland_, august , . forasmuch as the queen's majesty has understood the great inconveniences that may come through the division presently standing in this realm for the difference in matters of religion, that her majesty is most desirous to see pacified by a good order, to the honour of god and the tranquillity of her realm, and means to take the same by the advice of her estates as soon as conveniently may be; and that her majesty's godly resolution therein may be greatly hindered in case any tumult or sedition be raised among the lieges, if any sudden innovation or alteration be pressed or attempted before that the order may be established. therefore ... her majesty ordains letters to be directed to charge all and sundry, lieges, ... that none of them take upon hand, privately or openly, to make any alteration or innovation of the state of religion, or attempt anything against the form which her majesty found public and universally standing at her majesty's arrival in this her realm, under the pain of death, ... attour, her majesty, by the advice of the lords of her secret council, commands and charges all her lieges, that none of them take upon hand to molest or trouble any of her domestic servants or persons whomsoever come forth of france, in her grace's company, at this time, in word, deed, or countenance ... under the said pain of death.... _an unruly people_ .--november . the queen's first high mass. _thomas randolph to cecil. wright's elizabeth_, vol. i. p. . upon all hallow day the queen had a song mass. that night one of her priests was well beaten for his reward by a servant of the lord robert's. we look to have it proclaimed again that no man, under pain of confiscation of goods and lands here, say or come unto her own mass, saving her own household, that came out of france.... it is now called in question whether that the princess being an idolater may be obeyed in all civil and politic{al} actions. i think marvellously of the wisdom of god that gave this unruly, inconstant, and cumbersome people no more substance than they have, for then would they run wild. _the hunt is up_ popular songs. [the stanzas which follow are selected from the popular songs of the period. they date from a year or two before mary's arrival in scotland, but will serve to illustrate the extreme difficulty experienced by a roman catholic queen in dealing with such a people.] _the gude and godly ballates._ reprint of , p. . the hunt is up, the hunt is up,[ ] it is now perfect day, jesus, our king, is gone in hunting, who likes to speed, they may. a cursed fox lay hid in rocks this long and many a day, devouring sheep, while he might creep, none might him scare away. it did him good to lap the blood of young and tender lambs; none could he miss, for all was his, the young ones with their dams. the hunter is christ, that huntis in haste, the hounds are peter and paul; the pope is the fox, rome is the rocks, that rubs us on the gall. _the pope, that pagan full of pride_ _ibid._ the pope, that pagan full of pride, he has us blinded long; for where the blind the blind does guide, no wonder they go wrong; like prince and king, he led the ring of all iniquity; "hay trix, tryme go trix," under the greenwood tree. but his abomination the lord has brought to light; his popish pride, and threefold crown, almost have lost their might. his plack pardons are but lardouns[ ] of new found vanity; "hay trix, tryme go trix," under the greenwood tree. * * * * * of late i saw these limmers[ ] stand like mad men at mischief, thinking to get the upper hand, they look after relief; but all in vain, go tell them plain that day will never be; "hay trix, tryme go trix," under the greenwood tree. o jesus! if they thought great glee to see god's word down smorit,[ ] the congregation made to flee, hypocrisy restorit; with masses sung, and bellis rung, to their idolatry; marry, god thank you, we shall gar brank[ ] you, before that time truly. ------------------------------------------------------------- [ ] _original reads_, with huntis up. [ ] lumps. [ ] worthless persons. [ ] smothered. [ ] put the barnacles on you, as on a restive horse. ------------------------------------------------------------- _murray, lethington, and knox_ the conduct of affairs in the early years of the reign--randolph on mary's ministers. _randolph to cecil_, october , . _keith's history_, vol. i. pp. - . i receive of her grace at all times very good words. i am borne in hand {assured} by such as are nearest about her, as the lord james and the laird of lethington, that they are meant as they are spoken; i see them above all others in credit, and find in them no alteration, though there be that complain that they yield too much unto her appetite; which yet i see not. the lord james dealeth according to his nature, rudely, homely, and bluntly; the laird of lethington more delicately and finely, yet nothing swerveth from the other in mind and effect. she is patient to hear, and beareth much. the earl marischal is wary, but speaketh sometimes to good purpose.... mr. knox cannot be otherwise persuaded, but many men are deceived in this woman; he feareth yet that _posteriora sunt pejora primis_; his severity keepeth us in marvellous order. i commend better the success of his doings and preachings than the manner thereof, tho' i acknowledged his doctrine to be sound: his prayer is daily for her--"that god will turn her obstinate heart against god and his truth; or, if the holy will be otherwise, to strengthen the hearts and hands of his chosen and elect, stoutly to withstand the rage of all tyrants," &c., in words terrible enough. _protestant rule_ _cecil to challoner (english ambassador in spain). foreign calendar_, , june , . in scotland ... the earl of huntly is in no credit with the queen. the whole governance rests in lord james, being earl of mar, and the laird of lethington. the others that have credit are the earls marshal, argyll, morton, and glencairn, all protestants. the queen quietly tolerates the reformed religion throughout the realm, who is thought to be no more devout towards rome than for the contentation of her uncles. [cecil's suspicion was quite unfounded. throughout her reign mary was always in correspondence with the pope, to whom she appealed for money to help her in her efforts for the restoration of catholicism in scotland.] mary on the treaty of edinburgh. _queen mary to queen elizabeth_, january , . _keith's history_, vol. ii. p. . how prejudicial that treaty is to such title and interest as by birth and natural descent of your own lineage may fall to us, by very inspection of the treaty itself ye may easily perceive, and how slenderly a matter of so great consequence is wrapped up in obscure terms. we know how near we are descended of the blood of england, and what devices have been attempted to make us, as it were, a stranger from it. we trust, being so near your cousin, ye would be loth we should receive so manifest an injury as all utterly to be debarred from that title which in possibility may fall unto us. _the way to inverness_ .--randolph's account of the huntly rebellion. _randolph to cecil from old aberdeen_, august , . _foreign calendar_, . the queen in her progress is come to old aberdeen, where the university is.... her journey is cumbersome, painful, and marvellous long; the weather extreme foul and cold, all victuals marvellous dear; and the corn that is, never like to come to ripeness. _randolph to cecil from spynie, morayshire_, september . within these eight or ten days the queen arrived at inverness, the furthest part of her determined journey. she has had just cause for misliking the earl of huntly of long time, whose extortions have been so great, and other manifest tokens of disobedience such that it was no longer to be borne. intending to reform these, she has found in him and his two eldest sons (the lairds of gordon and findlater) open disobedience so far that they have taken arms and kept houses against her. the first occasion hereof was this. the laird of findlater, being commanded to ward in edinburgh, broke prison; and being afterwards summoned to the assize at aberdeen, disobeyed also a new command from the queen to enter himself prisoner in stirling castle. the queen thinking this to be done by the advice of his father, refused to come to his house, she being looked and provided for. he, unadvisedly conceiving the worst, took the worst way, and supported his sons to manifest rebellion. at her arrival at inverness on the th, she proposed to lodge in the castle, which belongs to her, and the keeping only to the earl of huntly, being sheriff by inheritance of the whole shire, but was refused entrance, and forced to lodge in the town. that night, the castle being summoned, answer was given that without the lord gordon's command it should not be delivered. next day the country assembled to the assistance of the queen. the gordons, finding themselves not so well served by their friends as they looked for (who had above men), rendered the castle, not being twelve or fourteen able persons. the captain was hanged, and his head set up on the castle, others condemned to perpetual prison, and the rest received mercy. the queen remained there five days, and now journeys homewards as far as spynie, a house of the bishop of moray.... the earl of huntly keeps his house, and would have it thought that his disobedience came through the evil behaviour of his sons. the queen is highly offended.... _the queen's courage_ in all these broils i assure you i never saw her merrier, never dismayed, nor never thought that so much[ ] to be in her that i find. she repented nothing, but (when the lords and others at inverness came in the morning from the watch) that she was not a man, to know what life it was to lie all night in the fields, or to walk on the causeway with a jack and knapsack, a glasgow buckler, and a broad sword. ... his {huntly's} house is fair, and best furnished of any ... in the country; his cheer is marvellous great; his mind such as it ought to be towards his sovereign. [the last sentence is _à propos_ of a visit made by argyll and randolph to huntly.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [ ] so the "calendar," but chalmers, in quoting, reads, probably correctly, "stomach." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _the water of spey_ _randolph to cecil, from aberdeen_, september . when he {huntly} understood that the queen had caused the captain of the castle of inverness to be hanged, and committed the others to prison, he thought there was no other way with him but to execute his former determination or be utterly undone. therefore he assembled such force as he could make, and committed them to the care of his son, john gordon, purposing to have met the queen at her return homeward at the water of spey, a place where good advantage might have been had. the queen (being advertised of their purpose), by the advice of her council, assembled, of those they call highlandmen and other, above , and so increased as she rode that at the passage of the water they were above . as she rode forward diverse reports were brought ... some said that there was not a man to be seen, which was nearest the truth, for when the night before there were in that wood horse and foot, they had all departed, whereof the queen had advertisement before she came to the spey ... what desperate blows would not have been given, when every man should have fought in the sight of so noble a queen and so many fair ladies ... your honour can easily judge.... that night (being sunday) the queen came to a house of the laird of banke {banff?} ... on tuesday last she arrived at old aberdeen, preparing herself against her entry the next day into the new town, where she was honourably received with spectacles, plays, interludes, and others as they could best devise.... they presented her with a cup of silver, double gilt, well wrought, with crowns in it; wine, coals, and wax were sent in, as much as will serve her while she remains here. "_be blithe and blissful, aberdene_" _ibid. from aberdeen_, september . since the queen's arrival at aberdeen they have consulted how to reform this country. it was thought best to begin at the head, and that the earl of huntly shall either submit himself and deliver up his disobedient son, john gordon, in whose name all these pageants have been wrought, or utterly to use all force against him for the subverting of his house for ever. for this purpose she remains here a good space, and has levied arquebusiers, and sent to lothian and fife for the master of lindsay, grange, and ormiston. her purpose is to take the two houses held against her, for which purpose she has a cannon within sixteen miles all ready, and other pieces there are in this town sufficient. _ibid. maitland of lethington to cecil from aberdeen_, october . the earl of huntly will plead not guilty, and seems to charge the youth and folly of his children with whatever is amiss. if any fault be his, it may be thought to have proceeded from too great simplicity rather than any craft or malice, especially by so many as have had experience of how he has always been accustomed to deal. _the skirmish at corrichie_ _ibid. randolph to cecil from aberdeen_, october . huntly having assembled persons, marched towards aberdeen to apprehend the queen and do with the rest at his will. she sent forth a sufficient number against him before he came to the town, so that this day the earls of murray, athol, morton, and others marched to the place where he was encamped, about twelve miles from hence {viz. corrichie}, and environed him, so that after some defence he yielded himself, as did john gordon and another son named adam gordon, seventeen years of age, who are brought into this town alive, but the earl himself, after he was taken, without either blow or strike, being set on horseback before him that was his taker, suddenly falleth from his horse stark dead, without word, that he ever spake, after that he was upon horseback. _ibid. randolph to cecil from aberdeen_, november . after huntly was brought into this town it was consulted what should be done with his corpse. some thought he should be buried, and nothing else done; others that he should be beheaded; the last was that his bowels should be taken out and the body reserved until parliament, that there he might be convicted of treason, in which mind they remain. john gordon confessed all and lays the fault on his father. he is not yet condemned, but doubtless will not escape. _execution of sir john gordon_ _randolph to cecil from edinburgh_, november . _keith's history_, vol. ii. p. . after the defeat of the earl of huntly consultation was had what should become of his body; it was resolved that it should be kept till the parliament, that, according unto the order, judgment might be given against him in the three estates. his son, john gordon, within three days after was beheaded in aberdeen, and execution done upon certain others that were taken at the same time. _lethington to cecil from dundee_, november . _keith's history_, vol. ii. p. . i am sorry that the soil of my native country did ever produce so unnatural a subject as the earl of huntly hath proved in the end against his sovereign, being a princess so gentle and benign, and whose behaviour hath been always such towards all her subjects, and every one in particular, that wonder is it that any could be found so ungracious as once to think evil against her.... i have heard it whispered that in this late storm of yours {elizabeth's illness} a device was intended there to prefer some other in the succession to my mistress, which i cannot think to be true, seeing none is more worthy for all respects, nor hath so good a title. if her religion hath moved anything, seeing her behaviour such toward these that be of the religion within her own realm, yea, and the religion itself, which is a great deal more increased since she came home than it was before, i see no reason why those that be zealous of religion should suspect her. _a gruesome spectacle_ .-- th may. the sentence on the earl's body. _rutland mss. at belvoir, quoted in the marquess of huntly's annals of aboyne_, pp. - . the coffin was set upright, as if the earl stood upon his feet, and upon it a piece of good black cloth with his arms fast pinned. his accusation being read, his proctor answering for him, as if himself had been alive, the inquest was empanelled. the verdict was given that he was found guilty, and judgment given thereupon as by the law is accustomed. immediately hereupon the good black cloth that hung over the coffin was taken away, and in its place a worse hanged on, the arms torn in pieces in sight of the people, and likewise struck out of the herald's book. _gentle entreatment of a stranger_ .-- nd february. the death of châtelar. _laing's knox_, vol. ii. pp. - . [châtelar, a musician and poet, had been in the suite of d'amville, who accompanied mary to scotland. he addressed poems to the queen, who received them graciously, and replied to them. he went home with his master, but returned to scotland in , and became one of the queen's favourite attendants.] amongst the minions of the court there was one named monsieur chatelar, a frenchman, that at that time passed all others in credit with the queen. in dancing of the purpose (so term they that dance, in the which man and woman talk secretly ...) in this dance, the queen chose chatelar, and chatelar took the queen. chatelar had the best dress. all this winter, chatelar was so familiar in the queen's cabinet, early and late, that scarcely could any of the nobility have access unto her. the queen would lie upon chatelar's shoulder, and sometimes privily she would steal a kiss of his neck. and all this was honest enough; for it was the gentle entreatment of a stranger. but the familiarity was so great, that upon a night, he privily did convoy himself under the queen's bed; but being espied, he was commanded away. the bruit {report} arising, the queen called the earl of murray, and bursting into a womanly affection, charged him, that, as he loved her, he should slay chatelar, and let him never speak a word. the other at first made promise so to do ... but returned and fell upon his knees before the queen and said: madam, i beseech your grace cause not me to take the blood of this man upon me; your grace has entreated him so familiarly before, that you have offended all your nobility; and now, if he shall be secretly slain at your own commandment, what shall the world judge of it? i shall bring him to the presence of justice, and let him suffer by law according to his deserving. "oh," said the queen, "you will never let him speak." i shall do (said he), madam, what in me lieth to save your honour. _the reward of dancing_ poor chatelar was brought back from kinghorn to st. andrews, examined, put to an assize, and so beheaded, the nd day of february, . he begged license to write to france the cause of his death, which, said he, in his tongue was, _pour estre trouve en lieu trop suspect_; that is, because i was found in a place too much suspected. at the place of execution, when he saw that there was no remedy but death, he made a godly confession, and granted that his declining from the truth of god, and following of vanity and impiety, was justly recompensed upon him. but in the end he concluded, looking unto the heavens, with these words, _o cruel dame!_ that is, cruel mistress! what that complaint imported, lovers may divine. and so received chatelar the reward of his dancing, for he lost his head, that his tongue should not utter the secrets of our queen. _deliver us, o lord, from the rage of such inordinate rulers._ the famine of . _laing's knox_, vol. ii. pp. - . the year of god , there was an universal dearth in scotland. but in the northland, where, the harvest before, the queen had travelled, there was an extreme famine, in the which many died in that country. the dearth was great over all, but the famine was principally there. the boll of wheat gave six pounds; the boll of bere, six merks and a half; the boll of meal, four merks; the boll of oats, fifty shillings; an ox to draw in the plough, twenty merks; a wether, thirty shillings. and so all things appertaining to the sustentation of man, in triple and more exceeded their accustomed prices. and so did god, according to the threatening of his law, punish the idolatry of our wicked queen, and our ingratitude, that suffered her to defile the land with that abomination again, that god so potently had purged, by the power of his word. for the riotous feasting, and excessive banqueting, used in court and country, wheresoever that wicked woman repaired, provoked god to strike the staff of bread, and to give his malediction upon the fruits of the earth. but, o alas! who looked, or yet looks to this very cause of all our calamities. _stinking pride of women_ .--the meeting of parliament. _laing's knox_, vol. ii. p. . such stinking pride of women, as was seen at that parliament, was never seen before in scotland. three sundry days, the queen rode to the tolbooth; the first day, she made a painted oration, and there might have been heard amongst her flatterers, "_vox dianæ_, the voice of a goddess (for it could not be dei) and not of a woman. god save that sweet face. was there ever orator spake so properly and so sweetly?" all things misliking the preacher, they spake boldly against the targetting of their taillies {_i.e._ the adornment of their robes with tassels}, and against the rest of their vanity, which they affirmed should provoke god's vengeance, not only against these foolish women, but against the whole realm.... articles were presented, for orders to be taken for apparel, and for reformation of other enormities; but all was winked at. _knox's interviews with the queen_ .--may or june. knox and the queen. _laing's knox_, vol. ii. p. . [john knox had five interviews with the queen, which are recorded in his "history." soon after mary's arrival in scotland, she sent for knox, and they discussed the religious controversy and knox's "blast against the monstrous regiment of women," in which he had inveighed against female rule. in the spring of , the queen sent for knox, who had preached a sermon from the text, "and now, understand, o ye kings, and be learned, ye that judge the earth." the reformer gave a _résumé_ of his sermon, and informed the queen that he considered her uncles "enemies unto god," and that "for maintenance of their own pomp and worldly glory, they spare not to spill the blood of many innocents." the third occasion was about a year later, at lochleven, when the thesis was the rights of subjects to rebel, and ended with the threat, "now, madam, if ye shall deny your duty unto them, who especially crave, that ye punish malefactors, think ye to receive full obedience of them? i fear, madam, ye shall not." the malefactors in question were recusant roman catholics. "herewith she being somewhat offended, passed to her supper." the interview was resumed in the morning, but the conversation was more amicable, mary asking knox's help in reconciling the earl of argyle to his wife, who was the queen's half-sister. the fourth discussion, quoted below, was _à propos_ of the proposals for mary's marriage, which were the main political theme of the year . knox had denounced any marriage with a roman catholic. in december of the same year, the queen and the reformer met again, knox undergoing a judicial examination on a charge which amounted to incitement to rebel. he defended himself by a homily upon "the insatiable cruelty of the papists," and was found innocent by the council.] the provost of glencludan, douglas by surname, of drumlanark, was the man that gave the charge, that the said john should present himself before the queen, which he did soon after dinner. the lord ochiltree, and divers of the faithful, bare him company to the abbey; but none passed in to the queen with him in the cabinet, but john erskine of dun, then superintendent of angus and mearns. _womanly weeping_ the queen in a vehement fume began to cry out, that never prince was used as she was. "i have (said she) borne with you in all your rigorous manner of speaking, both against myself and against my uncles; yea, i have sought your favour by all possible means; i offered unto you presence and audience, whensoever it pleased you to admonish me, and yet i cannot be quit of you; i vow to god i shall be once revenged." and with these words scarce could marnoch, her secret chamber boy, get napkins to hold her eyes dry, for the tears and the howling, besides womanly weeping, stayed her speech. the said john did patiently abide all the first fume, and at opportunity answered, "true it is, madam, your grace and i have been at divers controversies, into the which i never perceived your grace to be offended at me; but when it shall please god to deliver you from that bondage of darkness and error, wherein ye have been nourished, for the lack of true doctrine, your majesty will find the liberty of my tongue nothing offensive. without the preaching-place (madam) i think few have occasion to be offended at me, and there (madam) i am not master of myself, but must obey him who commands me to speak plain, and to flatter no flesh upon the face of the earth...." "but what have you to do (said she) with my marriage? or, what are you within the commonwealth?" _a meek and gentle spirit_ "a subject born within the same (said he) madam; and albeit i be neither earl, lord, nor baron within it, yet hath god made me (how abject that ever i be in your eyes) a profitable and useful member within the same; yea, madam, to me it appertaineth no less, to forewarn of such things as may hurt it, if i foresee them, than it doth to any one of the nobility; for both my vocation and conscience craveth plainness of me; and therefore (madam) to yourself i say, that which i spake in public, whensoever the nobility of this realm shall be content, and consent, that you be subject to an unlawful husband, they do as much as in them lieth to renounce christ, to banish the truth, to betray the freedom of this realm, and perchance shall in the end do small comfort to yourself." _inordinate passion_ at these words, howling was heard, and tears might have been seen in greater abundance than the matter required. john erskine of dun, a man of meek and gentle spirit, stood beside, and entreated what he could to mitigate her anger, and gave unto her many pleasant words, of her beauty, of her excellency; and how that all the princes in europe would be glad to seek her favours. but all that was to cast oil into the flaming fire. the said john stood still, without any alteration of countenance, for a long time, while that the queen gave place to her inordinate passion; and in the end he said, "madam, in god's presence i speak, i never delighted in the weeping of any of god's creatures; yea, i can scarcely well abide the tears of mine own boys, whom my own hands correct, much less can i rejoice in your majesty's weeping; but seeing i have offered unto you no just occasion to be offended, but have spoken the truth, as my vocation craves of me, i must sustain your majesty's tears, rather than i dare hurt my conscience, or betray the commonwealth by silence." herewith was the queen more offended, and commanded the said john to pass forth of the cabinet, and to abide further of her pleasure in the chamber. _fy upon that knave, death_ the laird of dun tarried, and lord john of coldingham came into the cabinet, and so they remained with her near the space of one hour. the said john stood in the chamber, as one whom men had never seen (so were all afraid), except that the lord ochiltree bare him company; and therefore he began to make discourse with the ladies, who were there sitting in all their gorgeous apparel; which when he espied, he merrily said: "fair ladies, how pleasant were this life of yours, if it should ever abide; and then in the end, that we might pass to heaven with this gay gear {clothing}! but fy upon that knave death, that will come whether we will or not; and when he hath laid on his arrest, then foul worms will be busy with this flesh, be it never so fair and so tender; and the silly {weak} soul i fear shall be so feeble, that it can neither carry with it gold, garnishing, targating {tassels}, pearls, nor precious stones." and by such means procured he the company of women, and so passed the time till that the laird of dun willed him to depart to his house till new advertisement. the queen would have had the sentiment of the lords of the articles if that such manner of speaking deserved not punishment. but she was counselled to desist; and so that storm quieted in appearance, but never in the heart. mary's second marriage. [the problem of mary's marriage was one of great difficulty. allusions to it occur in diplomatic correspondence immediately after the death of francis ii., and it was constantly in men's minds. the scottish preachers and the protestant nobles objected to a union with a roman catholic prince (_cf. supra_, p. ). catherine de medici, who was at the head of affairs in france, opposed the projected match with don carlos of spain (p. ). elizabeth of england found a difficulty in every proposal, and was especially afraid of the union of scotland with a foreign power. as early as the spring of throckmorton warned elizabeth that, if she wished to prevent such a union, "she should make a party in scotland by entertaining a good number of the best there, that all princes, perceiving her to have a great party in that realm, would not greatly seek upon a country so much at her devotion" (_foreign_ _calendar_, march , ). the following extracts indicate the course of the controversy, and aim at presenting a connected survey of the negotiations.] _perfect neighbourhood_ _randolph to cecil, from edinburgh_, december , . _keith's history_, vol. ii. p. . when any purpose falleth in of marriage, she saith that she will none other husband but the queen of england. he is right near about her that hath oftentimes heard her speak it. i desire that it may be in perfect neighbourhood, since it cannot be in perfect marriage. .--august . instructions for randolph. _foreign calendar._ he shall always rest upon this argument, that neither elizabeth nor england ... can think any mighty prince a meet husband for her, to continue the amity that now is with this realm. _smith to the english privy council, from paris_, october , . _foreign calendar._ they {catherine de medici and the constable of france} hold king philip a suspect neighbour. but they most mislike the spanish marriage with the queen of scots, which they hold to be concluded unto by the said queen, taking it to be prejudicial to england and consequently to them. _dudley or darnley_ [the anxiety about her marriage was supposed to be the cause of an illness from which mary suffered, in the end of . on december randolph wrote to cecil that she "kept her bed, being somewhat diseased of overmuch travail she took a night or two before, dancing to celebrate her nativity. but," he adds, "for two months the queen has been divers times in great melancholies. her grief is marvellous secret. she is not well, and weeps when there is little appearance of occasion." eight days later, he mentions that "the queen's illness daily increaseth. her pain is in her right side.... some think that the cause of the queen's sickness is that she utterly despairs of the marriage of any of those she looked for, as well that neither they abroad are very hasty, nor her subjects at home very willing those ways." on the st he had an interview with her "in her chamber, beside ladies and gentlemen, herself in bed." he told her that elizabeth "could in no point alter her former advice, which was that it could not be expedient for her country, nor fit for herself, to match in any of those houses, when appearance is that dissension may grow, and enmity to be nourished, as before time has been." mary summoned the earl of argyll, and told him that randolph would have her marry in england. he asked if "the queen of england were become a man?" "who is there in that country (said she) to whom he {argyll} would wish her?" he said, "to whom she could like best." "that would not please the duke" {of châtelherault}, said she. "if it please god, and is good for the country," said he, "what reck who were displeased?" (_foreign calendar_, december , , and , ). leicester was the husband suggested by queen elizabeth, and, during , it became evident that either he or darnley would be the queen's choice.] _return of lennox_ _randolph to cecil, from edinburgh_, march , . _foreign calendar._ what troubles have risen in this country for religion, your honour knoweth. all things are now grown into such a liberty, and her grace taken unto herself such a will to do therein what she list, that of late, contrary to her own ordinances, as great numbers have repaired to her chapel to hear mass, as sometimes come to the common churches to the sermon. to have her mind altered for this freedom, that she desireth to have all men live as they like, she can hardly be brought, and thinketh it too great a subjection for her, being a prince in her own country, to have her will broken therein. the subjects who desire to live in the true fear and worshipping of god, offer rather their lives again to be sacrificed, than that they would suffer such abomination, yea, almost permit herself to enjoy her mass, which is now more plainly and openly spoken against by the preachers, than ever was the pope of rome.... above all the rest, this is it that is feared that will be the breach of all good accord and quietness of this estate, though the rest be borne with, that is, if she match herself with a papist, by whom she may be fortified to her intent. _kirkaldy of grange to randolph, from st. johnston's_ {_perth_}, april , . _laing's knox_, vol. vi. p. . the earl of lennox will obtain license to come home and speak with the queen. her meaning therein is not known, but some suspects she will at length be persuaded to favour his son. [the earl of lennox had entered into negotiations with henry viii., in , to deliver over to england certain scottish castles, and to promote the marriage of mary to prince edward. sentence of forfeiture was passed against him by the scottish parliament on st october . his treachery had received its reward in the shape of an alliance with margaret, daughter of the earl of angus and margaret tudor, widow of james iv. (_cf._ table, app. a.). their eldest son was lord darnley.] _knox suspicious_ _knox to randolph, from edinburgh_, may , . _laing's knox_, vol. vi., p. . the earl of lennox's servant is familiar in court, and it is supposed that it is not without knowledge, yea, and labour, of your court. some in the country look for the lady {queen mary} and the young earl {darnley} ere it be long. it is whispered to me that licence is all ready procured for their {lennox and darnley's} hithercoming. god's providence is inscrutable to man, before the issue of such things as are kept close for a season in his counsel. but, to be plain with you, that journey and progress i like not. queen elizabeth and sir james melville. [sir james melville was sent as ambassador from the queen of scots to the queen of england to advance negotiations for mary's marriage, and to discover, if possible, elizabeth's real meaning.] september , . _melville's memoirs_, pp. - . (_bannatyne club._) the next morning master lattoun and master randolph, late agent for the queen of england in scotland, came to my lodging to convoy me to her majesty, who was, as they said, already in the garden.... i found her majesty pacing in an alley. _yonder long lad_ _melville's opinion of darnley_ ... she inquired if the queen had sent any answer anent the proposition of a marriage made to her by master randolph. i answered, as i was instructed, that the queen thought little or nothing thereof, but looked for the meeting of some commissioners upon the borders, with my lord of murray and the secretary, lethington, to confer and treat upon all such matters of greatest importance.... so seeing that your majesties cannot so soon find the opportunity of meeting, so much desired between yourselves ... the queen, my mistress ... is in hope that your majesty will send my lord of bedford and my lord robert dudley. she said that it appeared that i made but small account of my lord robert, seeing that i named the earl of bedford before him; but, or it were long, she should make him a greater earl, and that i should see it done before my returning home; for she esteemed him as her brother and best friend, whom she should have married herself, if ever she had been minded to take a husband.... and to cause the queen, my mistress, to think the more of him, i was required to stay till i had seen him made earl of leicester and baron of denbigh, with great solemnity at westminster, herself helping to put on his ceremonial, he sitting upon his knees before her, keeping a great gravity and discreet behaviour. but she could not refrain from putting her hand in his neck to kittle {tickle} him smilingly, the french ambassador and i standing beside her. then she asked me how i liked of him. i said, as he was a worthy subject, he was happy that had encountered a princess that could discern and reward good service. "yet," she said, "ye like better of yonder long lad," pointing towards my lord darnley, who, as nearest prince of the blood, bore the sword of honour that day before her. my answer again was, that no woman of spirit could make choice of such a man, that was liker a woman than a man; for he was very lusty, beardless, and lady-faced. i had no will that she should think that i liked of him, or had any eye or dealing that way: albeit i had a secret charge to deal with his mother, my lady lennox, to purchase leave for him to pass in scotland, where his father was already, that he might see the country and convoy the earl, his father, back again to england. _ye may not suffer a commander_ now the said queen was determined to treat with the queen, my sovereign, first anent her marriage with the earl of leicester, and for that effect promised to send commissioners unto the borders. in the meantime i was favourably and familiarly used; for during nine days that i remained at court, her majesty pleased to confer with me every day, and sometimes thrice upon a day, to wit, afore noon, after noon, and after supper. sometimes she would say, that since she could not meet with the queen, her good sister herself, to confer familiarly with her, that she should open a good part of her inward mind unto me, that i might show it again unto the queen; and said that she was not so offended at the queen's angry letter as for that she seemed to disdain so far the marriage with my lord of leicester, which she had caused master randolph propose unto her. i said that it might be he had teached something thereof to my lord of murray and lethington, but that he had not proposed the matter directly unto herself; and that as well her majesty, as they that were her most familiar counsellors, could conjecture nothing thereupon but delays and drifting of time, anent the declaring of her to be the second person {_i.e._, the next in succession to the throne of england} which would try at the meeting of commissioners above specified. she said again that the trial and declaration thereof would be hasted forward, according to the queen's good behaviour, and applying to her {elizabeth's} pleasure and advice in her marriage; and seeing the matter concerning the said declaration was so weighty, she had ordained some of the best lawyers in england diligently to search out who had the best right, which she would wish should be her dear sister rather than any other. i said i was assured that her majesty {mary} was both out of doubt hereof, and would rather she should be declared than any other.... she said that she was never minded to marry, except she were compelled by the queen, her sister's, hard behaviour towards her, in doing by {beyond} her counsel, as said is. i said: "madam, ye need not tell me that; i know your stately stomach; ye think if ye were married, ye would be but queen of england, and now ye are king and queen both; ye may not suffer a commander." _a courtier's replies_ she appeared to be so affectioned to the queen her good sister, that she had a great desire to see her: and because their desired meeting could not be hastily brought to pass, she delighted oft to look upon her picture, and took me in to her bed chamber, and opened a little lettroun {cabinet} wherein were divers little pictures wrapped within paper, and written upon the paper, their names with her own hand. upon the first that she took up was written, "my lord's picture." i held the candle and pressed to see my lord's {leicester's} picture. albeit she was loth to let me see it, at length i by importunity obtained the sight thereof, and asked the same to carry home with me unto the queen, which she refused, alleging she had but that one of his. i said again, that she had the principal; for he was at the furthest part of the chamber speaking with the secretary cecil. then she took out the queen's picture and kissed it; and i kissed her hand for the great love i saw she bore to the queen.... ... her {elizabeth's} hair was redder than yellow, curled apparently of nature. then she entered to discern what colour of hair was reported best, and inquired whether the queen's or her's was best, and which of them two was fairest. i said, the fairness of them both was not their worst faults. but she was earnest with me to declare which of them i thought fairest. i said, she was the fairest queen in england, and ours the fairest queen in scotland. yet she was earnest. i said they were both the fairest ladies of their courts, and that the queen of england was whiter, but our queen very lovesome. she inquired which of them was of highest stature. i said, our queen. then she said the queen was over high, and that herself was neither over high or over low. then she asked what sort of exercises she used. i said, that i was dispatched out of scotland, that the queen was but new come back from the highland hunting; and when she had leisure from the affairs of her company, she read upon good books, the histories of divers countries, and sometimes would play upon lute and virginals. she sperit {asked} if she played well. i said, reasonably for a queen. _a consequence of french training_ _no plain dealing or upright meaning_ the same day after dinner, my lord of hunsden {huntingdon} drew me up to a quiet gallery that i might hear some music, but he said he durst not avow it, where i might hear the queen play upon the virginals. but after i had hearkened a while, i took by the tapestry that hung before the door of the chamber, and seeing her back was toward the door, i entered within the chamber and stood still at the door post, and heard her play excellently well; but she left off so soon as she turned her about and saw me, and came forwards seeming to strike me with her left hand, and to think shame; alleging that she used not to play before men, but when she was solitary her alone, to eschew melancholy; and askit how i came there. i said, as i was walking with my lord of hunsden, as we passed by the chamber door, i heard such melody, which ravished and drew me within the chamber i wist not how; excusing my fault of homeliness, as being brought up in the court of france, and was now willing to suffer what kind of punishment would please her lay upon me for my offence. then she sat down low upon a cushion, and i upon my knee beside her; but she gave me a cushion with her own hand to lay under my knee, which i refused, but she compelled me; and called for my lady stafford out of the next chamber, for she was alone there. then she asked whether the queen or she played best. in that i gave her the praise.... she inquired at me whether she or the queen danced best. i said, the queen danced not so high or disposedly as she did. then again she wished that she might see the queen at some convenient place of meeting. i offered to convey her secretly in {to} scotland by post, clothed like a page disguised, that she might see the queen: as king james the passed in france disguised, with his own ambassador, to see the duc of vendome's sister that should have been his wife; and how that her chamber should be kept, as though she were sick, in the meantime, and none to be privy thereto but my lady stafford, and one of the grooms of her chamber. she said, alas! if she might do it: and seemed to like well such kind of language, and used all the means she could to cause me persuade the queen of the great love that she bore unto her.... my lord of leicester began to purge himself of so proud a pretence as to marry so great a queen, esteeming himself not worthy to deicht her shone {clean her shoes}; alleging the invention of that proposition to have proceeded of master cecil his secret enemy. "for if i should," said he, "have seemed to desire that marriage, i should have lost the favour of both the queens," praying me till excuse him unto the queen.... at my homecoming i found the queen's majesty still in edinburgh ... she inquired whether i thought that queen meant truly towards her as well inwardly in her heart as she appeared to do outwardly by her speech. i said, in my judgment, that there was neither plain dealing nor upright meaning, but great dissimulation, emulation and fear that her princely qualities should over soon chase her out, and displace her from the kingdom; as having already hindered her {mary's} marriage with the archduke charles of austria, and now offering unto her my lord of leicester, whom she would be as loth as then to want. then the queen gave me her hand, that she should never marry the new-made earl; albeit shortly while after, my lord of murray and bedford met beside berwick to treat upon the marriage with leicester.... the queen of england began to fear and suspect that the said marriage might perchance take effect. and therefore my lord darnley obtained the rather, license to come into scotland, who was a lusty youth, in hope that he should prevail being present before leicester that was absent. which license was obtained of the means of the secretary cecil; not that he was minded that any of the marriages should take effect, but with such shifts and practices to hold the queen unmarried so long as he could. _the new-made earl_ _randolph to cecil from edinburgh. foreign calendar._ december , . this parliament, being only assembled for restoring lennox, began upon monday, and ended the saturday after. the third day the queen came to the house, when she had an oration of her affection towards her subjects and the weal of her country, which moved her to show her favour towards lennox, to restore him to his country, the rather for the suit of the queen of england, whose desire to her was of no small moment, which words were duly rehearsed.... _murray, lethington, and cecil_ [the next development in the situation took the form of a correspondence between murray and lethington, and cecil, on december , . randolph wrote to cecil "that murray and lethington had concluded that amity with england is fittest," and added, "no man will be more acceptable to the people than the lord robert. there has been more thought of lord darnley before his father's coming than is at present. the mother more feared a great deal than beloved." the two scottish lords had already written to cecil, who replied on the th, informing them that elizabeth would never consent to their request, the establishment of mary's "title to be declared by parliament in the second place to the queen," but "promising that she will cause inquisition to be made of their sovereign's right; and as far as shall stand with justice and her own surety, she will abase such titles as shall be proved unjust and prejudicial to her sister's interest;" and giving them warning. "let there not be found any intention to compass ... a kingdom and a crown, which, if it be sought for, may be sooner lost than got, and not being craved may be as soon offered as reason can require." to this murray and lethington replied on the th, asking what cecil meant by the words "as shall stand with justice and her own surety," for they "never meant anything prejudicial to the surety of queen elizabeth;" stating that if elizabeth "will nowise establish the succession of her crown," the leicester project must fall to the ground; and urging cecil to secrecy, for if it were discovered that they had "meddled without her majesty's knowledge, the opening thereof" would be the ruin of them both. (foreign calendar, th, th, and th december .) this episode is of importance in connection with mary's subsequent attitude to the darnley marriage.] _queen mary's merry conceits_ queen mary and randolph. _randolph to queen elizabeth, from edinburgh_, february , . _chalmers's queen mary_, vol. ii. pp. - . "_it lieth in your mistress's will_" her grace lodged in a merchant's house; her train were very few; and there was small repair from any part. her will was, that for the time that i did tarry, i should dine and sup with her. your majesty was oftentimes dranken unto, by her, at dinners and suppers. having, in this sort, continued with her grace, sunday, monday, and tuesday, i thought it time to take occasion to utter unto her grace, that which last i received in command, from your majesty, by mr. secretary's letter, which was to know her grace's resolution touching those matters propounded, at berwick, by my lord of bedford, and me, to my lord of murray and lord of lethington. i had no sooner spoken these words, but she saith, "i see now well that you are weary of this company and treatment. i sent for you to be merry and to see how like a bourgeois-wife i live, with my little troop; and you will interrupt our pastime, with your great and grave matters. i pray you, sir, if you be weary here, return home to edinburgh, and keep your gravity and great ambassage until the queen come thither; for i assure you, you shall not get her here, nor i know not myself where she is become. you see neither cloth of estate, nor such appearances, that you may think that there is a queen here; nor i would not that you should think that i am she, at st. andrews, that i was at edinburgh." i said that i was very sorry for that, for that at edinburgh, she said that she did love my mistress, the queen's majesty, better than any other, and now i marvelled how her mind was altered. it pleased her at this to be very merry, and called me by more names than were given me in my christendom. at these merry conceits much good sport was made. "but well, sir," saith she, "that which then i spoke in words shall be confirmed in writing.... you know how willing i am to follow her advice ... and yet i can find in her no resolution nor determination. for nothing, i cannot be bound unto her ... and therefore, this i say, and trust me i mean it, if your mistress will, as she hath said, use me as her natural born sister or daughter, i will take myself either as one or the other as she please, and will show no less readiness to oblige her, and honour her, than my mother, or eldest sister; but, if she will repute me always but as her neighbour queen of scots, how willing soever i be to live in amity and to maintain peace, yet she must not look for that at my hands, that otherwise i would, or she desireth." ... i requested her grace, humbly ... to let her mind be known, how well she liked of the suit of my lord robert, earl of leicester, that might be able somewhat to say or write touching that matter, unto your majesty. "my mind towards him is such as it ought to be of a very noble man, as i hear say by very many, and such one as the queen, your mistress, my good sister, doth so well like to be her husband, if he were not her subject, ought not to mislike me to be mine. marry, what i shall do, it lieth in your mistress's will, who shall wholly guide me and rule me." i made myself not well to understand these words, because i would have the better hold of them. she repeated the self same words again. section iii from the darnley marriage to the rizzio murder _contents_ . the darnley marriage and the earl of murray's rebellion. (_a_) melville's account of the progress of events from mary's first meeting with darnley to elizabeth's reception of murray (february to october). (_b_) randolph's account of the allegations regarding the rival conspiracies. (_c_) the proclamation to allay disquiet regarding the queen's marriage with a catholic. (_d_) randolph's letter to leicester describing the marriage, and the relations between the bride and bridegroom. (_e_) cecil's account of the murray trouble. (_f_) the privy council warrant against murray. (_g_) knox's account of elizabeth's interview with murray. . mary's relations with darnley and the rizzio murder. (_a_) diplomatic references to the ill-will between the queen and her husband, with an incidental account of the holy league. (_b_) bedford and randolph's letter to cecil foretelling the rizzio plot. (_c_) agreements between darnley and the conspirators. (_d_) mary's own description of the murder of rizzio. _darnley's courtship_ .--feb. -oct. . the darnley marriage and the murray rebellion. _melville's memoirs_, p. . [it was now becoming evident that mary was to marry lord darnley. her resolution gave great offence, not only to queen elizabeth, but to the earl of murray, and some other scottish nobles, who raised a rebellion, commonly called the "run about chase." the matter is somewhat mysterious; there are, as the reader will observe, allegations of two conspiracies--one against murray by darnley, and another against mary and darnley by murray. the evidence is not decisive.] _the run-about raid_ _unworthy traitors_ i have said already how that my lord darnley was advised to suit license to come into scotland, who at his first coming found the queen in the wemyss, making her progress through fife. her majesty took well with him, and said that he was the lustiest and best proportioned long {tall} man that she had seen, for he was of high stature, long and small, even and upright; well instructed from his youth in all honest and comely exercises. and after he had hanted {frequented} a while in court, he proposed marriage to her majesty; which she took in evil part at the first, as she told me that same day herself, and how she had refused the ring which he then offered unto her, when i took occasion, as i had begun, to speak in his favour, that their marriage would put out of doubt their title to the succession. i cannot tell how he fell in acquaintance with seigneur david {rizzio}, but he also was his great friend at the queen's hand; so that her majesty took aye the longer the better liking of him, and at length determined to marry him. which being known unto queen elizabeth, she sent and charged him to return; and also sent her ambassador, sir nicholas throgmorton, into scotland, both to dissuade the queen to marry him, and in case the queen would not follow her advice in her marriage, to persuade the lords and so many as were of her religion to withstand the said marriage, unless the lord darnley would promise and subscribe to abide at the religion reformed, which he had plainly professed in england. the queen again perceiving the queen of england's earnest opposition to all the marriages that were offered unto her, thought not meet to delay any longer her marriage. but my lord duke of châtelherault, my lords of argyll, murray, glencairn, rothes, and divers others, lords and barons, withstood the said marriage; who after they had made a mind to take the lord darnley, in the queen's company, at the raid of beath, and to have sent him into england, as they alleged--i wot not what was in their mind, but it was an evil-favoured enterprize, wherein the queen was in great danger other than {that of} keeping or heartbreaking; and as they that had failed of their foolish enterprize, took on plainly their arms of rebellion, her majesty again convened forces against them, and chased them here and there till at length they were compelled to flee into england for refuge, to her that had promised by her ambassadors to wear her crown in their defence, in case they were driven to any strait for their opposition unto the said marriage. which was all denied at their coming to seek help; and when they sent up my lord of murray to that queen, the rest abiding at newcastle, he could obtain nothing but disdain and scorn; till at length he and the abbot of kilwinning, his companion in that message, were persuaded to come and confess unto the queen upon their knees, and that in presence of the ambassadors of france and spain, that her majesty had never moved them to that opposition and resistance against their queen's marriage.... unto my lord of murray and his marrow {comrade} she said, "now you have told the truth; for i nor none in my name stirred you up against your queen; for your abominable treason might serve for example, to move my own subjects to rebel against me. therefore pack you out of my presence; ye are but unworthy traitors." .--april . mary's festivities. _randolph to cecil. foreign calendar_, . greater triumphs there never were in time of popery than were this easter at the resurrection and at her high mass. organs were wont to be the common music. she wanted now neither trumpet, drum, nor fife, bagpipe nor tabor.... upon monday she and divers of her women apparelled themselves like burgesses' wives, went upon their feet up and down the town, and of every man they met they took some pledge for money towards the banquet; and in the lodging where the writer was accustomed to lodge was the dinner prepared, at which she was herself, with the wonder and gazing of men, women, and children. [this celebration of easter is important as being a factor in the growth of protestant dislike of the darnley marriage.] _"less comfort" for queen mary_ _randolph to cecil from edinburgh_, july , {_date of end of letter_}. _keith's history_, vol. ii. p. . i wrote that there was a convention appointed at st. johnstone {perth} the nd of this instant {_i.e._ june}, to which there were specially named these, the duke, earls argyll, murray, morton, and glencairn; only morton came; the other some tarried at their houses, as the duke, and earl of murray; other as argyll and glencairn came to edinburgh the th to the convention {general assembly} of the protestants there. with this her grace is greatly offended, and layeth the whole fault hereof to the earl of murray and argyll, which both had come to st. johnstone, but that my lord of murray was assuredly advertised that it was intended that he should be slain there.... with my lord of murray i have lately spoken; he is grieved to see these extreme follies in his sovereign; he lamenteth the state of this country that tendeth to utter ruin; he feareth that the nobility shall be forced to assemble themselves together, to do her honour and reverence as they are in duty bound, but to provide for the state that it do not utterly perish.... the duke, the earl of argyll, and he concur in this device; many other are like to join with them in the same; what will ensue let wise men judge.... the less comfort that this queen be put in, that the queen's majesty will allow of her doings, the sooner shall her majesty bring that to pass here that she most desireth, and more at her majesty's devotion than at this time she hath, there were never in scotland. some that already have heard of my ladie's grace {lady lennox's} imprisonment like very well thereof, and wish to the father and son to keep her company. the question hath been asked me. whether if they were delivered us into berwick, we would receive them? i answered that we could nor would not refuse our own, in what sort soever they come unto us. _a hasty ride_ _randolph to cecil from edinburgh_, july . _ibid._ vol. ii. p. . upon saturday her grace came ... to st. johnston, where word was brought her that the earl of argyll and earl of murray had assembled many of their friends and servants, and intended to take her and the lord darnley riding between that town and the lord of livingstone's house, and to have carried the queen's grace to st. andrews, and the lord darnley to castle campbell, a house of the earl of argyll.... she took her horse by five of the clock in the morning, and rode with great speed, having only three women in her train, until she came to the queen's ferry, passing through a little town called kinross, hard by lochleven, where my lord of murray was in a house in the loch with his mother and the laird of lochleven, his brother, with a small number of his servants, having been sick of a flux not four days before, intending for all that to have met the queen, and to have convoyed her as far as her grace would give him leave; but hearing that her grace was past that town three or four hours before that he looked for her, he remained still and went not forth.... _a request for money_ they {the two earls} think it time to put to that remedy they can; they depend greatly upon the comfort received from the queen's majesty our sovereign; they know that it as well tendeth to her majesty's surety for that which may ensure as the present hurt and danger to themselves. wherefore, having considered her majesty's friendly and godly offer to concur with them, and to assist them, ... as from subjects that see how far the sovereign is led by unadvised persons, from her duty to god, and care that she ought to have of the weal of her country, they most humbly desire the performance of her majesty's promise.... they are loth so far to charge her majesty as to desire any number of men to take their part, but that it will only please her majesty to help them with such sums of money as for a time may be able to keep themselves together, be it that they determine to be wheresoever the queen's self is, or to remain in edinburgh, where they may best put order unto all those grievous enormities.... they think that if her majesty would bestow only three thousand pounds sterling for this year, except some foreign force shall be brought in against them. _acts of the privy council of scotland_, july , . for as much as divers evil disposed persons ... wickedly and ungodly have pretended by untrue reports ... that her majesty had begun or intended to impede, stay, or molest any of them in using of their religion and conscience freely ... ordains letters to be direct to officers of the queen's sheriff in that part {respect}, charging them to pass to the market crosses of all burghs of this realm, and other places needful, and there, by open proclamation, make publication of this her majesty's mind and meaning; certifying and assuring all her good subjects, that as they, nor none of them, have hitherto been molested in the quiet using of their religion and conscience, so shall they not be unquieted in that behalf in any time to come; but behaving themselves honestly as good subjects shall find her majesty their good princess, willing to do them justice, and to show them favour and clemency, but {without} innovation or alteration in any sort. _a royal marriage_ _randolph to leicester, from edinburgh_, july , . _wright's elizabeth_, vol. i. p. . i doubt not but your lordship hath heard by such information as i have given from hence, what the present state of this country is, how this queen is now become a married wife, and her husband, the self same day of his marriage, made a king.... so many discontented minds, so much misliking of the subjects to have these matters, ordered in this sort, to be brought to pass, i never heard of any marriage.... thus they fear the overthrow of religion, the breach of amity with the queen's majesty {elizabeth}, destruction of as many of the nobility as she hath misliking of, or that he to pick a quarrel unto.... he {darnley} would now seem to be indifferent to both the religions, she to use her mass, and he to come sometimes to the preaching. they were married with all the solemnities of the popish time, saving that he heard not the mass; his speech and talk argueth his mind, and yet would he fain seem to the world that he were of some religion. his words to all men against whom he conceiveth any displeasure, how unjust soever it be, so proud and spiteful, that rather he seemeth a monarch of the world than he that not long since we have seen and known the lord darnley.... _"god save his grace!"_ all honour that may be attributed unto any man by a wife, he hath it wholly and fully ... all dignities that she can indue him with are already given and granted. no man pleaseth her that contenteth not him, and what may i say more, she hath given over unto him her whole will, to be ruled and guided as himself best liketh. she can as much prevail with him in anything that is against his will, as your lordship may with me to persuade that i should hang myself.... upon saturday ... at nine hours at night, by three heralds at sound of the trumpet he was proclaimed king. this was the night before the marriage. this day, monday, at twelve of the clock, the lords, all that were in this town, were present at the proclaiming of him again, when no man said so much as amen, saving his father, that cried out aloud, "god save his grace!" the manner of the marriage was of this sort. upon sunday, in the morning, between five and six, she was conveyed by divers of her nobles to the chapel. she had upon her back the great mourning gown of black, with the great wide mourning hood, not unlike unto that which she wore the doleful day of the burial of her husband. she was led unto the chapel by the earls lennox and athole, and there she was left until her husband came, who was also conveyed by the same lords. the ministers, two priests, did there receive them. the banns are asked the third time, and an instrument taken by a notary that no man said against them, or alleged any cause why the marriage might not proceed. the words were spoken, the rings, which were three, the middle a rich diamond, were put upon her finger, they kneel together, and many prayers said over them. she carrieth out the ...[ ] and he taketh a kiss, and leaveth her there and went to her chamber, whither in a space she followeth, and there being required, according to the solemnities, to cast off her care, and lay aside those sorrowful garments, and give herself to a pleasanter life. after some pretty refusals, more i believe for manner sake than grief of heart, she suffereth them that stood by, every man that could approach to take out a pin, and so being committed to her ladies changed her garments. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [ ] word illegible. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _elizabeth asked to explain_ _cecil to sir thomas smith, from windsor_, august , . _wright's elizabeth_, vol. i. p. . mr. tomworth was sent to the queen of scots upon this occasion; the scottish queen hath sent twice hither to require the queen's majesty to declare for what causes she did mislike of this marriage, offering also to satisfy the same. in the meantime troubles arise there betwixt her and the earl of murray and others being friendly to the warm amity of the realm, whereunto for sundry respects it seemeth convenient for us to regard. the duke {of châtelherault}, the earls of argyll, murray, and rothes, with sundry barons, are joined together not to allow of the marriage, otherwise than to have the religion established by law, but the queen refuseth in this sort; she will not suffer it to have the force of law, but of permission to every man to live according to his conscience. and herewith she retained a great number of protestants from associating openly with the other. she hath sent for the earl murray, but the mistrust is so far entered on both sides, that i think it will fall to an evil end, for she hath put the earl of murray to the horn {_i.e._ outlawed} and prohibited all persons to aid him. nevertheless, the duke, the earls of argyll and rothes are together with him. we shall hear by mr. tomworth what is most likely to follow. _the rebels out-lawed_ _register of the privy council_, december , . the which day, in presence of the king and queen's majesties and lords of secret council, compeared master john spence of condy, advocate to their highnesses, and exponed how at their majesties' command he had libelled summonses of treason against archibald, earl of argyll, james, earl of murray, alexander, earl of glencairn, andrew, earl of rothes, andrew, lord ochiltree, robert, lord boyd, and divers others,--to compear in the next parliament, to begin the fourth day of february next to come, to hear them decerned to have incurred the crime of _lese majestie_, and to have lost and forfeited life, lands, and goods.... but because there were divers of the said persons outwith the realm ... it behoved them be summoned by open proclamation at the market cross of edinburgh, and other crosses next adjacent according to the common law; and thereupon desired a declaration and determination of their majesties and lords forsaid. the which being reasoned with good deliberation and advisement, their majesties and lordships find and declare that the said persons being summoned in manner above specified, the execution is as sufficient in all respects as if the same summonses were execute upon them personally or at their dwelling-places. _good and courteous entertainment_ murray's reception by elizabeth. _knox's continuator_ (cf. p. ), _laing's knox_, vol. ii. p. . by means of the french ambassador, called monsieur de four, his true friend, he {murray} obtained audience. the queen, with a fair countenance, demanded "how he, being a rebel to her sister of scotland, durst take the boldness upon him to come within her realm?" these, and the like words got he, instead of the good and courteous entertainment expected. finally, after private discourse, the ambassador being absent, she refused to give the lords any support, denying plainly that ever she had promised any such thing as to support them, saying, "she never meant any such thing in that way;" albeit her greatest familiars knew the contrary. in the end the earl of murray said to her, "madam, whatsoever thing your majesty meant in your heart, we are thereof ignorant; but this much we know assuredly, that we had lately faithful promises of aid and support by your ambassador and familiar servants, in your name; and further, we have your own handwriting, confirming the said promises." and afterward he took his leave, and came northward from london towards newcastle. after the earl of murray his departure from the court the queen sent them some aid, and writ unto the queen of scotland in their favour, whether she had promised it in private to the earl of murray, or whether she repented her of the harsh reception of the earl of murray. [this account of elizabeth's interview with murray should be compared with that given by melville (p. ).] mary's relations with her husband. _randolph to cecil, from edinburgh_, january , . _wright's elizabeth_, vol. i. p. . this court of long time hath been very quiet, small resort of any, and many of those that come but slenderly welcome for the great and importunate suit made by them for my lord of murray and the rest, who by no means can find any favour at her grace's hands, in so much that robert melville hath received for resolute answer that let the queen of england do for them what she will, they shall never live in scotland and she together.... _matrimonial mislikings_ i cannot tell what mislikings of late there hath been between her grace and her husband; he presses earnestly for the matrimonial crown, which she is loth hastily to grant, but willing to keep somewhat in store until she know how well he is worthy to enjoy such a sovereignty, and therefore it is thought that the parliament for a time shall be deferred, but hereof i can write no certainty. _the holy league_ _randolph to cecil, from edinburgh_, february , . _wright's elizabeth_, vol. i. p. . there was a bond lately devised in which the late pope, the emperor, the king of spain, the duke of savoy, with divers princes of italy and the queen mother {of france} suspected to be of the same confederacy, to maintain papistry throughout christendom. this bond was sent out of france by thornton, and is subscribed by this queen. the copy whereof, remaining with her and the principal, to be returned very shortly, as i hear, by mr. steven wilson, a fit minister for such devilish devices. if the copy hereof can be gotten, it shall be sent as conveniently i may.... [the bond referred to is the holy league. cf. _infra._] in this court divers contentions, quarrels, and debates; nothing so much sought as to maintain mischief and disorder. david {rizzio} yet retaineth his place, not without heart grief to many that see their sovereign guided chiefly by such a fellow. _randolph to cecil, from berwick_, february , . _stevenson's selections._ there is a league concluded between the king of spain, the duke of savoy, and divers other papist princes, for the overthrow of religion, as you shall hear more by others, which is come to this queen's hands, but not yet confirmed. _cecil informed of the rizzio plot_ _bedford and randolph to cecil, from berwick_, march , . _tytler's history of scotland_, vol. vii. p. . somewhat we are sure you have heard of divers discord and jars between this queen and her husband, partly for that she hath refused him the crown matrimonial, partly for that he hath assured knowledge of such, usage of herself as altogether is intolerable to be borne, which, if it were not over well known, we would both be very loath to think that it could be true. to take away this occasion of slander, he is himself determined to be at the apprehension and execution of him, whom he is able manifestly to charge with the crime, and to have done him the most dishonour that can be to any man, much more being as he is. we need not more plainly to describe the person {rizzio}. you have heard of the man whom we mean of. to come by the other thing which he desireth, which is the crown matrimonial, what is devised and concluded upon by him and the noblemen, you shall see by copies of the conditions between them and him, of which mr. randolph assureth me to have seen the principals, and taken the copies written with his own hand. the time of execution and performance of these matters is before the parliament, as near as it is. to this determination of theirs, there are privy in scotland; these--argyll, morton, boyd, ruthven, and lethington. in england these--murray, rothes, grange, myself, and the writer hereof. if persuasions to cause the queen to yield to these matters do no good, they purpose to proceed we know not in what sort. if she be able to make any power at home, she shall be withstood, and herself kept from all other counsel than her own nobility. if she seek any foreign support, the queen's majesty, our sovereign, shall be sought, and sued unto to accept his and their defence, with offers reasonable to her majesty's contentment. _obligations of the lords_ agreement between darnley and the earls of murray, argyll, glencairn, and rothes, and lords boyd and ochiltree. _ruthven's relation_, ed. of . _articles to be fulfilled by the lords._ . the said earls, lords, and their complices, shall become, and by the tenor hereof become true subjects, men and servants to the noble and mighty prince henry, by the grace of god, king of scotland, and husband to our sovereign lady; that they and all others that will do for them shall take a loyal and true part with the said noble prince in all his actions, causes, and quarrels, against whomsoever, to the uttermost of their power.... . the said earls, lords, and their complices shall ... by themselves and others that have voice in parliament, consent, and by these presents do consent now as then, and then as now, to grant and give the crown matrimonial to the said noble prince for all the days of his life. and if any person or persons withstand or gainsay the same, the said earls, lords, and their complices shall take such part as the said noble prince taketh, in whatsoever sort, for the obtaining of the said crown against all.... . the said earls, lords, and their complices shall fortify and maintain the said noble prince in his just title to the crown of scotland, failing of succession of our sovereign lady.... . as to the religion which was established by the queen's majesty, our sovereign, shortly after her arrival in this realm ... they and every one of them shall maintain and fortify the same at their uttermost powers, by the help, supply, and maintenance of the said noble prince. * * * * * _darnley's promises_ _articles to be fulfilled by darnley._ . the said noble prince shall do his good-will to obtain them one remission, if they require the same, for all faults and crimes by-past, of whatsoever quality or condition they be.... . we shall not suffer, by our good-wills, the foresaid lords and their complices to be called or accused in parliament, nor suffer any forfeiture to be laid against them.... . that the said earls, lords, and their complices, returning within the realm of scotland, we shall suffer or permit them to use and enjoy all their lands, tacks, steadings, and benefices, that they or any of them had before their passage into england.... . as to the said earls, lords, and their complices' religion, we are contented and consent that they use the same, conform to the queen's majesty's act and proclamation made thereupon, shortly after her highness's return out of france.... * * * * * _the bond for the murder_ _the word of a prince_ bond for rizzio's murder--ruthven's relation. be it kend {known} to all men by these present letters: we, henry, by the grace of god, king of scotland, and husband to the queen's majesty, for so much we having consideration of the gentle and good nature, with many other good qualities in her majesty, we have thought pity, and also think it great conscience to us that are her husband, to suffer her to be abused or seduced by certain privy persons, wicked and ungodly ... especially a stranger italian called davie ... we have devised to take these privy persons, enemies to her majesty, us, the nobility and commonwealth, to punish them according to their demerits, and in case of any difficulty, to cut them off immediately, and to take and slay them wherever it happeneth. and because we cannot accomplish the same without the assistance of others, therefore have we drawn certain of our nobility, earls, lords, barons, freeholders, gentlemen, merchants, and craftsmen, to assist us in our enterprise, which cannot be finished without great hazard.... we bind and oblige us, our heirs and successors, to the said earls, lords, barons, gentlemen, freeholders, merchants, and craftsmen, their heirs and successors, that we shall accept the same feud upon us, and fortify and maintain them at the uttermost of our power, and shall be friend to their friend, and enemy to their enemies, and shall neither suffer them nor theirs to be molested nor troubled in their bodies, lands, goods, nor possessions so far as lieth in us. and if any person would take any of the said earls, lords, barons, gentlemen, freeholders, merchants, or craftsmen, for enterprising and assisting with us for the achieving of our purpose, because it may chance to be done in presence of the queen's majesty, or within her palace of holyrood-house, we, by the word of a prince, shall accept and take the same on us now as then and then as now.... in witness whereof we have subscribed this with our own hand at edinburgh, the st of march . _a royal supper-party_ _the murder_ .--april . mary's description of the murder of rizzio, in a letter to the archbishop of glasgow, her ambassador in paris. _keith's history_, vol. ii. p. . most reverend father, we greet you well.... it is not unknown to you how our parliament was appointed to the th of this instant month of march, to which these that were our rebels and fugitives in england were summoned to have heard themselves forfeited. the day thereof approaching, we required the king our husband to assist us in passing thereto, who, as we are assured, being persuaded by our rebels that were fugitive, with the advice and fortification of the earl of morton, lords ruthven and lindsay, their assisters and complices, who were with us in company, by their suggestion refused to pass with us thereto, as we suppose because of his facility, and subtle means of the lords foresaid, he condescended to advance the pretended religion published here, to put the rebels in their rooms and possessions which they had of before, and but {without} our knowledge grant to them a remit of all their trespasses.... upon the th day of march instant, we being, at even about seven hours, in our cabinet at our supper, sociated with our sister the countess of argyll, our brother the commendator {lay abbot} of holyrood-house, laird of criech, arthur erskine, and certain others our domestic servitors, in quiet manner, especially by reason of our evil disposition, being counselled to sustain ourselves with flesh {in lent}, having also then passed almost to the end of seven months in our birth; the king our husband came to us in our cabinet, placed him beside us at our supper. the earl of morton and lord lindsay, with their assisters, clothed in warlike manner, to the number of eight score persons or thereby, kept and occupied the whole entry to our palace of holyrood-house.... in that meantime, the lord ruthven, clothed in like manner, with his complices, took entry perforce in our cabinet, and there seeing our secretary, david riccio, among others our servants, declared he had to speak with him. in this instant we inquired the king our husband if he knew anything of that enterprise? who denyed the same. also we commanded the lord ruthven, under the pain of treason, to avoid him forth of our presence, declaring we should exhibit the said david before the lords of parliament to be punished, if in any sort he had offended. notwithstanding, the said lord ruthven perforce invaded him in our presence (he then for refuge took safe-guard, having retired him behind our back), and with his complices cast down our table upon ourself, put violent hands in him, struck him over our shoulders with whingers {hangers}, one part of them standing before our face with bended daggs {pistols}, most cruelly took him forth of our cabinet, and at the entry of our chamber give him fifty-six strokes with whingers and swords, in doing whereof we were not only struck with great dread, but also by sundry considerations, were most justly induced to take extreme fear of our life. after this deed immediately the said lord ruthven, coming again in our presence, declared how they and their complices foresaid were highly offended with our proceedings and tyranny, which was not to them tolerable; how we were abused by the said david whom they had actually put to death, namely, in taking his counsel for maintenance of the ancient religion, debarring of the lords which were fugitive, and entertaining of amity with foreign princes and nations with whom we were confederate; putting also upon council the lords bothwell and huntly, who were traitors, and with whom he associated himself, that the lords banished in england were the morn to resort toward us, and would take plain part with them in our contrary; and that the king was willing to remit them their offences. we all this time took no less care of ourselves than for our council and nobility, maintainers of our authority, being with us in our palace for the time; to wit, the earls of huntly, bothwell, athole, lords fleming and livingstone, sir james balfour, and certain others our familiar servitors, against whom the enterprise was conspired as well as for david; and namely to have hanged the said sir james in cords. yet, by the providence of god, the earls of huntly and bothwell escaped forth of their chambers in our palace at a back window by some cords.... the earl of athole and sir james balfour by some other means, with the lords fleming and livingstone, obtained deliverance of their invasion. the provost and town of edinburgh having understood this tumult in our palace, caused ring their common bell, came to us in great number and desired to have seen our presence, intercommuned with us, and to have known our welfare; to whom we were not permitted to give answer, being extremely threatened by these lords, who in our face declared, if we desired to have spoken them, they should cut us in collops, and cast us over the wall. so this community being commanded by our husband, retired them to quietness. _treatment of the queen_ all that night we were detained in captivity within our chamber, not permitting us to have intercommuned scarcely with our servant-women nor domestic servitors. upon the morn hereafter proclamation was made in our husband's name, by {without} our advice, commanding all prelates and other lords convened to parliament to retire themselves of our burgh of edinburgh. that whole day we were kept in that firmance {custody}, our familiar servitors and guard being debarred from our service, and we watched by the committers of these crimes, to whom a part of the community of edinburgh, to the number of four score persons, assisted. the earl of murray that same day at even, accompanied with the earl of rothes, pitarrow, grange, tutor of pitcur, and others who were with him in england, came to them, and seeing our state and entertainment, was moved with natural affection toward us. upon the morn he assembled the enterprisers of their late crime, and such of our rebels as came with him. in their council they thought it most expedient we should be warded in our castle of stirling, there to remain while {till} we had approved in parliament all their wicked enterprises, established their religion, and given the king the crown matrimonial and the whole government of our realm; or else, by all appearance, firmly prepared to have put us to death, or detained us in perpetual captivity. to avoid them of our palace, with their guard and assisters, the king promised to keep us that night in sure guard, and that but {without} compulsion he should cause us in parliament approve all their conspiracies. by this means he caused them to retire them of our palace. _mary wins darnley to her side_ _darnley protests innocence_ this being granted, ... we declared our state to the king our husband, certifying him how miserably he would be handled, in case he permitted these lords to prevail in our contrare {against us}, and how unacceptable it would be to other princes, our confederates, in case he altered the religion. by this persuasion he was induced to condescend to the purpose taken by us, and to retire in our company to dunbar, which we did under night, accompanied with the captain of our guard, arthur erskine, and two others only.... soon after our coming to dunbar, sundry of our nobility, zealous of our weal, such as the earls of huntly, bothwell, marshal, athole, caithness; bishop of st. andrews, with his kin and friends; lords hume, sempill, and infinite others assembled to us.... the earl of moray and argyll sent diverse messages to procure our favour, to whom in likewise, for certain respects, by advice of our nobility and council being with us, we have granted remission, under condition they nowise apply themselves to these last conspirators, and retire themselves in argyle during our will.... we remained in dunbar five days, and after returned to edinburgh well accompanied with our subjects. the last conspirators, with their assisters, have removed themselves forth of the same before, and being presently fugitive from our laws, we have caused by our charges their whole fortunes, strength, and houses to be rendered to us; have caused make inventory of their goods and gear, and intend further to pursue them with all vigour. whereunto we are assured to have the assistance of our husband, who hath declared to us, and in presence of the lords of our privy council, his innocence of this last conspiracy, how he never counselled, commanded, consented, assisted, nor approved the same. thus far only he ever saw himself, that at the enticement and persuasion of the late conspirators he, without our advice or knowledge, consented to the bringing home forth of england of the earls of moray, glencairn, rothes, and other persons with whom we were offended. this ye will consider by his declaration made hereupon, which at his desire hath been published at the market crosses of this our realm ... of edinburgh, the second day of april . section iv murder of rizzio to murder of darnley _contents_ . murray's plea for the rizzio rebels. . the relations between mary and darnley. (_a_) mary's will. (_b_) the birth of prince james. . mary to elizabeth anent her support of the rebels. . mary's treatment of darnley, and darnley's conduct towards mary. (_a_) as reported by m. le croc, the french ambassador. (_b_) as reported by buchanan, with the alloa story. (_c_) nau's account of the alloa story, and a letter of mary's from alloa. . the ride to hermitage. (_a_) as reported in the diurnal of occurrents. (_b_) as reported by nau. (_c_) as reported by buchanan. . the queen's illness at jedburgh. . the craigmillar conference. (_a_) as reported by buchanan. (_b_) in the protestation of huntly and argyll. . the events immediately before the darnley murder. (_a_) letter from du croc. (_b_) the baptism of the prince. (_c_) restoration of the consistorial jurisdiction. (_d_) mary on darnley's conduct. (_e_) beaton's warning. . the visit to glasgow and the murder. (_a_) as reported by buchanan in the _detection_. (_b_) as described by mary. (_c_) as described by nau. (_d_) as described by buchanan in his _history_. relations between mary and darnley. _bedford and randolph to cecil, from berwick_, march , . _wright's elizabeth_, vol. i. p. . my lord of murray by a special servant sent unto us desireth your honour's favour to these noblemen {the fugitives}, as his dear friends, and such as for his sake hath given this adventure. "_to the king who gave it me_" bequests to the king. _robertson's inventories._ before the birth of her son, mary made a will, of which no copy is extant. but mr. joseph robertson found an inventory of her jewels, made at the same time, with marginal notes, in the queen's own handwriting, indicating their disposition. there are fifteen entries "au roy," from which we quote the most interesting marginal note:-- it was with this that i was married, to the king, who a diamond ring enamelled gave it me. in red. there are also bequests to the crown of scotland, the earl and countess of lennox, and the earl of murray, also a jewel with the marginal note:-- "to joseph {riccio}, which his brother gave me." at the end of the first section of the inventory, there is the following note in mary's hand:-- "i wish that these provisions be carried out in case that the child does not survive me, but if it live, it is to inherit everything. marie r." illustration: queen mary's signet-ring and monogram. mary's will as described in the "book of articles" (cf. p. ). _hosack's mary_, vol. i. p. . this her rooted disdain still continuing a little before her deliverance of her birth in may or june , in making of her latter will and testament, she named and appointed bothwell among others to the tutele {guardianship} of her birth {child} and issue, and government of the realm in case of her decease, and unnaturally excluded the father from all kind of cure and regiment over his own child, advancing bothwell above all others to be lieutenant-general.... she disponit also her whole moveables to others beside her husband. _elizabeth's reception of the news_ the birth of prince james. _melville's memoirs_, p. . all this while i lay in the castle of edinburgh, praying night and day for her majesty's good and happy delivery of a fair son. this prayer being granted, i was the first that was advertised by the lady boyne {mary beaton, just married to ogilvie of boyne}, in her majesty's name to part with diligence, the th day of june in the year , between ten and eleven hours before noon. it struck twelve hours when i took my horse, and was at berwick that same night. the fourth day after, i was at london, and met first with my brother, who sent and advertised the secretary cecil that same night of my coming and of the birth of the prince, willing him to keep it up, until my being at court to show it myself unto her majesty, who was for the time at greenwich, where her majesty was in great merriness and dancing after supper; but so soon as the secretary cecil rounded the news in her ear of the prince's birth all merriness was laid aside for that night, every one that were present marvelling what might move so sudden a changement; for the queen sat down with her hand upon her haffet {cheek}, and bursting out to some of her ladies, how that the queen of scotland was lighter of a fair son, and that she was but a barren stock.... the next morning was appointed unto me to get audience ... she ... said, that the joyful news of the queen her sister's delivery of a fair son, which i had sent unto her by master cecil, had recovered her out of a heavy sickness which has held her fifteen days. therefore she welcomed me with a merry volt {countenance}, and thanked me for the diligence i had used. all this she said before i had delivered unto her my letter of credence. after that she had read it, i declared how that the queen had hasted me towards her majesty, whom she knew of all other her friends would be gladdest of the good news of her birth, albeit dear bought with the peril of her life; for i said that she was so sore handled in the meantime that she wished never to have been married. this i said to give her a little scare to marry, by the way; for so my brother had informed me, because she boasted sometimes to marry the archduke charles of austria, when any man pressed her to declare a second person {heir}. then i requested her majesty to be a gossip unto the queen, for our cummer are called gossips in england; which she granted gladly to be. _mary and darnley_ _herries's memoirs_, p. . (_abbotsford club._) about two o'clock in the afternoon the king came to visit the queen, and was desirous to see the child. "my lord," says the queen, "god has given you and me a son, begotten by none but you!" at which words the king blushed, and kissed the child. then she took the child in her arms, and discovering his face, said, "my lord, here i protest to god, and as i shall answer to him at the great day of judgment, this is your son, and no other man's son! and i am desirous that all here, with ladies and others, bear witness; for he is so much your own son, that i fear it will be the worse for him hereafter!" then she spoke to sir william stanley. "this," says she, "is the son whom (i hope) shall first unite the two kingdoms of scotland and england!" sir william answered, "why, madam? shall he succeed before your majesty and his father?" "because," says she, "his father has broken to me." the king was by and heard all. says he, "sweet madam, is this your promise that you made to forgive and forget all?" the queen answered, "i have forgiven all, but will never forget. what if faudonside's pistol had shot, what would have become of him and me both? or what estate would you have been in? god only knows; but we may suspect." "madam," answered the king, "these things are all past." "then," says the queen, "let them go." rejoicings in edinburgh. _claude nau's memorials_, p. . immediately upon the birth of the prince, all the artillery of the castle was discharged, and the lords, the nobles, and the people gathered in st. giles' church to thank god for the honour of having an heir to their kingdom. after the birth, certain gentlemen were despatched to the king of france, the queen of england, and the duke of savoy, to ask them to be godfathers and godmothers to the prince, to which they very gladly consented. _elizabeth again questioned_ elizabeth and the rebels. _mary to elizabeth_, july . _keith's history_, vol. ii. p. . right excellent, right high and mighty princess, our dearest sister and cousin, in our most hearty manner we commend us unto you: we have understood by your declaration made ... to our dearest brother the king of france, ... that neither ye had aided nor were minded to aid and support our rebels against us, which we have always taken to be undoubtedly true, ... yet we have certain knowledge that our said rebels were supported with the sum of three thousand crowns, sent to the lady murray by master randolph about the middle of august by-past, as the man who carried the money has confessed in his own presence; which his proceeding as we have just occasion to think most strange ... we ... have taken occasion to send him home to you, where his behaviour in this case may be tried, and he ordered accordingly at your discretion. _queen mary's wise conduct_ mary's treatment of darnley. _m. le croc, french ambassador in scotland, to the archbishop of glasgow, scottish ambassador in france, from jedburgh_, october , . _keith's history_, vol. ii. p. . the queen is now returned from stirling to edinburgh.... the king, however, abode at stirling, and he told me there that he had a mind to go beyond sea, in a sort of desperation.... since that time the earl of lennox his father came to visit him; and he has written a letter to the queen signifying that it is not in his power to divert his son from his intended voyage, and prays her majesty to use her influence therein. this letter from the earl of lennox the queen received on michaelmas day in the morning; and that same evening the king arrived here about ten of the clock.... early next morning the queen sent for me, and for all the lords and other counsellors. as we were all met in their majesties' presence, the bishop of ross by the queen's commandment declared to the council the king's intention to go beyond sea; for which purpose he had a ship lying ready to sail; ... and thereafter the queen prayed the king to declare in presence of the lords and before me the reason of his projected departure.... she likewise took him by the hand, and besought him for god's sake to declare if she had given him any cause for this resolution; and entreated he might deal plainly, and not spare her. moreover, all the lords likewise said to him, that if there was any fault on their part, upon his declaring it they were ready to perform it. and i likewise took the freedom to tell him, that his departure must certainly affect either his own or the queen's honour--that if the queen had afforded any ground for it, his declaring the same would affect her majesty; as, on the other hand, if he should go away without giving any cause for it, this thing could not at all redound to his praise.... the king at last declared that he had no ground at all given him for such a deliberation; and thereupon he went out of the chamber of presence, saying to the queen, "adieu, madam, you shall not see my face for a long space." ... i never saw her majesty so much beloved, esteemed, and honoured; nor so great a harmony amongst all her subjects, as at present is by her wise conduct, for i cannot perceive the smallest difference or division. _subsequent accusations_ _buchanan's detection._ not long after her deliverance, on a day very early, accompanied with very few that were privy of her counsel, she went down to the water-side, at the place called the new haven; and while all marvelled whither she went in such haste, she suddenly entered into a ship there provided for her; which ship was provided by ... bothwell's servants, and famous robbers and pirates. with this train of thieves, all honest men wondering at it, she betook herself to sea, taking not any other with her, no not of her gentlemen, nor necessary attendants for common honesty. in alloa castle, where the ship arrived, how she behaved herself, i had rather every man should with himself imagine it, than hear me declare it. this one thing i dare affirm, that in all her words and doings, she never kept any regard, i will not say of queen-like majesty, but not of matron-like modesty.... in the meantime, the king being commanded out of sight, and with injuries and miseries banished from her, kept himself close, with a few of his friends, at stirling.... yet his heart, obstinately fixed in loving her, could not be restrained, but he must needs come back to edinburgh, on purpose, with all kind of serviceable humbleness, to get some entry into her former favour, and to recover the kind society of marriage. who once again being with most dishonourable disdain excluded, returned from whence he came, there to bewail his woeful miseries, as in a solitary desert. _nau's memorials_, p. . about the beginning of august the queen crossed the sea and went to alloa, a house belonging to the earl of mar, where she remained for some days in the company of the ladies of her court and the said earl. _the queen and a poor woman_ mary and the poor. _the lennox_, vol. ii. p. . trusty friend,--forasmuch as it is heavily bemoaned and piteously complained to us by this poor woman, that ye have violently ejected her with a company of poor bairns forth of her kindly room, after {although} willing to pay your duty thankfully: therefore (in respect that if ye be so extreme as to depauperate the poor woman and her bairns) we will desire you to show some favour and accept them in their steading {habitation} as ye have done in times bygone; the which we doubt not but ye will do for this our request, and as ye shall report our thanks and pleasure for the same. at alloa, the penult of july . marie r. to our trusty friend, robert murray of abercairney, this be delivered. the ride to hermitage. _diurnal of occurrents._ upon the th day of october years, our sovereign lady, accompanied with the nobility of this realm, departed of edinburgh towards jedburgh, to hold a justice eyre there, which was proclaimed to be held upon the eighth day of the same month. upon the same day, james, earl bothwell ... being sent by our sovereigns to bring in certain thieves and malefactors of liddesdale to the justice eyre ... chanced upon a thief called john elliot of the park.... the said earl shot him with a dagg {pistol} in the body.... the said john perceiving himself shot and the earl fallen, he went to him where he lay, and gave him three wounds, one in the body, one in the head, and one in the hand; and my lord gave him two strokes with a hanger, ... and the said thief departed, and my lord lay in swoon, while his servants came and carried him to the hermitage.... _from jedburgh to hermitage_ upon the fifteenth day of the said month of october, our sovereign lady rode from jedburgh to the hermitage {about miles}, wherein my lord bothwell was lying in mending of his wound, and spake with the same earl, and returned again the same night to jedburgh. _nau's memorials_, p. . the earl of bothwell was so dangerously wounded in the hand that every one thought he would die. he thought so himself. such being the case, her majesty was both solicited and advised to pay him a visit at his house, called the hermitage, in order that she might learn from him the state of affairs in these districts, of which the said lord was hereditary governor. with this object in view, she went very speedily, in the company of the earl of moray and some other lords, in whose presence she conversed with bothwell for some hours, and on the same day returned to jedburgh. _buchanan's version_ buchanan on the ride to hermitage. _detection._ when the queen had resolved to set out for jedburgh to hold the assizes, about the beginning of october, bothwell made an expedition into liddesdale. while he was conducting himself there in a manner worthy neither of the place to which he had been raised nor of his family and of what might have been expected of him, he was wounded by a dying robber. he was carried to the castle of hermitage in a condition such as to make his recovery uncertain. when this news is carried to the queen at borthwick, although it was a severe winter, she flies off like a mad woman, with enormous journeys first to melrose and then to jedburgh. although reliable reports about his life had reached that place, her eager mind was unable to retain self-control and to prevent her from displaying her shameless lust. at an unfavourable season, in spite of the danger of the roads and of robbers, she threw herself into the expedition with such an escort as no one slightly more honourable would have dared to entrust with life and fortune. furthermore, when she returned to jedburgh she arranged, with extraordinary zeal and care, for bothwell's being carried thither. after he was brought there, their life and conversation was little in accordance with the dignity of either of them. [the distance from borthwick castle to jedburgh is about sixty miles.] _a sixteenth-century physician_ the queen's illness at jedburgh. _john lesley, bishop of ross, to the archbishop of glasgow._ october , . _keith's history_, vol. iii. p. . my lord,--after most hearty commendations, i write upon haste to your lordship with saunders bog, who was sent by m. de croc this last wednesday to advertise of the queen's majesty's sickness, which at that time was wondrous great; for assuredly her majesty was so handled with great vehemency, that all that were with her were desperate of her convalescence. nevertheless, soon after the departing of saunders bog, her majesty got some relief, which lasted till thursday at ten hours at even, at which time her majesty swooned again, and failed in her sight; her feet and her hands were cold, which were handled by extreme rubbing, drawing, and other cures, by the space of four hours, that no creature could endure greater pain; and through the vehemency of this cure her majesty got some relief, till about six hours in the morning on friday, that her majesty became dead, and all her members cold, eyes closed, mouth fast, and feet and arms stiff and cold. nevertheless, master nau, who is a perfect man of his craft, would not give the matter over in that manner, but of new began to draw her knees, legs, arms, feet, and the rest, with such vehement torments, which lasted the space of three hours, till her majesty recovered again her sight and speech, and got a great sweating, which was held the relief of the sickness, because it was on the ninth day, which commonly is called the crisis of the sickness, and so here thought the cooling of the fever. and since then continually, thanks to god, her majesty convalesces better and better.... always, i assure your lordship, in all this sickness, her majesty used herself marvellous godly and catholic, and continually desired to hear speak of god and godly prayers.... _the queen's recovery_ [mr. small, in his "queen mary at jedburgh" (p. ), gives the following as the opinion of "a distinguished physician" on the illness:--"an attack of hæmatemesis, or effusion of blood into the stomach, subsequently discharged by vomiting; presenting also, possibly, hysterical complications, the whole induced by over-exertion and vexation."] _marc antonio barbaro, venetian ambassador in france to the signory, from paris_, nov. , . _venetian calendar._ the ambassador from scotland came to me to-day with the good news that his queen ... is so much better that it is hoped and almost believed that she is certain to live. the illness was caused by her dissatisfaction at a decision made by the king, her husband, to go to a place twenty-five or thirty miles distant without assigning any cause for it; which departure so afflicted this unfortunate princess, not so much for the love she bears him as from the consequences of his absence, which reduced her to the extremity heard of by your serenity. _buchanan on craigmillar conference_ .--the craigmillar conference. _buchanan's detection._ about the th november she returned from jedburgh to a village called kelso, and there she received letters from the king. when she had read these in the presence of the regent, the earl of huntly, and the secretary, with a sad countenance, she said that unless by some means she were freed from the king her life would not be worth living; and that if it could be done in no other way, rather than live in such misery, she would take her life with her own hand.... when, about the end of november, she came to craigmillar, a castle about two miles from edinburgh, she commenced a similar conversation in the presence of the earl of moray (afterwards regent, and now himself dead), the earl of argyle, and the secretary. she mentioned what seemed to her a satisfactory plan. she projected a suit of divorce against the king, and doubted not but that it could easily be done, since they were in that degree of consanguinity which is forbidden by canon law for the contraction of matrimony, although they had been by letters easily exempted from that law. at this point some one raised an objection, that, if it were so managed, their son would be illegitimate, being born out of matrimony, and the more so that neither of the parents was ignorant of the causes that rendered the marriage null. she considered that reply for a little, and recognised its truth. not daring to enter upon a scheme which would thus affect her son, she abandoned her project of a divorce, nor did she ever afterwards let slip any opportunity of getting rid of the king, as may be readily gathered from what remains to tell. _the protestation of the earls of huntly and argyll, , goodall's examination_, vol. ii. pp. - , from cott. lib. calig., vol. i. p. . [the following "protestation" was drawn up by queen mary's advisers during the westminster conference (_infra_, pp. _et seq._), and was despatched to huntly for his own and argyll's signature. it was, however, seized and sent to cecil, without its having reached its destination. it is placed here for the sake of comparison with buchanan's account of the conference. it may be noted here that in another document (instructions and articles to be advised on and agreed, so far as the queen's majesty, our sovereign, shall think expedient, at the meeting of the lords in england, committed in credit by ... her grace's true faithful subjects--_goodall_, vol. ii. p. ), signed by lords huntly, argyll, crawford, eglinton, cassilis, errol, ogilvie, fleming, and many others of mary's supporters, the following sentence refers to this conference:--"they caused make offers to our said sovereign lady, if her grace would give remission to them that were banished at that time, to find causes of divorce, either for consanguinity, in respect they alleged the dispensation was not published, or else for adultery; or then {else} to get him convict of treason, because he consented to her grace's retention in ward; or what other ways to despatch him; which altogether her grace refused, as is manifestly known." the "dispensation" is the papal dispensation for the darnley marriage, mary and darnley being within the forbidden degrees.] _a conference of the earls_ in the year of god years, in the month of december, or thereby, after her highness's great and extreme sickness, and return from jedburgh, her grace being in the castle of craigmillar, accompanied by us above written {_i.e._ huntly and argyll}, and by the earls of bothwell, murray, and secretary lethington; the said earl of murray and lethington came into the chamber of us the earl of argyll in the morning, we being in our bed; who, lamenting the banishment of the earl of morton, lords lindsay and ruthven, with the rest of their faction, said, that the occasion of the murder of david, slain by them in presence of the queen's majesty, was to trouble and impesche {prevent} the parliament; wherein the earl of murray and others were to have been forfeited and declared rebels. and seeing that the same was chiefly for the welfare of the earl of murray, it should be esteemed ingratitude if he and his friends in reciprocal manner, did not strive all that in them lay for relief of the said banished ones; wherefor they thought that we, of our part, should have been as desirous thereto as they were. and we agreeing to the same, to do all that was in us for their relief, providing that the queen's majesty should not be offended thereat; on this lethington proposed and said, "that the nearest and best way to obtain the said earl of morton's pardon, was, to promise to the queen's majesty to find a means to make divorcement between her grace and the king her husband, who had offended her highness so highly in many ways." and then they send to my lord of huntly, praying him to come to our chamber.... and thereon we four, viz., earls of huntly, argyll, murray, and secretary lethington, passed all to the earl of bothwell's chamber, to understand his advice on the proposals; wherein he gainsaid no more than we. _their proposition made to the queen_ so thereafter we passed altogether to the queen's grace; where lethington, after he had remembered her majesty of a great number of grievous and intolerable offences, that the king, as he said, ungrateful for the honour he had received from her highness, had done to her grace, and continued every day from bad to worse; proposed, "that if it pleased her majesty to pardon the earl of morton, lords ruthven and lindsay, with their company, they should find the means with the rest of the nobility, to make divorcement between her highness and the king her husband, which should not need her grace to meddle therewith. to the which, it was necessary that her majesty take heed to come to a decision therein, as well for her own relief as for the good of the realm; for he troubled her grace and us all; and remaining with her majesty, would not cease till he did her some other evil turn." after these persuasions and divers others, which the said lethington used, besides those which every one of us showed particularly to her majesty to bring her to the said purpose, her grace answered: that under two conditions she might agree to the same; the one, that the divorcement were made lawfully; the other, that it were not prejudicial to her son; otherwise her highness would rather endure all torments, and abide the perils that might befall her in her grace's lifetime. the earl of bothwell answered, "that he doubted not but the divorcement might be made without prejudice of my lord prince in any way," alleging the example of himself, that he failed not to succeed to his father's heritage without any difficulty, albeit there was a divorce between him and his mother. _the queen's answer_ it was also proposed that, after their divorcement, the king should be alone in one part of the country, and the queen's majesty in another, or else that he should retire to another realm; and herein her majesty said, "that peradventure he would change his course, and that it were better that she herself passed into france for a time, waiting till he acknowledged his fault." then lethington, taking the speech, said, "madam, think you not we are here, of the principal members of your grace's nobility and council, and that we shall find the means that your majesty shall be quit of him without prejudice of your son. and albeit that my lord of murray here present be little less scrupulous for a protestant, than your grace is for a papist, i am assured he will look through his fingers thereto, and will behold our doings, saying nothing to the same." the queen's majesty answered, "i will that ye do nothing through which any spot may be laid upon my honour or conscience, and therefore i pray you, rather let the matter be in the condition that it is, abiding till god of his goodness put remedy thereto; lest you believing that you are doing me a service, may possibly turn to my hurt and displeasure." "madam," said lethington, "let us guide the matter among us, and your grace shall see nothing but good, and approved by parliament." so since the murder of the said henry stewart followed this, we judge in our consciences, and hold for certain and truth, that the said earl of murray and secretary lethington were authors, inventors, devisers, counsellors, and sources of the said murder, in whatever manner, or by whatsoever persons, the same was executed. _the queen and darnley_ events immediately before the murder of darnley. _m. le croc to the archbishop of glasgow, from edinburgh._ december , . _keith's history_, vol. i. p. . the queen is for the present at craigmillar, about a league distant from this city. she is in the hands of the physicians, and i do assure you is not at all well; and do believe the principal part of her disease to consist in a deep grief and sorrow. nor does it seem possible to make her forget the same. still she repeats these words: _i could wish to be dead_. you know very well that the injury she has received is exceedingly great, and her majesty will never forget it. the king, her husband, came to visit her at jedburgh the very day after captain hay went away. he remained there but one single night; and yet in that short time i had a great deal of conversation with him.... i think he intends to go away tomorrow; but in any event i'm much assured, as i always have been, that he won't be present at the baptism. to speak my mind freely to you ... i do not expect, upon several accounts, any good understanding between them, unless god effectually put to his hand. the first is, the king will never humble himself as he ought; the other is, the queen can't perceive any one nobleman speaking with the king, but presently she suspects some contrivance among them. _darnley and the baptism_ _m. le croc to the archbishop of glasgow, from glasgow._ december , . _keith's history_, vol. i. p. . the baptism of the prince was performed tuesday last, when he got the name of charles james. it was the queen's pleasure that he should bear the name james, together with that of charles (the king of france's name). everything at this solemnity was done according to the form of the holy roman catholic church. the king (lord darnley) had still given out that he would depart two days before the baptism, but when the time came on he made no sign of removing at all, only he still kept close within his own apartment. the very day of the baptism he sent three several times desiring me either to come and see him, or to appoint him an hour that he might come to me in my lodgings, so that i found myself obliged at last to signify to him that seeing he was in no good correspondence with the queen, i had it in charge from the most christian king to have no conference with him.... his bad deportment is incurable, nor can there ever be any good expected from him.... i can't pretend to foretell how all may turn; but i will say that matters can't subsist long as they are without being accompanied with sundry bad consequences.... the queen behaved herself admirably well all the time of the baptism, and showed so much earnestness to entertain all the goodly company in the best manner, that this made her forget in a good measure her former ailments. but i am of the mind, however, that she will give us some trouble as yet; nor can i be brought to think otherwise so long as she continues to be so pensive and melancholy. _an insult to the english_ an incident of the baptism. _melville's memoirs_, p. . at the principal banquet there fell out a great flaw and grudge among the englishmen, for a frenchman called bastien devised a number of men formed like satyrs, with long tails and whips in their hands, running before the meat, which was brought through the great hall upon a trim engine, marching, as it appeared, alone, with musicians clothed like maidens, playing upon all sorts of instruments and singing of music. but the satyrs were not content only to clear round, but put their hands behind them to their tails, which they wagged with their hands, in such sort as the englishmen supposed it had been devised and done in derision of them, daftly {foolishly} apprehending that which they should not seem to have understood.... so soon as they saw the satyrs wagging their tails[ ] ... they all sat down upon the bare floor behind the back of the board, that they should not see themselves scorned, as they thought. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [ ] it was a mediæval superstition, especially in france, that the english possessed tails, which had been affixed to their persons as a punishment for their ill-treatment of a saint; the names of st. augustine and st. thomas of canterbury were used indifferently in this connection. _cf._ mr. george neilson's "caudatus anglicus: a mediæval slander." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ .--december . restoration of the consistorial jurisdiction of the archbishop of st. andrews. _laing_, ii., . _from privy seal record_, bk. , fol. . a letter made restoring and reproving our sovereign's well beloved and trusty councillor, john, archbishop of st. andrews, primate and legate of scotland, to all and sundry his jurisdictions as well upon the south as north sides of the forth within the diocese of st. andrews, which pertained to the archbishopric of the same, to be used by him and his commissaries in all time coming in the same manner and form of justice as it is now used.... at stirling, this xxiii day of december, the year of god, years. [the jurisdiction of the ecclesiastical courts had been abolished in . it was the archbishop who pronounced the sentence of divorce between bothwell and his wife, either in virtue of this general warrant, or by means of a special commission to try the case. on the one side, this restoration of the consistorial court is regarded as pointing to mary's collusion with bothwell, while controversialists, on the other side, would connect it with the proposal, made at craigmillar, of a divorce between mary and darnley.] _darnley falls ill_ darnley's illness. _buchanan's detection._ before he had passed a mile from stirling all the parts of his body were taken with such a sore ache, as it might easily appear that the same proceeded not of the force of any sickness, but by plain treachery. the token of which treachery, certain black pimples, so soon as he was come to glasgow broke out over all his whole body, with so great ache and such pain throughout all his limbs, that he lingered out his life with very small hope of escape: and yet all this while, the queen would not suffer so much as a physician once to come at him. _buchanan v. bedford_ _the earl of bedford to cecil, from berwick_, january , . _foreign calendar._ the king is now at glasgow with his father, and there lies full of the small-pox, to whom the queen has sent her physician. _mary to the archbishop of glasgow, from edinburgh_, january , ._ keith's history_, vol. i. p. . for the king our husband, god knows always our part towards him; and his behaviour and thankfulness to us is semblablement well known to god and the world; specially our own indifferent subjects see it, and in their hearts, we doubt not, condemn the same. always we perceive him occupied and busy enough to have inquisition of our doings, which, god willing, shall aye be such as none shall have occasion to be offended with them, or to report of us any way but honourably; howsoever he, his father, and their fautors speak, which we know want no good will to make us have ado, if their power were equivalent to their minds. _a warning to the queen_ _the archbishop of glasgow to queen mary, from paris_, january , . _keith's history_, vol. i. p. . i have heard some murmuring ... that there be some surprise to be trafficked in your country, but he {the spanish ambassador} would never let me know of any particular, only assured me he had written to his master to know if by that way he can try any further, and that he was advertised and counselled to cause me haste toward you herewith.... finally, i would beseech your majesty right humbly to cause the captains of your guard be diligent in their office; for notwithstanding that i have no particular occasion wherein i desire it, yet can i not be out of fear till i hear of your news.... and so i pray the eternal lord to preserve your majesty from all dangers, with long life and good health. the visit to glasgow and the murder. _buchanan's detection_ (first scots translation, in _anderson's collections_, vol. ii. pp. - ). [buchanan's account of queen mary's visit to glasgow should be supplemented by a comparison with crawford's "deposition" (pp. - ), with the glasgow letter (pp. - ), and with the passage from nau's "memorials" on p. .] herself goes to glasgow; she pretends the cause of her journey to be to see the king alive, whose death she had continually gaped for the month before. but what was indeed the true cause of that journey, every man may plainly perceive by her letters to bothwell. being now out of care of her son, whom she had in her own ward, bending herself to the slaughter of her husband, to glasgow she goes, accompanied with the hamiltons, and other the king's natural enemies. _kirk-of-field_ bothwell, as it was between them before accorded, provides all things ready that were needful to accomplish the heinous act; first of all, a house, not commodious for a sick man, nor comely for a king, for it was both riven and ruinous, and had stood empty without any dweller for divers years before, in a place of small resort, between old falling walls of two kirks, near a few almshouses for poor beggars. and that no commodious means for committing that mischief might be wanting, there is a postern door in the town wall, hard by the house, whereby they might easily pass away into the fields. in choosing of the place, she would needs have it thought that they had respect to the wholesomeness. and to avoid suspicion that this was a feigned pretence, herself the two nights before the day of the murder, lay there in a lower room, under the king's chamber. and as she did curiously put off the shows of suspicion from herself, so the execution of the slaughter she was content to have committed to another. _the queen goes to holyrood_ about three days before the king was slain, she practised to set her brother, lord robert, and him at deadly feud, making reckoning that it should be gain to her, whichsoever of them had perished. for matter to ground their dissension, she made rehearsal of the speech that the king had had with her concerning her brother; and when they both so grew in talk, as the one seemed to charge the other with the lie, at last they were in a manner come from words to blows. but while they were both laying their hands on their weapons, the queen feigning as though she had been perilously afraid of that which she earnestly desired, called the earl of murray, her other brother, to the parting, to this intent, that she might either presently bring him in danger to be slain himself, or in time to come to bear the blame of such mischief as then might have happened.... _the murder_ when all things were ready prepared for performing this cruel fact ... the queen, for manners' sake, after supper, goes up to the king's lodging. there being determined to show him all the tokens of reconciled good will, she spent certain hours in his company, with countenance and talk much more familiar than she had used in six or seven months before. at the coming in of paris, she broke off her talk and prepared to depart. this paris was a young man born in france, and had lived certain years in the houses of bothwell and seton, and afterwards with the queen. whereas the other keys of that lodging were in custody of the king's servants, paris, by feigning certain fond and slender causes, had in keeping the keys which bothwell kept back, of the back gate and the postern. he was in special trust with bothwell and the queen, touching their secret affairs. his coming (as it was before agreed among them) was a watchword that all was ready for the matter. as soon as the queen saw him, she rose up immediately, and feigning another cause to depart, she said, "alas! i have much offended toward sebastian this day, that i came not in a mask to his marriage." this sebastian was an avernois {auvergnois}, a man in great favour with the queen, for his cunning in music, and his merry jesting, and was married the same day. the king thus left, in manner, alone, in a desolate place, the queen departs, accompanied with the earls of argyle, huntly, and cassilis, that attended upon her. after that she was come into her chamber, after midnight, she was in long talk with bothwell, none being present but the captain of her guard. and when he also withdrew himself, bothwell was there left alone, without other company, and shortly after retired into his own chamber. he changed his apparel, because he would be unknown of such as met him, and put on a loose cloak, such as the swartrytters[ ] wear, and so went forward through the watch to execute his intended traitorous fact. the whole order of the doing thereof may be easily understood by their confessions who were put to death for it. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [ ] german. black riders, or heavy cavalry. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ bothwell, after the deed was ended that he went for, returned, and as if he had been ignorant of all that was done, he gat him to bed. the queen, in the meantime, in great expectation of the success, how finely she played her part (as she thought) it is marvell to tell; for she not once stirred at the noise of the fall of the house, which shook the whole town, nor at the fearful outcries that followed, and confused cries of the people (for i think there happened her not any new thing unlooked for) till bothwell, feigning himself afraid, rose again out of his bed, and came to her with the earls of argyle, huntly, and athole, and with the wives of the earls of mar and athole, and with the secretary. there, while the monstrous chance was in telling, while every one wondered at the thing, that the king's lodging was even from the very foundation blown up in the air, and the king himself slain; in this amazedness and confused fear of all sorts of persons, only that same heroical heart of the queen maintained itself, so far from casting herself down into base lamentations and tears, unbeseeming the royal name, blood, and estate, that she matched, or rather far surmounted all credit of the constancy of any in former times. this also proceeded of the same nobility of courage, that she sent out the most part of them that were then about her, to inquire out the manner of the doing, and commanded the soldiers that watched to follow, and she herself settled her to rest, with a countenance so quiet, and mind so untroubled, that she sweetly slept till the next day at noon. but lest she should appear void of all naturalness at the death of her husband, by little and little, at length she kept her close, and proclaimed a mourning not long to endure. _mary on the murder_ mary's description of the murder. _queen mary to the archbishop of glasgow_, february [ ?], . _keith's history_, vol. i. p. . _a plot against both king and queen_ we have received this morning your letters of the th january by your servant robert dury, containing in one part such advertisement as we find by effect over true. albeit the success has not altogether been such as the authors of that mischievous fact had preconceived in their mind, and had put it in execution, if god in his mercy had not preserved us and reserved us, as we trust, to the end that we may take a rigorous vengeance of that mischievous deed, which as it should remain unpunished, we had rather lose life and all. the matter is horrible and so strange as we believe the like was never heard of in any country. this night past, being the th february, a little after two hours after midnight, the house wherein the king was lodged was in an instant blown in the air, he lying sleeping in his bed, with such a vehemency, that of the whole lodging, walls, and other, there is nothing remained, no, not a stone above another, but all carried far away or dashed in dross to the very ground-stone. it must be done by force of powder, and appears to have been a mine. by whom it has been done, or in what manner, it appears not as yet. we doubt not but according to the diligence our council has begun already to use, the certainty of all shall be used shortly; and the same being discovered, which we wot god will never suffer to lie hid, we hope to punish the same with such rigour as shall serve for example of this cruelty to all ages to come. always whoever have taken this wicked enterprise in hand, we assure ourselves it was dressed as well for us as for the king; for we lay the most part of all the last week in that same lodging, and were then accompanied with the most part of the lords that are in this town that same night at midnight, and of every chance tarried not all night, by reason of some mask in the abbey: but we believe it was not chance, but god that put it in our head. we despatched the bearer upon the sudden, and therefore write to you the more shortly.... _nau's account of the murder_ _nau's memorials_, p. . he {the king} went to glasgow, where he was seized with the small-pox. he sent several times for the queen, who was very ill, having been injured by a fall from her horse at seton. at last she went, stayed with him, and attended him on his return to edinburgh.... on his return to edinburgh, the king lodged in a small house outside the town, which he had chosen in the report of james balfour and some others. this was against the queen's wishes, who was anxious to take him to craigmillar, for he could not stay in holyrood palace lest he should give infection to the prince. on his own account, too, he did not wish any one to see him in his present condition.... while he was in this house, the king was often visited by the queen, with whom he was now perfectly reconciled. he promised to give her much information of the utmost importance to the life and quiet of both of them.... he warned her more particularly to be on her guard against lethington, who, he said, was planning the ruin of the one by the means of the other.... that very night, as her majesty was about to leave the king, she met paris, lord bothwell's _valet-de-chambre_, and noticing that his face was all blackened with gunpowder, she exclaimed in the hearing of many of the lords, just as she was mounting her horse, "jesu, paris, how begrimed you are!" at this he turned very red. on the th of february , about three or four o'clock in the morning, a match was put to the train of gunpowder, which had been placed under the king's house. it was afterwards made public that this had been done by the command and device of the earls of bothwell and morton, james balfour, and some others, who always afterwards pretended to be most diligent in searching out the murder which they themselves had committed. morton had secretly returned from england, to which he had been banished. _the origin of the crime_ this crime was the result of a bond into which they had entered. it was written by alexander hay, at that time one of the clerks of the council, and signed by the earls of moray, huntly, bothwell, and morton, by lethington, james balfour, and others, who had combined for this purpose. they protested that they were acting for the public good of the realm, pretending that they were freeing the queen from the bondage and misery into which she had been reduced by the king's behaviour.... he was but deceiving the queen, whom they often blamed for so faithfully having come to a good understanding with her husband; and they told her that he was putting a knife not only to their throats but to her own. the king's body was blown into the garden by the violence of the explosion, and a poor english valet of his, who slept in his room, was there killed.... earl bothwell was much suspected of this villainous and detestable murder.... if we may judge by the plots, deeds, and contrivances of his associates, it would seem that after having used him to rid themselves of the king, they designed to make bothwell their instrument to ruin the queen, their true and lawful sovereign. their plan was this, to persuade her to marry the earl of bothwell, so that they might charge her with being in the plot against her late husband, and a consenting party to his death. this they did shortly after, appealing to the fact that she had married the murderer. _another account by buchanan_ buchanan (_translated from history_, xx. ). the archbishop of st. andrews, who lived nearest, willingly undertook the task of killing the king, when it was offered to him, both on account of old enmities, and in the hope of bringing the succession nearer his own family. he chose, accordingly, six or eight of the most abandoned of his retainers, and entrusted the matter to them, giving them the keys of the king's lodging. they entered very quietly into his chamber, strangled him as he lay sleeping, and carried his body through the postern into a garden beside the walls. then, at a given signal, fire was applied to the house. [the question as to the manner of darnley's death has given rise to considerable discussion. the depositions of hay, hepburn, and paris (vide pp. , - ) agree in representing that the king was killed by the explosion. on the other hand, drury, who wrote to cecil on th april {foreign calendar}, and count moretta, the agent of the duke of savoy, who was in edinburgh {labanoff, vii. }, state that he was strangled. the facts that the bodies of darnley and his servant, taylor, were found together, in the garden, at some little distance from the house, without violent injury; that darnley's pelisse and slippers were found beside him; and that the other bodies were found among the ruins, must be taken into account in forming a judgment on the question.] section v from the murder of darnley to the flight into england _contents_ . introductory note. . mary's seizure by bothwell. (_a_) the ainslie bond. (_b_) mary's description. (_c_) description in the diurnal of occurrents. (_d_) guzman de silva to philip ii. . the bothwell marriage. (_a_) the divorce. (_b_) the dukedom of orkney. (_c_) the marriage. (_d_) mary's demeanour, as described by du croc and drury. . carberry hill. . mary in lochleven. (_a_) guzman de silva on the nature of the rebellion. (_b_) elizabeth's intervention. (_c_) de silva's conversation with murray--the first suggestion of the casket letters. . the escape from lochleven. _lennox and the queen_ .--april . mary's capture by bothwell. [the register of the privy council tells that, on february th, the queen offered to the first revealer of the crime, "although he be one culpable and participant of the said crime," a reward of two thousand pounds and "ane honest yeirlie rent." public opinion pointed to bothwell as the murderer, and anonymous placards appeared in the streets of edinburgh accusing him. lennox approached the queen demanding a trial. on march st (in reply to his letter of february th) mary wrote asking a list of names. he sent, on the th, the names of bothwell, sir james balfour, david chalmers, john spens, francis bastian, john de bourdeaux, and joseph riccio,--the last four were attendants on the queen. on march th the privy council fixed the trial for april th. on the th, lennox wrote asking a postponement of the trial and the imprisonment of the persons he had named, or whom he might suspect. the request was not granted, and the trial took place on the th. the earl of argyll, hereditary lord-justice, took his place as president of the court, and the earl of caithness was chancellor of the jury. lennox put forward his demand for a postponement, which was refused, bothwell urging that the privy council had fixed an early date in accordance with lennox's own request. no witnesses were produced by the prosecution, and bothwell was acquitted. he then challenged to single combat any one who might accuse him, and the challenge was not accepted. in the parliament which met on the th, various confirmations of grants were made--the castle of dunbar to bothwell, the earldom of angus to bothwell's nephew, and various lands to sir richard maitland of lethington. no parliament had assembled since mary's marriage to darnley, and, accordingly, the restoration of murray and morton to their titles and estates was confirmed by statute. although parliament thus put its seal on bothwell's acquittal, by securing dunbar to him, the popular impression of his guilt was in no way lessened.] _the ainslie bond_ a bond by a number of the nobility to promote bothwell's marrying of queen mary. _anderson's collections_, vol. i. pp. - , from cott. lib. calig., c. i. fol. . we undersubscribing, understanding that although the noble and mighty lord james, earl bothwell, ... being not only bruitit {reported} and calumniated by placards, privily affixed on the public places of the kirk of edinburgh, and otherwise slandered by his evil willers, as art and part of the heinous murther of the king, ... but also by special letters sent to her highness by the earl of lennox, and debated {accused} of the same crime ... he by condign inquest and assize of certain noblemen his peers and other barons of good reputation is found guiltless and innocent of the odious crime objected to him ... and we considering the anciency and nobleness of his house, the honourable and good service of his predecessors, and specially himself to our sovereign, and for the defence of this her highness' realm against the enemies thereof, and the amity and friendship which so long has preserved betwix his house and every one of us.... therefore obliges us, and every one of us, upon our faith and honours, and truth in our bodies, as we are noblemen, and will answer to god, that in case hereafter any manner of person or persons ... shall happen to insist farther to the slander and calumniation of the said earl of bothwell, as participant, act or part, of the said heinous murther, ... we ... shall take ... plain and upright part with him, to the defence and maintenance of his quarrel.... moreover, weighing and considering the time present, and how our sovereign the queen's majesty is now destitute of a husband, in the which solitary state the commonwealth of this realm may not permit her highness to continue and endure; ... and, therefore, in case the former affectionate and hearty service of the said earl ... may move her majesty so far to humble herself, as preferring one of her native born subjects unto all foreign princes, to take to husband the said earl, we, and every one of us undersubscribing, upon our honours and fidelity, obliges us, and promises, not only to further, advance, and set forward the marriage to be solemnised and completed betwix her highness and the said noble lord ... but in case any would presume directly or indirectly, openly, or under whatsoever colour or pretence, to hinder, hold back, or disturb the said marriage, we shall in that behalf, esteem, hold and repute the hinderers, adversaries or disturbers thereof as our common enemies and evil willers.... in witness of the which we have subscriyved these presents, as follows, at edinburgh, the day of april, the year of god, years. _signatories to the bond_ the names of such of the nobility as subscribed the bond, so far as john read {a dependent of murray} might remember, of whom i had this copy, being in his own hand, being commonly termed in scotland, ainslie's supper. the earls--murray, huntly, cassilis, morton, sutherland, rothes, glencairn, caithness. lords--boyd, seton, sinclair, semple, oliphant, ogilvie, rosse-hacat, carlisle, herries, hume, and innermeith. [this note is appended to cecil's copy of the bond. it should be noted that murray was not in scotland at the time, and that his name does not appear in a copy of the bond in the scots college at paris, for which we have the authority of sir james balfour.] _the queen captured_ .--may. mary on her capture. instructions to the bishop of dunblane for the french court. _keith's history_, vol. ii. p. . in our returning he awaited us by the way, accompanied with a great force, and led us with all diligence to dunbar.... and when he saw us like to reject all his suit and offers, in the end he showed us how far he was proceeded with our whole nobility and principals of our estates, and what they had promised him under their handwrites.... in the end, when we saw no esperance to be rid of him, never man in scotland once making an attempt to procure our deliverance, ... so ceased he never till by persuasions and importune suit, accompanied not the less with force, he has finally driven us to end the work begun at such time and in such form as he thought might best serve his turn, wherein we cannot dissemble that he has used us otherwise than we would have wished, or yet have deserved at his hand. _diurnal of occurrents in scotland._ and upon the twenty-fourth day of april, which was saint mark's even, our sovereign lady being riding from stirling, whereto she passed a little of before to visit her son, as said is, to edinburgh, james, earl of bothwell, accompanied with seven or eight hundred men and friends, whom he caused believe that he would ride upon the thieves of liddesdale, met our sovereign lady betwix kirkliston and edinburgh, at a place called the bridges, accompanied with a few number, and there took her person to the castle of dunbar. _bothwell and mary at dunbar_ _guzman de silva to the king, from london._ may , . _spanish state papers._ on arriving six miles from edinburgh, bothwell met her with four hundred horsemen. as they arrived near the queen with their swords drawn they showed an intention of taking her with them, whereupon some of those who were with her were about to defend her, but the queen stopped them, saying she was ready to go with the earl of bothwell wherever he wished rather than bloodshed and death should result. she was taken to dunbar, where she arrived at midnight, and still remains. some say she will marry him, and they are so informed direct by some of the highest men in the country who follow bothwell. they are convinced of this, both because of the favour the queen has shown him, and because he has the national forces in his hands. although the queen sent secretly to the governor of the town of dunbar to sally out with his troops and release her, it is believed that the whole thing has been arranged, so that if anything comes of the marriage, the queen may make out that she was forced into it. _a fatal marriage_ the bothwell marriage. _diurnal of occurrents in scotland._ upon the third day of may , the sentence of divorce was pronounced by the comissaries of edinburgh, decerning and ordaining ... jean gordon {countess of bothwell} to be free to marry when she pleased, and the said earl bothwell to be an adulterer. this divorcement was made to the effect that the said earl should marry the queen's majesty. _ibid._ upon the twelfth day thairof {of may}, betwix seven and eight hours at even, james, earl bothwell, was made duke of orkney and zetland, with great magnificence, ... and there were few or none of the nobility thereat. _ibid._ upon the fifteenth day of may , mary, by the grace of god, queen of scots, was married on james, duke of orkney, earl bothwell, ... in the palace of holyrood-house, within the old chapel, by adam, bishop of orkney, not with the mass but with preaching, at ten hours afore noon. there were not many of the nobility of this realm thereat, except the earl crawford, the earl huntly, the earl sutherland, my lords arbroath, oliphant, fleming, livingston, glamis, and boyd, john, archbishop of st. andrews, the bishop of dunblane, the bishop of ross, orkney, with certain other small gentlemen, who waited upon the said duke of orkney. at this marriage there was neither pleasure nor pastime used, as use was wont to be used when princes were married. _neither pleasure nor pastime_ .--may. mary's demeanour. _du croc to catherine de medici. von raumer's elizabeth and mary_, p. . it {the bothwell marriage} is too unhappy, and begins already to be repented of. on thursday the queen sent for me, when i perceived something strange in the mutual behaviour of her and her husband. she attempted to excuse it, and said, "if you see me melancholy, it is because i do not choose to be cheerful; because i never will be so, and wish for nothing but death." yesterday, when they were both in a room, with the earl d'aumale, she called aloud for a knife to kill herself; the persons in the ante-chamber heard it. i believe that if god does not support her, she will fall entirely into despair. _sir william drury to cecil, from berwick_, may . _foreign calendar._ the queen uses often with the duke {bothwell} to ride abroad, and they now make outward show of great content, but the company at court increases not of one nobleman more than were at the marriage. _ibid., may ._ the duke openly uses great reverence to the queen, ordinarily bareheaded, which she seems she would have otherwise, and will sometimes take his cap and put it on. "_no hearts to fight in that quarrel_" .--june . carberry hill. _melville's memoirs_, p. . all scotland cried out upon the foul murther of the king.... whereupon the lords that had the enterprise in their heads were hasted forward to take arms.... the earl of bothwell again, having the queen in his company, convened a greater number out of the merse and lothians, and out of all parts where he had means of friendship, at over her majesty's proclamation, which was not well obeyed for the time; and so many as came had no hearts to fight in that quarrel. yet the earl bothwell marched forward out of dunbar {which was threatened by the lords}, taking the queen with him, towards edinburgh. the lords again, with their companies, passed out of edinburgh upon foot, with a great energy and fierceness to fight; both the armies not far from carberry. the earl bothwell's men camped upon the hill head, in a strength very advantageous; the lords camped at the foot of the hill. albeit her majesty was there, i cannot name it to be her army, for many of them that were with her had opinion that she had intelligence with the lords; chiefly such as understood of the earl bothwell's mishandling of her, and many indignities that he had both said and done unto her, since their marriage was made. he was so beastly and suspicious, that he suffered her not to pass over a day in patience, not making her cause to shed abundance of salt tears. so part of his own company detested him; other part believed that her majesty would fain have been quit of him, but thought shame to be the doer thereof directly herself. _bothwell's cowardice_ in the meantime the laird of grange rode about the brae.... when the queen understood that the laird of grange was chief of that company of horsemen, she sent the laird of ormiston to desire him to come and speak with her under surety, which he did, after he had sent and obtained leave of the lords. as he was speaking with her majesty, the earl bothwell had appointed a soldier to shoot him, until the queen gave a cry, and said that he should not do her that shame, who had promised that he should come and return safely. for he was declaring unto the queen how that all they would honour and serve her so that she would abandon the earl bothwell, who was the murderer of her own husband.... _mary's last day in edinburgh_ the earl bothwell hearkened, and heard part of this language, and offered the singular combat to any man that would maintain that he had done it. the laird of grange promised to send him an answer shortly thereanent.... he offered himself first.... the earl bothwell answered that he was neither lord nor earl, but a baron, and so could not be his peer. the like answer he made to tullibardine. then my lord lindsay offered to fight him, which he could not plainly refuse, but his heart cooled aye the longer the more. then the queen sent again for the laird of grange, and said to him, that if the lords would do as he had spoken to her, she should put away the earl bothwell and come unto them. whereupon he asked at them, if he might promise it to her majesty in their name; which they willed him to do.... her majesty was that night conveyed to edinburgh, and lodged in the middle of the town, in the provost's lodging. as she came through the town, the common people cried out against her majesty at the windows and stairs, which it was a pity to hear. her majesty again cried out, to all gentlemen and others that passed up and down the causeway, declaring how that she was their native princess, and doubted not but all honest subjects would respect her as they ought to do, and not suffer her to be mishandled. others again showed their malice, in setting up a banner or ensign, whereupon the king was painted lying dead under a tree, and the young prince sitting upon his knees, praying, "judge, and revenge my cause, o lord!"[ ] that same night it was alleged that her majesty wrote a letter unto the earl bothwell.... upon the which letter the lords took occasion to send her to lochleven to be kept, against promise as she alleged. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [ ] ps. xliii. . ------------------------------------------------------------------------ .--july . lochleven castle. _guzman de silva to the king. spanish state papers._ [mary was a prisoner in lochleven from th june to nd may . the chief events of her captivity were her compulsory abdication on th july, the coronation of her infant son on the th of the same month, and the proclamation of the earl of murray as regent on august nd. her escape was preceded by at least one unsuccessful attempt. murray visited mary in lochleven, and was by her asked to undertake the regency, according to a letter from throgmorton to elizabeth, th august (in "foreign calendar," and in keith's "history," vol. ii. p. ).] illustration: lochleven castle. ... croc, who was french ambassador in scotland, has passed here on his way to france, and there is nobody now representing his king. _the casket letters_ the ambassador here assures me that the king (of france) has in his favour both those who have assembled to detain the queen (of scots) and those who are against them, and has their signatures promising to keep up the friendship and alliance that the country has had with his predecessors. for this reason the king had proceeded in such a way as not to lose the support of the one side by taking up the cause of the other, but he could not avoid giving his aid to the queen, whose adversaries assert positively that she knew she had been concerned in the murder of her husband, which was proved by letters under her own hand, copies of which were in his possession. [this is the earliest known reference to the casket letters.] _guzman de silva to the king, from london_, july . _spanish state papers._ four days ago the preacher and confessor of the queen of scotland arrived here. he is a dominican friar, a frenchman named roche mameret, and was at the council of trent.... he is much grieved at events in scotland, and the imprisonment of the queen, but more than all at the marriage with bothwell, since he already has a wife.... he assured me that those who had risen against the queen had not been moved by zeal to punish the king's murder, as they had been enemies rather than friends of his; nor in consequence of the marriage, as they had been all in favour of it, and had signed their names to that effect without exception, either lay or clerical, apart from the earl of murray, but their sole object had been a religious one, as they thought the queen, being a catholic, might settle religion in a way not to their liking. _elizabeth's intervention_ _queen elizabeth to sir nicholas throgmorton, in scotland_, july , . _keith's history_, p. . you shall plainly declare unto them {the lords}, that if they shall determine anything to the deprivation of the queen their sovereign lady of her royal estate, we are well assured of our own determination, and we have some just and probable cause to think the like of other princes of christendom, that we will make ourselves a plain party against them, for example to all posterity. [this intervention by elizabeth on mary's behalf was the result of reports which reached london that mary's life was in danger. her death was demanded by certain of the protestant clergy, and the more ardent of their following.] _opinion of mary's confessor_ _guzman de silva to the king, from london_, august . _spanish state papers._ the earl of murray went to scotland on the last day of july.... i visited him.... he repeated how displeased he was at the action of the lords in taking the queen.... i said that her confessor had told me that as regarded the king's murder she had no knowledge whatever of it, and had been greatly grieved thereat.... he opened out somewhat, saying that my good will towards him prompted him to tell me something that he had not even told this queen {elizabeth}, although she had given him many remote hints upon the subject. this was that he considered it very difficult to arrange matters, as it was certain that the queen had been cognisant of the murder of her husband, and he, murray, was greatly grieved thereat. this had been proved beyond doubt by a letter which the queen had written to bothwell, containing three sheets of paper, written with her own hand, and signed by her, in which she says in substance that he is not to delay putting into execution that which he had arranged, because her husband used such fair words to deceive her and bring her round that she might be moved by them if the other thing were not done quickly. she said that she herself would go and fetch him, and would stop at a house on the road, where she would try to give him a draught, but if this could not be done, she would put him in the house where the explosion was arranged for the night upon which one of her servants was to be married. he, bothwell, was to try to get rid of his wife either by putting her away or by poisoning her, since he knew that she, the queen, had risked all for him, her honour, her kingdom, her wealth, and her god, contenting herself with his person alone. besides this she had done an extraordinary and unexampled thing on the night of the murder in giving her husband a ring, petting and fondling him after plotting his murder, and this had been the worst thing in connection with it. murray said he had heard about the letter from a man who had read it, and the rest was notorious.... he says he will do his best for her. i am more inclined to believe that he will do it for himself if he finds a chance, as he is a scotchman, and a heretic.... _end of mary's first imprisonment_ the escape from lochleven. _giovanni correr, venetian ambassador in france to the signory, from paris_, may , . _venetian calendar._ "_a loyal host a royal banner bore_" guard was continually kept at the castle day and night, except during supper, at which time the gate was locked with a key, every one going to supper, and the key was always placed on the table where the governor took his meals, and before him. the governor is the uterine brother of the earl of murray, regent of scotland, the queen's illegitimate brother, and her mortal enemy. the queen, having attempted to descend from a window unsuccessfully, contrived that a page of the governor's, whom she had persuaded to this effect, when carrying a dish, in the evening of the second of may, to the table of his master with a napkin before him, should place the napkin on the key, and in removing the napkin take up the key with it and carry it away unperceived by any one. having done so, the page then went directly to the queen and told her all was ready; and she, having in the meanwhile been attired by the elder of the two maids who waited upon her, took with her by the hand the younger maid, a girl ten years old, and with the page went quietly to the door, and he having opened it, the queen went out with him and the younger girl and locked the gate outside with the same key, without which it could not be opened from within. they then got into a little boat which was kept for the service of the castle, and displaying a white veil of the queen's with a red tassel, she made the concerted signal to those who awaited her that she was approaching.... the horsemen ... came immediately to the lake and received the queen with infinite joy, and having placed her on horseback, with the page and the girl, they conveyed her to the sea coast, at a distance of five miles from thence, because to proceed by land to the place which had been designated appeared manifestly too dangerous. all having embarked, the queen was conducted to niddry, a place belonging to lord seton, and from thence to hamilton, a castle of the duke of châtelherault, where his brother, the archbishop of st. andrews, with other principal personages of those parts, acknowledged her as queen.... all scotland is in motion, some declaring for the queen, and some against her and for the earl of murray.... with regard to her flight, it is judged here, by those who know the site, and how strictly she was guarded, that her escape was most miraculous, most especially having been contrived by two lads under ten years of age, who could not be presupposed to have the requisite judgment and secrecy. to the greater satisfaction with the result may be added that the inmates of lochleven castle perceived the flight; but being shut up within it, and thus made prisoners, they had to take patience, and to witness the queen's escape, while they remained at the windows of the castle. _the disaster at langside_ but now, if the current report be true, the queen of scotland, following the course of her fickle fortune, gives news of her troops having been routed near glasgow, all her chief adherents being killed or made prisoners. _ibid._ june . the news of the defeat of the troops of the queen of scotland was true. she had assembled about eight thousand men, who had flocked to her from divers parts, and for greater security she wished to shut herself up in dumbarton, which is a very strong castle, but she could not get there without crossing the clyde, over which there is but one bridge near glasgow, and that was already occupied by the enemy. it was therefore determined to cross the river where it flows into the sea, a number of boats being sent to the spot for that purpose. the regent, aware of this, went in pursuit with four thousand men; whereupon the queen appointed as her lieutenant-general the earl of argyle, who had just joined her, and who is her brother-in-law through his wife, queen mary's natural sister, and he with six thousand men gave murray battle. _mary seeks english protection_ the contest lasted for three-quarters of an hour, when the queen's troops were worsted, but only one hundred and fifty of her followers were killed, for the regent exerted himself extremely to prevent his troops shedding blood. the prisoners exceeded three hundred, including many noblemen, amongst whom, moreover, is that lord seton who was the chief instrument and leader in effecting the queen's escape. finding herself defeated, the queen set out for england, accompanied by a son of the duke of châtelherault, by lord fleming, by the earl of maxwell, and some twenty-five other attendants, and she travelled a distance of one hundred and twenty-five miles without any rest. she stopped at a place called workington, which is four miles within the english border. she did not discover herself, but was recognised by a scotsman, who informed the warden of the castle, and the latter went immediately to receive her, with great marks of respect, and posted guards on all sides to prevent pursuit by the enemy. section vi the conferences at york and westminster _contents_ . the conference at york. (_a_) letter of murray to queen elizabeth. (_b_) mary's instructions to her commissioners. (_c_) the formal complaints and replies. (_d_) the account of the private interview, with the "abstract of matters" there shown. (_e_) sussex's opinion of the evidence. . the conference at westminster. (_a_) mary's instructions. (_b_) murray's "eik" or additional charge. (_c_) the answer of mary's commissioners to the "eik." (_d_) elizabeth's reply to (_a_). (_e_) the privy council and suggestions for a compromise. (_f_) proofs produced at westminster--the account of the production. (_g_) mary's own answer to the "eik," and her request to see the originals, with elizabeth's reply. (_h_) mary's request for copies, with elizabeth's reply. (_i_) dissolution of the conference by elizabeth. _mary in england_ the conference at york. [on mary's arrival in england, queen elizabeth declined to meet her, till she should be cleared from the suspicion of complicity in the darnley murder. mary promptly accused maitland and morton of a share in the crime, and accepted elizabeth's proposal to have the case tried at a conference at york. the queen of england appointed as commissioners, the duke of norfolk, the earl of sussex, and sir ralph sadler. the scottish queen was represented by lords boyd, herries, and livingstone, the abbot of kilwinning, sir john gordon of lochinvar, sir james cockburn of skirving, and john lesley, the bishop of ross. the earl of murray, the earl of morton, the bishop of orkney (adam bothwell), the abbot of dunfermline, and lord lindsay appeared in the name of the young james vi., along with maitland of lethington, george buchanan, james macgill, and henry balnaves, as assistants. many points of procedure and various formal questions occupied much of the time of the conferences. the extracts which follow have been chosen out of regard to their bearing on the problem of mary's guilt or innocence, and especial care has been taken to include references to the casket letters. the letters themselves, and the depositions which were produced before the commissioners, will be found, by themselves, after the account of the conferences. the conference met at york on october , and as mary was, formally, the plaintiff, her complaint against the lords was first received. thereafter, murray's reply and a rejoinder from mary's representatives were put on record. this was all the formal business essential for our purpose. but, on october th, elizabeth's commissioners received a private visit from maitland, buchanan, macgill, and balnaves, who put before them, secretly, certain documents to prove mary's guilt. it will be seen from the letter of the commissioners to elizabeth, and the quotations from the "abstract of matters ... chosen by the scots," that these documents consisted of:-- . a bond signed by the lords, agreeing to bothwell's marriage with the queen. . the queen's warrant for the signature of the above-mentioned bond. . two contracts of marriage. (see pp. - .) . two letters arranging for the seizure of the queen by bothwell (_i.e._ two of letters, vi., vii., and viii., see pp. - ). . a letter arranging a duel between darnley and the lord robert. . the two glasgow letters (i. and ii., see pp. - ). . the love sonnets (pp. - ). . the letter in which the jason and medea comparison occurs. (letter iv., see pp. - .) this list should be compared with the recital of the productions at westminster (pp. _et seq._). maitland informed queen mary of this secret visit, and she complained to queen elizabeth, who summoned all the commissioners to london, on the ground of greater convenience.] _murray and his proofs_ _letter of the earl of murray, with information for the queen of england_, june , . _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , _from the paper office_. it may be that such letters as we have of the queen, our sovereign lord's mother, that sufficiently, in our opinion, prove her consenting to the murther of the king her lawful husband, shall be called in doubt ... therefore, since our servant, mr. john wood, has the copies of the same letters translated in our language, we would earnestly desire that the said copies may be considered by the judges that shall have the examination and commission of the matter, that they may resolve us thus far, in case the principal agree with the copy, that then we prove the case indeed; for when we have manifested and shown all, and yet shall have no assurances that what we send shall satisfy for probation, for what purpose shall we either accuse or seek to prove, when we are not assured what to prove, or when we have proved, what shall succeed? _mary asserts forgery_ .--september . mary's instructions to her commissioners. _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , from _queen mary's register_ in cotton library. in case they allege they have any writings of mine, which may infer presumption against me in that case, ye shall desire the principals to be produced, and that i myself may have inspection thereof, and make answer thereto. for ye shall affirm, in my name, i never wrote anything concerning that matter to any creature; and if any writings be, they are false and feigned, forged and invented by themselves, only to my dishonour and slander. and there are divers in scotland, both men and women, that can counterfeit my handwriting, and write the like manner of writing which i use, as well as myself, and principally such as are in company with themselves. and i doubt not, if i had remained in my own realm, but i should have gotten knowledge of the inventors and writers of such writings ere now, to the declaration of my innocency, and confusion of their falsity. october . complaint of the queen of scots against the earl of murray. _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , from cott. lib. calig., c. i. . that james, earl of morton, john, earl of mar, alexander, earl of glencairn, the lords howe, lindsay, ruthven, sempill, cathcart, ochiltree, with others their assisters, assembled in arms a great part of the queen's grace's subjects, declared by their proclamations it was for her grace's relief, beset the road in her passage betwixt her grace's castles of dunbar and edinburgh, there took her most noble person, committed her in ward in her own place of lochleven, ... passed to the castle of stirling, and made there fashion of crowning of her son the prince.... james, earl of murray, took upon him the name of the regent, ... intromitted with the whole strengths, munitions, jewels, and patrimony of the crown, as well property as casualty.... _murray's apology for the revolution_ october . the answer of the earl of murray. _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , from cott. lib. calig., c. i. . _accusations against mary_ it is notorious to all men, how umquhile {the late} king henry, father to our sovereign lord, was horribly murdered in his bed. james, sometime earl of bothwell, being well known to be the chief author thereof, entered into so great credit and authority with the queen, then our sovereign, that, within three months after the murder of her husband, the said earl ... accomplished a pretended marriage betwix him and the queen, which strange and hasty proceeding of that godless and ambitious man, ... with the ignominy spoken among all nations of that murther, as though all the nobility had been alike culpable thereof, so moved the hearts of a good number of them, that they thought nothing more godly ... than by punishing of the said earl, chief author of the murther, to relieve others causelessly calumniated thereof, to put the queen to freedom, forth of the bondage of that tyrant.... {from the queen, after carberry hill}, no other answer could be obtained, but vigorous menacing, on the one part, avowing to be revenged on all them that had shown themselves in that cause, and on the other part, offering to leave and give over the realm and all, so she might be suffered to possess the murtherer of her husband, which her inflexible mind, and extremity of necessity compelled them to sequestrate her person for a season.... during the which time, she finding herself by long, irksome, and tedious travail, taken by her in the government of the realm and lieges thereof ... vexed and wearied ... and for other considerations moving her at the time, therefore demitted and renounced the office of government of the realm and lieges thereof ... and constituted me, the said earl of murray, i being then absent furth of the realm, and without my knowledge, regent to his grace, the realm, and lieges.... _mary's reply_ .--october . queen mary's commissioners' rejoinder to murray's reply. _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , from _queen mary's register_ in cott. lib. titus, c. . if he {bothwell} was the principal author of the murder, the same was never known nor manifested to her highness, but the contrary did well appear to her grace, by reason the said earl of bothwell being suspected, indited, and orderly summoned by the laws of that realm, was acquitted by an assize of his peers, and the same ratified and confirmed by authority of parliament, by the greatest part of the nobility ... who also consented and solicited our said sovereign to accomplish the said marriage with him as the man most fit in all the realm of scotland ... and they nor none of them ... came to her highness ... to find fault with the said earl concerning the murder foresaid, or yet in any ways seemed to grudge or disallow the said marriage.... and at the presenting of the said writings of demission of her crown to her majesty by the lord lindsay, he menaced her grace, that if she would not subscribe, he had command to put her presently in the tower, and would do the same, and counselled her to fulfil their desire or worse would shortly follow; which her highness subscribed with many tears, never looking what was contained in the writings, declaring plainly thereafter, if ever her grace came to liberty, she would never abide thereat, because it was against her majesty's will.... if her grace had willingly demitted the same, as her highness did not, her highness could not have nominated the said earl of murray regent, for there were others to have been preferred to him. .--october . letter to queen elizabeth from her commissioners at york. [this letter is printed in the appendix to vol. ii. of hosack's "mary queen of scots, and her accusers," from cott. ms. cal. c. i. fol. . the words or letters within brackets, {}, have been burnt, the margin being singed. "the words printed in italics," says mr. hosack, "are very carefully erased with the pen, and, in some instances, are disguised with head and tail loops, to prevent their being read, the alterations being written between the lines." without the alterations, the letter is printed in goodall, vol. ii. p. , and elsewhere.] _the proofs are shown privately_ _the commissioners' letter_ and so they {moray and his colleagues} sent unto us the lord of lethington, james macgill, mr. george buchanan, and one other being a lord of the session, which in private and secret conference with us, not as commissioners, as they protested, but for our better instruction, afte{r} declaration of such circumstances as led and induced them to vehement presumptio{n} to judge her guilty of the said murder, shewed unto us a copy of a bond bear{ing} date the th of april , to the which the most part of the lords and coun{cil} of scotland have put to their hands; and, as they say, more for fear, than any liking they had of the same. which bond contained two special points, the one {a} declaration of bothwell's purgation of the murder of the lord darnley ... and the othe{r} a general consent to his marriage with the queen.... and yet, in proof that they did it not willingly, they procured a warrant, which was now shewed unto us, bearing date the th {of} april, signed with the queen's hand, whereby she gave them licence to agree to the same.... there was also a contract shewed unto us, signed with the queen's hand, and also with bothwell's, bearing date the fifth of april.... there was also a contract shewed unto us, of the queen's own hand, of the marriage to be had between her and bothwell, bearing no date, which had not _verba de præsenti_, as the other had, bearing date the th of april. it appeared also unto us by two letters of her own hand, that it was by her own practice and consent that bothwell should take her and carry her to dunbar.... after the device of the murder was determined, as it seemed by the sequel, they inferred upon a letter of her own hand, that there was another mean of a more cleanly conveyance devised to kill the king; for there was a quarrel made betwixt him and the lord robert of holyrood-house, by carrying of false tales betwixt them, the queen being the instrument, as they said, to bring it to pass.... afterwards they shewed unto us one horrible and long letter of her own hand, as they say, containing foul matter, and abominable to be either thought of, or to be written by a prince, with divers fond ballads, and other writings before specified, were closed in a little coffer of silver and gilt heretofore given by her to bothwell.... and these men here do constantly affirm the said letters and other writings, which they produce of her own hand, to be of her own hand in deed; and do offer to swear and take their oath thereupon, _as in deed_ the matter contained in them being such as could hardly be invented or devised by any other than by herself; for that the discourse of some things which were unknown to any other, than to herself, and bothwell, _doth the rather persuade us to believe that they be in deed of her own handwriting_. and as it is hard to counterfeit so many, _and so long letters_, so the matter of them, and the manner how these men came by them, is such, as it seemeth that god (in whose sight murder and bloodshed of the innocent is abominable) would not permit the same to be hid or concealed. in a paper here inclosed we have noted to your majesty the chief and special points of the said letters, written (as they say) with her own hand, to the intent it may please your majesty to consider of them, and so to judge whether the same be sufficient to convince her of the detestable crime of the murder of her husband; which in our opinions and consciences, if the said letters be written with her own hand, _as we believe_ _they be_, {is very hard to be avoided. {_is plain and manifest_.... t. norfolk. t. sussex. r. sadler. abstract of matters showed to the queen's majesty's commissioners by the scots, sent the th of october. _goodall_, pp. - . ... she wrote to bothwell, that according to her commission, she would bring the man with her; praying him to work wisely, or else the whole burden would lie on her shoulders; and specially to make good watch, that the bird escaped not out of the cage. {letter iv., see pp. - .} _quotations from the letters_ notes drawn forth of the queen's letters sent to the earl bothwell. ... _item._ ... we are coupled with twa fals racis; the devill syndere us, and god mot knit us togidder for ever for the maist faithful cupple that ever he unitit. this is my faith, i will die in it. ... _item._ ... wareit {cursed} mocht this pokishe man be, that causes me haif sa meikill pane, for without hym i wald haif ane far mair plesant subject to discourse upoun. he is not oer meikle spilt, bot he has gottin verray mekill; he has almaist slane me with his braith; it is war nor your unclis, and zeit {yet} i cum na neirar bot sat in ane cheir at the bedfute, and he beand {being} at the uther end thairof. ... _item._ ... send me advertisement quhat i sall do, and quhatsumever sall cum thairof i sall obey you; advys to with yourself. yf ye can fynd out any mair secreit inventioun be medecein, and the baith in craigmillar. ... _item._ ... "for certaintie he suspectis that thing ye know, and of his lyif: bot as to the last, how sone i speak twa or thrie guid wordis unto hym, he rejois and is out of doubt." ... _item._ ... sie not his quhas fenzeit tearis suld not be sa mekill praysit, nor estemyt, as the trew and faythfull travaillis quhilk i sustene to merit hir place, for obteyning of quhilk, againis my naturall. i betray thame that may impesche me. god forgive me, and god gif you, my onlie luif, the hope and prosperitie that your humble and faythfull luif desyris unto yow, quha hoipis schortlie to be ane uther thing unto yow. {letter, ii. pp. - .} ... _item._ ... as to me, howbeit i heir no farther newes from yow. according to my commission, i bring the man with me to craigmillar upon munday, quhair he will be all wednisday. {letter i., pp. - .} ... _item._ ... in ane uther lettre, "i pray you, according to your promeis, to discharge your hart to me, utherwayis i will think that my malheure, and the guid composing of thame, that hes not the third part of the faythfull and willing obedience unto yow that i beyre, has wyne, againis my will, that advantage over me quhilk the secund luif of jason wan; not that i wolde compair yow to ane soe unhappie as he was, nor yit myself to ane soe unpetifull a woman as she...." {letter iv., p. .} _commission removed to westminster_ the conference at westminster. [at the beginning of the westminster conference, mary found herself "ever straiter and straiter kept from liberty," and demanded to be allowed to appear in person. her request and elizabeth's reply will be found on pp. , . on the th november, murray made his "eik" or additional charge. for the relevant portions of this document, and of the reply of mary's commissioners, see pp. - . on december th, mary's representatives protested that they would withdraw from the conference if their mistress's demand were not granted. cecil declined, on a formal point, to receive the protest. on the th, th, and th, murray produced his proofs. on the th, the protest was accepted, and mary's commissioners withdrew. after their retirement further evidence was received. it may be of use to enumerate the documents produced at westminster:-- _productions at westminster_ the book of articles. acts of parliament ratifying the proceedings of the insurgent lords. two contracts of marriage, and record of bothwell's trial and divorce. five of the six letters produced at york, three additional letters, and the sonnets (pp. - ). recognition of the regent's government by huntly, argyll, and herries (pp. - ). depositions and confessions of hay, hepburn, powrie, dalgleish, nelson, and crawford. murray's "journal or diary of events." the book of articles is a document of considerable length. it is a summary of the charges against the queen of scots, but contains no important charge which is not to be found elsewhere. the reader is already in possession of its essential allegations. it formed the material for buchanan's "detectio," with which it is, at times, almost identical. it is printed, from the hopetoun ms., in hosack's "mary," i. app. b. for the depositions of nelson and crawford, see pp. - . the depositions of hay, hepburn, powrie, and dalgleish do not directly accuse the queen of the murder, beyond stating that the powder was placed in her room, and they have therefore been omitted. the question of the position of the powder is discussed in hosack, vol. i. pp. - , and the reader is referred to the authorities there quoted, and to mr. hay fleming's "mary queen of scots," pp. - (_cf._ also pp. - ). the confession of hepburn (english edition of buchanan's "detection") contains the following sentence:--"he said, let no man do evil for counsel of great men ... for surely i thought that night that the deed was done, that although knowledge should be gotten, no man durst have said it was evil done, seeing the handwriting and acknowledging the queen's mind thereto." no question was put to dalgleish regarding the casket found in his possession. a quotation from murray's "diary," so far as it bears on the murder, will be found on pp. - .] _the earl of sussex to sir william cecil_, october , . _lodge: illustrations of british history._ this matter must at length take end, either by finding the scotch queen guilty of the crimes that are objected against her, or by some manner of composition with a show of saving her honour. the first, i think, will hardly be attempted, for two causes, the one, for that if her adverse party accuse her of the murder by producing of her letters, she will deny them, and accuse the most of them of manifest consent to the murder, hardly to be denied; so as, upon the trial on both sides, her proofs will judicially fall best out, as it is thought. the other, for that their young king is of tender and weak years and state of body; and if god should call him, and their queen were judicially defaced ... hamilton, upon his death, should succeed; which murray's faction utterly detest. _mary's request_ .--november . mary to her commissioners. _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , _from queen mary's register_, cott. lib., titius c. . ye shall afore our sister, her nobility, and the whole ambassadors of strange countries, desire, in our name, that we may be licensed to come in proper person afore them all, to answer to that which may or can be proposed and alleged against us by the calumnies of our rebels, since they have free access to accuse us.... and now the said earl of murray being permitted to come into her presence, which if the like be not granted us, as is reasonable, and yet our sister will condemn us in our absence, not having place to answer for ourselves, as justice requires; in consideration of the premisses ye shall break off your conference, and proceed no further therein, but take your leave and come away. _the regent's "eik"_ .--november . murray's "eik" or additional charge. _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , from cott. lib. calig., c. i. . whereas in our former answer, upon good respects mentioned in our protestation, we kept back the chiefest causes and grounds, whereupon our actions and whole proceedings were founded, wherewithal seeing our adversaries will not content themselves; but by their obstinate and earnest pressing we are compelled, for justifying of our cause, to manifest the naked truth. it is certain, and we boldly and constantly affirm, that as james, sometime earl of bothwell, was the chief executor of the horrible and unworthy murder, perpetrated in the person of umquhile king henry of good memory, father to our sovereign lord, and the queen's lawful husband, so was she of the foreknowledge, counsel, device, persuader and commander of the said murder to be done, maintainer and fortifier of the executors thereof, by impeding and stopping of the inquisition and punishment due for the same, according to the laws of the realm, and, consequently, by marriage with the said james, sometime earl bothwell, delated and universally esteemed chief author of the above-named murder. where through they began to use and exercise an uncouth and cruel tyranny in the whole state of the commonwealth, and with the first (as well appeared by their proceedings) intended to cause the innocent prince, now our sovereign lord, shortly follow his father, and so to transfer the crown from the right line to a bloody murderer and godless tyrant. in which respect the estates of the realm of scotland finding her unworthy to reign, decreed her demission of the crown, with the coronation of our sovereign lord, and establishing of the regiment of that realm, in the person of me, the earl of murray.... james, regent. patrick, l. lindsay. morton. ad. orkad. dunfermline. _answer to the "eik"_ .--december . the answer of queen mary's commissioners to the "eik." _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , _from queen mary's register_. my lords,--we are heartily sorry to hear that our countrymen should intend to colour their most unjust, ingrate, and shameful doings.... her highness made the greatest of them of mean men, if they had used their own calling, earls and lords, and now, without any evil deserving on her grace's part to any of them in deed or word, to be thuswise recompensed with calumnious and false invented bruits {rumours}, slandered in so great a matter, to her reproach, whereof they themselves, that now pretend herewith to excuse their own treasons, were the first inventors, writers with their own hands of that devilish band, the conspiracy of the slaughter of that innocent young gentleman, henry stewart, late spouse till our sovereign, and presented to their wicked confederate, james, earl bothwell, as was made manifest before ten thousand people at the execution of certain the principal offenders at edinburgh.... _mary and elizabeth_ the queen's highness, our and their native sovereign, ... gave them in her youth ... the twa part (two-thirds) of the patrimony pertaining to the crown of scotland, and seeing that her successors, kings of that realm, might not maintain their estate upon the third part ... for their evil deservings and most proud contemption ... caused her use the privilege of the laws always granted to the kings of that realm before, and make revocation before her full age of xxv. years, ... so that it was not the punishment of that slaughter that moved them to this proud rebellion, but the usurping of their sovereign's supreme authority, and to possess themselves with her great riches.... ... our desire is most earnestly that it should be the queen's majesty's pleasure that our sovereign may be admitted to come into the presence of the queen's highness of this realm, her whole nobility, and also in presence of the ambassadors of foreign countries, for more true declaration of her innocency. .--december . elizabeth's answer. _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , _from queen mary's register_. i think it very reasonable that she should be heard in her own cause, being so weighty; but to determine whom before, when and what, any time before i understand how they will verify their allegation, i am not as yet resolved. _the privy council_ .--dec. . proceedings of the privy council. _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , _from the journal of the privy council of england_. die sabbati, decembris , hora prima post meridiem. _present._ the queen's majesty. the lord keeper {sir nicholas bacon}. duke of norfolk. marquis {of northampton}. lord steward {pembroke}. earl essex. earl bedford. earl leicester. lord admiral {lord clinton}. lord chamberlain {lord howard of effingham}. sir william cecil. sir ralph sadler. sir walt. mildmay. the said bishop {of ross} and his colleagues, before they came to the court, sent a message to the earl of leicester and sir william cecil, requiring to speak with them two apart.... and thereupon the said commissioners came into the earl of leicester's chamber, where the said bishop in the name of the rest said ... that although the earl of murray and his complices had delivered in writing a grievous accusation against the queen, their sovereign, and that they were prohibited to make any further answer to any such matter, but only to desire the queen of scots might come in person to the presence of the queen's majesty to make any further answer to any such matter; yet they having considered with themselves their mistress's intention to have been always from the beginning, that these causes should be ended by the queen's majesty by some such good appointment betwix her and her subjects, as might be for her grace's honour and the common weal of the country, with surety also to the earl of murray, and his party ... thought good to declare thus much to the said earl and sir william cecil.... _council proceedings_ after the said bishop had reiterated the said motion, as above is mentioned, the queen's majesty said: "... trusting and wishing that the queen, her sister, should be found innocent, ... she thought it better for her sister's honour and declaration to the world of her innocency, to have the earl of murray and his complices charged and reproved for this their so audacious defaming of the queen, their sovereign, and to receive that which was due for their punishment, than to have it ended by appointment, except it might be thought that they should be able to show some apparent just causes of such an attempt, whereof her majesty would be sorry to hear. and as for the queen of scots coming in person to her majesty to make answer hereunto, the same being of no small moment to her honour, but rather likely to touch her in reputation, in that it might be thought the accusation so probable, as it not to be improved {disproved} by any other, but that she should be forced to come herself, being a queen, in person to answer for herself, her majesty said she would not have the queen's honour and estate in that matter endangered without this their accusation might first appear to have more likelihood of just cause than she did find therein.... hereunto the queen of scots' commissioners said that this last motion for an appointment came not from the queen since the accusation given in by the earl of murray, and so also the queen's majesty assented thereto, but of their own consideration." _production of the proofs_ .--dec. . proofs produced at westminster. _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , _from the journal of the commissioners_. ... they {murray and others} would show unto her majesty's commissioners a collection made in writing of the presumptions and circumstances, by the which it should evidently appear that as the earl bothwell was the chief murtherer of the king, so was the queen a deviser and maintainer thereof; the which writing followeth thus. articles containing certain conjectures, &c. {the book of articles. see _supra_, p. }. after the reading hereof they also said that according to the truth contained in the same, the three estates of parliament, called by the king, now present, their whole actions and proceedings from the murther of the late king were ratified and approved to be lawful.... _hosack i., app. c., from state papers_ (_mary, queen of scots_), , vol. ii. p. , december , . ... the queen's majesty's commissioners having heard the foresaid book of articles read unto them ... entered into a new hearing of the book of articles, whereof having heard three of the chapters or heads, the earl of murray and his colleagues, according to the appointment, came to the said commissioners and said: 'they trusted that, after the reading of the book of articles, and specially upon the sight of the act of parliament, wherein the whole cause wherewith their adversaries did charge them, were found, declared, and concluded to be lawful; their lordships would be satisfied to think them clear and void of such crime as her majesty did charge them withal.... they required to know whether their lordships were not now satisfied with such things as they had seen, and if they were not, and that it would please them to show if in any part of these articles exhibited they conceived any doubt, or would have any other proof, which they trusted, needed not.... {the commissioners declined to give any opinion on this point.} _the casket_ and so they produced a small gilded coffer of not fully one foot long, being garnished in many places with the roman letter f set under a royal crown, wherein were certain letters and writings, and as they said and affirmed to have been written with the queen of scots' own hand, to the earl bothwell, which coffer, as they said, being left in the castle of edinburgh by the said earl bothwell before his flying away, was sent for by one george dalgleish, his servant, who was taken by the earl of morton, who also thereto sitting presently as one of the commissioners avowed upon his oath the same to be true, and the writings to be the very same without any manner of change, and before they would exhibit the sight of these letters they exhibited {the two marriage contracts}.... after this the said earl and his colleagues offered to show certain proofs, not only of the queen's hate towards the king, her husband, but also of unordinate love towards bothwell, for which purpose they produced a letter written in french and in roman hand, which they averred to be a letter of the said queen's own hand to bothwell when she was at glasgow with her husband, at the time she went to bring him to edinburgh, the tenour of which letter hereafter followeth: il semble que avecques ure absence, &c. {letter i. p. .} _its contents_ after this they produced for the same purpose one other long letter written also with the like hand, and in french, ... the tenour of all which letter followeth hereafter: estant party du lieu, &c. {letter ii. p. .} _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , _from the journal of the commissioners_, december . they produced seven several writings written in french in the like roman hand, as others her letters which were shewed yesternight and avowed by them to be written by the said queen, which seven writings, being copied, were read in french, and a due collation made thereof as near as could be by reading and inspection, and made to accord with the originals, which the said earl of murray required to be redelivered, and did thereupon deliver the copies being collationed, the tenour of all which seven writings hereafter follow in order, the first being in manner of a sonnet, "o dieux, ayez de moy," &c. [this is the first line of the first of the collection of sonnets, which will be found on pp. - . the other six "writings" are letters iii.-viii., on pp. - .] _depositions_ after this they did produce and show three several writings in english, subscribed and signed by sir john bellenden, knight, justice-clerk in scotland, whereof the first contained two several examinations, the first of john hay, the younger of talla, the th of september, anno , the second of john hepburn, called john of bolton, being examined upon the murder of the king, the th of december . the third writing containeth the examination of one george dalgleish, the th of june in the same year, . all which writings ... were delivered to the said commissioners, the true tenour whereof hereafter followeth, _apud edinburgh_, die mensis septembris. after this they produced and showed forth in writing, subscribed likewise by the said justice-clerk, a copy of the process, verdict, and judgment against the foresaid john hepburn, john hay, william powrie, and george dalgleish, as culpable of the murder of the said king, which being read, was also delivered, and the tenours thereof hereafter followeth, _curia justiciariae s. d. n. regis_, &c. after this they produced and shewed forth a writing in a long paper, being, as they said, the judgment and condemnation by parliament of the earl bothwell, james ormiston, robert ormiston, patrick wilson, and paris, a frenchman, sym, armstrong, and william murray, as guilty sundry ways of treason for the murder of the king. the tenour whereof thus followeth: _in the parliament holden at edinburgh, the th day of december_. after this they produced and showed a writing signed by mr. james macgill, clerk of the register, containing a request, by way of protestation, by the earls of huntly and argyle, and the lord herries, by the which they require to have no fault imputed unto them for not doing their duty since the th of june , until the th of december then following, for the which, by order of parliament, they were acquitted.... _the finding of the casket_ _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , from _journal of the commissioners_, cott. lib. calig., c. i. p. , dec. , . the queen's majesty's commissioners being occupied in perusing and reading certain letters and sonnets written in french, being duly translated into english, and other writings also exhibited yesterday to them by the earl of murray and his colleagues.... after this the earl of murray and his colleagues came ... and first the earl morton said, that where heretofore he had declared by speech, the manner how he came to the little gilt coffer with the letters, sonnets, and contracts of marriage therein found, and heretofore exhibited: he had caused the same to be put in writing, which also he produced subscribed with his hand, and desired to have it read: which being done, he avowed upon his honour, and the oath which he already took, the same to be true, the tenor whereof followeth, _the true declaration and report_, &c. (see p. ). after this the earl of murray required that one thomas nelson, late servitor to the king that was murdered ... might be heard upon his oath to report his knowledge therein, who, being produced, did present a writing in form of answer of himself to an examination, which being read unto him, he did by a corporal oath affirm the same to be true ... (see p. ) ... _crawford's evidence_ the like request was made that one thomas crawford, a gentleman of the earl of lennox, might be also heard upon his oath, who was, as they said, the same party of whom mention is made in a long letter written in french, and exhibited the th of this month.... whereupon the said thomas crawford ... did present a writing, which he said he caused to be made according to the truth of his knowledge, which being read he affirmed upon his corporal oath there taken to be true, the tenour whereof hereafter followeth. the words betwixt the queen, &c.... the said crawford said ... that he ... was secretly informed by the king of all things which had passed betwixt the said queen and the king, to the intent he should report the same to the earl of lennox his master ... and that he did, immediately at the same time, write the same word by word as near as he possibly could carry the same away ... (see p. ). _journal of the privy council of hampton court_, december , . _goodall_, ii. . there were produced sundry letters written in french, supposed to be written by the queen of scots' own hand, were then also presently produced and perused; and being read were duly conferred and compared, for the manner of writing and fashion of orthography, with sundry other letters long since heretofore written, and sent by the queen of scots to the queen's majesty. {the attestation of morton and the depositions were then read.} ... and forasmuch as the night approached, it was thought good to defer the further declaration of the rest until the next day following. _ibid._, december . [the book of articles, depositions, and contracts were produced, along with acts of the scottish parliament.] and it is to be noted, that, at the time of the producing, shewing, and reading of all these foresaid writings, there was no special choice nor regard had to the order of the producing thereof, but the whole writings lying all together upon the council table, the same were one after another showed rather by hap, as the same did lie upon the table, than with any choice made, as by the natures thereof, if time had so served, might have been. _mary's personal answer_ .--december . queen mary's own answer to the "eik." _mary to her commissioners. goodall_, vol. ii. p. , from cott. lib. calig., b. ix. p. . we have received the eik given in by the earl of murray and his complices. and where they have said thereintill, or at any time, that we knew, counselled, devised, persuaded, or commended the murther of our husband, they have falsely, traitorously, and meschantlie lied; imputing unto us the crime whereof they themselves are authors, inventors, doers, and some of them proper executors. and where they allege we stopped inquisition, and due punishment to be made on the said murther; and siclike {similarly} of the sequel of the marriage with the earl bothwell; it is sufficiently answered in the reply given in at york to their two points.... and where they charge us with unnatural kindness towards our son, alleging we intended to have caused him follow his father hastily: howbeit the natural love the mother bears to her only bairn is sufficient to confound them, and misteris {requires} no other answer. yet, considering their proceedings by-past, who did wrong him in our womb, intending to have slain him and us both, there is none of good judgment but they may easily perceive their hypocrisy, how they would fortify themselves in our son's name, till their tyranny were better established. _demand to see elizabeth_ and to the effect our good sister may understand we are not willing to let their false invented allegations pass over with silence, adhering to your former protestations, ye shall desire the inspection and doubles of all that they have produced against us; and that we may see the alleged principal {original} writings, if they have any, produced; and with god's grace we shall make our answer thereto, that our innocence shall be known to our good sister, and to all other princes; and similarly shall charge them as authors, inventors, and doers of the said crime they would impute to us, and prove the same sufficiently, so that we may have our good sister's presence, as our adversaries have had, and reasonable space and time to get such verification as appertains thereto. and protest that we may add thereto as time place and need shall require. [in accordance with these instructions, mary's commissioners made the request before elizabeth and her council on th december, and received the following reply:--] which desire her majesty thought very reasonable, and declared her to be very glad that her good sister would make answer in that manner for defence of her honour. and to the effect her majesty might be the better advised upon their desires, and give answer thereto, desired an extract of the said writing to be given to her highness. (goodall, p. , from "queen mary's register," as before.) _hampton court_ .--january . proceedings at hampton court. _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , from _queen mary's register_. the which day the said bishop of ross, lord herries, and abbot of kilwinning, passed to the presence of the queen's majesty of england, her highness's council being also present, and declared, that they had presently received writings from the queen's majesty of scotland, their sovereign, by the which they were of new commanded to signify unto her majesty, that she would answer to the calumnious accusation of her subjects, and also would accuse them as principal authors, inventors, and executors of that deid for the which she was falsely accused by them, conform to the writings presented of before in her name, and therefore desired the writings produced by her inobedient subjects, or, at the least, the copies thereof, to be delivered unto thame, that their mistress might fully answer thereto as was desired. and the queen's majesty of england took to be advised therewith, and promised to give answer within two or three days. _elizabeth's decision_ .--january . at hampton court. _ibid._ (p. ). the which day the said earl of murray, and his complices, came before the queen's majesty of england, where sir william cecil, secretary, at the queen's majesty's command, and her highness's council, gave them such answer in effect as follows:-- whereas the earl of murray, and his adherents, come into this realm, at the desire of the queen's majesty of england, to answer to such things as the queen their sovereign objected against them, and their allegiances; for so much as there has been nothing deduced against them, as yet, that may impair their honour or allegiances; and, on the other part, there had been nothing sufficiently produced nor shown by them against the queen, their sovereign, whereby the queen of england should conceive or take any evil opinion of the queen, her good sister, for anything yet seen; and there being alleged by the earl of murray the unquiet state and disorder of the realm of scotland, now in his absence, her majesty thinketh meet not to restrain any farther the said earl and his adherents' liberty; but suffer him and them, at their pleasure to depart, relinquishing them in the same estate in the which they were of before their coming within this realm, till she hear farther of their queen of scotland's answer, to such things as have been alleged against her. _mary's protest_ [next day, mary's commissioners protested and again demanded "copies of the pretended writings given in." on the th they repeated their demand, and received a promise "that she {elizabeth} will not refuse unto the queen, her good sister, to give the doubles of all that was produced." (goodall.) the copies not being forthcoming, mary applied to the french ambassador, la mothe fénélon, for help. elizabeth promised that they should be produced immediately, but, when fénélon again approached her on the subject, he was informed that mary had, in a letter, accused the english queen of partiality. (fénélon, i. and .) the matter was forgotten in the negotiations for mary's marriage with the duke of norfolk, and in the conspiracy which followed.] section vii the documents _contents_ . the contents of the casket. (_a_) the letters. (_b_) the sonnets. (_c_) the contracts of marriage. . the deposition of thomas nelson. . the deposition of thomas crawford. . murray's journal. . the depositions of paris. . the confession of ormiston. . the confession of the earl of morton. . letter from mr. archibald douglas to the queen of scots. the casket letters. [the following eight letters are the principal contents of the famous silver casket (_cf._ pp. and - ). a long and bitter controversy has been waged in connection with the question of their authenticity. every recorded production of them has been the subject of debate. their discovery is related on pp. - . their appearance at york is described in the letter to queen elizabeth on pp. - . it is evident that, at york, they were produced in scots, and there has been considerable controversy as to whether they were there stated to be originals or translations. at westminster, they were shown to the commissioners in french. within a few years after the westminster conference, we lose all trace of the original documents. translations of them into scots, english, and latin and french versions, which we now know (at least in the case of some of the letters) not to have been those produced at westminster, were published soon after the conference closed. in , latin translations of nos. i., ii., and iv. were printed in the latin edition of buchanan's "detectio," and, in the same year, a scots translation was published in london, containing the sonnets in french and scots (reprinted in anderson's "collections," vol. ii.). prefixed to each of the scots versions was the first sentence of each letter, in french (_see_ pp. - ). in another scots version was published at st. andrews, and, in , a french translation of the "detectio" appeared, with the imprimatur "edinburgh." to it, french versions of all the letters, except no. iii., were appended, with a version of the sonnets, varying considerably from that in the scots "detection." research has revealed the existence of english translations of nos. i. and ii. and french versions of nos. iii. and v. in the record office; and of english translations and french versions of nos. iv. and vi. at hatfield. all these various versions will be found printed, in careful and scholarly fashion, in appendix c. of mr. t. f. henderson's "casket letters and mary queen of scots." the method adopted in the present work has been to print the scots version of all the letters, with a glossary of unusual words. it is the only complete version, and the published french and latin letters are probably derived from it. variations both in these and in such english and french versions of the letters as are at hatfield or the record office, are indicated in notes appended to each letter. care should be taken to distinguish between these hatfield or record office french versions and the "published french," _i.e._ the french of the edition of . references to the literature of the question will be found in an appendix. for the guidance of the reader, it may be added that one section of the discussion turns upon the question whether french originals of nos. i., ii., vii., and viii. ever existed; and the scots and english have been carefully examined to discover if they bear traces of derivation from a french source. of the other contents of the casket, the sonnets, and the important clauses of the marriage contracts will be found immediately after the letters.] the following scots words, which appear frequently in the text of the letters, may be unknown to english readers:-- abaschit = surprised. aganis = against. allanerly = only. awin = own. beseik = beseech. chereis = cherish. conqueis = conquest. cordounis = cords. dreddouris = fears. eir = ear. eis = ease. fane = anxious (wald verray fane, wished very much). fascherie, fascheous = trouble, troublesome. fenze, fenzeingly = feign, feigningly. fulische = foolish. gangand = going. gar = force, compel. gude = good. haillely = wholly. impesche = hinder, prevent. incontinent = immediately. inlack = fail. inragis = becomes angry. irkit = tired, wearied. irksome = troublesome, disagreeable. journey = day's work. luif, luifar = love, lover. mekle, meikle = much. playn, plenzeit = complain, complained. quha = who. quhair = where. quhen = when. quhilk = which. quhill = while, till. regiment = rule. schaw = show. schort = short. schuillis = schools. seik = sick. sic, siclyke = such, similarly. sone = son. speik = speak. suld = should. travell = take pains, try. thristit = nudged. tuichit = touched. tyne = lose. unsay = contradict. wald = would. waryit = cured. wod = mad, angry. ze, zow = ye, you. zisternicht = yesternight. zit = yet. letter i. _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , _et seq._ it appeiris, that with zour absence thair is alswa joynit forzetfulnes, seand yat at zour departing ze promysit to mak me advertisement of zour newis from tyme to tyme. the waitting upon yame zisterday causit me to be almaist in sic joy as i will be at zour returning, quhilk ze have delayit langer than zour promeis was. as to me, howbeit i have na farther newis from zow according to my commission, i bring the man with me to craigmillar upon monounday, quhair he will be all wednisday; and i will gang to edinburgh to draw blude of me, gif in the meane tyme i get na newis in ye contrary fra zow. he is mair gay than ever ze saw him; he puttis me in remembrance of all thingis yat may mak me beleve he luifis me. summa, ye will say yat he makis lufe to me; of ye quhilk i tak sa greit pleasure, yat i enter never where he is, bot incontinent i tak ye seiknes of my sair syde, i am sa troubillit with it. gif paris bringis me that quhilk i send him for, i traist it sall amend me. i pray zow, advertise me of zour newis at lenth, and quhat i sall do in cace ze be not returnit quhen i am cum thair; for, in cace ze wirk not wysely, i se that the haill burding of this will fall upon my schoulderis. provide for all thing, and discourse upon it first with zourself. i send this be betoun, quha gais to ane day of law of the laird of balfouris. i will say na farther, saifing that i pray zow to send me gude newis of zour voyage. from glasgow this setterday in the morning. there are no important variations in the published latin and french translations. an english version of letter i., preserved in the record office (state papers relating to mary queen of scots, vol. ii. p. ), quoted by mr. henderson in his "casket letters," pp. - :-- it seemyth that with your absence forgetfulness is joynid consydering that at your departure you promised me to send me newes from you. nevertheless i can learn none. and yet did i yesterday looke for that that shuld make me meryer than i shall be. i think you doo the lyke for your return, prolonging it more than you have promised. as for me, if i hear no other matter of you, according to my commission, i bring the man monday to craigmillar, where he shall be upon wednisday. and i go to edinborough to be lett blud, if i hear no word to the contrary. he is the meryest that ever you sawe and doth remember unto me all that he can, to make me believe that he loveth me. to conclude, you wold say that he maketh love to me, wherein i take so much pleasure, that i have never com in there, but the payne of my syde doth take me. i have it sore to-day. if paris doth bring back unto me that for which i have sent, it suld much amend me. i pray you, send me word from you at large, and what i shall doo if you be not returned, when i shall be there. for if you be not wyse i see assuredly all the whole burden falling upon my shoulders. provide for all and consyder well first of all. i send this present to ledington to be delivered to you by beton, who goeth to one day a law of lord balfour. i will say no more unto you, but that i pray god send me goode newes of your voyage. from glasco this saturday morning. letter ii. being departit from the place where i left my hart, it is esie to be judgeit quhat was my countenance, seing that[ ] i was evin als mekle as ane body without ane hart; quhilk was the occasioun that quhile dennertyme i held purpois to na body: nor zit durst ony present themselves unto me, judging yat it was not gude sa to do. four myle or i came to the towne, ane gentilman of the erle of lennox came and maid his commendatiounis unto me; and excusit him that he came not to meit me, be ressoun he durst not interpryse the same, becaus of the rude wordis that i had spoken to cuninghame; and he desyrit that he suld come to the inquisition of ye matter yat i suspectit him of. this last speiking was of his awin heid, without ony commissioun. i answerit to him, that thair was na receipt culd serve aganis feir; and that he wald not be affrayit, in case he wer not culpabill; and that i answerit bot rudely to the doutis yat were in his letteris.[ ] summa, i maid him hald his toung. the rest were lang to wryte. schir james hammiltoun met me, quha schawit, that the uther tyme quhen he hard of my cumming, he departit away, and send howstoun, to schaw him, that he wald never have belevit that he wald persewit him, nor yit accompanyit him with the hammiltounis. he answerit, that he was only cum bot to see me, and yat he wald nouther accompany stewart nor hammiltoun, bot be my commandement. he desyrit[ ] that he wald cum and speik with him. he refusit it. the laird of lusse,[ ] howstoun, and caldwellis sone, with xl hors or thair about, came and met me. the laird of lusse said, he was chargeit to ane day of law be the king's father, quhilk suld be this day, aganis his awin handwrit, quhilk he has; and zit notwithstanding, knawing of my cumming, it is delayit. he was inquyrit to come to him, whilk he refusit, and sweiris that he will indure nothing of him. never ane of that towne came to speik to me, quhilk causis me think that thay ar his; and nevertheless he speikis gude, at the leist his sone. i se[ ] na uther gentilman but thay of my company. the king send for joachim zisternicht,[ ] and askit at him, quhy i lodgeit not besyde him, and that he wald ryse the soner gif that wer; and quhairfoir[ ] i come, gif it was for gude appointment? and gif ye wer thair in particular? and gif i had maid my estait, gif i had takin paris[ ][ ] and gilbert to wryte to me? and yat i wald send joseph away. i am abaschit [_i.e._ i wonder] quha hes schawin him sa far; zea, he spak evin of ye marriage of bastiane. i inquyrit him of his letteris, quhairintil he plenzeit {complained} of the crueltie of sum; answerit, that he was astonischit,[ ] and that he was sa glaid to se me, that he belevit to die for glaidness. he fand greit fault that i was pensive. i departit to supper. this beirer will tell zow of my arryving. he prayit me to returne; the quhilk i did. he declairit unto me his seiknes, and that he wald mak na testament, but only leif all thing to me; and that i was the caus of his maladie, becaus of the regrait that he had that i was sa strange unto him. and thus he said: ze ask me quhat i mene be the crueltie contenit in my letter? it is of zow alone that will not accept my offeris and repentance. i confes that i have failit, but not into that quhilk i ever denyit, and sicklyke hes failit to {too} sindrie of your subjectis, quhilk ze have forgevin.[ ] i am zoung. ye will say that ze have forgevin me oft tymes, and zit yat i returne to my faultis. may not ane man of my age, for lacke of counsell, fall twyse or thryse, or inlacke {fail} of his promeis, and at last[ ] repent himself and be chastisit be experience? gif i may obtene pardoun, i protest i sall never mak fault agane. and i crave na uther thing bot yat we may be at bed and buird togidder as husband and wyfe; and gif ze wil not consent heirunto i sall never ryse out of yis bed. i pray zow, tell me zour resolution. god knawis i am punischit for making my god of zow, and for having na uther thocht bot on zow; and gif at ony tyme i offend zow, ze ar the caus, becaus quhen ony offendis me, gif, for my refuge, i micht playne unto zow, i wald speik it unto na uther body; bot quhen i heir ony thing, not being familiar with zow, necessitie constrains me to keip it in my breist, and yat causes me to tyne {lose} my wit for verray anger. i answerit ay unto him, bot that wald be ovir lang to wryte at lenth. i askit quhy he wald pas away in ye inglis schip. he denyis it, and sweirs theirunto; bot he grantis that he spak with the men. efter this i inquirit him of the inquisition of hiegate. he denyit the same quhill i schew him the verray wordis was spokin. at quhilk tyme he said that mynto had advertisit him, that it was said that sum of the counsell had brocht an letter to me to be subscrivit to put him in presoun, and to slay him gif he maid resistence. and he askit the same at mynto himself, quha answerit that he belevit ye same to be trew. the morne i will speik to him upon this point. as to the rest of willie hiegait's,[ ] he confessit it, bot it was the morne efter my cumming or {till} he did it. he wald verray fane that i suld ludge in his ludgeing. i refusit it, and said to him that he behovit to be purgeit, and that culd not be done heir. he said to me, i heir say ze have brocht ane lyter {litter, couch} with zow; bot i had rather have passit {travelled} with zow. i trow[ ] he belevit that i wald have send him away presoner. i answerit that i wald tak him with me to craigmillar, quhais the mediciner and i micht help him, and not be far from my sone. he answerit that he was reddy when i pleisit, sa i wald assure him of his requeist. he desyris na body to se him. he is angrie quhen i speik of walcar, and sayis, that he sall pluk the eiris out of his heid, and that he leis {lies}. for i inquyrit him upon that, and yat he was angrie with sum of the lordis, and wald threittin thame. he denyis that,[ ] and sayis he luifis {loves} thame all, and prayis me to give traist to nathing aganis him. as to me he wald rather give his lyfe or he did ony displesure to me. and efter yis he schew me of sa mony lytil flattereis, sa cauldly and sa wysely, that ze will abasche {marvel} thairat. i had almaist forzet that he said he could not dout of me in yis purpois of hiegait's; for he wald never belief yat i, quha was his proper flesche, wald do him ony evill; alsweill it was schawin that i refusit to subscrive the same.[ ] but as to ony utheris that wald persew him, at least he wald sell his lyfe deir eneuch; but he suspectit na body, nor yit wald not, but wald lufe all yat i lufit. he wald not let me depart from him, bot desyrit yat i suld walk {watch} with him. i make it seme that i beleive that all is trew, and takis heid thairto, and excusit my self for this nicht that i culd not walk. he sayis, that he sleipis not weil. ze saw him never better, nor speik mair humbler. and gif i had not ane prufe of his hart of waxe, and yat myne were not of ane dyamont quhairintill na schot can mak brek, bot that quhilk cummis furth your hand, i wald have almaist had pietie of him. but feir not, the place[ ] sall hald unto the deith. remember, in recompense thairof, that ze suffer not zouris to be wyn {won} be that fals race[ ] that will travell na les with zow for the same. i beleve thay have bene at schuillis togidder. he has ever the teir in his eye; he salutis every body, zea unto the leist, and makis pieteous caressing unto thame to mak thame have pietie on him. this day his father bled at the mouth and nose; ges quhat presage that is. i have not zit sene him, he keipis his chamber. the king desyris that i suld give him meit with my awin handis; but gif {give} na mair traist quhair ze ar than i sall do heir. this is my first journay {day's work.} i sall end ye same ye morne. i wryte all thingis, howbeit thay be of lytill wecht, to the end that ze may tak the best of all to judge upon. i am in doing of ane work heir that i hait greitly.[ ] have ye not desyre to lauch to see me lie sa weill, at ye leist to dissembill sa weill, and to tell him treuth betwix handis {_i.e._ occasionally.} he schawit me almaist all yat is in the name of the bischop and sudderland, and zit i have never twichit ane word of that ze schawit me; but allanerly {only} be force, flattering, and to pray him to assure himself of me. and be pleinzing on the bischop i have drawin it all out of him.[ ] ze have hard the rest. we are couplit[ ] with twa fals races; the devil sinder us and god knit us togidder for ever, for the maist faithfull coupill that ever he unitit. this is my faith; i will die in it. excuse i wryte evill, ze may ges ye half of it; bot i cannot mend it, becaus i am not weil at eis; and zit verray glaid to wryte unto zow quhen the rest are sleipand, sen {since} i cannot sleip as they do and as i wald desyre, that is, in your armes, my deir lufe, quhome i pray god to preserve from all evill, and send yow repois; i am gang and to seik myne till ye morne, quhen i sall end my bybill; bot i am faschit {troubled} that it stoppis me to wryte newis of myself unto zow, becaus it is sa lang. advertise me quhat ye have deliberat to do in the mater ze know upon this point to ye end, that we may understand utheris {each other} weill, that nathing may thairthrow be spilt. i am irkit {weary}[ ] and ganging to sleip, and zit i ceis not to scrible all this paper in sa mekle as restis thairof. waryit mot this pockische man be that causes me haif sa mekle pane, for without him i suld have an far plesander subject to discourse upon. he is not over mekle deformit,[ ] zit he hes ressavit verray mekle. he hes almaist slane me with his braith; it is worse than your uncle's;[ ] and zit i cum na neirer unto him, bot in ane chyre[ ] at the bed feit, and he being at the uther end thairof. the message of the father in the gait {way}. the purpois {talk}[ ] of schir james hamiltoun. of that the laird of lusse schawit me of the delay. of the demandis that he askit at joachim. of my estait. of my company. of the occasioun of my cumming; and of joseph. _item._ the purpois that he and i had togidder. of the desyre that he has to pleis me, and of his repentance. of the interpretatioun of his letter. of willie hiegaite's mater {business}, of his departing. of monsiure de levingstoun. i had almaist forzet, that monsiure de levingstoun said in the lady reres eir at supper, that he wald drink to ye folk yat i wist of, gif i wald pledge thame. and efter supper he said to me, quhen i was lenand upon him warming me at the fyre. ze have {fair} {sair} going to se seik folk,[ ] zit ze cannot be sa welcum to thame as ze left sum body this day in regrait, that will never be blyth quhill he se zow agane. i askit at him quha that was. with that he thristit my body, and said, that sum[ ] of his folkis had sene zow in fascherie; ze may ges at the rest. i wrocht this day quhill {till} it was twa houris upon this bracelet, for to put the key of it within the lock thairof, quhilk is couplit underneth with twa cordounis. i have had sa lytill tyme that it is evill maid; bot i sall mak ane fairer in the meane tyme. tak heid that nane that is heir se it, for all the warld will knaw it, becaus for haist it was made in yair presence. i am now passand to my fascheous {hateful} purpois.[ ] ze gar (force) me dissemble sa far that i haif horring thairat; and ye caus me do almaist the office of a traitores. remember how gif {if} it wer not to obey zow, i had rather be deid or i did it;[ ] my hart bleidis at it. summa, he will not cum with me, except upon conditioun that i will promeis to him, that i sall be at bed and buird with him as of befoir, and that i will leif him na ofter:[ ] and doing this upon my word, he will do all thingis that i pleis, and cum with me. bot he has prayit me to remane upon him quhil uther morne[ ] {till tomorrow}. he spak verray bravely[ ] at ye beginning, as yis beirer will schaw zow, upon the purpois of the inglismen, and of his departing; bot in ye end he returnit agane to his humilitie. he schawit, amangis uther purposis, yat he knew weill aneuch that my brother had schawin me yat thing, quhilk he had spokin in striviling, of the quhilk he denyis ye ane half, and above all, yat ever he came in his chalmer. for to mak him traist me, it behovit me to fenze {feign} in sum thingis with him; thairfoir, quhen he requeistit me to promeis unto him, that quhen he was haill we suld have baith ane bed;[ ] i said to him fenzeingly, and making me to beleve his promisis, that gif he changeit not purpois betwix yis and {by} that tyme, i wald be content thairwith; bot in the meane tyme i bad him tak heid that he leit na body wit thairof, becaus, to speik amangis our selvis, the lordis culd not be offendit, nor will evill thairfoir: bot[ ] thay wald feir in respect of the boisting he maid of thame, that gif ever we aggreit togidder, he suld mak thame knaw the lytill compt thay tuke of him; and that he counsallit me not to purchas sum of thame by him. thay for this caus wald be in jelosy, gif at anis, without thair knawledge, i suld brek the play set up in contrair in thair presence. he said, verray joyfully, and think zow thay will esteme zow the mair of that? bot i am verray glaid that ze speik to me of the lordis, for i beleve at this tyme ze desyre that we suld leif togidder in quyetnes: for gif it wer utherwyse, greiter inconvenience micht come to us baith than we ar war of;[ ] bot now i will do quhatever ze will do, and will lufe all that ze lufe; and desyris zow to make thame lufe in lyk maner; for, sen thay seik not my lyf, i lufe thame all equallie. upon yis point this beirer will schaw zow mony small thingis. becaus i have over mekle to wryte, and it is lait: i give traist unto him upon zour word. summa, he will ga upon my word to all places. alace! i never dissavit {deceived} ony body: bot i remit me altogidder to zour will. send me advertisement quhat i sall do, and quhatsaever thing sall cum thairof, i sall obey zow. advise to with zourself, gif ze can find out ony mair secreit inventioun by medicine; for he suld tak medicine and the bath at cragmillar. he may not cum furth of the hous this lang tyme. summa, be all that i can leirne, he is in greit suspicioun, and zit notwithstanding, he gevis credit to my word; bot zit not sa far that he will schaw ony thing to me; bot nevertheles, i sall draw it out of him, gif ze will that i avow all unto him. bot i will never rejoyce to dissaive ony body that traistis in me: zit notwithstanding ze may command me in all thingis. have na evill opinioun of me for that caus, be ressoun ze are the occasion of it zourself; becaus, for my awin particular revenge, i wald not do it to him. he gevis me sum chekis[ ] of yat quhilk i feir, zea, evin in the quick. he sayis this far, yat his faultis wer publeist; bot yair is that committis faultis, that belevis thay will never be spokin of; and zit thay will speik of greit and small. as towart the lady reres, he said, i pray god that scho may serve zow for your honour; and said, it is thocht, and he belevis it to be trew, that i have not the power of myself into myself, and that becaus of the refuse i maid of his offeris. summa,[ ] for certanetie he suspectis of the thing ze knaw, and of his lyf. bot as to the last, how sone that i spak twa or thre gude wordis unto him, he rejoysis, and is out of dout.[ ] i saw him not this evening for to end zour bracelet, to the quhilk i can get na lokkis. it is ready to thame: and zit i feir that it will bring sum malheus, and may be sene gif ze chance to be hurt. advertise me gif ze will have it, and gif ze will have mair silver, and quhen i sall returne, and how far i mey speik.[ ] he inragis when he heiris of lethingtoun, or of zow or of my brother. of zour brother he speikis nathing. he speikis of the erle of argyle. i am in feir quhen i heir him speik; for he assuris himself yat he hes not an evill opinioun of him. he speikis nathing of thame that is out, nouther gude nor evill, bot fleis that point. his father keipis his chalmer; i have not sene him. all the hammiltounis ar heir, that accompanyis me verray honorabilly. all the freindis of the uther convoyis me quhen i gang to se him. he desyris me to cum and se him ryse the morne betyme. for to mak schort, this beirer will tell zow the rest. and gif i leirne onything heir, i will make zow memoriall at evin. he will tell zow the occasioun of my remaning. burne this letter, for it is ovir dangerous, and nathing weill said in it; for i am thinkand upon nathing bot fascherie. gif[ ] ze be in edinburgh at the ressait of it, send me word sone. be not[ ] offendit, for i gif not ovir greit credite. now seing to obey zow, my deir lufe, i spair nouther honour, conscience, hasard, nor greitnes quhatsumevir; tak it, i pray zow, in gude part, not efter the interpretatioun of zour fals gude-brother, to quhome, i pray zow, gif na credite aganis the maist faithful luifer that ever ze had, or ever sall have. se not hir, quhais fenzeit teiris suld not be sa meckle praisit nor estemit, as the trew and faithful travellis quhilk i sustene for to merite his place. for obtening of the quhilk agains my natural, i betrayis thame that may impesche me. god forgive me, and god give zow, my only lufe, the hap and prosperitie quhilk zour humble and faithful lufe desyris unto zow, quha hopis to be schortly ane uther thing to zow for the reward of my irksome travellis. it is lait; i desyre never to ceis fra wryting unto zow; zit now, after the kissing of zour handis, i will end my letter. excuse my evill wryting, and reid it twyse over. excuse that thing that is scriblit, for i had na paper zisterday quhen i wrait that of ye memoriall. remember upon zour lufe, and wryte unto hir, and that verray oft. lufe me as i sall do zow. remember zow of the purpois[ ] of the lady reres of the inglismen of his mother. of the erle of argyle. of the erle of bothwell. of the ludgeing in edinburgh. [the memoranda in the middle of the letter constitute the "thing that is scriblit," for which pardon is asked in the last sentence. the concluding words, from "remember" to "edinburgh," are instructions for the bearer.] -------------------------------------------------------------------------- _e._ = _english_; _f._= _published french_; _l._ = _latin_. [ ] _e._ "considering what the body may without heart, which was cause ... that till dinner i had used little talk." so also french, but latin as in scots. [ ] _e._ adds after "letters," " ... as though there had been a meaning to pursue him." [ ] _l._ and _f._ omit "he desired ... refusit it." [ ] _e._ "the lord luse, houstoun, and the son of caldwell, and about forty horse came to meet me, and he told me that he was sent to one day o' law from the father, which should be this day," &c. _l._ and _f._ as in scots. [ ] _e._ omits "i see ... company." [ ] _e._ omits "yesternight;" _l._ "heri;" _f._ "hier." [ ] _e._ ... "whether it were for any good appointment that he came, and whether i had not taken paris and gilbert to write, and that i sent joseph." _l._ "item cur venisrem? an reconciliationis causa? ac nominatim, an tu hic esses? an familiæ catalogum fecissem? an paridem et gilbertum acceptissem, qui mihi scriberent? an josephum dimissura essem?" _f._ "item pour quoy j'estoye venue, et si c'estoit pour faire une reconciliation; si vous estiez icy; et si j'avoye faict quelque rolle de mes domestiques; si j'avois prins paris et gilbert, afin qu'ils m'escrivissent; et si je ne vouloye pas licentier joseph." [ ] scots has a marginal note, "this berer will tell you sumwhat upon this," which appears in the english text and is omitted in the other versions. [ ] this berer will tell you somewhat upon this. [marginal note in original.] [ ] _e._ "he said that he did dream, and that he was so glad to see me that he thought he should die--indeed, that he had found fault with me." _l._ and _f._ as in _s._ [ ] _e._ "you have well pardoned them." _f._ and _l._ as in _s._ [ ] _e._ "and at the last repent, and rebuke himself by his repentance." _l._ and _f._ as in _s._ [ ] _e._ "the rest, as will hiegate hath confessed; but it was the next day that he came hither." _l._ and _f._ as in _s._ [ ] _e._ omits "i trow ... presoner." [ ] _e._ "he denyeth it, and saith that he had already prayed them to think no such matter of him." _l._ and _f._ as in _s._ [ ] _e._ "and indeed it was said that i refused to have him let blood." _l._ and _f._ as in _s._ [ ] _l._ "praesidium." _f._ "forteresse." [ ] _e._ "by that false race that would do no less to yourself." _l._ "a gentle illa perfida, quae non minore contentione te cum de hoc ipso aget." _f._ "par ceste nation infidele, qui avec non moindre opiniastreté debatra le mesme avec vous." [ ] _e._ adds after "greitly"--"but i had begun it this morning." [ ] _e._ adds after "all out of him"--"i have known what i would. i have taken the worms out of his nose." [ ] _e._ "we are tied to with two false races. the good yure {goujere} untye us from them. god forgive me, and god knit us together forever." _l._ "diabolus nos sejungat, ac nos conjugat deus in perpetuum," &c. _f._, "le diable nous vueille separer, et que dieu nous conjoingne à jamais," &c. [ ] _e._ "i am weary, and am asleep." _l._ "ego nudata sum, ac dormitum eo." _f._, "je suis toute nuë, et m'en vay coucher." [the latin and french translation mistook "irkit" for "nakit."] [ ] _e._ "he is not much the worse, but he is ill arrayed." _l._ "non magnopere deformatus est, multum tamen accepit." _f._ "il n'a pas esté beaucoup rende diforme, toutesfois il en a pris beaucoup." [ ] _l._ "propinqui." _f._ "parent." [ ] _e._ "by his bolster, and he lieth at the further side of the bed." _l._ "ad pedes ejus." _f._ "a ses pieds." [ ] _e._ "the talk of sir james hamilton of the ambassador." _l._ and _f._ as in _s._ _e._ "lord of lusse." _l._ "lussae comarchus." _f._ "le prevost de lusse." [ ] _e._ "you may well go and see sick folk." _l._ "bella huiusmodi hominum visitatio." _f._ "voyla une belle visitation de telles gens." [_l._ and _f._ translators confusing _sik_ (sick) and _sik_ (such).] [ ] _e._ "and said, 'one of his folk that hath left you this day.'" _l._ "respondit, unus eorum qui te reliquerunt." _f._ "respondit, c'est l'un de ceux qui vous ont laissée." [ ] _e._ "to my tedious talk." _l._ "ad institutum meum odiosum." _f._ "À ma deliberation odieuse." [ ] _e._ omits "or i did." _l._ and _f._ as in _s._ [ ] _e._ "no more." _l._ "ne saepius." _fr._ "ne ... si souvent." [ ] _e._ "till after tomorrow." _l._ "in diem perendinum." _f._ "encor deux jours." [ ] _e._ "more pleasantly." _l._ "valde ferociter." _f._ "fort asprement." [ ] _e._ "make but one bed." _l._ "communem fore lectum." _f._ "ne faisions plus qu'un lict." [ ] _f._ "but did fear lest, considering the threatening which he made in case we did agree together, he would make them feel the small account they have made of him, and that he would persuade me to pursue some of them." _l._ "sed in timore futuros quod comitatus fuisset, si aliquando inter nos concordes essemus, se daturum operam ut intelligerent quam parvi eum aestimâssent; item quod mihi consuluisset ne gratiam quorundam seorsum a se expeterem." _f._ "ains seroient en crainte de ce qu'il m'auroit suivy. et si nous pouvions estre d'acord ensemble, qu'il pourroit donner ordre, qu'ils entendroient combien peu ils l'avoient estimé. item de ce qu'il m'avoit conseillé, que je ne recerchasse la bonne grace d'aucuns sans luy." [ ] _e._ "than you think." _l._ and _f._ as in _s._ [ ] _e._ "he giveth me certain charges (and these strong) of that i fear even to say that his faults be published; but there be that commit some secret faults, and fear not to have them spoken of so lowdely, and that there is speech of greate and small." _l._ "interim me attingit in loco suspecto; idque ad vivum hactenus proloquutus est, sua crimina esse palam; sed sunt qui majora committant, et opinantur ea silentio tegi; et tamen homines de magnis juxta et parvis loquuntur." _f._ "cependant il m'a donné attainte du lieu suspect, et a jusques icy discouru bien au vif, que ces fautes sont congreües; mais qu'il y en a qui en commettent de plus grandes, encores qu'ils estiment qu'elles soient cachées par silence; et toutesfois que les hommes parlent des grands aussi bien des petits." [ ] _e._ "to conclude, for assurety he mistrusteth her of that that ye know, and for his life." _l._ and _f._ as in _s._ [ ] _e._ "he was very merry and glad." _l._ and _f._ as in _s._ [ ] _e._ adds after "speak"--"now, as far as i perceive. {j'ay bien la vogue avec vous[ ]} guess you whether i shall not {i may do much without you. } be suspected." [ ] _e._ "for i think upon nothing but grief if you be at edinburgh." _l._ and _f._ as in _s._ [ ] _e._ omits "be not ... credit." [ ] _e._ omits from "remember you" to the end. [ ] this is a comment in the margin, perhaps a quotation from the french version shown to the commissioners. according to mr. t. f. henderson, it is in cecil's handwriting. ("the casket letters and mary queen of scots," p. .) ------------------------------------------------------------------------ letter iii.[ ] my lord, gif the displesure of zour absence, of zour forzetfulnes, ye feir of danger sa promisit be everie ane to zour sa luifit persone, may gif me consolatioun, i leif it to zow to juge, seing the unhap that my cruell lot and continuall misadventure hes hitherto promysit me, following ye misfortunes and feiris as weill of lait, as of ane lang tyme by-past, the quhilk ye do knaw. bot for all that, i will in na wise accuse zow, nouther of zour lytill cair, and leist of all of zour promeis brokin, or of ye cauldnes of zour wryting, sen i am ellis sa far maid zouris, yat yat quhilk pleisis zow is acceptabill to me; and my thochtis ar as willingly subdewit unto zouris, that i suppois yat all that cummis of zow proceidis not be ony of the causis forsaid, bot rather for sic {such} as be just and ressonabill, and sic as i desyre myself. quhilk is the fynal order that ze promysit to tak for the suretie and honorabil service of ye only uphald of my lyfe. for quhilk alone i will preserve the same, and without the quhilk i desyre not bot suddane deith, and to testifie unto zow how lawly i submit me under zour commandementis, i have send zow, in signe of homage, be paris, the ornament of the heid, quhilk is the chief gude of the uther memberis, inferring thairby that, be ye seising {placing} of zow in the possessioune of the spoile of that quhilk is principall, the remnant cannot be bot subject unto zow, and with consenting of the hart. in place thairof, sen i have ellis left it unto zow, i send unto zow ane sepulture of hard stane, collourit with blak, sawin with teiris and bones. the stane i compair to my hart, that as it is carvit in ane sure sepulture or harbor of zour commandementis, and above all, of zour name and memorie that ar thairin inclosit, as is my heart in this ring, never to cum furth, quhill deith grant unto yow to ane trophee of victorie of my banes, as the ring is fullit, in signe that yow haif maid ane full conqueis of me, of myne hart, and unto yat my banes be left unto yow in remembrance of your victorie and my acceptabill lufe and willing, for to be better bestowit than i merite. the ameling that is about is blak, quhilk signifyis the steidfastness of hir that sendis the same. the teiris are without number, sa ar the dreddowris to displeis yow, the teiris of your absence, the disdane that i cannot be in outward effect youris, as i am without fenzeitnes of hart and spreit, and of gude ressoun, thocht my meritis wer mekle greiter then of the maist profite that ever was, and sic as i desyre to be, and sall tak pane in conditiounis to imitate, for to be bestowit worthylie under your regiment. my only wealth ressaif thairfoir in als gude part ye same, as i have ressavit your marriage with extreme joy, the quhilk sall not part furth of my bosum, quhill yat marriage of our bodyis be maid in publict, as signe of all that i outher hope or desyris of blis in yis warld. zit my hart feiring to displeis you as mekle in the reiding heirof, as i delite me in ye writing, i will mak end, efter that i have kissit zour handis with als greit affectioun as, i pray god (o ye only uphald of my lyfe) to gif yow lang and blissit lyfe, and to me zour gude favour, as the only gude yat i desyre, and to ye quhilk i pretend. i have schawin unto this beirer that quhilk i have leirnit, to quhome i remit me, knawand the credite that ze gaif him, as scho dois that will be for ever unto zow humbill and obedient lauchfull wyfe, that for ever dedicates unto zow hir hart, hir body, without ony change, as unto him that i have maid possessour of my hart, of quhilk ze may hald zow assurit, yat unto ye deith sall na wayis be changeit, for evill nor gude sall never mak me go from it. the original french version of this letter is in the record office (state papers, mary queen of scots, vol. ii. p. ). it is printed by mr. henderson, and by hosack. no latin or french version of it was printed in the _detectio_. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- [ ] _f._ mais pour tout cela je me vous accuserai ni de peu de souvenance ni de peu de soigne et moins encore de vostre promesse violee que ce qu'il vous plaist mest agreable et sont mes penses tant volonterement, aux vostres asubjectes que je veulx presupposer que tout ce que vient de vous procede non par aucune des causes susdictes ains pour telles qui son justes et raisoinables et telles que je desie moy. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- letter iv. i have walkit laiter thair up then i wald have done, gif it had not bene to draw sumthing out of him, quhilk this beirer will schaw zow; quhilk is the fairest commodity {_i.e._ the most suitable opportunity} that can be offerit to excuse zour affairis. i have promysit to bring him the morne. put ordour to it, gif ze find it gude. now, schir, i have brokin my promeis; becaus ze commandit me nouther to wryte nor send unto zow zit i have not done this to offend zow, and gif ze knew the feir yat i have presently, ze wald not have sa mony contrary suspiciounis in your thocht; quhilk notwithstanding i treit and chereis, as proceeding from the thing in the warld that i maist desyre, and seikis fastest to haif, quhilk is zour gude grace; of the quhilk my behaviour sall assure me. as to me: i sall never dispair of it, and prayis zow, according to zour promeis, to discharge zour hart unto me, utherwayis[ ] i will think that my malhure, and the gude handling of hir that has not ye third part of the faithfull nor willing obedience unto zow that i beir, hes wyn, aganis my will, yat advantage over me, quhilk the second lufe of jason wan; not that i will compair zow unto ane sa unhappy as he was, nor zit myself to ane sa unpietifull ane woman as scho. howbeit, ze caus me to be sumthing lyk unto hir in onything that tuichis zow, or yat may preserve and keip zow unto hir, to quhome only ze appertene; gif it be sa that i may appropriate that quhilk is wyn throch faithfull, zea only, lufiing of zow, as i do, and sall do all the dayis of my lyfe, for pane or evill that can cum thairof. in recompense of the quhilk, and of all the evillis quhilk ze have bene caus of to me, remember zow upon the place heir besyde. i craif with that ze keip promeis to me the morne; but that we may meit togidder, and that ye gif na faith to suspiciounis without the certanetie of thame. and i craif na uther thing at god, but that ze may knaw that thing that is in my hart quhilk is zouris; and that he may preserve zow from all evill, at the leist sa lang as i have lyfe, quhilk i repute not precious unto me, except in sa far as it and i baith ar aggreabill unto zow. i am going to bed, and will bid zow gude nicht. advertise me tymely in the morning how ze have fairin; for i will be in pane unto i get worde. mak gude watch,[ ] gif the burd eschaip out of the caige, or without hir mate. as ye turtur i sall remane alone for to lament the absence, how schort yat sa ever it be. this letter will do with ane gude hart, that thing quhilk i cannot do myself, gif it be not that i have feir that ze ar in sleiping, i durst not wryte this befoir joseph, bastiane, and joachim, that did bot depart even quhen i began to wryte. a french version of this letter is in the possession of the marquis of salisbury at hatfield (_cf._ calendar of hatfield mss., i. - ) and has been printed by mr. henderson. ("casket letters," pp. - .) it is here given in full, and the variations in the published latin and french versions, and in the english translation at halfield are indicated in the notes. j'ay veillé plus tard la hault que je n'eusse fait si ce neust esté pour tirer ce que ce porteur vous dira que je treuve la plus belle commoditee pour excuser vostre affaire que se pourroit presenter. je luy ay promise de le luy mener demain si vous le trouves bon mettes y ordre. or monsieur j'ay ja rompu ma promesse. car vous ne mavyes comande de vous envoier ni escrire si ne le fais pour vous offencer et si vous scavyes la craint que j'en ay vous nauries tant des subçons contrairs que toutesfois je cheris comme procedant de la chose du mond que je desire et cherche le plus c'est votre bonne grace de laquelle mes deportemens m'asseureront et je n'en disesperay jamais tant que selon vostre promesse vous m'en dischargeres vostre c[oe]ur aultrement[ b] je penserais que mon malheur et le bien composer de c[oe]ux qui n'ont le troisiesme partie de la fidelité ni voluntair obéissance que je vous porte auront gaigné sur moy l'avantage de la seconde amye de jason. non que je vous compare a un si malheureus ni moy a une si impitoiable. combien que vous men fassies un peu resentir en chose qui vous touschat ou pour vous preserver et garder a celle a qui seulle vous aparteines si lon se peult approprier ce que lon acquiert par bien et loyalment voire uniquement aymer comme je fais et fairay toute ma vie pour pein ou mal que m'en puisse avenir. en recompence de quoy et des tous les maulx dont vous maves este cause, souvenes vous du lieu icy pres. je ne demande que vous me tennes promesse de main mais que nous truvions et que nadjousties foy au subçons quaures sans nous en certifier, et je ne demande a dieu si non que coignoissies tout ce que je ay au c[oe]ur qui est vostre et quil vous preserve de tout mal au moyns durant ma vie qui ne me sera chère qu'autant qu'elle et moy vous serons agreables. je m'en vois coucher et vous donner le bon soir mandes moy demain comme vous seres porté a bon heur. car j'enseray en pein et faites bon guet[ b] si l'oseau sortira de sa cagé ou sens son per comme la tourtre demeurera seulle a se lamenter de l'absence pour court quelle soit-ce que je ne puis faire ma lettre de bon c[oe]ur {fera} si ce nestoit qui je {qy} peur que soyes endormy. car je nay ose escrire devant joseph et bastienne et joachim qui ne sont que partis quand j'ay commence. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ _p. f._ = published french; _l._= latin. [ ][ b][ c] _p. f._ "autrement j'estimeray que cela se faict par mon malheureux destin, et par la faveur des astres envers celles, qui toutesfois n'ont une tierce partie de loyauté, et volonté que j'ay de vous obëir; si elles, comme si j'estoye une second amye de jason, malgré moy, occupent le premier lieu de faveur; ce que je ne dy, pour vous a comparer a cet homme en l'infelicité qu'il avoit, ny moy avec une femme toute esloignée de misericorde, comme estoit celle-la," &c. _l._ "alioqui suspicabor fieri malo meo fato, et siderum favore erga illas (quae nec tertiam habent partem fidelitatis, et voluntatis tibi obsequendi, quam ego habeo) ut ipsae, velut secunda jasonis amica, me invitâ, priorem apud te locum gratiae occupaverint; nec hoc eo dico, quo te cum homine, eâ quâ ille erat infelicitate, comparem, nec me cum muliere tam aliena a misericordia quam illa erat." [ ][ b][ c] _p. f._ has no sentence corresponding to "mak gude watch," and proceeds, "comme l'oyseau eschappé de la cage, ou la tourtre qui est sans compagne, ainsi je demeureray seule, pour pleurer votre absence, quelque brieve qu'elle puisse estre." _l._ also has no expression for "mak gude watch," but reads, "si avis evaserit e cavea autsine compare, velut turtur, ego remanebo sola ut lamenter absentiam tuam quamlibet brevem." the english translation at hatfield follows the hatfield french version closely. the two most important passages run thus: "otherwise,[ c] i wold think that my yll luck, and the fayre behavior of those that have not the thirde parte of the faythfulness and voluntary obedience that i beare unto you, shall have wonne the advantage over me of the second loover of jason.... send me[ c] word tomorrow early in the morning how you have don for i shall think long. and watche well if the byrde shall fly out of his cage or without his mate, as the turtle shall remayne alone to lament and morne for absence how short soever it be." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ letter v. my hart, alace! must the foly of ane woman quhais unthankfulness toward me ze do sufficiently knaw, be occasioun of displesure unto zow, considering yat i culd not have remeidit thairunto without knawing it? and sen that i persavit it, i culd not tell it zow, for that[ ] i knew not how to governe myself thairin: for nouther in that nor in any uther thing will i tak upon me to do ony thing without knawledge of zour will, quhilk i beseik zow let me understand; for i will follow it all my lyfe mair willingly than zow sall declair it to me; and gif ze do not send me word this nicht quhat ze will that i sall do, i will red myself of it, and hesard[ ] to caus it to be interprysit and takin in hand, quhilk micht be hurtfull to that quhairunto baith we do tend. and quhen scho sall be maryit, i beseik zow give me ane, or ellis i will tak sic as sall content zow for their conditiounis; bot as for thair toungis or faithfulness towart zow i will not answer. i beseik zow yat ane opinioun of uther persoun be not hurtfull in zour mynde to my constancie, mistrust me; bot quhen i will put zow out of dout and cleir myselfe, refuse it not, my deir lufe, and suffer me to make zow sum prufe be my obedince, my faithfulness, constancie, and voluntarie subjectioun, quhilk i tak for the plesandest gude that i micht ressaif, gif ze will accept it; and mak na ceremonie at it, for ze culd do me na greiter outrage nor give mair mortall grief. [there is a french version of this letter in the record office (_state papers_, mary queen of scots, vol. ii. p. ). it has been printed by malcolm laing (vol. iv. p. ), hosack (vol. i. p. ), and mr. henderson (p. ). the following variations are taken from the record office version. the other published french version follows the scots, as also does the latin.] ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [ ] _f._ "je ne vous lay peu dire pour sçavoir comment je me gouvernerois." (i could not tell you, in order to know how to govern myself.) [ ] _f._ "et si vous ne me mondes ce soir ce que volles que jeu faisse je m en deferay au hazard de la fayre entreprandre ce qui pourroit nuire a ce a quoy nous tandons tous deux {and if you do not send me word this night what you will that i shall do, i will rid myself of it at the hazard of making her undertake that which might be hurtful to that whereunto we both do tend (laing)} et quant ella sera mariee je vous suplie donnes qune opinion sur aultrui ne nuise en votre endroit a ma constance." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ letter vi. alace! my lord, quhy is zour traist put in ane persoun sa unworthie, to mistraist that quhilk is haillely zouris? i am wod {wild}. ze had promysit me that ze wald send me word every day quhat i suld do. ye haif done nathing yairof. i advertisit yow weill to tak heid of zour fals brother-in-law {huntly}. he come to me, and without schawing me ony thing from zow, tald me that ze had willit him to wryte to zow that that i suld say, and quhair and quhen ze suld cum to me, and that that ze suld do tuiching him; and thairupon hes preichit[ ] unto me yat it was ane fulische interpryse, and that with myne honour i culd never marry zow, seing that being maryit ze did cary me away, and yat his folkis wad not suffer it, and that the lordis wald unsay yameselvis, and wald deny that thay had said. to be schort, he is all contrarie. i tald him that seeing i was cum sa far, gif ze did not withdraw zour self of zour self, that na perswasioun, nor deith itself suld mak me fail of my promeis. as tuiching the place ze are too negligent, pardoun me, to remit zour self thairof unto me. cheis it zour self, and send me word of it. and in the meane tyme i am seik; i will differ {defer} as tuiching the mater it is to lait. it was not lang of me yat ze have not thocht thairupon in time. and gif ze had not mair changeit zour mynd sen myne absence, then i have; ye suld not be now to ask sic resolving. weill, thair wantis nathing of my part; and seing that zour negligence dois put us baith in the danger of ane fals brother, gif it succeedet not weill i will never ryse agane. i send this beirer unto zow, for i dar not traist zour brother with thir letteris, nor with the diligence. he sall tell zow in quhat stait i am, and judge ze quhat amendment yir new ceremonies[ ] have brocht unto me. i wald i wer deid, for i se all gais ill. ze promysit uther maner of mater of zour foirseing, bot absence hes power over zow, quha haif twa stringis to zour bow. dispatch the answer that i faill not, and put na traist in your brother for this interpryse, for he hes tald it, and is also all aganis it. god give zow gude nicht. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [ ] _f._ in record office, "m'a preschè que c'estoit une folle entreprise, et qu'avecques mon honneur je ne vous pourries jamaiis espouser, veu qu'estant marié vous m'amenies et que ses gens ne l'endureroient pas et que les seigneurs se dediroient" _p. f._ "il me remonstra, que c'estoit une folle entreprise, et que pour mon honneur, je ne vous pourvoye prendre à mary, puis que vous estiez marié, ny aller avec vous, et que ses gens mesmes ne le souffriroient pas voire que les seigneurs contrediroyent á ce que en seroit proposé." _e._ at hatfield, "and thereupon hath preached unto me that it was a foolish entreprise, and that with mine honour i could never marry you, seeing that being married you did carry me away. and that his folk would not suffer it, and that the lords would unsay themselves, and would deny that they had said." [ ] _f._ in record office, "ce incertains nouvelles." _p. f._ "ces nouvelles ceremonies." _e._ at hatfield, "these new ceremonies." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ letter vii. of the place and ye tyme,[ ] remit my self to zour brother and to zow. i will follow him, and will faill in nathing of my part. he finds mony difficulteis; i think he dois advertise zow thairof, and quhat he desyris for the handling of himself. as for the handling of myself, i hard it anis weill devysit.[ ] methinkis that zour services, and the lang amitie, having ye gude will of ye lordis, do weill deserve ane pardoun, gif above the dewtie of ane subject yow advance yourself, not to constrane me,[ ] bot to assure yourself of sic place neir unto me, that uther admonitiounis or forane {foreign} perswasiounis may not let {hinder} me from consenting to that, that ye hope your service sall mak yow ane day to attene; and to be schort, to mak yourself sure of the lordis and fre to mary; and that ye are constranit for your suretie, and to be abill to serve me faithfully, to use ane humbil requeist, joynit to ane importune actioun. and to be schort, excuse yourself, and perswade thame the maist ye can, yat ye ar constranit to mak persute aganis zour enemies. ze sall say aneuch, gif the mater or ground do lyke yow, and mony fair wordis to lethingtoun. gif ye lyke not the deid, send me word, and leif not the blame of all unto me. [of this letter there is no version in the record office, the only other version being the published french translation]. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [ ] _f._ "homme." [ ] _f._ "quant à jouer le mien, je sçay com me jè m'y dois gouverner, mà souvenant de la façon que les choses ont esté delibereés." [ ] _f._ adds "et tenir captive." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ letter viii. my lord, sen my letter written, zour brother in law yat was, come to me verray sad, and hes askit me my counsel, quhat he suld do efter to morne, becaus thair be mony folkis heir, and among utheris the erle of sudderland, quha wald rather die, considdering the gude thay have sa laitlie ressavit of me, than suffer me to be caryit away, thay conducting me; and that he feirit thair suld sum troubil happin of it: of the uther syde, that it suld be said that he wer unthankfull to have betrayit me. i tald him, that he suld have resolvit with zow upon all that, and that he suld avoyde, gif he culd, thay that were maist mistraistit. he has resolvit to wryte thairof to zow be my opinioun; for he has abaschit me to se him sa unresolvit at the neid. i assure myself he will play the part of an honest man. bot i have thocht gude to advertise zow of the feir he hes yat he suld be charget and accusit of tressoun to ye end yat, without mistraisting him, ze may be the mair circumspect, and that ze may have ye mair power. for we had zisterday mair then iii. c. hors of his and of levingstoun's. for the honour of god, be accompanyit rather with mair then les; for that is the principal of my cair. i go to wryte my dispatche, and pray god to send us ane happy enterview schortly. i wryte in haist, to the end ye may be advysit in tyme. [there are no important variants in the only other version of this letter--the published french translation.] the following are the french versions of the first sentence of each letter, printed in the scots translation, published in london in (p. ). _letter i._ il semble qu' avecques vostre abscence soit joynt le oubly, [ ]ceu qu'au partir vous me promistes de vos nouvelles. et toutes foys je n'en puis apprendre, &c. _letter ii._ estant party du lieu ou je avois laissé mon c[oe]ur il se peult aysément juger quelle estoit ma contenance, veu ce qui peult un corps sans c[oe]ur, qui à esté cause que jusques à la disnée je n'ay pas tenu grand propos, aussi personne ne s'est voulu advancer jugeant bien qu'il n'y faisoit bon, &c. _letter iii._ monsieur, si l'ennury de vostre absence, celuy de vostre oubly, la crainte du danger, tant provué[ ] d'un chacun à vostre tant aymée personne, &c. _letter iv._ j'ay veillé plus tard la haut que je n'eusse fait, si ce n'eust esté pour tirer ce que ce porteur vous dira, que je trouve la plus belle commodité pour excuser vostre affaire qui ce purroit présenter, &c. _letter v._ mon c[oe]ur, helas! fault il que la follie d'une femme, dont vous cognoissez assez l'ingratitude vers moy, soit cause de vous donner desplaisir, &c. _letter vi._ monsieur, helas! pourquoy est vostre fiance mise en personne si indigne, pour soupconner ce qui est entierement vostre. j'enrage, vous m'aviez promis, &c. _letter vii._ du lieu et l'heure[ ] je m'en rapporte à vostre frere et à vous. je le suivray, et ne fauldray en rien de ma part. il trouve beaucoup de difficultez, &c. _letter viii._ monsieur, de puis ma lettre escrite vostre beau frere qui fust, est venu à moy fort triste, et m'a demandé mon conseil de ce qu'il feroit apres demain, &c. the slight variations in the other french versions are noted above. there are no record office or hatfield versions of i., ii., vii., and viii., and there is no "published french" version of iii. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [ ] _p. f._ "veu." [ ] _record office f._ "promis." [ ] _p. f._ "homme." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the love sonnets. _henderson's casket letters._ the "divers fond ballads" referred to in the letter of elizabeth's commissioners of october th, , consist of the following "sonnets" in french. the sonnets are printed from the english edition of buchanan's _detection_ ( ). the lines in italics are translated from the scots by professor york powell. . o dieux ayez de moy compassion, et m'enseignez quelle preuue certain{e} ie puis donner qui ne luy semble vain{e} de mon amour & ferme affection. las n'est il pas ia en possession du corps, du coeur qui ne refuse paine ny deshonneur, en[ ] la vie incertaine, offense de parentz, ne pire affliction?[ ] pour luy {tous mes} amis estime moins que rien, et d{e mes} ennemis ie veux esperer bien. i'ay hazardé {pour luy} & nom & conscience: ie veux pour luy au monde renoncer: ie veux mourir pour le fair'[ ] auancer. que reste il plus pour prouuer ma constance? . entre ses mains & en son plein pouuoir, je metz mon filz, mon honneur, & ma vie, mon pais, mes[ ] subjectz, mon ame assubiectie est tout à luy, & n'ay autre voulloir pour mon obiect, que sans le deceuoir suiure ie veux, malgré toute l'enuie qu'issir en peult, car ie n'ay autre envie que de ma foy, luy faire apperceuoir que pour tempeste ou bonnace qui face iamais ne veux changer demeure ou place. brief ie feray de ma foy telle preuue, qu'il cognoistra sans faulte[ ] ma constance, non par mes pleurs ou fainte obeyssance, come autres font,[ ] mais par diuers espreuue. . elle pour son honneur vous doibt obeyssance moy vous obeyssant i'en puis receuoir blasme n'estât, à mon regret, comme elle vostre femme. et si n'aura pourtant en ce point preeminence pour son propre profit[ ] elle vse de coustance, car ce n'est peu d'honneur d'estre de voz biens dame et moy pour vous aymer i'en puis receuoir blasme et ne luy veux ceder en toute l'obseruance: elle de vostre mal n'à l'apprehension moy ie n'ay nul repos tant ie crains l'apparence: par l'aduis des parentz, elle eut vostre accointance moy malgré tous les miens vous porte affection {_et neanmoins, mon c[oe]ur, vous doubtez ma constance_}[ ] et de sa loyauté prenez ferme asseurance. . par vous mon coeur & par vostre alliance elle à remis sa maison en honneur elle à jouy par vous de[ ] la grandeur dont tous les siens n'ayent nul asseurance de vous, mon bien, elle à eu l'ac coinstance,[ ] et à gaigné pour vn temps vostre coeur, par vous elle à eu plaisir en bon heur, et par vous a[ ] honneur & reuerence, et n'a perdu sinon la jouyssance d'vn fascheux sot qu'elle aymoit cherement, ie ne la playns d'aymer donc ardamment, celuy qui n'à en sens, ny en vaillance, en beauté, en bonté, ny en constance point de seçond. ie vis en ceste foy.[ ] . quant vous l'amiez, elle vsoit de froideur. sy vous souffriez pour s'amour passion qui vient d'aymer de trop d'affection, son doy monstroit, a tristesse de coeur n'ayant plaisir de vostre grand ardeur. en ses habitz, monstroit sans fiction qu'elle n'auoit paour qu'imperfection peust l'effacer hors de ce loyal coeur. de vostre mort ie ne vis la peaur[ ] que meritoit tel mary & seigneur. somme, de vous elle à eu tout son bien et na prisé ne iamais estimé vn si grand heur sinon puis qu'il n'est sien et maintenant dit l'auoir tant aymé. . et maintenant elle commence à voir qu'elle estoit bien de mauuais iugement de n'estimer l'amour d'vn tel amant et voudrait bien mon amy deceuoir, par les escriptz tout fardez de scauoir qui pourtant n'est en son esprit croissant ains emprunté de quelque autheur luissant a faint tresbien vn ennoy[ ] sans l'avoir et toutesfois ses parolles fardeez, ses pleurs, ses plaincts remplis de fictions. et ses hautz cris & lamentations ont tant gaigné que par vous sont gardéez ses lettres {escriptes} ausquellez vous donnez foy et si l'aymez & croyez plus que moy. . vous la croyez las trop ie l'apperçoy et vous doutez de ma ferme constance, o mon seul bien & mon seul esperance, et ne vous puis ie asseurer de ma foy vous m'estimez plus legier que le noy,[ ] et si n'auez en moy nul' asseurance, et soupçonnez mon coeur sans apparence, vous deffiant à trop grand tort de moy. vous ignorez l'amour que ie vous porte vous soupçonnez qu'autre amour me trâsporte, vous estimez mes parolles du vent, vous depeignez de cire mon las coeur vous me pensez femme sans iugement, et tout sela augmente mon ardeur. . mon amour croist & plus en plus croistra tant que je viure &[ ] tiendray à grandeur, tant seulement d'auoir part en ce coeur vers qui en fin mon amour paroistra sy tres à clair que iamais n'en doutra, {_pur luy je lutterai contre malheur_}[ ] pour luy ie veux recercher la grandeur, et feray tant qu'en vray cognoistera, que ie n'ay bien, heur, ne contentement, qu'a l'obeyr & servir loyaument. pour luy iattendz toute bonne fortune, pour luy ie veux garder sainté & vie pour luy vertu de suyure i'ay enuie[ ] et sans changer me trouvera tout vne. . pour luy aussi ie jette mainte larme. premier quand il se fist de ce corps {posses}seur, duquel alors il n'auoit pas le coeur. puis me donna vn autre dur alarme quand il versa de son sang mainte dragme dont de grief il me vint telle[ ] doleur, m'en pensay[ ] oster la vie en frayeur de perdre la{s} le seul rempar qui m'arme. pour luy depuis iay mesprise l'honneur ce qui nous peult seul pouruoir de bonheur. pour luy hazarde grandeur & conscience. pour luy {tous mes} i'ay quité parentz, & amis, et tous autres respectz sont apart mis. brief de vous seul ie cherche l'alliance. . de vous, ie dis, seul soustein de ma vie tant seulement ie cerche m'asseurer, et si ose de moy tant presumer de vous gaigner maugré toute l'enuie. car c'est le seul desir de vostre {chere} amie, de vous seruir & loyaument aymer, et tous malheurs moins que riens estimer, {et} vostre volonté de mon mie{ux} suivie,[ ] vous cognoistrez avecque obeyssance de mon {loyal} deuoir n'omettant la sciance a quoy ie estudiray pour {tousiours} vous complaire sans aymer rien que vous, soubz {la} suiection. de qui ie veux sans nulle fiction vivre & mourir & à ce j'obtempere. . mon coeur, mon sang, mon ame, & mon soucy, {las,} vous m'auez promis qu'aurons ce plaisir de deuiser auecques vous à loysir, toute la nuict, ou ie languis icy ayant le coeur d'extreme paour transy, pour voir absent le but de mon desir crainte d'oublir vn coup me vient {a} saisir: et l'autre fois ie crains que rendurcie soit contre moy vostre amiable coeur par quelque dit d'un meschant rapporteur. un autre fois ie crains quelque auenture qui par chemin detourne mon amant, par vn fascheux & nouueau accident. dieu detourne tout malheureux augure. * * * * * . ne vous voyant selon qu'auez promis i'ay mis la main au papier pour escrire d'vn different que ié voulu transcrire, ie ne scay pas quel sera vostre aduis mais ie scay bien qué mieux aymer scaura vous diriez bien que plus y gaignera. * * * * * ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [ ] ny? [ ] rochelle text has "affection" wrongly. [ ] buchanan, "luy" only. rochelle text, "lui le fair." [ ] read "mon pis subject"? [ ] buch., "fainte." [ ] buch., "ont fait." [ ] buch., "pour son profit elle." [ ] scots translation, "and not the less, my heart, ye doubt of my constance." [ ] buch., "vous la." [ ] buch., "la constance." [ ] buch. inserts "receu." [ ] text of sextain corrupt. [ ] omitted in rochelle version as corrupt. [ ] buch., "envoy." [ ] buch., "mestimez legier que le voy." [ ] buch., "viuray, &". [ ] scots--"for him i will stryve aganis wan-weird." [ ] rochelle version to read "luy tout." [ ] buch., "lesser." [ ] buch., "que m'en pensa ... & frayeur." [ ] rochelle text, "et vostre ... de la mienne suivi," and later version "la mien suivre." ------------------------------------------------------------------------ the contracts of marriage. _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , from cot. lib. calig., c. i. at seton, the th day of april, the year of god, , the right excellent, right high and mighty princess, mary, by the grace of god, queen of scots, ... in the presence of the eternal god, faithfully, and on the word of a prince, by these presents, takes the said james, earl bothwell, as her lawful husband, and promises and obliges her highness, that how soon the process of divorce, intended betwixt the said earl bothwell and dame jane gordon, now his pretended spouse, be ended by the order of the laws, her majesty shall, god willing, thereafter shortly marry and take the said earl to her husband.... he presently takes her majesty as his lawful spouse, in the presence of god, and promises and obliges him ... that in all diligence possible, he shall prosecute and set forward the said process of divorce already begun and intended betwix him and the said dame gordon, his pretended spouse.... marie, r. james, earl bothwell. here note, that this contract was made the v of april, within viii weeks after the murder of the king, which was slain the x of february before; also it was made vii days before bothwell was acquitted, by corrupt judgment, of the said murder. also it appears by the words of the contract itself, that it was made before sentence of divorce betwixt bothwell and his former wife, and also in very truth was made before any suit of divorce intended or begun between him and his former wife, though some words in this contract seem to say otherwise, which is thus proved; for this contract is dated the v of april, and it plainly appears by the judicial acts, ... wherein is contained the whole process of the divorce between the said earl and dame jane gordon his wife, that the one of the same processes was intended and begun the xxvi day of april, and the other the xxvii.--buchanan's "detection." nous marie, par la grace de dieu, royne d'ecosse, douaryere de france, &c, promettous fidellement et de bonne foy, et sans contraynte, à jaques hepburn, comte de boduel, de n'avoir jamais autre espoulx et mary que luy, et de le prendre pour tel toute et quant fois qu'il m'en requerira, quoy que parents, amys ou autres, y soient contrayres. et puis que dieu a pris mon feu mary henry stuart dit darnley et que par ce moien je sois libre, n'estant sous obeissance de pere, ni de mere, des mayntenant je proteste que, lui estant en mesme liberté, je seray preste, et d'accomplir les ceremonies requises an mariage; que je lui promets devant dieu, que j'en prantz a tesmoignasge, et la presente, signee de ma mayn: ecrit ce-- marie, r. [this contract merely promises to marry bothwell, without constraint, and refers to the writer's freedom from the necessity of any one's permission, since darnley's death. it contains no reference to the divorce.] _morton's declaration_ the discovery of the letters-- . the earl of morton's declaration. _henderson's casket letters_, pp. - , from fol. , add. mss. , , brit. mus. the trew declaration and report of me, james, earl of morton, how a certain silver box overgilt containing diverse missive writings, sonnets, contracts, and obligations for marriage betwix the queen mother to our sovereign lord, and james sometime earl bothwell, was found and used. upon thursday the xix of june, , i dined at edinburgh, the laird of lethington, secretary, with me. at time of my dinner a certain man came to me, and in secret manner showed me that three servants of the earl bothwell, viz. mr. thomas hepburn, parson of auldhamesokkes, john cockburn, brother to the laird of skirling, and george dalgleish were come to the town, and passed into the castle. upon which advertisement i on the sudden sent my cousin mr. archibald douglas and robert douglas, his brother, and james johnston of westerrall, with others my servants, to the number of xvi or thereby, toward the castle to make search for the said persons, and, if possible were, to apprehend them. according to which my direction, my servants passed, and at the first missing the forenamed three persons for that they were departed forth of the castle before their coming, my men then parting into several companies upon knowledge that the others whom they sought were separated, mr. archibald douglas sought for mr. thomas hepburn and found him not, but got his horse, james johnston sought for john cockburn and apprehended him, robert douglas seeking for george dalgleish. after he had almost given over his search and inquisition a good fellow understanding his purpose came to him offering for a mean piece of money to reveal where george dalgleish was. the said robert satisfying him that gave the intelligence for his pains, passed to the potterrow beside edinburgh, and there apprehended the said george, with divers evidences and letters in parchment, viz. earl bothwell's infeftments of liddesdale, of the lordship of dunbar and of orkney and shetland, and divers others, which all with the said george himself, the said robert brought and presented to me. and the said george being examined of the cause of his direction to the castle of edinburgh, and which letters and evidents he brought forth of the same, alleged he was sent only to visit {examine} the lord bothwell, his master's clothing, and he had not more letters nor evidents than these which were apprehended with him. but his report being found suspicious and his gesture and behaviour ministering cause of mistrust seeing the gravity of the action that was in hand, it was resolved by common assent of the noblemen convened, that the said george dalgleish should be surely kept that night, and upon the morn should be had to the tolbooth of edinburgh and there be put in the iron and torments for furthering of the declaration of the truth, wherein being set, upon friday the xx day of the said month of june before any rigorous demeaning of his person, fearing the pain, and moved of conscience, he called for my cousin mr. archibald douglas, who coming, the said george desired that robert douglas should be sent with him, and he should show and bring to light that which he had. so being taken forth from the irons, he passed with the said robert to the potterrow, and there, under the sceit {seat} of a bed took forth the said silver box, which he had brought forth of the castle the day before, locked, and brought the same to me at viii hours at night, and because it was late i kept it all that night. upon the morn, viz., saturday, the xxi of june, in presence of the earls of atholl, mar, glencairn, myself, the lords home, sempill, sanquhar, the master of graham, and the secretary, and laird of tullibardine, comptroller, and the said mr. archibald douglas, the said box was broken open because we wanted the key, and the letters within contained sighted {_i.e._ examined} and immediately thereafter delivered again into my hand and custody. since which time, i have observed and kept the same box, and all letters, missives, contracts, sonnets, and divers writings contained therein fairly without alteration changing adding or diminishing of anything found or received in the said box. this i testify and declare to be undoubted truth. this is the copy of that which was given to mr. secretary cecil upon thursday the th of december . this is the true copy of the declaration made and presented by the earl of morton to the commissioners and council of england sitting in westminster for the time, upon thursday being the of december . subscribed with his hand thus, morton. . buchanan's account. _translated from the history_, book xviii. c. . it happened that, about the same time, bothwell sent one of his confidential servants to the castle of edinburgh, to bring to him the silver casket, covered with inscriptions, which had once belonged to the french king, francis. in it were letters of the queen, almost all written with her own hand, in which both the king's murder and the whole sequel were plainly discernible; and in almost every letter there was an injunction to burn it. but bothwell, who knew the queen's inconstancy, of which he had recently seen many instances, preserved the letters, so that, in any disagreement, he might use their testimony, and prove himself not the author of the crime, but only an accomplice. this casket sir robert balfour gave to bothwell's servant to take away; but first he told the leaders of the opposite party what had been sent, and the agent and the destination.... it was captured.... the deposition of thomas nelson. _goodall_, vol. ii. p. , from cott. lib. calig. i. . ... she {the queen} caused take down the said new black bed {in darnley's room}, saying it would be soiled with the bath, and in the place thereof set up an old purple bed, ... and the said keys that were delivered into the hands of archibald beton remained still in the hands of him, and others that awaited upon the queen, and never were delivered again to the king's servants; for she set up a green bed for herself in the said low chamber, wherein she lay the said two nights, and promised also to have bidden {remained} there upon the sunday at night. but after she had tarried long and entertained the king very familiarly, she took purpose (as it had been on the sudden), and departed as she spake to give the masque to bastien who that night was married {to} her servant, namely the said archibald beton and one paris, frenchman, having the keys of her chamber, wherein her bed stood in, as also of the passage that passed toward the garden.... the queen being departed toward holyrood-house, the king within the space of one hour passed to bed, and in the chamber with him lay umquhill {_i.e._ the late} william taylor. the deponent and edward symonds lay in the little gallery, that went direct to the south out of the king's chamber, ... and beside them lay william taylor's boy, who never knew of anything till the house wherein they lay was falling about them.... thomas crawford's deposition. [with regard to the deposition of crawford, see p. ; the wording of the account of the conversation between mary and darnley should be carefully compared with that of the second casket letter.] _hosack's mary._ appendix l. first i made my lord {lennox} my master's humble commendations unto her majesty with the excuse that he came not to meet her, praying her grace not to think that it was either for proudness or yet for not knowing his duty towards her highness, but only for want of health at the present, and also that he would not presume to come in her presence until he knew farther her mind because of the sharp words that she had spoken of him to robert cuningham, his servant, in stirling, whereby he thought he was in her majesty's displeasure. notwithstanding, he has sent his servants and friends to wait upon her majesty. she answered that there was no receipt against fear. i answered that my lord had no fear for anything he knew in himself, but only of the cold and unkind words she had spoken to his servant. she answered and said that he would not be afraid in case he were not culpable. i answered that i knew so far of his lordship that he desired nothing more than that the secrets of every creature's heart were written in their face. she asked if i had any farther commission. i answered no. then she commanded me to hold my peace. the words that i remember were betwixt the king and the queen in glasgow when she took him away to edinburgh. the king for that my lord his father was then absent and sick, by reason whereof he could not speak with him himself, called me unto him, and these words that had then passed betwixt him and the queen, he gave me in remembrance to report unto the said my lord his father. after their meeting and short speaking together she asked him of his letters, wherein he complained of the cruelty of some. he answered that he complained not without cause, and as he believed, she would grant herself, when she was well advised. she asked him of his sickness, he answered that she was the cause thereof, and moreover he said, ye asked me what i meant by the cruelty specified in my letters, that proceedeth of you only, that will not accept my offers and repentance. i confess that i have failed in some things, and yet greater faults have been made to you sundry times, which ye have forgiven. i am but young, and ye will say ye have forgiven me divers times. may not a man of my age for lack of counsel, of which i am very destitute, fall twice or thrice, and yet repent and be chastised by experience. if i have made any fail that ye but think a fail, howsoever it be, i crave your pardon, and protest that i shall never fail again. i desire no other thing but that we may be together as husband and wife. and if ye will not consent hereto, i desire never to rise forth of this bed. therefore i pray you give me an answer hereunto. god knoweth how i am punished for making my god of you, and for having no other thought but on you. and if any time i offend you, ye are the cause, for that when any offendeth me, if for my refuge i might open my mind to you, i would speak to no other, but when any thing is spoken to me, and ye and i not being as husband and wife ought to be, necessity compelleth me to keep it in my breast, and bringeth me in such melancholy as ye see me in. she answered that it seemed him she was sorry for his sickness, and she would find remedy therefor, so soon as she might. she asked him why he would have passed away in the english ship. he answered that he had spoken with the englishman, but not of mind to go away with him. and if he had, it had not been without cause, considering how he was used. for he had neither to sustain himself nor his servants, and needed not make further rehearsal thereof, seeing she knew it as well as he. then she asked him of the purpose of highgate. he answered that it was told him. she required how and by whom it was told him. he answered that the lord of minto told him that a letter was presented to her in craigmillar, made by her own device, and subscribed by certain others who desired her to subscribe the same, which she refused to do. and he said that he would never think that she who was his own proper flesh, would do him any hurt, and if any other would do it, they should buy it dear, unless they took him sleeping, albeit he suspected none, so he desired her effectuously to bear him company. for she ever found some ado to draw herself from him to her own lodging, and would never abide with him past two hours at once. she was very pensive, whereat he found fault. he said to her that he was advertised she had brought a litter with her. she answered that because she understood he was not able to ride on horseback, she brought a litter that he might be carried more softly. he answered that it was not meet for a sick man to travel, that could not sit on horseback, and especially in so cold weather. she answered that she would take him to craigmillar, where she might be with him, and not far from her son. he answered that upon condition he would go with her, which was that he and she might be together at bed and board as husband and wife, and that she should leave him no more. and if she would promise him that, upon her word, he would go with her when she was pleased, without respect of any danger either of sickness wherein he was, or otherwise. but if she would not condescend thereto, he would not go with her in any wise. she answered that her coming was only to that effect, and if she had not been minded thereto, she had not come so far to fetch him, and so she granted his desire, and promised him that it should be as he had spoken, and thereupon gave him her hand, and faith of her body, that she would love him, and use him as her husband, notwithstanding before they could come together, he must be purged and cleansed of his sickness, which she trusted would be shortly, for she minded to give him the bath at craigmillar. then he said he would do whatsoever she would have him do, and would love all that she loved. she required of him in especial, whom he loved of the nobility, and whom he hated. he answered that he hated no man, and loved all alike. she asked him how he liked the lady reres, and if he were angry with her. he answered that he had little mind of such as she was, and wished of god she might serve her to her honour. then she desired him to keep to himself the promise betwixt him and her, and to open it to nobody. for peradventure the lords would not think well of their sudden agreement, considering he and they were at some words before. he answered that he knew no cause why they should mislike of it, and desired her that she would not move any of them against him even as he would stir none against her, and that they would work both in one mind, otherwise it might turn to great inconvenience to them both. she answered that she never sought any way by him, but he was in fault himself. he answered again that his faults were published, and that there were that made greater faults than ever he made that believed were unknown, and yet they would speak of great and small. farther, the king asked me at that present time what i thought of his voyage. i answered that i liked it not, because she took him to craigmillar. for if she had desired him with herself, or to have had his company, she would have taken him to his own house in edinburgh, where she might more easily visit him than to travel two miles out of town to a gentleman's house. therefore my opinion was that she took him away more like a prisoner than her husband. he answered that he thought little else himself, and feared himself indeed save the confidence he had in her promise only; notwithstanding he would go with her, and put himself in her hands, though she should cut his throat, and besought god to be judge unto them both. _endorsed--thomas crawford's deposit._ murray's journal. _from a copy marked by cecil_, cot. lib. calig., b. ix. fol. , quoted by goodall, vol. ii. p. . _january , ._--the queen took her journey toward glasgow, and was accompanied with the earls of huntly and bothwell to the kalendar, my lord livingstone's place. _ ._--the queen came to glasgow, and on the road met her, thomas crawford, from the earl of lennox, and sir james hamilton, with the rest mentioned in her letter. earl huntly and bothwell returned that same night to edinburgh, and bothwell lay in the town. _ ._--the queen remained at glasgow, like as she did the th and the th, and had the conference with the king whereof she writes; and in this time wrote her bill and other letters to bothwell. and bothwell this th day was found very timeous weseing {inspecting} the king's lodging that was in preparing for him, and the same night took journey towards liddesdale. _ ._--the queen (conform to her commission as she writes) brought the king from glasgow to the kalendar towards edinburgh. _ ._--the queen brought the king to linlithgow, and there remained all morn, while she got word of my lord bothwell his returning towards edinburgh, by hob ormiston, one of the murderers. the same day the earl bothwell came back from liddesdale towards edinburgh. _ ._--she remained all day in linlithgow with the king, and wrote from thence to bothwell. _ ._--the queen brought the king to edinburgh, and put him in his lodging, where he ended; and bothwell keeping tryst met her upon the way. _february ._--she lodged all night under the king, in the chamber wherein the powder was laid thereafter, and whereof paris, her chamber child, received the key. _ ._--she lodged and lay all night again in the foresaid chamber, and from thence wrote that same night the letter concerning the purpose of the abbot of holyrood-house (_cf._ p. ). _ ._--she confronted the king and my lord of holyrood-house, conform to her letter written the night before. _ ._--she and bothwell supped at the banquet with the bishop of the isles, and after passed up accompanied with argyll, huntly, and bothwell, to the king's chamber, and there they remained cherishing him, till bothwell and his complices put all things to order, and paris, her chamber child, received in her chamber the powder, and came up again and gave the sign, and they departed to bastian's banquet and masque, about eleven hours, and thereafter they both returned to the abbey, and talked till twelve hours and after. _ ._--betwix two and three of the clock, the king was blown in the air by the powder. the depositions of paris. the depositions of paris were not produced at westminster. they were taken, in the early autumn of , in connection with the charges against lethington (who had by this time, with kirkcaldy of grange, joined the queen's party). "paris" was the nickname of nicholas hubert, a french attendant of bothwell, who, shortly before the murder, attached himself to the queen's service. he was known to be concerned in the murder, but succeeded in escaping from the country. he took refuge in denmark, and was delivered up on murray's request. queen elizabeth wrote to the regent asking him to delay the execution of paris, and murray replied: "the said paris arrived at leith about the middle of june last { }, i at that time being in the north parts of this realm far distant, whereupon it followed that, at my returning, after diligent and circumspect examination of him, and long time spent in that behalf, upon the xvi day of august by-past, he suffered death by order of law, so that before the receipt of your highness letter by the space of or days he was execute." {laing, vol. i. p. , from the paper office.} the letter is undated. but professor schiern, of copenhagen, sent mr. hosack a copy of a document from the danish archives, containing a receipt for the delivery of "two men, william murray, and paris, a frenchman," accused of darnley's murder. the receipt is dated th october , and is given by captain clark, on behalf of the scottish government. (hosack, vol. i. pp. - .) there is a copy of the depositions in the cotton library, bearing the following note: "this is the true copy of the declaration and deposition of the said nicholas hubert or paris, whereof the principal {original} is marked every leaf with his own hand.... ita est alexander hay, scriba secreti consilii s.d.n. regis, ac notarius publicus." but the originals, sent to london in october , and preserved in the record office, bear that they were taken "in presence of mr. george buchanan, master of st. leonard's college in st. andrews; mr. john wood, senator of the college of justice; and robert ramsay, writer of this declaration, servant to my lord regent's grace." {hosack, vol. i. p. .} the documents were first published in anderson's "collection" ( ), not in buchanan's "detection," along with the depositions of hay, hepburn, and dalgleish. the first deposition of paris is a confession, in french, made at st. andrews on th august , "without any constraint or interrogations." it states that, on the wednesday or thursday before the murder, bothwell told paris of the plot, and requested his aid. "what do you think?" said he.... "my lord," said i, "i have served you these five or six years in all your great troubles ... now, my lord, by the grace of god, you are free of all these difficulties ... if you undertake this great matter you will be in worse case than before." bothwell then assured him that lethington was the moving spirit, and that argyll, huntly, morton, ruthven, and lindsay were in league with him. paris then asked, "my lord, i pray you tell me of one whom you have not named; i well know that he is loved in this country of the common people." ... "who is that?" said he. "it is, my lord," said i, "my lord the earl of murray; i pray tell me what part he will take." to which he replied, "he will not meddle with it." "my lord," said i, "he is wise." then the lord bothwell turned his head to me ... and said, "my lord of murray, my lord of murray, he will neither help nor hinder; but it is all one." ... on the saturday before the murder, margaret carwood, one of the queen's attendants, told "paris to go to kirk-of-field for the coverlet of the mattress in the queen's room," which he did.... when he heard of murray's leaving edinburgh on sunday morning to see his mother, he remarked that he did it to be out of the way when the wicked deed should take place, and so to dissociate himself from it. on sunday evening mary supped with argyll, and seeing paris, "as she washed her hands after supper, she asked me if i had removed the coverlet of the bed in her room in the king's lodging." these are the main points of interest in the first document signed by paris. {laing, vol. ii. p. .} the second deposition consists of answers to interrogations, and is dated at st. andrews on august th, . it makes a number of allegations against the queen, with which the reader is already familiar. as it is a long document, we can quote only the most important sentences. "interrogated when first he entered into credit with the queen, he replied that it was when the queen was at callander on her way to glasgow, when she gave him a purse with three or four hundred crowns to take to the earl of bothwell, who, after having received the said purse on the road between callander and glasgow, told him to go with the queen and remain with her, and to attend well to what she did, saying that the queen would give him letters to carry to him. when the queen reached glasgow, she said to him, 'i will send you to edinburgh,' ... and after he had remained two days with the said lady, she wrote the letters and gave them him, saying, 'you will tell the earl of bothwell, by word of mouth, to take to the laird of lethington the letters addressed to him.' bothwell and lethington were to consult as to whether darnley should go to craigmillar or to kirk-of-field, and paris was to report their decision to mary. further, he was to 'say to bothwell, that the king wished to kiss her, but that she would not, for fear of his malady.' paris carried out his commission, and returned with the message that kirk-of-field was considered most suitable. on the way from glasgow to edinburgh the queen received a letter from bothwell and sent one to him, and also gave paris a bracelet to take to him. at kirk-of-field, where the queen's room was immediately underneath that of the king, bothwell told him that he must not place the queen's bed in the corner of the room under the corner containing the king's bed, because he wished to place the powder there. this order was reiterated by the queen, when she observed that it was being disregarded.... paris said to the queen, 'madam, the earl of bothwell has commanded me to take the keys of your chamber, because he wishes to do something, that is, to place there the powder for the explosion to blow the king in the air.' that night she wrote letters to bothwell...." the only other circumstance of importance affecting the queen is a statement that paris carried correspondence relating to mary's seizure by bothwell. .--december . confession of the laird of ormiston. "the laird of black ormiston" was put to death on th december , under the government of the regent morton, for his share in the murder of darnley. his confession was made to "john brand, minister at holyrood-house," on the day of his execution. _laing's scotland_, vol. ii. p. , from state trials, vol. i. p. . as i shall answer unto god, with whom i hope this night to sup, i shall declare unto you the whole, from the beginning unto the end, of my part. first, i confess that the earl bothwell showed that same wicked deed unto me in his own chamber in the abbey on friday before the deed was done, and required me to take part with him therein.... the said earl said unto me, "tush, ormiston, ye need not take fear for this, for the whole lords have concluded this same long since in craigmillar, all that were there with the queen, and none dare find fault with it when it shall be done." ... who {bothwell} let me see a contract subscribed by four or five handwrites, which he affirmed to me was the subscription of the earl of huntly, argyll, the secretary maitland, and sir james balfour, and alleged that many more promised, who would assist him if he were put at: and thereafter read the said contract, which, as i remember, contained these words in effect: "that for as much it was thought expedient and most profitable for the common wealth, by the whole nobility and lords undersubscribed, that such a young fool and proud tyrant should not reign nor bear rule over them; and that for divers causes therefore, that they all had concluded that he should be put off by one way or other, and whosoever should take the deed in hand they should defend and fortify it as themselves, for it should be every one of their own reckoned and held done by themselves." which writing, as the said earl shewed unto me, was devised by sir james balfour, subscribed by them all a quarter of a year before the deed was done. .--june . the confession of the earl of morton. [the earl of morton having made during his tenure of the government many enemies, was driven from power and accused of complicity in the murder of darnley. the indictment ("arnot's criminal trials," p. , quoted by laing, vol. ii, p. ) mentions as his accomplices "james, some time earl bothwell; james ormiston, some time of that ilk; robert _alias_ hob ormiston, his father's brother; john hay, some time of talla, younger; john hepburn, called john of bolton; and divers others," and says that the murderers "two hours after midnight ... came to the lodging ... and there ... most vilely, unmercifully, and treasonably slew and murdered him ... burnt his whole lodging foresaid, and raised the same in the air by force of gunpowder, which a little before was placed ... by him and his foresaids under the ground, and angular stones, and within the vaults, in low and secret parts thereof." the earl was found guilty, on the st of june, of "art, part, foreknowledge, and concealing of the treasonable and unnatural murder foresaid," and was executed next day. a few hours before his death he made a confession to three of the ministers of edinburgh, part of which is here quoted.] _laing_, vol. ii. p. . being required what was his part or knowledge in the king's murther, he answered with this attestation. as i shall answer to my lord god, i shall declare truly all my knowledge in that matter, the sum whereof is this: after my returning out of england, where i was banished for davie's slaughter, i came out of wedderburn to whittinghame {castle}, where the earl bothwell and i met together in the yard of whittinghame, where, after long communing, the earl bothwell proposed to me the king's murther, requiring what would be my part therein, seeing it was the queen's mind that the king should be taken away, because, as he said, she blamed the king more of davie's slaughter than me. my answer to the earl bothwell was this, that i would not in any way meddle with that matter.... the earl bothwell ... thereafter earnestly proposed the same matter again to me, persuading me thereto, because so was the queen's mind, and she would have it to be done. unto this my answer was, i desired the earl bothwell to bring me the queen's handwrit of this matter for a warrant; other ways i would not meddle thereof, which warrant he never purchased {brought}.... then it was said to him, "apparently, my lord, ye cannot complain justly of the sentence that is given against you, seeing with your own mouth ye confess the foreknowledge and concealing of the king's murther." ... he answered, "that i know to be true indeed, but yet they should have considered the danger that the revealing of it would have brought to me at that time; for i durst not reveal it for fear of my life. for at that time to whom should i have revealed it? to the queen? she was the doer thereof. i was minded to have told it to the king's self, but i durst not for my life, for i knew him to be a bairn of such nature, that there was nothing told him but he would reveal it to her again." ... then he said, "after the earl bothwell was cleansed by an assize, sundry of the nobility and i subscrived also a bond with the earl bothwell, that if any should lay the king's murder to his charge, we should assist him in the contrary. and thereafter i subscrived to the queen's marriage with the earl bothwell, as sundry others of the nobility did, being charged thereto by the queen's writ and command." then being inquired in name of the living god, that seeing this murther was one of the most filthy acts that ever was done in scotland, and the secrets thereof have not yet been declared, who were the chief doers, or whether he was worried, or blown in the air, and therefore pressed to declare if he knew any further secret thereunto; he answered, "as i shall answer to god, i know no more secret in that matter than i have already told." letter from mr. archibald douglas to the queen of scots. _robertson's history of scotland_, app. xiv., from harl. lib. xxxvii. bk. ix. fol. . ... it may please your majesty to remember in the year of god , the said earl of morton, with divers other nobility and gentry, were declared rebels to your majesty.... true it is that i was one of that number, that heavily offended against your majesty, and passed into france the time of our banishment, at the desire of the rest, to humbly pray your brother the most christian king, to intercede that our offences might be pardoned.--your majesty's mind so inclined to mercy, that, within short space thereafter, i was permitted to repair into scotland, to deal with earls murray, atholl, bothwell, argyll, and secretary lethington, in the name and behalf of the said earl morton, lords ruthven, lindsay, and remanent accomplices.... at my coming to them ... they declared that the marriage betwix you and your husband had been the occasion already of great evil in that realm ... they had thought it convenient to join themselves in league and band with some other noblemen resolved to obey your majesty as their natural sovereign, and have nothing to do with your husband's command whatsoever; if the said earl would for himself enter into that band, they could be content to humbly request and travel by all means with your majesty for his pardon.... they desired that i should return sufficiently instructed in this matter to stirling, before the baptism of your son, whom god might preserve. this message was faithfully delivered by me at newcastle in england, where the said earl then remained, in presence of his friends and company, where they all condescended to have no further dealing with your husband, and to enter into the said band. with this deliberation, i returned to stirling, where ... your majesty's gracious pardon was granted unto them all.... immediately after, the said earl of morton repaired to whittinghame, where the earl bothwell and secretary lethington came to him; what speech passed there amongst them, as god shall be my judge, i knew nothing at that time; but at their departure i was requested by the said earl morton to accompany the earl bothwell and secretary to edinburgh, and to return with such answer as they should obtain of your majesty, which being given to me by the said persons, as god shall be my judge, was no other than these words, "show to the earl morton that the queen will hear no speech of that matter appointed unto him." when i craved that the answer might be made more sensible, secretary lethington said, that the earl would sufficiently understand it, albeit few or none at that time understand what passed amongst them. it is known to all men, as well by the railing letters passed betwixt the said earl and lethington, when they became in divers factions, as also a book set forth by the ministers, wherein they affirm that the earl has confessed to them, before his death, that the earl bothwell came to whittinghame to propose the calling away of the king your husband, to the which proposition the said earl of morton affirms that he could give no answer unto such time he might know your majesty's mind, which he never received.... section viii the end _contents_ . connecting note. . contemporary verses on the babington conspiracy. . queen mary's letter to queen elizabeth on hearing the announcement of her sentence. . clauses from queen mary's will. . appeal for spiritual faculties. . "o domine deus, speravi in te." . contemporary official report of the execution. _connecting note_ queen mary's life, after the conclusion of the conference at westminster, was occupied with plots and negotiations for her escape from captivity. the proposal for her marriage with the duke of norfolk was opposed both in scotland and in england; and an insurrection was raised by the earls of northumberland and westmoreland, which was speedily suppressed (november, ). in january of the following year the earl of moray was assassinated at linlithgow, and the earl of lennox, darnley's father, succeeded him as regent. maitland of lethington finally seceded from the "king's party," and allied himself with kirkaldy of grange, who held edinburgh castle for mary. the norfolk conspiracy continued to raise the expectations of the marians till the capture, in the spring of , of charles baillie, who was carrying letters from the papal agent, rudolfi, for queen mary, norfolk, the spanish ambassador, and the bishop of ross. on the strength of baillie's disclosures, norfolk was put to death in june . elizabeth declined to gratify the english parliament by executing her prisoner, but attempted to arrange for her delivery to the earl of morton, now regent of scotland, with a view to his accepting the responsibility for mary's death. morton broke off the negotiations as elizabeth refused to give her open sanction to the deed. edinburgh castle surrendered in june , and its fall, and the loss of lethington and grange, gave the death-blow to the hopes of the queen of scots. she maintained, however, a constant correspondence with elizabeth and with spain and rome, clutching eagerly at any hope of release, however vague. in she became involved, to what extent is disputed, in what is known as the babington conspiracy, which had for its object the assassination of elizabeth and her ministers, and the restoration of catholicism throughout great britain. walsingham received information as to the plot, and obtained possession of letters alleged to be written by mary to babington. the conspirators were put to death, and mary was tried by a commission of peers in the end of . the following verses, addressed to the conspirators, indicate the common feeling in england at the time. they are quoted from a poem by william kempe, published in , and entitled "a dutiful invective against the moste haynous treasons of ballard and babington ... together with the horrible attempts and actions of the queen of scottes.... for a new yeares gift to all loyall english subjects." the author of the verses is not kemp the player, but a writer of some treatises on education. _cf._ "dict. nat. biog." _a dutiful invective_ the scottish queen, with mischief fraught, for to perform the will of him whose pupil she hath been hath usëd all her skill; by words most fair, and loving terms, and gifts of value great: for to persuade your hollow hearts, your duties to forget, and for to be assistant still, her treacheries to further, wherein she reckons it no sinne though you commit great murther. such is her heinous hateful mind, who long hath lived in hope, by such her subtle lawless means (and help of cursëd pope) both to deprive our sovereign queen of her imperial crown, and true religion to repel, god's gospel to put down. * * * * * wherein you fully did conclude that it could never be, except you first conspired her death, by secret treachery. and thereupon consulted oft, and sundry ways did seek for to perform this devilish act, which you so well did like. next unto this your promise was to lend your help and aid, with all the force and power you could, to foes that should invade. and thereby for to set at large that queen whom i did name, who always in her treacherous mind, doth nought but mischief frame. * * * * * _the cause of all our troubles_ for plainly hath it fallen out, by sundry proofs most true, she was the only maintainer of all this treacherous crew: for trial whereof we may see, how that our gracious queen, both having care the very truth most plainly might be seen, and she with honour might be tried, in that she was a prince, did cause the chiefest peers her faults by justice to convince: who did assemble at her place, by name called fotheringay, there to examine out the truth, and hear what she could say; and to that end did then direct to them a large commission for to examine every one in whom they found suspicion. who meeting at that place, it plainly did appear, how that she was the chiefest cause of all our troubles here. and that she by persuasions did seek for to withdraw the subjects' hearts from this our queen, who erst had lived in awe; and that the treasons named before were all by her consent, and that she author was thereof, and did the same invent, whereto her answer was so light, and to so small effect, as that the weakness of the same her treasons did detect. and thereupon these peers of state, having a due regard to what she could object thereto, and likewise nothing spared by circumstance to search out truth, did forthwith then pronounce that she was guilty of these crimes, and could not them renounce. which sentence so by them declared, was by our queen's consent, plainly revealed to all estates in court of parliament; and was by them considered of, who then did all agree to join in suit unto her grace, the same to ratify. queen mary's letter to queen elizabeth. _strickland's letters of mary queen of scots_, vol. ii. p. . fotheringay, december , . madame,--having with difficulty obtained leave from those to whom you have committed me to open to you all i have on my heart, as much for exonerating myself from any ill-will, or desire of committing cruelty, or any act of enmity against those with whom i am connected in blood; as also, kindly, to communicate to you what i thought would serve you, as much for your weal and preservation as for the maintenance of the peace and repose of this isle, which can only be injured if you reject my advice. you will credit or disbelieve my discourse, as it seems best to you. i am resolved to strengthen myself in christ jesus alone, who, to those invoking him with a true heart, never fails in his justice and consolation, especially to those who are bereft of all human aid; such are under his holy protection: to him be the glory! he has equalled my expectation, having given me heart and strength, _in spe contra spem_, to endure the unjust calumnies, accusations, and condemnations (of those who have no such jurisdiction over me) with a constant resolution to suffer death for upholding the obedience and authority of the apostolical roman catholic church. now, since i have been on your part informed of the sentence of your last meeting of parliament, lord buckhurst and beale having admonished me to prepare for the end of my long and weary pilgrimage, i beg to return you thanks on my part for these happy tidings, and to entreat you to vouchsafe to me certain points for the discharge of my conscience. but since sir a. paulet has informed me (though falsely) that you had indulged me by having restored to me my almoner, and the money that they had taken from me, and that the remainder would follow; for all this i would willingly return you thanks, and supplicate still further as a last request, which i have thought for many reasons i ought to ask of you alone, that you will accord this ultimate grace, for which i should not like to be indebted to any other, since i have no hope of finding aught but cruelty from the puritans, who are at this time, god knows wherefore! the first in authority, and the most bitter against me. i will accuse no one: nay, i pardon with a sincere heart every one, even as i desire every one may grant forgiveness to me, god the first. but i know that you, more than any one, ought to feel at heart the honour or dishonour of your own blood, and that, moreover, of a queen and the daughter of a king. _a last request_ then, madame, for the sake of that jesus to whose name all powers bow, i require you to ordain that when my enemies have slaked their black thirst for my innocent blood, you will permit my poor desolated servants altogether to carry away my corpse, to bury it in holy ground with the other queens of france, my predecessors, especially near the late queen, my mother; having this in recollection, that in scotland the bodies of the kings, my predecessors, have been outraged, and the churches profaned and abolished; and that as i shall suffer in this country, i shall not be given place near the kings, your predecessors, who are mine as well as yours: for according to our religion, we think much of being interred in holy earth. as they tell me that you will in nothing force my conscience nor my religion, and have even conceded me a priest, refuse me not this my last request, that you will permit free sepulchre to this body when the soul is separated, which, when united, could never obtain liberty to live in repose, such as you would procure for yourself; against which repose--before god i speak--i never aimed a blow: but god will let you see the truth of all after my death. and because i dread the tyranny of those to whose power you have abandoned me, i entreat you not to permit that execution be done on me without your own knowledge, not for fear of the torment, which i am most ready to suffer, but on account of the reports which will be raised concerning my death unsuspected, and without other witnesses than those who would inflict it, who, i am persuaded, would be of very different qualities from these parties whom i require (being my servants) to stay spectators, and with witnesses of my end in the faith of our sacrament, of my saviour, and in obedience to his church. and after all is over, that they together may carry away my poor corpse (as secretly as you please), and speedily withdraw, without taking with them any of my goods except those which in dying i may leave to them, which are little enough for their long and good services. _elizabeth's jewel_ one jewel that i received of you i shall return to you with my last words, or sooner if you please. once more i supplicate you to permit me to send a jewel and a last adieu to my son, with my dying benediction, for of my blessing he has been deprived since you sent me his refusal to enter into the treaty whence i was excluded by his wicked council; this last point i refer to your favourable consideration and conscience as the others, but i ask them in the name of jesus christ, and in respect of your consanguinity, and for the sake of king henry vii., your grandfather and mine, and by the honour of the dignity we both hold, and of our sex in common, do i implore you to grant these requests. _mary's treatment_ as to the rest, i think you know that in your name they have taken down my dais, but afterwards they owned to me that it was not by your commandment, but by the intimation of some of your privy council. i thank god that this wickedness came not from you, and that it serves rather to vent their malice than to afflict me, having made up my mind to die. it is on account of this, and some other things, that they debarred me from writing to you, and after they had done all in their power to degrade me from my rank, they told me "that i was but a mere dead woman, incapable of dignity." god be praised for all! i could wish that all my papers were brought to you without reserve, that at last it may be manifest to you that the sole care of your safety was not confined to those who are so prompt to persecute me. if you will accord this my last request, i would wish that you would write for them, otherwise they do with them as they choose. and, moreover, i wish that to this, my last request, you will let me know your last reply. to conclude, i pray god, the just judge, of his mercy that he will enlighten you with his holy spirit, and that he will give you his grace to die in the perfect charity i am disposed to do, and to pardon all those who have caused, or who have co-operated in, my death. such will be my last prayer to my end, which i esteem myself happy will precede the persecution which i foresee menaces this isle, where god is no longer seriously feared and revered, but vanity and worldly policy rule and govern all. yet will i accuse no one, nor give way to presumption. yet while abandoning this world, and preparing myself for a better, i must remind you that one day you will have to answer for your charge, and for all those whom you doom, and that i desire that my blood and my country may be remembered in that time. for why? from the first days of our capacity to comprehend our duties, we ought to bend our minds to make the things of this world yield to those of eternity! from fotheringay, this th december, . your sister and cousin, prisoner wrongfully, marie royne. the will of the queen of scots. _strickland's letters of mary queen of scots_, vol. ii. p. . [the will contains clauses relative to the payments of her debts, and of legacies to her servants. the selections given are of more general interest.] in the name of the father, of the son, and of the holy ghost, i, mary, by the grace of god, queen of scotland and dowager of france, being on the point of death, and not having any means of making my will, have myself committed these articles to writing, and i will and desire, that they have the same force, as if they were made in due form. in the first place, i declare that i die in the catholic, apostolic, and romish faith. first, i desire that a complete service be performed for my soul in the church of st. denis in france, and another in st. peter's, at rheims, where all my servants are to attend, in such manner as may be ordered to do by those to whom i have given directions, and who are named therein. further, that an annual obit be founded for prayers for my soul, in perpetuity, in such place, and after such manner, as shall be deemed most convenient.... i appoint my cousin, the duke of guise, principal executor of my will. after him, the archbishop of glasgow, the bishop of ross, and monsieur de ruissieu, my chancellor.... i recommend marie paiges, my god-daughter, to my cousin, madame de guise, and beg her to take her into her service, and my aunt de saint pierre to get moubray some good situation, or retain her in her service, for the honour of god. done this day, th february . mary, queen. _appeal for faculties_ queen mary's appeal to the pope for spiritual faculties. [the following document is here printed for the first time, so far as is known to the editor. it is from a ms. at blairs college, and is published by kind permission of the right reverend the rector, and with the advantage of revision by the reverend professor welsh. it is dated { -}, and probably belongs to the last year of queen mary's life.] cum serenissima regina scotiae multis ab hinc annis in anglorum haereticorum custodias sit inclusa atque ob id non possit catholicae ecclesiae sacramenta suscipere et rebus divinis praesertim vero missae sacrificio nisi clam et magno cum periculo interesse, supplex petit a sanctissimo domino nostro quam diu in illa custodia retinetur, ut sacerdoti catholico suo capellano pro tempore existenti concedatur, facultas non modo exercendi omnia munera episcopalia exceptis ordinis et confirmationis sacramentis, et chrysmatis consecratione; sed etiam absolvendi ab haeresi, et haereticos poenitentes gremio sanctae matris ecclesiae reconciliandi; quod frequentes ibi se offerant huiusmodi occasiones. deinde cum in hac rerum calamitate ipsi reginae opus sit ad sua secreta consilia et commercia tractanda et exsequenda, uti opera nonnullorum anglorum, qui nisi profanis haereticorum et schismaticorum precibus et communioni intersint, vel a praefectis carceris prohiberentur, ne reginae inservirent, vel non possent ita commode illa consilia et commercia juvare; dignetur sanctitas sua sacerdoti capellano, quem regina delegerit hanc potestatem illos ab omni censura et poena in tali casu absolvendi; et quoties opus fuerit in gratiam sanctae matris ecclesiæ reducendi; ii tamen, quoad fieri potest, vitare debent impiam huiusmodi communionem et rerum sacrarum prophanationem. permittat quoque sanctitas sua, ut tales etiam ante absolutionem possint sine scrupulo tum reginae tum sacerdotis celebrantis et aliorum qui missae intererunt, praesentes adesse in ea missa quae coram regina, durante ejus captivitate celebrabitur. petit etiam regina, ut numero viri catholici, per eam nominandi, quo commodius et securius ipsi inserviant, possint sine scrupulo et sine periculo et metu censurarum et peccati, hujusmodi precibus et communionibus hæreticorum interesse, ita tamen, ut cum illis non communicent, ac nefandis illorum actibus ne verbo quidem consentiant. concedat quoque sua beatitudo ipsi reginæ plenam indulgentiam et remissionem omnium peccatorum in forma jubilei, quoties genibus flexis orat confessa coram sacra eucharistia, vel eam suscipit, ac quoties patienter fert injuriam ab hæreticis sibi illatam; eam dem quoque obtineat indulgentiam in articulo mortis ore dicendo jesus maria vel idem corde saltem memorando. postremo regina summis precibus sanctissimum dominum nostrum orat, ut quem sibi delegerit sacerdotem, possit ab eo in confessione sacramentali absolvi a cunctibus casibus etiam sedi apostolicæ reservatis, atque in bulla coenae domini contentis. [it is not known what reply was sent; but the forthcoming volume of "vatican papers," to be edited for the scottish history society by father pollard, s.j., may throw light on the subject.] translation. since her most serene majesty, the queen of scotland, has been for these many years a prisoner in the hands of the english heretics, and on that account is unable to receive the sacraments of the catholic church, or to be present, except secretly and at great risk, at divine service, and especially at the sacrifice of the mass, she humbly supplicates of his holiness that, so long as she is kept in that restraint: that to a catholic priest, her chaplain for the time being, there may be granted the faculty, not only of exercising all the powers of a bishop, except the sacrament of orders and confirmation, and the consecration of the chrism, but also of absolving from heresy and receiving penitent heretics into the bosom of holy mother church. such opportunities frequently offer themselves. secondly, since, in this sad condition of her affairs, the queen herself has need, in connexion with her secret counsels and negotiations, of the assistance of some englishmen, who, unless they attend the blasphemous prayers and communion of the heretics, would be excluded, by her gaolers, from the queen's presence, or would have difficulty in aiding her counsels and plans, let his holiness grant to a priest, whom the queen may choose as chaplain, the power of absolving them from all censure and penalty in such circumstances, and restoring, as often as there is need, to the grace of holy mother church, it being understood that, as far as possible, they shall avoid this impious communion and profanation of holy things. let his holiness also permit that such persons, even before absolution, may without scruple either to the queen or to the celebrating priest, or to all others who may be present, be present and assist at the mass which shall be celebrated in presence of the queen during her captivity. the queen also begs that catholic men, twenty-five in number, nominated by her, in order that they may serve her more conveniently and safely, may without scruple and without danger or fear of censures and of sin, be present at such prayers and communions of the heretics, it being understood that they shall not communicate with them or give even verbal consent to their nefarious acts. let his holiness grant also to the queen herself a plenary indulgence and remission of all her sins, in the form of a jubilee, as often as, having confessed her sins, she may pray on bended knees before the holy eucharist, or receive it, and as often as she patiently endures injuries inflicted on her by heretics. may she obtain also the same indulgence at the moment of death by invoking with her lips, jesu, maria, or at least meditating on them in her heart. finally the queen begs his holiness with many prayers, that whomsoever she shall choose as a priest, she may be by him, in sacramental confession, absolved from all censures, even from those reserved to the holy apostolic see, and contained in the bull "coena domini." illustration: silver-gilt hand-bell. height -½ inches. (_used by queen mary in captivity._) _"in thee have i trusted"_ poem composed by queen mary in view of her approaching death. o domine deus, speravi in te! o care mi jesu, nunc libera me! in dura catena, in misera poena, languendo, gemendo, et genu flectendo, adoro, imploro ut liberes me. _tr. mr. swinburne, mary stuart_, act v. o lord my god, i have trusted in thee; o jesu my dearest one, now set me free. in prison's oppression, in sorrow's obsession, i weary for thee. with sighing and crying, bowed down as dying, i adore thee, i implore thee, set me free! _parting with robert melville_ .--february . narrative of the execution, sent to the court. _ellis's letters_, ser. ii. vol. iii. p. , from the lansdowne ms. , art. . first, the said scottish queen, being carried by two of sir amias paulett's gentlemen, and the sheriff going before her, came most willingly out of her chamber into an entry next the hall, at which place the earl of shrewsbury and the earl of kent, commissioners for the execution, with the two governors of her person, and divers knights and gentlemen did meet her, where they found one of the scottish queen's servants, named melvin, kneeling on his knees, who uttered these words with tears to the queen of scots, his mistress, "madam, it will be the sorrowfullest message that ever i carried, when i shall report that my queen and dear mistress is dead." then the queen of scots, shedding tears, answered him, "you ought to rejoice rather than weep for that the end of mary stuart's troubles is now come. thou knowest, melvin, that all this world is but vanity, and full of troubles and sorrows; carry this message from me, and tell my friends that i die a true woman to my religion, and like a true scottish woman and a true frenchwoman. but god forgive them that have long desired my end; and he that is the true judge of all secret thoughts knoweth my mind, how that it ever hath been my desire to have scotland and england united together. commend me to my son, and tell him that i have not done anything that may prejudice his kingdom of scotland; and so, good melvin, farewell;" and kissing him, she bade him pray for her. _an english nobleman_ then she turned to the lords and told them that she had certain requests to make unto them. one was for a sum of money, which she said sir amyas paulet knew of, to be paid to one curle her servant; next, that all her poor servants might enjoy that quietly which by her will and testament she had given unto them; and lastly, that they might be all well entreated, and sent home safely and honestly into their countries. "and this i do conjure you, my lords, to do." answer was made by sir amyas paulet, "i do well remember the money your grace speaketh of, and your grace need not to make any doubt of the not performance of your requests, for i do surely think they shall be granted." "i have," said she, "one other request to make unto you, my lords, that you will suffer my poor servants to be present about me, at my death, that they may report when they come into their countries how i died a true woman to my religion." then the earl of kent, one of the commissioners, answered, "madam, it cannot well be granted, for that it is feared lest some of them would with speeches both trouble and grieve your grace, and disquiet the company, of which we have had already some experience, or seek to wipe their napkins in some of your blood, which were not convenient." "my lord," said the queen of scots, "i will give my word and promise for them that they shall not do any such thing as your lordship has named. alas! poor souls, it would do them good to bid me farewell. and i hope your mistress, being a maiden queen, in regard of womanhood, will suffer me to have some of my own people about me at my death. and i know she hath not given you so straight a commission, but that you may grant me more than this, if i were a far meaner woman than i am." and then (seeming to be grieved) with some tears uttered these words: "you know that i am cousin to your queen, and descended from the blood of henry the seventh, a married queen of france, and the anointed queen of scotland." "_beside the block--alone_" whereupon, after some consultation, they granted that she might have some of her servants according to her grace's request, and therefore desired her to make choice of half-a-dozen of her men and women: who presently said that of her men she would have melvin, her apothecary, her surgeon, and one other old man beside; and of her women, those two that did use to lie in her chamber. after this, she being supported by sir amias's two gentlemen aforesaid, and melvin carrying up her train, and also accompanied with the lords, knights, and gentlemen aforenamed, the sheriff going before her, she passed out of the entry into the great hall, with her countenance careless, importing thereby rather mirth than mournful cheer, and so she willingly stepped up to the scaffold which was prepared for her in the hall, being two feet high and twelve feet broad, with rails round about, hung and covered with black, with a low stool, long cushion, and block, covered with black also. then, having the stool brought her, she sat her down; by her, on the right hand, sat the earl of shrewsbury and the earl of kent, and on the left hand stood the sheriff, and before her the two executioners; round about the rails stood knights, gentlemen, and others. then, silence being made, the queen's majesty's commission for the execution of the queen of scots was openly read by mr. beale, clerk of the council; and these words pronounced by the assembly, "god save the queen." during the reading of which commission the queen of scots was silent, listening unto it with as small regard as if it had not concerned her at all; and with as cheerful a countenance as if it had been a pardon from her majesty for her life; using as much strangeness in word and deed as if she had never known any of the assembly, or had been ignorant of the english language. _a theological controversy_ then one doctor fletcher, dean of peterborough, standing directly before her, without the rail, bending his body with great reverence, began to utter this exhortation following: "madam, the queen's most excellent majesty," &c, and iterating these words three or four times, she told him, "mr. dean, i am settled in the ancient catholic roman religion, and mind to spend my blood in defence of it." then mr. dean said: "madam, change your opinion, and repent you of your former wickedness, and settle your faith only in jesus christ, by him to be saved." then she answered again and again, "mr. dean, trouble not yourself any more, for i am settled and resolved in this my religion, and am purposed therein to die." then the earl of shrewsbury and the earl of kent, perceiving her so obstinate, told her that since she would not hear the exhortation begun by mr. dean, "we will pray for your grace, that it stand with god's will you may have your heart lightened, even at the last hour, with the true knowledge of god, and so die therein." then she answered, "if you will pray for me, my lords, i will thank you; but to join in prayer with you i will not, for that you and i are not of one religion." _the earl of kent_ then the lords called for mr. dean, who, kneeling on the scaffold stairs, began this prayer, "o most gracious god and merciful father," &c, all the assembly, saving the queen of scots and her servants, saying after him. during the saying of which prayer, the queen of scots, sitting upon a stool, having about her neck an _agnus dei_, in her hand a crucifix, at her girdle a pair of beads with a golden cross at the end of them, a latin book in her hand, began with tears and with loud and fast voice to pray in latin; and in the midst of her prayers she slided off from her stool, and kneeling, said divers latin prayers; and after the end of mr. dean's prayer, she kneeling, prayed in english to this effect: "for christ his afflicted church, and for an end of their troubles; for her son; and for the queen's majesty, that she might prosper and serve god aright." she confessed that she hoped to be saved "by and in the blood of christ, at the foot of whose crucifix she would shed her blood." then said the earl of kent, "madam, settle christ jesus in your heart, and leave those trumperies." then she little regarding, or nothing at all, his good counsel, went forward with her prayers, desiring that "god would avert his wrath from this island, and that he would give her grief and forgiveness for her sins." these, with other prayers she made in english, saying she forgave her enemies with all her heart that had long sought her blood, and desired god to convert them to the truth; and in the end of the prayer she desired all saints to make intercession for her to jesus christ, and so kissing the crucifix, and crossing of her also, said these words: "even as thy arms, o jesus, were spread here upon the cross, so receive me into thy arms of mercy, and forgive me all my sins." _smiling cheer_ her prayer being ended, the executioners, kneeling, desired her grace to forgive them her death; who answered, "i forgive you with all my heart, for now, i hope, you shall make an end of all my troubles." then they, with her two women, helping of her up, began to disrobe her of her apparel; she never changed her countenance, but with smiling cheer she uttered these words, "that she never had such grooms to make her unready, and that she never put off her clothes before such a company." then she, being stripped of all her apparel saving her petticoat and kirtle, her two women beholding her made great lamentation, and crying and crossing themselves prayed in latin; she, turning herself to them, embracing them, said these words in french, "ne criez vous; j'ay promis pour vous;" and so crossing and kissing them, bade them pray for her, and rejoice and not weep, for that now they should see an end of all their mistress's troubles. then she, with a smiling countenance, turning to her men servants, as melvin and the rest, standing upon a bench nigh the scaffold, who sometime weeping, sometime crying out aloud, and continually crossing themselves, prayed in latin, crossing them with her hand bade them farewell; and wishing them to pray for her even until the last hour. "_into thy hands_" this done, one of the women having a corpus christi cloth lapped up three-corner ways, kissing it, put it over the queen of scots' face, and pinned it fast to the caul of her head. then the two women departed from her, and she kneeling down upon the cushion most resolutely, and without any token or fear of death, she spake aloud this psalm in latin, "in te, domine, confido, non confundar in eternum," &c. {ps. xxv.}. then, groping for the block, she laid down her head, putting her chin over the block with both her hands, which holding there, still had been cut off, had they not been espied. then lying upon the block most quietly, and stretching out her arms, cried, "in manus tuas, domine," &c, three or four times. then she lying very still on the block, one of the executioners holding of her slightly with one of his hands, she endured two strokes of the other executioner with an axe, she making very small noise or none at all, and not stirring any part of her from the place where she lay; and so the executioner cut off her head, saving one little grisle, which being cut asunder, he lifted up her head to the view of all the assembly, and bade "god save the queen." then her dressing of lawn falling off from her head, it appeared as grey as one of threescore and ten years old, polled very short, her face in a moment being so much altered from the form she had when she was alive, as few could remember her by her dead face. her lips stirred up and down a quarter of an hour after her head was cut off. then mr. dean said with a loud voice, "so perish all the queen's enemies;" and afterwards the earl of kent came to the dead body, and standing over it, with a loud voice said, "such end of all the queen's and the gospel's enemies." illustration: effigy at westminster. _the last courtier_ then one of the executioners pulling off her garters, espied her little dog which was crept under her clothes, which could not be gotten forth but by force, yet afterward would not depart from the dead corpse, but came and lay between her head and her shoulders, which being imbrued with her blood, was carried away and washed, as all things else were that had any blood was either burned or clean washed; and the executioners sent away with money for their fees, not having any one thing that belonged unto her. and so, every man being commanded out of the hall, except the sheriff and his men, she was carried by them up into a great chamber lying ready for the surgeons to embalm her. a full account of queen mary's last days will be found in "the tragedy of fotheringay," by the hon. mrs. maxwell-scott. in august , the queen was buried, with great ceremony, in peterborough cathedral, and, in , was reinterred in westminster abbey by her son james vi. and i. appendices _contents_ (a.) genealogical tables. (b.) lord darnley. (c.) contemporary writers. (d.) authorities. (e.) controversial books. _appendix a._ (a.) table showing the relationship of mary to lord darnley and to the duke of chÂtelherault. james ii., king of scotland. | +----------------------+-------------------+ | | james iii. mary = james, lord hamilton. | | james iv. = margaret, = archibald, +-----+-------+ | dau. of | earl of | | | henry vii. | angus. | | | of england. | james, elizabeth, _m._ | | st earl matthew, earl | | of arran. of lennox. james v. = mary of | | | | guise. | james, | | | nd earl | | | of arran | mary stuart. | and duke of john, earl | châtelherault. of lennox. | | +----------------+ | | | margaret = matthew, earl | of lennox. | henry, lord darnley. table showing the position of mary and darnley with regard to the crown of england. henry vii. | +-------------------+---------+------------+ | | | henry viii. james iv. = margaret = archibald, mary = charles, duke +------+----+ | | earl of | of suffolk. | | | | | angus | edward vi. | elizabeth. james v. | +---+-----+ | | | | | mary. | margaret, _m._ | | mary. matthew, earl | | of lennox. | | | frances, eleanor, | _m._ _m._ henry, lord henry, henry, darnley. duke of earl of suffolk. cumberland. | | +-----------------+-----------------+ | | | | lady jane grey. catherine, _m._ | edward, earl of | hertford. | | +--------------------------+ | | margaret, _m._ henry, earl of derby. _appendix b._ (b.) lord darnley. it may be of some interest to collect a few contemporary opinions regarding the unfortunate lord darnley. the extracts from sir james melville and randolph (pp. - , - ) sufficiently illustrate the personality of mary, and we need only add knolly's description of the queen of scots on her arrival in england (wright's "elizabeth," vol. i. pp. - ). he wrote to cecil: "this ladie and princess is a notable woman. she semeth to regard no ceremonious honour beside the acknowledging of her estate regalle. she sheweth a disposition to speake much, to be bold, to be pleasant, and to be very famylyar. she sheweth a great desire to be avenged of her enemies: she sheweth a readiness to expose herself to all perylls in hope of victorie; she delyteth much to hear of hardiness and valiancye, commending by name all approved hardy men of her cuntrye, altho' they be her enemies: and she commendeth no cowardice even in her friends. the thing that most she thirsteth after is victory, and it semeth to be indifferent to her to have her enemies diminish, either by the sword of her friends, or by the liberall promises and rewards of her purse, or by division and quarrells raised among themselves; so that for victorie's sake, payne and perrylls semeth pleasant unto her, and in respect of victorie, welthe and all thyngs semeth to her contemptuous and vile." our best picture of darnley comes from the pen of the continuator of knox. "he was of a comely stature, and none was like unto him within this island; he died under the age of one and twenty years; prompt and ready for all games and sports; much given to hawking and hunting, and running of horses, and likewise to playing on the lute; and also to venus chamber he was liberal enough; he could write and dictate well; but he was somewhat given to wine, and much feeding, and likewise to inconstancy; and proud beyond measure, and therefore contemned all others; he had learned to dissemble well enough, being from his youth misled up in popery" (laing's "knox," vol. ii. p. ). incidental references to darnley's character will be found on pp. - , - , - , &c. the author of the "histoire of james the sext" wrote of him, "he was a comelie prince, of a fayre and large stature of bodie, pleasant in countenance, and affable to all men, and devote, weill exercised in martiall pastymes upoun horseback as ony prince of that age, but was sa facile as he could conceal no secret, although it might tend to his own weill." of darnley's literary abilities we possess two indications--a letter written to mary tudor, and the following ballad, both printed in maidment's "scottish songs and ballads," vol. ii. it may be noted that the figure of the turtle-dove or wood-pigeon occurs in the ballad and in one of the "casket letters." gife langour makis men licht, or dolour thame decoir, in earth there is no wicht,[ ] may me compair in gloir. gif cairfuill thoftis restoir my havy heart from sorrow i am for evir moir in joy, both evin and morrow. gif plesour be to pance,[ ] i playne me nocht opprest, or absence micht avance, my heart is haill possesst, gif want of quiet rest from cairis micht me convoy, my mynd is nocht mollest, bot evir moir in joy. thocht that i pance in paine, in passing to and fro, i laubor all in vane, for so hes mony mo, that hes nocht servit so, in suting of thair sueit,[ ] the nar the fyre i go the grittar is my heit. the turtour for hir maik, mair dule may nocht indure nor i do for hir saik, evin hir quha hes in cure my hairt, quhilk salbe sure, and service to the deid, unto that lady pure, the well of woman heid. schaw shedfull to that sueit my pairt so permanent that no mirth quhill[ ] we meit, sall cause me be content; but still my hairt lament, in sorrowfull siching soir, till tyme sho be present, fairweill, i say no moir. _finis quod king hary stewart._ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ [ ] man. [ ] think. [ ] sweet. [ ] till. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ this lament for darnley (also printed by maidment) was doubtless used as a political weapon against queen mary:-- to edinburgh about six hours at morn, as i was passing pansand out the way; ane bonny boy was sore making his moan, his sorry song was oche, and wallaway! that ever i should lyve to see that day, ane king at eve, with sceptre, sword and crown; at morn but a deformed lump of clay, with traitors strong so cruelly put down! then drew i near some tidings for to speir, and said, my friend, what makis thee sa way. bloody bothwell hath brought our king to beir, and flatter and fraud with double dalilay. at ten houris on sunday late at een, when dalila and bothwell bade good night, off her finger false she threw ane ring, and said, my lord, ane token you i plight. she did depart then with an untrue train, and then in haste and culverin they let craik, to teach their feiris to know the appoint time, about the kinge's lodging for to clap. to dance that night they said she should not slack, with leggis lycht to hald the wedow walkan; and baid fra bed until she heard the crack, whilk was a sign that her good lord was slain. o ye that to our kirk have done subscryve, these achans try alsweill traist i may, if ye do not, the time will come, belyve, that god to you will raise some iosuay; whilk shall your bairnis gar sing wallaway, and ye your selvis be put down with shame; remember on the awesome latter day, when ye reward shall receive for your blame. i ken right well ye knaw your duty, gif ye do not purge you ane and all, then shall i write in pretty poetry, in latin laid in style rhetorical; which through all europe shall ring like ane bell, in the contempt of your malignity. fye, flee fra clynemnestra fell, for she was never like penelope. with clynemnestra i do not fain to fletch, who slew her spouse, the great agamemnon; or with any that ninus' wife doth match, semiramis quha brought her gude lord down. quha do abstain fra litigation, or from his paper hald aback the pen? except he hate our scottish nation, or then stand up and traitors deeds commend? now all the woes that ovid in ibin, into his pretty little book did write, and many mo be to our scottish queen, for she the cause is of my doleful dyte. sa mot her heart be fillet full of syte, as herois was for leander's death; herself to slay for woe who thought delyte, for henry's sake to like our queen was laith. the dolours als that pierced dido's heart, when king enee from carthage took the flight; for the which cause unto a brand she start, and slew herseif, which was a sorry sight. sa might she die as did creusa bright, the worthy wife of douty duke jason; wha brint was in ane garment wrought by slight of medea through incantation. her laughter light be like to true thisbe, when pyramus she found dead at the well, in languor like unto penelope, for ulysses who long at troy did dwell. her dolesome death be worse than jezebel, whom through an window surely men did thraw; whose blood did lap the cruel hundis fell, and doggis could her wicked bainis gnaw. were i an hound--oh! if she an hare, and i an cat, and she a little mouse, and she a bairn, and i a wild wod bear, i an ferret, and she cuniculus. to her i shall be aye contrarius-- when to me atropos cut the fatal thread, and fell deithis dartys dolorous, then shall our spirits be at mortal feid. my spirit her spirit shall douke in phlegethon, into that painful filthy flood of hell, and then in styx, and lethe baith anone-- and cerberus that cruel hound sa fell, sall gar her cry with mony gout and yell, o wallaway! that ever she was born, or with treason by ony manner mell, whilk from all bliss should cause her be forlorn. (c.) contemporary writers. george buchanan. the writings of george buchanan with which we are concerned are his "detection" of queen mary, and his "history of scotland." buchanan was the friend and adviser of mary's enemies, and his references to her are polemical, not historical. his "detection" is based on the "book of articles" (_cf._ p. ), and it is not always consistent with the statements in his "history." sheriff Æneas mackay admits with regard to it that "it must be deemed a calumnious work." the reader must decide for himself what credit to attach to statements made by buchanan, and otherwise unattested. he occupies among mary's accusers the position held by lesley among her friends. his title to fame is not confined to the marian controversy. he was a very distinguished humanist, and his writings possess both learning and charm. (_cf._ mr. hume brown's recent volume entitled "george buchanan.") conaeus. george conn belonged to an aberdeenshire family of roman catholic sympathies, and was educated at douay, paris, and rome. he was papal agent accredited to queen henrietta maria from to . he died in . the date of his birth is unknown, and he is not quite strictly a contemporary author. but he lived in paris at a time when people must have been alive who could remember queen mary's residence in france, and his "life of mary stuart," published in , has all the freshness of a contemporary source. lord herries. john maxwell, fourth lord herries, was, although a protestant, a staunch supporter of queen mary. he opposed the bothwell marriage, but remained faithful after the surrender at carberry hill. he joined the queen after her escape from lochleven, was present at the battle of langside, and accompanied her in her flight to england. in spite of some temporising with her enemies, he was selected, along with the bishop of ross, to defend her at york and westminster, and he was probably involved in the norfolk plot. when he became convinced of the hopelessness of mary's cause, he came to an arrangement with the victorious party, and took a part in politics till his death in . he seems, however, always to have been ready to assist the queen had there been any chance of success. his "memoirs" possess an unusual interest in virtue of his intimate knowledge of the secret history of the reign. john knox. the extracts from knox's "history of the reformation in scotland" are interesting as bearing the impress of their author's vigorous personality. but it must be remembered that, as the leader of the protestant clergy, he was a strong partisan, and his descriptions cannot be accepted literally. different readers will decide differently as to the credit to be given to knox's statements. the most valuable edition of knox is the large one by the late mr. david laing, which contains much important annotation. the concluding portion of the "history" is not from knox's own pen, but is the work of an unknown writer, who is generally described as knox's continuator. john lesley. the bishop of ross was a native of inverness-shire, and was educated at the university of aberdeen. the first public capacity in which he was employed was as one of a deputation of roman catholic nobles to invite queen mary to return to scotland, after the death of francis ii. he became bishop of ross in . he rendered his chief services to queen mary as one of the agents for her defence at the conferences at york and westminster, and he was thereafter involved in most of the schemes for mary's release. he survived the queen for nine years, and died in at guirtenburg, near brussels. he was about seventy years of age. lesley's chief work is his "history of scotland from to ." the scots edition was first published in , but the latin version, which is more complete, appeared during the author's lifetime, and was translated into scots, as early as , by father james dalrymple of regensburg. for the period with which we are concerned lesley is a contemporary authority; but he wrote with a purpose, and was inclined to exaggeration. his "defence of queen mary's honour" was a reply to buchanan's "detection." lindsay of pitscottie. robert lindsay of pitscottie was a cadet of the family of crawford. he was born about , and died about , and took no part in public affairs. his "history" was not published till . it is a work to which we are indebted for much gossip, and it contains many humorous anecdotes. the writer was a strong protestant, and shared with many of his contemporaries a fondness for moralising. his book is not absolutely reliable by any means; but in the passage quoted he appears to best advantage. sir james melville. sir james melville had been an attendant on queen mary since her childhood. in , when he was fourteen years of age and she seven, he became her page. after some military, and diplomatic service he became one of the gentlemen of the bed chamber on the queen's return to scotland. his two visits to london as ambassador from mary to elizabeth are recorded in the passage quoted in the text. after the fall of the queen melville attached himself to the ruling party, and was prominent in politics till james's accession to the throne of england. thereafter, he lived quietly at his estate of hallhill, in fife, where he died in . during his retirement he wrote his "memoirs," which were published by his grandson in . his memory was not invariably trustworthy; but his fascinating style has made his writing one of the most popular chronicles of the time. his picture of the rival queens is one of the most characteristic passages in his work (pp. - ). claude nau. claude de la boisselierre nau was sent by the cardinal of lorraine to queen mary as a secretary in . thenceforward he remained her confidential adviser, although his loyalty to his own interests was more marked than his devotion to his mistress, and he was generally believed to have betrayed her in connection with the babington conspiracy. after her death he was released by queen elizabeth, and entered the service of henry iv. of france. the ms. known as "nau's history of mary stewart" is in the british museum, and was printed in by father joseph stevenson, s.j. the evidence on which mr. stevenson attributes it to nau is given in his introduction. lord ruthven. patrick, third lord ruthven, was one of the protestant nobles who formed the body known as the "lords of the congregation" during the absence of queen mary in france. he was not popular even on his own side, for we find mysterious accusations of sorcery and enchantment attaching to his name. at the murder of rizzio he appeared in the queen's room, gaunt and haggard, having risen from a sick bed in the neighbouring house. after the murder he fled to england and wrote for the benefit of queen elizabeth his "relation" of the circumstances. he makes numerous accusations against mary, which have generally been received with suspicion owing to the position of the author as an exiled rebel anxious to justify himself before a foreign sovereign. he died at newcastle in june , three months after the murder. the "articles" are printed, not only in the "relation," but in the first column of goodall's _examination_, and the third volume of keith's "history," while those signed by darnley are copied from the original in the appendix (p. ) to the sixth report of the historical mss. commissioners. diurnal of occurrents. the "diurnal of occurrents in scotland" was first printed by the bannatyne club in (from a ms. then in the possession of sir john maxwell of pollock). it deals with the history of scotland from to . during the period with which we are concerned, it is clearly the diary of an edinburgh citizen, and it is of great value, especially in fixing dates. the anonymous diarist was not a partisan of the queen, but his work is more impartial than any other of the period. another contemporary diary, by robert birrell, is published in dalyell's "fragments of scottish history," . gude and godly ballates. the controversy of the sixteenth century gave rise to many political songs and ballads, which became known to the protestant party as the "gude and godly ballates." most of them were aimed against roman catholicism in general, but some are invectives against queen mary herself. the specimens given are among the best known. they are slightly earlier in date than the arrival of mary in scotland; but they serve to illustrate the bitterness of the struggle. (d.) authorities. the remaining contemporary authorities are to be found in the letters of ambassadors, and the other diplomatic correspondence of the time. but it must be remembered that a statement can by no means be implicitly believed because it appears in such documents. the circumstances of the writer, his opportunities of obtaining information on the particular topic, his personal prejudices, the impression that he wished to convey to his correspondent, must all be allowed due weight. the correspondence and other information is largely contained in the following books:-- ( .) official publications. _acts of parliament of scotland._ _reports of the royal commission upon historical mss._ _register of the privy council of scotland._ _calendar of documents relating to scotland_, preserved in the public record office. _calendar of papers relating to foreign affairs_, - . _calendar of papers relating to english affairs_, preserved in the archives of simancas. _calendar of papers relating to english affairs_, preserved in the archives of venice. _calendar of border papers._ _the hamilton papers._ _calendar of papers relating to scotland and mary queen of scots_, . ( .) books which contain original letters, &c. _fædera, conventiones, literæ, &c., inter reges angliæ et alios_, ed. by thomas rymer. london, - . _queen elizabeth and her times_, by thomas wright. london, . _history of the affairs of church and state in scotland_, by the right rev. robert keith, primus of the scottish episcopal church. edinburgh, (reprinted by the spottiswoode society). _miscellaneous state papers from to _, edited by philip, earl of hardwicke. london, . _the annals of aboyne_, edited by george, th marquis of huntly. (new spalding club.) _life of queen mary_, by george chalmers. london, . _history of scotland_, by william robertson, d.d. _history of scotland_, by patrick fraser tytler. _inventories of mary queen of scots_, edited by joseph robertson. _examination of the letters said to have been written by mary queen of scots, to james, earl of bothwell_, by walter goodall, . _history of scotland_, by malcolm laing. _illustrations of british history_, by edmund lodge. _elizabeth and mary_, by fred. von raumer. _original letters, illustrative of british history_, ed. ellis. _mary queen of scots and her accusers_, by john hosack, - . _mary queen of scots, from her birth to her flight into england_, by d. hay fleming. _recueil des lettres de marie stuart_, ed. labanoff. _letters of mary stuart_, ed. agnes strickland. _cabala, sive scrinia sacra._ london, . _collections relating to mary queen of scots_, by james anderson. _a lost chapter in the life of mary stuart_, by john stuart. _queen mary at jedburgh_, by john small. _illustrations of the reign of mary queen of scots._ (maitland club.) _relations politiques de la france et de l'espagne avec l'Écosse_, edited by teulet. _the tragedy of fotheringay_, by the hon. mrs. maxwell-scott. these are the main authorities. a complete list of publications dealing with the question up to , will be found in "a bibliography of works relating to mary queen of scots, - ," by john scott, c.b. (edinburgh bibliographical society, ). very full references will be found in mr. hay fleming's notes. the list of authorities appended to the articles "mary stuart," in the _dictionary of national biography_, should also be consulted. (e.) controversial works. the general historians who deal with the period--hume, robertson, tytler, laing, froude, and hill burton--are usually ranked among queen mary's opponents. hume and froude occupy the most decided position. among other writers who are definitely against the theory of mary's innocence, must be reckoned mignet ("life of mary queen of scots"), mr. d. hay fleming ("mary queen of scots"), and mr. t. f. henderson (articles, "mary stuart," "henry stewart, lord darnley," "james hepburn, earl of bothwell," &c., in the _dictionary of national biography_). no one can hope to understand the present position of the controversy without the writings of mr. fleming and mr. henderson. among general controversialists on the side of queen mary, may be mentioned the works already quoted, by walter goodall, george chalmers, and john hosack, william tytler's "inquiry into the evidence against mary queen of scots" ( ), whitaker's "mary queen of scots vindicated" ( ), miss agnes strickland's "lives of the queens of scotland," mr. alex. walker's "mary, queen of scots," mr. m'neel-caird's "mary stuart," and sir john skelton's "impeachment of mary stuart," "maitland of lethington," and "life of mary stuart." mr. swinburne's "mary queen of scots" is one of the most attractive works on the subject. the reader will recollect that the "false duessa" in spenser's "faerie queen" is the queen of scots. the last few years have seen the publication of many important works dealing with the problem of the casket letters, _e.g._:-- bresslau: "die kassettenbriefe der königin maria stuart," in the _historisches taschenbuche_, . sepp: _die kassettenbriefe_, . gerde: "geschichte der königin maria stuart," . t. f. henderson: "casket letters, and mary queen of scots." nd ed. . philippson: "histoire du règne de marie stuart," - . the english reader will find the material in mr. t. f. henderson's work ample for his purpose. the preface to mr. hay fleming's "mary queen, of scots" promises a second volume, which will contain the life in captivity, and, of course, deal with the letters. no marian apologist has, as yet, attempted an answer to the more recent evidence on the other side, and hosack's great work is now considerably superseded. the foregoing lists are, of course, selected. a full bibliography is a great task, not yet attempted. the end printed by ballantyne, hanson & co. edinburgh & london _published by_ david nutt, _ - strand, london, and sold by all booksellers throughout scotland, england, and ireland._ scottish vernacular literature a succinct history by t. f. henderson printed at the constable press, crown vo, x, pp. buckram, top gilt, s. contents:--the scottish vernacular--minstrelsy and romance--historical poetry--the scottish fabliau and the decay of romance--the early chaucerians--dunbar and walter kennedy--gavin douglas and sir david lyndsay--minor and later poets of the th century--anonymous poetry of the th and th centuries--vernacular prose--traditional ballads and songs--before ramsay--ramsay to burns--burns and afterwards. =_some press notices_= =outlook.=--"truly admirable for its conciseness and adequacy of critical treatment." =literature.=--"a work of great merit and interest, and unique in its field." =scotsman.=--"will be of great use to those who wish a general guide to scottish literature in prose, such as there was, as well as in verse." =north british daily mail.=--"a model of what such a handbook should be--thorough, concise, well balanced." =saturday review.=--"excellent in every respect." =morning post.=--"it is not easy to recall another volume, conceived on this apparently unambitious scale, which is at once so scholarly, so thorough, so agreeable." =glasgow herald.=--"deserves a hearty welcome and no stinted=praise." =arbroath herald.=--"few readers will fail to appreciate the justice and the suggestive force of his general survey of scottish literature." transcribers note headings printed at the top of pages in the original have been converted to sub-headings and placed and the head of the most relevant paragraph. much of the text being letters and transcripts, inconsistant spellings have been retained. footnote had no anchor in the text. since it appears to relate to the whole of letter iii an anchor has been inserted at to top of the letter. ligature oe has been represented as [oe]. generously made available by the internet archive.) body, parentage and character in history. _by the same author._ ready--new and cheaper edition, in great part rewritten, /- character as seen in body and parentage, with a chapter on education, career, morals, and progress. a remarkable and extremely interesting book.--_scotsman._ a delightful book, witty and wise, clever in exposition, charming in style, readable and original.--_medical press._ men and women are both treated under these heads (types of character) in an amusing and observant manner.--_lancet._ we cordially commend this volume.... a fearless writer.... merits close perusal.--_health._ mr. jordan handles his subject in a simple, clear, and popular manner.--_literary world._ full of varied interest.--_mind._ kegan paul, trench, trÜbner, and co. limited. body, parentage and character in history: notes on the tudor period. by furneaux jordan, f.r.c.s. london: kegan paul, trench, trÜbner & co. limited, . birmingham: printed by hall and english. preface. in my little work on "character as seen in body and parentage" i have put forward not a system, but a number of conclusions touching the relationship which i believe to exist between certain features of character on the one hand and certain peculiarities of bodily configuration, structure, and inheritance on the other. these conclusions, if they are true, should find confirmation in historic narrative, and their value, if they have any, should be seen in the light they throw on historic problems. the incidents and characters and questions of the tudor period are not only of unfailing interest, but they offer singularly rich and varied material to the student of body and character. if the proposal to connect the human body with human nature is distasteful to certain finely-strung souls, let me suggest to them a careful study of the work and aims and views of goethe, the scientific observer and impassioned poet, whom madame de staël described as the most accomplished character the world has produced; and who was, in matthew arnold's opinion, the greatest poet of this age and the greatest critic of any age. the reader of 'wilhelm meister' need not be reminded of the close attention which is everywhere given to the principle of inheritance--inheritance even of 'the minutest faculty.' the student of men and women has, let me say in conclusion, one great advantage over other students--he need not journey to a museum, he has no doors to unlock, and no catalogue to consult; the museum is constantly around him and on his shelves; the catalogue is within himself. table of contents. page note i.--the various views of henry viii.'s character. momentous changes in sixteenth century many characters given to noted persons a great number given to henry the character given in our time attempt to give an impartial view need of additional light note ii.--the relation of body and parentage to character. bodily organisation and temperaments leading types in both elements of character run in groups intervening gradations note iii.--henry's family proclivities. henry of unimpassioned temperament took after unimpassioned mother derived nothing from his father character of henry vii. henry viii., figure and appearance note iv.--the wives' question. henry's marriages, various causes passion not a marked cause henry had no strong passions self-will and self-importance conduct of impassioned men note v.--the less characteristic features of henry's character. characteristics common to all temperaments henry's cruelty henry's piety note vi.--the more characteristic features of henry's character. always doing or undoing something habitual fitfulness self-importance henry and wolsey: which led? love of admiration note vii.--henry and his compeers. henry's political helpers superior to theological cranmer sir thomas more wolsey note viii.--henry and his people and parliament. no act of constructive genius parliament not abject, but in agreement proclamations liberty a matter of race note ix.--henry and the reformation. teutonic race fearless, therefore truthful outgrew romish fetters french revolution racial the essential and the accidental in great movements wyclif erasmus, luther, calvin, knox henry's part in the reformation no thought of permanent division the dissolution of the monasteries note x.--queen elizabeth and queen mary. henry viii. and elizabeth much alike elizabeth less pious but more fitful elizabeth and marriage elizabeth's part in the reformation elizabeth and mary stuart very unlike lofty characters with flaws mary's environment and fate bodily peculiarities of the two queens the various views of henry viii.'s character. note i. the progress of an individual, of a people, or even of a movement is never up, and their decadence is never down, an inclined plane. neither do we see sudden and lofty flights in progress nor headlong falls in decadence. both move rather by steps--steps up or steps down. the steps are not all alike; one is short another long; one sudden another gradual. they are all moreover the inevitable sequences of those which went before, and they as inevitably lead to those which follow. our fathers took a long step in the tudor epoch, but older ones led up to it and newer ones started from it. the long step could not possibly be evaded by a teutonic people. rome lay in the path, and progress must needs step over the body of rome--not a dead body then, though wounded from within, not a dead body yet, though now deeply and irreparably wounded from without. civilization must everywhere step over the body of rome or stand still, or turn backwards. two factors are especially needed for progress: brain (racial brain), which by organisation and inheritance tends to be large, free, capable; and secondly, circumstance, which continually calls forth capability, and freedom, and largeness. all the schools of supernaturalism, but above all the romish school, compress and paralyse at least a portion of the brain: if a portion is disabled all is enfeebled. if a bodily limb even, a mere hand or foot, be fettered and palsied, the body itself either dies or droops into a smaller way of life. it is so with a mental limb--a mental hand or foot in relation to the mental life. to the group of ever-present and subtle forces which make for progress, there were added in the sixteenth century seemingly new and conspicuous forces. the art of printing or writing by machinery sowed living seed broadcast over a fertile soil; the "new learning" restored to us the inspiring but long hidden thought of old aryan friends and relatives, and this again in some degree relaxed the grip of alien and enslaving semitic ideas which the exigencies of roman circumstance had imposed on europe with the edge of the sword. new action trod on the heels of new thought. new lands were traversed; new seas were sailed; new heavens were explored. the good steed civilisation--long burdened and blindfolded and curbed,--had lagged somewhat; but now the reins were loose, the spurs were sharp, the path was clear and the leap which followed was long. while our fathers were taking, or were on the eve of taking, this long step, a notable young man, the son of a capable and wise father and of a not incapable but certainly unwise mother, stepped into the chief place in this country. a student who was in training for an archbishop was suddenly called upon to be a king. what this king was, what he was not; what organisation and parentage and circumstance did for him; how he bore himself to his time--to its drift, its movements, its incidents, its men, and, alas, to its women--is now our object to inquire. the study of this theological monarch and of his several attitudes is deeply instructive and of unfailing interest. the autocrat of the breakfast table wittily comments on the number of john's characters. john had three. notable men have more characters than "john." henry viii. had more characters than even the most notable of men. a man of national repute or of high position has the characters given to him by his friends, his enemies, and characters given also by parties, sects, and schools. henry had all these and two more--strictly, two groups more--one given to him by his own time, another given to him by ours. if we could call up from their long sleep half a dozen representative and capable men of henry's reign to meet half a dozen of victoria's, the jury would probably not agree. if the older six could obtain all the evidence which is before us, and the newer six could recall all which was familiar to henry's subjects at home and his compeers abroad; if the two bodies could weigh matters together, discuss all things together--could together raise the dead and summon the living--nevertheless in the end two voices would speak--a sixteenth century voice and a nineteenth. the older would say in effect: "we took our king to be not only a striking personality; not only an expert in all bodily exercises and mental accomplishments; we knew him to be much more--to be industrious, pious, sincere, courageous, and accessible. we believed him to be keen in vision, wise in judgment, prompt and sagacious in action. we looked round on our neighbours and their rulers, and we saw reason to esteem ourselves the most prosperous of peoples and our king the first, by a long way the first, of his fellow kings. your own records prove that long years after henry's death, in all time of trouble the people longed for henry's good sense and cried out for henry's good laws. he was a sacrilegious miscreant you say; if it were so the nation was a nation of sacrilegious miscreants, for he merely obeyed the will of the people and carried out a policy which had been called for and discussed and contrived and, in part, carried out long before our henry's time. upwards of a century before, the assembled knights of the shire had more than once proposed to take the property of the church (much of it gained by sinister methods) and hand it over for military purposes. the spirit of the religious houses had for some time jarred on the awakening spirit of a thinking people. their very existence cast a slur on a high and growing ideal of domestic life. those ancient houses detested and strove to keep down the knowledge which an aroused people then, as never before, passionately desired to gain." "you say he was a 'monster of lust.' lust is not a new sin: our generation knew it as well as yours; detected it as keenly as yours; hated it almost as heartily. but consider: no king anywhere has been, in his own time, so esteemed, so trusted, nay even so loved and reverenced as our king. should we have loved, trusted, and reverenced a 'monster of lust'? if you examine carefully the times before ours and the times since, you will find that monsters of lust, crowned or uncrowned, do not act as henry acted. the court, it is true, was not pure, but it was the least voluptuous court then existing, and henry was the least voluptuous man in it. while still in his teens the widow of an elder brother, a woman much older than he, and who was also old for her years, was married to him on grounds of state policy. not henry only, but wise and learned men, luther and melancthon among others, came to believe that the marriage was not legal. henry himself, indeed, came to believe that god's curse was on it--in our time we fervently believed in god's curse. a boy with promise of life and health was the one eager prayer of the people. but boy after boy died and of four boys not one survived. if one of catharine's boys had lived: nay more, if ann boleyn had been other than a scheming and faithless woman; or if, later, jane seymour had safely brought forth her son (and perhaps other sons), henry would assuredly never have married six wives. you say he should have seen beforehand the disparity of years, the illegality, the incest--should have seen even the yet unfallen curse: in our time boys of eighteen did not see so clearly all these things." "alas," the juror might have added, "marriage and death are the two supreme incidents in man's life: but marriage comes before experience and judgment--these are absent when they are most needed; experience and judgment attend on death when they are needless." "bear in mind, moreover," resumes the older voice, "that in our time the marriage laws were obscure, perplexing, and unsettled. high ideals of marriage did not exist. the first nobleman in our court was the earl of suffolk who twice committed bigamy and was divorced three times; his first wife was his aunt, and his last his daughter-in-law. papal relaxations and papal permissions were cheap and common--they permitted every sort of sexual union and every sort of separation. canon law and the curious sexual relationships of ecclesiastics, high and low, shed no light but rather darkness on the matter. the pope, it is true, hesitated to grant henry's divorce, but not, as the whole world knew, on moral or religious grounds: at heart he approved the divorce and rebuked wolsey for not settling the matter offhand in england. all the papal envoys urged the unhappy catharine to retire into a religious house; but catharine insisted that god had called her to her position"--forgetting, we may interpose, that if he called her to it he also in effect deposed her from it. god called her daughter mary, so mary believed, to burn protestants; god called elizabeth, so elizabeth exclaimed ('it was marvellous in her eyes'), to harass romanists. "but the one paramount circumstance which weighed with us, and we remember a thousand circumstances while you remember the 'six wives' only, was the question of succession. if succession was the one question which more than all others agitated your fathers in anne's time, try to imagine what it was to us. you, after generations of order, peace and security--you utterly fail to understand our position. we had barely come out of a lawless cruel time--a time born of the ferocity and hate of conflicting dynasties. fathers still lived to tell us how they ate blood, and drank blood, and breathed blood. they and we were weary of blood, and our two henrys (priceless henrys to us,) had just taken its taste out of our mouths. no queen, be it well noted, had ruled over us either in peaceful or in stormy times; we believed with our whole souls, rightly or wrongly, that no queen could possibly preserve us from destruction and ruin. it was our importunity mainly--make no mistake on this point,--which drove our king, whenever he was wifeless, to take another wife. his three years of widowhood after jane seymour's death was our gravest anxiety." the newer voice replies: "you were a foolish and purblind generation. the simplicity of your henry's subjects, and the servility of his parliament have become a bye-word. it is true your king, although less capable than you suppose, was not without certain gifts--their misuse only adds to his infamy. it is true also that he had been carefully educated,--his father was to be thanked for that. it would seem, moreover, that quite early in life he was not without some attractiveness in person and manners, but you forget that bodily grossness and mental irritability soon made him a repulsive object. an eminent englishman of our century says he was a big, burly, noisy, small-eyed, large-faced, double-chinned and swinish-looking fellow, and that indeed so bad a character could never have been veiled under a prepossessing appearance. your king was vain, ostentatious, and extravagant. with measured words we declare that his hypocrisy, cruelty, sacrilege, selfishness and lust, were all unbounded. he was above all an unrivalled master of mean excuses: did he wish to humble and oppress the clergy--they had violated the statute of premunire. did his voluptuous eye fall on a dashing young maid of honour--he suddenly discovered that he was living in incest, and that his marriage was under god's curse. did the pope hesitate to grant him a divorce--he began to see that the proper head of the english church was the english king. was his exchequer empty--he was convinced that the inmates of the wealthy religious houses led the lives and deserved the fate of certain cities once destroyed by fire and brimstone. did a defiant pole carry his head out of harry's reach--it was found that pole's mother, lady salisbury, was the centre of yorkist intrigue, and that the mother's head could be lopped off in place of the son's." the two voices it is clear have much to say for themselves. it is equally clear that the two groups of jurymen will not agree on their verdict. it is commonly held and as a rule on good grounds, that the judgment of immediate friends and neighbours is less just than the opinion of foreigners and of posterity. this is so when foreigners and posterity are agreed, and are free from the tumult, and passion, and personal bias of time and place. it is not so in henry's case. curiously enough, foreign observers, scholars, envoys, travellers, agree with--nay, outrun henry's subjects in their praise of henry. curiously too the tumult and passion touching henry's matrimonial affairs--touching all his affairs indeed,--have grown rather than diminished with the progress of time. epochs, like men, have not the gift of seeing themselves as others see them. unnumbered frenchmen ate and drank, and made merry, and bought and sold; married their children and buried their parents, not knowing that france was giving a shock to all mankind for all time to come. the assassins of st. bartholomew believed that in future a united christendom would bless them for performing a pious and uniting deed. we see all at once the bare and startling fact of six wives. henry's subjects saw and became familiar with a slow succession of marriages, each of which had its special cloud of vital yet confusing circumstance. so too the reformation has its different phases. in the sixteenth century it was looked on as a serious quarrel, no doubt, but no one dreamed it was anything more. then each side thought the other side would shortly come to its senses and all would be well; no one dreamt of two permanently hostile camps and lasting combat. if personal hate and actual bloodshed have passed away, and at the present moment the combat shews signs of still diminishing bitterness, it is because a new and mysterious atmosphere is slowly creeping over both--slowly benumbing both the armies. an attempt must be made here to sketch henry's character with as much impartiality as is possible. but no impartial sketch will please either his older friends or his newer enemies. although henry came to the throne a mere boy, he was a precocious boy. in the precocious the several stages of life succeed each other more quickly than in others, and probably they themselves do not wear so well. when henry was twenty-five he was little less wise and capable than he was at thirty-five or forty-five. at forty he was probably wiser than he was at fifty. the young king's presence was striking; he had a fresh rosy complexion, and an auburn though scanty beard. his very limbs, exclaims one foreign admirer, "glowed with warm pink" through his delicately woven tennis costume. he was handsome in feature; large and imposing in figure; open and frank in manners; strong, active, and skilled in all bodily exercises. he was an admirer of all the arts, and himself an expert in many of them. henry had indeed all the qualities, whatever their worth may be, which make a favourite with the multitude. those qualities, no matter what change time brought to them, preserved his popularity to the last. henry was neither a genius nor a hero; but they who deny that he was a singularly able man will probably misread his character; misread his ideals, his conduct, and his various attitudes. henry's education was thorough and his learning extensive. his habit of mind tended perhaps rather to activity and versatility and obedience to old authority than to intensity or depth or independence. his father, who looked more favourably on churchmen and lawyers than on noblemen, destined his second son for the church. at that time theology, scholastic theology--for colet and erasmus and more had not then done their work--was the acutest mental discipline known as well as the highest accomplishment. for when the "new learning" reached this country it found theology the leading study, and therefore it roused theology; in italy on the other hand it found the arts the predominant study, and there it roused the arts. henry would doubtless have made a successful bishop and escaped thereby much domestic turmoil; but, on the whole, he was probably better fitted to be a king; while his quiet, contemplative, and kindly father would at any rate have found life pleasanter in lawn sleeves than he found it on a throne. it would be well if men and women were to write down in two columns with all possible honesty the good and the evil items in the characters (not forgetting their own) which interest them. the exercise itself would probably call forth serviceable qualities, and would frequently bring to light unexpected results. probably in this process good characters would lose something and the bad would gain. from such an ordeal henry viii. would come out a sad figure, though not quite so sad as is popularly considered. it is not proposed in this sketch of character to separate, if indeed separation is possible, the good qualities which are held to be more or less inborn from those which seem to be attainable by efforts of the will. freedom of the will must of course be left in its native darkness. neither can the attempt be made to estimate, even if such estimate were possible, how much the individual makes of his own character and how much is made for him. some features of character, again, are neither good nor evil, or are good or evil only when they are excessive or deficient or unsuitable to time and place. love of pageantry is one of these; love of pleasure another; so, too, are the leanings to conservation or to innovation. in thought and feeling and action henry was undoubtedly conservative. his conservatism was modified by his self-will and self-confidence, but it assuredly ranked with the leading features of his character--with his piety his egotism and his love of popularity. to shine in well-worn paths was his chief enjoyment: not to shine in these paths, or to get out of them, or to get in advance of them, or to lag behind, was his greatest dread. the innovator may or may not be pious, but conservatism naturally leans to piety, and henry's piety, if not deep or passionate, was at any rate copious and sincere. henry, it has been said, was not a hero, not a genius, neither was he a saint. but if his ideals were not high, and if his conduct was not unstained, his religious beliefs were unquestioning and his religious observances numerous and stringent. the fiercer the light which beat upon his throne, the better pleased was henry. he had many phases of character and many gifts, and he delighted in displaying his phases and in exercising his gifts. the use and place of ceremony and spectacle are still matters of debate; but modern feeling tends more and more to hand them over to children, may-day sweeps, and lord-mayors. in henry's reign the newer learning and newer thought had it is true done but little to undermine the love of gewgaws and glitter, but henry's devotion to them, even for his time, was so childish that it must be written down in his darker column. we may turn now to the less debatable items in henry's character, and say which shall go into the black list and which into the white. we are all too prone perhaps to give but one column to the men we approve, and one only to the men we condemn. it is imperative in the estimation of character that there be "intellect enough," as a great writer expresses it, to judge and material enough on which to pronounce judgment. if we bring the "sufficient intellect," especially one that is fair by habit and effort, to the selection of large facts--for facts have many sizes and ranks, large and small, pompous and retiring--and strip from these the smaller confusing facts, strip off too, personal witcheries and deft subtleties--then we shall see that all men (and all movements) have two columns. the 'monster' henry had two. in his good column we cannot refuse to put down unflagging industry--no englishman worked harder--a genuine love of knowledge, a deep sense of the value of education, and devotion to all the arts both useful and elevating--the art of ship-building practically began with him. his courage, his sincerity, his sense of duty, his frequent generosity, his placability (with certain striking exceptions) were all beyond question. his desire for the welfare of his people, although tempered by an unduly eager desire for their good opinion, was surely an item on the good side. the good column is but fairly good; the black list is, alas, very black. henry was fitful, capricious, petulant, censorious. his fitfulness and petulance go far to explain his acts of occasional implacability. failing health and premature age explain in some degree the extreme irritability and absence of control which characterised his later years. in his best years his love of pleasure, or rather his love of change and excitement, his ostentation, and his extravagance exceeded all reasonable limits. ostentation and love of show are rarely found apart from vanity, and henry's vanity was colossal. vain men are not proud, and henry had certainly not the pride which checks the growth of many follies. a proud man is too proud to be vain or undignified or mean or deceitful, and henry was all these. pride and dignity usually run together; while, on the other hand, vanity and self-importance keep each other company as a rule. henry lacked dignity when he competed with his courtiers for the smiles of ann boleyn in her early court days; he lacked it when he searched campeggio's unsavoury carpet-bag. he seemed pleased rather than otherwise that his petty gossip should be talked of under every roof in europe. it is true that in this direction catharine descended to a still lower level of bed-room scandal; but her nature, never a high one, was deteriorated by a grievous unhappiness and by that incessant brooding which sooner or later tumbles the loftiest nature into the dust. henry's two striking failings--his two insanities--were a huge self-importance and an unquenchable thirst for notoriety and applause. i have said 'insanities' designedly, for they were not passions--they were diseases. the popular "modern voice" would probably not regard these as at all grave defects when compared with others so much worse. this voice indeed, we well know, declares him to have been the embodiment of the worst human qualities--of gross selfishness, of gross cruelty, and of gross lust. these charges are not groundless, but if we could believe them with all the fulness and the vehemence with which they are made, we must then marvel that his subjects trusted him, revered him, called (they and their children) for his good sense and his good laws; we can but marvel indeed that with one voice of execration they did not fell him lifeless to the ground. he was unguarded and within reach. if the charges against henry come near to the truth, nero was the better character of the two. nero knew not what he did; he was beyond question a lunatic and one of a family of lunatics. henry's enormities were the enormities of a fairly sane and responsible man. in order to read henry's character more correctly, if that be possible, than it is read by the "two voices," more light is needed. let us see what an examination of henry's bodily organisation, and especially of his parentage, will do for us. in this light--if it be light, and attainable light--it will be well to examine afresh (at the risk of some repetition) the grave charges which are so constantly and so confidently laid at his door and see what of vindication or modification or damning confirmation may follow. before looking specially at henry's organisation and inheritance, i purpose devoting a short chapter to a general view of the principles which can give such an examination any value. it will be for the most part a brief statement of views which i have already put forward in my little work on character as seen in body and parentage. the relation of body and parentage to character. note ii. it is unwise to turn aside from the investigation of any body of truths because it can only be partial in its methods or incomplete in its results. we do this however in the study of the science of character. it is true that past efforts have given but little result--little result because they ignored and avowedly ignored the connection which is coming to be more and more clearly seen to exist between character on the one hand and bodily organisation and proclivity, and especially the organisation and proclivity of the nervous system, on the other hand. those who ignore the bearings of organisation and inheritance on character are, for the most part, those who prefer that "truth should be on their side rather than that they should be on the side of truth." it is contended here that much serviceable knowledge may be obtained by the careful investigation, in given individuals, of _bodily_ characteristics, and the union of these with _mental_ and _moral_ characteristics. the relationship of these combined features of body and mind to parentage, near and remote, and on both sides, should be traced as far back as possible. the greater the number of individuals brought under examination, the more exact and extensive will be the resulting knowledge. very partial methods of classifying character are of daily utility. we say, for example, speaking of the muscular system only, that men are strong or weak. but this simple truth or classification has various notable bearings. both the strong and the weak may be dextrous, or both may be clumsy; both may be slow, or both may be quick; but they will be dextrous or clumsy, slow or quick, in different ways and degrees. so, going higher than mere bodily organisation, we may say that some men are bold and resolute while others are timid and irresolute; some again are parsimonious and others prodigal. now these may possibly be all intelligent or all stupid, all good or all bad; but, nevertheless, boldness and timidity, parsimony and generosity, modify other phases of character in various ways. the irresolute man, for example, cannot be very wise, or the penurious man truly good. it must always be remembered in every sort of classification of bodily or of mental characteristics, that the lines of division are not sharply defined. all classes merge into each other by imperceptible degrees. one of the most, perhaps the most, fundamental and important classification of men and women is that which puts them into two divisions or two temperaments, the active, or tending to be active, on the one hand, and the reflective, or tending to be reflective, on the other. to many students of character this is not anew suggestion, but much more is contended for here. it is contended that the more active temperament is alert, practical, quick, conspicuous, and--a very notable circumstance--less impassioned; the more reflective temperament is less active, less practical, or perhaps even dreamy, secluded, and--also a very notable circumstance--more impassioned. it is not so much that men of action always desire to be seen, or that men of thought desire to be hidden; action naturally brings men to the front; contemplation as naturally hides them; when active men differ, the difference carries itself to the housetops; when thinking men differ, they fight in the closet and by quieter methods. busy men, moreover, are given to detail, and detail fills the eye and ear; men of reflection deal more with principles, and these lie beyond the range of ordinary vision. the proposition which i here put forward, based on many years of observation and study, is fundamental, and affects, more or less, a wide range of character in every individual. the proposition is that in the active temperament the intellectual faculties are disproportionately strong--the passions are feebler and lag behind; in the reflective temperament the passions are the stronger in proportion to the mental powers. character is dominated more by the intellect in one case, more by the emotions in the other. in all sane and healthful characters (and only these are considered here) the intellectual and emotional elements are both distinctly present. the most active men think; the most reflective men act. but in many men and women the intellect takes an unduly large share in the fashioning of life; these are called here the "less impassioned," the "unimpassioned," or for the sake of brevity, "the passionless." in many others the feelings or emotions play a stronger part; these are the "more impassioned" or the "passionate." character is not made of of miscellaneous fragments, of thought and feeling, of volition and action. its elements are more or less homogeneous and run in uniform groups. the less impassioned, or passionless, for example, are apt to be changeable and uncertain; they are active, ready, alert; they are quick to comprehend, to decide, to act; they are usually self-confident and sometimes singularly self-important. they often seek for applause but they are sparing in their approval and in their praise of others. when the mental endowment is high, and the training and environment favourable, the unimpassioned temperament furnishes some of our finest characters. in this class are found great statesmen and great leaders. a man's _public_ position is probably determined more by intellectual power than by depth of feeling. now and then, especially when the mental gifts are slight, the less pleasing elements predominate: love of change may become mere fitfulness; activity may become bustle; sparing approval may turn to habitual detraction and actual censoriousness. love of approbation may degenerate into a mania for notoriety at any cost; self-importance may bring about a reckless disregard of the well-being of others. fortunately the outward seeming of the passionless temperament is often worse than the reality, and querulous speech is often combined with generous action. frequently, too, where there is ineradicable caprice there is no neglect of duty. the elements of character which, in various ways and degrees, cluster together in the more impassioned or passionate temperament are very different in their nature. in this temperament we find repose or even gentleness, quiet reflection, tenacity of purpose. the feelings--love, or hate, or joy, or grief, or anger, or jealousy--are more or less deep and enduring. in this class also there are fine characters, especially (as in the unimpassioned) when the mental gifts are high and the training refined. in this class too are found perhaps the worst characters which degrade the human race. in all save the rarest characters, the customary tranquillity may be broken by sullen cloud or actual storm. in the less capable and less elevated, devotion may become fanaticism, and tenacity may become blind prejudice, or sheer obstinacy. in this temperament too, in its lower grades, we meet too often--not all together perhaps, certainly not all in equal degree--with indolence, sensuality, inconstancy; or morbid brooding, implacability, and even cruelty. i contend then that certain features of character, it may be in very varying degrees of intensity, belong to the more active and passionless temperament, and certain other features attend on the more reflective and impassioned temperament. if it can be shown that there are two marked groups of elements in character--the more impassioned group and the less impassioned group--and that each group may be inferred to exist if but one or two of its characteristic elements are clearly seen, why even then much would be gained in the interpretation of history and of daily life. but i contend for much more than this; the two temperaments have each their characteristic bodily signs; the more marked the temperament, the more striking and the more easily read are the bodily signs. in the intermediate temperament--a frequent and perhaps the happiest temperament--the bodily signs are also intermediate. the bodily characteristics run in groups also, as well as the mental. the nervous system of each temperament is enclosed in its own special organisation and framework. in my work on "character as seen in body and parentage," i treat this topic with some fulness, and what is stated there need not be repeated now. it may be noted, however, that in the two temperaments there are peculiarities of the skin--clearness or pigmentation; of the hair--feebleness or sparseness, or closeness and vigour of growth; of the configuration of the skeleton and consequent pose of the figure. if the conclusions here put forward are true, they give a key which opens up much character to us. they touch, as i have already said, a great range of character in every individual, but they make no pretension to be a system. they have only an indirect bearing on many phases of character; for in both the active and reflective temperaments there may be found, for example, either wisdom or folly, courage or cowardice, refinement or coarseness. it must always be remembered, too, that besides the more marked types of character, whether bodily or mental, there are numberless intervening gradations. when the temperaments, moreover, are distinctly marked, the ordinary concurrent elements may exist in very unequal degrees and be combined in very various ways. one or two qualities may perhaps absorb the sum-total of nerve force. in the passionless man or woman extreme activity may repress the tendency to disapprove; immense self-importance may impede action. in the impassioned individual, inordinate love or hate may enfeeble thought; deep and persistent thought may dwarf the affections. as i have said elsewhere: 'for the ordinary purposes of life, especially of domestic and social life, the intervening types of character (combining thought and action more equally, though probably each in somewhat less degree) produce perhaps the most useful and the happiest results. but the progress of the world at large is mainly due to the combined efforts of the more extreme types--the supremely reflective and impassioned and the supremely active and unimpassioned. both are needed. if we had men of action only, we should march straight into chaos; if we had men of thought only, we should drift into night and sleep!' henry's family proclivities. note iii. if there is any truth in the views put forward in the foregoing chapter, and if history has at all faithfully portrayed a character concerning which it has had, at any rate, much to say, it is clear that henry must be placed in the less impassioned class of human beings. when i first called attention to the three sorts of character--and the three groups of characteristics--the active, practical, and more or less passionless on the one hand; the less active, reflective, and impassioned on the other; and, thirdly, the intermediate class, neither henry nor his period was in my mind. but when, at a later time (and for purposes other than the special study of character), i came to review the reformation with its ideas, its men, its incidents, i saw at once, to my surprise, that henry's life was a busy, active, conspicuous, passionless life. he might have sat for the portrait i had previously drawn. markedly unimpassioned men tend to be fitful, petulant, censorious, self-important, self-willed, and eager for popularity--so tended henry. the unimpassioned are frequently sincere, conscientious, pious, and conservative--henry was all these. they often have, especially when capable and favourably encompassed, a high sense of duty and a strong desire to promote the well-being of those around them--these qualities were conspicuous in henry's character. how much of inherited organisation, how much of circumstance, how much of self-effort go to the making of character is a problem the solution of which is yet seemingly far off. mirabeau, with fine perception, declared that a boy's education should begin, twenty years before he is born, with his mother. unquestionably before a man is born the plan of his character is drawn, its foundations are laid, and its building is foreshadowed. can he, later, close a door here or open a window there? can he enlarge this chamber or contract that? he believes he can, and is the happier in the belief; but in actual life we do not find that it is given to one man to say, i will be active, i will be on the spot, i will direct here and rebuke there; nor to another man to say, i will give myself up to thought, to dreams, to seclusion. henry never said, with unconscious impulse or with conscious words, "i will be this, or i will not be that." henry viii. took altogether after his mother's side, and she, again, took after her father. henry was, in fact, his grandfather edward iv. over again. he had, however, a larger capacity than his mother's father, and he lived in a better epoch. edward, it was said in his time, was the handsomest and most accomplished man in europe. henry was spoken of in similar words by his compeers both at home and abroad. both were large in frame, striking in contour, rose-pink in complexion--then, as now, the popular ideal of manly perfection--and both became exceedingly corpulent in their later years. both were active, courteous, affable, accessible; both busy, conspicuous, vain, fond of pleasure, and given to display. both were unquestionably brave; but they were also (both of them) fickle, capricious, suspicious, and more or less cruel. both put self in the foremost place; but edward's selfishness drifted rather to self-indulgence, while henry's took the form of self-importance. extreme self-importance is usually based on high capacity, and edward's capacity did not lift him out of the region of pomposity and frequent indiscretion. edward iv. was nevertheless an able man although less able than henry. like henry he belonged to the unimpassioned class; he was without either deeply good or deeply evil passion, but probably he had somewhat stronger emotions than his grandson. in other words henry had more of intellect and less of passion than his grandfather. edward's early and secret marriage was no proof of passion. early marriages are not the monopoly of any temperament; sometimes they are the product of the mere caprice, or the self-will and the feeble restraint of the passionless, and sometimes the product of the raw and immature judgment of the passionate. edward deserves our pity, for he had everything against him; he had no models, no ideals, no education, no training. the occupation of princes at that time brought good neither to themselves nor anyone else. they went up and down the country to slay and be slain; to take down from high places the severed heads of one worthless dynasty and put up the heads of another dynasty equally worthless. the eighth henry derived nothing from his father--the seventh,--nothing of good, nothing of evil. one of the most curious errors of a purely literary judgment on men and families is seen in the use of the epithet "tudor." we hear for example of the "tudor" blood shewing itself in one, of the "tudor" spirit flashing out in another. whether henry vii. was a tudor or not we may not now stop to inquire. henry viii. we have seen took wholly after his yorkist mother. of henry's children, mary was a repetition of her dark dwarfish spanish mother; the poor lad edward, whether a seymour or a yorkist, was certainly not a tudor. the big comely pink elizabeth was her father in petticoats--her father in body, her father in mind. henry viii. in fact while tudor in name was lancastrian in dynasty, and yorkist in blood. no two kings, no two men indeed could well have been more unlike, bodily, mentally, and morally, than the two henrys--father and son. the eighth was communicative, confiding, open, frank; the seventh was silent, reserved, mysterious. the son was active, busy, practical, conspicuous; the father, although not indolent, and not unpractical, was nevertheless quiet, dreamy, reflective, self-restrained, and unobtrusive. one was prodigal, martial, popular; the other was prudent, peaceful, steadfast, and unpopular. he is said indeed to have been parsimonious, but the least sympathetic of his historians confess that he was generous in his rewards for service, that his charities were numerous, and that his state ceremonies were marked by fitting splendour. henry viii. changed (or destroyed) his ministers, his bishops, his wives, and his measures also, many times. henry vii. kept his wife--perverse and mischievous as she was,--till she died; kept his ministers and bishops till they died; kept his policy and his peace till he died himself. henry vii. is noteworthy mainly for being but little noticed. the scribe of whatever time sees around him only that which is conspicuous and exceptional and often for the most part foolish, and therefore the documents of this henry's reign are but few in number. the occupants of high places who are careful and prudent are rarely popular. his unpopularity was moreover helped on in various ways. dynastic policy thrust upon him a wife of the busy unimpassioned temperament--a woman in whom deficient emotion and sympathy and affection were not compensated by any high qualities; a woman who was restless, mischievous, vain, intriguing, and fond of influence. elizabeth of york had all the bad qualities of her father and her son and had very few of their good ones. a king henry in feminine disguise without his virtues was not likely to love or be loved. domestic sourness is probably a not infrequent cause of taciturnity and mystery and seclusion in the characters of both men and women. it was well that henry was neither angry nor morose. it says much for him moreover that while he was the object of ceaseless intrigue and hostility and rancour he yet never gave way to cynicism or revenge or cruelty. with a tolerably happy marriage, an assenting and a helpful nobility, and an unassailed throne, it is difficult to put a limit to the good which henry vii. might have done and which it lay in him to do. as it was he smoothed the way for enterprise and discovery, for the printing press and the new learning. he was the first of english monarchs who befriended education--using the word in its modern sense. it is curious that the acutest changes in our history--the death of a decrepit mediævalism, the birth of the young giant modernism--happened in our so-called sleepiest reign. surely the "quiet" father had a smaller share of popular applause than he deserved, and as surely the "dashing" son a much larger share. but in all periods, old and new, popularity should give us pause: yesterday, for example, inquisitors were knelt to, hailed with acclamation and pelted with flowers, and heretics were spat upon, hissed at, and burnt, but to-day's flowers are for the heretics and the execrations are for the inquisitors. thus then in all characteristics--intellectual, moral and bodily--henry viii. must be placed in the unimpassioned class. it may be noted too in passing that all the portraits of henry show us a feeble growth of hair on the face and signs of a convex back--convex vertically and convex transversely. we do not see the back it is true, but we see both the head and the shoulders carried forwards and the chin held down towards the chest--held indeed so far downward that the neck seems greatly shortened. it is interesting to observe the pose of the head and neck and shoulders in the portraits of noted personages. the forward head and shoulders, the downward chin (the products of a certain spinal configuration) are seen in undoubtedly different characters but characters which nevertheless have much in common: they are seen in all the portraits of napoleon i. and, although not quite so markedly, in those of our own general gordon. napoleon and gordon were unlike in many ways, and the gigantic self-importance and self-seeking of napoleon were absent in the simpler and finer character. in other ways they were much alike. both were brave active busy men; but both were fitful, petulant, censorius, difficult to please, and--which is very characteristic--both although changeable were nevertheless self-willed and self-confident. both were devoid of the deeper passions. the wives question. note iv. it is affirmed that no one save a monster of lust would marry six wives--a monster of lust being of course a man of over-mastering passion. it might be asked, in passing, seeing that six wives is the sign of a perfect "monster" if three wives make a semi-monster? pompey had five wives, was he five-sixths of a monster. to be serious however in this wife question, it will probably never be possible to say with exactness how much in henry's conduct was due to religious scruples; how much to the urgent importunity (state-born importunity) of advisers and subjects; how much to the then existing confusion of the marriage laws; how much to misfortune and coincidence; how much to folly and caprice; how much to colossal self-importance, and how much to "unbounded license." history broadly hints that great delusions, like great revolutions, may overcome--especially if the overcoming be not too sudden--both peoples and persons without their special wonder. in such delusions and such revolutions the actors and the victims are alike often unconscious actors and unconscious victims. neither henry nor his people dreamt that the great marriage question of the sixteenth century would excite the ridicule of all succeeding centuries. luther did not imagine that his efforts would help to divide religious europe into two permanently hostile camps. robespierre did not suspect that his name would live as an enduring synonym for blood. but to marry six wives, solely on licentious grounds, is a proceeding so striking and so uncomplicated that no delusion could possibly come over the performer and certainly not over a watchful people. yet something akin to delusion there certainly was; its causes however were several and complex, and lust was the least potent of them. the statement may seem strange, but there was little of desire in henry's composition. a monster he possibly was of some sort of folly; but strange as it may seem he was a monster of folly precisely because he was the opposite of a monster of passion. unhappily unbounded lust is now and then a feature of the impassioned temperament. it is never seen however in the less impassioned, and henry was one of the less impassioned. the want of dignity is itself a striking feature in the character of passionless and active men, and want of dignity was the one conspicuous defect in henry's conduct in his marriage affairs. perhaps too, dignity--personal or national--is, like quietness and like kindliness, among the later growths of civilisation. no incident or series of incidents illustrative of character in any of its phases, no matter how striking the incidents, or how strong the character or phase of character, have ever happened once only. if libertinism, for example, had ever shown itself in the selection and destruction of numerous wives, history would assuredly give information pertinent thereto: it gives none. nothing happens once only. even the french revolution, so frequently regarded as a unique event, was only one of several examples of the inherent and peculiar cruelty of the french celt.[ ] the massacre of bartholomew was more revolting in its numbers and in its character. the massacre of the commune, french military massacres and various massacres in french history deprive the "great" revolution of its exceptional character. but to return. there were licentious kings and princes before henry, granting he was licentious, and there have been notably licentious kings and princes since: their methods are well known and they were wholly unlike his. [ ] from historic comparison we may feel sure that no such cruelty was found in the gothic and frankish and norman blood of france. certain incidents concerning henry's marriages are of great physiological interest: a fat, bustling, restless, fitful, wilful man approaching mid-life--a man brim full of activity but deficient in feeling, waited twenty years before the idea of divorce was seriously entertained; and several more years of papal shiftiness were endured, not without petulance enough, but seemingly without storm or whirlwind. when jane seymour died, three years of single life followed. it is true the three years were not without marriage projects, but they were entirely state projects, and were in no way voluptuous overtures. the marriage with anne of cleves was a purely state marriage, and remained, so historians tell us, a merely nominal and ceremonial marriage during the time the king and the german princess occupied the same bed--a circumstance not at all indicative of "monstrous" passion. the very unfaithfulness of anne boleyn and catherine howard is not without its significance, for the proceedings of our divorce court show that as a rule (a rule it is true not without exceptions) we do not find the wives of lustful men to be unfaithful. in the case of a burns or a byron or a king david it is not the wife who is led astray; it is the wives of the henrys and the arthurs, strikingly dissimilar as they were in so many respects, who are led into temptation. no _sane_ man is the embodiment of a single passion. save in the wards of a lunatic asylum a simple monster of voluptuousness, or monster of anger, or monster of hate has no existence; and within those wards such monsters are undoubted examples of nerve ailment. it is true one (very rarely one only) passion may unduly predominate--one or more may be fostered and others may be dwarfed; but as a very general rule the deeper passions run together. one passion, if unequivocally present, denotes the existence of other passions, palpable or latent--denotes the existence, in fact, of the impassioned temperament. henry viii., startling as the statement may seem, had no single, deep, unequivocal passion--no deep love, no profound pity, no overwhelming grief, no implacable hate, no furious anger. the noisy petulance of a busy, censorious, irritable man and the fretfulness of an invalid are frequently misunderstood. on no single occasion did henry exhibit overmastering anger. historians note with evident surprise that he received the conclusion of the most insulting farce in history--the campeggio farce--with composure. when the bishop of rochester thrust himself, unbidden, into the campeggio court in order to denounce the king and the divorce, henry's only answer was a long and learned essay on the degrees of incestuous marriage which the pope might or might not permit. when his own chaplains scolded him, in coarse terms, in his own chapel, he listened, not always without peevishness, but always without anger. turning to other emotions, no hint is given of henry's grief at the loss of son after son in his earlier married years. if a husband of even ordinary affection _could_ ever have felt grief, it would surely show itself when a young wife and a young mother died in giving birth to a long-wished-for son and heir. not a syllable is said of henry's grief at jane seymour's death; and three weeks after he was intriguing for a continental, state, and purely diplomatic marriage. it is true that he paraded a sort of fussy affection for the young prince edward--carried him indeed through the state apartments in his own royal arms; but the less impassioned temperament is often more openly demonstrative than the impassioned, especially when the public ear listens and the public eye watches. those who caress in public attach as a rule but little meaning to caresses. if henry's affections were small we have seen that his self-importance was colossal; and the very defections--terrible to some natures--of anne boleyn and of catherine howard wounded his importance much more deeply than they wounded his affections. if we limit our attention for a moment to the question of deep feeling, we cannot but see how unlike henry was to the impassioned men of history. passionate king david, for example, would not have waited seven years while a commission decided upon his proposed relationship to bathsheba; and the cold henry could not have flung his soul into a fiery psalm. the impassioned burns could not have said a last farewell to the mother of his helpless babe without moistening the dust with his tears, while henry could never have understood why many strong men cannot read the second verse of "john anderson my jo" with an unbroken voice. the less characteristic features of henry's character. note v. it is well now, after considering the question of henry's parentage and organisation, to look again and a little more closely, at certain significant features in his character--his caprice, his captiousness, his love of applause, his self-will, self-confidence, and self-importance. these elements of character frequently run together in equal or unequal degrees, and they are extremely characteristic of the more markedly passionless temperament. but before doing this it is well to look, in a brief note, at some features of henry's character which are found in the less impassioned and the more impassioned temperaments alike. both temperaments, for example, may be cruel or kindly; both may tend to conservatism or to innovation; pious persons or worldly may be found in both. but the cruelty or kindliness, the conservatism or innovation, the piety or worldliness differ in the different temperaments--they differ in their motives, in their methods, in their aims. the cruelty of the unimpassioned man is, for the most part, a reckless disregard for the happiness or well-being or (in mediæval times especially) for the lives of those who stand in his way or thwart his plans or lessen his self-importance. such cruelty is more wayward resentful and transitory than deliberative or implacable or persistent. the cruelty of the impassioned man is perhaps the darkest of human passions. it is the cruelty born of hate--cruelty contrived with deliberation and watched with glee. happily it is a kind which lessens with the growth of civilisation. often it attends on the strong convictions of strong natures obeying strong commands--commands which are always strongest when they are believed to have a supernatural origin; for belief in supernaturalism is the natural enemy of mercy; it demands obedience and forbids compassion. cruelty was at its worst when supernatural beliefs were strongest; for happily natural reason has grown, and supernatural belief has dwindled. the unimpassioned and the impassioned temperaments may alike scale the highest or descend to the lowest levels of character, although probably the most hateful level of human degredation is reached by the more impassioned nature. it cannot be denied that, even for his time, henry had a certain unmistakable dash of cruelty in his composition. a grandson of edward iv., who closely resembled his grandfather, could not well be free from it. but the cruelty of henry, like that of edward, was cruelty of the passionless type. he swept aside--swept too often out of existence--those who defied his will or lessened his importance. how much of henry's cruelty was due to the resolve to put down opposition, how much was due to passing resentment and caprice, and how much, if any, to the delight of inflicting pain, not even henry's compeers could easily have said. his cruelty in keeping the solitary mary apart from her solitary mother was singularly persistent in so fickle a man; but even here weak fear and a weak policy were stronger than cruel feeling. it was henry's way of meeting persistent obstinacy. it is needless to discuss the cruelty of the executions on religious grounds during henry's reign; they were the order of the day and were sanctioned by the merciful and the unmerciful alike. but henry's treatment of high personages was a much deeper stain--deeper than the stain of his matrimonial affairs. people and parliament earnestly prayed for a royal son and heir, but no serious or popular prayer was ever offered up for the heads of fisher or more or lady salisbury. henry's cruelty had always practical ends in view. great officials who had failed, or who were done with, were officials in the way, and _their_ heads might be left to the care of those who were at once their rivals and their enemies. the execution of lady salisbury will never fail to rouse indignation as long as history is history and men are men. henry might have learned a noble lesson from his father. henry vii. put his own intriguing mother-in-law into a religious house, and the proper destination of a female yorkist intriguer--no matter how high or powerful--was a convent, not a scaffold. in the execution of elizabeth barton meanness was added to cruelty, for the wretched woman confessed her impostures and exposed the priests who contrived them for her. the cruelty which shocked europe most, and has shocked it ever since, was the execution of sir thomas more. more's approval would have greatly consoled the king, but more's approval fell far short of the king's demands. the silence of great men does _not_ give consent, and more was silent. more was, next to erasmus, the loftiest intellect then living on this planet. throughout europe men were asking what more thought of "the king's matter." more's head was the only answer. but however indignant we may be, let us not be unjust; henry, cruel as he was, was less cruel than any of his compeers--royal, imperial, or papal, or other. the cruelty of our tudor ruler has always been put under a fierce light; the greater cruelty of distant rulers we are too prone to disregard. we are too prone also to forget that the one thing new under the sun in _our_ time is greater kindliness--kindliness to life, to opinion, to pocket. if fate had put a crown on luther's head, or calvin's, or later, on knox's, their methods would have been more stringent than henry's. henry and his parliament, it is true, proposed an act of parliament "to abolish diversity of opinion in matters of religion." but luther and calvin and knox, nay even more (erasmus alone stood on a higher level), were each and all confident of their possession of the _one_ truth and of their infallibility as interpreters thereof; each and all were ready, had the power been theirs, to abolish "diversity of religious opinion." there are two kinds of religion, or at any rate two varieties of religious character--both are sincere--the religion of the active and passionless and that of the reflective and impassioned. one is a religion of inheritance, of training, of habit, of early and vivid perception; with certain surroundings it is inevitable; if shaken off it returns. george eliot acutely remarks of one of her notably passionless characters, "his first opinions remained unchanged, as they always do with those in whom perception is stronger than thought and emotion." the other is a religion (two extremes are spoken of here, but every intermediate gradation exists) a religion of thought and emotion, of investigation and introspection. it is marked by deep love of an ideal or real good, and deep hate of what may also often be called an ideal or real evil. henry's religion was of the first sort. it would be deeply interesting to know the sort of religion of the great names of henry's time. we lack however the needful light on their organisation, parentage, and circumstance. but in all the provinces of life the men who have imprinted their names on history have been for the most part active, practical, and unimpassioned men. they, in their turn, have owed much to the impassioned, thinking, and often unpractical men whose names history has not troubled itself to preserve. and now, in the light shed by organisation and inheritance, we may gain further information on the more characteristic features of henry's character--his caprice, his captiousness, his uncertainty, and his peevishness, his resolve never to be hidden or unfelt or forgotten. the more characteristic features of henry's character. note vi. henry was always doing something or undoing something. whether he was addressing parliament, admonishing and instructing subordinates, or exhorting heretics; whether he was restoring order in northern england, or (with much wisdom) introducing order into wales, or (with much folly) disorder into scotland; whether he was writing letters to irish chieftains or scottish councillors, or northern pilgrims; whether he was defending the faith or destroying religious houses; whether he was putting together six articles to the delight of catholics, or dropping them in a few weeks to the exultation of protestants; whether burning those who denied the miracle of the real presence, or hanging those who denied his headship of the church; whether he was changing a minister, a bishop, or a wife, his hands were always full. and in henry's case at least--probably in most cases--satan found much mischief for busy hands to do. the man who is never at rest is usually a fitful man. constant change, whether of ministers or of views or of plans, is in itself fitfulness. but fitfulness is something more than activity: it implies an uncertainty of thought or conduct which forbids calculation or prediction, and therefore forbids confidence; it is an inborn proclivity. happily vigorous reasoning power often accompanies it and keeps it in check. in poorly endowed intellects, whether in men or women, fitfulness and its almost constant associate petulance harass many circles and many hearths. it is recorded that when the disgraced wolsey took his departure from court, the king sent after him a hurried messenger with a valuable ring and comforting words. the incident has excited much perplexity and comment among historians. what was its meaning? what its object? probably the incident had no precise meaning; probably it was merely the involuntary deed of an irresistible constitutional tendency; possibly, too, there lurked in the motive which led to it some idea of future change and exigency. the active, practical, serviceable man sows many seeds and keeps on sowing them. time and circumstance mainly decide which seeds shall grow and which shall not. caprice is not unfrequently associated with high faculties. sometimes it would seem to be due to the gift--not a common one--of seeing many sides of a question, and of seeing these so vividly that action is thereby enfeebled or frequently changed. sometimes it is a conservative instinct which sees that a given step is too bold and must be retraced. it certainly is not selfishness: a long-pondered policy is often dashed to the ground in an instant, or a long-sought friendship is ended by a moment's insult. at root caprice is an inborn constitutional bias. henry was the first powerful personage who declared that the papal authority was divine--declaring this, indeed, with so much fervour that the good catholic more expostulated with him. but henry was also the first high personage who threw papal authority to the winds. it is on record that henry would have taken wolsey into favour again had wolsey lived. not wolsey only but all henry's ministers would have been employed and dismissed time after time could they but have contrived to keep their heads on their shoulders. henry might even have re-married his wives had they lived long enough. one circumstance only would have lessened their chances--attractive women were more numerous than experts in statecraft: for one wolsey there were a thousand fair women. habitual fitfulness, it has already been noted, is not often found apart from habitual petulance, and both these qualities were conspicuous in henry's character. there was something almost impish in the spirit which led him to don gorgeous attire--men had not then got out of barbaric finery, and women are still in its bondage--on the day of anne boleyn's bloodshed. nay more, there was undoubtedly a dash of cruelty in it, as there was in the acerbity which led him to exclaim that the pope might send a cardinal's hat to fisher, but he would take care that fisher had no head to put it on. now and then his whims were simply puerile; it was so when he signalised some triumph over a continental potentate by a dolls' battle on the thames. two galleys, one carrying the romish and the other the english decorations, met each other. after due conflict, the royalists boarded the papal galley and threw figures of the pope and sundry cardinals into the water--king and court loudly applauding. but again, let us not forget that those days were more deeply stained than ours with puerility and cruelty and spite. more, it is true, rose above the puerility of his time; erasmus rose above both its cruelty and its puerility; henry rose above neither. no charge is brought against henry with more unanimity and vehemence than that of selfishness. and the charge is not altogether a baseless one; but the selfishness which stained henry's character is not the selfishness he is accused of. when henry is said to have been a monster of selfishness it is implied that he was a monster of self-indulgence. he was not that--he was the opposite of that. he was in reality a monster of self-importance, and extreme personal importance is incompatible with gross personal indulgence. self-indulgence is the failing of the impassioned, especially when the mental gifts are poor; while self-importance is the failing of the passionless, especially when the mental gifts are rich. let there be given three factors, an unimpassioned temperament, a vigorous intellect, and circumstance favourable to public life--committee life, municipal, platform, parliamentary, or pulpit life--and self-importance is rarely wanting. this price we must sometimes pay for often quite invaluable service. when henry spoke--it is not infrequently so when the passionless and highly gifted individual speaks--the one unpardonable sin on the part of the listener was not to be convinced. a sin of a little less magnitude was to make a proposal to henry. it implied that he was unable to cope with the problems which beset him and beset his time. he could not approve of what he himself did not originate; at any rate he put the alien proposal aside for the time--in a little time he _might_ approve of it and it might then seem to be his own. the temperament which censured a matter yesterday will often applaud it to-day and put it in action to-morrow. the unimpassioned are prone to imitation, but they first condemn what they afterwards imitate. when cromwell made the grave proposal touching the headship of the church, henry hesitated--nay, was probably shocked--at first. yet, for henry's purposes at least, it was cromwell (and not cranmer with his university scheme) who had "caught the right sow by the ear." henry had a boundless belief in the importance of the king; but this did not hinder, nay it helped him to believe in the importance of the people also--it helped him indeed to seek the more diligently their welfare, seeing that the more prosperous a people is, the more important is its king. true he always put himself first and the people second. how few leaders of men or movements do otherwise. possibly william iii. would have stepped down from his throne if it had been shown that another in his place could better curb the ambition of france abroad, or better secure the mutual toleration of religious parties at home. possibly, nay probably, george washington would have retired could he have seen that the attainment of american independence was more assured in other hands. lloyd garrison would have gladly retired into private life if another more quickly than he could have given freedom to the slave. john bright would have willingly held his tongue if thereby another tongue could have spoken more powerfully for the good of his fellow-men. such men can be counted on the fingers and henry is not one of them. henry would have denied (as would all his compeers in temperament) that he put himself first. he would have said; "i desire the people's good first and above all things;" but he would have significantly added; "their good is safest in my hands." it is a moot point in history whether henry was led by his high officials or was followed by them. did he, for example, direct wolsey or did wolsey (as is the common view) in reality lead his king while appearing to follow him. to me the balance of evidence, as well as the natural proclivities of henry's character, favour the view that he thought and willed and acted for himself. do we not indeed know too well the fate of those whose thought and will ran counter to his? no man's opinion and conduct are independent of his surroundings and his time; for every man, especially every monarch, must see much through other eyes and hear much through other ears. but if other eyes and other ears are numerous enough they will also be conflicting enough, and will strengthen rather than diminish the self-confidence and self-importance of the self-confident and self-important ruler. self-importance, as a rule, is built on a foundation of solid self-confidence, and henry's confidence in himself was broad enough and deep enough to sustain any conceivable edifice. the romish church was then, and had been for a thousand years, the strongest influence in europe. it touched every event in men's bodily lives and decided also the fate of their immortal souls. henry nevertheless had no misgiving as to his fitness to be the spiritual head of the church in this country, or the spiritual head of the great globe itself, if the great globe had had one church only. when i come to speak of the reformation i shall have to remark that, had the great european religious movement reached our island in any other reign than henry's, religion would not have been exactly what it now is. of all our rulers henry was the only one who was at the same time willing enough, educated enough (he had been trained to be an archbishop), able enough, and pious enough to be at any rate the _first_ head of a great church. henry was so sagacious that he never forgot the superiority of sagacity over force. he delighted in reasoning, teaching, exhorting; and he believed that while any ruler could command, few could argue and very few could convince. it is true, alas, that when individuals or bodies were not convinced if he spoke, he became unreasonably petulant. when scotland did not accept a long string of unwise proposals he laid leith in ashes. when ireland did not yield to his wishes, he knocked a castle to atoms with cannon, and thereby so astonished ireland, be it noted, that it remained peaceful and prosperous during the remainder of his reign. perhaps the happiest moments in henry's life were those when he presided over courts of theological inquiry. to confute heresy was his chief delight; and his vanity was indulged to its utmost when the heretical lambert was tried. clothed in white silk, seated on a throne, surrounded by peers and bishops and learned doctors, he directed the momentous matters of this world and the next; he elucidated, expounded, and laid down the laws of both heaven and earth. it was a high day; one thing only marred its splendour--he, the first living defender of orthodoxy, had spoken and heterodoxy remained unconvinced. heterodoxy must clearly be left to its just punishment, for bishops, peers, and learned doctors were astonished at the display of so much eloquence, learning, and piety. the physiological student of human nature who is much interested in the question of martyrdom finds, indeed, that the martyr-burner and the martyr (of whatever temperament) have much in common. both believe themselves to possess assured and indisputable truth; both are infallible; both self-confident; both are prepared, in the interests of truth, to throw their neighbours into the fire if circumstance is favourable; both are willing to be themselves thrown into the fire if circumstance is adverse. one day they burn, the next day they are burnt. the feature in henry's character which as we have seen amounted to mania was his love of popularity; it was a mania which saved him from many evils. even unbridled self-will does little harm if it be an unbridled self-will to stand well with a progressive people. it has been a matter of surprise to those who contend that henry, seeing that he possessed--it is said usurped--a lion's power, did not use it with lion-like licence. his ingrained love of applause is the physiological explanation. let it be noted, too, that not everyone who thirsts for popularity succeeds in obtaining it, for success demands several factors: behind popular applause there must be action, behind action must be self-confidence, behind self-confidence must be large capability. henry had all these. in such a chain love of applause is the link least likely to be missing. for, indeed, what is the use of being active, capable, confident and important in a closet? the crow sings as sweetly as the nightingale if no one is listening, and importance is no better than insignificance if there is no one "there to see." we shall gain further and not uninteresting knowledge of henry's character if we look at certain side lights which history throws upon it. we turn therefore, in another note, to look for a few moments at the men, the movements, the drift, the institutions of his time, and observe how he bore himself towards them. henry and his compeers. note vii. in henry's time, and in every time, the art of judging women has been a very imperfect one. it is an imperfect art still and, as long as it takes for granted that women are radically unlike men, so long it will remain imperfect. but henry was a good judge of one sex at any rate, for he was helped by the most capable men then living, and in reality he tolerated no stupidity--except in his wives. in an era of theological change it was perhaps an unfortunate circumstance that he was better helped in his politics than in his theology. wolsey, although a cardinal and even a candidate for the papal chair, was to all intents and purposes a practical statesman. had he succeeded in becoming a pope he would nevertheless have remained a mere politician. wolsey, then, and cromwell and more were all distinctly abler men than cranmer or latimer or gardiner. but henry himself, looking at him in all that he was and in all that he did, was not unworthy of his helpers. there were then living in europe some of the most enduring names in history. more, it is true, was made of finer clay than the king; erasmus was not only the loftiest figure of his time--he is one of the loftiest of any time; but henry was also a great personality and easily held his own in the front rank of european personalities. as a ruler no potentate of his time--royal, imperial or papal--could for a moment compare with him. of all known englishmen he was the fittest to be king of england. had it been henry's fortune to have had one or two or even three wives only, our school histories would have contained a chapter entitled "how 'henry the good' steered his country safely through its greatest storm." he played many parts with striking ability. he was probably as great a statesman as wolsey or more or cromwell. he would certainly have made a better archbishop than cranmer; a better bishop than latimer or gardiner; he was a better soldier than norfolk. what then might he have been had he been a statesman only, or a diplomatist or an ecclesiastic or a soldier only? in all the parts he played, save the part of husband, his unimpassioned temperament stood him in good stead. a man's attitudes to his fellow-men and to the movements of his time are, on the whole, determined more by his intellect than by his feeling. the emotions indeed are very disturbing elements. they have, it is true, made or helped to make a few careers; but they have destroyed many more. very curiously, henry's compeers were, most of them, like himself--unimpassioned men. latimer, who was perhaps an exception, preached sermons at paul's cross brimful of a passion which henry admired but did not understand. cranmer too was a man of undoubted feeling and strong affection. it is said there is sometimes a magnetic charm between the unlike in temperament; strong friendships certainly exist between them; and it is to henry's credit that to the last he kept near to him a man so unlike himself. cranmer was a kindly, sympathetic, helpful, good soul, but not a saint. he was not one of those to whom gracian refers as becoming bad out of pure goodness. cranmer was a capable and a strong man, but he was not supremely capable or supremely strong. he was free from the worst of human evils--'cocksureness.' the acute spaniard just named says that "every blockhead is thoroughly persuaded that he is in the right;" cranmer was less of a blockhead than most of his compeers. left to his own instincts, he preferred to live and let others live. cranmer had not the loftiness (nor the hardness and inflexibility) of a more; not the genius and grace and scholarship of an erasmus; not the definite purpose and iron will of a cromwell; not the fire of a latimer; not the clear sight and grasp of a gardiner; not the sagacity and varied gifts of a henry; but for my part i would have chosen him before all his fellows (certainly his english fellows) to advise with and to confide in. of all the tables and the roofs of that time i should have preferred to sit at his table and sleep under his roof. the great luminaries who guide in revolutions are rare, and the smaller lights of smaller circumstance are not rare; but--the question is not easy to answer--which could we best spare, if we were compelled to choose, the towering lighthouse of exceptional storm or the cheery lamp of daily life? one figure of henry's times which never fails to interest us is that of sir thomas more. more was clearly one of the unimpassioned class; but his commanding intellect, his quick response to high influences, his capability of forming noble friendships, and his lofty ideals seemed to dispense with the need of deep emotions. more and henry, indeed, were much alike in many ways. both were precocious in early life; both were quick, alert, practical; both were able; both, to the outside world at least, were genial, affable, attractive; both also, alas, were fitful, censorious, difficult to please; both were self-confident--one confident enough to kill, the other confident enough to be killed. had they changed places in the greatest crisis of their lives henry would have rejected more's headship of the church and more would have sent henry to the block. in order to understand more's character correctly we must recognise the changing waves of circumstance through which he passed. there were in fact two mores, the earlier and the later. the earlier more was an unembittered and independent thinker; the seeming spirit of independence however was, in a great degree, merely the spirit of contradiction. he was a friend of education and the new learning. he advocated reform in religion; but reform, be it noted, before the reformation, reform gently and from within; reform when kings and scholars and popes themselves all asked for it. history, unhappily, tells of much reform on the lips which doggedly refused to translate itself into practice. the earlier more was all for reform in principle, but he invariably disapproved of it in detail. the later and in some degree embittered more was thrown by temperament, by the natural bias of increasing years and by the exigencies of combat, into the ecclesiastical and reactionary camp, and in that camp his conduct was stained by cruel inquisitorial methods. the deteriorating effects of conflict (which happily grow less in each successive century) on individuals as well as on parties and peoples is seen in another notable though very different character of more's century. savonarola, before his bitter fight with florentine and roman powers, was a large, clear-sighted, sane reformer; after the fight he became blind, fanatical, and insane. why may we not combine all thankfulness for the early more and the early savonarola, and all compassion for the later more and later savonarola? mary stuart, francis bacon, robert burns, napoleon buonapart, and lord byron were notable personalities; they--some of them at least--did the world service which others did not and could not do. yet how many of us are there who, if admitting to the full their greatness, do not belittle their follies? or, if freely admitting their follies, do not belittle their greatness? wolsey, holding aloof from religious strife, remained simply the scholar and the politician--a politician moreover _before_ politics became in their turn also a matter of hostile camps. being a politician only, he continued to be merciful while more drifted from politics and mercy into ecclesiasticism and cruelty. more's change was in itself evidence of a fitful and passionless temperament, of such evidence indeed there is no lack. his first public action was one of petulance and self-importance. he had been treated with continued and exceptional kindness by cardinal morton and henry vii.; but when morton, on behalf of his king, asked parliament for a subsidy, the newly-elected more, conscious of his powers, and thinking too, may we not say, much more of a people's applause than of a people's burdens, successfully urged its reduction to one half. more was by nature censorious, and never heartily approved of anything. when wolsey, on submitting a proposal to him with the usual result, told him--told him it would seem in the unvarnished language of the time--that he stood alone in his disapproval, and that he was a fool, more, with ready wit and affected humility, rejoined that he thanked god that he was the only fool on the king's council. more, we may be quite sure, was not conscious of a spirit of contradiction; he probably felt that his first duty was to suggest to everybody some improvement in everything. this spirit of antagonism nevertheless played a leading part in his changeful life. in his early years he found orthodoxy rampant and defiant, consequently he inclined to heresy; at a later period heresy became rampant and defiant, and as inevitably he returned to the older faith and views. a modern scholar and piquant censor, and--i gather from his own writings, the only knowledge i have of him--an extreme specimen of the unimpassioned temperament, mark pattison, says that he never saw anything without suggesting how it might have been better; and that every time he entered a railway carriage he worked out a better time table than the one in use. if more had lived in his own utopia he would have found fault with it, and drawn in imagination another and a better land. the later more was, as all unimpassioned and censorious temperaments are, a prophet of evil; and as much evil did happen--was sure to happen--his wisdom has come down to us somewhat greater in appearance than it was in reality. the cruelty of the tudor epoch has already been spoken of. catholics and protestants, kings, popes, cardinals, ministers, luthers, calvins, knoxes were all stained by it. henry and more, we know, were no exceptions. but more's cruelty differed from henry's in one important respect--there was nothing appertaining to self in it, except self-confidence. henry's cruelty was in the interest of himself--his person, his family, and his throne; more's cruelty, although less limited perhaps, and more dangerous, was nevertheless in the interest of religion. henry and his people and parliament. note viii. it is in his attitude to his people and his parliament that we see henry at his best. his sagacity did not show itself in any deliberate or deeply reasoned policy, certainly not, we may allow with dr. stubbs, in any great act of "constructive genius;" it showed itself in seeing clearly the difficulties of the hour and the day, and in the hourly and daily success with which they were met. henry and his father presided over the introduction of a new order of things, which new order, however, was a step only, not a cataclysm. they themselves scarcely knew the significance of the step or how worthily they presided over it. the world, indeed, knows little--history says little--of great and sudden acts of constructive genius. these gradually emerge from the growth of peoples; they do not spring from the brains of individuals royal or otherwise. if the vision of a ruler is clear and his aims good, he, more than others, may help on organic and beneficent growth. full-blown schemes and policies, even if marked by genius, are rarely helpful and not infrequently they end in hindrance or even in explosion. the stuarts had a large "scheme" touching church and king. it was a scheme of "all in all or not at all;" for them and their dynasty it ended in "not at all." french history is brimful of "great acts of constructive genius" and has none of the products of development. for celtic history is indeed a sad succession of fits, and not a process of quiet growth. how a succession of fits will end, and how growth will end, it is not difficult to foretel. the government of peoples is for the most part and in the long run that which they deserve, that which they are best fitted for, and not at all that which, it may be, they wish for and cry out for. a people ready--fairly and throughout all strata ready--for that which they demand will not long demand in vain. our fathers, under the tudor henrys and the tudor elizabeth, had the rule which was best fitted for them, which they asked for, which they deserved--a significant morsel, by the bye, of racial circumstance. it by no means follows, let it be noted, that what people and king together approved of was the ideal or the wisest. it is with policies as with all things else, the fittest, not the best, continue to hold the field. henry and elizabeth had not only clearness of sight, but flexibility of mind also, and would doubtless have ruled over puritan england with success; it lay in them to rule well over our modern england also. charles i., by organisation and proclivity, would have fared badly at the hands of a tudor parliament, and, again as a result of organisation and proclivity, henry viii. and the long parliament would have been excellent friends. hand to mouth government, if it is also capable, is probably the best government for a revolutionary time. conflicting parties are often kept quiet by mere suspense--by mingled hopes and fears. it has been well said of henry of navarre that he kept france, the home of political whirlwinds, tranquil for a time because the protestants believed him to be a protestant and the catholics believed he was about to become a catholic. the majority of historians and all the compilers of history tell us that henry's parliaments were abject and servile. the statement is politically misleading and is also improbable on the grounds of organisation and race. it is one of many illustrations of the vice of purely literary judgments on men and movements; a vice which takes no account of physiology, of race, of organisation and proclivity. for we may be well assured that the grandsons of brave men and the grandfathers of brave men are never themselves cowards. one and the same people--especially a slow, steadfast, and growing people--does not put its neck under the foot of one king to-day and cut off the head of another king to-morrow. it is not difficult to see how the misconception arose: in a time of great trial the king and the people were agreed both in politics and in religion. the people held the king's views; they admired his sagacity; they trusted in his honour. if a brother is attached to his brother and does not quarrel with him, is he therefore poor-spirited? if by rare chance a servant sees, possibly on good grounds, a hero in his master, is he therefore a poltroon? if a parliament and a king see eye to eye, is it just to label the parliament throughout history as an abject parliament? henry's epoch, moreover, was not one of marked political excitement, and therefore the hasty observer jumps to the conclusion that it was not one of political independence. in each individual, in each community, in each people there is a sum-total of nerve force. in a given amount of brain substance--one brain or many--in a given amount of brain nutriment of brain vitality, there is a given quantity of nerve power. this totality of power will show itself it may be in one way strongly or in several ways less strongly; it cannot be increased, it cannot be lessened. on purely physiological grounds it may be affirmed that bacon could not have thought and written all his own work and at the same time have also thought and written the life-work of shakspere. shakspere could not have added bacon's investigations to his own 'intuitions.' in our own time carlyle could not have written "the french revolution" and "the descent of man;" he could not have gone through the two trainings, gained the two knowledges, and lived the two lives which led to the two works. so it is with universities: when scholarship is robust, theology limps; and during the tractarian excitement, so a great scholar affirms, learning in oxford sank to a lower level. so with peoples: in a literary age religious feeling is less earnest; in a time of political excitement both religion and literature suffer. henry's era was one of abounding theological activity: luthers, calvins, and (later) knoxes came to the front, and the front could not, never can, hold many dominant and also differing spirits. in elizabeth's time marlowes and shaksperes and spensers were master spirits, and master spirits are never numerous. no doubt as civilisation goes on great men and great movements learn to move, never equally perhaps but more easily, side by side: more leaders come to the front--but is the front as brilliant? choice spirits are more numerous--but are the spirits quite as choice? another and a less partial generation must decide. "but," say the few observers and the crowd of compilers, "only a servile parliament would have given the king permission to issue proclamations having the authority of law." but the people, it cannot be too emphatically repeated, were neither creatures crawling in the mire nor red-tapists terrified at every innovation; they trusted the king, and he did not violate their trust. the proclamations, so it was stipulated, were not to tamper with existing laws; they were to meet exigencies in an epoch of exigencies, and they met them with a wisdom and a promptness which parliament could not come near. it is physiological proclivities--not red tape, not parchment clauses, not magna chartas--which keep a people free. it is rather red tape, and not the occasional snapping of red tape which enfeebles liberty. if the non-conformists, who by the bye detested romanism more than they loved religion, had not rejected the declaration of indulgence of charles ii.--a declaration which gave to romanists leave of worship as well as to non-conformists--does any sane person believe that english freedom would have been less than it now is? in our time a body of men who hate england more than they love ireland have, of set purpose, tumbled parliament into the dust: now, if a capable and firm authority were entrusted for twelve months with exceptional yet absolute control over parliamentary procedure, does any sane person suppose that the english passion for free parliaments would be lulled to sleep? rule has often to be cruel in order to be kind. alas, the multitude is made up not of cromwells, is indeed afraid of cromwells. in total ignorance of racial proclivities, it foolishly believes that a cromwellian speaker for twelve months would mean a cromwellian speaker for ever. note on henry and the reformation. note ix. it is a singular misreading of history to say that henry did much directly or indirectly to help on the reformation of the church in this country, although the part he played was not a small one. neither was the reformation itself, grave and critical as it was, so sudden and volcanic an upheaval as is generally believed. luther himself did not put forward a single new idea. no man is thinker and fighter at once; at any rate, no man thinks and fights at the same moment. luther struck his blows for already accomplished thought. curious ideas of unknown dates--for history reveals mergings only, not beginnings, not endings, and the student of men and movements might well exclaim "nothing begins and nothing ends,"--ideas of unknown dates and unknown birth-places had slowly come into existence. in teutonic europe at least, the older ideas were becoming trivial and inadequate. it was the northern europe, which from the earliest times had been dogged in its courage both bodily and mental; the europe strong in that reverence for truth which rests on courage, which is inseparable from courage, which never exists apart from courage; the europe strong in its respect for women; strong in its fearlessness of death, of darkness, of storm, of the sea-lion, the land monster, the unearthly ghost, and which was strong therefore in its fearlessness of hell-fire and priestly threats. celtic europe, especially celtic ireland, slept then and sleeps now the unbroken slumber of credulity. credulity and fear are allied. celtic ireland was palsied then, and is palsied still, by the fear of what we may now call father furniss's hell. it is surely not difficult to recall and therefore not difficult to foretell the history of so widely differing races. everywhere throughout teutonic europe, in castle and monastery, in mansion and cottage, the old-new ideas were talked over, drunk over, quarrelled over, shaken hands over, slept over. everywhere the poets--the peoples' voices then, for the printed sheet, the coffee house, the club, were yet far off,--the poets, lindsay, barbour and others in scotland; langland, skelton and others in england had, long before, pelted preachers and preaching with their bitterest gibes. those poets little knew how narrowly they escaped with their lives; they escaped because they shouted their fierce diatribes just before not just after the strife of battle. they had flashed out the signals of undying warfare, but before the signals could be interpreted the signallers had died in their beds. thought, inquiry, discussion, printing, poetry, the new learning, the older lollardry had moved on with quiet steps. a less quiet step was at hand, but this also, if less quiet, was as natural and as inevitable as the stealthiest of preceding steps. europe had gradually become covered with a network of universities, and students of every nationality were constantly passing from one to another. one common language, latin, bound university to university and thinking men to thinking men. he who spoke to one spoke to all. the time was a sort of hot-house, and the growth of man was "forced." reaction attends on action, but in the main, studious men made the universities--not universities the studious men; in like-manner good men have made religions, not religions so much good men. ideas and opinions quickly became common property; sooner or later they filtered down from the latin phrase to home-spun talk; filtered down also from the university to the town, village, and busy highway. the papacy itself had made papal rule impossible to vigorous peoples. with curiously narrow ambition popes have always preferred even limited temporal importance to unlimited spiritual sway. two popes, nay at one time three, had struggled not for the supremacy of religion but for merely personal pre-eminence. popes had fought popes, councils had fought councils, and each had called in the friendly infidel to fight the catholic enemy. the catholic sack of catholic rome had been accompanied by greater lust and more copious bloodshed than the sack of rome in olden time by northern infidels. the teachings, claims, and crimes native to rome, nay, even the imported refinements of the arts and letters and elegancies of paganism did what legions of full-blown luthers could not have done. the reformation, with its complex causes, its complex methods, its complex products, is, more than other great movements, brimful of matter for observation, thought, and inference. the french revolution was but one of a series of fierce uprisings of a race which rises and slaughters whenever it has a chance. french history teems with slaughters both in time of peace and time of war. mediæval french kings dared not arm their peasants with bows and arrows, for otherwise not a nobleman or a gentleman would have been left alive. at the close of the eighteenth century in france the oppression was heavy, the opportunity was large, and the uprising was ferocious. no other people have ever shown such a spectacle, and it is therefore idle to compare other great national movements with it. french history stands alone: no oppressor can oppress like the french oppressor; no retaliator can retaliate like the french retaliator. it is a question much less of politics than of organisation and race. but to return. mr. carlyle, in his own rousing way and on a subject which deeply interests him--luther and the reformation--mingles fine literary vigour with an indifference to physiological teaching which is by no means habitual with him. the heaven-born hero tells us what has become false and unreal, and shows us--it is his special business--how we may _go back_ to truth and reality. the humbler student believes that we are constantly journeying _towards_ truth and reality--these lie not behind but in front of us. the school of prophets tells us that the hero alights in front of us and stands apart. the student declares that we all move together; that we partly make our heroes, and partly they make us; that we have grades of heroes; that they are not at all supernatural--we touch them, see them, know them, send them to the front, keep them and dismiss them at our will, or what seems our will. carlyle affirms that modern civilisation took its rise from the great scene at worms. the truths of organisation, of body, of brain, of race, of parentage would rather say that civilisation itself was not born of but in reality gave rise to luther and the scene at worms. the reformation did not give private judgment; private judgment gave the reformation. in all revolutions there is a mixture of the essential and the accidental. during the long succession of the ordinary efforts of growing peoples there are also from time to time unusual efforts to bring to an end whatever of accident is most at variance with essential truth and reason and sanity and honour. in the reformations of a growing people, whatever the age in which they happen, whatever the religion or policy or conduct of the age, leading spirits rebel against what is most oppressive and resent what is most arrogant in that age; they reject what is most false and laugh out of court what is most ridiculous. in the sixteenth century men felt no special or inherent resentment to arrogance because it lifted its head in rome; they looked on the so-called miracle of transubstantiation with no special or peculiar incredulity; their sense of humour was not necessarily tickled by the idea that a soul leaped out of purgatory when a coin clinked in tetzel's box. those were matters of accident and circumstance; they were simply the most intolerable or incredible or preposterous items of the century. given other preceding accidents--another deity, or one appearing in another century or arising in another people; another emperor than constantine; other soldiers than constantine's--and the sixteenth-century items of oppression and falsehood would have been there, it is true, but they would have been other than they were. we are often told that great movements come quickly, and are the peculiar work of heroes. we are told, indeed, that from time to time mankind degenerates into a mass of dry fuel, and that at the fitting moment a hero descends, as a torch, and sets the mass on fire. nay, moreover, if we doubt this teaching we are dead to poetic feeling and have lost our spiritual ideals. happily, however, if phantasy dies, poetry still lives. leaders and led, teachers and taught, are all changing and always changing; but no change brings a lessened poetic susceptibility or a lessened poetic impulse. if, in future, historians and critics come to see that the organisation and bodily proclivity and parentage of men have really much to do with men, let us nevertheless be comforted--the ether men breathe will be no less ample, the air no less divine. every age is transitional--not this or that--and the ages are bound together by unbroken sequence. as with the movements so is it with the leaders: they are in touch with each other as well as in touch with their followers. all ages have some men who are bolder than others, or more reflective than others, or more courageous, or more active. at certain epochs in history there have been men who combined many high qualities, and who in several ways stood in front of their time. wyclif was not separated from his fellows by any deep gulf, neither was he, as regards time, the first in his movement, but no leader ever sprang so far in front of the led. general leaders appear first, and afterwards, when the lines of cleavage are clearer, special leaders arise. wyclif was a general leader, and therefore had many things to do. he did them all well. he was a scholar, a theologian, a writer, a preacher. it is his attitude to his age and to all ages, and to national growth, which interests us--not his particular writing, or his preaching, or his detailed views. he propounded, he defined, he lighted up, he animated, he fought. in one capacity or in two wyclif might have soared to a loftier height and have shone a grander figure. but he did what was most needed to be done then and there. the time was not ripe, and it did not lie in wyclif to make it ripe, for the reformation, but he showed the way to the reformation; he introduced its introducers and led its leaders. the special leaders appeared in due time, and they also were the product of their time. an erasmus shed more light than others on burning problems; a calvin formulated more incisively than his fellows; a luther fought more defiantly; and, a little later, a knox roused the laggards with fiercer speech. it is interesting to note that the fighters and the speakers in all movements and at all times come most quickly to the front; it is for them that the multitude shouts its loudest huzzas and the historian writes his brightest pages. but let us not forget this one lesson from history and physiology: it is not given--or but rarely given--to any one man to do all these things, to innovate, to illuminate, to formulate, to fight, to rouse; it is certainly not given to any one man to do all with equal power, and certainly not all at once. for there is a sum-total of brain-force, not in the individual only, but in the community and in the epoch. in one stream it is powerful; if it be divided in several streams each stream is weaker. it was a theological torrent at the beginning of the sixteenth century, a literary torrent at the century's close. we have (perhaps it is for our good) several streams, we have however, we all hope, a good total to divide. curiously, too, the most clear-sighted of leaders never see the end, never indeed see far into the future of their movement. the matters and forces which go to form a revolution are many and complex, reformers when striving to improve a world often end in forming a party. if the leaders are clear-sighted, the party will be continuous, large, long-lived; dim-sighted enthusiasts, even when for the moment successful, lead a discontinuous, short-lived, spasmodic crowd. sometimes a leader steps forth clear and capable, but the multitude continues to sleep. wyclif, for example, called on his generation to follow him in a new and better path. he seemed to call in vain. in the sixteenth century men were awake, stirring, resolved; but no leaders were ready. fortunately the people marched well although they had no captains to speak of. the age was heroic although it had no conspicuous heroes. although in its forms, its beliefs, its opinions, its policy, its conduct, there was much that was accidental, it was nevertheless inevitable and essential that the reformation should come. it mattered not whether this thing had been done or that; whether this particular leader led or that; whether this or that concession had been made at rome. if erasmus could not fight luther could. if rome could concede nothing, much could be torn from her. there is, indeed, much fighting and tearing in history: complacent persons, loftily indifferent to organisation, and race, and long antecedent, are astonished that men should fight, or should fight with their bodies, or that, when fighting they should actually kill each other. in all times, alas, the fittest, not the wisest, has prevailed--and the fittest, alas, has been cruel. in the seventeenth century parliament and charles stuart fought each other by roughest bodily methods, and parliament, proving victorious, killed charles. had charles conquered, and could parliament have been reduced to one neck or a dozen, we may be quite sure that the one neck or the dozen would have been severed on the block. when the thousand fermenting elements came together in the sixteenth century cauldron, no number of men, certainly no one man, certainly not henry, could do much to hinder or to help on the seething process. this of course was not henry's view. he believed himself to be--gave himself out to be--the fountain of truth. we know that he and an _admiring_ (not an _abject_) parliament proposed an act to abolish diversity of opinion on religious matters. we know too, that while he graciously permitted his subjects to read the word of god, he commanded them to adopt the opinions of the king. it was indeed cheap compulsion, for he and the vast mass of his subjects held similar opinions. nevertheless, it is true that henry, with characteristic sagacity, turned to the right spot and at the right moment when the cauldron threatened to boil over, or possibly to explode. at a critical epoch he helped to avert bloodshed; for in this island there was no war of peasants, or princes, or theologians. those who say that the great divorce question brought about or even accelerated the reformation, are those who see or wish to see the bubbles only, and cannot, or will not see the stream--its depth and strength,--on which the bubbles float. for the six-wives matter was in reality a bubble, large it is true, prismatic, many-coloured, interesting, visible throughout europe, minutely gossiped over on every hearth. if king henry, however, had had no wife at all, the reformation would have come no more slowly than it did; if he had had, like king solomon, seven hundred wives, it would have come no more quickly. henry was not himself a reformer, and but little likely to lead reformers. under a fitful and petulant exterior the king was a cold, calculating, self-remembering man. the reformers were a self-forgetting, passionate, often a frenzied party, and as a rule, firebrands do not follow icebergs. if imperious circumstance loosened henry's moorings to rome, he had no more notion of drifting towards augsburg or geneva, than, a little later, his daughter elizabeth had of drifting to edinburgh and knox. henry had no deep attachment, but he clung to the old religion, chiefly perhaps because it was old, as much as he could cling to anything; he had no deep hatreds, but, as heartily as his nature permitted, he detested the new. he would have disliked it all the more, had that been possible, could he have looked with interpretative glance backward to the seed-time of wyclif's era, or forward to the ripe harvest of the seventeenth century. could it have been made plain to henry that he was helping to put a sword into a puritan's hand and bring a king's head to the block, he would have had himself whipped at the tomb of catharine of aragon, and would have thrown his crown at the pope's feet. he assumed the headship of the english church, it is true; but even good catholics throughout europe did not then so completely as now accept the supremacy of the bishop of rome, and central ideas had not then so completely swallowed up the territorial. if henry had not taken the headship of the english church when he did, the church would probably have had no head at all, and religious teaching in this country would have fared much as it fared in switzerland and scotland and north germany. as it was, henry simply believed himself to be another pope, and london to be another rome. he, the english pope, and the pope at rome would, for the most part, work together like brothers--work for the diffusion of the _one_ truth (which all sorts and conditions of popes believe they possess), and work therefore for the good of all people. had the great european religious movement reached our island in any other reign than henry's it would not have run quite the same course it did. of all the kings who have ruled over us henry viii. was the only king who was at the same time willing enough, able enough, educated enough (he had been trained to be an archbishop), and pious enough to be, at any rate, the first head of a great church. but it is said: "look at the destruction of the religious houses; surely that was the work of heresy and greed." henry had no heresy in his nature, but he was not without greed, and as he was certainly extravagant, he had therefore the stronger incentives to exaction. but in our history the foible of a king avails but little when it clashes with the conscience, the ideal, the will of a people. henry's greed, moreover, whatever its strength, was less strong than his conservatism, less strong than his piety. stronger, too, than all these combined was his boundless love of popularity--a love which alone would have preserved the monasteries could the monasteries have been preserved by any single man. but new ideas and new religious ideals had come in, and the new religious ideals and the old religious houses could not flourish together. the existence of those houses had long been threatened. one hundred years before, parliament had more than once seriously discussed the appropriation of ecclesiastical funds to military purposes. cardinal morton, after impartial inquiry, contemplated sweeping changes. wolsey, a good catholic, had suppressed numerous houses. it is interesting to know that at one period of his life sir thomas more thought of retiring into a religious house, but after carefully studying monastic life he gave up the project. it is not necessary to sift and resift the evidence touching the morality of the monasteries. probably those institutions were not so black as their enemies, new or old, have painted them, nor so white as they appear in the eyes of their modern friends. but whether they were fragments of hades thrust up from below, or fragments of the celestial regions let down from above, or whatever else they were, their end was come. many causes were at work. they were coming into collision with the rapidly growing modern social life--a life more complex than at any time before, more complex in its roots, its growths, its products, and its needs. the newer social life had developed a passionate love of knowledge; it had formed a loftier ideal of domestic life. it pondered too over our economic problems, and disliked the ceaseless accumulation of land and wealth in ecclesiastical hands. does any one imagine that a close network of institutions, which were at any rate not models of virtue; institutions which hated knowledge and thrust it out of doors; which directly or indirectly cast a slur on the growing domestic ideal; which told the awakening descendants of scandinavian and norseman and saxon, that their women were unclean--that their mothers and daughters were "snares;" does anyone imagine that such a network could be permitted to entangle and strangle modern life? it has already been said that the newer social ideas were destined to arise, and that therefore the older religious houses were doomed to fall. it mattered little the particular year in which they fell; it mattered little who seemed to deal the final blow. many centuries before, human nature being what it was, and social conditions what they were, quiet retreats had met a want--they were fittest to live and they lived. but a succession of centuries brought change--a little in human nature, much in social conditions, very much in thought and opinion, and the retreats, the inner life and opinions of which had not kept pace with life outside, were no longer needed, no longer fittest, and they fell. henry did not destroy them. catholicism, which neither made them pure nor made them impure, was unable to preserve them. could the long buried bones of their founders have come to life again and have put on the newer flesh, thought, with newer brain, the newer thought, they would have found quite other outlets for their energy, leisure and wealth. it is so with all founders and all institutions. it is so at this moment with the institutions which were born of the reformation itself. naturalists tell us that the jelly-like mass, the amæba, embraces everything, both the useful and the useless, that comes in its way, but that in time it relaxes its embrace on the useless. so the civilisation of a growing people is like a huge amæba, which slowly enfolds men and ideas, and incidents, and systems, and then sooner or later it disenfolds the unsuitable and the worn-out. queen elizabeth and queen mary. note x. few rulers, few persons indeed, have ever been so much alike as our two rulers henry viii. and his daughter elizabeth. no man was ever so like henry as was the woman elizabeth; no woman ever resembled elizabeth so closely as did the man henry. both father and daughter were extreme examples of the intellectual and unimpassioned temperament. high capacity, acute perception, clear insight, correct inference were present in both. both, too, were capricious, fault-finding, querulous and vain. both, moreover, had their preferences and their dislikes. both, too, felt and showed resentment when their vanity was wounded. but in neither of them, it may be truly affirmed, was there any consuming passion--any fervent love, or invincible hatred, or fierce jealousy, or overwhelming anger. those who preach the doctrine of an essential difference between the sexes and who, with the injustice which so frequently accompanies the abounding self-importance of masculinity, would deprive women not only of "equality of sphere" but "equality of opportunity," may study the character of henry and elizabeth with great advantage. human beings are first of all divided (i have elsewhere contended) into certain types of character and only afterwards into men and women. many men are by nature devoted lovers and parents and friends; many women are not. elizabeth was one of a number--a large number--of women who have, it may be, many of the qualities which tell in practical and public life, and but little of the emotion which wells up in true wifehood and motherhood and friendship. henry and elizabeth stand far above the average level of rulers. in sagacity, in tact and in statesmanship only two of their successors can compare with them. but the methods of oliver cromwell and william iii. were very different from the tudor methods. cromwell and william strove to be guided by what they sincerely held to be lofty principles. henry and elizabeth were guided merely, though wisely guided, by the fineness of their instincts. fine instincts were perhaps better fitted for the earlier time, and lofty principles for the later. it is easier, alas, to bungle in formulating and in applying principles than in trusting to adroitness and intuitions. all the elements of character which henry possessed were found also in elizabeth, and many of these elements, though not all, they possessed in equal degree. they were alike in capacity, courage, sincerity, versatility, industry; alike in their conservative proclivities and also in their love of pageantry--for elizabeth, like henry, revelled in public business and in public pleasures; she delighted in progresses, shows, masks and plays. they were alike, too, in their sense of duty, in their desire for the welfare of the people, and also in their thirst for the people's good opinion. but elizabeth, although she had immense self-importance (she heartily approved of the queen and, heartily indeed, of nothing else), was perhaps less self-confident than her father. she was not quite comfortable in her headship of the church--but then she had not been educated for the church as her father had been, and she did not possess her father's devotional nature. her conduct was however more decorous than her father's, notwithstanding that she was distinctly less religious than he--less religious in principle, in inward conviction and in outward worship. if she was less devout than henry she had however a larger share of fitfulness than even he. the historian who more vividly than any other has placed the tudor time before us speaks of elizabeth's "ingrained insincerity;" the words "ingrained fitfulness" would perhaps be more correct, for she was in truth as sincere as her fitfulness permitted her to be. although it is true she was not without--no one at that time was quite without--insincerity and intrigue and duplicity and falsehood in her diplomatic methods, she was fairly sincere in her views and aims and conduct. but unfortunately her views and aims and conduct were constantly changing. she was sincere too easily and too frequently. she had a dozen fits of sincerity in a dozen hours. whenever she sent a message, no matter how carefully the message had been considered, a second was sent to recall or change it, and very shortly a third messenger would be despatched in pursuit of the second. urgent and critical circumstance alone, and frequently not even this, forced upon her any conclusive action. i am compelled to agree with those who believe that the most distressing incident of her life was the final decision touching mary stuart's death: it was distressing on several grounds--she was not naturally cruel, or, like her father, cruel to those only who stood in her path; she did not like to kill a queen; and, above all, she hated to do anything which (like marriage, to wit) could not be undone. elizabeth was compelled by temperament to be always doing something, but by temperament also she was always reluctant to get anything done. in her two bushels of occupation there were not two grains of performance. her extreme fitfulness had at least one fortunate result--it saved many lives. henry's frequent change of view and of policy was unquestionable, but the change was slow enough to give to the ever-watchful enemies of a fallen minister time enough to tear the fallen minister to pieces. but if a minister of elizabeth's fell, his head was in little danger: if he fell from favour to-day, he was restored to-morrow. he might trip twenty times, and as many times his rivals would be on the alert; but twenty pardons would be granted all in good time. touching the question of marriage the queen was far wiser than her father. neither father nor daughter had the needful qualities which go to make marriage happy, and both had certain other qualities which in many cases make it an intolerable burden. henry, unlike elizabeth, did not discover this, for his perceptive powers generally were less acute than hers. she probably knew that in her inmost heart (her brain was sufficiently acute to gain a glimpse of what was in her heart and what was not) she was a stranger to the deep and sustained affections without which marriage is so often a cruel deception. she had admirers and favourites it is true; and, after the fashion of the time, was unseemly enough in her fits of romping and her fits of pettishness. but there has not yet been anywhere, or at any time, under the sun a healthful temperament which has objected to admiration and entertainment, and probably there never will be. elizabeth's attitude to the religious condition of her people marks a decided movement, if not an onward movement: for we must never forget that a multitude of high-minded and capable souls believe that the several steps of the reformation were downward steps. but what were the steps, and what especially was elizabeth's step? the popes (and their times) had said, _in effect_, you need not read and you must not think or inquire; your duty is to obey and believe. henry (and his time) said, you may think and you may read, especially if your reading enables you to understand the king, but you must believe what the king believes and worship as the king worships. elizabeth (and her times), still more at the mercy of rising teutonic waves, exclaimed, you may think and read and inquire and believe as you like--especially as you insist upon doing so--but you really must, all of you, go to church with me on sunday mornings. elizabeth's church-going act, by the bye, is still unrepealed. long after, william iii. (and his time, though william was before his time) said, you may think, read, believe, and publicly worship as you will, but you must believe something and you must worship somewhere. john milton, before william in time and long before him in largeness of view, was the one colossal figure who fought bravely and single-handed for freedom in every domain of thought and speech and conduct. the tudor time, more than any other in our history, lends itself to the study of character; a study which, although difficult, is the less difficult in that whatever of change may take place, old elements of character do not altogether disappear and entirely new elements do not make their appearance. these elements lie everywhere around us. a great writer and an acute observer of men declares indeed that we all contain the elements of a luther and a borgia (his ideal of the best and worst elements), and that if a man cannot see these near at hand he will not find them though he travel from dan to beersheba. the tudor and the stuart periods alike present remarkable persons and remarkable incidents; but in the earlier period the men and women were more striking than the events, while events attract our attention more than individuals in the later. with the tudors men and women seemed to lead, for men and women were proportionately the stronger; circumstance seemed to be the stronger in the stuart times. no century contains three royal figures so striking in themselves and so clearly revealed to us as are the figures of henry and elizabeth and mary in the sixteenth. their capability, their vitality and their attainments would have made them striking persons in any position of life. each, indeed, possessed the three qualities which make a really interesting personality--and such personalities are but a small proportion of the neutral-tinted multitude who are good and kind and industrious--and nothing more. they, the three personalities, could all see facts for themselves; they could all see the relative value of facts (the rarest of the three qualities); and they could all draw sound inferences from the larger facts. the three individuals presented however but two types of character. henry and elizabeth were examples of one type and mary of another. the tudor father and daughter were, as we have already seen, not examples merely but _extreme_ examples of the unimpassioned, ever active, ever visible class. mary was as extreme an example of the impassioned, meditative, persistent and tenacious class. it was a remarkable coincidence that pitted two such mental and bodily extremes against each other. all sane human beings have much more of that which is common to the character of the race than they have of that which is peculiar to the individual. there was not only this common basis of human nature in elizabeth and mary, there was something more: both were singularly capable, brilliant, witty and brave (mary being the braver and her bravery being the more tried). the two queens had certain unusual advantages in common, for both were educated to the highest ideal of female education--very curiously a higher ideal then than at any other time before, or even since, until our own generation; both, too, had much experience of life--the larger and the less elevating share falling to mary's lot. but here the resemblance ceases. what in elizabeth tudor were slight though shrill rivulets of love and hate and anger and scorn and jealousy, or of pity or gratitude, were mighty and rushing torrents in mary stuart. we have seen what elizabeth was: in many ways mary was the exact opposite, for she was not at all given to bustle or change or acrimony or captiousness or suspicion. she was not, it is true, without vanity; she had ample grounds for having it and she was deeply human, but (it was not so with elizabeth) her pride was even greater than her vanity. the elements which met together in mary were all of a finer quality than those which were found in elizabeth; but in mary some troublous elements were added to the choicer ones. in her high land there were ominous volcanic peaks, while in the decorous plain of elizabeth's character there was a monotonous blending of vegetation and sand. in some of our greatest characters (the truism is well-worn) there have been grave defects. burns' life never comes to any generous mind save with the deepest regret as well as the keenest admiration. bacon's was a great mind with a great fault. shakspere and goethe--the two foremost spirits which time has yet given to us--are not held to have led altogether stainless lives. now the queen of scots was not by any means one of the immortals, but she was nevertheless and in truth a great woman. yet in the splendid block out of which the ever-pathetic figure of mary was chiselled there came to light an ineradicable flaw. the good and evil of all these characters were mainly, though not wholly (for circumstance must not be forgotten), due to organisation and inheritance. a little difference in their organisation, and they would have been other individuals than they were, and would most likely have remained unknown to us; but having the parentage they had, and being what they were, a little difference in circumstance would probably have mattered little. what there was in each of organisation, what of circumstance, and what of volition, is a problem the solution of which is still far off. in all of them volition, whatever that may be, did its best; organisation, let us say, did its worst; circumstance looked on, helping here and hindering there,--the compromise is history. as the six-wives business clings to henry's name, so does the darnley matter, though curiously with less odium, cling to that of mary. henry has had no friends save those who lived in or near his time. in our time an inquirer, here or there, strives perhaps to gain for him something of impartial judgment. mary has never been without warm friends, and her friends seem to grow in number and in warmth. the controversy still rages touching mary's part in the tragic event which inflicted so deep a wound into her life. but although the controversy goes on at even fever heat, the public judgment remains cool and is probably just. it is kept cool and just by the weight of a few colossal truths which the deftest manipulation of a cloud of smaller truths cannot hide. at critical moments the physiological historian, who looks steadily at a few large incidents in the light of human nature, discovers clues which escape the vision of the purely literary historian, who is for ever diving--and usefully diving--into the wells of parchment detail. in reality it matters little whether this diver or that has dived most deeply; matters little whether certain documents are spurious or genuine. mary stuart accepted--she certainly did not reject--the passion of a certain man; that man was a leader among a number of men who murdered her husband; after the murder mary stuart married that particular man, and thereby most assuredly held a candle to murder. this was mary. now if everything that has been said in her favour could be proved, she would be but little better than this; if everything that has been said against her could be proved, she would be but little worse. the student of historic characters never forgets the time the country and the circumstance in which his characters lived. we are now looking at a time when not only noble and ignoble characters existed side by side, but when noble and less noble elements existed together in one and the same character. for indeed the good elements of a better time come in slowly, and the evil elements of a bad past die a lingering death. the active scotland (there was, we know, a good quiet scotland in the background), the active scotland of tudor times was given over to factions, fanatics, self-seekers and assassins. life was taken and given with scant ceremony. the highest personages of that time contrived murder, or sanctioned it, or forgave it--the popes did, continental sovereigns did, henry did, elizabeth did. the murders thus contrived or sanctioned or condoned were, it is true, mainly on behalf of thrones or dominions or religions, while the murder which mary assuredly forgave, if she did not sanction, was on behalf of her passions. the moral difference between murder for a crown and murder for a love we may not now discuss. it was to this scotland, the active and factious scotland just described, that the young queen of nineteen years was brought--brought from a different atmosphere and with an unpropitious training. the more favoured elizabeth meanwhile was ruling over a quieter, a more united people, and was helped at her council-table by high-minded and unselfish men. it is useless now perhaps to ask if we may be allowed to admire the gifts, to deplore the faults, and to pity the fate of the more unfortunate queen. we can indeed, individually, do what we please, but the queen's posterity with no uncertain voice has declared that we may. emerson says that the great soul of the world is just, and the great soul has kept mary within the territory of its favour. it would seem that the affection and devotion which were given to mary were not based on any single great or on any group of great actions; they were based (it is to her credit) on daily acts of kindliness and patience and unruffled grace. the sum of mary's qualities, whatever they were, endowed her with the rare gift of making the world her friend; and the world does not, as a rule, make lasting friendships on insufficient grounds. mary indeed, with all her faults, deserved a better country than scotland; and england, it may be added, deserved a more gracious queen than elizabeth. but whatever she deserved or whatever she was fitted for, mary's fate was destined to be one of the saddest of recorded time. inward force and outer circumstance are so commingled that mortal reason fails to disentangle them. to-day men _seem_ to put a curb on circumstance, and to-morrow circumstance _seems_ to run away with men. an ocean of complex and imperious circumstance surged around two queens, one it lifted up and kept afloat and carried into a secure haven, the other it tossed mercilessly to and fro and finally drew her underneath its waves. a number of leading scottish nobles gave out and probably believed that the wretched darnley's life was incompatible with the general good. bothwell was but one of this number. yet how clear it has ever been to all eyes, save to those of the blindly passionate actors themselves, that the scottish queen's fatal error, even if there were no grave error before, was in marrying any one of the misguided band. but misguidance was in the ascendant. could she by some magic web have concealed the husbands from each other and have married them all, she would at any rate have fared no worse than she did. but, to be serious, if a queen marries one of half a dozen ambitious assassins, the other five will assuredly make her life intolerable and her rule impossible. in no aspect of character did the two queens differ more than in their attitude to religion. elizabeth's piety, like her father's, though less deep than his, was of a similar passionless, perceptive, unreflective order. mary's religion, like elizabeth's, like that of all individuals in all parts of the world, was no doubt at first the product of her early surroundings; but with the scottish queen it was much more than this--it was a profoundly passionate conviction and a deeply revered ideal. a living writer, who is perhaps unrivalled in the historic art and who rarely errs in his historic judgments, is less happy than is his wont in his verdict on the catholic queen. he avers that she had no share "in the deeper and nobler emotions;" yet almost in the same breath he states that she had "a purpose fixed as the stars to trample down the reformation." to have a purpose "fixed as the stars" to trample down _one_ religion was, in that age of the world, surely to have a purpose "fixed as the stars" to strengthen and protect _another_; to yearn to put down the reformation was surely to yearn to bring in catholicism--catholic teaching and catholic rites and catholic rule. we may not be catholics, but we are not entitled to say that from an impassioned catholic woman's point of view this was not a high ideal; it had been the ideal of the judicial mind, sir thomas more, as well as the ideal of the enthusiast, ignatius loyola; it had been for a thousand years the ideal of a multitude of noble natures both men and women. elizabeth, opportunely enough, had no ideals of any kind; ideals indeed are often inconvenient in a ruler; but she had, despite her acrimonious speech, plenty of sincerely good wishes and good intentions for all the world. if the queen of england had no ideals she had many devices, and one was to check the flow of all sorts of zeal, especially protestant zeal. in the two lives religion told in different ways--the difference was in the two natures, be it noted, not in the two religions. elizabeth, with a skin-deep religion only, was evenly and enduringly virtuous. mary had ardent and deep convictions, but her career was not one of unbroken virtue. elizabeth was certainly unfortunate in her religious attitudes. she did not like the protestants for she was not a good protestant; the catholics did not like her for she was not a good catholic. in religion, indeed as in all things, she was greatly influenced by her inborn spirit of "contrariness." if the catholics had intrigued less persistently against her throne and her life, and if (the idea is sufficiently ludicrous) the queen of scotland had chanced to run in harness with the hated john knox (hated of both queens), she would gladly have given the rein to her catholic impulses. the two queens differed as much in body as in mind. i have elsewhere sought to show not only that certain leading features of character tend to run together (in itself a distinct contribution to our knowledge), but also that these allied features are associated with a group of bodily peculiarities, a contribution, if it really is a contribution, of greatly additional interest. elizabeth, large and pink-skinned like her father, was by no means without impressiveness and even stateliness. she carried her head a little forward and her chin a little downward, both these positions being due to a slightly curved upper spine. her hair was scanty and her eyebrows were practically absent. all these bodily items, as well as her mental items, she inherited from her father. mary had a wholly different figure and a different presence; her head was upright, her spine straight; in her back there was no convexity either vertically or transversely. her eyebrows were abundant and her head of hair was long and massive. all these peculiarities, too, we may be quite sure, she derived from her parentage (not necessarily the nearest parents) on one side or the other. in my little work on body and parentage in character i urge--it is well to say here--that the bodily signs of certain classes of character (two more marked and one intervening) are now and then subject to the modifying influences of ailment and accident, and especially when these happen in early life. in elizabeth and mary, however, no such influences disturbed the development of two strongly-marked examples, both in body and in character, of two large classes of women and, with but little alteration, of two large classes of men also. [for index see full table of contents.] hall & english, printers, no. , high street, birmingham. makers of history mary queen of scots by jacob abbott with engravings new york and london harper & brothers publishers entered, according to act of congress, in the year , by harper & brothers, in the clerk's office of the southern district of new york. copyright, , by jacob abbott. [illustration: dumbarton castle, on the clyde.] [illustration: mary queen of scots.] preface. the history of the life of every individual who has, for any reason, attracted extensively the attention of mankind, has been written in a great variety of ways by a multitude of authors, and persons sometimes wonder why we should have so many different accounts of the same thing. the reason is, that each one of these accounts is intended for a different set of readers, who read with ideas and purposes widely dissimilar from each other. among the twenty millions of people in the united states, there are perhaps two millions, between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five, who wish to become acquainted, in general, with the leading events in the history of the old world, and of ancient times, but who, coming upon the stage in this land and at this period, have ideas and conceptions so widely different from those of other nations and of other times, that a mere republication of existing accounts is not what they require. the story must be told expressly for them. the things that are to be explained, the points that are to be brought out, the comparative degree of prominence to be given to the various particulars, will all be different, on account of the difference in the situation, the ideas, and the objects of these new readers, compared with those of the various other classes of readers which former authors have had in view. it is for this reason, and with this view, that the present series of historical narratives is presented to the public. the author, having had some opportunity to become acquainted with the position, the ideas, and the intellectual wants of those whom he addresses, presents the result of his labors to them, with the hope that it may be found successful in accomplishing its design. contents. chapter page i. mary's childhood ii. her education in france iii. the great wedding iv. misfortunes v. return to scotland vi. mary and lord darnley vii. rizzio viii. bothwell ix. the fall of bothwell x. loch leven castle xi. the long captivity xii. the end engravings. page dumbarton castle, on the clyde _frontispiece._ map of the central part of scotland. plan of the palace of linlithgow view of the palace of linlithgow portrait of queen elizabeth mary's embarkation at calais view of the palace of holyrood house view of wemys castle plan of holyrood house prince james's cradle view of edinburgh plan of the house at the kirk o' field view of dunbar castle plan of loch leven castle view of loch leven castle ruins of loch leven castle view of fotheringay mary's tomb in westminster abbey [illustration: central parts of scotland.] mary queen of scots chapter i. mary's childhood. - palace where mary was born.--its situation.--ruins.--the room.--visitors.--mary's father in the wars.--his death.--regency.--catholic religion.--the protestants.--england and france.--the earl of arran.--the regency.--arran regent.--new plan.--end of the war.--king henry viii.--janet sinclair.--king henry's demands.--objections to them.--plans for mary.--linlithgow.--plan of the palace.--fountain.--the lion's den.--explanation of the engraving.--the coronation.--stirling castle.--its situation.--rocky hill.--the coronation scene.--linlithgow and stirling.--the highlands and the highlanders.--religious disturbances.--lake menteith.--mary's companions.--the four maries.--angry disputes.--change of plan.--henry's anger.--henry's sickness and death.--war renewed.--danger in edinburgh.--aid from france.--new plan.--going to france.--dumbarton castle.--rock of dumbarton.--journey to dumbarton.--the four maries.--departure from scotland. travelers who go into scotland take a great interest in visiting, among other places, a certain room in the ruins of an old palace, where queen mary was born. queen mary was very beautiful, but she was very unfortunate and unhappy. every body takes a strong interest in her story, and this interest attaches, in some degree, to the room where her sad and sorrowful life was begun. the palace is near a little village called linlithgow. the village has but one long street, which consists of ancient stone houses. north of it is a little lake, or rather pond: they call it, in scotland, a _loch_. the palace is between the village and the loch; it is upon a beautiful swell of land which projects out into the water. there is a very small island in the middle of the loch and the shores are bordered with fertile fields. the palace, when entire, was square, with an open space or court in the center. there was a beautiful stone fountain in the center of this court, and an arched gateway through which horsemen and carriages could ride in. the doors of entrance into the palace were on the inside of the court. the palace is now in ruins. a troop of soldiers came to it one day in time of war, after mary and her mother had left it, and spent the night there: they spread straw over the floors to sleep upon. in the morning, when they went away, they wantonly set the straw on fire, and left it burning, and thus the palace was destroyed. some of the lower floors were of stone; but all the upper floors and the roof were burned, and all the wood-work of the rooms, and the doors and window-frames. since then the palace has never been repaired, but remains a melancholy pile of ruins. the room where mary was born had a stone floor. the rubbish which has fallen from above has covered it with a sort of soil, and grass and weeds grow up all over it. it is a very melancholy sight to see. the visitors who go into the room walk mournfully about, trying to imagine how queen mary looked, as an infant in her mother's arms, and reflecting on the recklessness of the soldiers in wantonly destroying so beautiful a palace. then they go to the window, or, rather, to the crumbling opening in the wall where the window once was, and look out upon the loch, now so deserted and lonely; over their heads it is all open to the sky. mary's father was king of scotland. at the time that mary was born, he was away from home engaged in war with the king of england, who had invaded scotland. in the battles mary's father was defeated, and he thought that the generals and nobles who commanded his army allowed the english to conquer them on purpose to betray him. this thought overwhelmed him with vexation and anguish. he pined away under the acuteness of his sufferings, and just after the news came to him that his daughter mary was born, he died. thus mary became an orphan, and her troubles commenced, at the very beginning of her days. she never saw her father, and her father never saw her. her mother was a french lady; her name was mary of guise. her own name was mary stuart, but she is commonly called mary queen of scots. as mary was her father's only child, of course, when he died, she became queen of scotland, although she was only a few days old. it is customary, in such a case, to appoint some distinguished person to govern the kingdom, in the name of the young queen, until she grows up: such a person is called a _regent_. mary's mother wished to be the regent until mary became of age. it happened that in those days, as now, the government and people of france were of the catholic religion. england, on the other hand, was protestant. there is a great difference between the catholic and the protestant systems. the catholic church, though it extends nearly all over the world, is banded together, as the reader is aware, under one man--the pope--who is the great head of the church, and who lives in state at rome. the catholics have, in all countries, many large and splendid churches, which are ornamented with paintings and images of the virgin mary and of christ. they perform great ceremonies in these churches, the priests being dressed in magnificent costumes, and walking in processions, with censers of incense burning as they go. the protestants, on the other hand, do not like these ceremonies; they regard such outward acts of worship as mere useless parade, and the images as idols. they themselves have smaller and plainer churches, and call the people together in them to hear sermons, and to offer up simple prayers. in the time of mary, england was protestant and france was catholic, while scotland was divided, though most of the people were protestants. the two parties were very much excited against each other, and often persecuted each other with extreme cruelty. sometimes the protestants would break into the catholic churches, and tear down and destroy the paintings and the images, and the other symbols of worship, all which the catholics regarded with extreme veneration; this exasperated the catholics, and when they became powerful in their turn, they would seize the protestants and imprison them, and sometimes burn them to death, by tying them to a stake and piling fagots of wood about them, and then setting the heap on fire. queen mary's mother was a catholic, and for that reason the people of scotland were not willing that she should be regent. there were one or two other persons, moreover, who claimed the office. one was a certain nobleman called the earl of arran. he was a protestant. the earl of arran was the next heir to the crown, so that if mary had died in her infancy, he would have been king. he thought that this was a reason why _he_ should be regent, and govern the kingdom until mary became old enough to govern it herself. many other persons, however, considered this rather a reason why he should not be regent; for they thought he would be naturally interested in wishing that mary should not live, since if she died he would himself become king, and that therefore he would not be a safe protector for her. however, as the earl of arran was a protestant, and as mary's mother was a catholic, and as the protestant interest was the strongest, it was at length decided that arran should be the regent, and govern the country until mary should be of age. it is a curious circumstance that mary's birth put an end to the war between england and scotland, and that in a very singular way. the king of england had been fighting against mary's father, james, for a long time, in order to conquer the country and annex it to england; and now that james was dead, and mary had become queen, with arran for the regent, it devolved on arran to carry on the war. but the king of england and his government, now that the young queen was born, conceived of a new plan. the king had a little son, named edward, about four years old, who, of course, would become king of england in his place when he should himself die. now he thought it would be best for him to conclude a peace with scotland, and agree with the scottish government that, as soon as mary was old enough, she should become edward's wife, and the two kingdoms be united in that way. the name of this king of england was henry the eighth. he was a very headstrong and determined man. this, his plan, might have been a very good one; it was certainly much better than an attempt to get possession of scotland by fighting for it; but he was very far from being as moderate and just as he should have been in the execution of his design. the first thing was to ascertain whether mary was a strong and healthy child; for if he should make a treaty of peace, and give up all his plans of conquest, and then if mary, after living feebly a few years, should die, all his plans would fail. to satisfy him on this point, they actually had some of the infant's clothes removed in the presence of his embassador, in order that the embassador might see that her form was perfect, and her limbs vigorous and strong. the nurse did this with great pride and pleasure, mary's mother standing by. the nurse's name was janet sinclair. the embassador wrote back to henry, the king of england, that little mary was "as goodly a child as he ever saw." so king henry viii. was confirmed in his design of having her for the wife of his son. king henry viii. accordingly changed all his plans. he made a peace with the earl of arran. he dismissed the prisoners that he had taken, and sent them home kindly. if he had been contented with kind and gentle measures like these, he might have succeeded in them, although there was, of course, a strong party in scotland opposed to them. mary's mother was opposed to them, for she was a catholic and a french lady, and she wished to have her daughter become a catholic as she grew up, and marry a french prince. all the catholics in scotland took her side. still henry's plans might have been accomplished, perhaps, if he had been moderate and conciliating in the efforts which he made to carry them into effect. but henry viii. was headstrong and obstinate. he demanded that mary, since she was to be his son's wife, should be given up to him to be taken into england, and educated there, under the care of persons whom he should appoint. he also demanded that the parliament of scotland should let him have a large share in the government of scotland, because he was going to be the father-in-law of the young queen. the parliament would not agree to either of these plans; they were entirely unwilling to allow their little queen to be carried off to another country, and put under the charge of so rough and rude a man. then they were unwilling, too, to give him any share of the government during mary's minority. both these measures were entirely inadmissible; they would, if adopted, have put both the infant queen of scotland and the kingdom itself completely in the power of one who had always been their greatest enemy. henry, finding that he could not induce the scotch government to accede to these plans, gave them up at last, and made a treaty of marriage between his son and mary, with the agreement that she might remain in scotland until she was ten years old, and that _then_ she should come to england and be under his care. all this time, while these grand negotiations were pending between two mighty nations about her marriage, little mary was unconscious of it all, sometimes reposing quietly in janet sinclair's arms, sometimes looking out of the windows of the castle of linlithgow to see the swans swim upon the lake, and sometimes, perhaps, creeping about upon the palace floor, where the earls and barons who came to visit her mother, clad in armor of steel, looked upon her with pride and pleasure. the palace where she lived was beautifully situated, as has been before remarked, on the borders of a lake. it was arranged somewhat in the following manner: [illustration: plan of the palace of linlithgow. _a._ room where mary was born. _b._ entrance through great gates. _c._ bow-window projecting toward the water. _d._ den where they kept a lion. _t.t._ trees.] there was a beautiful fountain in the center of the court-yard, where water spouted out from the mouths of carved images, and fell into marble basins below. the ruins of this fountain and of the images remain there still. the den at _d_ was a round pit, like a well, which you could look down into from above: it was about ten feet deep. they used to keep lions in such dens near the palaces and castles in those days. a lion in a den was a sort of plaything in former times, as a parrot or a pet lamb is now: this was in keeping with the fierce and warlike spirit of the age. if they had a lion there in mary's time, janet often, doubtless, took her little charge out to see it, and let her throw down food to it from above. the den is there now. you approach it upon the top of a broad embankment, which is as high as the depth of the den, so that the bottom of the den is level with the surface of the ground, which makes it always dry. there is a hole, too, at the bottom, through the wall, where they used to put the lion in. the foregoing plan of the buildings and grounds of linlithgow is drawn as maps and plans usually are, the upper part toward the north. of course the room _a_, where mary was born, is on the western side. the adjoining engraving represents a view of the palace on this western side. the church is seen at the right; and the lawn, where janet used to take mary out to breathe the air, is in the fore-ground. the shore of the lake is very near, and winds beautifully around the margin of the promontory on which the palace stands. of course the lion's den, and the ancient avenue of approach to the palace, are round upon the other side, and out of sight in this view. the approach to the palace, at the present day, is on the southern side, between the church and the trees on the right of the picture. [illustration: palace of linlithgow--queen mary's birth-place.] mary remained here at linlithgow for a year or two; but when she was about nine months old, they concluded to have the great ceremony of the coronation performed, as she was by that time old enough to bear the journey to stirling castle, where the scottish kings and queens were generally crowned. the coronation of a queen is an event which always excites a very deep and universal interest among all persons in the realm; and there is a peculiar interest felt when, as was the case in this instance, the queen to be crowned is an infant just old enough to bear the journey. there was a very great interest felt in mary's coronation. the different courts and monarchs of europe sent embassadors to be present at the ceremony, and to pay their respects to the infant queen; and stirling became, for the time being, the center of universal attraction. stirling is in the very heart of scotland. it is a castle, built upon a rock, or, rather, upon a rocky hill, which rises like an island out of the midst of a vast region of beautiful and fertile country, rich and verdant beyond description. beyond the confines of this region of beauty, dark mountains rise on all sides; and wherever you are, whether riding along the roads in the plain, or climbing the declivities of the mountains, you see stirling castle, from every point, capping its rocky hill, the center and ornament of the broad expanse of beauty which surrounds it. stirling castle is north of linlithgow, and is distant about fifteen or twenty miles from it. the road to it lies not far from the shores of the frith of forth, a broad and beautiful sheet of water. the castle, as has been before remarked, was on the summit of a rocky hill. there are precipitous crags on three sides of the hill, and a gradual approach by a long ascent on the fourth side. at the top of this ascent you enter the great gates of the castle, crossing a broad and deep ditch by means of a draw-bridge. you enter then a series of paved courts, with towers and walls around them, and finally come to the more interior edifices, where the private apartments are situated, and where the little queen was crowned. it was an occasion of great pomp and ceremony, though mary, of course, was unconscious of the meaning of it all. she was surrounded by barons and earls, by embassadors and princes from foreign courts, and by the principal lords and ladies of the scottish nobility, all dressed in magnificent costumes. they held little mary up, and a cardinal, that is, a great dignitary of the roman catholic church, placed the crown upon her head. half pleased with the glittering show, and half frightened at the strange faces which she saw every where around her, she gazed unconsciously upon the scene, while her mother, who could better understand its import, was elated with pride and joy. linlithgow and stirling are in the open and cultivated part of scotland. all the northern and western part of the country consists of vast masses of mountains, with dark and somber glens among them, which are occupied solely by shepherds and herdsmen with their flocks and herds. this mountainous region was called the highlands, and the inhabitants of it were the highlanders. they were a wild and warlike class of men, and their country was seldom visited by either friend or foe. at the present time there are beautiful roads all through the highlands, and stage-coaches and private carriages roll over them every summer, to take tourists to see and admire the picturesque and beautiful scenery; but in the days of mary the whole region was gloomy and desolate, and almost inaccessible. mary remained in linlithgow and stirling for about two years, and then, as the country was becoming more and more disturbed by the struggles of the great contending parties--those who were in favor of the catholic religion and alliance with france on the one hand, and of those in favor of the protestant religion and alliance with england on the other hand--they concluded to send her into the highlands for safety. it was not far into the country of the highlands that they concluded to send her, but only into the _borders_ of it. there was a small lake on the southern margin of the wild and mountainous country, called the lake of menteith. in this lake was an island named inchmahome, the word _inch_ being the name for island in the language spoken by the highlanders. this island, which was situated in a very secluded and solitary region, was selected as mary's place of residence. she was about four years old when they sent her to this place. several persons went with her to take care of her, and to teach her. in fact, every thing was provided for her which could secure her improvement and happiness. her mother did not forget that she would need playmates, and so she selected four little girls of about the same age with the little queen herself, and invited them to accompany her. they were daughters of the noblemen and high officers about the court. it is very singular that these girls were all named mary. their names in full were as follows: mary beaton, mary fleming, mary livingstone, mary seaton. these, with mary stuart, which was queen mary's name, made five girls of four or five years of age, all named mary. mary lived two years in this solitary island. she had, however, all the comforts and conveniences of life, and enjoyed herself with her four maries very much. of course she knew nothing, and thought nothing of the schemes and plans of the great governments for having her married, when she grew up, to the young english prince, who was then a little boy of about her own age, nor of the angry disputes in scotland to which this subject gave rise. it did give rise to very serious disputes. mary's mother did not like the plan at all. as she was herself a french lady and a catholic, she did not wish to have her daughter marry a prince who was of the english royal family, and a protestant. all the catholics in scotland took her side. at length the earl of arran, who was the regent, changed to that side; and finally the government, being thus brought over, gave notice to king henry viii. that the plan must be given up, as they had concluded, on the whole, that mary should not marry his son. king henry was very much incensed. he declared that mary _should_ marry his son, and he raised an army and sent it into scotland to make war upon the scotch again, and compel them to consent to the execution of the plan. he was at this time beginning to be sick, but his sickness, instead of softening his temper, only made him the more ferocious and cruel. he turned against his best friends. he grew worse, and was evidently about to die; but he was so irritable and angry that for a long time no one dared to tell him of his approaching dissolution, and he lay restless, and wretched, and agitated with political animosities upon his dying bed. at length some one ventured to tell him that his end was near. when he found that he must die, he resigned himself to his fate. he sent for an archbishop to come and see him, but he was speechless when the prelate came, and soon afterward expired. the english government, however, after his death, adhered to his plan of compelling the scotch to make mary the wife of his son. they sent an army into scotland. a great battle was fought, and the scotch were defeated. the battle was fought at a place not far from edinburgh, and near the sea. it was so near the sea that the english fired upon the scotch army from their ships, and thus assisted their troops upon the shore. the armies had remained several days near each other before coming to battle, and during all this time the city of edinburgh was in a state of great anxiety and suspense, as they expected that their city would be attacked by the english if they should conquer in the battle. the english army did, in fact, advance toward edinburgh after the battle was over, and would have got possession of it had it not been for the castle. there is a very strong castle in the very heart of edinburgh, upon the summit of a rocky hill.[a] [footnote a: see the view of edinburgh, page .] these attempts of the english to force the scotch government to consent to mary's marriage only made them the more determined to prevent it. a great many who were not opposed to it before, became opposed to it now when they saw foreign armies in the country destroying the towns and murdering the people. they said they had no great objection to the match, but that they did not like the mode of wooing. they sent to france to ask the french king to send over an army to aid them, and promised him that if he would do so they would agree that mary should marry _his_ son. his son's name was francis. the french king was very much pleased with this plan. he sent an army of six thousand men into scotland to assist the scotch against their english enemies. it was arranged, also, as little mary was now hardly safe among all these commotions, even in her retreat in the island of inchmahome, to send her to france to be educated there, and to live there until she was old enough to be married. the same ships which brought the army from france to scotland, were to carry mary and her retinue from scotland to france. the four maries went with her. they bade their lonely island farewell, and traveled south till they came to a strong castle on a high, rocky hill, on the banks of the river clyde. the name of this fortress is dumbarton castle. almost all the castles of those times were built upon precipitous hills, to increase the difficulties of the enemies in approaching them. the rock of dumbarton is a very remarkable one. it stands close to the bank of the river. there are a great many ships and steam-boats continually passing up and down the clyde, to and from the great city of glasgow, and all the passengers on board gaze with great interest, as they sail by, on the rock of dumbarton, with the castle walls on the sides, and the towers and battlements crowning the summit. in mary's time there was comparatively very little shipping on the river, but the french fleet was there, waiting opposite the castle to receive mary and the numerous persons who were to go in her train.[b] [footnote b: travelers who visit scotland from this country at the present day, usually land first, at the close of the voyage across the atlantic, at liverpool, and there take a glasgow steamer. glasgow, which is the great commercial city of scotland, is on the river clyde. this river flows northward to the sea. the steamer, in ascending the river, makes its way with difficulty along the narrow channel, which, besides being narrow and tortuous, is obstructed by boats, ships, steamers, and every other variety of water-craft, such as are always going to and fro in the neighborhood of any great commercial emporium. the tourists, who stand upon the deck gazing at this exciting scene of life and motion, have their attention strongly attracted, about half way up the river, by this castle of dumbarton, which crowns a rocky hill, rising abruptly from the water's edge, on the north side of the stream. it attracts sometimes the more attention from american travelers, on account of its being the first ancient castle they see. this it likely to be the case if they proceed to scotland immediately on landing at liverpool.] mary was escorted from the island where she had been living, across the country to dumbarton castle, with a strong retinue. she was now between five and six years of age. she was, of course, too young to know any thing about the contentions and wars which had distracted her country on her account, or to feel much interest in the subject of her approaching departure from her native land. she enjoyed the novelty of the scenes through which she passed on her journey. she was pleased with the dresses and the arms of the soldiers who accompanied her, and with the ships which were floating in the river, beneath the walls of the castle of dumbarton, when she arrived there. she was pleased, too, to think that, wherever she was to go, her four maries were to go with her. she bade her mother farewell, embarked on board the ship which was to receive her, and sailed away from her native land, not to return to it again for many years. chapter ii. her education in france. - departure.--stormy voyage.--journey to paris.--release of prisoners.--barabbas.--st. germain.--celebrations.--the convent.--character of the nuns.--interest in mary.--leaving the convent.--amusements.--visit of mary's mother.--queen dowager.--rouen.--a happy meeting.--rejoicings.--a last farewell.--visit to a mourner.--the queen dowager's return.--the regency.--a page of honor.--sir james melville.--mary's character.--her diligence.--devices and mottoes.--festivities.--water parties.--hunting.--an accident.--restraint.--queen catharine.--her character.--embroidery.--mary's admiration of queen catharine.--the latter suspicious.--unguarded remark.--catharine's mortification.--the dauphin.--origin of the title.--character of francis.--mary's beauty.--torch-light procession.--an angel.--mary a catholic.--her conscientiousness and fidelity. the departure of mary from scotland, little as she was, was a great event both for scotland and for france. in those days kings and queens were even of greater relative importance than they are now, and all scotland was interested in the young queen's going away from them, and all france in expecting her arrival. she sailed down the clyde, and then passed along the seas and channels which lie between england and ireland. these seas, though they look small upon the map, are really spacious and wide, and are often greatly agitated by winds and storms. this was the case at the time mary made her voyage. the days and nights were tempestuous and wild, and the ships had difficulty in keeping in each other's company. there was danger of being blown upon the coasts, or upon the rocks or islands which lie in the way. mary was too young to give much heed to these dangers, but the lords and commissioners, and the great ladies who went to attend her, were heartily glad when the voyage was over. it ended safely at last, after several days of tossing upon the stormy billows, by their arrival upon the northern coast of france. they landed at a town called brest. the king of france had made great preparations for receiving the young queen immediately upon her landing. carriages and horses had been provided to convey herself and the company of her attendants, by easy journeys, to paris. they received her with great pomp and ceremony at every town which she passed through. one mark of respect which they showed her was very singular. the king ordered that every prison which she passed in her route should be thrown open, and the prisoners set free. this fact is a striking illustration of the different ideas which prevailed in those days, compared with those which are entertained now, in respect to crime and punishment. crime is now considered as an offense against the _community_, and it would be considered no favor to the community, but the reverse, to let imprisoned criminals go free. in those days, on the other hand, crimes were considered rather as injuries committed _by_ the community, and against the king; so that, if the monarch wished to show the community a favor, he would do it by releasing such of them as had been imprisoned by his officers for their crimes. it was just so in the time of our savior, when the jews had a custom of having some criminal released to them once a year, at the passover, by the roman government, as an act of _favor_. that is, the government was accustomed to furnish, by way of contributing its share toward the general festivities of the occasion, the setting of a robber and a murderer at liberty! the king of france has several palaces in the neighborhood of paris. mary was taken to one of them, named st. germain. this palace, which still stands, is about twelve miles from paris, toward the northwest. it is a very magnificent residence, and has been for many centuries a favorite resort of the french kings. many of them were born in it. there are extensive parks and gardens connected with it, and a great artificial forest, in which the trees were all planted and cultivated like the trees of an orchard. mary was received at this palace with great pomp and parade; and many spectacles and festivities were arranged to amuse her and the four maries who accompanied her, and to impress her strongly with an idea of the wealth, and power, and splendor of the great country to which she had come. she remained here but a short time, and then it was arranged for her to go to a _convent_ to be educated. convents were in those days, as in fact they are now, quite famous as places of education. they were situated sometimes in large towns, and sometimes in secluded places in the country; but, whether in town or country, the inmates of them were shut up very strictly from all intercourse with the world. they were under the care of nuns who had devoted themselves for life to the service. these nuns were some of them unhappy persons, who were weary of the sorrows and sufferings of the world, and who were glad to retire from it to such a retreat as they fancied the convent would be. others became nuns from conscientious principles of duty, thinking that they should commend themselves to the favor of god by devoting their lives to works of benevolence and to the exercises of religion. of course there were all varieties of character among the nuns; some of them were selfish and disagreeable, others were benevolent and kind. at the convent where mary was sent there were some nuns of very excellent and amiable character, and they took a great interest in mary, both because she was a queen, and because she was beautiful, and of a kind and affectionate disposition. mary became very strongly attached to these nuns, and began to entertain the idea of becoming a nun herself, and spending her life with them in the convent. it seemed pleasant to her to live there in such a peaceful seclusion, in company with those who loved her, and whom she herself loved, but the king of france, and the scottish nobles who had come with her from scotland, would, of course, be opposed to any such plan. they intended her to be married to the young prince, and to become one of the great ladies of the court, and to lead a life of magnificence and splendor. they became alarmed, therefore, when they found that she was imbibing a taste for the life of seclusion and solitude which is led by a nun. they decided to take her immediately away. mary bade farewell to the convent and its inmates with much regret and many tears; but, notwithstanding her reluctance, she was obliged to submit. if she had not been a queen, she might, perhaps, have had her own way. as it was, however, she was obliged to leave the convent and the nuns whom she loved, and to go back to the palaces of the king, in which she afterward continued to live, sometimes in one and sometimes in another, for many years. wherever she went, she was surrounded with scenes of great gayety and splendor. they wished to obliterate from her mind all recollections of the convent, and all love of solitude and seclusion. they did not neglect her studies, but they filled up the intervals of study with all possible schemes of enjoyment and pleasure, to amuse and occupy her mind and the minds of her companions. her companions were her own four maries, and the two daughters of the french king. when mary was about seven years of age, that is, after she had been two years in france, her mother formed a plan to come from scotland to see her. her mother had remained behind when mary left scotland, as she had an important part to perform in public affairs, and in the administration of the government of scotland while mary was away. she wanted, however, to come and see her. france, too, was her own native land, and all her relations and friends resided there. she wished to see them as well as mary, and to revisit once more the palaces and cities where her own early life had been spent. in speaking of mary's mother we shall call her sometimes the queen dowager. the expression _queen dowager_ is the one usually applied to the widow of a king, as _queen consort_ is used to denote the _wife_ of a king. this visit of the queen dowager of scotland to her little daughter in france was an event of great consequence, and all the arrangements for carrying it into effect were conducted with great pomp and ceremony. a large company attended her, with many of the scottish lords and ladies among them. the king of france, too, went from paris toward the french coast, to meet the party of visitors, taking little mary and a large company of attendants with him. they went to rouen, a large city not far from the coast, where they awaited the arrival of mary's mother, and where they received her with great ceremonies of parade and rejoicing. the queen regent was very much delighted to see her little daughter again. she had grown two years older, and had improved greatly in every respect, and tears of joy came into her mother's eyes as she clasped her in her arms. the two parties journeyed in company to paris and entered the city with great rejoicings. the two queens, mother and daughter, were the objects of universal interest and attention. feasts and celebrations without end were arranged for them, and every possible means of amusement and rejoicing were contrived in the palaces of paris, of st. germain's, and of fontainebleau. mary's mother remained in france about a year. she then bade mary farewell, leaving her at fontainebleau. this proved to be a final farewell, for she never saw her again. after taking leave of her daughter, the queen dowager went, before leaving france, to see her own mother, who was a widow, and who was living at a considerable distance from paris in seclusion, and in a state of austere and melancholy grief, on account of the loss of her husband. instead of forgetting her sorrows, as she ought to have done, and returning calmly and peacefully to the duties and enjoyments of life, she had given herself up to inconsolable grief, and was doing all she could to perpetuate the mournful influence of her sorrows. she lived in an ancient and gloomy mansion, of vast size, and she had hung all the apartments in black, to make it still more desolate and gloomy, and to continue the influence of grief upon her mind. here the queen dowager found her, spending her time in prayers and austerities of every kind, making herself and all her family perfectly miserable. many persons, at the present day, act, under such circumstances, on the same principle and with the same spirit, though they do not do it perhaps in precisely the same way. one would suppose that mary's mother would have preferred to remain in france with her daughter and her mother and all her family friends, instead of going back to scotland, where she was, as it were, a foreigner and a stranger. the reason why she desired to go back was that she wished to be made _queen regent_, and thus have the government of scotland in her own hands. she would rather be queen regent in scotland than a simple queen _mother_ in france. while she was in france, she urged the king to use all his influence to have arran resign his regency into her hands, and finally obtained writings from him and from queen mary to this effect. she then left france and went to scotland, going through england on the way. the young king of england, to whom mary had been engaged by the government when she was an infant in janet sinclair's arms, renewed his proposals to the queen dowager to let her daughter become his wife; but she told him that it was all settled that she was to be married to the french prince, and that it was now too late to change the plan. there was a young gentleman, about nineteen or twenty years of age, who came from scotland also, not far from this time, to wait upon mary as her page of honor. a page is an attendant above the rank of an ordinary servant, whose business it is to wait upon his mistress, to read to her, sometimes to convey her letters and notes, and to carry her commands to the other attendants who are beneath him in rank and whose business it is actually to perform the services which the lady requires. a page _of honor_ is a young gentleman who sustains this office in a nominal and temporary manner for a princess or a queen. the name of mary's page of honor, who came to her now from scotland, was sir james melville. the only reason for mentioning him thus particularly, rather than the many other officers and attendants by whom mary was surrounded was, that the service which he thus commenced was continued in various ways through the whole period of mary's life. we shall often hear of him in the subsequent parts of this narrative. he followed mary to scotland when she returned to that country, and became afterward her secretary, and also her embassador on many occasions. he was now quite young, and when he landed at brest he traveled slowly to paris in the care of two scotchmen, to whose charge he had been intrusted. he was a young man of uncommon talents and of great accomplishments, and it was a mark of high distinction for him to be appointed page of honor to the queen, although he was about nineteen years of age and she was but seven. after the queen regent's return to scotland, mary went on improving in every respect more and more. she was diligent, industrious, and tractable. she took a great interest in her studies. she was not only beautiful in person, and amiable and affectionate in heart, but she possessed a very intelligent and active mind, and she entered with a sort of quiet but earnest enthusiasm into all the studies to which her attention was called. she paid a great deal of attention to music, to poetry, and to drawing. she used to invent little devices for seals, with french and latin mottoes, and, after drawing them again and again with great care, until she was satisfied with the design, she would give them to the gem-engravers to be cut upon stone seals, so that she could seal her letters with them. these mottoes and devices can not well be represented in english, as the force and beauty of them depended generally upon a double meaning in some word of french or latin, which can not be preserved in the translation. we shall, however, give one of these seals, which she made just before she left france, to return to scotland, when we come to that period of her history. the king of france, and the lords and ladies who came with mary from scotland, contrived a great many festivals and celebrations in the parks, and forests, and palaces, to amuse the queen and the four maries who were with her. the daughters of the french king joined, also, in these pleasures. they would have little balls, and parties, and pic-nics, sometimes in the open air, sometimes in the little summer-houses built upon the grounds attached to the palaces. the scenes of these festivities were in many cases made unusually joyous and gay by bon-fires and illuminations. they had water parties on the little lakes, and hunting parties through the parks and forests. mary was a very graceful and beautiful rider, and full of courage. sometimes she met with accidents which were attended with some danger. once, while hunting the stag, and riding at full speed with a great company of ladies and gentlemen behind her and before her, her dress got caught by the bough of a tree, and she was pulled to the ground. the horse went on. several other riders drove by her without seeing her, as she had too much composure and fortitude to attract their attention by outcries and lamentations. they saw her, however, at last, and came to her assistance. they brought back her horse, and, smoothing down her hair, which had fallen into confusion, she mounted again, and rode on after the stag as before. notwithstanding all these means of enjoyment and diversion, mary was subjected to a great deal of restraint. the rules of etiquette are very precise and very strictly enforced in royal households, and they were still more strict in those days than they are now. the king was very ceremonious in all his arrangements, and was surrounded by a multitude of officers who performed every thing by rule. as mary grew older, she was subjected to greater and greater restraint. she used to spend a considerable portion of every day in the apartments of queen catharine, the wife of the king of france and the mother of the little francis to whom she was to be married. mary and queen catharine did not, however, like each other very well. catharine was a woman of strong mind and of an imperious disposition; and it is supposed by some that she was jealous of mary because she was more beautiful and accomplished and more generally beloved than her own daughters, the princesses of france. at any rate, she treated mary in rather a stern and haughty manner, and it was thought that she would finally oppose her marriage to francis her son. and yet mary was at first very much pleased with queen catharine, and was accustomed to look up to her with great admiration, and to feel for her a very sincere regard. she often went into the queen's apartments, where they sat together and talked, or worked upon their embroidery, which was a famous amusement for ladies of exalted rank in those days. mary herself at one time worked a large piece, which she sent as a present to the nuns in the convent where she had resided; and afterward, in scotland, she worked a great many things, some of which still remain, and may be seen in her ancient rooms in the palace of holyrood house. she learned this art by working with queen catharine in her apartments. when she first became acquainted with catharine on these occasions, she used to love her society. she admired her talents and her conversational powers, and she liked very much to be in her room. she listened to all she said, watched her movements, and endeavored in all things to follow her example. catharine, however, thought that this was all a pretense, and that mary did not really like her, but only wished to make her believe that she did so in order to get favor, or to accomplish some other selfish end. one day she asked her why she seemed to prefer her society to that of her youthful and more suitable companions. mary replied, in substance, "the reason was, that though with them she might enjoy much, she could learn nothing; while she always learned from queen catharine's conversation something which would be of use to her as a guide in future life." one would have thought that this answer would have pleased the queen, but it did not. she did not believe that it was sincere. on one occasion mary seriously offended the queen by a remark which she made, and which was, at least, incautious. kings and queens, and, in fact, all great people in europe, pride themselves very much upon the antiquity of the line from which they have descended. now the family of queen catharine had risen to rank and distinction within a moderate period; and though she was, as queen of france, on the very pinnacle of human greatness, she would naturally be vexed at any remark which would remind her of the recentness of her elevation. now mary at one time said, in conversation in the presence of queen catharine, that she herself was the descendant of a hundred kings. this was perhaps true, but it brought her into direct comparison with catharine in a point in which the latter was greatly her inferior, and it vexed and mortified catharine very much to have such a thing said to her by such a child. mary associated thus during all this time, not only with the queen and the princesses, but also with the little prince whom she was destined to marry. his name was francis, but he was commonly called the _dauphin_, which was the name by which the oldest son of the king of france was then, and has been since designated. the origin of this custom was this. about a hundred years before the time of which we are speaking, a certain nobleman of high rank, who possessed estates in an ancient province of france called dauphiny, lost his son and heir. he was overwhelmed with affliction at the loss, and finally bequeathed all his estates to the king and his successors, on condition that the oldest son should bear the title of dauphin. the grant was accepted, and the oldest son was accordingly so styled from that time forward, from generation to generation. the dauphin, francis, was a weak and feeble child, but he was amiable and gentle in his manners, and mary liked him. she met him often in their walks and rides, and she danced with him at the balls and parties given for her amusement. she knew that he was to be her husband as soon as she was old enough to be married, and he knew that she was to be his wife. it was all decided, and nothing which either of them could say or do would have any influence on the result. neither of them, however, seem to have had any desire to change the result. mary pitied francis on account of his feeble health, and liked his amiable and gentle disposition; and francis could not help loving mary, both on account of the traits of her character and her personal charms. as mary advanced in years, she grew very beautiful. in some of the great processions and ceremonies, the ladies were accustomed to walk, magnificently dressed and carrying torches in their hands. in one of these processions mary was moving along with the rest, through a crowd of spectators, and the light from her torch fell upon her features and upon her hair in such a manner as to make her appear more beautiful than usual. a woman, standing there, pressed up nearer to her to view her more closely, and, seeing how beautiful she was, asked her if she was not an _angel_. in those days, however, people believed in what is miraculous and supernatural more easily than now, so that it was not very surprising that one should think, in such a case, that an angel from heaven had come down to join in the procession. mary grew up a catholic, of course: all were catholics around her. the king and all the royal family were devoted to catholic observances. the convent, the ceremonies, the daily religious observances enjoined upon her, the splendid churches which she frequented, all tended in their influence to lead her mind away from the protestant religion which prevailed in her native land, and to make her a catholic: she remained so throughout her life. there is no doubt that she was conscientious in her attachment to the forms and to the spirit of the roman church. at any rate, she was faithful to the ties which her early education imposed upon her, and this fidelity became afterward the source of some of her heaviest calamities and woes. chapter iii the great wedding hastening the wedding.--reasons for it.--attempt to poison mary.--the guises.--catharine's jealousy.--commissioners from scotland.--preliminaries.--stipulations.--plan of henry to evade them.--marriage settlement.--secret papers.--their contents.--ceremonies.--the betrothal.--the louvre.--notre dame.--view of the interior.--amphitheater.--covered gallery.--the procession.--mary's dress.--appearance of mary.--wedding ring.--movement of the procession.--largess.--confusion.--the choir.--mass.--return of the procession.--collation.--ball.--evening's entertainments.--a tournament.--rank of the combatants.--lances.--rapid evolutions.--_tourner._--francis's feebleness.--mary's love for him.--he retires to the country.--rejoicings in scotland.--mons meg.--large ball.--celebration of mary's marriage. when mary was about fifteen years of age, the king of france began to think that it was time for her to be married. it is true that she was still very young, but there were strong reasons for having the marriage take place at the earliest possible period, for fear that something might occur to prevent its consummation at all. in fact, there were very strong parties opposed to it altogether. the whole protestant interest in scotland were opposed to it, and were continually contriving plans to defeat it. they thought that if mary married a french prince, who was, of course, a catholic, she would become wedded to the catholic interest hopelessly and forever. this made them feel a most bitter and determined opposition to the plan. in fact, so bitter and relentless were the animosities that grew out of this question, that an attempt was actually made to poison mary. the man who committed this crime was an archer in the king's guard: he was a scotch man, and his name was stewart. his attempt was discovered in time to prevent the accomplishment of his purpose. he was tried and condemned. they made every effort to induce him to explain the reason which led him to such an act, or, if he was employed by others, to reveal their names; but he would reveal nothing. he was executed for his crime, leaving mankind to conjecture that his motive, or that of the persons who instigated him to the deed, was a desperate determination to save scotland, at all hazards, from falling under the influence of papal power. mary's mother, the queen dowager of scotland, was of a celebrated french family, called the family of guise. she is often, herself, called in history, mary of guise. there were other great families in france who were very jealous of the guises, and envious of their influence and power. they opposed queen mary's marriage to the dauphin, and were ready to do all in their power to thwart and defeat it. queen catharine, too, who seemed to feel a greater and greater degree of envy and jealousy against mary as she saw her increasing in grace, beauty, and influence with her advancing years, was supposed to be averse to the marriage. mary was, in some sense, her rival, and she could not bear to have her become the wife of her son. king henry, finding all these opposing influences at work, thought that the safest plan would be to have the marriage carried into effect at the earliest possible period. when, therefore, mary was about fifteen years of age, which was in , he sent to scotland, asking the government there to appoint some commissioners to come to france to assent to the marriage contracts, and to witness the ceremonies of the betrothment and the wedding. the marriage contracts, in the case of the union of a queen of one country with a prince of another, are documents of very high importance. it is considered necessary not only to make very formal provision for the personal welfare and comfort of the wife during her married life, and during her widowhood in case of the death of her husband, but also to settle beforehand the questions of succession which might arise out of the marriage, and to define precisely the rights and powers both of the husband and the wife, in the two countries to which they respectively belong. the parliament of scotland appointed a number of commissioners, of the highest rank and station, to proceed to france, and to act there as the representatives of scotland in every thing which pertained to the marriage. they charged them to guard well the rights and powers of mary, to see that these rights and all the interests of scotland were well protected in the marriage contracts, and to secure proper provision for the personal comfort and happiness of the queen. the number of these commissioners was eight. their departure from scotland was an event of great public importance. they were accompanied by a large number of attendants and followers, who were eager to be present in paris at the marriage festivities. the whole company arrived safely at paris, and were received with every possible mark of distinction and honor. the marriage contracts were drawn up, and executed with great formality. king henry made no objection to any of the stipulations and provisions which the commissioners required, for he had a secret plan for evading them all. very ample provision was made for mary herself. she was to have a very large income. in case the dauphin died while he was dauphin, leaving mary a widow, she was still to have a large income paid to her by the french government as long as she lived, whether she remained in france or went back to scotland. if her husband outlived his father, so as to become king of france, and then died, leaving mary his widow, her income for the rest of her life was to be double what it would have been if he had died while dauphin. francis was, in the mean time, to share with her the government of scotland. if they had a son, he was to be, after their deaths, king of france and of scotland too. thus the two crowns would have been united. if, on the other hand, they had only daughters, the oldest one was to be queen of scotland only, as the laws of france did not allow a female to inherit the throne. in case they had no children, the crown of scotland was not to come into the french family at all, but to descend regularly to the next scotch heir. henry was not satisfied with this entirely, for he wanted to secure the union of the scotch and french crowns at all events, whether mary had children or not; and he persuaded mary to sign some papers with him privately, which he thought would secure his purposes, charging her not to let the commissioners know that she had signed them. he thought it possible that he should never have occasion to produce them. one of these papers conveyed the crown of scotland to the king of france absolutely and forever, in case mary should die without children. another provided that the scotch government should repay him for the enormous sums he had expended upon mary during her residence in france, for her education, her attendants, the celebrations and galas which he had provided for her, and all the splendid journeys, processions, and parades. his motive in all this expense had been to unite the crown of scotland to that of france, and he wished to provide that if any thing should occur to prevent the execution of his plan, he could have all this money reimbursed to him again. he estimated the amount at a million of pieces of gold. this was an enormous sum: it shows on how magnificent a scale mary's reception and entertainment in france were managed. these preliminary proceedings being settled, all paris, and, in fact, all france, began to prepare for the marriage celebrations. there were to be two great ceremonies connected with the occasion. the first was the betrothment, the second was the marriage. at the betrothment francis and mary were to meet in a great public hall, and there, in the presence of a small and select assemblage of the lords and ladies of the court, and persons of distinction connected with the royal family, they were formally and solemnly to engage themselves to each other. then, in about a week afterward, they were to be married, in the most public manner, in the great cathedral church of notre dame. the ceremony of the betrothal was celebrated in the palace. the palace then occupied by the royal family was the louvre. it still stands, but is no longer a royal dwelling. another palace, more modern in its structure, and called the tuilleries, has since been built, a little farther from the heart of the city, and in a more pleasant situation. the louvre is square, with an open court in the center. this open court or area is very large, and is paved like the streets. in fact, two great carriage ways pass through it, crossing each other at right angles in the center, and passing out under great arch-ways in the four sides of the building. there is a large hall within the palace, and in this hall the ceremony of the betrothal took place. francis and mary pledged their faith to each other with appropriate ceremonies. only a select circle of relations and intimate friends were present on this occasion. the ceremony was concluded in the evening with a ball. in the mean time, all paris was busy with preparations for the marriage. the louvre is upon one side of the river seine, its principal front being toward the river, with a broad street between. there are no buildings, but only a parapet wall on the river side of the street, so that there is a fine view of the river and of the bridges which cross it, from the palace windows. nearly opposite the louvre is an island, covered with edifices, and connected, by means of bridges, with either shore. the great church of notre dame, where the marriage ceremony was to be performed, is upon this island. it has two enormous square towers in front, which may be seen, rising above all the roofs of the city, at a great distance in every direction. before the church is a large open area, where vast crowds assemble on any great occasion. the interior of the church impresses the mind with the sublimest emotions. two rows of enormous columns rise to a great height on either hand, supporting the lofty arches of the roof. the floor is paved with great flat stones, and resounds continually with the footsteps of visitors, who walk to and fro, up and down the aisles, looking at the chapels, the monuments, the sculptures, the paintings, and the antique and grotesque images and carvings. colored light streams through the stained glass of the enormous windows, and the tones of the organ, and the voices of the priests, chanting the service of the mass, are almost always resounding and echoing from the vaulted roof above. the words _notre dame_ mean our lady, an expression by which the roman catholics denote mary, the mother of jesus. the church of notre dame had been for many centuries the vast cathedral church of paris, where all great ceremonies of state were performed. on this occasion they erected a great amphitheater in the area before the church, which would accommodate many thousands of the spectators who were to assemble, and enable them to see the procession. the bride and bridegroom, and their friends, were to assemble in the bishop's palace, which was near the cathedral, and a covered gallery was erected, leading from this palace to the church, through which the bridal party were to enter. they lined this gallery throughout with purple velvet, and ornamented it in other ways, so as to make the approach to the church through it inconceivably splendid. crowds began to collect in the great amphitheater early in the morning. the streets leading to notre dame were thronged. every window in all the lofty buildings around, and every balcony, was full. from ten to twelve the military bands began to arrive, and the long procession was formed, the different parties being dressed in various picturesque costumes. the embassadors of various foreign potentates were present, each bearing their appropriate insignia. the legate of the pope, magnificently dressed, had an attendant bearing before him a cross of massive gold. the bridegroom, francis the dauphin, followed this legate, and soon afterward came mary, accompanied by the king. she was dressed in white. her robe was embroidered with the figure of the lily, and it glittered with diamonds and ornaments of silver. as was the custom in those days, her dress formed a long train, which was borne by two young girls who walked behind her. she wore a diamond necklace, with a ring of immense value suspended from it, and upon her head was a golden coronet, enriched with diamonds and gems of inestimable value. but the dress and the diamonds which mary wore were not the chief points of attraction to the spectators. all who were present on the occasion agree in saying that she looked inexpressibly beautiful, and that there was an indescribable grace and charm in all her movements and manner, which filled all who saw her with an intoxication of delight. she was artless and unaffected in her manners, and her countenance, the expression of which was generally placid and calm, was lighted up with the animation and interest of the occasion, so as to make every body envy the dauphin the possession of so beautiful a bride. queen catharine, and a long train of the ladies of the court, followed in the procession after mary. every body thought that _she_ felt envious and ill at ease. the essential thing in the marriage ceremony was to be the putting of the wedding ring upon mary's finger, and the pronouncing of the nuptial benediction which was immediately to follow it. this ceremony was to be performed by the archbishop of rouen, who was at that time the greatest ecclesiastical dignitary in france. in order that as many persons as possible might witness this, it was arranged that it should be performed at the great door of the church, so as to be in view of the immense throng which had assembled in the amphitheater erected in the area, and of the multitudes which had taken their positions at the windows and balconies, and on the house-tops around. the procession, accordingly, having entered the church through the covered gallery, moved along the aisles and came to the great door. here a royal pavilion had been erected, where the bridal party could stand in view of the whole assembled multitude. king henry had the ring. he gave it to the archbishop. the archbishop placed it upon mary's finger, and pronounced the benediction in a loud voice. the usual congratulations followed, and mary greeted her husband under the name of his majesty the king of scotland. then the whole mighty crowd rent the air with shouts and acclamations. it was the custom in those days, on such great public occasions as this, to scatter money among the crowd, that they might scramble for it. this was called the king's _largess_; and the largess was pompously proclaimed by heralds before the money was thrown. the throwing of the money among this immense throng produced a scene of indescribable confusion. the people precipitated themselves upon each other in their eagerness to seize the silver and the gold. some were trampled under foot. some were stripped of their hats and cloaks, or had their clothes torn from them. some fainted, and were borne out of the scene with infinite difficulty and danger. at last the people clamorously begged the officers to desist from throwing any more money, for fear that the most serious and fatal consequences might ensue. in the mean time, the bridal procession returned into the church, and, advancing up the center between the lofty columns, they came to a place called the choir, which is in the heart of the church, and is inclosed by screens of carved and sculptured work. it is in the choir that congregations assemble to be present at mass and other religious ceremonies. movable seats are placed here on ordinary occasions, but at the time of this wedding the place was fitted up with great splendor. here mass was performed in the presence of the bridal party. mass is a solemn ceremony conducted by the priests, in which they renew, or think they renew, the sacrifice of christ, accompanied with offerings of incense, and other acts of adoration, and the chanting of solemn hymns of praise. at the close of these services the procession moved again down the church, and, issuing forth at the great entrance, it passed around upon a spacious platform, where it could be seen to advantage by all the spectators. mary was the center to which all eyes were turned. she moved along, the very picture of grace and beauty, the two young girls who followed her bearing her train. the procession, after completing its circuit, returned to the church, and thence, through the covered gallery, it moved back to the bishop's palace. here the company partook of a grand collation. after the collation there was a ball, but the ladies were too much embarrassed with their magnificent dresses to be able to dance, and at five o'clock the royal family returned to their home. mary and queen catharine went together in a sort of palanquin, borne by men, high officers of state walking on each side. the king and the dauphin followed on horseback, with a large company in their train; but the streets were every where so crowded with eager spectators that it was with extreme difficulty that they were able to make their way. the palace to which the party went to spend the evening was fitted up and illuminated in the most splendid manner, and a variety of most curious entertainments had been contrived for the amusement of the company. there were twelve artificial horses, made to move by internal mechanism, and splendidly caparisoned. the children of the company, the little princes and dukes, mounted these horses and rode around the arena. then came in a company of men dressed like pilgrims, each of whom recited a poem written in honor of the occasion. after this was an exhibition of galleys, or boats, upon a little sea. these boats were large enough to bear up two persons. there were two seats in each, one of which was occupied by a young gentleman. as the boats advanced, one by one, each gentleman leaped to the shore, or to what represented the shore, and, going among the company, selected a lady and bore her off to his boat, and then, seating her in the vacant chair, took his place by her side, and continued his voyage. francis was in one of the boats, and he, on coming to the shore, took _mary_ for his companion. the celebrations and festivities of this famous wedding continued for fifteen days. they closed with a grand tournament. a tournament was a very magnificent spectacle in those days. a field was inclosed, in which kings, and princes, and knights, fully armed, and mounted on war-horses, tilted against each other with lances and blunted swords. ladies of high rank were present as spectators and judges, and one was appointed at each tournament to preside, and to distribute the honors and rewards to those who were most successful in the contests. the greatest possible degree of deference and honor was paid to the ladies by all the knights on these occasions. once, at a tournament in london, arranged by a king of england, the knights and noblemen rode in a long procession to the field, each led by a lady by means of a silver chain. it was a great honor to be admitted to a share in these contests, as none but persons of the highest rank were allowed to take a part in them. whenever one was to be held, invitations were sent to all the courts of europe, and kings, queens, and sovereign princes came to witness the spectacle. the horsemen who contended on these occasions carried long lances, blunt, indeed, at the end, so that they could not penetrate the armor of the antagonist at which they were aimed, but yet of such weight that the momentum of the blow was sometimes sufficient to unhorse him. the great object of every combatant was, accordingly, to protect himself from this danger. he must turn his horse suddenly, and avoid the lance of his antagonist; or he must strike it with his own, and thus parry the blow; or if he must encounter it, he was to brace himself firmly in his saddle, and resist its impulse with all the strength that he could command. it required, therefore, great strength and great dexterity to excel in a tournament. in fact, the rapidity of the evolutions which it required gave origin to the name, the word tournament being formed from a french word[c] which signifies to turn. [footnote c: tourner.] the princes and noblemen who were present at the wedding all joined in the tournament except the poor bridegroom, who was too weak and feeble in body, and too timid in mind, for any such rough and warlike exercises. francis was very plain and unprepossessing in countenance, and shy and awkward in his manners. his health had always been very infirm, and though his rank was very high, as he was the heir apparent to what was then the greatest throne in europe, every body thought that in all other respects he was unfit to be the husband of such a beautiful and accomplished princess as mary. he was timid, shy, and anxious and unhappy in disposition. he knew that the gay and warlike spirits around him could not look upon him with respect, and he felt a painful sense of his inferiority. mary, however, loved him. it was a love, perhaps, mingled with pity. she did not assume an air of superiority over him, but endeavored to encourage him, to lead him forward, to inspire him with confidence and hope, and to make him feel his own strength and value. she was herself of a sedate and thoughtful character, and with all her intellectual superiority, she was characterized by that feminine gentleness of spirit, that disposition to follow and to yield rather than to govern, that desire to be led and to be loved rather than to lead and be admired, which constitute the highest charm of woman. francis was glad when the celebrations, tournament and all, were well over. he set off from paris with his young bride to one of his country residences, where he could live, for a while, in peace and quietness. mary was released, in some degree, from the restraints, and formalities, and rules of etiquette of king henry's court, and was, to some extent, her own mistress, though still surrounded with many attendants, and much parade and splendor. the young couple thus commenced the short period of their married life. they were certainly a very _young_ couple, being both of them under sixteen. the rejoicings on account of the marriage were not confined to paris. all scotland celebrated the event with much parade. the catholic party there were pleased with the final consummation of the event, and all the people, in fact, joined, more or less, in commemorating the marriage of their queen. there is in the castle of edinburgh, on a lofty platform which overlooks a broad valley, a monstrous gun, several centuries old, which was formed of bars of iron secured by great iron hoops. the balls which this gun carried are more than a foot in diameter. the name of this enormous piece of ordnance is _mons meg_. it is now disabled, having been burst, many years ago, and injured beyond the possibility of repair. there were great rejoicings in edinburgh at the time of mary's marriage, and from some old accounts which still remain at the castle, it appears that ten shillings were paid to some men for moving up mons meg to the embrasure of the battery, and for finding and bringing back her shot after she was discharged; by which it appears that firing mons meg was a part of the celebration by which the people of edinburgh honored the marriage of their queen. chapter iv. misfortunes. - mary's love for francis.--how to cherish the passion.--grand tournament.--henry's pride.--an encounter.--the helmet.--the vizor.--king henry wounded.--his death.--the mournful marriage.--the dauphin becomes king.--catharine superseded.--mary's gentleness.--coronation of francis.--francis's health declines.--superstition of the people.--commotions in scotland.--sickness of the queen regent.--death of mary's mother.--illness of francis.--his last moments and death.--mary a young widow.--embassadors from scotland.--mary's unwillingness to leave france.--mary in mourning.--she is called the white queen.--a device.--mary's employments.--her beautiful hands.--melancholy visit.--mary returns to paris.--jealousy.--queen elizabeth.--her character.--henry viii.--elizabeth's claim to the throne.--mary's claim.--the coat of arms.--elizabeth offended and alarmed.--the catholic party.--a device.--treaty of edinburgh.--the safe-conduct.--elizabeth refuses the safe-conduct.--mary's speech.--mary's true nobility of soul.--sympathy with her.--mary's religious faith.--her frankness and candor. it was said in the last chapter that mary loved her husband, infirm and feeble as he was both in body and in mind. this love was probably the effect, quite as much as it was the cause, of the kindness which she showed him. as we are very apt to hate those whom we have injured, so we almost instinctively love those who have in any way become the objects of our kindness and care. if any wife, therefore, wishes for the pleasure of loving her husband, or which is, perhaps, a better supposition, if any husband desires the happiness of loving his wife, conscious that it is a pleasure which he does not now enjoy, let him commence by making her the object of his kind attentions and care, and love will spring up in the heart as a consequence of the kind of action of which it is more commonly the cause. about a year passed away, when at length another great celebration took place in paris, to honor the marriages of some other members of king henry's family. one of them was francis's oldest sister. a grand tournament was arranged on this occasion too. the place for this tournament was where the great street of st. antoine now lies, and which may be found on any map of paris. a very large concourse of kings and nobles from all the courts of europe were present. king henry, magnificently dressed, and mounted on a superb war-horse, was a very prominent figure in all the parades of the occasion, though the actual contests and trials of skill which took place were between younger princes and knights, king henry and the ladies being generally only spectators and judges. he, however, took a part himself on one or two occasions, and received great applause. at last, at the end of the third day, just as the tournament was to be closed, king henry was riding around the field, greatly excited with the pride and pleasure which so magnificent a spectacle was calculated to awaken, when he saw two lances still remaining which had not been broken. the idea immediately seized him of making one more exhibition of his own power and dexterity in such contests. he took one of the lances, and, directing a high officer who was riding near him to take the other, he challenged him to a trial of skill. the name of this officer was montgomery. montgomery at first declined, being unwilling to contend with his king. the king insisted. queen catharine begged that he would not contend again. accidents sometimes happened, she knew, in these rough encounters; and, at any rate, it terrified her to see her husband exposed to such dangers. the other lords and ladies, and francis and queen mary particularly, joined in these expostulations. but henry was inflexible. there was no danger, and, smiling at their fears, he commanded montgomery to arm himself with his lance and take his position. the spectators looked on in breathless silence. the two horsemen rode toward each other, each pressing his horse forward to his utmost speed, and as they passed, each aimed his lance at the head and breast of the other. it was customary on such occasions to wear a helmet, with a part called a vizor in front, which could be raised on ordinary occasions, or let down in moments of danger like this, to cover and protect the eyes. of course this part of the armor was weaker than the rest, and it happened that montgomery's lance struck here--was shivered--and a splinter of it penetrated the vizor and inflicted a wound upon henry, on the head, just over the eye. henry's horse went on. the spectators observed that the rider reeled and trembled in his seat. the whole assembly were in consternation. the excitement of pride and pleasure was every where turned into extreme anxiety and alarm. they flocked about henry's horse, and helped the king to dismount. he said it was nothing. they took off his helmet, and found large drops of blood issuing from the wound. they bore him to his palace. he had the magnanimity to say that montgomery must not be blamed for this result, as he was himself responsible for it entirely. he lingered eleven days, and then died. this was in july, . one of the marriages which this unfortunate tournament had been intended to celebrate, that of elizabeth, the king's daughter, had already taken place, having been performed a day or two before the king was wounded; and it was decided, after henry was wounded, that the other must proceed, as there were great reasons of state against any postponement of it. this second marriage was that of margaret, his sister. the ceremony in her case was performed in a silent and private manner, at night, by torch-light, in the chapel of the palace, while her brother was dying. the services were interrupted by her sobs and tears. notwithstanding the mental and bodily feebleness which seemed to characterize the dauphin, mary's husband, who now, by the death of his father, became king of france, the event of his accession to the throne seemed to awaken his energies, and arouse him to animation and effort. he was sick himself, and in his bed, in a palace called the tournelles, when some officers of state were ushered into his apartment, and, kneeling before him, saluted him as king. this was the first announcement of his father's death. he sprang from his bed, exclaiming at once that he was well. it is one of the sad consequences of hereditary greatness and power that a son must sometimes rejoice at the death of his father. it was francis's duty to repair at once to the royal palace of the louvre, with mary, who was now queen of france as well as of scotland, to receive the homage of the various estates of the realm. catharine was, of course, now queen dowager. mary, the child whom she had so long looked upon with feelings of jealousy and envy was, from this time, to take her place as queen. it was very humiliating to catharine to assume the position of a second and an inferior in the presence of one whom she had so long been accustomed to direct and to command. she yielded, however, with a good grace, though she seemed dejected and sad. as they were leaving the tournelles, she stopped to let mary go before her, saying, "pass on, madame; it is your turn to take precedence now." mary went before her, but she stopped in her turn, with a sweetness of disposition so characteristic of her, to let queen catharine enter first into the carriage which awaited them at the door. francis, though only sixteen, was entitled to assume the government himself. he went to rheims, a town northeast of paris, where is an abbey, which is the ancient place of coronation for the kings of france. here he was crowned. he appointed his ministers, and evinced, in his management and in his measures, more energy and decision than it was supposed he possessed. he himself and mary were now, together, on the summit of earthly grandeur. they had many political troubles and cares which can not be related here, but mary's life was comparatively peaceful and happy, the pleasures which she enjoyed being greatly enhanced by the mutual affection which existed between herself and her husband. though he was small in stature, and very unprepossessing in appearance and manners, francis still evinced in his government a considerable degree of good judgment and of energy. his health, however, gradually declined. he spent much of his time in traveling, and was often dejected and depressed. one circumstance made him feel very unhappy. the people of many of the villages through which he passed, being in those days very ignorant and superstitious, got a rumor into circulation that the king's malady was such that he could only be cured by being bathed in the blood of young children. they imagined that he was traveling to obtain such a bath; and, wherever he came, the people fled, mothers eagerly carrying off their children from this impending danger. the king did not understand the _cause_ of his being thus shunned. they concealed it from him, knowing that it would give him pain. he knew only the _fact_, and it made him very sad to find himself the object of this mysterious and unaccountable aversion. in the mean time, while these occurrences had been taking place in france, mary's mother, the queen dowager of scotland, had been made queen regent of scotland after her return from france; but she experienced infinite trouble and difficulty in managing the affairs of the country. the protestant party became very strong, and took up arms against her government. the english sent them aid. she, on the other hand, with the catholic interest to support her, defended her power as well as she could, and called for help from france to sustain her. and thus the country which she was so ambitious to govern, was involved by her management in the calamities and sorrows of civil war. in the midst of this contest she died. during her last sickness she sent for some of the leaders of the protestant party, and did all that she could to soothe and conciliate their minds. she mourned the calamities and sufferings which the civil war had brought upon the country, and urged the protestants to do all in their power, after her death, to heal these dissensions and restore peace. she also exhorted them to remember their obligations of loyalty and obedience to their absent queen, and to sustain and strengthen her government by every means in their power. she died, and after her death the war was brought to a close by a treaty of peace, in which the french and english governments joined with the government of scotland to settle the points in dispute, and immediately afterward the troops of both these nations were withdrawn. the death of the queen regent was supposed to have been caused by the pressure of anxiety which the cares of her government imposed. her body was carried home to france, and interred in the royal abbey at rheims. the death of mary's mother took place in the summer of . the next december mary was destined to meet with a much heavier affliction. her husband, king francis, in addition to other complaints, had been suffering for some time from pain and disease in the ear. one day, when he was preparing to go out hunting, he was suddenly seized with a fainting fit, and was soon found to be in great danger. he continued some days very ill. he was convinced himself that he could not recover, and began to make arrangements for his approaching end. as he drew near to the close of his life, he was more and more deeply impressed with a sense of mary's kindness and love. he mourned very much his approaching separation from her. he sent for his mother, queen catharine, to come to his bedside, and begged that she would treat mary kindly, for his sake, after he was gone. mary was overwhelmed with grief at the approaching death of her husband. she knew at once what a great change it would make in her condition. she would lose immediately her rank and station. queen catharine would again come into power, as queen regent, during the minority of the next heir. all her friends of the family of guise, would be removed from office, and she herself would become a mere guest and stranger in the land of which she had been the queen. but nothing could arrest the progress of the disease under which her husband was sinking. he died, leaving mary a disconsolate widow of seventeen. the historians of those days say that queen catharine was much pleased at the death of francis her son. it restored her to rank and power. mary was again beneath her, and in some degree subject to her will. all mary's friends were removed from their high stations, and others, hostile to her family, were put into their places. mary soon found herself unhappy at court, and she accordingly removed to a castle at a considerable distance from paris to the west, near the city of orleans. the people of scotland wished her to return to her native land. both the great parties sent embassadors to her to ask her to return, each of them urging her to adopt such measures on her arrival in scotland as should favor their cause. queen catharine, too, who was still jealous of mary's influence, and of the admiration and love which her beauty and the loveliness of her character inspired, intimated to her that perhaps it would be better for her now to leave france and return to her own land. mary was very unwilling to go. she loved france. she knew very little of scotland. she was very young when she left it, and the few recollections which she had of the country were confined to the lonely island of inchmahome and the castle of stirling. scotland was in a cold and inhospitable climate, accessible only through stormy and dangerous seas, and it seemed to her that going there was going into exile. besides, she dreaded to undertake personally to administer a government whose cares and anxieties had been so great as to carry her mother to the grave. mary, however, found that it was in vain for her to resist the influences which pressed upon her the necessity of returning to her native land. she wandered about during the spring and summer after her husband's death, spending her time in various palaces and abbeys, and at length she began to prepare for her return to scotland. the same gentleness and loveliness of character which she had exhibited in her prosperous fortunes, shone still more conspicuously now in her hours of sorrow. sometimes she appeared in public, in certain ceremonies of state. she was then dressed in mourning--in white--according to the custom in royal families in those days, her dark hair covered by a delicate crape veil. her beauty, softened and chastened by her sorrows, made a strong impression upon all who saw her. she appeared so frequently, and attracted so much attention in her white mourning, that she began to be known among the people as the white queen. every body wanted to see her. they admired her beauty; they were impressed with the romantic interest of her history; they pitied her sorrows. she mourned her husband's death with deep and unaffected grief. she invented a device and motto for a seal, appropriate to the occasion: it was a figure of the liquorice-tree, every part of which is useless except the root, which, of course, lies beneath the surface of the earth. underneath was the inscription, in latin, _my treasure is in the ground_. the expression is much more beautiful in the latin than can be expressed in any english words.[d] [footnote d: dulce meum terra tegit.] mary did not, however, give herself up to sullen and idle grief, but employed herself in various studies and pursuits, in order to soothe and solace her grief by useful occupation. she read latin authors; she studied poetry; she composed. she paid much attention to music, and charmed those who were in her company by the sweet tones of her voice and her skillful performance upon an instrument. the historians even record a description of the fascinating effect produced by the graceful movements of her beautiful hand. whatever she did or said seemed to carry with it an inexpressible charm. before she set out on her return to scotland she went to pay a visit to her grandmother, the same lady whom her mother had gone to see in her castle, ten years before, on her return to scotland after her visit to mary. during this ten years the unhappy mourner had made no change in respect to her symbols of grief. the apartments of her palace were still hung with black. her countenance wore the same expression of austerity and woe. her attendants were trained to pay to her every mark of the most profound deference in all their approaches to her. no sounds of gayety or pleasure were to be heard, but a profound stillness and solemnity reigned continually throughout the gloomy mansion. not long before the arrangements were completed for mary's return to scotland, she revisited paris, where she was received with great marks of attention and honor. she was now eighteen or nineteen years of age, in the bloom of her beauty, and the monarch of a powerful kingdom, to which she was about to return, and many of the young princes of europe began to aspire to the honor of her hand. through these and other influences, she was the object of much attention; while, on the other hand, queen catharine, and the party in power at the french court, were envious and jealous of her popularity, and did a great deal to mortify and vex her. the enemy, however, whom mary had most to fear, was her cousin, queen elizabeth of england. queen elizabeth was a maiden lady, now nearly thirty years of age. she was in all respects extremely different from mary. she was a zealous protestant, and very suspicious and watchful in respect to mary, on account of her catholic connections and faith. she was very plain in person, and unprepossessing in manners. she was, however, intelligent and shrewd, and was governed by calculations and policy in all that she did. the people by whom she was surrounded admired her talents and feared her power, but nobody loved her. she had many good qualities as a monarch, but none considered as a woman. [illustration: portrait of queen elizabeth.] elizabeth was somewhat envious of her cousin mary's beauty, and of her being such an object of interest and affection to all who knew her. but she had a far more serious and permanent cause of alienation from her than personal envy. it was this: elizabeth's father, king henry viii., had, in succession, several wives, and there had been a question raised about the legality of his marriage with elizabeth's mother. parliament decided at one time that this marriage was not valid; at another time, subsequently, they decided that it was. this difference in the two decisions was not owing so much to a change of sentiment in the persons who voted, as to a change in the ascendency of the parties by which the decision was controlled. if the marriage were valid, then elizabeth was entitled to the english crown. if it were not valid, then she was not entitled to it: it belonged to the next heir. now it happened that mary queen of scots was the next heir. her grandmother on the father's side was an english princess, and through her mary had a just title to the crown, if queen elizabeth's title was annulled. now, while mary was in france, during the lifetime of king henry, francis's father, he and the members of the family of guise advanced mary's claim to the british crown, and denied that of elizabeth. they made a coat of arms, in which the arms of france, and scotland, and england were combined, and had it engraved on mary's silver plate. on one great occasion, they had this symbol displayed conspicuously over the gateway of a town where mary was making a public entry. the english embassador, who was present, made this, and the other acts of the same kind, known to elizabeth, and she was greatly incensed at them. she considered mary as plotting treasonably against her power, and began to contrive plans to circumvent and thwart her. nor was elizabeth wholly unreasonable in this. mary, though personally a gentle and peaceful woman, yet in her teens, was very formidable to elizabeth as an opposing claimant of the crown. all the catholics in france and in scotland would naturally take mary's side. then, besides this, there was a large catholic party in england, who would be strongly disposed to favor any plan which should give them a catholic monarch. elizabeth was, therefore, very justly alarmed at such a claim on the part of her cousin. it threatened not only to expose her to the aggressions of foreign foes, but also to internal commotions and dangers, in her own dominions. the chief responsibility for bringing forward this claim must rest undoubtedly, not on mary herself, but on king henry of france and the other french princes, who first put it forward. mary, however, herself, was not entirely passive in the affair. she liked to consider herself as entitled to the english crown. she had a device for a seal, a very favorite one with her, which expressed this claim. it contained two crowns, with a motto in latin below which meant, "_a third awaits me_." elizabeth knew all these things, and she held mary accountable for all the anxiety and alarm which this dangerous claim occasioned her. at the peace which was made in scotland between the french and english forces and the scotch, by the great treaty of edinburgh which has been already described, it was agreed that mary should relinquish all claim to the crown of england. this treaty was brought to france for mary to ratify it, but she declined. whatever rights she might have to the english crown, she refused to surrender them. things remained in this state until the time arrived for her return to her native land, and then, fearing that perhaps elizabeth might do something to intercept her passage, she applied to her for a safe-conduct; that is, a writing authorizing her to pass safely and without hinderance through the english dominions, whether land or sea. queen elizabeth returned word through her embassador in paris, whose name was throckmorton, that she could not give her any such safe-conduct, because she had refused to ratify the treaty of edinburgh. when this answer was communicated to mary, she felt deeply wounded by it. she sent all the attendants away, that she might express herself to throckmorton without reserve. she told him that it seemed to her very hard that her cousin was disposed to prevent her return to her native land. as to her claim upon the english crown, she said that advancing it was not her plan, but that of her husband and his father; and that now she could not properly renounce it, whatever its validity might be, till she could have opportunity to return to scotland and consult with her government there, since it affected not her personally alone, but the public interests of scotland. "and now," she continued, in substance, "i am sorry that i asked such a favor of her. i have no need to ask it, for i am sure i have a right to return from france to my own country without asking permission of any one. you have often told me that the queen wished to be on friendly terms with me, and that it was your opinion that to be friends would be best for us both. but now i see that she is not of your mind, but is disposed to treat me in an unkind and unfriendly manner, while she knows that i am her equal in rank, though i do not pretend to be her equal in abilities and experience. well she may do as she pleases. if my preparations were not so far advanced, perhaps i should give up the voyage. but i am resolved to go. i hope the winds will prove favorable, and carry me away from her shores. if they carry me upon them, and i fall into her hands, she may make what disposal of me she will. if i lose my life, i shall esteem it no great loss, for it is now little else than a burden." how strongly this speech expresses "that mixture of melancholy and dignity, of womanly softness and noble decision, which pervaded her character." there is a sort of gentleness even in her anger, and a certain indescribable womanly charm in the workings of her mind, which cause all who read her story, while they can not but think that elizabeth was right, to sympathize wholly with mary. throckmorton, at one of his conversations with mary, took occasion to ask her respecting her religious views, as elizabeth wished to know how far she was fixed and committed in her attachment to the catholic faith. mary said that she was born and had been brought up a catholic, and that she should remain so as long as she lived. she would not interfere, she said, with her subjects adopting such form of religion as they might prefer, but for herself she should not change. if she should change, she said, she should justly lose the confidence of her people; for, if they saw that she was light and fickle on that subject, they could not rely upon her in respect to any other. she did not profess to be able to argue, herself, the questions of difference, but she was not wholly uninformed in respect to them, as she had often heard the points discussed by learned men, and had found nothing to lead her to change her ground. it is impossible for any reader, whether protestant or catholic, not to admire the frankness and candor, the honest conscientiousness, the courage, and, at the same time, womanly modesty and propriety which characterize this reply. chapter v. return to scotland. calais.--artificial piers and breakwaters.--throckmorton.--elizabeth's plans.--throckmorton baffled.--throckmorton's advice.--queen catharine's farewell.--escort.--embarkation.--spectators.--unfortunate accident.--mary's farewell to france.--her deep emotion.--mary's first night on board.--her reluctance to leave france.--fog.--one vessel captured.--narrow escape.--mary's adieu to france.--attempts to translate it.--translations of mary's adieu to france.--arrival at leith.--palace of holyrood.--mary's arrival unexpected.--mary's reception.--contrasts.--the cavalcade.--serenade.--solitary home.--favorable impression.--the lord james.--mary makes him one of her ministers.--the mass.--transubstantiation.--adoration of the host.--protestant and catholic worship.--violence and persecution.--the mass in mary's chapel.--scene of excitement.--lord james.--the reformer, john knox.--his uncompromising character.--knox's interview with mary.--his sternness subdued.--the four maries.--queen elizabeth's insincerity. mary was to sail from the port of calais. calais is on the northern coast of france, opposite to dover in england, these towns being on opposite sides of the straits of dover, where the channel between england and france is very narrow. still, the distance is so great that the land on either side is ordinarily not visible on the other. there is no good natural harbor at calais, nor, in fact, at any other point on the french coast. the french have had to supply the deficiency by artificial piers and breakwaters. there are several very capacious and excellent harbors on the english side. this may have been one cause, among others, of the great naval superiority which england has attained. when queen elizabeth found that mary was going to persevere in her intention of returning to her native land, she feared that she might, after her arrival in scotland, and after getting established in power there, form a scheme for making war upon _her_ dominions, and attempt to carry into effect her claim upon the english crown. she wished to prevent this. would it be prudent to intercept mary upon her passage? she reflected on this subject with the cautious calculation which formed so striking a part of her character, and felt in doubt. her taking mary a prisoner, and confining her a captive in her own land, might incense queen catharine, who was now regent of france, and also awaken a general resentment in scotland, so as to bring upon her the hostility of those two countries, and thus, perhaps, make more mischief than the securing of mary's person would prevent. she accordingly, as a previous step, sent to throckmorton, her embassador in france, directing him to have an interview with queen catharine, and ascertain how far she would feel disposed to take mary's part. throckmorton did this. queen catharine gave no direct reply. she said that both herself and the young king wished well to elizabeth, and to mary too, that it was her desire that the two queens might be on good terms with each other; that she was a friend to them both, and should not take a part against either of them. this was all that queen elizabeth could expect, and she formed her plans for intercepting mary on her passage. she sent to throckmorton, asking him to find out, if he could, what port queen mary was to sail from, and to send her word. she then gave orders to her naval commanders to assemble as many ships as they could, and hold them in readiness to sail into the seas between england and france, for the purpose of _exterminating the pirates_, which she said had lately become very numerous there. throckmorton took occasion, in a conversation which he had with mary soon after this, to inquire from what port she intended to sail; but she did not give him the information. she suspected his motive, and merely said, in reply to his question, that she hoped the wind would prove favorable for carrying her away as far as possible from the english coast, whatever might be the point from which she should take her departure. throckmorton then endeavored to find out the arrangements of the voyage by other means, but without much success. he wrote to elizabeth that he thought mary would sail either from havre or calais; that she would go eastward, along the shore of the continent, by flanders and holland, till she had gained a considerable distance from the english coast, and then would sail north along the eastern shores of the german ocean. he advised that elizabeth should send spies to calais and to havre, and perhaps to other french ports, to watch there, and to let her know whenever they observed any appearances of preparations for mary's departure. in the mean time, as the hour for mary's farewell to paris and all its scenes of luxury and splendor, drew near, those who had loved her were drawn more closely to her in heart than ever, and those who had been envious and jealous began to relent, and to look upon her with feelings of compassion and of kind regard. queen catharine treated her with extreme kindness during the last few days of her stay, and she accompanied her for some distance on her journey, with every manifestation of sincere affection and good will. she stopped, at length, at st. germain, and there, with many tears, she bade her gentle daughter-in-law a long and last farewell. many princes and nobles, especially of the family of guise, mary's relatives, accompanied her through the whole journey. they formed quite a long cavalcade, and attracted great attention in all the towns and districts through which they passed. they traveled slowly, but at length arrived at calais, where they waited nearly a week to complete the arrangements for mary's embarkation. at length the day arrived for her to set sail. a large concourse of spectators assembled to witness the scene. four ships had been provided for the transportation of the party and their effects. two of these were galleys. they were provided with banks of oars, and large crews of rowers, by means of which the vessels could be propelled when the wind failed. the two other vessels were merely vessels of burden, to carry the furniture and other effects of the passengers. many of the queen's friends were to accompany her to scotland. the four maries were among them. she bade those that were to remain behind farewell, and prepared to embark on board the royal galley. her heart was very sad. just at this time, a vessel which was coming in struck against the pier, in consequence of a heavy sea which was rolling in, and of the distraction of the seamen occasioned by mary's embarkation. the vessel which struck was so injured by the concussion that it filled immediately and sank. most of the seamen on board were drowned. this accident produced great excitement and confusion. mary looked upon the scene from the deck of her vessel, which was now slowly moving from the shore. it alarmed her, and impressed her mind with a sad and mournful sense of the dangers of the elements to whose mercy she was now to be committed for many days. "what an unhappy omen is this!" she exclaimed. she then went to the stern of the ship, looked back at the shore, then knelt down, and, covering her face with her hands, sobbed aloud. "farewell, france!" she exclaimed: "i shall never, never see thee more." presently, when her emotions for a moment subsided, she would raise her eyes, and take another view of the slowly-receding shore, and then exclaim again, "farewell, my beloved france! farewell! farewell!" [illustration: mary's embarkation at calais.] she remained in this position, suffering this anguish, for five hours, when it began to grow dark, and she could no longer see the shore. she then rose, saying that her beloved country was gone from her sight forever. "the darkness, like a thick veil, hides thee from my sight, and i shall see thee no more. so farewell, beloved land! farewell forever!" she left her place at the stern, but she would not leave the deck. she made them bring up a bed, and place it for her there, near the stern. they tried to induce her to go into the cabin, or at least to take some supper; but she would not. she lay down upon her bed. she charged the helmsman to awaken her at the dawn, if the land was in sight when the dawn should appear. she then wept herself to sleep. during the night the air was calm, and the vessels in which mary and her company had embarked made such small progress, being worked only by the oars, that the land came into view again with the gray light of the morning. the helmsman awoke mary, and the sight of the shore renewed her anguish and tears. she said that she _could not_ go. she wished that elizabeth's ships would come in sight, so as to compel her squadron to return. but no english fleet appeared. on the contrary, the breeze freshened. the sailors unfurled the sails, the oars were taken in, and the great crew of oarsmen rested from their toil. the ships began to make their way rapidly through the rippling water. the land soon became a faint, low cloud in the horizon, and in an hour all traces of it entirely disappeared. the voyage continued for ten days. they saw nothing of elizabeth's cruisers. it was afterward ascertained, however, that these ships were at one time very near to them, and were only prevented from seeing and taking them by a dense fog, which at that time happened to cover the sea. one of the vessels of burden was seen and taken, and carried to england. it contained, however, only some of mary's furniture and effects. she herself escaped the danger. the fog, which was thus mary's protection at one time, was a source of great difficulty and danger at another; for, when they were drawing near to the place of their landing in scotland, they were enveloped in a fog so dense that they could scarcely see from one end of the vessel to the other. they stopped the progress of their vessels, and kept continually sounding; and when at length the fog cleared away, they found themselves involved in a labyrinth of rocks and shoals of the most dangerous character. they made their escape at last, and went on safely toward the land. mary said, however, that she felt, at the time, entirely indifferent as to the result. she was so disconsolate and wretched at having parted forever from all that was dear to her, that it seemed to her that she was equally willing to live or to die. mary, who, among her other accomplishments, had a great deal of poetic talent, wrote some lines, called her farewell to france, which have been celebrated from that day to this. they are as follows: adieu. adieu, plaisant pays de france! o ma patrie, la plus cherie; qui a nourri ma jeune enfance. adieu, france! adieu, mes beaux jours! la nef qui déjoint mes amours, n'a cy de moi que la moitié; une parte te reste; elle est tienne; je la fie à ton amitié, pour que de l'autre il te souvienne. many persons have attempted to translate these lines into english verse; but it is always extremely difficult to translate poetry from one language to another. we give here two of the best of these translations. the reader can judge, by observing how different they are from each other, how different they must both be from their common original. adieu. farewell to thee, thou pleasant shore, the loved, the cherished home to me of infant joy, a dream that's o'er, farewell, dear france! farewell to thee. the sail that wafts me bears away from thee but half my soul alone; its fellow half will fondly stay, and back to thee has faithful flown. i trust it to thy gentle care; for all that here remains with me lives but to think of all that's there, to love and to remember thee. the other translation is as follows: adieu. adieu, thou pleasant land of france! the dearest of all lands to me, where life was like a joyful dance, the joyful dance of infancy. farewell my childhood's laughing wiles, farewell the joys of youth's bright day, the bark that takes me from thy smiles, bears but my meaner half away. the best is thine; my changeless heart is given, beloved france, to thee; and let it sometimes, though we part, remind thee, with a sigh, of me. it was on the th of august, , that the two galleys arrived at leith. leith is a small port on the shore of the frith of forth, about two miles from edinburgh, which is situated somewhat inland. the royal palace, where mary was to reside, was called the palace of holyrood. it was, and is still, a large square building, with an open court in the center, into which there is access for carriages through a large arched passage-way in the center of the principal front of the building. in the rear, but connected with the palace, there was a chapel in mary's day, though it is now in ruins. the walls still remain, but the roof is gone. the people of scotland were not expecting mary so soon. information was communicated from country to country, in those days, slowly and with great difficulty. perhaps the time of mary's departure from france was purposely concealed even from the scotch, to avoid all possibility that the knowledge of it should get into elizabeth's possession. at any rate, the first intelligence which the inhabitants of edinburgh and the vicinity had of the arrival of their queen, was the approach of the galleys to the shore, and the firing of a royal salute from their guns. the palace of holyrood was not ready for mary's reception, and she had to remain a day at leith, awaiting the necessary preparations. in the mean time, the whole population began to assemble to welcome her arrival. military bands were turned out; banners were prepared; civil and military officers in full costume assembled, and bon-fires and illuminations were provided for the evening and night. in a word, mary's subjects in scotland did all in their power to do honor to the occasion; but the preparations were so far beneath the pomp and pageantry which she had been accustomed to in france, that she felt the contrast very keenly, and realized, more forcibly than ever, how great was the change which the circumstances of her life were undergoing. [illustration: palace of holyrood. with salisbury crags and arthur's seat in the distance.] horses were prepared for mary and her large company of attendants, to ride from leith to edinburgh. the long cavalcade moved toward evening. the various professions and trades of edinburgh were drawn up in lines on each side of the road, and thousands upon thousands of other spectators assembled to witness the scene. when she reached the palace of holyrood house, a band of music played for a time under her windows, and then the great throng quietly dispersed, leaving mary to her repose. the adjoining engraving represents the palace of holyrood as it now appears. in mary's day, the northern part only had been built--that is, the part on the left, in the view, where the ivy climbs about the windows--and the range extending back to the royal chapel, the ruins of which are seen in the rear.[e] mary took up her abode in this dwelling, and was glad to rest from the fatigues and privations of her long voyage; but she found her new home a solitary and gloomy dwelling, compared with the magnificent palaces of the land she had left. [footnote e: for the situation of this palace in respect to edinburgh see the view of edinburgh, page .] mary made an extremely favorable impression upon her subjects in scotland. to please them, she exchanged the white mourning of france, from which she had taken the name of the white queen, for a black dress, more accordant with the ideas and customs of her native land. this gave her a more sedate and matronly character, and though the expression of her countenance and figure was somewhat changed by it, it was only a change to a new form of extreme and fascinating beauty. her manners, too, so graceful and easy, and yet so simple and unaffected, charmed all who saw her. mary had a half brother in scotland, whose title was at this time the lord james. he was afterward named the earl of murray, and is commonly known in history under this latter designation. the mother of lord james was not legally married to mary's father, and consequently he could not inherit any of his father's rights to the scottish crown. the lord james was, however, a man of very high rank and influence, and mary immediately received him into her service, and made him one of her highest ministers of state. he was now about thirty years of age, prudent, cautious, and wise, of good person and manners, but somewhat reserved and austere. lord james had the general direction of affairs on mary's arrival, and things went on very smoothly for a week; but then, on the first sunday after the landing, a very serious difficulty threatened to occur. the catholics have a certain celebration, called the mass, to which they attach a very serious and solemn importance. when our savior gave the bread and the wine to his disciples at the last supper he said of it, "this is my body, broken for you," and "this is my blood, shed for you." the catholics understand that these words denote that the bread and wine did at that time, and that they do now, whenever the communion service is celebrated by a priest duly authorized, become, by a sort of miraculous transformation, the true body and blood of christ, and that the priest, in breaking the one and pouring out the other, is really and truly renewing the great sacrifice for sin made by jesus christ at his crucifixion. the mass, therefore, in which the bread and the wine are so broken and poured out, becomes, in their view, not a mere service of prayer and praise to god, but a solemn _act_ of sacrifice. the spectators, or assistants, as they call them, meaning all who are present on the occasion, stand by, not merely to hear words of adoration, in which they mentally join, as is the case in most protestant forms of worship, but to witness the _enactment of a deed_, and one of great binding force and validity: a real and true sacrifice of christ, made anew, as an atonement for their sins. the bread, when consecrated, and as they suppose, transmuted to the body of christ, is held up to view, or carried in a procession around the church, that all present may bow before it and adore it as really being, though in the form of bread, the wounded and broken body of the lord. of course the celebration of the mass is invested, in the minds of all conscientious catholics, with the utmost solemnity and importance. they stand silently by, with the deepest feelings of reverence and awe, while the priest offers up for them, anew, the great sacrifice for sin. they regard all protestant worship, which consists of mere exhortations to duty, hymns and prayers, as lifeless and void. that which is to them the soul, the essence, and substance of the whole, is wanting. on the other hand, the protestants abhor the sacrifice of the mass as gross superstition. they think that the bread remains simply bread after the benediction as much as before; that for the priests to pretend that in breaking it they renew the sacrifice of christ, is imposture; and that to bow before it in adoration and homage is the worst idolatry. now it happened that during mary's absence in france, the contest between the catholics and the protestants had been going fiercely on, and the result had been the almost complete defeat of the catholic party, and the establishment of the protestant interest throughout the realm. a great many deeds of violence accompanied this change. churches and abbeys were sometimes sacked and destroyed. the images of saints, which the catholics had put up, were pulled down and broken; and the people were sometimes worked up to phrensy against the principles of the catholic faith and catholic observances. they abhorred the mass, and were determined that it should not be introduced again into scotland. queen mary, knowing this state of things determined, on her arrival in scotland, not to interfere with her people in the exercise of their religion; but she resolved to remain a catholic herself, and to continue, for the use of her own household, in the royal chapel at holyrood, the same catholic observances to which she had been accustomed in france. she accordingly gave orders that mass should be celebrated in her chapel on the first sunday after her arrival. she was very willing to abstain from interfering with the religious usages of her subjects, but she was not willing to give up her own. the friends of the reformation had a meeting, and resolved that mass should _not_ be celebrated. there was, however, no way of preventing it but by intimidation or violence. when sunday came, crowds began to assemble about the palace and the chapel,[f] and to fill all the avenues leading to them. the catholic families who were going to attend the service were treated rudely as they passed. the priests they threatened with death. one, who carried a candle which was to be used in the ceremonies, was extremely terrified at their threats and imprecations. the excitement was very great, and would probably have proceeded to violent extremities, had it not been for lord james's energy and courage. he was a protestant, but he took his station at the door of the chapel, and, without saying or doing any thing to irritate the crowd without, he kept them at bay, while the service proceeded. it went on to the close, though greatly interrupted by the confusion and uproar. many of the french people who came with mary were so terrified by this scene, that they declared they would not stay in such a country, and took the first opportunity of returning to france. [footnote f: the ruins of the royal chapel are to be seen in the rear of the palace in the view on page .] one of the most powerful and influential of the leaders of the protestant party at this time was the celebrated john knox. he was a man of great powers of mind and of commanding eloquence; and he had exerted a vast influence in arousing the people of scotland to a feeling of strong abhorrence of what they considered the abominations of popery. when queen mary of england was upon the throne, knox had written a book against her, and against queens in general, women having, according to his views, no right to govern. knox was a man of the most stern and uncompromising character, who feared nothing, respected nothing, and submitted to no restraints in the blunt and plain discharge of what he considered his duty. mary dreaded his influence and power. knox had an interview with mary not long after her arrival, and it is one of the most striking instances of the strange ascendency which mary's extraordinary beauty and grace, and the pensive charm of her demeanor, exercised over all that came within her influence, that even john knox, whom nothing else could soften or subdue, found his rough and indomitable energy half forsaking him in the presence of his gentle queen. she expostulated with him. he half apologized. nothing had ever drawn the least semblance of an apology from him before. he told her that his book was aimed solely against queen mary of england, and not against her; that she had no cause to fear its influence; that, in respect to the freedom with which he had advanced his opinions and theories on the subjects of government and religion, she need not be alarmed, for philosophers had always done this in every age, and yet had lived good citizens of the state, whose institutions they had, nevertheless, in some sense theoretically condemned. he told her, moreover, that he had no intention of troubling her reign; that she might be sure of this, since, if he had such a desire, he should have commenced his measures during her absence, and not have postponed them until her position on the throne was strengthened by her return. thus he tried to soothe her fears, and to justify himself from the suspicion of having designed any injury to such a gentle and helpless queen. the interview was a very extraordinary spectacle. it was that of a lion laying aside his majestic sternness and strength to dispel the fears and quiet the apprehensions of a dove. the interview was, however, after all, painful and distressing to mary. some things which the stern reformer felt it his duty to say to her, brought tears into her eyes. mary soon became settled in her new home, though many circumstances in her situation were well calculated to disquiet and disturb her. she lived in the palace at holyrood. the four maries continued with her for a time, and then two of them were married to nobles of high rank. queen elizabeth sent mary a kind message, congratulating her on her safe arrival in scotland, and assuring her that the story of her having attempted to intercept her was false. mary, who had no means of proving elizabeth's insincerity, sent her back a polite reply. chapter vi. mary and lord darnley. - stormy scenes.--lord james.--acts of cruelty.--mary's energy and decision.--her popularity.--story of chatelard.--his love and infatuation.--trial of chatelard.--his execution and last words.--mary and elizabeth.--the english succession.--claim of lady lennox.--lord darnley.--offers of marriage.--duplicity of elizabeth.--melville sent as embassador to elizabeth.--his reception.--conversation of melville and elizabeth.--dudley, earl of leicester.--the "long" lad.--lord darnley.--elizabeth's management.--darnley's visit to scotland.--mary's message to elizabeth.--elizabeth's duplicity.--wemys castle.--mary's opinion of darnley.--his interview with her.--the courtship.--elizabeth in a rage.--murray's opposition.--mary hastens the marriage.--a dangerous plot.--mary's narrow escape.--the marriage.--the mourner and the bride.--darnley's contemptible character.--darnley's imperiousness and pride.--mary's cares.--rebellion.--elizabeth's treatment of the rebels.--mary's generous conduct to darnley.--the double throne.--darnley's cruel ingratitude. during the three or four years which elapsed after queen mary's arrival in scotland, she had to pass through many stormy scenes of anxiety and trouble. the great nobles of the land were continually quarreling, and all parties were earnest and eager in their efforts to get mary's influence and power on their side. she had a great deal of trouble with the affairs of her brother, the lord james. he wished to have the earldom of murray conferred upon him. the castle and estates pertaining to this title were in the north of scotland, in the neighborhood of inverness. they were in possession of another family, who refused to give them up. mary accompanied lord james to the north with an army, to put him in possession. they took the castle, and hung the governor, who had refused to surrender at their summons. this, and some other acts of this expedition, have since been considered unjust and cruel; but posterity have been divided in opinion on the question how far mary herself was personally responsible for them. mary, at any rate, displayed a great degree of decision and energy in her management of public affairs, and in the personal exploits which she performed. she made excursions from castle to castle, and from town to town, all over scotland. on these expeditions she traveled on horseback, sometimes with a royal escort, and sometimes at the head of an army of eighteen or twenty thousand men. these royal progresses were made sometimes among the great towns and cities on the eastern coast of scotland, and also, at other times, among the gloomy and dangerous defiles of the highlands. occasionally she would pay visits to the nobles at their castles, to hunt in their parks, to review their highland retainers, or to join them in celebrations and fêtes, and military parades. during all this time, her personal influence and ascendency over all who knew her was constantly increasing; and the people of scotland, notwithstanding the disagreement on the subject of religion, became more and more devoted to their queen. the attachment which those who were in immediate attendance upon her felt to her person and character, was in many cases extreme. in one instance, this attachment led to a very sad result. there was a young frenchman, named chatelard, who came in mary's train from france. he was a scholar and a poet. he began by writing verses in mary's praise, which mary read, and seemed to be pleased with. this increased his interest in her, and led him to imagine that he was himself the object of her kind regard. finally, the love which he felt for her came to be a perfect infatuation. he concealed himself one night in mary's bed-chamber, armed, as if to resist any attack which the attendants might make upon him. he was discovered by the female attendants, and taken away, and they, for fear of alarming mary, did not tell her of the circumstance till the next morning. mary was very much displeased, or, at least, professed to be so. john knox thought that this displeasure was only a pretense. she, however, forbid chatelard to come any more into her sight. a day or two after this, mary set out on a journey to the north. chatelard followed. he either believed that mary really loved him, or else he was led on by that strange and incontrollable infatuation which so often, in such cases, renders even the wisest men utterly reckless and blind to the consequences of what they say or do. he watched his opportunity, and one night, when mary retired to her bed-room, he followed her directly in. mary called for help. the attendants came in, and immediately sent for the earl of murray, who was in the palace. chatelard protested that all he wanted was to explain and apologize for his coming into mary's room before, and to ask her to forgive him. mary, however, would not listen. she was very much incensed. when murray came in, she directed him to run his dagger through the man. murray, however, instead of doing this, had the offender seized and sent to prison. in a few days he was tried, and condemned to be beheaded. the excitement and enthusiasm of his love continued to the last. he stood firm and undaunted on the scaffold, and, just before he laid his head on the block, he turned toward the place where mary was then lodging, and said, "farewell! loveliest and most cruel princess that the world contains!" in the mean time, mary and queen elizabeth continued ostensibly on good terms. they sent embassadors to each other's courts. they communicated letters and messages to each other, and entered into various negotiations respecting the affairs of their respective kingdoms. the truth was, each was afraid of the other, and neither dared to come to an open rupture. elizabeth was uneasy on account of mary's claim to her crown, and was very anxious to avoid driving her to extremities, since she knew that, in that case, there would be great danger of her attempting openly to enforce it. mary, on the other hand, thought that there was more probability of her obtaining the succession to the english crown by keeping peace with elizabeth than by a quarrel. elizabeth was not married, and was likely to live and die single. mary would then be the next heir, without much question. she wished elizabeth to acknowledge this, and to have the english parliament enact it. if elizabeth would take this course, mary was willing to waive her claims during elizabeth's life. elizabeth, however, was not willing to do this decidedly. she wished to reserve the right to herself of marrying if she chose. she also wished to keep mary dependent upon her as long as she could. hence, while she would not absolutely refuse to comply with mary's proposition, she would not really accede to it, but kept the whole matter in suspense by endless procrastination, difficulties, and delays. i have said that, after elizabeth, mary's claim to the british crown was almost unquestioned. there was another lady about as nearly related to the english royal line as mary. her name was margaret stuart. her title was lady lennox. she had a son named henry stuart, whose title was lord darnley. it was a question whether mary or margaret were best entitled to consider herself the heir to the british crown after elizabeth. mary, therefore, had two obstacles in the way of the accomplishment of her wishes to be queen of england: one was the claim of elizabeth, who was already in possession of the throne, and the other the claims of lady lennox, and, after her, of her son darnley. there was a plan of disposing of this last difficulty in a very simple manner. it was, to have mary marry lord darnley, and thus unite these two claims. this plan had been proposed, but there had been no decision in respect to it. there was one objection: that darnley being mary's cousin, their marriage was forbidden by the laws of the catholic church. there was no way of obviating this difficulty but by applying to the pope to grant them a special dispensation. in the mean time, a great many other plans were formed for mary's marriage. several of the princes and potentates of europe applied for her hand. they were allured somewhat, no doubt, by her youth and beauty, and still more, very probably, by the desire to annex her kingdom to their dominions. mary, wishing to please elizabeth, communicated often with her, to ask her advice and counsel in regard to her marriage. elizabeth's policy was to embarrass and perplex the whole subject by making difficulties in respect to every plan proposed. finally, she recommended a gentleman of her own court to mary--robert dudley, whom she afterward made earl of leicester--one of her special favorites. the position of dudley, and the circumstances of the case, were such that mankind have generally supposed that elizabeth did not seriously imagine that such a plan could be adopted, but that she proposed it, as perverse and intriguing people often do, as a means of increasing the difficulty. such minds often attempt to prevent doing what _can_ be done by proposing and urging what they know is impossible. in the course of these negotiations, queen mary once sent melville, her former page of honor in france, as a special embassador to queen elizabeth, to ascertain more perfectly her views. melville had followed mary to scotland, and had entered her service there as a confidential secretary; and as she had great confidence in his prudence and in his fidelity, she thought him the most suitable person to undertake this mission. melville afterward lived to an advanced age, and in the latter part of his life he wrote a narrative of his various adventures, and recorded, in quaint and ancient language, many of his conversations and interviews with the two queens. his mission to england was of course a very important event in his life, and one of the most curious and entertaining passages in his memoirs is his narrative of his interviews with the english queen. he was, at the time, about thirty-four years of age. mary was about twenty-two. sir james melville was received with many marks of attention and honor by queen elizabeth. his first interview with her was in a garden near the palace. she first asked him about a letter which mary had recently written to her, and which, she said, had greatly displeased her; and she took out a reply from her pocket, written in very sharp and severe language, though she said she had not sent it because it was not severe enough, and she was going to write another. melville asked to see the letter from mary which had given elizabeth so much offense; and on reading it, he explained it, and disavowed, on mary's part, any intention to give offense, and thus finally succeeded in appeasing elizabeth's displeasure, and at length induced her to tear up her angry reply. elizabeth then wanted to know what mary thought of her proposal of dudley for her husband. melville told her that she had not given the subject much reflection, but that she was going to appoint two commissioners, and she wished elizabeth to appoint two others, and then that the four should meet on the borders of the two countries, and consider the whole subject of the marriage. elizabeth said that she perceived that mary did not think much of this proposed match. she said, however, that dudley stood extremely high in _her_ regard, that she was going to make him an earl, and that she should marry him herself were it not that she was fully resolved to live and die a single woman. she said she wished very much to have dudley become mary's husband both on account of her attachment to him, and also on account of his attachment to her, which she was sure would prevent his allowing her, that is, elizabeth, to have any trouble out of mary's claim to her crown as long as she lived. elizabeth also asked melville to wait in westminster until the day appointed for making dudley an earl. this was done, a short time afterward, with great ceremony. lord darnley, then a very tall and slender youth of about nineteen, was present on the occasion. his father and mother had been banished from scotland, on account of some political offenses, twenty years before, and he had thus himself been brought up in england. as he was a near relative of the queen, and a sort of heir-presumptive to the crown, he had a high position at the court, and his office was, on this occasion, to bear the sword of honor before the queen. dudley kneeled before elizabeth while she put upon him the badges of his new dignity. afterward she asked melville what he thought of him. melville was polite enough to speak warmly in his favor. "and yet," said the queen, "i suppose you prefer yonder _long_ lad," pointing to darnley. she knew something of mary's half-formed design of making darnley her husband. melville, who did not wish her to suppose that mary had any serious intention of choosing darnley, said that "no woman of spirit would choose such a person as he was, for he was handsome, beardless, and lady-faced; in fact, he looked more like a woman than a man." melville was not very honest in this, for he had secret instructions at this very time to apply to lady lennox, darnley's mother, to send her son into scotland, in order that mary might see him, and be assisted to decide the question of becoming his wife, by ascertaining how she was going to like him personally. queen elizabeth, in the mean time, pressed upon melville the importance of mary's deciding soon in favor of the marriage with leicester. as to declaring in favor of mary's right to inherit the crown after her, she said the question was in the hands of the great lawyers and commissioners to whom she had referred it, and that she heartily wished that they might come to a conclusion in favor of mary's claim. she should urge the business forward as fast as she could; but the result would depend very much upon the disposition which mary showed to comply with her wishes in respect to the marriage. she said she should never marry herself unless she was compelled to it on account of mary's giving her trouble by her claims upon the crown, and forcing her to desire that it should go to her direct descendants. if mary would act wisely, and as she ought, and follow _her_ counsel, she would, in due time, have all her desire. some time more elapsed in negotiations and delays. there was a good deal of trouble in getting leave for darnley to go to scotland. from his position, and from the state of the laws and customs of the two realms, he could not go without elizabeth's permission. finally, mary sent word to elizabeth that she would marry leicester according to her wish, if she would have her claim to the english crown, _after_ elizabeth, acknowledged and established by the english government, so as to have that question definitely and finally settled. elizabeth sent back for answer to this proposal, that if mary married leicester, she would advance him to great honors and dignities, but that she could not do any thing at present about the succession. she also, at the same time, gave permission to darnley to go to scotland. it is thought that elizabeth never seriously intended that mary should marry leicester, and that she did not suppose mary herself would consent to it on any terms. accordingly, when she found mary was acceding to the plan, she wanted to retreat from it herself, and hoped that darnley's going to scotland, and appearing there as a new competitor in the field, would tend to complicate and embarrass the question in mary's mind, and help to prevent the leicester negotiation from going any further. at any rate, lord darnley--then a very tall and handsome young man of nineteen--obtained suddenly permission to go to scotland. mary went to wemys castle, and made arrangements to have darnley come and visit her there. [illustration: wemy's castle--the scene of mary's first interview with darnley.] wemys castle is situated in a most romantic and beautiful spot on the sea-shore, on the northern side of the frith of forth. edinburgh is upon the southern side of the frith, and is in full view from the windows of the castle, with salisbury crags and arthur's seat on the left of the city. wemys castle was, at this time, the residence of murray, mary's brother. mary's visit to it was an event which attracted a great deal of attention. the people flocked into the neighborhood and provisions and accommodations of every kind rose enormously in price. every one was eager to get a glimpse of the beautiful queen. besides, they knew that lord darnley was expected, and the rumor that he was seriously thought of as her future husband had been widely circulated, and had awakened, of course, a universal desire to see him. mary was very much pleased with darnley. she told melville, after their first interview, that he was the handsomest and best proportioned "long man" she had ever seen. darnley was, in fact, very tall, and as he was straight and slender, he appeared even taller than he really was. he was, however, though young, very easy and graceful in his manners, and highly accomplished. mary was very much pleased with him. she had almost decided to make him her husband before she saw him, merely from political considerations, on account of her wish to combine his claim with hers in respect to the english crown. elizabeth's final answer, refusing the terms on which mary had consented to marry leicester, which came about this time, vexed her, and determined her to abandon that plan. and now, just in such a crisis, to find darnley possessed of such strong personal attractions, seemed to decide the question. in a few days her imagination was full of pictures of joy and pleasure, in anticipations of union with such a husband. the thing took the usual course of such affairs. darnley asked mary to be his wife. she said no, and was offended with him for asking it. he offered her a present of a ring. she refused to accept it. but the no meant yes, and the rejection of the ring was only the prelude to the acceptance of something far more important, of which a ring is the symbol. mary's first interview with darnley was in february. in april, queen elizabeth's embassador sent her word that he was satisfied that mary's marriage with darnley was all arranged and settled. queen elizabeth was, or pretended to be, in a great rage. she sent the most urgent remonstrances to mary against the execution of the plan. she forwarded, also, very decisive orders to darnley, and to the earl of lennox his father, to return immediately to england. lennox replied that he could not return, for "he did not think the climate would agree with him!" darnley sent back word that he had entered the service of the queen of scots, and henceforth should obey her orders alone. elizabeth, however, was not the only one who opposed this marriage. the earl of murray, mary's brother, who had been thus far the great manager of the government under mary, took at once a most decided stand against it. he enlisted a great number of protestant nobles with him, and they held deliberations, in which they formed plans for resisting it by force. but mary, who, with all her gentleness and loveliness of spirit, had, like other women, some decision and energy when an object in which the heart is concerned is at stake, had made up her mind. she sent to france to get the consent of her friends there. she dispatched a commissioner to rome to obtain the pope's dispensation; she obtained the sanction of her own parliament; and, in fact, in every way hastened the preparations for the marriage. murray, on the other hand, and his confederate lords, were determined to prevent it. they formed a plan to rise in rebellion against mary, to waylay and seize her, to imprison her, and to send darnley and his father to england, having made arrangements with elizabeth's ministers to receive them at the borders. the plan was all well matured, and would probably have been carried into effect, had not mary, in some way or other, obtained information of the design. she was then at stirling, and they were to waylay her on the usual route to edinburgh. she made a sudden journey, at an unexpected time, and by a new and unusual road, and thus evaded her enemies. the violence of this opposition only stimulated her determination to carry the marriage into effect without delay. her escape from her rebellious nobles took place in june, and she was married in july. this was six months after her first interview with darnley. the ceremony was performed in the royal chapel at holyrood. they show, to this day, the place where she is said to have stood, in the now roofless interior. mary was conducted into the chapel by lennox and another nobleman, in the midst of a large company of lords and ladies of the court, and of strangers of distinction, who had come to edinburgh to witness the ceremony. a vast throng had collected also around the palace. mary was led to the altar, and then lord darnley was conducted in. the marriage ceremony was performed according to the catholic ritual. three rings, one of them a diamond ring of great value, were put upon her finger. after the ceremony, largess was proclaimed, and money distributed among the crowd, as had been done in paris at mary's former marriage, five years before. mary then remained to attend the celebration of mass, darnley, who was not a catholic, retiring. after the mass, mary returned to the palace, and changed the mourning dress which she had continued to wear from the time of her first husband's death to that hour, for one more becoming a bride. the evening was spent in festivities of every kind. we have said that darnley was personally attractive in respect both to his countenance and his manners; and, unfortunately, this is all that can be said in his favor. he was weak-minded, and yet self-conceited and vain. the sudden elevation which his marriage with a queen gave him, made him proud, and he soon began to treat all around him in a very haughty and imperious manner. he seems to have been entirely unaccustomed to exercise any self-command, or to submit to any restraints in the gratification of his passions. mary paid him a great many attentions, and took great pleasure in conferring upon him, as her queenly power enabled her to do, distinctions and honors; but, instead of being grateful for them, he received them as matters of course, and was continually demanding more. there was one title which he wanted, and which, for some good reason, it was necessary to postpone conferring upon him. a nobleman came to him one day and informed him of the necessity of this delay. he broke into a fit of passion, drew his dagger, rushed toward the nobleman, and attempted to stab him. he commenced his imperious and haughty course of procedure even before his marriage, and continued it afterward, growing more and more violent as his ambition increased with an increase of power. mary felt these cruel acts of selfishness and pride very keenly, but, womanlike, she palliated and excused them, and loved him still. she had, however, other trials and cares pressing upon her immediately. murray and his confederates organized a formal and open rebellion. mary raised an army and took the field against them. the country generally took her side. a terrible and somewhat protracted civil war ensued, but the rebels were finally defeated and driven out of the country. they went to england and claimed elizabeth's protection, saying that she had incited them to the revolt, and promised them her aid. elizabeth told them that it would not do for her to be supposed to have abetted a rebellion in her cousin mary's dominions, and that, unless they would, in the presence of the foreign embassadors at her court, disavow her having done so, she could not help them or countenance them in any way. the miserable men, being reduced to a hard extremity, made this disavowal. elizabeth then said to them, "now you have told the truth. neither i, nor any one else in my name, incited you against your queen; and your abominable treason _may_ set an example to my own subjects to rebel against me. so get you gone out of my presence, miserable traitors as you are." thus mary triumphed over all the obstacles to her marriage with the man she loved; but, alas! before the triumph was fully accomplished, the love was gone. darnley was selfish, unfeeling, and incapable of requiting affection like mary's. he treated her with the most heartless indifference, though she had done every thing to awaken his gratitude and win his love. she bestowed upon him every honor which it was in her power to grant. she gave him the title of king. she admitted him to share with her the powers and prerogatives of the crown. there is to this day, in mary's apartments at holyrood house, a double throne which she had made for herself and her husband, with their initials worked together in the embroidered covering, and each seat surmounted by a crown. mankind have always felt a strong sentiment of indignation at the ingratitude which could requite such love with such selfishness and cruelty. chapter vii. rizzio. - david rizzio.--embassadors.--rizzio's position.--rizzio french secretary.--displeasure of the scotch nobles.--they treat rizzio with scorn and contempt.--he consults melville.--melville's counsel.--melville and the queen.--rizzio's religion.--his services to mary.--rizzio's power and influence.--his intimacy with mary.--rizzio's exertion in favor of the marriage.--rizzio and darnley.--darnley greatly disliked.--his unreasonable wishes.--the crown matrimonial.--darnley's ambition.--darnley's brutality.--signatures.--coins.--rizzio sides with mary.--darnley and ruthven.--a combination.--the secretary and his queen.--nature of mary's attachment.--plot to assassinate rizzio.--plan of holyrood house.--description.--apartments.--morton and ruthven.--mary at supper.--arrangement of the conspirators.--the little upper room.--murder of rizzio.--conversation.--violence of the conspirators.--mary a prisoner.--darnley's usurpation.--melville.--mary appeals to the provost.--mary defeats the conspirators.--birth of her son. mary had a secretary named david rizzio. he was from savoy, a country among the alps. it was the custom then, as it is now, for the various governments of europe to have embassadors at the courts of other governments, to attend to any negotiations, or to the transaction of any other business which might arise between their respective sovereigns. these embassadors generally traveled with pomp and parade, taking sometimes many attendants with them. the embassador from savoy happened to bring with him to scotland, in his train, this young man, rizzio, in , that is, just about the time that mary herself returned to scotland. he was a handsome and agreeable young man, but his rank and position were such that, for some years, he attracted no attention. he was, however, quite a singer, and they used to bring him in sometimes to sing in mary's presence with three other singers. his voice, being a good bass, made up the quartette. mary saw him in this way, and as he was a good french and italian scholar, and was amiable and intelligent, she gradually became somewhat interested in him. mary had, at this time, among her other officers, a french secretary, who wrote for her, and transacted such other business as required a knowledge of the french language. this french secretary went home, and mary appointed rizzio to take his place. the native scotchmen in mary's court were naturally very jealous of the influence of these foreigners. they looked down with special contempt on rizzio, considering him of mean rank and position, and wholly destitute of all claim to the office of confidential secretary to the queen. rizzio increased the difficulty by not acting with the reserve and prudence which his delicate situation required. the nobles, proud of their own rank and importance, were very much displeased at the degree of intimacy and confidence to which mary admitted him. they called him an intruder and an upstart. when they came in and found him in conversation with the queen, or whenever he accosted her freely, as he was wont to do, in their presence, they were irritated and vexed. they did not dare to remonstrate with mary, but they took care to express their feelings of resentment and scorn to the subject of them in every possible way. they scowled upon him. they directed to him looks of contempt. they turned their backs upon him, and jostled him in a rude and insulting manner. all this was a year or two before mary's marriage. rizzio consulted melville, asking his judgment as to what he had better do. he said that, being mary's french secretary, he was necessarily a good deal in her company, and the nobles seemed displeased with it; but he did not see what he could do to diminish or avoid the difficulty. melville replied that the nobles had an opinion that he not only performed the duties of french secretary, but that he was fast acquiring a great ascendency in respect to all other affairs. melville further advised him to be much more cautious in his bearing than he had been, to give place to the nobles when they were with him in the presence of the queen, to speak less freely, and in a more unassuming manner, and to explain the whole case to the queen herself, that she might co-operate with him in pursuing a course which would soothe and conciliate the irritated and angry feelings of the nobles. melville said, moreover, that he had himself, at one time, at a court on the continent, been placed in a very similar situation to rizzio's, and had been involved in the same difficulties, but had escaped the dangers which threatened him by pursuing himself the course which he now recommended. rizzio seemed to approve of this counsel, and promised to follow it; but he afterward told melville that he had spoken to the queen on the subject, and that she would not consent to any change, but wished every thing to go on as it had done. now the queen, having great confidence in melville, had previously requested him, that if he saw any thing in her deportment, or management, or measures, which he thought was wrong, frankly to let her know it, that she might be warned in season, and amend. he thought that this was an occasion which required this friendly interposition, and he took an opportunity to converse with her on the subject in a frank and plain, but still very respectful manner. he made but little impression. mary said that rizzio was only her private french secretary; that he had nothing to do with the affairs of the government; that, consequently, his appointment and his office were her own private concern alone, and she should continue to act according to her own pleasure in managing her own affairs, no matter who was displeased by it. it is probable that the real ground of offense which the nobles had against rizzio was jealousy of his superior influence with the queen. they, however, made his religion a great ground of complaint against him. he was a catholic, and had come from a strong catholic country, having been born in the northern part of italy. the italian language was his mother tongue. they professed to believe that he was a secret emissary of the pope, and was plotting with mary to bring scotland back under the papal dominion. in the mean time, rizzio devoted himself with untiring zeal and fidelity to the service of the queen. he was indefatigable in his efforts to please her, and he made himself extremely useful to her in a thousand different ways. in fact, his being the object of so much dislike and aversion on the part of others, made him more and more exclusively devoted to the queen, who seemed to be almost his only friend. she, too, was urged, by what she considered the unreasonable and bitter hostility of which her favorite was the object, to bestow upon him greater and greater favors. in process of time, one after another of those about the court, finding that rizzio's influence and power were great and were increasing, began to treat him with respect, and to ask for his assistance in gaining their ends. thus rizzio found his position becoming stronger, and the probability began to increase that he would at length triumph over the enemies who had set their faces so strongly against him. though he had been at first inclined to follow melville's advice, yet he afterward fell in cordially with the policy of the queen, which was, to press boldly forward, and put down with a strong hand the hostility which had been excited against him. instead, therefore, of attempting to conceal the degree of favor which he enjoyed with the queen, he boasted of and displayed it. he would converse often and familiarly with her in public. he dressed magnificently, like persons of the highest rank, and had many attendants. in a word, he assumed all the airs and manners of a person of high distinction and commanding influence. the external signs of hostility to him were thus put down, but the fires of hatred burned none the less fiercely below, and only wanted an opportunity to burst into an explosion. things were in this state at the time of the negotiations in respect to darnley's marriage; for, in order to take up the story of rizzio from the beginning, we have been obliged to go back in our narrative. rizzio exerted all his influence in favor of the marriage, and thus both strengthened his influence with mary and made darnley his friend. he did all in his power to diminish the opposition to it, from whatever quarter it might come, and rendered essential service in the correspondence with france, and in the negotiations with the pope for obtaining the necessary dispensation. in a word, he did a great deal to promote the marriage, and to facilitate all the arrangements for carrying it into effect. darnley relied, therefore, upon rizzio's friendship and devotion to his service, forgetting that, in all these past efforts, rizzio was acting out of regard to mary's wishes, and not to his own. as long, therefore, as mary and darnley continued to pursue the same objects and aims, rizzio was the common friend and ally of both. the enemies of the marriage, however, disliked rizzio more than ever. as darnley's character developed itself gradually after his marriage, every body began to dislike him also. he was unprincipled and vicious, as well as imperious and proud. his friendship for rizzio was another ground of dislike to him. the ancient nobles, who had been accustomed to exercise the whole control in the public affairs of scotland, found themselves supplanted by this young italian singer, and an english boy not yet out of his teens. they were exasperated beyond all bounds, but yet they contrived, for a while, to conceal and dissemble their anger. it was not very long after the marriage of mary and darnley before they began to become alienated from each other. mary did every thing for her husband which it was reasonable for him to expect her to do. she did, in fact, all that was in her power. but he was not satisfied. she made him the sharer of her throne. he wanted her to give up _her_ place to him, and thus make him the sole possessor of it. he wanted what was called the _crown matrimonial_. the _crown matrimonial_ denoted power with which, according to the old scottish law, the husband of a queen could be invested, enabling him to exercise the royal prerogative in his own name, both during the life of the queen and also after her death, during the continuance of his own life. this made him, in fact, a king for life, exalting him above his wife, the real sovereign, through whom alone he derived his powers. now darnley was very urgent to have the crown matrimonial conferred upon him. he insisted upon it. he would not submit to any delay. mary told him that this was something entirely beyond her power to grant. the crown matrimonial could only be bestowed by a solemn enactment of the scottish parliament. but darnley, impatient and reckless, like a boy as he was, would not listen to any excuse, but teased and tormented mary about the crown matrimonial continually. besides the legal difficulties in the way of mary's conferring these powers upon darnley by her own act, there were other difficulties, doubtless, in her mind, arising from the character of darnley, and his unfitness, which was every day becoming more manifest, to be intrusted with such power. only four months after his marriage, his rough and cruel treatment of mary became intolerable. one day, at a house in edinburgh, where the king and queen, and other persons of distinction had been invited to a banquet, darnley, as was his custom, was beginning to drink very freely, and was trying to urge other persons there to drink to excess. mary expostulated with him, endeavoring to dissuade him from such a course. darnley resented these kind cautions, and retorted upon her in so violent and brutal a manner as to cause her to leave the room and the company in tears. when they were first married, mary had caused her husband to be proclaimed king, and had taken some other similar steps to invest him with a share of her own power. but she soon found that in doing this she had gone to the extreme of propriety, and that, for the future, she must retreat rather than advance. accordingly, although he was associated with her in the supreme power, she thought it best to keep precedence for her own _name_ before his, in the exercise of power. on the coins which were struck, the inscription was, "in the name of the _queen_ and _king_ of scotland." in signing public documents, she insisted on having her name recorded first. these things irritated and provoked darnley more and more. he was not contented to be admitted to a share of the sovereign power which the queen possessed in her own right alone. he wished to supplant her in it entirely. rizzio, of course, took queen mary's part in these questions. he opposed the grant of the crown matrimonial. he opposed all other plans for increasing or extending in any way darnley's power. darnley was very much incensed against him, and earnestly desired to find some way to effect his destruction. he communicated these feelings to a certain fierce and fearless nobleman named ruthven, and asked his assistance to contrive some way to take vengeance upon rizzio. ruthven was very much pleased to hear this. he belonged to a party of the lords of the court who also hated rizzio, though they had hated darnley besides so much that they had not communicated to him their hostility to the other. ruthven and his friends had not joined murray and the other rebels in opposing the marriage of darnley. they had chosen to acquiesce in it, hoping to maintain an ascendency over darnley, regarding him, as they did, as a mere boy, and thus retain their power. when they found, however, that he was so headstrong and unmanageable, and that they could do nothing with him, they exerted all their influence to have murray and the other exiled lords pardoned and allowed to return, hoping to combine with them after their return, and then together to make their power superior to that of darnley and rizzio. they considered darnley and rizzio both as their rivals and enemies. when they found, therefore, that darnley was plotting rizzio's destruction, they felt a very strong as well as a very unexpected pleasure. thus, among all the jealousies, and rivalries, and bitter animosities of which the court was at this time the scene, the only true and honest attachment of one heart to another seems to have been that of mary to rizzio. the secretary was faithful and devoted to the queen, and the queen was grateful and kind to the secretary. there has been some question whether this attachment was an innocent or a guilty one. a painting, still hanging in the private rooms which belonged to mary in the palace at holyrood, represents rizzio as young and very handsome; on the other hand, some of the historians of the day, to disprove the possibility of any guilty attachment, say that he was rather old and ugly. we may ourselves, perhaps, safely infer, that unless there were something specially repulsive in his appearance and manner, such a heart as mary's, repelled so roughly from the one whom it was her duty to love, could not well have resisted the temptation to seek a retreat and a refuge in the kind devotedness of such a friend as rizzio proved himself to be to her. however this may be, ruthven made such suggestions to darnley as goaded him to madness, and a scheme was soon formed for putting rizzio to death. the plan, after being deliberately matured in all its arrangements, was carried into effect in the following manner. the event occurred early in the spring of , less than a year after mary's marriage. morton, who was one of the accomplices, assembled a large force of his followers, consisting, it is said, of five hundred men, which he posted in the evening near the palace, and when it was dark he moved them silently into the central court of the palace, through the entrance _e_, as marked upon the following plan. [illustration: plan of that part of holyrood house which was the scene of rizzio's murder. e. principal entrance. co. court of the palace. pp. piazza around it. aa. various apartments built in modern times. h. great hall, used now as a gallery of portraits. t. stair-case. o. entrance to mary's apartments, second floor. r. ante-room. b. mary's bed-room. d. dressing-room in one of the towers. c. cabinet, or small room in the other tower. ss. stair-cases in the wall. d. small entrance under the tapestry. ch. royal chapel. m. place where mary and darnley stood at the marriage ceremony. pa. passage-way leading to the chapel.] mary was, at the time of these occurrences in the little room marked _c_, which was built within one of the round towers which form a part of the front of the building, and which are very conspicuous in any view of the palace of holyrood.[g] this room was on the third floor, and it opened into mary's bed-room, marked _b._ darnley had a room of his own immediately below mary's. there was a little door, _d_, leading from mary's bed-room to a private stair-case built in the wall. this stair-case led down into darnley's room; and there was also a communication from this place down through the whole length of the castle to the royal chapel, marked _ch_, the building which is now in ruins. behind mary's bed-room was an ante-room, _r_, with a door, _o_, leading to the public stair-case by which her apartments were approached. all these apartments still remain, and are explored annually by thousands of visitors. [footnote g: see view of holyrood house, page and compare it with this plan.] it was about seven o'clock in the evening that the conspirators were to execute their purpose. morton remained below in the court with his troops, to prevent any interruption. he held a high office under the queen, which authorized him to bring a force into the court of the palace, and his doing so did not alarm the inmates. ruthven was to head the party which was to commit the crime. he was confined to his bed with sickness at the time, but he was so eager to have a share in the pleasure of destroying rizzio, that he left his bed, put on a suit of armor, and came forth to the work. the armor is preserved in the little apartment which was the scene of the tragedy to this day. mary was at supper. two near relatives and friends of hers--a gentleman and a lady--and rizzio, were with her. the room is scarcely large enough to contain a greater number. there were, however, two or three servants in attendance at a side-table. darnley came up, about eight o'clock, to make observations. the other conspirators were concealed in his room below, and it was agreed that if darnley found any cause for not proceeding with the plan, he was to return immediately and give them notice. if, therefore, he should not return, after the lapse of a reasonable time, they were to follow him up the private stair-case, prepared to act at once and decidedly as soon as they should enter the room. they were to come up by this private stair-case, in order to avoid being intercepted or delayed by the domestics in attendance in the ante-room, _r_, of which there would have been danger if they had ascended by the public stair-case at _t_. finding that darnley did not return, ruthven with his party ascended the stairs, entered the bed-chamber through the little door at _d_, and thence advanced to the door of the cabinet, his heavy iron armor clanking as he came. the queen, alarmed, demanded the meaning of this intrusion. ruthven, whose countenance was grim and ghastly from the conjoined influence of ferocious passion and disease, said that they meant no harm to her, but they only wanted the villain who stood near her. rizzio perceived that his hour was come. the attendants flocked in to the assistance of the queen and rizzio. ruthven's confederates advanced to join in the attack, and there ensued one of those scenes of confusion and terror, of which those who witness it have no distinct recollection on looking back upon it when it is over. rizzio cried out in an agony of fear, and sought refuge behind the queen; the queen herself fainted; the table was overturned; and rizzio, having received one wound from a dagger, was seized and dragged out through the bed-chamber, _b_, and through the ante-room, _r_, to the door, _o_, where he fell down, and was stabbed by the murderers again and again, till he ceased to breathe. after this scene was over, darnley and ruthven came coolly back into mary's chamber, and, as soon as mary recovered her senses, began to talk of and to justify their act of violence, without, however, telling her that rizzio had been killed. mary was filled with emotions of resentment and grief. she bitterly reproached darnley for such an act of cruelty as breaking into her apartment with armed men, and seizing and carrying off her friend. she told him that she had raised him from his comparatively humble position to make him her husband, and now this was his return. darnley replied that rizzio had supplanted him in her confidence, and thwarted all his plans, and that mary had shown herself utterly regardless of his wishes, under the influence of rizzio. he said that, since mary had made herself his wife, she ought to have obeyed him, and not put herself in such a way under the direction of another. mary learned rizzio's fate the next day. the violence of the conspirators did not stop with the destruction of rizzio. some of mary's high officers of government, who were in the palace at the time, were obliged to make their escape from the windows to avoid being seized by morton and his soldiers in the court. among them was the earl bothwell, who tried at first to drive morton out, but in the end was obliged himself to flee. some of these men let themselves down by ropes from the outer windows. when the uproar and confusion caused by this struggle was over, they found that mary, overcome with agitation and terror, was showing symptoms of fainting again, and they concluded to leave her. they informed her that she must consider herself a prisoner, and, setting a guard at the door of her apartment, they went away, leaving her to spend the night in an agony of resentment, anxiety, and fear. lord darnley took the government at once entirely into his own hands. he prorogued parliament, which was then just commencing a session, in his own name alone. he organized an administration, mary's officers having fled. in saying that _he_ did these things, we mean, of course, that the conspirators did them in his name. he was still but a boy, scarcely out of his teens, and incapable of any other action in such an emergency but a blind compliance with the wishes of the crafty men who had got him into their power by gratifying his feelings of revenge. they took possession of the government in his name, and kept mary a close prisoner. the murder was committed on saturday night. the next morning, of course, was sunday. melville was going out of the palace about ten o'clock. as he passed along under the window where mary was confined, she called out to him for help. he asked her what he could do for her. she told him to go to the provost of edinburgh, the officer corresponding to the mayor of a city in this country, and ask him to call out the city guard, and come and release her from her captivity. "go quick," said she, "or the guards will see you and stop you." just then the guards came up and challenged melville. he told them he was going to the city to attend church; so they let him pass on. he went to the provost, and delivered mary's message. the provost said he dared not, and could not interfere. so mary remained a prisoner. her captivity, however, was of short duration. in two days darnley came to see her. he persuaded her that he himself had had nothing to do with the murder of rizzio. mary, on the other hand, persuaded him that it was better for them to be friends to each other than to live thus in a perpetual quarrel. she convinced him that ruthven and his confederates were not, and could not be, his friends. they would only make him the instrument of obtaining the objects of their ambition. darnley saw this. he felt that he as well as mary were in the rebels' power. they formed a plan to escape together. they succeeded. they fled to a distant castle, and collected a large army, the people every where flocking to the assistance of the queen. they returned to edinburgh in a short time in triumph. the conspirators fled. mary then decided to pardon and recall the old rebels, and expend her anger henceforth on the new; and thus the earl murray, her brother, was brought back, and once more restored to favor. after settling all these troubles, mary retired to edinburgh castle, where it was supposed she could be best protected, and in the month of july following the murder of rizzio, she gave birth to a son. in this son was afterward accomplished all her fondest wishes, for he inherited in the end both the english and scottish crowns. chapter viii. bothwell. - earl of bothwell.--his desperate character.--castle of dunbar.--the border country.--scenes of violence and blood.--birth of james.--its political importance.--darnley's conduct.--darnley's hypocrisy.--mary's dejection.--a divorce proposed.--mary's love for her child.--baptism of the infant.--james's titles.--the prince's cradle.--bothwell and murray.--mary's visit to bothwell.--its probable motive.--plot for darnley's destruction.--bothwell's intrigues.--desperate schemes attributed to darnley.--his illness.--mary's visit.--return to edinburgh.--situation of darnley's residence.--kirk of field.--description of darnley's residence.--plan of darnley's house.--its accommodations.--french paris.--the gunpowder.--a wedding.--details of the plot.--the powder placed in mary's room.--the big cask.--bothwell's effrontery.--mary's leave of darnley.--was mary privy to the plot?--anecdotes of mary.--return to holyrood.--french paris falters.--the convent gardens.--laying the train.--suspense.--the explosion.--flight of the criminals.--mary's indignation.--bothwell arrested, tried, and acquitted.--bothwell's challenge.--his plan to marry mary.--the abduction.--mary's confinement at dunbar.--her account of it.--bothwell entreats mary to marry him.--she consents.--bothwell's pardon.--the marriage.--doubts in respect to mary.--influence of beauty and misfortune. the earl of bothwell was a man of great energy of character, fearless and decided in all that he undertook, and sometimes perfectly reckless and uncontrollable. he was in scotland at the time of mary's return from france, but he was so turbulent and unmanageable that he was at one time sent into banishment. he was, however, afterward recalled, and again intrusted with power. he entered ardently into mary's service in her contest with the murderers of rizzio. he assisted her in raising an army after her flight, and in conquering morton, ruthven, and the rest, and driving them out of the country. mary soon began to look upon him as, notwithstanding his roughness, her best and most efficient friend. as a reward for these services, she granted him a castle, situated in a romantic position on the eastern coast of scotland. it was called the castle of dunbar. it was on a stormy promontory, overlooking the german ocean: a very appropriate retreat and fastness for such a man of iron as he. in those days, the border country between england and scotland was the resort of robbers, freebooters, and outlaws from both lands. if pursued by one government, they could retreat across the line and be safe. incursions, too, were continually made across this frontier by the people of either side, to plunder or to destroy whatever property was within reach. thus the country became a region of violence and bloodshed which all men of peace and quietness were glad to shun. they left it to the possession of men who could find pleasure in such scenes of violence and blood. when queen mary had got quietly settled in her government, after the overthrow of the murderers of rizzio, as she thus no longer needed bothwell's immediate aid, she sent him to this border country to see if he could enforce some sort of order among its lawless population. the birth of mary's son was an event of the greatest importance, not only to her personally, but in respect to the political prospects of the two great kingdoms, for in this infant were combined the claims of succession to both the scotch and english crowns. the whole world knew that if elizabeth should die without leaving a direct heir, this child would become the monarch both of england and scotland, and, as such, one of the greatest personages in europe. his birth, therefore, was a great event, and it was celebrated in scotland with universal rejoicings. the tidings of it spread, as news of great public interest, all over europe. even elizabeth pretended to be pleased, and sent messages of congratulation to mary. but every one thought that they could see in her air and manner, when she received the intelligence, obvious traces of mortification and chagrin. mary's heart was filled, at first, with maternal pride and joy; but her happiness was soon sadly alloyed by darnley's continued unkindness. she traveled about during the autumn, from castle to castle, anxious and ill at ease. sometimes darnley followed her, and sometimes he amused himself with hunting, and with various vicious indulgences, at different towns and castles at a distance from her. he wanted her to dismiss her ministry and put him into power, and he took every possible means to importune or tease her into compliance with this plan. at one time he said he had resolved to leave scotland, and go and reside in france, and he pretended to make his preparations, and to be about to take his leave. he seems to have thought that mary, though he knew that she no longer loved him, would be distressed at the idea of being abandoned by one who was, after all, her husband. mary was, in fact, distressed at this proposal, and urged him not to go. he seemed determined, and took his leave. instead of going to france, however, he only went to stirling castle. darnley, finding that he could not accomplish his aims by such methods as these, wrote, it is said, to the catholic governments of europe, proposing that, if they would co-operate in putting him into power in scotland, he would adopt efficient measures for changing the religion of the country from the protestant to the catholic faith. he made, too, every effort to organize a party in his favor in scotland, and tried to defeat and counteract the influence of mary's government by every means in his power. these things, and other trials and difficulties connected with them, weighed very heavily upon mary's mind. she sunk gradually into a state of great dejection and despondency. she spent many hours in sighing and in tears, and often wished that she was in her grave. so deeply, in fact, was mary plunged into distress and trouble by the state of things existing between herself and darnley, that some of her officers of government began to conceive of a plan of having her divorced from him. after looking at this subject in all its bearings, and consulting about it with each other, they ventured, at last, to propose it to mary. she would not listen to any such plan. she did not think a divorce could be legally accomplished. and then, if it were to be done, it would, she feared, in some way or other, affect the position and rights of the darling son who was now to her more than all the world besides. she would rather endure to the end of her days the tyranny and torment she experienced from her brutal husband, than hazard in the least degree the future greatness and glory of the infant who was lying in his cradle before her, equally unconscious of the grandeur which awaited him in future years, and of the strength of the maternal love which was smiling upon him from amid such sorrow and tears, and extending over him such gentle, but determined and effectual protection. the sad and sorrowful feelings which mary endured were interrupted for a little time by the splendid pageant of the baptism of the child. embassadors came from all the important courts of the continent to do honor to the occasion. elizabeth sent the earl of bedford as her embassador, with a present of a baptismal font of gold, which had cost a sum equal to five thousand dollars. the baptism took place at stirling, in december, with every possible accompaniment of pomp and parade, and was followed by many days of festivities and rejoicing. the whole country were interested in the event except darnley, who declared sullenly, while the preparations were making, that he should not remain to witness the ceremony, but should go off a day or two before the appointed time. the ceremony was performed in the chapel. the child was baptized under the names of "charles james, james charles, prince and steward of scotland, duke of rothesay, earl of carrick, lord of the isles, and baron of renfrew." his subsequent designation in history was james sixth of scotland and first of england. a great many appointments of attendants and officers, to be attached to the service of the young prince, were made immediately, most of them, of course, mere matters of parade. among the rest, five ladies of distinction were constituted "rockers of his cradle." the form of the young prince's cradle has come down to us in an ancient drawing. [illustration: prince james's cradle.] in due time after the coronation, the various embassadors and delegates returned to their respective courts, carrying back glowing accounts of the ceremonies and festivities attendant upon the christening, and of the grace, and beauty, and loveliness of the queen. in the mean time, bothwell and murray were competitors for the confidence and regard of the queen, and it began to seem probable that bothwell would win the day. mary, in one of her excursions, was traveling in the southern part of the country, when she heard that he had been wounded in an encounter with a party of desperadoes near the border. moved partly, perhaps, by compassion, and partly by gratitude for his services, mary made an expedition across the country to pay him a visit. some say that she was animated by a more powerful motive than either of these. in fact this, as well as almost all the other acts of mary's life, are presented in very different lights by her friends and her enemies. the former say that this visit to her lieutenant in his confinement from a wound received in her service was perfectly proper, both in the design itself, and in all the circumstances of its execution. the latter represent it as an instance of highly indecorous eagerness on the part of a married lady to express to another man a sympathy and kind regard which she had ceased to feel for her husband. bothwell himself was married as well as mary. he had been married but a few months to a beautiful lady a few years younger than the queen. the question, however, whether mary did right or wrong in paying this visit to him, is not, after all, a very important one. there is no doubt that she and bothwell loved each other before they ought to have done so, and it is of comparatively little consequence when the attachment began. the end of it is certain. bothwell resolved to kill darnley, to get divorced from his own wife, and to marry the queen. the world has never yet settled the question whether she was herself his accomplice or not in the measures he adopted for effecting these plans, or whether she only submitted to the result when bothwell, by his own unaided efforts, reached it. each reader must judge of this question for himself from the facts about to be narrated. bothwell first communicated with the nobles about the court, to get their consent and approbation to the destruction of the king. they all appeared to be very willing to have the thing done, but were a little cautious about involving themselves in the responsibility of doing it. darnley was thoroughly hated, despised, and shunned by them all. still they were afraid of the consequences of taking his life. one of them, morton, asked bothwell what the queen would think of the plan. bothwell said that the queen approved of it. morton replied, that if bothwell would show him an expression of the queen's approval of the plot, in her own hand-writing, he would join it, otherwise not. bothwell failed to furnish this evidence, saying that the queen was really privy to, and in favor of the plan, but that it was not to be expected that she would commit herself to it in writing. was this all true, or was the pretense only a desperate measure of bothwell's to induce morton to join him? most of the leading men about the court, however, either joined the plot, or so far gave it their countenance and encouragement as to induce bothwell to proceed. there were many and strange rumors about darnley. one was, that he was actually going to leave the country, and that a ship was ready for him in the clyde. another was, that he had a plan for seizing the young prince, dethroning mary, and reigning himself in her stead, in the prince's name. other strange and desperate schemes were attributed to him. in the midst of them, news came to mary at holyrood that he was taken suddenly and dangerously sick at glasgow, where he was then residing, and she immediately went to see him. was her motive a desire to make one more attempt to win his confidence and love, and to divert him from the desperate measures which she feared he was contemplating, or was she acting as an accomplice with bothwell, to draw him into the snare in which he was afterward taken and destroyed? the result of mary's visit to her husband, after some time spent with him in glasgow, was a proposal that he should return with her to edinburgh, where she could watch over him during his convalescence with greater care. this plan was adopted. he was conveyed on a sort of litter, by very slow and easy stages, toward edinburgh. he was on such terms with the nobles and lords in attendance upon mary that he was not willing to go to holyrood house. besides, his disorder was contagious: it is supposed to have been the small-pox; and though he was nearly recovered, there was still some possibility that the royal babe might take the infection if the patient came within the same walls with him. so mary sent forward to edinburgh to have a house provided for him. [illustration: view of edinburgh.] the situation of this house is seen near the city wall on the left, in the accompanying view of edinburgh. holyrood house is the large square edifice in the fore-ground, and the castle crowns the hill in the distance. there is now, as there was in the days of mary, a famous street extending from holyrood house to the castle, called the cannon gate at the lower end, and the high street above. this street, with the castle at one extremity and holyrood house at the other, were the scenes of many of the most remarkable events described in this narrative. the residence selected was a house of four rooms, close upon the city wall. the place was called the kirk of field, from a _kirk_, or church, which formerly stood near there, in the fields. this house had two rooms upon the lower floor, with a passage-way between them. one of these rooms was a kitchen; the other was appropriated to mary's use, whenever she was able to be at the place in attendance upon her husband. over the kitchen was a room used as a wardrobe and for servants; and over mary's room was the apartment for darnley. there was an opening through the city wall in the rear of this dwelling, by which there was access to the kitchen. these premises were fitted up for darnley in the most thorough manner. a bath was arranged for him in his apartment, and every thing was done which could conduce to his comfort, according to the ideas which then prevailed. darnley was brought to edinburgh, conveyed to this house, and quietly established there. the following is a plan of the house in which darnley was lodged: [illustration: plan of the house at the kirk o' field. m. mary's room, below darnley's. k. kitchen; servants' room above. o. passage through the city wall into the kitchen. s. stair-case leading to the second story. p. passage-way.] the accommodations in this house do not seem to have been very sumptuous, after all, for a royal guest; but royal dwellings in scotland, in those days, were not what they are now in westminster and at st. cloud. the day for the execution of the plan, which was to blow up the house where the sick darnley was lying with gunpowder, approached. bothwell selected a number of desperate characters to aid him in the actual work to be done. one of these was a frenchman, who had been for a long time in his service, and who went commonly by the name of french paris. bothwell contrived to get french paris taken into mary's service a few days before the murder of darnley, and, through him, he got possession of some of the keys of the house which darnley was occupying, and thus had duplicates of them made, so that he had access to every part of the house. the gunpowder was brought from bothwell's castle at dunbar, and all was ready. mary spent much of her time at darnley's house, and often slept in the room beneath his, which had been allotted to her as her apartment. one sunday there was to be a wedding at holyrood. the bride and bridegroom were favorite servants of mary's, and she was intending to be present at the celebration of the nuptials. she was to leave darnley's early in the evening for this purpose. her enemies say that this was all a concerted arrangement between her and bothwell to give him the opportunity to execute his plan. her friends, on the other hand, insist that she knew nothing about it, and that bothwell had to watch and wait for such an opportunity of blowing up the house without injuring mary. be this as it may, the sunday of this wedding was fixed upon for the consummation of the deed. the gunpowder had been secreted in bothwell's rooms at the palace. on sunday evening, as soon as it was dark, bothwell set the men at work to transport the gunpowder. they brought it out in bags from the palace, and then employed a horse to transport it to the wall of some gardens which were in the rear of darnley's house. they had to go twice with the horse in order to convey all the gunpowder that they had provided. while this was going on, bothwell, who kept out of sight, was walking to and fro in an adjoining street, to receive intelligence, from time to time, of the progress of the affair, and to issue orders. the gunpowder was conveyed across the gardens to the rear of the house, taken in at a back door, and deposited in the room marked _m_ in the plan, which was the room belonging to mary. mary was all this time directly over head, in darnley's chamber. the plan of the conspirators was to put the bags of gunpowder into a cask which they had provided for the occasion, to keep the mass together, and increase the force of the explosion. the cask had been provided, and placed in the gardens behind the house; but, on attempting to take it into the house, they found it too big to pass through the back door. this caused considerable delay; and bothwell, growing impatient, came, with his characteristic impetuosity, to ascertain the cause. by his presence and his energy, he soon remedied the difficulty in some way or other, and completed the arrangements. the gunpowder was all deposited; the men were dismissed, except two who were left to watch, and who were locked up with the gunpowder in mary's room; and then, all things being ready for the explosion as soon as mary should be gone, bothwell walked up to darnley's room above, and joined the party who were supping there. the cool effrontery of this proceeding has scarcely a parallel in the annals of crime. at eleven o'clock mary rose to go, saying she must return to the palace to take part, as she had promised to do, in the celebration of her servants' wedding. mary took leave of her husband in a very affectionate manner, and went away in company with bothwell and the other nobles. her enemies maintain that she was privy to all the arrangements which had been made, and that she did not go into her own apartment below, knowing very well what was there. but even if we imagine that mary was aware of the general plan of destroying her husband, and was secretly pleased with it, as almost any royal personage that ever lived, under such circumstances, would be, we need not admit that she was acquainted with the details of the mode by which the plan was to be put in execution. the most that we can suppose such a man as bothwell would have communicated to her, would be some dark and obscure intimations of his design, made in order to satisfy himself that she would not really oppose it. to ask her, woman as she was, to take any part in such a deed, or to communicate to her beforehand any of the details of the arrangement, would have been an act of littleness and meanness which such magnanimous monsters as bothwell are seldom guilty of. besides, mary remarked that evening, in darnley's room, in the course of conversation, that it was just about a year since rizzio's death. on entering her palace, too, at holyrood, that night, she met one of bothwell's servants who had been carrying the bags, and, perceiving the smell of gunpowder, she asked him what it meant. now mary was not the brazen-faced sort of woman to speak of such things at such a time if she was really in the councils of the conspirators. the only question seems to be, therefore, not whether she was a party to the actual deed of murder, but only whether she was aware of, and consenting to, the general design. in the mean time, mary and bothwell went together into the hall where the servants were rejoicing and making merry at the wedding. french paris was there, but his heart began to fail him in respect to the deed in which he had been engaged. he stood apart, with a countenance expressive of anxiety and distress. bothwell went to him, and told him that if he carried such a melancholy face as that any longer in the presence of the queen, he would make him suffer for it. the poor conscience-stricken man begged bothwell to release him from any further part in the transaction. he was sick, really sick, he said, and he wanted to go home to his bed. bothwell made no reply but to order him to follow _him_. bothwell went to his own rooms, changed the silken court dress in which he had appeared in company for one suitable to the night and to the deed, directed his men to follow him, and passed from the palace toward the gates of the city. the gates were shut, for it was midnight. the sentinels challenged them. the party said they were friends to my lord bothwell, and were allowed to pass on. they advanced to the convent gardens. here they left a part of their number, while bothwell and french paris passed over the wall, and crept softly into the house. they unlocked the room where they had left the two watchmen with the gunpowder, and found all safe. men locked up under such circumstances, and on the eve of the perpetration of such a deed, were not likely to sleep at their posts. all things being now ready, they made a slow match of lint, long enough to burn for some little time, and inserting one end of it into the gunpowder, they lighted the other end, and crept stealthily out of the apartment. they passed over the wall into the convent gardens, where they rejoined their companions and awaited the result. men choose midnight often for the perpetration of crime, from the facilities afforded by its silence and solitude. this advantage is, however, sometimes well-nigh balanced by the stimulus which its mysterious solemnity brings to the stings of remorse and terror. bothwell himself felt anxious and agitated. they waited and waited, but it seemed as if their dreadful suspense would never end. bothwell became desperate. he wanted to get over the wall again and look in at the window, to see if the slow match had not gone out. the rest restrained him. at length the explosion came like a clap of thunder. the flash brightened for an instant over the whole sky, and the report roused the sleeping inhabitants of edinburgh from their slumbers, throwing the whole city into sudden consternation. the perpetrators of the deed, finding that their work was done, fled immediately. they tried various plans to avoid the sentinels at the gates of the city, as well as the persons who were beginning to come toward the scene of the explosion. when they reached the palace of holyrood, they were challenged by the sentinel on duty there. they said that they were friends of earl bothwell, bringing dispatches to him from the country. the sentinel asked them if they knew what was the cause of that loud explosion. they said they did not, and passed on. bothwell went to his room, called for a drink, undressed himself, and went to bed. half an hour afterward, messengers came to awaken him, and inform him that the king's house had been blown up with gunpowder, and the king himself killed by the explosion. he rose with an appearance of great astonishment and indignation, and, after conferring with some of the other nobles, concluded to go and communicate the event to the queen. the queen was overwhelmed with astonishment and indignation too. the destruction of darnley in such a manner as this, of course produced a vast sensation all over scotland. every body was on the alert to discover the authors of the crime. rewards were offered; proclamations were made. rumors began to circulate that bothwell was the criminal. he was accused by anonymous placards put up at night in edinburgh. lennox, darnley's father, demanded his trial; and a trial was ordered. the circumstances of the trial were such, however, and bothwell's power and desperate recklessness were so great, that lennox, when the time came, did not appear. he said he had not _force enough_ at his command to come safely into court. there being no testimony offered, bothwell was acquitted; and he immediately afterward issued his proclamation, offering to fight any man who should intimate, in any way, that he was concerned in the murder of the king. thus bothwell established his innocence; at least, no man dared to gainsay it. darnley was murdered in february. bothwell was tried and acquitted in april. immediately afterward, he took measures for privately making known to the leading nobles that it was his design to marry the queen, and for securing their concurrence in the plan. they concurred; or at least, perhaps for fear of displeasing such a desperado, said what he understood to mean that they concurred. the queen heard the reports of such a design, and said, as ladies often do in similar cases, that she did not know what people meant by such reports; there was no foundation for them whatever. toward the end of april, mary was about returning from the castle of stirling to edinburgh with a small escort of troops and attendants. melville was in her train. bothwell set out at the head of a force of more than five hundred men to intercept her. mary lodged one night, on her way, at linlithgow, the palace where she was born, and the next morning was quietly pursuing her journey, when bothwell came up at the head of his troops. resistance was vain. bothwell advanced to mary's horse, and, taking the bridle, led her away. a few of her principal followers were taken prisoners too, and the rest were dismissed. bothwell took his captive across the country by a rapid flight to his castle of dunbar. the attendants who were taken with her were released, and she remained in the castle of dunbar for ten days, entirely in bothwell's power. [illustration: dunbar castle--the residence of earl bothwell.] according to the account which mary herself gives of what took place during this captivity, she at first reproached bothwell bitterly for the ungrateful and cruel return he was making for all her kindness to him, by such a deed of violence and wrong, and begged and entreated him to let her go. bothwell replied that he knew that it was wrong for him to treat his sovereign so rudely, but that he was impelled to it by the circumstances of the case, and by love which he felt for her, which was too strong for him to control. he then entreated her to become his wife; he complained of the bitter hostility which he had always been subject to from his enemies, and that he could have no safeguard from this hostility in time to come but in her favor; and he could not depend upon any assurance of her favor less than her making him her husband. he protested that, if she would do so, he would never ask to share her power, but would be content to be her faithful and devoted servant, as he had always been. it was love, not ambition, he said, that animated him, and he could not and would not be refused. mary says that she was distressed and agitated beyond measure by the appeals and threats with which bothwell accompanied his urgent entreaties. she tried every way to plan some mode of escape. nobody came to her rescue. she was entirely alone, and in bothwell's power. bothwell assured her that the leading nobles of her court were in favor of the marriage, and showed her a written agreement signed by them to this effect. at length, wearied and exhausted, she was finally overcome by his urgency, and yielding partly to his persuasions, and partly, as she says, to force, gave herself up to his power. mary remained at dunbar about ten days, during which time bothwell sued out and obtained a divorce from his wife. his wife, feeling, perhaps, resentment more than grief, sued, at the same time, for a divorce from him. bothwell then sallied forth from his fastness at dunbar, and, taking mary with him, went to edinburgh, and took up his abode in the castle there, as that fortress was then under his power. mary soon after appeared in public and stated that she was now entirely free, and that, although bothwell had done wrong in carrying her away by violence, still he had treated her since in so respectful a manner, that she had pardoned him, and had received him into favor again. a short time after this they were married. the ceremony was performed in a very private and unostentatious manner, and took place in may, about three months after the murder of darnley. by some persons mary's account of the transactions at dunbar is believed. others think that the whole affair was all a preconcerted plan, and that the appearance of resistance on her part was only for show, to justify, in some degree, in the eyes of the world, so imprudent and inexcusable a marriage. a great many volumes have been written on the question without making any progress toward a settlement of it. it is one of those cases where, the evidence being complicated, conflicting, and incomplete, the mind is swayed by the feelings, and the readers of the story decide more or less favorably for the unhappy queen, according to the warmth of the interest awakened in their hearts by beauty and misfortune. chapter ix. the fall of bothwell. mary's infatuation.--excuses for her.--mary's deep depression.--interposition of the king of france.--bothwell at edinburgh castle.--he is hated by the people.--the opposing parties.--how far mary was responsible.--melrose.--ruins of the abbey.--mary's proclamation.--the prince's lords.--bothwell alarmed.--borthwick castle.--bothwell's retreat.--he is besieged.--makes his escape.--bothwell at dunbar.--proclamation.--approaching contest.--mary's appeal.--approach of the prince's lords.--carberry hill.--efforts of le croc to effect an accommodation.--bothwell's challenge.--morton.--mary sends for grange.--proposition of grange.--dismissal of bothwell.--question of mary's guilt.--the supposition against her.--the supposition in her favor.--uncertainty.--the box of love letters.--their genuineness suspected.--disposal of mary.--return to edinburgh.--the banner.--rudeness of the populace.--bothwell's retreat.--he is pursued.--bothwell's narrow escape.--he turns pirate.--bothwell in prison.--his miserable end. the course which mary pursued after her liberation from dunbar in yielding to bothwell's wishes, pardoning his violence, receiving him again into favor, and becoming his wife, is one of the most extraordinary instances of the infatuation produced by love that has ever occurred. if the story had been fiction instead of truth, it would have been pronounced extravagant and impossible. as it was, the whole country was astonished and confounded at such a rapid succession of desperate and unaccountable crimes. mary herself seems to have been hurried through these terrible scenes in a sort of delirium of excitement, produced by the strange circumstances of the case, and the wild and uncontrollable agitations to which they gave rise. such was, however, at the time, and such continues to be still, the feeling of interest in mary's character and misfortunes, that but few open and direct censures of her conduct were then, or have been since, expressed. people execrated bothwell, but they were silent in respect to mary. it was soon plain, however, that she had greatly sunk in their regard, and that the more they reflected upon the circumstances of the case, the deeper she was sinking. when the excitement, too, began to pass away from her own mind, it left behind it a gnawing inquietude and sense of guilt, which grew gradually more and more intense, until, at length, she sunk under the stings of remorse and despair. her sufferings were increased by the evidences which were continually coming to her mind of the strong degree of disapprobation with which her conduct began soon every where to be regarded. wherever scotchmen traveled, they found themselves reproached with the deeds of violence and crime of which their country had been the scene. mary's relatives and friends in france wrote to her, expressing their surprise and grief at such proceedings. the king of france had sent, a short time before, a special embassador for the purpose of doing something, if possible, to discover and punish the murderers of darnley. his name was le croc. he was an aged and venerable man, of great prudence and discretion, well qualified to discover and pursue the way of escape from the difficulties in which mary had involved herself, if any such way could be found. he arrived before the day of mary's marriage, but he refused to take any part, or even to be present, at the ceremony. in the mean time, bothwell continued in edinburgh castle for a while, under the protection of a strong guard. people considered this guard as intended to prevent mary's escape, and many thought that she was detained, after all, against her will, and that her admissions that she was free were only made at the instigation of bothwell, and from fear of his terrible power. the other nobles and the people of scotland began to grow more and more uneasy. the fear of bothwell began to be changed into hatred, and the more powerful nobles commenced forming plans for combining together, and rescuing, as they said, mary out of his power. bothwell made no attempts to conciliate them. he assumed an air and tone of defiance. he increased his forces. he conceived the plan of going to stirling castle to seize the young prince, who was residing there under the charge of persons to whom his education had been intrusted. he said to his followers that james should never do any thing to avenge his father's death, if he could once get him into his hands. the other nobles formed a league to counteract these designs. they began to assemble their forces, and every thing threatened an outbreak of civil war. the marriage took place about the middle of may, and within a fortnight from that time the lines began to be pretty definitely drawn between the two great parties, the queen and bothwell on one side, and the insurgent nobles on the other, each party claiming to be friends of the queen. whatever was done on bothwell's side was, of course, in the queen's name, though it is very doubtful how far she was responsible for what was done, or how far, on the other hand, she merely aided, under the influence of a species of compulsion, in carrying into execution bothwell's measures. we must say, in narrating the history, that the queen did this and that, and must leave the reader to judge whether it was herself, or bothwell acting through her, who was the real agent in the transactions described. stirling castle, where the young prince was residing, is northwest of edinburgh. the confederate lords were assembling in that vicinity. the border country between england and scotland is of course south. in the midst of this border country is the ancient town of melrose, where there was, in former days, a very rich and magnificent abbey, the ruins of which, to this day, form one of the most attractive objects of interest in the whole island of great britain. the region is now the abode of peace, and quietness, and plenty, though in mary's day it was the scene of continual turmoil and war. it is now the favorite retreat of poets and philosophers, who seek their residences there on account of its stillness and peace. sir walter scott's abbotsford is a few miles from melrose. about a fortnight after mary's marriage, she issued a proclamation ordering the military chiefs in her kingdom to assemble at melrose, with their followers, to accompany her on an expedition through the border country, to suppress some disorders there. the nobles considered this as only a scheme of bothwell's to draw them away from the neighborhood of stirling, so that he might go and get possession of the young prince. rumors of this spread around the country, and the forces, instead of proceeding to melrose, began to assemble in the neighborhood of stirling, for the protection of the prince. the lords under whose banners they gathered assumed the name of _the prince's_ lords, and they called upon the people to take up arms in defense of young james's person and rights. the prince's lords soon began to concentrate their forces about edinburgh, and bothwell was alarmed for his safety. he had reason to fear that the governor of edinburgh castle was on their side, and that he might suddenly sally forth with a body of his forces down the high street to holyrood, and take him prisoner. he accordingly began to think it necessary to retreat. now bothwell had, among his other possessions, a certain castle called borthwick castle, a few miles south of edinburgh. it was situated on a little swell of land in a beautiful valley. it was surrounded with groves of trees, and from the windows and walls of the castle there was an extended view over the beautiful and fertile fields of the valley. this castle was extensive and strong. it consisted of one great square tower, surrounded and protected by walls and bastions, and was approached by a draw-bridge. in the sudden emergency in which bothwell found himself placed, this fortress seemed to be the most convenient and the surest retreat. on the th of june, he accordingly left edinburgh with as large a force as he had at command, and rode rapidly across the country with the queen, and established himself at borthwick. the prince's lords, taking fresh courage from the evidence of bothwell's weakness and fear, immediately marched from stirling, passed by edinburgh, and almost immediately after bothwell and the queen had got safely, as they imagined, established in the place of their retreat, they found their castle surrounded and hemmed in on all sides by hostile forces, which filled the whole valley. the castle was strong, but not strong enough to withstand a siege from such an army. bothwell accordingly determined to retreat to his castle of dunbar, which, being on a rocky promontory, jutting into the sea, and more remote from the heart of the country, was less accessible, and more safe than borthwick. he contrived, though with great difficulty, to make his escape with the queen, through the ranks of his enemies. it is said that the queen was disguised in male attire. at any rate, they made their escape, they reached dunbar, and mary, or bothwell in her name, immediately issued a proclamation, calling upon all her faithful subjects to assemble in arms, to deliver her from her dangers. at the same time, the prince's lords issued _their_ proclamation, calling upon all faithful subjects to assemble with them, to aid them in delivering the queen from the tyrant who held her captive. the faithful subjects were at a loss which proclamation to obey. by far the greater number joined the insurgents. some thousands, however, went to dunbar. with this force the queen and bothwell sallied forth, about the middle of june, to meet the prince's lords, or the insurgents, as they called them, to settle the question at issue by the kind of ballot with which such questions were generally settled in those days. mary had a proclamation read at the head of her army, now that she supposed she was on the eve of battle, in which she explained the causes of the quarrel. the proclamation stated that the marriage was mary's free act, and that, although it was in some respects an extraordinary one, still the circumstances were such that she could not do otherwise than she had done. for ten days she had been in bothwell's power in his castle at dunbar, and not an arm had been raised for her deliverance. her subjects ought to have interposed then, if they were intending really to rescue her from bothwell's power. they had done nothing then, but now, when she had been compelled, by the cruel circumstances of her condition, to marry bothwell--when the act was done, and could no longer be recalled, they had taken up arms against her, and compelled her to take the field in her own defense. the army of the prince's lords, with mary's most determined enemies at their head, advanced to meet the queen's forces. the queen finally took her post on an elevated piece of ground called carberry hill. carberry is an old scotch name for gooseberry. carberry hill is a few miles to the eastward of edinburgh, near dalkeith. here the two armies were drawn up, opposite to each other, in hostile array. le croc, the aged and venerable french embassador, made a great effort to effect an accommodation and prevent a battle. he first went to the queen and obtained authority from her to offer terms of peace, and then went to the camp of the prince's lords and proposed that they should lay down their arms and submit to the queen's authority, and that she would forgive and forget what they had done. they replied that they had done no wrong, and asked for no pardon; that they were not in arms against the queen's authority, but in favor of it. they sought only to deliver her from the durance in which she was held, and to bring to punishment the murderers of her husband, whoever they might be. le croc went back and forth several times, vainly endeavoring to effect an accommodation, and finally, giving up in despair, he returned to edinburgh, leaving the contending parties to settle the contest in their own way. bothwell now sent a herald to the camp of his enemies, challenging any one of them to meet him, and settle the question of his guilt or innocence by single combat. this proposition was not quite so absurd in those days as it would be now, for it was not an uncommon thing, in the middle ages, to try in this way questions of crime. many negotiations ensued on bothwell's proposal. one or two persons expressed themselves ready to accept the challenge. bothwell objected to them on account of their rank being inferior to his, but said he would fight morton, if morton would accept his challenge. morton had been his accomplice in the murder of darnley, but had afterward joined the party of bothwell's foes. it would have been a singular spectacle to see one of these confederates in the commission of a crime contending desperately in single combat to settle the question of the guilt or innocence of the other. the combat, however, did not take place. after many negotiations on the subject, the plan was abandoned, each party charging the other with declining the contest. the queen and bothwell, in the mean time, found such evidences of strength on the part of their enemies, and felt probably, in their own hearts, so much of that faintness and misgiving under which human energy almost always sinks when the tide begins to turn against it, after the commission of wrong, that they began to feel disheartened and discouraged. the queen sent to the opposite camp with a request that a certain personage, the laird of grange, in whom all parties had great confidence, should come to her, that she might make one more effort at reconciliation. grange, after consulting with the prince's lords, made a proposition to mary, which she finally concluded to accept. it was as follows: they proposed that mary should come over to their camp, not saying very distinctly whether she was to come as their captive or as their queen. the event showed that it was in the former capacity that they intended to receive her, though they were probably willing that she should understand that it was in the latter. at all events, the proposition itself did not make it very clear what her position would be; and the poor queen, distracted by the difficulties which surrounded her, and overwhelmed with agitation and fear, could not press very strongly for precise stipulations. in respect to bothwell, they compromised the question by agreeing that, as he was under suspicion in respect to the murder of darnley, he should not accompany the queen, but should be dismissed upon the field; that is, allowed to depart, without molestation, wherever he should choose to go. this plan was finally adopted. the queen bade bothwell farewell, and he went away reluctantly and in great apparent displeasure. he had, in fact, with his characteristic ferocity, attempted to shoot grange pending the negotiation. he mounted his horse, and, with a few attendants, rode off and sought a retreat once more upon his rock at dunbar. from all the evidence which has come down to us, it seems impossible to ascertain whether mary desired to be released from bothwell's power, and was glad when the release came, or whether she still loved him, and was planning a reunion, so soon as a reunion should be possible. one party at that time maintained, and a large class of writers and readers since have concurred in the opinion, that mary was in love with bothwell before darnley's death; that she connived with him in the plan for darnley's murder; that she was a consenting party to the abduction, and the spending of the ten days at dunbar castle, in his power; that the marriage was the end at which she herself, as well as bothwell, had been all the time aiming; and then, when at last she surrendered herself to the prince's lords at carberry hill, it was only yielding unwillingly to the necessity of a temporary separation from her lawless husband, with a view of reinstating him in favor and power at the earliest opportunity. another party, both among her people at the time and among the writers and readers who have since paid attention to her story, think that she never loved bothwell, and that, though she valued his services as a bold and energetic soldier, she had no collusion with him whatever in respect to darnley's murder. they think that, though she must have felt in some sense relieved of a burden by darnley's death, she did not in any degree aid in or justify the crime, and that she had no reason for supposing that bothwell had any share in the commission of it. they think, also, that her consenting to marry bothwell is to be accounted for by her natural desire to seek shelter, under some wing or other, from the terrible storms which were raging around her; and being deserted, as she thought, by every body else, and moved by his passionate love and devotion, she imprudently gave herself to him; that she lamented the act as soon as it was done, but that it was then too late to retrieve the step; and that, harassed and in despair, she knew not what to do, but that she hailed the rising of her nobles as affording the only promise of deliverance, and came forth from dunbar to meet them with the secret purpose of delivering herself into their hands. the question which of these two suppositions is the correct one has been discussed a great deal, without the possibility of arriving at any satisfactory conclusion. a parcel of letters were produced by mary's enemies, some time after this, which they said were mary's letters to bothwell before her husband darnley's death. they say they took the letters from a man named dalgleish, one of bothwell's servants, who was carrying them from holyrood to dunbar castle, just after mary and bothwell fled to borthwick. they were contained in a small gilded box or coffer, with the letter f upon it, under a crown; which mark naturally suggests to our minds mary's first husband, francis, the king of france. dalgleish said that bothwell sent him for this box, charging him to convey it with all care to dunbar castle. the letters purport to be from mary to bothwell, and to have been written before darnley's death. they evince a strong affection for the person to whom they are addressed, and seem conclusively to prove the unlawful attachment between the parties, provided that their genuineness is acknowledged. but this genuineness is denied. mary's friends maintain that they are forgeries, prepared by her enemies to justify their own wrong. many volumes have been written on the question of the genuineness of these love letters, as they are called, and there is perhaps now no probability that the question will ever be settled. whatever doubt there may be about these things, there is none about the events which followed. after mary had surrendered herself to her nobles they took her to the camp, she herself riding on horseback, and grange walking by her side. as she advanced to meet the nobles who had combined against her, she said to them that she had concluded to come over to them, not from fear, or from doubt what the issue would have been if she had fought the battle, but only because she wanted to spare the effusion of christian blood, especially the blood of her own subjects. she had therefore decided to submit herself to their counsels, trusting that they would treat her as their rightful queen. the nobles made little reply to this address, but prepared to return to edinburgh with their prize. the people of edinburgh, who had heard what turn the affair had taken, flocked out upon the roads to see the queen return. they lined the waysides to gaze upon the great cavalcade as it passed. the nobles who conducted mary thus back toward her capital had a banner prepared, or allowed one to be prepared, on which was a painting representing the dead body of darnley, and the young prince james kneeling near him, and calling on god to avenge his cause. mary came on, in the procession, after this symbol. they might perhaps say that it was not intended to wound her feelings, and was not of a nature to do it, unless she considered herself as taking sides with the murderers of her husband. she, however, knew very well that she was so regarded by great numbers of the populace assembled, and that the effect of such an effigy carried before her was to hold her up to public obloquy. the populace did, in fact, taunt and reproach her as she proceeded, and she rode into edinburgh, evincing all the way extreme mental suffering by her agitation and her tears. she expected that they were at least to take her to holyrood; but no, they turned at the gate to enter the city. mary protested earnestly against this, and called, half frantic, on all who heard her to come to her rescue. but no one interfered. they took her to the provost's house, and lodged her there for the night, and the crowd which had assembled to observe these proceedings gradually dispersed. there seemed, however, in a day or two, to be some symptoms of a reaction in favor of the fallen queen; and, to guard against the possibility of a rescue, the lords took mary to holyrood again, and began immediately to make arrangements for some more safe place of confinement still. in the mean time, bothwell went from carberry hill to his castle at dunbar, revolving moodily in his mind his altered fortunes. after some time he found himself not safe in this place of refuge, and so he retreated to the north, to some estates he had there, in the remote highlands. a detachment of forces was sent in pursuit of him. now there are, north of scotland, some groups of dismal islands, the summits of submerged mountains and rocks, rising in dark and sublime, but gloomy grandeur, from the midst of cold and tempestuous seas. bothwell, finding himself pursued, undertook to escape by ship to these islands. his pursuers, headed by grange, who had negotiated at carberry for the surrender of the queen, embarked in other vessels, and pressed on after him. at one time they almost overtook him, and would have captured him and all his company were it not that they got entangled among some shoals. grange's sailors said they must not proceed. grange, eager to seize his prey, insisted on their making sail and pressing forward. the consequence was, they ran the vessels aground, and bothwell escaped in a small boat. as it was, however, they seized some of his accomplices, and brought them back to edinburgh. these men were afterward tried, and some of them were executed; and it was at their trial, and through the confessions they made, that the facts were brought to light which have been related in this narrative. bothwell, now a fugitive and an exile, but still retaining his desperate and lawless character, became a pirate, and attempted to live by robbing the commerce of the german ocean. rumor is the only historian, in ordinary cases, to record the events in the life of a pirate; and she, in this case, sent word, from time to time, to scotland, of the robberies and murders that the desperado committed; of an expedition fitted out against him by the king of denmark, of his being taken and carried into a danish port; of his being held in imprisonment for a long period there, in a gloomy dungeon; of his restless spirit chafing itself in useless struggles against his fate, and sinking gradually, at last under the burdens of remorse for past crimes, and despair of any earthly deliverance; of his insanity, and, finally, of his miserable end. chapter x. loch leven castle. - grange of kircaldy.--mary's letter.--removal of mary.--a ride at night.--loch leven castle.--the square tower.--plan of loch leven castle.--lady douglas.--lady douglas mary's enemy.--parties for and against mary.--the hamilton lords.--plans of mary's enemies.--mary's tower.--ruins.--the scale turns against mary.--proposals made to mary.--the commissioners.--melville unsuccessful.--lindsay called in.--lindsay's brutality.--abdication.--coronation of james.--ceremonies.--return of murray.--murray's interview with mary.--affecting scene.--murray assumes the government.--his warnings.--the young douglases.--their interest in mary.--plan for mary's escape.--the laundress.--the disguise.--escape.--discovery.--mary's return.--banishment of george douglas.--secret communications.--new plan of escape.--the postern gate.--liberation of mary.--jane kennedy.--the escape.--mary's joy.--popular feeling.--mary's proclamation.--ruins of loch leven castle.--the octagonal tower.--visitors. grange, or, as he is sometimes called, kircaldy, his title in full being grange of kircaldy, was a man of integrity and honor, and he, having been the negotiator through whose intervention mary gave herself up, felt himself bound to see that the stipulations on the part of the nobles should be honorably fulfilled. he did all in his power to protect mary from insult on the journey, and he struck with his sword and drove away some of the populace who were addressing her with taunts and reproaches. when he found that the nobles were confining her, and treating her so much more like a captive than like a queen, he remonstrated with them. they silenced him by showing him a letter, which they said they had intercepted on its way from mary to bothwell. it was written, they said, on the night of mary's arrival at edinburgh. it assured bothwell that she retained an unaltered affection for him; that her consenting to be separated from him at carberry hill was a matter of mere necessity, and that she should rejoin him as soon as it was in her power to do so. this letter showed, they said, that, after all, mary was not, as they had supposed, bothwell's captive and victim, but that she was his accomplice and friend; and that, now that they had discovered their mistake, they must treat mary, as well as bothwell, as an enemy, and take effectual means to protect themselves from the one as well as from the other. mary's friends maintain that this letter was a forgery. they accordingly took mary, as has been already stated, from the provost's house in edinburgh down to holyrood house, which was just without the city. this, however, was only a temporary change. that night they came into the palace, and directed mary to rise and put on a traveling dress which they brought her. they did not tell her where she was to go, but simply ordered her to follow them. it was midnight. they took her forth from the palace, mounted her upon a horse, and, with ruthven and lindsay, two of the murderers of rizzio, for an escort, they rode away. they traveled all night, crossed the river forth and arrived in the morning at the castle of loch leven. the castle of loch leven is on a small island in the middle of the loch. it is nearly north from edinburgh. the castle buildings covered at that time about one half of the island, the water coming up to the walls on three sides. on the other side was a little land, which was cultivated as a garden. the buildings inclosed a considerable area. there was a great square tower, marked on the plan below, which was the residence of the family. it consisted of four or five rooms, one over the other. the cellar, or, rather, what would be the cellar in other cases, was a dungeon for such prisoners as were to be kept in close confinement. the only entrance to this building was through a window in the second story, by means of a ladder which was raised and let down by a chain. this was over the point marked _e_ on the plan. the chain was worked at a window in the story above. there were various other apartments and structures about the square, and among them there was a small octagonal tower in the corner at _m_ which consisted within of one room over another for three stories, and a flat roof with battlements above. in the second story there was a window, _w_, looking upon the water. this was the only window having an external aspect in the whole fortress, all the other openings in the exterior walls being mere loop-holes and embrasures. the following is a general plan of loch leven castle:[h] [illustration: plan of loch leven castle.] [footnote h: compare this plan with the view of the castle, page .] this castle was in possession of a certain personage styled the lady douglas. she was the mother of the lord james, afterward the earl of murray, who has figured so conspicuously in this history as mary's half brother, and at first her friend and counselor, though afterward her foe. lady douglas was commonly called the lady of loch leven. she maintained that she had been lawfully married to james v., mary's father, and that consequently her son, and not mary, was the rightful heir to the crown. of course she was mary's natural enemy. they selected her castle as the place of mary's confinement partly on this account, and partly on account of its inaccessible position in the midst of the waters of the lake. they delivered the captive queen, accordingly, to the lady douglas and her husband, charging them to keep her safely. the lady douglas received her, and locked her up in the octagonal tower with the window looking out upon the water. in the mean time, all scotland took sides for or against the queen. the strongest party were against her; and the church was against her, on account of their hostility to the catholic religion. a sort of provisional government was instituted, which assumed the management of public affairs. mary had, however, some friends, and they soon began to assemble in order to see what could be done for her cause. their rendezvous was at the palace of hamilton. this palace was situated on a plain in the midst of a beautiful park, near the river clyde, a few miles from glasgow. the duke of hamilton was prominent among the supporters of the queen, and made his house their head-quarters. they were often called, from this circumstance, the hamilton lords. on the other hand, the party opposed to mary made the castle of stirling their head-quarters, because the young prince was there, in whose name they were proposing soon to assume the government. their plan was to depose mary, or induce her to abdicate the throne, and then to make murray regent, to govern the country in the name of the prince until the prince should become of age. during all this time murray had been absent in france, but they now sent urgent messages to him to return. he obeyed the summons, and turned his face toward scotland. in the mean time, mary continued in confinement in her little tower. she was not treated like a common prisoner, but had, in some degree, the attentions due to her rank. there were five or six female, and about as many male attendants; though, if the rooms which are exhibited to visitors at the present day as the apartments which she occupied are really such, her quarters were very contracted. they consist of small apartments of an octagonal form, one over the other, with tortuous and narrow stair-cases in the solid wall to ascend from one to the other. the roof and the floors of the tower are now gone, but the stair-ways, the capacious fire-places, the loop-holes, and the one window remain, enabling the visitor to reconstruct the dwelling in imagination, and even to fancy mary herself there again, seated on the stone seat by the window, looking over the water at the distant hills, and sighing to be free. the hamilton lords were not strong enough to attempt her rescue. the weight of influence and power throughout the country went gradually and irresistibly into the other scale. there were great debates among the authorities of government as to what should be done. the hamilton lords made proposals in behalf of mary which the government could not accede to. other proposals were made by different parties in the councils of the insurgent nobles, some more and some less hard for the captive queen. the conclusion, however, finally was, to urge mary to resign her crown in favor of her son, and to appoint murray, when he should return, to act as regent till the prince should be of age. they accordingly sent commissioners to loch leven to propose these measures to the queen. there were three instruments of abdication prepared for her to sign. by one she resigned the crown in favor of her son. by the second she appointed murray to be regent as soon as he should return from france. by the third she appointed commissioners to govern the country until murray should return. they knew that mary would be extremely unwilling to sign these papers, and yet that they must contrive, in some way, to obtain her signature without any open violence; for the signature, to be of legal force, must be, in some sense, her voluntary act. the two commissioners whom they sent to her were melville and lindsay. melville was a thoughtful and a reasonable man, who had long been in mary's service, and who possessed a great share of her confidence and good will. lindsay was, on the other hand, of an overbearing and violent temper, of very rude speech and demeanor, and was known to be unfriendly to the queen. they hoped that mary would be induced to sign the papers by melville's gentle persuasions; if not, lindsay was to see what he could do by denunciations and threats. when the two commissioners arrived at the castle, melville alone went first into the presence of the queen. he opened the subject to her in a gentle and respectful manner. he laid before her the distracted state of scotland, the uncertain and vague suspicions floating in the public mind on the subject of darnley's murder, and the irretrievable shade which had been thrown over her position by the unhappy marriage with bothwell; and he urged her to consent to the proposed measures, as the only way now left to restore peace to the land. mary heard him patiently, but replied that she could not consent to his proposal. by doing so she should not only sacrifice her own rights, and degrade herself from the position she was entitled to occupy, but she should, in some sense, acknowledge herself guilty of the charges brought against her, and justify her enemies. melville, finding that his efforts were vain, called lindsay in. he entered with a fierce and determined air. mary was reminded of the terrible night when he and ruthven broke into her little supper-room at holyrood in quest of rizzio. she was agitated and alarmed. lindsay assailed her with denunciations and threats of the most violent character. there ensued a scene of the most rough and ferocious passion on the one side, and of anguish, terror, and despair on the other, which is said to have made this day the most wretched of all the wretched days of mary's life. sometimes she sat pale, motionless, and almost stupefied. at others, she was overwhelmed with sorrow and tears. she finally yielded; and, taking the pen, she signed the papers. lindsay and melville took them, left the castle gate, entered their boat, and were rowed away to the shore. this was on the th of july, , and four days afterward the young prince was crowned at stirling. his title was james vi. lindsay made oath at the coronation that he was a witness of mary's abdication of the crown in favor of her son, and that it was her own free and voluntary act. james was about one year old. the coronation took place in the chapel where mary had been crowned in her infancy, about twenty-five years before. mary herself, though unconscious of her own coronation, mourned bitterly over that of her son. unhappy mother! how little was she aware, when her heart was filled with joy and gladness at his birth, that in one short year his mere existence would furnish to her enemies the means of consummating and sealing her ruin. on returning from the chapel to the state apartments of the castle, after the coronation, the noblemen by whom the infant had been crowned walked in solemn procession, bearing the badges and insignia of the newly-invested royalty. one carried the crown. morton, who was to exercise the government until murray should return, followed with the scepter, and a third bore the infant king, who gazed about unconsciously upon the scene, regardless alike of his mother's lonely wretchedness and of his own new scepter and crown. in the mean time, murray was drawing near toward the confines of scotland. he was somewhat uncertain how to act. having been absent for some time in france and on the continent, he was not certain how far the people of scotland were really and cordially in favor of the revolution which had been effected. mary's friends might claim that her acts of abdication, having been obtained while she was under duress, were null and void, and if they were strong enough they might attempt to reinstate her upon the throne. in this case, it would be better for him not to have acted with the insurgent government at all. to gain information on these points, murray sent to melville to come and meet him on the border. melville came. the result of their conferences was, that murray resolved to visit mary in her tower before he adopted any decisive course. murray accordingly journeyed northward to loch leven, and, embarking in the boat which plied between the castle and the shore, he crossed the sheet of water, and was admitted into the fortress. he had a long interview with mary alone. at the sight of her long-absent brother, who had been her friend and guide in her early days of prosperity and happiness, and who had accompanied her through so many changing scenes, and who now returned, after his long separation from her, to find her a lonely and wretched captive, involved in irretrievable ruin, if not in acknowledged guilt, she was entirely overcome by her emotions. she burst into tears and could not speak. what further passed at this interview was never precisely known. they parted tolerably good friends, however, and yet murray immediately assumed the government, by which it is supposed that he succeeded in persuading mary that such a step was now best for her sake as well as for that of all others concerned. murray, however, did not fail to warn her, as he himself states, in a very serious manner, against any attempt to change her situation. "madam," said he, "i will plainly declare to you what the sources of danger are from which i think you have most to apprehend. first, any attempt, of whatever kind, that you may make to create disturbance in the country, through friends that may still adhere to your cause, and to interfere with the government of your son; secondly, devising or attempting any plan of escape from this island; thirdly, taking any measures for inducing the queen of england or the french king to come to your aid; and, lastly, persisting in your attachment to earl bothwell." he warned mary solemnly against any and all of these, and then took his leave. he was soon after proclaimed regent. a parliament was assembled to sanction all the proceedings, and the new government was established, apparently upon a firm foundation. mary remained, during the winter, in captivity, earnestly desiring, however, notwithstanding murray's warning, to find some way of escape. she knew that there must be many who had remained friends to her cause. she thought that if she could once make her escape from her prison, these friends would rally around her, and that she could thus, perhaps, regain her throne again. but strictly watched as she was, and in a prison which was surrounded by the waters of a lake, all hope of escape seemed to be taken away. now there were, in the family of the lord douglas at the castle, two young men, george and william douglas. the oldest, george, was about twenty-five years of age, and the youngest was seventeen. george was the son of lord and lady douglas who kept the castle. william was an orphan boy, a relative, who, having no home, had been received into the family. these young men soon began to feel a strong interest in the beautiful captive confined in their father's castle, and, before many months, this interest became so strong that they began to feel willing to incur the dangers and responsibilities of aiding her in effecting her escape. they had secret conferences with mary on the subject. they went to the shore on various pretexts, and contrived to make their plans known to mary's friends, that they might be ready to receive her in case they should succeed. the plan at length was ripe for execution. it was arranged thus. the castle not being large, there was not space within its walls for all the accommodations required for its inmates; much was done on the shore, where there was quite a little village of attendants and dependents pertaining to the castle. this little village has since grown into a flourishing manufacturing town, where a great variety of plaids, and tartans, and other scotch fabrics are made. its name is kinross. communication with this part of the shore was then, as now, kept up by boats, which generally then belonged to the castle, though now to the town. on the day when mary was to attempt her escape, a servant woman was brought by one of the castle boats from the shore with a bundle of clothes for mary. mary, whose health and strength had been impaired by her confinement and sufferings, was often in her bed. she was so at this time, though perhaps she was feigning now more feebleness than she really felt. the servant woman came into her apartment and undressed herself, while mary rose, took the dress which she laid aside, and put it on as a disguise. the woman took mary's place in bed. mary covered her face with a muffler, and, taking another bundle in her hand to assist in her disguise, she passed across the court, issued from the castle gate, went to the landing stairs, and stepped into the boat for the men to row her to the shore. the oarsmen, who belonged to the castle, supposing that all was right, pushed off, and began to row toward the land. as they were crossing the water, however, they observed that their passenger was very particular to keep her face covered, and attempted to pull away the muffler, saying, "let us see what kind of a looking damsel this is." mary, in alarm, put up her hands to her face to hold the muffler there. the smooth, white, and delicate fingers revealed to the men at once that they were carrying away a lady in disguise. mary, finding that concealment was no longer possible, dropped her muffler, looked upon the men with composure and dignity, told them that she was their queen, that they were bound by their allegiance to her to obey her commands, and she commanded them to go on and row her to the shore. the men decided, however, that their allegiance was due to the lord of the castle rather than to the helpless captive trying to escape from it. they told her that they must return. mary was not only disappointed at the failure of her plans, but she was now anxious lest her friends, the young douglases, should be implicated in the attempt, and should suffer in consequence of it. the men, however, solemnly promised her, that if she would quietly return, they would not make the circumstances known. the secret, however, was too great a secret to be kept. in a few days it all came to light. lord and lady douglas were very angry with their son, and banished him, together with two of mary's servants, from the castle. whatever share young william douglas had in the scheme was not found out, and he was suffered to remain. george douglas went only to kinross. he remained there watching for another opportunity to help mary to her freedom. [illustration: loch leven castle--the place of mary's imprisonment.] in the mean time, the watch and ward held over mary was more strict and rigorous than ever, her keepers being resolved to double their vigilance, while george and william, on the other hand, resolved to redouble their exertions to find some means to circumvent it. william, who was only a boy of seventeen, and who remained within the castle, acted his part in a very sagacious and admirable manner. he was silent, and assumed a thoughtless and unconcerned manner in his general deportment, which put every one off their guard in respect to him. george, who was at kinross, held frequent communications with the hamilton lords, encouraging them to hope for mary's escape, and leading them to continue in combination, and to be ready to act at a moment's warning. they communicated with each other, too, by secret means, across the lake, and with mary in her solitary tower. it is said that george, wishing to make mary understand that their plans for rescuing her were not abandoned, and not having the opportunity to do so directly, sent her a picture of the mouse liberating the lion from his snares, hoping that she would draw from the picture the inference which he intended. at length the time arrived for another attempt. it was about the first of may. by looking at the engraving of loch leven castle, it will be seen that there was a window in mary's tower looking out over the water. george douglas's plan was to bring a boat up to this window in the night, and take mary down the wall into it. the place of egress by which mary escaped is called in some of the accounts a postern gate, and yet tradition at the castle says that it was through this window. it is not improbable that this window might have been intended to be used sometimes as a postern gate, and that the iron grating with which it was guarded was made to open and shut, the key being kept with the other keys of the castle. the time for the attempt was fixed upon for sunday night, on the d of may. george douglas was ready with the boat early in the evening. when it was dark, he rowed cautiously across the water, and took his position under mary's window. william douglas was in the mean time at supper in the great square tower with his father and mother. the keys were lying upon the table. he contrived to get them into his possession, and then cautiously stole away. he locked the tower as he came out, went across the court to mary's room, liberated her through the postern window, and descended with her into the boat. one of her maids, whose name was jane kennedy, was to have accompanied her, but, in their eagerness to make sure of mary, they forgot or neglected her, and she had to leap down after them, which feat she accomplished without any serious injury. the boat pushed off immediately, and the douglases began to pull hard for the shore. they threw the keys of the castle into the lake, as if the impossibility of recovering them, in that case, made the imprisonment of the family more secure. the whole party were, of course, in the highest state of excitement and agitation. jane kennedy helped to row, and it is said that even mary applied her strength to one of the oars. they landed safely on the south side of the loch, far from kinross. several of the hamilton lords were ready there to receive the fugitive. they mounted her on horseback, and galloped away. there was a strong party to escort her. they rode hard all night, and the next morning they arrived safely at hamilton. "now," said mary, "i am once more a queen." it was true. she was again a queen. popular feeling ebbs and flows with prodigious force, and the change from one state to the other depends, sometimes, on very accidental causes. the news of mary's escape spread rapidly over the land. her friends were encouraged and emboldened. sympathies, long dormant and inert, were awakened in her favor. she issued a proclamation, declaring that her abdication had been forced upon her, and, as such, was null and void. she summoned murray to surrender his powers as regent, and to come and receive orders from her. she called upon all her faithful subjects to take up arms and gather around her standard. murray refused to obey, but large masses of the people gave in their adhesion to their liberated queen, and flocked to hamilton to enter into her service. in a week mary found herself at the head of an army of six thousand men. * * * * * [illustration: ruins of loch leven castle.] the castle of loch leven is now a solitary ruin. the waters of the loch have been lowered by means of an excavation of the outlet, and a portion of land has been left bare around the walls, which the proprietor has planted with trees. visitors are taken from kinross in a boat to view the scene. the square tower, though roofless and desolate, still stands. the window in the second story, which served as the entrance, and the one above, where the chain was worked, with the deep furrows in the sill cut by its friction, are shown by the guide. the court-yard is overgrown with weeds, and encumbered with fallen stones and old foundations. the chapel is gone, though its outline may be still traced in the ruins of its walls. the octagonal tower which mary occupied remains, and the visitors, climbing up by the narrow stone stairs in the wall, look out at the window over the waters of the loch and the distant hills, and try to recreate in imagination the scene which the apartment presented when the unhappy captive was there. chapter xi. the long captivity. - dumbarton castle.--the situation and aspect.--attempt to retreat to dumbarton.--mary's forces defeated.--mary's flight.--dundrennan.--consultations.--carlisle castle.--mary's message to the governor.--lowther.--mary's reception at the castle.--is mary a guest or a prisoner?--precautions for guarding her.--elizabeth's hypocrisy.--dishonorable proposal.--removal.--separation from friends.--proposed trial.--opening of the court.--adjourned to london.--failure of the trial.--mary's indignant pride.--elizabeth's negotiations with murray.--their failure.--cruel treatment of lady hamilton.--hamilton resolves on revenge.--hamilton's plans.--death of murray.--hamilton's flight.--mary's grief.--duke of norfolk beheaded.--mary's unhappy situation.--mary almost forgotten in her captivity. hamilton, which had been thus far the queen's place of rendezvous, was a palace rather than a castle, and therefore not a place of defense. it was situated, as has been already stated, on the river clyde, _above_ glasgow; that is, toward the southeast of it, the river clyde flowing toward the northwest. the castle of dumbarton, which has already been mentioned as the place from which mary embarked for france in her early childhood, was below glasgow, on the northern shore of the river. it stands there still in good repair, and is well garrisoned; it crowns a rock which rises abruptly from the midst of a comparatively level country, smiling with villages and cultivated fields, and frowns sternly upon the peaceful steamers and merchant ships which are continually gliding along under its guns, up and down the clyde. queen mary concluded to move forward to dumbarton, it being a place of greater safety than hamilton. murray gathered his forces to intercept her march. the two armies met near glasgow, as the queen was moving westward, down the river. there was a piece of rising ground between them, which each party was eager to ascend before the other should reach it. the leader of the forces on murray's side ordered every horseman to take up a foot-soldier behind him, and ride with all speed to the top of the hill. by this means the great body of murray's troops were put in possession of the vantage ground. the queen's forces took post on another rising ground, less favorable, at a little distance. the place was called langside. a cannonading was soon commenced, and a general battle ensued. mary watched the progress of it with intense emotions. her forces began soon to give way, and before many hours they were retreating in all directions, the whole country being soon covered with the awful spectacles which are afforded by one terrified and panic-stricken army flying before the furious and triumphant rage of another. mary gazed on the scene in an agony of grief and despair. a few faithful friends kept near her side, and told her that she must hurry away. they turned to the southward, and rode away from the ground. they pressed on as rapidly as possible toward the southern coast, thinking that the only safety for mary now was for her to make her escape from the country altogether, and go either to england or to france, in hopes of obtaining foreign aid to enable her to recover her throne. they at length reached the sea-coast. mary was received into an abbey called dundrennan, not far from the english frontier. here she remained, with a few nobles and a small body of attendants, for two days, spending the time in anxious consultations to determine what should be done. mary herself was in favor of going to england, and appealing to elizabeth for protection and help. her friends and advisers, knowing elizabeth perhaps better than mary did, recommended that she should sail for france, in hopes of awakening sympathy there. but mary, as we might naturally have expected, considering the circumstances under which she left that country, found herself extremely unwilling to go there as a fugitive and a suppliant. it was decided, finally, to go to england. the nearest stronghold in england was carlisle castle, which was not very far from the frontier. the boundary between the two kingdoms is formed here by the solway frith, a broad arm of the sea. dundrennan abbey, to which mary had retreated, was near the town of kirkcudbright, which is, of course, on the northern side of the frith; it is also near the sea. carlisle is further up the frith, near where the river solway empties into it, and is twenty or thirty miles from the shore. mary sent a messenger to the governor of the castle at carlisle to inquire whether he would receive and protect her. she could not, however, wait for an answer to this message, as the country was all in commotion, and she was exposed to an attack at any time from murray's forces, in which case, even if they should not succeed in taking her captive, they might effectually cut off her retreat from scottish ground. she accordingly determined to proceed immediately, and receive the answer from the governor of the castle on the way. she set out on the th of may. eighteen or twenty persons constituted her train. this was all that remained to her of her army of six thousand men. she proceeded to the shore. they provided a fishing-boat for the voyage, furnishing it as comfortably for her as circumstances would admit. she embarked, and sailed along the coast, eastward, up the frith, for about eighteen miles, gazing mournfully upon the receding shore of her native land--receding, in fact, now from her view forever. they landed at the most convenient port for reaching carlisle, intending to take the remainder of the journey by land. in the mean time, the messenger, on his arrival at carlisle, found that the governor had gone to london. his second in rank, whom he had left in command, immediately sent off an express after him to inform him of the event. the name of this lieutenant-governor was lowther. lowther did all in mary's favor that it was in his power to do. he directed the messenger to inform her that he had sent to london for instructions from elizabeth, but that, in the mean time, she would be a welcome guest in his castle, and that he would defend her there from all her enemies. he then sent around to all the nobles and men of distinction in the neighborhood, informing them of the arrival of the distinguished visitor, and having assembled them, they proceeded together toward the coast to meet and receive the unhappy fugitive with the honors becoming her rank, though such honors must have seemed little else than a mockery in her present condition. mary was received at the castle as an honored guest. it is, however, a curious circumstance, that, in respect to the reception of princes and queens in royal castles, there is little or no distinction between the ceremonies which mark the honored guest and those which attend the helpless captive. mary had a great many friends at first, who came out of scotland to visit her. the authorities ordered repairs to be commenced upon the castle, to fit it more suitably for so distinguished an inmate, and, in consequence of the making of these repairs, they found it inconvenient to admit visitors. of course, mary, being a mere guest, could not complain. she wanted to take a walk beyond the limits of the castle, upon a green to which there was access through a postern gate. certainly: the governor made no objection to such a walk, but sent twenty or thirty armed men to accompany her. they might be considered either as an honorary escort, or as a guard to watch her movements, to prevent her escape, and to secure her return. at one time she proposed to go a-hunting. they allowed her to go, _properly attended_. on her return, however, the officer reported to his superior that she was so admirable in her horsemanship, and could ride with so much fearlessness and speed, that he thought it might be possible for a body of her friends to come and carry her off, on some such occasion, back across the frontier. so they determined to tell mary, when she wished to hunt again, that they thought it not safe for her to go out on such excursions, as her _enemies_ might make a sudden invasion and carry her away. the precautions would be just the same to protect mary from her enemies as to keep her from her friends. elizabeth sent her captive cousin very kind and condoling messages, dispatching, however, by the same messenger stringent orders to the commander of the castle to be sure and keep her safely. mary asked for an interview with elizabeth. elizabeth's officers replied that she could not properly admit mary to a personal interview until she had been, in some way or other, cleared of the suspicion which attached to her in respect to the murder of darnley. they proposed, moreover, that mary should consent to have that question examined before some sort of court which elizabeth might constitute for this purpose. now it is a special point of honor among all sovereign kings and queens, throughout the civilized world, that they can, technically, do no wrong; that they can not in any way be brought to trial; and especially that they can not be, by any means or in any way, amenable to each other. mary refused to acknowledge any english jurisdiction whatever in respect to any charges brought against her, a sovereign queen of scotland. elizabeth removed her prisoner to another castle further from the frontier than carlisle, in order to place her in a situation where she would be more safe _from her enemies_. it was not convenient to lodge so many of her attendants at these new quarters as in the other fortress, and several were dismissed. additional obstructions were thrown in the way of her seeing friends and visitors from scotland. mary found her situation growing every day more and more helpless and desolate. elizabeth urged continually upon her the necessity of having the points at issue between herself and murray examined by a commissioner, artfully putting it on the ground, not of a trial of mary, but a calling of murray to account, by mary, for his usurpation. at last, harassed and worn down, and finding no ray of hope coming to her from any quarter, she consented. elizabeth constituted such a court, which was to meet at york, a large and ancient city in the north of england. murray was to appear there in person, with other lords associated with him. mary appointed commissioners to appear for her; and the two parties went into court, each thinking that it was the other which was accused and on trial. the court assembled, and, after being opened with great parade and ceremony, commenced the investigation of the questions at issue, which led, of course, to endless criminations and recriminations, the ground covering the whole history of mary's career in scotland. they went on for some weeks in this hopeless labyrinth, until, at length, murray produced the famous letters alleged to have been written by mary to bothwell before darnley's murder, as a part of the evidence, and charged mary, on the strength of this evidence, with having been an abettor in the murder. elizabeth, finding that the affair was becoming, as in fact she wished it to become, more and more involved, and wishing to get mary more and more entangled in it, and to draw her still further into her power, ordered the conference, as the court was called, to be adjourned to london. here things took such a turn that mary complained that she was herself treated in so unjust a manner, and murray and his cause were allowed so many unfair advantages, that she could not allow the discussion on her part to continue. the conference was accordingly broken up, each party charging the other with being the cause of the interruption. murray returned to scotland to resume his government there. mary was held a closer captive than ever. she sent to elizabeth asking her to remove these restraints, and allow her to depart either to her own country or to france. elizabeth replied that she could not, considering all the circumstances of the case, allow her to leave england; but that, if she would give up all claims to the government of scotland to her son, the young prince, she might remain in peace _in_ england. mary replied that she would suffer death a thousand times rather than dishonor herself in the eyes of the world by abandoning, in such a way, her rights as a sovereign. the last words which she should speak, she said, should be those of the queen of scotland. elizabeth therefore considered that she had no alternative left but to keep mary a prisoner. she accordingly retained her for some time in confinement, but she soon found that such a charge was a serious incumbrance to her, and one not unattended with danger. the disaffected in her own realm were beginning to form plots, and to consider whether they could not, in some way or other, make use of mary's claims to the english crown to aid them. finally, elizabeth came to the conclusion, when she had become a little satiated with the feeling, at first so delightful, of having mary in her power, that, after all, it would be quite as convenient to have her imprisoned in scotland, and she opened a negotiation with murray for delivering mary into his hands. he was, on his part, to agree to save her life, and to keep her a close prisoner, and he was to deliver hostages to elizabeth as security for the fulfillment of these obligations. various difficulties, however, occurred in the way of the accomplishment of these plans, and before the arrangement was finally completed, it was cut suddenly short by murray's miserable end. one of the hamiltons, who had been with mary at langside, was taken prisoner after the battle. murray, who, of course, as the legally constituted regent in the name of james, considered himself as representing the royal authority of the kingdom, regarded these prisoners as rebels taken in the act of insurrection against their sovereign. they were condemned to death, but finally were pardoned at the place of execution. their estates were, however, confiscated, and given to the followers and favorites of murray. one of these men, in taking possession of the house of hamilton, with a cruel brutality characteristic of the times, turned hamilton's family out abruptly in a cold night--perhaps exasperated by resistance which he may have encountered. the wife of hamilton, it is said, was sent out naked; but the expression means, probably, very insufficiently clothed for such an exposure. at any rate, the unhappy outcast wandered about, half frantic with anger and terror, until, before morning, she was wholly frantic and insane. to have such a calamity brought upon him in consequence merely of his fidelity to his queen, was, as the bereaved and wretched husband thought, an injury not to be borne. he considered murray the responsible author of these miseries, and silently and calmly resolved on a terrible revenge. murray was making a progress through the country, traveling in state with a great retinue, and was to pass through linlithgow. there is a town of that name close by the palace. hamilton provided himself with a room in one of the houses on the principal street, through which he knew that murray must pass. he had a fleet horse ready for him at the back door. the front door was barricaded. there was a sort of balcony or gallery projecting toward the street, with a window in it. he stationed himself here, having carefully taken every precaution to prevent his being seen from the street, or overheard in his movements. murray lodged in the town during the night, and hamilton posted himself in his ambuscade the next morning, armed with a gun. the town was thronged, and murray, on issuing from his lodging, escorted by his cavalcade, found the streets crowded with spectators. he made his way slowly, on account of the throng. when he arrived at the proper point, hamilton took his aim in a cool and deliberate manner, screened from observation by black cloths with which he had darkened his hiding-place. he fired. the ball passed through the body of the regent, and thence, descending as it went, killed a horse on the other side of him. murray fell. there was a universal outcry of surprise and fear. they made an onset upon the house from which the shot had been fired. the door was strongly barricaded. before they could get the means to force an entrance, hamilton was on his horse and far away. the regent was carried to his lodgings, and died that night. murray was queen mary's half brother, and the connection of his fortunes with hers, considered in respect to its intimacy and the length of its duration, was, on the whole, greater than that of any other individual. he may be said to have governed scotland, in reality, during the whole of mary's nominal reign, first as her minister and friend, and afterward as her competitor and foe. he was, at any rate, during most of her life, her nearest relative and her most constant companion, and mary mourned his death with many tears. there was a great nobleman in england, named the duke of norfolk, who had vast estates, and was regarded as the greatest subject in the realm. he was a catholic. among the other countless schemes and plots to which mary's presence in england gave rise, he formed a plan of marrying her, and, through her claim to the crown and by the help of the catholics, to overturn the government of elizabeth. he entered into negotiations with mary, and she consented to become his wife, without, however, as she says, being a party to his political schemes. his plots were discovered; he was imprisoned, tried, and beheaded. mary was accused of sharing the guilt of his treason. she denied this. she was not very vigorously proceeded against, but she suffered in the event of the affair another sad disappointment of her hopes of liberty, and her confinement became more strict and absolute than ever. still she had quite a numerous retinue of attendants. many of her former friends were allowed to continue with her. jane kennedy, who had escaped with her from loch leven, remained in her service. she was removed from castle to castle, at elizabeth's orders, to diminish the probability of the forming and maturing of plans of escape. she amused herself sometimes in embroidery and similar pursuits, and sometimes she pined and languished under the pressure of her sorrows and woes. sixteen or eighteen years passed away in this manner. she was almost forgotten. very exciting public events were taking place in england and in scotland, and the name of the poor captive queen at length seemed to pass from men's minds, except so far as it was whispered secretly in plots and intrigues. chapter xii. the end. - plots and intrigues.--how far mary was involved.--babington's conspiracy.--secret correspondence.--seizure of mary's papers.--her son james.--elizabeth resolves to bring mary to trial.--fotheringay castle.--great interest in the trial.--preparations for it.--the throne.--mary refuses to plead.--the commission.--the great hall.--mary pronounced guilty.--elizabeth's pretended sorrow.--signing the warrant.--shuffling of elizabeth.--mary's letter to elizabeth.--interposition of mary's friends.--elizabeth signs the warrant.--it is read to mary.--mary hears the sentence with composure.--protests her innocence.--mary refused a priest.--mary alone with her friends.--affecting scene.--supper.--mary's farewell to her attendants.--mary's last letters.--her directions as to the disposal of her body.--arrangements for the execution.--the scaffold.--proceeding to the hall.--interview with melville.--mary's last message.--she desires the presence of her attendants.--mary's dress and appearance.--symbols of religion.--mary's firmness in her faith.--her last prayer.--the execution.--heart-rending scene.--disposition of the body.--elizabeth's affected surprise.--her conduct.--the end of mary's ambition realized.--accession of james i.--tomb of mary at westminster abbey.--mary's love and ambition.--she triumphs in the end. mary did not always discourage the plots and intrigues with which her name was connected. she, of course, longed for deliverance from the thraldom in which elizabeth held her, and was ready to embrace any opportunity which promised release. she thus seems to have listened from time to time to the overtures which were made to her, and involved herself, in elizabeth's opinion, more or less, in the responsibility which attached to them. elizabeth did not, however, in such cases, do any thing more than to increase somewhat the rigors of her imprisonment. she was afraid to proceed to extremities with her, partly, perhaps, for fear that she might, by doing so, awaken the hostility of france, whose king was mary's cousin, or of scotland, whose monarch was her son. at length, however, in the year , about eighteen years from the commencement of mary's captivity, a plot was formed in which she became so seriously involved as to subject herself to the charge of aiding and abetting in the high treason of which the leaders of the plot were proved to be guilty. this plot is known in history by the name of babington's conspiracy. babington was a young gentleman of fortune, who lived in the heart of england. he was inspired with a strong degree of interest in mary's fate, and wished to rescue her from her captivity. he joined himself with a large party of influential individuals of the catholic faith. the conspirators opened negotiations with the courts of france and spain for aid. they planned an insurrection, the assassination of elizabeth, the rescue of mary, and a general revolution. they maintained a correspondence with mary. this correspondence was managed very secretly, the letters being placed by a confidential messenger in a certain hole in the castle wall where queen mary was confined. one day, when mary was going out to ride, just as she was entering her carriage, officers suddenly arrived from london. they told her that the plot in which she had been engaged had been discovered; that fourteen of the principal conspirators had been hung, seven on each of two successive days, and that they had come to arrest some of her attendants and to seize her papers. they accordingly went into her apartments, opened all her desks, trunks, and cabinets, seized her papers, and took them to london. mary sat down in the scene of desolation and disorder which they left, and wept bitterly. the papers which were seized were taken to london, and elizabeth's government began seriously to agitate the question of bringing mary herself to trial. one would have thought that, in her forlorn and desolate condition, she would have looked to her son for sympathy and aid. but rival claimants to a crown can have little kind feeling to each other, even if they are mother and son. james, as he gradually approached toward maturity, took sides against his mother. in fact, all scotland was divided, and was for many years in a state of civil war: those who advocated mary's right to the crown on one side, and james's adherents on the other. they were called king's men and queen's men. james was, of course, brought up in hostility to his mother, and he wrote to her, about a year before babington's conspiracy, in terms so hostile and so devoid of filial love, that his ingratitude stung her to the heart. "was it for this," she said, "that i made so many sacrifices, and endured so many trials on his account in his early years? i have made it the whole business of my life to protect and secure his rights, and to open before him a prospect of future power and glory: and this is the return." the english government, under elizabeth's direction, concluded to bring mary to a public trial. they removed her, accordingly, to the castle of fotheringay. fotheringay is in northamptonshire, which is in the very heart of england, northampton, the shire town, being about sixty miles northwest of london. fotheringay castle was on the banks of the river nen, or avon, which flows northeast from northampton to the sea. a few miles below the castle is the ancient town of peterborough, where there was a monastery and a great cathedral church. the monastery had been built a thousand years before. they removed mary to fotheringay castle for her trial, and lawyers, counselors, commissioners, and officers of state began to assemble there from all quarters. the castle was a spacious structure. it was surrounded with two moats, and with double walls, and was strongly fortified. it contained numerous and spacious apartments, and it had especially one large hall which was well adapted to the purposes of this great trial. the preparations for the solemn ordeal through which mary was now to pass, brought her forth from the obscurity in which she had so long been lost to the eyes of mankind, and made her the universal object of interest and attention in england, scotland, and france. the people of all these nations looked on with great interest at the spectacle of one queen tried solemnly on a charge of high treason against another. the stories of her beauty, her graces, her misfortunes, which had slumbered for eighteen years, were all now revived, and every body felt a warm interest in the poor captive, worn down by long confinement, and trembling in the hands of what they feared would be a merciless and terrible power. mary was removed to the castle of fotheringay toward the end of september, . the preparations for the trial proceeded slowly. every thing in which kings and queens, or affairs of state were concerned in those days, was conducted with great pomp and ceremony. the arrangements of the hall were minutely prescribed. at the head of it a sort of throne was placed, with a royal canopy over it, for the queen of england. this, though it was vacant, impressed the court and the spectators as a symbol of royalty, and denoted that the sovereignty of elizabeth was the power before which mary was arraigned. when the preparations were made, mary refused to acknowledge the jurisdiction of the court. she denied that they had any right to arraign or to try her. "i am no subject of elizabeth's," said she. "i am an independent and sovereign queen as well as she, and i will not consent to any thing inconsistent with this my true position. i owe no allegiance to england, and i am not, in any sense, subject to her laws. i came into the realm only to ask assistance from a sister queen, and i have been made a captive, and detained many years in an unjust and cruel imprisonment; and though now worn down both in body and mind by my protracted sufferings, i am not yet so enfeebled as to forget what is due to myself, my ancestors, and my country." this refusal of mary's to plead, or to acknowledge the jurisdiction of the court, caused a new delay. they urged her to abandon her resolution. they told her that if she refused to plead, the trial would proceed without her action, and, by pursuing such a course, she would only deprive herself of the means of defense, without at all impeding the course of her fate. at length mary yielded. it would have been better for her to have adhered to her first intention. the commission by which mary was to be tried consisted of earls, barons, and other persons of rank, twenty or thirty in number. they were seated on each side of the room, the throne being at the head. in the center was a table, where the lawyers, by whom the trial was to be conducted, were seated. below this table was a chair for mary. behind mary's chair was a rail, dividing off the lower end of the hall from the court; and this formed an outer space, to which some spectators were admitted. mary took her place in the seat assigned her, and the trial proceeded. they adduced the evidence against her, and then asked for her defense. she said substantially that she had a right to make an effort to recover her liberty; that, after being confined a captive so long, and having lost forever her youth, her health, and her happiness, it was not wonderful that she wished to be free; but that, in endeavoring to obtain her freedom, she had formed no plans to injure elizabeth, or to interfere in any way with her rights or prerogatives as queen. the commissioners, after devoting some days to hearing evidence, and listening to the defense, sent mary back to her apartments, and went to london. there they had a final consultation, and unanimously agreed in the following decision: "that mary, commonly called queen of scots and dowager of france, had been an accessory to babington's conspiracy, and had compassed the death of elizabeth, queen of england." elizabeth pretended to be very much concerned at this result. she laid the proceedings before parliament. it was supposed then, and has always been supposed since, that she wished mary to be beheaded, but desired not to take the responsibility of it herself; and that she wanted to appear unwilling, and to be impelled, greatly against her own inclinations, by the urgency of others, to carry the sentence into execution. at any rate, parliament, and all the members of the government, approved and confirmed the verdict, and wished to have it carried into effect. it has always been the custom, in modern times, to require the solemn act of the supreme magistrate of any state to confirm a decision of a tribunal which condemns a person to death, by signing what is called a warrant for the execution. this is done by the king or queen in england, and by the governor in one of the united states. this warrant is an order, very formally written, and sealed with the great seal, authorizing the executioner to proceed, and carry the sentence into effect. of course, queen mary could not be executed unless elizabeth should first sign the warrant. elizabeth would herself, probably, have been better pleased to have been excused from all direct agency in the affair. but this could not be. she, however, made much delay, and affected great unwillingness to proceed. she sent messengers to mary, telling her what the sentence had been, how sorry she was to hear it, and how much she desired to save her life, if it were possible. at the same time, she told her that she feared it might not be in her power, and she advised mary to prepare her mind for the execution of the sentence. mary wrote a letter to elizabeth in reply. she said in this letter that she was glad to hear that they had pronounced sentence of death against her, for she was weary of life, and had no hope of relief or rest from her miseries but in the grave. she wrote, therefore, not to ask any change in the decision, but to make three requests. first, that, after her execution, her body might be removed to france, and be deposited at rheims, where the ashes of her mother were reposing. secondly, that her execution should not be in secret, but that her personal friends might be present, to attest to the world that she met her fate with resignation and fortitude; and, thirdly, that her attendants and friends, who had, through their faithful love for her, shared her captivity so long, might be permitted to retire wherever they pleased, after her death, without any molestation. "i hope," said she, in conclusion, "you will not refuse me these my dying requests, but that you will assure me by a letter under your own hand that you will comply with them, and then i shall die as i have lived, your affectionate sister and prisoner, mary queen of scots." the king of france, and james, mary's son in scotland, made somewhat vigorous efforts to arrest the execution of the sentence which had been pronounced against mary. from these and other causes, the signing of the warrant was delayed for some months, but at length elizabeth yielded to the solicitations of her ministers. she affixed her signature to the instrument. the chancellor put upon it the great seal, and the commissioners who were appointed by it to superintend the execution went to fotheringay. they arrived there on the th of february, . after resting, and refreshing themselves for a short time from their journey, the commissioners sent word to mary that they wished for an interview with her. mary had retired. they said that their business was very important. she rose, and prepared to receive them. she assembled all her attendants, fourteen or fifteen in number, in order to receive the commissioners in a manner comporting, so far as circumstances allowed, with her rank and station. the commissioners were at length ushered into the apartment. they stood respectfully before her, with their heads uncovered. the foremost then, in language as forbearing and gentle as was consistent with the nature of his message, informed her that it had been decided to carry the sentence which had been pronounced against her into effect, and then he requested another of the number to read the warrant for her execution. [illustration: fotheringay, in its present state.] mary listened to it calmly and patiently. her attendants, one after another, were overcome by the mournful and awful solemnity of the scene, and melted into tears. mary, however, was calm. when the reading of the warrant was ended, she said that she was sorry that her cousin elizabeth should set the example of taking the life of a sovereign queen; but for herself, she was willing to die. life had long ceased to afford her any peace or happiness, and she was ready to exchange it for the prospect of immortality. she then laid her hand upon the new testament, which was near her, of course a catholic version, and called god to witness that she had never plotted herself, or joined in plots with others, for the death of elizabeth. one of the commissioners remarked that her oath being upon a catholic version of the bible, they should not consider it valid. she rejoined that it ought to be considered the more sacred and solemn on that account, as that was the version which she regarded as the only one which was authoritative and true. mary then asked the commissioners several questions, as whether her son james had not expressed any interest in her fate, and whether no foreign princes had interposed to save her. the commissioners answered these and other inquiries, and mary learned from their answers that her fate was sealed. she then asked them what time was appointed for the execution. they replied that it was to take place at eight o'clock the following morning. mary had not expected so early an hour to be named. she said it was sudden; and she seemed agitated and distressed. she, however, soon recovered her composure, and asked to have a catholic priest allowed to visit her. the commissioners replied that that could not be permitted. they, however, proposed to send the dean of peterborough to visit her. a dean is the ecclesiastical functionary presiding over a cathedral church; and, of course, the dean of peterborough was the clergyman of the highest rank in that vicinity. he was, however, a protestant, and mary did not wish to see him. the commissioners withdrew, and left mary with her friends, when there ensued one of those scenes of anguish and suffering which those who witness them never forget, but carry the gloomy remembrance of them, like a dark shadow in the soul, to the end of their days. mary was quiet, and appeared calm. it may however, have been the calm of hopeless and absolute despair. her attendants were overwhelmed with agitation and grief, the expression of which they could not even attempt to control. at last they became more composed, and mary asked them to kneel with her in prayer; and she prayed for some time fervently and earnestly in the midst of them. she then directed supper to be prepared as usual, and, until it was ready, she spent her time in dividing the money which she had on hand into separate parcels for her attendants, marking each parcel with the name. she sat down at the table when supper was served, and though she ate but little, she conversed as usual, in a cheerful manner, and with smiles. her friends were silent and sad, struggling continually to keep back their tears. at the close of the supper mary called for a cup of wine, and drank to the health of each one of them, and then asked them to drink to her. they took the cup, and, kneeling before her, complied with her request, though, as they did it, the tears would come to their eyes. mary then told them that she willingly forgave them for all that they had ever done to displease her, and she thanked them for their long-continued fidelity and love. she also asked that they would forgive her for any thing she might ever have done in respect to them which was inconsistent with her duty. they answered the request only with a renewal of their tears. mary spent the evening in writing two letters to her nearest relatives in france, and in making her will. the principal object of these letters was to recommend her servants to the attention and care of those to whom they were addressed, after she should be gone. she went to bed shortly after midnight, and it is said she slept. this would be incredible, if any thing were incredible in respect to the workings of the human soul in a time of awful trial like this, which so transcends all the ordinary conditions of its existence. at any rate, whether mary slept or not, the morning soon came. her friends were around her as soon as she rose. she gave them minute directions about the disposition of her body. she wished to have it taken to france to be interred, as she had requested of elizabeth, either at rheims, in the same tomb with the body of her mother, or else at st. denis, an ancient abbey a little north of paris, where the ashes of a long line of french monarchs repose. she begged her servants, if possible, not to leave her body till it should reach its final home in one of these places of sepulture. in the mean time, arrangements had been made for the last act in this dreadful tragedy, in the same great hall where she had been tried. they raised a platform upon the stone floor of the hall large enough to contain those who were to take part in the closing scene. on this platform was a block, a cushion, and a chair. all these things, as well as the platform itself, were covered with black cloth, giving to the whole scene a most solemn and funereal expression. the part of the hall containing this scaffold was railed off from the rest. the governor of the castle, and a body of guards, came in and took their station at the sides of the room. two executioners, one holding the axe, stood upon the scaffold on one side of the block. two of the commissioners stood upon the other side. the remaining commissioners and several gentlemen of the neighborhood took their places as spectators without the rail. the number of persons thus assembled was about two hundred. strange that any one should have come in, voluntarily, to witness such a scene! when all was ready, the sheriff, carrying his white wand of office, and attended by some of the commissioners, went for mary. she was at her devotions, and she asked a little delay that she might conclude them: perhaps the shrinking spirit clung at the last moment to life, and wished to linger a few minutes longer before taking the final farewell. the request was granted. in a short time mary signified that she was ready, and they began to move toward the hall of execution. her attendants were going to accompany her. the sheriff said this could not be allowed. she accordingly bade them farewell, and they filled the castle with the sound of their shrieks and lamentations. mary went on, descending the stair-case, at the foot of which she was joined by one of her attendants, from whom she had been separated for some time. his name was sir andrew melville, and he was the master of her household. the name of her secretary melville was james. sir andrew kneeled before her, kissed her hand, and said that this was the saddest hour of his life. mary began to give him some last commissions and requests. "say," said she, "that i died firm in the faith; that i forgive my enemies; that i feel that i have never disgraced scotland, my native country, and that i have been always true to france, the land of my happiest years. tell my son--" here her voice faltered and ceased to be heard, and she burst into tears. she struggled to regain her composure. "tell my son," said she, "that i thought of him in my last moments, and that i have never yielded, either by word or deed, to any thing whatever that might lead to his prejudice. tell him to cherish the memory of his mother, and say that i sincerely hope his life may be happier than mine has been." mary then turned to the commissioners who stood by, and renewed her request that her attendants, who had just been separated from her, might come down and see her die. the commissioners objected. they said that if these attendants were admitted, their anguish and lamentations would only add to her own distress, and make the whole scene more painful. mary, however, urged the request. she said they had been devotedly attached to her all her days; they had shared her captivity, and loved and served her faithfully to the end, and it was enough if she herself, and they, desired that they should be present. the commissioners at last yielded, and allowed her to name six, who should be summoned to attend her. she did so, and the six came down. the sad procession then proceeded to the hall. mary was in full court dress, and walked into the apartment with the air and composure of a reigning queen. she leaned on the arm of her physician. sir andrew melville followed, bearing the train of her robe. her dress is described as a gown of black silk, bordered with crimson velvet, over which was a satin mantle. a long veil of white crape, edged with rich lace, hung down almost to the ground. around her neck was an ivory crucifix--that is, an image of christ upon the cross, which the catholics use as a memorial of our savior's sufferings--and a rosary, which is a string of beads of peculiar arrangement, often employed by them as an aid in their devotions. mary meant, doubtless, by these symbols, to show to her enemies and to the world, that though she submitted to her fate without resistance, yet, so far as the contest of her life had been one of religious faith, she had no intention of yielding. mary ascended the platform and took her seat in the chair provided for her. with the exception of stifled sobs here and there to be heard, the room was still. an officer then advanced and read the warrant of execution, which the executioners listened to as their authority for doing the dreadful work which they were about to perform. the dean of peterborough, the protestant ecclesiastic whom mary had refused to see, then came forward to the foot of the platform, and most absurdly commenced an address to her, with a view to convert her to the protestant faith. mary interrupted him, saying that she had been born and had lived a catholic, and she was resolved so to die; and she asked him to spare her his useless reasonings. the dean persisted in going on. mary turned away from him, kneeled down, and began to offer a latin prayer. the dean soon brought his ministrations to a close, and then mary prayed for some time, in a distinct and fervent voice, in english, the large company listening with breathless attention. she prayed for her own soul, and that she might have comfort from heaven in the agony of death. she implored god's blessing upon france; upon scotland; upon england; upon queen elizabeth; and, more than all, upon her son. during this time she held the ivory crucifix in her hand, clasping it and raising it from time to time toward heaven. when her prayer was ended, she rose, and, with the assistance of her attendants, took off her veil, and such other parts of her dress as it was necessary to remove in order to leave the neck bare, and then she kneeled forward and laid her head upon the block. the agitation of the assembly became extreme. some turned away from the scene faint and sick at heart; some looked more eagerly and intensely at the group upon the scaffold; some wept and sobbed aloud. the assistant executioner put mary's two hands together and held them; the other raised his axe, and, after the horrid sound of two or three successive blows, the assistant held up the dissevered head, saying, "so perish all queen elizabeth's enemies." the assembly dispersed. the body was taken into an adjoining apartment, and prepared for interment. mary's attendants wished to have it delivered to them, that they might comply with her dying request to convey it to france; but they were told that they could not be allowed to do so. the body was interred with great pomp and ceremony in the cathedral at peterborough, where it remained in peace for many years. * * * * * now that the deed was done, the great problem with elizabeth was, of course, to avert the consequences of the terrible displeasure and thirst for revenge which she might naturally suppose it would awaken in scotland and in france. she succeeded very well in accomplishing this. as soon as she heard of the execution of mary, she expressed the utmost surprise, grief, and indignation. she said that she had, indeed, signed the death warrant, but it was not her intention at all to have it executed; and that, when she delivered it to the officer, she charged him not to let it go out of his possession. this the officer denied. elizabeth insisted, and punished the officer by a long imprisonment, and perpetual disgrace, for his pretended offense. she sent a messenger to james, explaining the terrible accident, as she termed it, which had occurred, and deprecating his displeasure. james, though at first filled with indignation, and determined to avenge his mother's death, allowed himself to be appeased. about twenty years after this, elizabeth died, and the great object of mary's ambition throughout her whole life was attained by the union of the scotch and english crowns on the head of her son. as soon as elizabeth ceased to breathe, james the sixth of scotland was proclaimed james the first of england. he was at that time nearly forty years of age. he was married, and had several young children. the circumstances of king james's journey to london, when he went to take possession of his new kingdom, are related in the history of charles i., belonging to this series. though james thus became monarch of both england and scotland, it must not be supposed that the two _kingdoms_ were combined. they remained separate for many years--two independent kingdoms governed by one king. when james succeeded to the english throne, his mother had been dead many years, and whatever feelings of affection may have bound his heart to her in early life, they were now well-nigh obliterated by the lapse of time, and by the new ties by which he was connected with his wife and his children. as soon as he was seated on his new throne, however, he ordered the castle of fotheringay, which had been the scene of his mother's trial and death, to be leveled with the ground, and he transferred her remains to westminster abbey, where they still repose. [illustration: mary's tomb at westminster abbey.] if the lifeless dust had retained its consciousness when it was thus transferred, with what intense emotions of pride and pleasure would the mother's heart have been filled, in being thus brought to her final home in that ancient sepulcher of the english kings, by her son, now, at last, safely established, where she had so long toiled and suffered to instate him, in his place in the line. ambition was the great, paramount, ruling principle of mary's life. love was, with her, an occasional, though perfectly uncontrollable impulse, which came suddenly to interrupt her plans and divert her from her course, leaving her to get back to it again, after devious wanderings, with great difficulty and through many tears. the love, with the consequences which followed from it, destroyed _her_; while the ambition, recovering itself after every contest with its rival, and holding out perseveringly to the last, saved _her son_; so that, in the long contest in which her life was spent, though she suffered all the way, and at last sacrificed herself, she triumphed in the end. the end. transcriber's notes: . minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors, and to ensure consistent spelling and punctuation in this etext; otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the original book. . the sidenotes used in this text were originally published as banners in the page headers, and have been collected at the beginning of each chapter for the reader's convenience. . the original table of engravings referenced an illuminated title page from the first edition of this book; this reference has been removed as that page does not occur in this e-text. [transcriber's note: obvious printer errors have been corrected without note; inconsistent and archaic spellings in quoted material have been retained as they appear in the original.] the tragedy of fotheringay [illustration: _walker & boutall, ph. sc._ _mary queen of scots, from the memorial portrait in the possession of the trustees of blairs college, aberdeen._] the tragedy of fotheringay founded on the journal of d. bourgoing, physician to mary queen of scots, and on unpublished ms. documents by the hon. mrs. maxwell scott of abbotsford london adam & charles black preface in compiling this book, my original intention was to deal with the material afforded by bourgoing's journal, supplemented by the letters of sir amyas paulet. both narrate the events of the last few months of queen mary's prison life, the details of which have been hitherto little known. as time went on, however, and further new and valuable matter was offered to me by the kindness of friends, the scope of the work gradually expanded. many details regarding the queen's execution and burial have been added, and i feel that some apology is due for possible repetitions and other errors of style which almost necessarily follow such a change of plan. many of the illustrative notes regarding queen mary's last moments are culled from original contemporary accounts of the execution, for the use of which i am indebted to the kindness of the rev. joseph stevenson, s.j., ll.d. some of these narratives are printed in the appendix in their entirety. the valuable collection of the calthorpe mss. has furnished many interesting details, and i am especially indebted to the courtesy of the present lord calthorpe for permission to publish the two curious contemporary drawings of the trial and execution. the value of these drawings is materially increased by the annotations in beale's handwriting. to him we owe several of the most interesting notes regarding the execution, etc., and the knowledge that these mss. have come down to us under the direct guardianship of beale's descendants lends additional value to their testimony. robert beale, whose name occurs so frequently in my narrative, had long been employed in a subordinate position by elizabeth's government, and in was sent by the privy council on an embassy to the prince of orange. he was later appointed clerk of council to the queen, the office in which he comes before us at the time of queen mary's trial and death, and his daughter margaret married sir henry yelverton, attorney-general, the ancestor of the calthorpe family, who thus became the possessors of the documents i have referred to. the frontispiece, taken from what is known as the blairs portrait of queen mary, has its own pedigree of unusual interest, although it cannot claim to be an original portrait. the following description of this picture is taken from the pen of the right rev. bishop kyle, vicar apostolic of the northern district of scotland:-- this large picture of queen mary belonged once to mrs. elizabeth curle, wife and widow of gilbert curle, one of the queen's secretaries during the last years of her life and at her death. mrs. curle herself was one of the attendants at her execution. when, and by whom it was painted, i have never learned. the attire and attitude of the principal figure being the same in which it is said mary appeared on the scaffold, seem to testify decisively that the picture is not what can be called an original--that is traced from the living subject under the painter's eye. the adjuncts were evidently added by another and an inferior artist, but when, i have no means of knowing. mrs. curle survived her mistress long, at least thirty years. she had two sons, who both became jesuits. of one, john, there is little known. he died in spain. the other, hyppolytus, was long superior, and a great benefactor of the scotch college of douai. to that college he bequeathed the property, not inconsiderable, which he derived from his mother, and among the rest the very picture now at blairs. the picture remained in that college (douai) till the french revolution. at the wreck of the college it was taken from its frame, and being rolled up was concealed in a chimney, the fireplace of which was built up, and was so preserved. after the peace of it was taken from its place of concealment and conveyed first to paris, but ultimately to scotland, through the late bishop paterson and the reverend john farquharson, who being the latter principal, the former prefect of studies in the douai college at the time of the revolution, identified it as the picture that had been kept there according to the tradition mentioned above.[ ]--(from _annals of lower deeside_, john a. henderson.) [footnote : the late rev. charles gordon (well known in aberdeen as priest gordon, having been in charge of the roman catholic congregation for sixty years), then a student in the college, assisted in concealing the picture.] in the background of this picture the execution of the queen at fotheringay is represented, along with the portraits of jane kennedy and elizabeth curle, the two maids of honour who were present on the sad occasion. the royal arms of scotland are painted on the right-hand corner of the picture, and there are three inscriptions in latin, the translations of which are as follow:-- . mary queen of scotland, dowager queen of france, truly legitimate sovereign of the kingdoms of england and ireland, mother of james, king of great britain, oppressed by her own subjects in the year , with the hope and expectation of aid promised by her cousin elizabeth, reigning in england, went thither, and there, contrary to the law of nations and the faith of a promise, being retained captive after years of imprisonment on account of religion by the perfidy of the same elizabeth and the cruelty of the english parliament, the horrible sentence of decapitation being passed upon her, is delivered up to death, and on the th of the kalends of march--such an example being unheard of--she is beheaded by a vile and abject executioner in the th year of her age and reign. . in the presence of the commissioners and ministers of queen elizabeth, the executioner strikes with his axe the most serene queen, the daughter, wife, and mother of kings, and after a first and second blow, by which she was barbarously wounded, at the third cuts off her head. . while she lived the chief parent and foundress of the scotch college, thus the once most flourishing queen of france and scotland ascends the fatal scaffold with unconquered but pious mind, upbraids tyranny and perfidy, professes the catholic faith, and publicly and plainly professes that she always was and is a daughter of the roman church. the reliquary containing a portrait of queen mary, of which lady milford kindly allows me to publish the photograph for the first time, is very interesting, and the date can be fixed as being _not later_ than , but unfortunately the history of the medallion is little known.[ ] it was originally in the possession of the darrell family, and as a darrell was appointed to be queen mary's steward during her captivity, and a marmaduke darrell (presumably the same person) attended the funeral at peterborough, i would fain see a connection between him and the miniature, but so far i have found no proof of this. [footnote : for list of relics contained in the reliquary see appendix, p. .] the two contemporary drawings of queen mary's trial and execution from the calthorpe mss. are now also published for the first time. the lists of spectators written by beale are of particular interest, and it is curious to compare the drawings of the trial with bourgoing's description of the scene (see p. xiii.) and with that given in appendix, p. . in conclusion, i earnestly desire to express my grateful thanks for the constant and valuable help and encouragement given to me by the rev. joseph stevenson, s.j., ll.d., to whose kindness i owe so much; to mr. leonard lindsay, f.s.a., and to other kind friends. m.m. maxwell scott. _ th february ._[ ] [footnote : soon after these words were written my valued friend father stevenson was taken from us. he died on the evening of th february, the same day on which queen mary, whose honour he had done so much to maintain, suffered death, and i by a further coincidence finished the writing of this book.] contents chap. page i. chartley ii. fotheringay iii. the trial--first day iv. the trial--second day v. suspense vi. after the sentence vii. waiting for death viii. further indignities ix. the death warrant x. the last day on earth xi. the end xii. peterborough xiii. westminster appendix list of illustrations mary queen of scots, reproduced from the portrait at blairs college, aberdeen _frontispiece_ contemporary drawing of the trial, } reproduced from the calthorpe ms.[ ] } _facing each other } at page _ facsimile key to above } contemporary drawing of the execution, } from the calthorpe ms. } _facing each other } at page _ facsimile key to above } enlargement of the execution scene, as given in the background of the above _to face page _ reliquary containing miniature of mary queen of scots, and relics, now in the possession of lady milford _to face page _ [footnote : "dedans une grande salle à laquelle on entroit immediatement de l'autre chambre de sa majesté par une porte simple ... ils avoient dressé et tendu, au bout d'icelle, le dais de la reyne, et, des deux costez, au dessous, le long de la paroy, estoient assis les seigneurs et toutte la noblesse sus nommée en la commission, estat et ordre que dessus; et au meilleu, quelques tables de long et les bancs où estoient assis les commissairs et la justice sus nommée, chacun en leur ordre. et au dessous, avoient dressé une barrière laissant une partie qui se levoit pour entrer et sortir, faisant separation comme d'un parquet auquel n'entroit personne que ceulx qui avoient affaire pour la commission, et avoient charge en icelle. et en l'autre separation, en bas, estoient gentilshommes et servans des dits seigneurs de la commission, auditeurs et spectateurs."--from bourgoing's journal, chantelauze, p. .] the tragedy of fotheringay chapter i chartley "ceux qui voudront jamais escrire de cette illustre reine d'ecosse en ont deux tres-amples sujets. l'un celui de sa vie y l'autre de sa mort, l'un y l'autre tres mal accompagnés de la bonne fortune." brantÔme. three hundred years have passed since brantôme wrote these lines, and his prevision has been fully verified. writers of every opinion--friends and foes--have taken as their theme the life and death of mary stuart, and it would now seem as if nothing further could be written on the subject, fascinating though it has proved. fresh historical matter bringing new evidence, however, comes to light now and then, and the publication in france, some years ago, of such testimony is our excuse for adding a short chapter to the history of queen mary. that this evidence relates to her last days and death, is very welcome, for we hold that in queen mary's case we may specially apply her own motto, "in my end is my beginning." her death was the crown and meaning of her long trial, and the beginning of an interest which has continued to the present day. the journal of queen mary's last physician, dominique bourgoing, published by m. chantelauze in , which recounts the events of the last seven months of mary's life, informs us of many details hitherto unknown, while the report of the trial of which bourgoing was an eye-witness is most valuable and interesting. taken together with the letters of sir amyas paulet, which, although written in a very different spirit, agree in the main with bourgoing's narrative, the journal presents us with a complete picture of the daily life of the captive queen and the inmates of fotheringay. in the preface to his valuable book m. chantelauze tells us of his happy acquisition of the manuscript copy of bourgoing's journal at cluny, discusses the proofs of its authenticity, and refers us to the passage in queen mary's last letter to pope sixtus v., which we must consider as bourgoing's "credentials." "vous aurez," writes mary, "le vrai récit de la fasson de ma dernière prise, et toutes les procédures contre moy et par moy, affin qu'entendant la vérité, les calumnies que les ennemys de l'eglise me vouedront imposer puissent estre par vous réfutées et la vérité connue: et à cet effet ai-je vers vous envoyé ce porteur, requérant pour la fin votre sainte bénédiction."[ ] [footnote : fotheringay, rd november . labanoff, tom. vi. pp. - . among mary's last requests to her brother-in-law, henri iii., there is a passage referring also to bourgoing. it runs thus: "further, i beseech him to take my physician into his service, and to give credit to what he shall say, and to pay regard to my recommendation of him."] bourgoing's journal in effect begins from the moment specified by the queen, at her "last taking," and contains, as she says, the full account of the proceedings taken against her. although the interest of the narrative centres in fotheringay, bourgoing also gives new and interesting particulars of the way in which the queen was removed from chartley, the imprisonment at tixall, and the return to chartley before the journey to her last prison of fotheringay. bourgoing begins his journal on thursday, the th of august , at chartley, where the queen had now been since the previous christmas, and at a moment of the gravest importance for her safety. the fatal conspiracy known as the babington plot had been arrested, and the unhappy agents in it were awaiting their cruel doom. it was determined that mary should be removed from chartley, her secretaries sent to london, and her papers seized, while she was still ignorant of the fate of babington and his companions. for this purpose william wade, a sworn enemy to mary, was sent down to staffordshire to take the necessary measures, and in order that this might be done secretly, he and sir amyas paulet, mary's keeper, met at some distance from the castle, and there arranged their plan of action. the queen's health had improved at chartley, and she was now able to take exercise on horseback. paulet therefore proposed to her to ride to tixall, the house of sir walter aston, which was situated a few miles off, to see a buck hunt. this proposal mary accepted with pleasure, and probably with some surprise at the unusual courtesy of sir amyas. on th august the party set out. "her majesty," says bourgoing, "arrayed herself suitably, hoping to meet some pleasant company, and was attended by m. nau, who had not forgotten to adorn himself; mr. curle, mr. melvim, and bourgoing, her physician; bastien pages, mantle-bearer; and annibal, who carried the crossbows and arrows of her majesty. all were mounted and in good apparel, to do her and the expected company honour, and indeed every one was joyous at the idea of this fine hunt."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] the queen, who was very cheerful, rode on for about a mile, till nau observed to her that sir amyas was some way behind. she stopped till he came up and spoke very kindly, saying she feared that, as he was in bad health, he could not go so fast; to which he replied courteously. the party proceeded a short way "without thinking more about it," says bourgoing, "when sir amyas, approaching the queen, said: 'madame, here is one of the gentlemen pensioners of the queen, my mistress, who has a message to deliver to you from her,' and suddenly m. george,[ ] habited in green serge, embroidered more than necessary for such a dress, and, as it appeared to me, a man of about fifty years, dismounted from his horse, and coming to the queen, who remained mounted, spoke to her as follows: 'madame, the queen, my mistress, finds it very strange that you, contrary to the pact and engagement made between you, should have conspired against her and her state, a thing which she could not have believed had she not seen proofs of it with her own eyes and known it for certain. and because she knows that some of your servants are guilty, and charged with this, you will not take it ill if they are separated from you. sir amyas will tell you the rest.' [footnote : sir thomas gorges.] "to which her majesty could only reply that, as for her, she had never even thought of such things, much less wished to undertake them, and that from whatever quarter she (elizabeth) had received her information, she had been misled, as she (mary) had always shown herself her good sister and friend." a melancholy scene now took place. nau and curle, who wished to approach their mistress, were forced back, and taken off to a neighbouring village. they never saw mary again. melville was also removed. the queen's party now turned back and proceeded a mile or two, when bourgoing, who, as he tells us, had placed himself as near as he could to his mistress, saw that they were following a new route; to this he drew the queen's attention, and she called to sir amyas, who was ambling slowly in front, to know where they were going. on hearing that they were not to return to chartley, mary, "feeling very indisposed, and unable to proceed," dismounted from her horse and seated herself on the ground. she now implored sir amyas to tell her where she was to be taken; he replied that she would be in a good place, one finer than his, that she could not return to her former residence, and that it was mere loss of time to resist or remain where she was. she saying she would prefer to die there, he threatened to send for her coach and place her in it. the queen remained inconsolable; and here it is very touching to observe bourgoing's efforts to comfort and encourage his mistress, his entreaties to paulet, his affectionate remonstrances with the queen herself, and even the very improbable ideas that he propounds to console her, such as that perhaps elizabeth was dead and mary's friends were taking these strange measures to place her person in safety. at last the queen was persuaded to proceed, but first, aided by bourgoing, she withdrew a few yards, and there under a tree she "made her prayer to god, begging him to have pity on her people and on those who worked for her, asking pardon for her faults, which she acknowledged to be great and to merit chastisement. she begged him to deign to remember his servant david, to whom he had extended his mercy, and whom he had delivered from his enemies, imploring him to extend also his pity to her, though she was of use to no one, and to do with her according to his will, declaring that she desired nothing in this world, neither goods, honours, power, nor worldly sovereignty, but only the honour of his holy name and his glory, and the liberty of his church and of the christian people; ending by offering him her heart, saying that he knew well what were her desires and intention."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] on the way to tixall, where mary was to be lodged, two more of her attendants were separated from her; one, lawrence, who held her bridle rein, and was observed to talk with her, and elizabeth pierpoint, one of her women. hitherto nothing has been known of the queen's imprisonment at tixall. bourgoing, however, tells us a few facts. we learn that paulet allowed mary's apothecary, two of her women, and martin, an equerry, to join her, and bourgoing remained for one night before being sent back to chartley. in the evening of her arrival at tixall, mary sent to ask for pen and paper to write to queen elizabeth; but this paulet refused, saying he should allow no letter to be sent till he had authority from the court. "on the morrow, the th august," writes bourgoing,[ ] "her majesty being still in bed, i was sent for by sir amyas to speak with him. before descending i asked her majesty if she had anything to acquaint him with, but she said i should first learn what he wanted of me; and afterwards i was not permitted to return to the queen, but was taken to chartley, where i remained a prisoner with the rest, awaiting the return of the queen." [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] bourgoing describes the search made at chartley, and mentions the three coffers of papers of all sorts that were carried off by wade and his companions. on th august the queen was brought back to chartley. on leaving tixall a crowd of beggars, attracted no doubt by her well-known charity, assembled at the park gate, but she was as poor as they. "i have nothing to give you," she said; "i am a beggar as well as you--all is taken from me."[ ] [footnote : paulet to walsingham, th august, record office.] bourgoing's journal thus records this day: "thursday the th her majesty was brought back to chartley with a great company, after being strictly detained at the place of tiqueshal; she was welcomed by each one of us, anxious to show our devotion, not without tears on both sides, and the same day she visited us, one after the other, as one who returns home." then he adds briefly: "after that the tears were over (her majesty) found nothing to say except about the papers which had been taken away, as has been related above."[ ] but here paulet's correspondence with walsingham gives us further details, in which he describes the queen's very just indignation at the manner in which her drawers and cabinets had been ransacked and every paper carried off. then, turning to paulet, she said that there were two things which he could not take from her--her royal blood and her religion, "which both she would keep until her death." [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] early in september paulet received orders to take possession of all the queen's money. bourgoing gives a long account of the way in which the commission was executed. mary was ill in bed, but paulet insisted on seeing her. he and mr. baquet[ ] entered her apartment, leaving his son and a good number of other gentlemen and servants, all armed, in the anteroom. paulet sent all the ladies and servants out of her room, "which made us all anxious," says bourgoing, "not knowing what to expect from such an unusual proceeding and being unaccustomed to such words. the best i could do was to keep myself by the door, under the pretext that her majesty was alone, and two men with her, (where i remained) very sad and thoughtful." in the end gervais, the surgeon, was also permitted to remain along with bourgoing. when paulet informed mary that he must have her money, she at first absolutely refused to give it up. when at last elspeth curle had, at the queen's bidding, opened the door of her cabinet, the queen, "all alone in her room, which no one (of us) dared approach, and guarded by sir amyas's people, rose from her bed, crippled as she was, and without slipper or shoe followed them, dragging herself as well as she could to her cabinet, and told them that this money which they were taking was money which she had long put aside as a last resource for the time when she should die, both for her funeral expenses and to enable her attendants to return each to his own country after her death." mary pleaded for some time, but sir amyas, while assuring her she should want for nothing, refused to leave her any of the money. [footnote : probably the mr. bagot who is mentioned by paulet.] some days later sir amyas again visited the queen, and interrogated her at length regarding her knowledge of babington and the conspiracy, concluding by saying "that she would be spoken to more fully about it, as it was necessary that the whole thing should be cleared up. from this her majesty took occasion to think she would be examined, but no one imagined this would be in the manner we shall hereafter see."[ ] [footnote : see also the _letter books of sir amyas paulet_, pp. - .] about th september paulet began to speak to mary of the intended move to fotheringay; he did not tell her the name of the place, but said that it would be very beneficial for her health to move from chartley, and that she should be taken to one of the queen's castles situated thirty miles from london. he also informed mary that he now understood why her money had been taken from her. he perceived, he said, that it was for fear she should give it away or use it for some dangerous purpose on the road, and he had been assured she would receive it back when she should reach her journey's end. the queen was quite willing to leave chartley, and was anxious to take the journey before her indisposition should increase. bourgoing thus continues:-- "from now they commenced to prepare the luggage and everything for the departure which was fixed for the tuesday following, the th of the said month, but was deferred till the next day on account of the change in the appointed lodging, which was supposed to be worcester or else chazfort (?); but both were changed and fotheringay was chosen, a castle of the (english) queen's in northamptonshire.... of all these things we were only told secretly, and her majesty never knew for certain where they were taking her, not even on the day she reached her new dwelling, but used to think sometimes they were taking her one way, sometimes another. before starting in the morning they would tell her whether she had a long or a short journey to make, sometimes the number of miles, but they would never tell her the place where she was to sleep that night." on the monday before the party left chartley, sir thomas gorges and stallenge (usher of parliament) arrived "with their pistols in their belts." this arrival caused anxiety among mary's followers, who were only reassured when they observed that gorges and stallenge addressed her more courteously than they expected. "the following wednesday, which was st. matthew's day ( st september), her majesty being ready to start, the doors of all the rooms were locked where her servants were, who were to remain behind, and the windows were guarded for fear that they should speak to her, or even see her." mary was carried to her coach, as she was still unable to walk. as the queen started, sir thomas gorges, who, together with stallenge, accompanied the party, accosted her, and informed her that he had something to say to her from his mistress. "i pray god," replied mary, "that the message is better and more agreeable than the one you recently brought me." to which gorges answered, "i am but a servant." "with this her majesty was content, telling him that she could not consider him to blame."[ ] it was not till the next day that the message was delivered. [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] the queen and her escort spent the first night at burton,[ ] and the next morning before starting, mary, who had been in great anxiety to know what he had to say, sent for sir thomas. the message, in part similar to the previous one, was to the effect that elizabeth was utterly surprised that mary should have planned such enterprises, and even to have hands laid on her who was an anointed queen. gorges swore that his mistress had never been so astonished or distressed by anything that had ever happened. "my mistress knows well," he said, "that if your majesty were sent to scotland, you would not be in safety; your subjects there would do you an ill turn; and she would have been esteemed a fool had she sent you to france without any reason." [footnote : miss strickland says that the queen's passage through burton is recorded by a latin inscription engraved on a window at hill hall castle.] to this mary replied very fully, declaring that she had never planned anything against the queen of england or the state. "i am not so base," said she, "as to wish to cause the death or to lay hands on an anointed queen like myself, and i have comported myself towards her as was my duty." mary remarked that she had several times warned elizabeth of things to her advantage, and then reverted to her own long imprisonment, and her many sufferings. "if all the christian prelates, my relations, friends, and allies," continued she, "moved by pity, and having compassion for my fate, have made it their duty to comfort and aid me in my misery and captivity, i, seeing myself destitute of all help, could not do less than throw myself into their arms and trust to their mercy, but, however, i do not know what were their designs, nor what they would have undertaken, nor what were their intentions. i have no part with this, and have not been the least in the world mixed up in it. if they have planned anything, let her (elizabeth) look to them; they must answer for it, not i. the queen of england," concluded mary, "knows well that i have warned her to look to herself and her council, and that perchance foreign kings and princes might undertake something against her, upon which she replied that she was well assured of both foreigners and her own subjects, and that she did not require my advice."[ ] [footnote : this conversation with gorges is mentioned in bourgoing's journal alone. see chantelauze, pp. , .] gorges' only reply was that he prayed god this was true, but he showed mary every courtesy by the way, "as well for her lodgings as for requisite commodities for the journey." nothing of any importance occurred during the remainder of the journey, and on th september the party reached fotheringay. chapter ii fotheringay "in darkest night for ever veil the scene when thy cold walls received the captive queen." _antona's banks mss._, --. on sunday th september mary stuart reached the last stage of her weary pilgrimage. as she passed through the gloomy gateway of fotheringay castle the captive queen bade farewell to hope and to life. well read as she was in the history of england, mary must have keenly realised the ominous nature of her prison. the name of fotheringay had been connected through a long course of years with many sorrows and much crime, and during the last three reigns 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 fatal walls, declaring that "to fotheringay she would not go, unless bound with cart ropes 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 to the north, while to the north-west 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. [footnote : "beat down the castle in a fit of revenge."--_archæologia_, xv. ; gough's _camden_, ii. .] [footnote : it is a curious fact that the thistle is to be found growing near all the places in which queen mary resided or was imprisoned, both in england and scotland.] mary, as we know, reached fotheringay under the care of sir amyas paulet and sir thomas gorges.[ ] sir william fitzwilliam, castellan of the castle, whose constant courtesy and kindness obtained the queen's ready gratitude, had also accompanied her. as soon as mary was safely consigned to her prison sir thomas gorges was despatched to inform queen elizabeth of the fact. his report of the journey which he had made in company with the royal prisoner and the arrival at fotheringay (which must have afforded him many opportunities of ascertaining mary's sentiments regarding the position in which she was now placed) would be full of the deepest interest for us, but although, no doubt, elizabeth eagerly inquired into every detail regarding her cousin, no record of this report has been discovered. [footnote : bourgoing's journal; see chantelauze, p. .] very little is known of mary's first days at fotheringay. no letters of the queen's relating to this time have been preserved, but from bourgoing's journal we gather a few facts. his mistress, he tells us, complained, and with justice, of the scanty and insufficient accommodation provided for her, especially as she had observed "many fine rooms unoccupied." as paulet paid little attention to her demands, and it was rumoured that the vacant apartments were reserved for some noblemen, mary at once suspected that she was about to be brought to trial. she had long foreseen this issue, and had spoken of it to her attendants. the prospect did not alarm her; to use bourgoing's words, "she was not in the least moved; on the contrary, her courage rose, and she was more cheerful and in better health than before." on october st paulet sent a courteous message to the queen requesting an interview with her. he had received intelligence which he would "willingly" communicate to her. experience had taught mary and her followers to connect evil tidings with any unusual display of civility on paulet's part, nor were they deceived. when he found himself in mary's presence he brusquely informed her that queen elizabeth, having now received sir thomas gorges' report, had expressed much surprise, and marvelled that her cousin dared to deny the charges brought against her, when she herself possessed proof of the facts. his mistress must now send some of her lords and counsellors to interrogate mary, and of this he wished to warn her, so that she might not think she was to be taken by surprise. then lowering his voice, paulet added significantly that "the queen would do better to beg pardon of her majesty, and confess her offence and fault, than to let herself be declared guilty (by law); and that if she would follow his advice, and agree to this, he would communicate her decision to queen elizabeth, being ready to write her reply, whatever it might be." mary smiled at this proposal, saying that it reminded her of the way in which children are bribed to make them confess, and in reply said, "as a sinner i am truly conscious of having often offended my creator, and i beg him to forgive me, but as queen and sovereign i am aware of no fault or offence for which i have to render account to any one here below, as i recognise no authority but god and his church. as therefore i could not offend, i do not wish for pardon; i do not seek, nor would i accept it from any one living." then assuming a lighter tone, the queen further remarked that she thought sir amyas took much pains for but small result, and that he seemed to make little progress in this affair. paulet here interrupted her, exclaiming that his mistress could show proof of what she asserted, and that the thing was notorious. mary therefore would do well to confess, but he would report her answer. he then begged the queen to listen while he repeated her answer word by word, and having written it down, he despatched it on the same day to the court. we may ask ourselves whether elizabeth was sincere in her overtures to her cousin. if mary had sued for mercy, would elizabeth have granted it? it is more probable that any words which could have been extorted from mary would have been used by the english queen as a safeguard for her own honour. armed with a confession of any sort, elizabeth would have had no difficulty in ridding herself quietly of her cousin, and her own reputation would have suffered less. as we have seen, mary at once perceived the trap prepared for her, and with her usual promptitude and courage she easily avoided it. about this time a little ray of comfort came to cheer the queen's imprisonment. her faithful steward, melville, who had of late been separated from her, was permitted to return, and he brought with him his daughter and the daughter of bastien pages, who was a goddaughter of the queen's. the consolation which mary received from their arrival was, however, soon allayed by the summary dismissal of her coachmen and some other servants, a proceeding which she rightly took to be a fresh sign of the gravity of her position.[ ] [footnote : see _letter books of sir amyas paulet_, p. ; and chantelauze, p. .] in london meanwhile events were proceeding rapidly. on october th the commissioners appointed to judge the scottish queen assembled at westminster. the chancellor, sir thomas bromley, having briefly related the history of the late conspiracy, read aloud copies of the letters addressed by babington to mary, her reputed answers, and the evidence said to have been extracted from nau and curle. at the conclusion nearly all present were of opinion that mary should be brought to trial. the commissioners were therefore summoned to meet at fotheringay, and all the peers of the kingdom were invited to be there present, save those employed in offices of state. to the great displeasure of elizabeth and burleigh, lord shrewsbury evaded this summons on the plea of illness. the queen herself intimated the approaching trial to her faithful paulet.[ ] the crisis, therefore, had now come. no one familiar with the character of elizabeth or the policy of her advisers could doubt the issue of the trial. it would have seemed only natural to suppose that france or spain would effectively resent the outrage offered to a sister queen; but the days of chivalry were past, and philip of spain could forsake an ally and henry of france abandon a sister-in-law in her dire need. to the honour of france be it said, however, that mary found an ardent defender in the french ambassador, de chateauneuf, who exerted himself to the utmost on her behalf; elizabeth, however, treated his efforts with supreme contempt. [footnote : see _letter books of sir amyas paulet_, p. .] when chateauneuf implored that the queen of scotland might at least have counsel to defend her, elizabeth sent him word that she knew what she was doing, and did not require advice from strangers. she was aware that she need fear no active interference from chateauneuf's master. still less did she dread opposition on the part of the young king of scotland. the disregard for his mother, in which elizabeth had herself encouraged james, was her present safeguard, and she had determined that should he prove obstinate she would threaten him with exclusion from the succession to the english throne. on saturday, th october, the commissioners reached fotheringay. some were lodged in the castle, though the greater number found rooms in the village and neighbouring farmhouses and cottages. a duplicate copy of the commission was at once transmitted to mary. the act bore the names of forty-eight members, but of these nine or ten had refused to attend. the primate of england headed the list, and among the most important names occurred those of cecil, lord burleigh, walsingham, sir christopher hatton, the earls of leicester and warwick, davison, elizabeth's secretary, beale, and others.[ ] [footnote : the full list is given by bourgoing; see chantelauze, p. .] on the following day, sunday, the lords attended service in the castle chapel. they afterwards sent a deputation to mary, composed of sir walter mildmay, sir amyas paulet, barker (elizabeth's notary), and stallenge, usher of parliament. they were the bearers of a letter from their mistress, couched in brief and imperious terms. this epistle, which was addressed simply to "the scotish," without any other title or expression of courtesy, stated that elizabeth having heard that mary had denied participation in the plot against her person, notwithstanding that she herself possessed proofs of the fact, she now considered it well to send some of her peers and legal counsellors to examine mary and judge the case, adding that as the queen of scotland was in england, and under her protection, she was subject to the laws of the country.[ ] [footnote : see r.o., mary queen of scots, vol. xx. no. , dated th october.] in reply to this document, which, as she observed, read as a command addressed to a subject, queen mary replied with dignity. "i am myself a queen," said she, "daughter of a king, a stranger, and the true kinswoman of the queen of england. i came into england on my cousin's promise of assistance against my enemies and rebel subjects, and was at once imprisoned. i have thus remained for eighteen years, always ill-treated and suffering constant trials at the hands of queen elizabeth. i have several times offered to treat with the queen with good and honest intentions, and have often wished to speak with her. i have always been willing to do her service and give her pleasure, but i have always been prevented by my enemies. as a queen i cannot submit to orders, nor can i submit to the laws of the land without injury to myself, the king my son, and all other sovereign princes. as i belong to their estate, majesty, and dignity, i would rather die than betray myself, my people, or my kingdom, as a certain person has done. i decline my judges," continued mary, "as being of a contrary faith to my own. for myself, i do not recognise the laws of england, nor do i know or understand them, as i have already often asserted. i am alone, without counsel, or any one to speak on my behalf. my papers and notes have been taken from me, so that i am destitute of all aid, taken at a disadvantage, commanded to obey, and to reply to those who are well prepared and are my enemies, who only seek my ruin. i have made several offers to the queen of england which have not been accepted, and now i hear that she has again entered into a league with my son, thus separating mother from child. i am a catholic, and have placed myself under the protection of those catholic kings and princes who have offered me their services. if they have planned any attempt against queen elizabeth, i have not been cognisant of it, and therefore it is wrong to treat me as if i were guilty." mary concluded by demanding that reference should be made to her former protestation.[ ] [footnote : made at the time of the sheffield conferences.] mildmay and paulet carried mary's reply to the commissioners, who were assembled in the large apartment which had been prepared for them, near the queen's rooms. after a consultation had been held, sir amyas, barker, and stallenge returned to the queen's presence, in order to obtain her sanction to the copy of her answer to elizabeth, which had been committed to writing. barker knelt before mary and read aloud the letter, which, bourgoing tells us, was reported in "good style," and with no omission save the passage in which mary expressed her desire to see elizabeth. mary signified her approval of the letter, and observed that she wished now to reply to those points of her cousin's letter which in her trouble and agitation had before escaped her. she repeated that she did not consider herself under the protection of the queen; that she had not come into england for refuge, but to obtain assistance; and that, notwithstanding the promise of help from elizabeth, she had been made prisoner and detained by force. she was not, she said, subject to the laws of england, which are made for the english and such as come to reside in england, whereas she had always been dealt with as a captive and had had no advantage from the laws, nor had she been in subjection to them. she had always kept her own religion, which was not that of england, and she had lived according to her own usages, to all of which no objection had been made. here sir amyas, "appearing to show himself more considerate," bade the queen remember that he had no orders either to listen to her or to report her words; but barker, "whispering in his ear," assured him that he could let her speak, and add her words and anything else he wished to the report. paulet did not, however, avail himself of this piece of advice, and thus the interview ended. on the following morning, about ten o'clock, just as the queen was seated at table for her early dinner, sir amyas, barker, and stallenge came to inquire whether she would be pleased to see the commissioners, as they desired to speak with her. mary expressed her willingness to receive them, and accordingly several members, chosen from the different orders of peers, privy-councillors, and lawyers, entered her presence, one by one, with great ceremony, preceded by an usher bearing the great seal of england. the lord chancellor, sir thomas bromley, speaking in the name of all, announced that they had come by command of the queen of england their mistress, who, being informed that the queen of scotland was charged with complicity in a conspiracy against her person and state, had commissioned them to examine her on several points concerning this matter. he further reminded mary that the commission was authorised by letters patent thus to interrogate her; and concluded by remarking that as neither her rank as sovereign nor her condition as prisoner could exempt her from obedience to the laws of england, he recommended her majesty to listen in person to the accusations about to be brought against her, as, should she refuse, the commissioners would be obliged in law to proceed against her in her absence. mary, who was much moved by this arrogant speech, replied with tears that she had received elizabeth's letter, and that she would rather die than acknowledge herself her subject. "by such an avowal," continued she, "i should betray the dignity and majesty of kings, and it would be tantamount to a confession that i am bound to submit to the laws of england, even in matters touching religion. i am willing to reply to all questions, provided i am interrogated before a free parliament, and not before these commissioners, who doubtless have been carefully selected, and who have probably already condemned me unheard." in conclusion mary bade them consider well what they were doing. "look to your consciences," said she, "and remember that the theatre of the world is wider than the realm of england." noble and pathetic words, to the truth of which the history of three hundred years bears ample testimony. burleigh (whom bourgoing designates as "homme plus véhement")[ ] here interrupted the queen, and informed her that the council, after receiving her former reply, had taken the advice of several learned doctors of canon and civil law; and that the latter, after mature deliberation, had decided that the court could, despite her protest, proceed in the execution of their commission. "will you therefore," continued burleigh rudely, "hear us or not? if you refuse, the assembled council will continue to act according to the commission." [footnote : a curious note in beale's hand (yelverton mss. , ) gives us the reason for burleigh's "vehemence" against mary at this moment. it runs as follows: "the bishop of glasgow, the scottish q.'s ambassador in france, had written unto her how w. cecill, son and heir to sir tho. cecill, had been at rome and reconciled. that there was good hope that the l. treasurer, his grandfather, would do her what pleasure he could. item, in another letter he advertised her how sir edward stafford (?), her maj.'s ambassador in france, had shewed unto him a letter from the l. treasurer, whereby he presumed that the said l. tr'r. did favour her. these letters came to the q. mty.'s knowledge, and the matter came to the l. tr'r.'s knowledge, which for the purgation of himself to be nothing inclined that way, made him, as it is thought, more earnest against her."] the queen reminded burleigh that she was a queen, and not a subject, and could not be treated as one. he retorted that queen elizabeth recognised no other queen but herself in her kingdom. he and his colleagues, he said, had no wish to treat mary as a subject; they were well aware of her rank, and were prepared to treat her accordingly; but they were bound to fulfil the line of duty laid down for them by the commission, and to ascertain whether she was subject to the laws of england. he ended by declaring that she was assuredly subject to the civil and canon law as it was observed abroad. the queen remaining unconvinced by these arguments, the commissioners were forced to retire for a time. before leaving her burleigh made a curious speech, bidding mary recall to her memory the benefits which had been heaped upon her by her cousin! insisting in especial upon some remarkable instances of her clemency. "the queen, my mistress," said he, "has punished those who contested your pretensions to the english crown. in her goodness she saved you from being judged guilty of high treason at the time of your projected marriage with the duke of norfolk, and she has protected you from the fury of your own subjects." mary replied to this extraordinary speech with a sad smile. as soon as she had dined, the queen, who, as bourgoing tells us, had not been able to write for a long time, owing to rheumatic pains in her arm, set to work to make notes, to assist her when the commissioners should return; fearing, as she said, that her memory might fail her. as was usual with her, however, the very danger of her position inspired her with fresh vigour and courage, and when the moment came she defended herself as "valiantly as she was rudely assailed, importuned, and pursued by the commissioners; and she ended by saying far more than she had prepared in writing." in the course of the afternoon sir amyas and three others were deputed to wait on mary with a duplicate copy of the commission, which she had requested to see. they proceeded to explain this document, which was chiefly founded on two acts of parliament passed two years previously. by the former of these it was declared high treason for any one to speak of mary's succession to the crown of england during the lifetime of elizabeth. the second decreed that should any one, of whatsoever rank, in the kingdom or abroad, conspire against the life of elizabeth, or connive at such conspiracy, it should be lawful for an extraordinary jury comprised of twenty-four persons to adjudge that case. these laws (which the queen justly felt to have been framed specially for her destruction) were now to be applied. she was accused of "consenting" to the "horrible fact of the destruction of elizabeth's person and the invasion of the kingdom," and she was now called upon to submit to the interrogations of the appointed judges. to the energetic protests offered by mary the deputies made no reply, but withdrew to consult with the other commissioners; and later in the day the attack was renewed. on this occasion bourgoing says that the lords came in fewer numbers than in the morning, but with the same ostentatious ceremony. the queen began by referring to a passage in elizabeth's letter, and demanded to know what the word "protection" there signified. "i came into england," said she, "to seek assistance, and i was immediately imprisoned. is that 'protection'?" burleigh, always the spokesman, and who invariably seemed animated with a wish to attack mary, was puzzled to reply to this simple question, and endeavoured to evade it. he had "read the letter in question," he said, "but neither he nor his colleagues were so presumptuous as to dare to interpret their mistress's letter. she, no doubt, knew well what she wrote; but it was not for subjects to interpret the words of their sovereign." "you are too much in the confidence of your mistress," returned mary, "not to be aware of her wishes and intentions, and if you are armed with such authority by your commission as you describe, you have surely the power to interpret a letter from the queen." burleigh denied that he and his companions had known anything of the letter; adding, however, that he was aware that his mistress considered that every person living in her kingdom was subject to its laws. "this letter," continued mary, "was written by walsingham; he confessed to me that he was my enemy, and i well know what he has done against me and my son." at this point the commissioners "discussed among themselves as to whether walsingham had been in london at the time when the letter was written or not, but could not decide the question." mary then again protested against the injustice of being tried by the laws of a country in which she had lived only as a prisoner. "if your majesty," retorted one of the lords, "was reigning peacefully in your own kingdom, and some one were to conspire against you, would you not proceed against him, were he the greatest king in the world?" "never," replied mary, "never would i act in such a manner; however, i see well that you have already condemned me--all you do now is merely for form's sake. i do not value my life, but i strive for the preservation of my own honour, and the honour of my relatives and of the church. you frame laws according to your own wishes," continued the queen; "and as in former days the english refused to recognise the _salique_ law in france, so i do not feel bound to submit to your laws. if you wish to proceed according to the common law of england, you must produce examples and precedents. if you follow the canon law, those only who framed it can interpret it. roman catholics alone have the right to explain and apply it." to this burleigh replied that the canon law was used ordinarily in england, especially regarding marriages and kindred matters, but not in what touched the authority of the pope, which they neither desired nor approved. "in consequence then," continued mary, "you cannot avail yourselves of the privilege of him whose authority you deny. the pope and his delegates alone can interpret the canon law, and i know of no one in england who has received this authority from the sovereign pontiff. as for the civil laws, they were made by the catholic emperors of old, or in any case, sanctioned by them; and these laws can only be applied by such as approve their authors, and would wish to imitate them. as these laws were often obscure and difficult, and people wished to interpret them, each according to his own idea, universities were established in italy, france, and spain. here in england, where none such exist, you do not possess the knowledge of the true spirit and interpretation of these laws, but you interpret them according to your own wishes, and in such a way as to serve the law, and the police law of your country. if you wish to try me by the true civil law, i demand that some members of the universities be allowed to judge my case, so that i may not be left to the judgment of such lawyers as are subservient to the laws of england alone. but i see that you wish to prevent me from benefiting either by the canon or the civil law. you wish to reduce me to subject myself to the law of this country; but," continued the queen earnestly, "i have no knowledge of this law. it is not my profession, and you have taken from me all power of studying it. kings and princes usually have around them such persons as are versed in these matters, but i have no one. i therefore beg you to give me information in order that i may know how those in my position have been treated in the time past, and what has been admitted by law or precedent, either favourable to my case or not." mary's hearers eagerly seized the opportunity afforded them, and suggested that she should see the judges and lawyers then present at fotheringay, who would explain the matter to her. at first the queen seemed as if she were inclined to favour this proposal. "her majesty, very well pleased, at first agreed, till she perceived by some words of the treasurer (burleigh) that by this suggestion they had no intention but to make her aware by them (the judges) that her cause was bad, that she was subject to the laws of england, and that there was a just case against her, so that consequently she might in the end be judged by them. so her majesty, perceiving that she could not communicate with the judges about her business without humbling herself, refused to hear them."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, pp. - .] the envoys now proposed to the queen to hear the new commission. after listening to it attentively, mary observed that she saw it referred to laws which she must refuse to recognise, as she suspected that they had been framed expressly for her ruin by those persons who were her enemies, and who aimed at dispossessing her of her right to the kingdom. elizabeth's emissaries replied that even though the laws were new, they were as just and equitable as those of other countries. her majesty, they added, knew well that it was necessary on occasion to abrogate certain laws and frame new ones. "these new laws," returned mary, "cannot be used to my prejudice. i am a stranger, and consequently not subject to them, and the more especially as i belong to a different religion. i confess to being a catholic, and for this religion i would wish to die, and shed my blood to the last drop. in this matter do not spare me; i am ready and willing, and shall esteem myself very happy if god grants me the grace to die in this quarrel." the queen's hearers, amazed at her courage, refrained from pressing her further, and reserved--as bourgoing tells us--their reply for a future occasion. mary now demanded to see the former protestation which she had made at sheffield. "i have not changed since then," she remarked, "being the same person still, my rank and quality remaining undiminished, and my sentiments unaltered, while the circumstances were then almost identical with those of the present crisis." being thus pressed, sir thomas bromley and lord burleigh read aloud the protestation, refusing at the same time either to approve or accept it. bromley acknowledged, however, that he had on the previous occasion received it from mary and presented it to his mistress. "her majesty," continued he, "neither approved nor accepted it, and we are not at liberty to receive it, nor you to make use of it. the queen of england has power in her own kingdom over all persons who conspire against her without respect to quality or degree. as your rank is, however, well known, the queen is treating you very honourably, having selected so worthy a company of the great men of her kingdom as her commissioners in this matter. we have taken no step against you; we are not judges, but have only come to examine you." the day passed thus in mutual discussion until dusk, when sir christopher hatton, seeing that no progress was being made, interposed, and adopting a conciliatory tone, observed that to his mind many unnecessary matters were being discussed. he and his colleagues were there simply to ascertain whether the queen of scots was, or was not, guilty of having participated in the plot against their mistress. he was of opinion, he said, that the queen should not refuse to be examined, as in that case people would take her to be guilty, whereas were she to consent to be interrogated she could prove her innocence, which would bring honour to herself and rejoice queen elizabeth. hatton added that in his parting interview with his mistress she had protested to him with tears that nothing had ever so wounded her as the thought that her cousin should have sought to injure her,--a thing which she could not have believed of her. "what favour can i look for when i shall have established my innocence?" demanded mary; "and what reparation will be made to me for being brought here by force, treated as a criminal and a subject, and convoked before an assembly of judges in an apartment specially prepared for my trial?" "your honour will suffer no injury," returned hatton persuasively, "and my mistress will be satisfied. as for the place of your trial, that is of no consequence; any place would do equally well. this castle was chosen as being the queen's property and suitable for the occasion. if any of your people have alarmed you, be reassured, there is no danger for you. we have chosen the large hall close to your own apartment, as being more commodious for you in your weak health, and as it is her majesty's presence-chamber, we have there erected her dais. to us, who are sent here as her commissioners, this attribute of state represents our queen, as if she were here in person." burleigh here impatiently interrupted hatton by exclaiming that it was time to retire, and demanded once more of mary whether she would be examined or not. "the commissioners are determined to proceed in any case," said he, "and the council will assemble to-morrow." "i am not obliged to answer you," replied mary. "may god inspire you, and may you be directed to do right according to god and to reason. i beseech you, think well of what you are about." the commissioners then withdrew. elizabeth had been at once informed of the previous day's interview, of mary's refusal to be interrogated, and of the resolution of the commissioners to proceed with the trial and sentence, even in the absence of the prisoner. alarmed at this decision, the queen sent a courier post-haste to urge burleigh and his companions not to pronounce sentence until they should return, and give her a complete report of the proceedings. the same messenger was the bearer of a letter to mary, the reception of which must have added bitterness to this day of trial.[ ] the letter ran as follows:-- you have planned in divers ways and manners to take my life and to ruin my kingdom by the shedding of blood. i never proceeded so harshly against you; on the contrary, i have maintained you and preserved your life with the same care which i use for myself. your treacherous doings will be proved to you, and made manifest in the very place where you are. and it is my pleasure that you shall reply to my nobles and to the peers of my kingdom as you would to myself were i there present. i have heard of your arrogance, and therefore i demand, charge, and command you to reply to them. but answer fully, and you may receive greater favour from us. elizabeth.[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, pp. - .] [footnote : egerton, pp. , .] in this epistle elizabeth, as we see, once more held out hopes of clemency to her cousin, but it seems probable that mary paid little heed to promises which she had so often found to be delusive. bourgoing makes no allusion to this letter, but he says that his mistress, seeing the determination of the commissioners to proceed in any case, "remained all the night in perplexity." on one side she dreaded being obliged to appear "in a public place against her duty, her state, and her quality," while on the other she foresaw that should she persist in her refusal to answer their interrogations, the commissioners would assert her silence to be proof of her guilt, and would pronounce sentence against her, and declare "as an assured fact that in her conscience she knew herself to be guilty." towards morning the queen determined to send word to the lords that she desired to say a few words to them before they assembled. on the morning of the th, accordingly, the commissioners delegated some of their number to wait upon the queen. among these was walsingham, whom mary now saw for the first time. we subjoin the dignified address made by the queen on this occasion. it seems evident that bourgoing wrote down this speech either from mary's dictation, or from notes supplied by herself, as, unlike the other speeches recorded by him, it is given throughout in the first person:-- "when i remember that i am a queen by birth," said mary, "a stranger and a near relation of the queen, my good sister, i cannot but be offended at the manner in which i have been treated, and could do nothing other than refuse to attend your assembly and object to your mode of procedure. i am not subject either to your laws or your queen, and to them i cannot answer without prejudice to myself and other kings and princes of the same quality. now, as always heretofore, i will not spare my life in defence of my honour; and rather than do injury to other princes and my son, i am prepared to die, should the queen, my good sister, have such an evil opinion of me as to believe that i have attempted aught against her person. in order to prove my goodwill towards her, and to show that i do not refuse to answer to the charges of which i am accused, i am prepared to answer to that accusation only, which touches on the life of queen elizabeth, of which i swear and protest that i am innocent. i say nothing upon any other matter whatsoever as to any friendship or treaty with any other foreign princes. and making this protestation, i demand an act in writing."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] the commissioners, "very happy to have brought the queen to this point,"[ ] assured her that their only desire was to ascertain whether she was guilty or not, and thus to satisfy their mistress, who would be well content to see her innocence proved. mary then once more inquired if it was necessary for her to appear in the hall of council. they replied that it must be so; repeating that the apartment had been prepared expressly for the purpose, and that they would there hear her as if she were in the presence of elizabeth herself, in order that they might address their report to their sovereign in due form. the delegates then withdrew to consult together over mary's last protestation. shortly afterwards they sent word that they had committed it to writing, and once again summoned her to appear before them. this the queen consented to do "as soon as she had broken her fast by taking a little wine, as she felt weak and ill."[ ] [footnote : _ibid._] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] * * * * * the die was now cast. to us the queen's decision seems a fatal error. had she persisted in claiming her royal prerogative of inviolability, the trial would have lost that semblance of legal justice which her present assent--though made under protest--lent to it; and her accusers would have been unable to extricate themselves from the difficulty. it is, however, very questionable whether mary's life would have been saved in any case. had she refused to be tried, other means would have been found. private assassination was the one and only form of death which was dreaded by the queen. she knew that were she to die without witnesses, every effort would be made to blacken her fame and, if possible, to throw doubt on her fidelity to her faith. it is to this fear that we may probably attribute mary's final decision to face her judges. chapter iii the trial _the first day_ the large room destined for the trial was situated, as we have said, in close proximity to mary's apartments, and immediately over the great hall of the castle. according to bourgoing it was "very spacious and convenient." at the upper end stood the dais of estate, emblazoned with the arms of england, and surmounting a throne the emblem of sovereignty. in front of the dais, and at the side of the throne, a seat had been prepared for queen mary, "one of her crimson velvet chairs, with a cushion of the same" for her feet. [illustration: contemporary drawing of the trial of mary queen of scots at fotheringay. from the calthorpe ms.] [illustration: list of names, in beale's handwriting, of those present at the trial. accompanying the calthorpe drawing.] benches were placed on each side of the room: those on the right were occupied by the lord chancellor bromley, the lord treasurer burleigh, and the earls; on the left the barons and knights of the privy council, sir james crofts, sir christopher hatton, sir francis walsingham, sir ralph sadler, and sir walter mildmay. in front of the earls sat the two premier judges and the high baron of the exchequer, while in front of the barons were placed four other judges, and two doctors of civil law. at a large table, which was placed in front of the dais, sat the representatives of the crown: popham, attorney-general; egerton, solicitor-general; gawdy, the queen's sergeant; and barker, the notary: also two clerks, whose duty it was to draw up the official report of the proceedings. the documentary evidence, such as it was, was arranged on the table. a movable barrier with a door divided the room into two parts, and at the lower end were assembled as spectators the gentlemen attendants and the servants of the lords of commission. at nine o'clock the queen made her entrance, escorted by a guard of halberdiers. she wore a dress and mantle of black velvet, and over her pointed widow's cap fell a long white gauze veil. her train was borne by one of her maids of honour, renée beauregard. mary was supported on each side by melville and bourgoing; and although, owing to the want of exercise and the severe rheumatism from which she suffered, she walked with great difficulty, it was with undiminished dignity of mien. she was followed by her surgeon, jacques gervais; her apothecary, pierre gorion; and three waiting-women, gillis mowbray, jane kennedy, and alice curle. as the queen advanced the commissioners uncovered before her, and she saluted them with a majestic air; then, perceiving that the seat prepared for her was placed outside the dais and in a lower position, she exclaimed-- "i am a queen by right of birth, and my place should be there, under the dais;" but quickly recovering her serenity, she took her seat, and looking round at the assembled dignitaries, whose faces bore no sign of sympathy for their victim, she said mournfully to melville-- "alas! here are many counsellors, but not one for me."[ ] [footnote : it is interesting to compare queen mary's words with those of m. de sèze in his defence of louis xvi., th december : "je cherche parmis vous des juges, et je n'y vois que des accusateurs."] her desolate position, without counsel to defend her, without secretary to take notes for her, despoiled even of her papers, must have seemed strange to mary's generous nature. in scotland the poorest of her subjects would have enjoyed the privileges now denied to herself. among the noblemen assembled to judge the queen were some of her former partisans, such as my lords rutland, cumberland, and others, who had taken a share in the late undertaking, and whose letters had been seized at chartley, yet who now, to save their estates if not their lives, were forced to appear among her enemies. very few of the english nobles were known to mary by sight, and it was noticed that she often questioned paulet, who was stationed behind her, regarding them. they on their side were doubtless eager to see this princess, whose beauty was renowned, and who with courage equal to her sorrows now faced her judges with all the dignity of her happier days. the lord chancellor opened the proceedings by a speech, in which he declared that the queen of england, having been surely informed, to her great grief, that the destruction of her person and the downfall of her kingdom had been lately planned by the queen of scots, and that in spite of her long tolerance and patience, this same queen continued her bad practices and had made herself the disturber of religion and the public peace, her majesty felt impelled to convoke this present assembly to examine into these accusations. in thus acting her majesty was actuated by no unkind feeling, or desire of vengeance, but solely by a sense of the duty imposed upon her by her position as sovereign and her duty to her subjects. bromley stated that the queen of scots should be heard in declaring fully all that should seem good to her for her defence and to establish her innocence. then turning to mary, he concluded with these words: "madame, you have heard why we have come here; you will please listen to the reading of our commission, and i promise you that you shall say all that you wish."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] mary replied in the following terms: "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 recognise 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 by my replies 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."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, pp. , .] bromley, in reply, utterly denied that mary had come into the kingdom of england under promise of assistance from his mistress. he declared that he and his colleagues were willing to record the protest of the queen of scots, but without accepting or approving it. he affirmed that it was void and null in the eyes of the law, and should in no way be to the prejudice of the dignity and supreme power of the english sovereign, or to the prerogative or jurisdiction of the crown. to this he called all present to bear witness.[ ] [footnote : see appendix, p. .] the commission, which was drawn up in latin, was now read aloud. at the end mary protested energetically against the commission and the laws upon which it was based,--laws which, she observed, had been framed expressly to destroy her just claims to the english throne and to bring about her death. gawdy, the queen's sergeant, now rose, "having a blue robe, a red hood on the shoulder, and a round cap _à l'antique_," and with head uncovered, made a discourse explaining the commission and the occasion which had caused it to be summoned. he discussed several points, namely, the seizure of babington, the suspected correspondence between him and the queen of scots, and further details of the plot, mentioning the names of the six men who (as he declared) had conspired to murder queen elizabeth. as soon as mary had replied that she had never spoken to babington, that, although she had heard him spoken of, she did not know him and had never "trafficked" with him, and that she knew nothing of the six men whom they had alluded to, another lawyer, in the same dress as gawdy, rose and read "certain letters which they said babington had dictated of his own free will before his death, from memory." these, and other _copies_ of letters said to have passed between the queen and babington, were also shown, together with the confessions of the conspirators, and the depositions of curle and nau, which were declared to be signed by them. the queen protested against this second-hand evidence brought against her, and demanded to see the originals of the letters. "if my enemies possess them," said she, "why do they not produce them? i have the right to demand to see the originals and the copies side by side. it is quite possible that my ciphers have been tampered with by my enemies. i cannot reply to this accusation without full knowledge. till then i must content myself with affirming solemnly that i am guiltless of the crimes imputed to me. i do not deny," continued the queen, "that i have earnestly wished for liberty and done my utmost to procure it for myself. in this i acted from a very natural wish; but i take god to witness that i have never either conspired against the life of your queen, nor approved a plot of that design against her. i have written to my friends, i confess; i appealed to them to assist me to escape from these miserable prisons in which i have languished for nearly nineteen years. i have also, i confess, often pleaded the cause of the catholics with the kings of europe, and for their deliverance from the oppression under which they lie, i would willingly have shed my blood. but i declare formally that i never wrote the letters that are produced against me. can i be responsible for the criminal projects of a few desperate men, which they planned without my knowledge or participation?" the whole morning from about ten o'clock was occupied in reading the depositions and letters of babington, the accusers doing their utmost to make mary appear guilty, "without any one saying a single word for her."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] during the reading of the confession attributed to babington, mary was much moved by the allusion made therein to the earl of arundel and his brothers, as also to the young earl of northumberland; and she exclaimed with tears, "alas! why should this noble house of howard have suffered so much for me? is it likely," continued she, "that i should appeal for assistance to lord arundel, whom i knew to be in prison? or to lord northumberland, who is so young, and whom i do not know? if babington really confessed such things, why was he put to death without being confronted with me? it is because such a meeting would have brought to light the truth, that he was executed so hastily." about one o'clock the queen retired to take her dinner, after which she returned to the hall and the proceedings were resumed. bourgoing describes so graphically the position of the queen and her judges, that we give his own words:-- "her majesty having dined and returned to the same place, they continued to read aloud letters tending to the same end, the deposition and confession of m. nau and m. curle written on the back of a certain letter and signed by them, and also some others touching her intelligence with them. her majesty replied first to one and then to another without any order, but on hearing any point read, would, without being interrogated by them, say whether it were true or not. for their manner of proceeding was always to read or speak to persuade the lords that the queen was guilty. they always addressed the lords, accusing the queen in her presence, with confusion and without any order, and without any one answering them a word, in suchwise that when we returned to her room the poor princess told us that it reminded her of the passion of jesus christ, and that it seemed to her that, without wishing to make a comparison, they treated her as the jews treated jesus christ when they cried, '_tolle, tolle, crucifige_'; and that she felt assured that there were those in the company who pitied her, and did not say what they thought." in spite, however, of the vehemence of those "messieurs les chicaneux," as bourgoing terms them, mary preserved her calmness; and the hotter they grew, the more courageous and constant was she in her replies. she now recapitulated much of what she had before said to the commissioners in her own room, in order that the assembly might know her sentiments; and after pointing out the injustice of her long imprisonment, she thus continues: "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. also the knowledge of matters of business which i formerly had acquired for the discharge of those duties in the state to which god called me, and of which i have been treacherously despoiled. not content with this, my enemies now endeavour to complete my ruin, using against me means which 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 presence 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 i will not, like a _femme 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 as well as myself, and acknowledge them to have been traitors or 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. "by this you can see that i am not ambitious, nor would i have undertaken anything against the queen of england through a desire to reign. i have done with all that; and as regards myself, i wish for nothing but to pass the remainder of my life in peace and tranquillity of mind. my advancing age and my bodily weakness both prevent me from wishing to resume the reins of government. i have perhaps only two or three years to live in this world, and i do not aspire to any public position, especially when i consider the pain and _désésperance_ which meet those who wish to do right, and act with justice and dignity in the midst of so perverse a generation, and when the whole world is full of crimes and troubles."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] burleigh, "no longer able to contain himself," here interrupted the queen, reproaching her with having assumed the name and arms of england, and of having aspired to the crown. "what i did at that time," replied mary, "was in obedience to the commands of henry the second, my father-in-law, and you well know the reason." "but," retorted burleigh, "you did not give up these practices even after we signed the peace with king henry." "you made the arrangement to your own interest and advantage," replied mary; "i was not thereby bound to renounce my rights, or to abandon them to my own great prejudice and that of my successors, receiving nothing in return. i owed you nothing. i was not dependent on your queen, nor am i now, and i was not obliged to cede to her rights so important. if i had shown such weakness i should have been always reproached with it as having acted to my own blame and dishonour." "you have also," insisted burleigh, "continued to assert your pretension to the english crown." "i have never," answered the queen, "given up my rights; i do not now, and never will. i beg of you, before this assembly, not to press me to say more upon this matter, for i do not wish to offend any one. i pray you to be content. you and many here present know well the reasons which led me to act in this matter, and of which it is unnecessary to speak at present. i am not called upon to render you an account of my actions. you know well that i have been reasonable and have made generous offers. i have indeed offered more than i should have done. 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 granddaughter of henry vii. this cannot be taken from me by any law, or council, 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 just judge, and who never forgets his own, has until now, in his infinite mercy and goodness, preserved me from all danger, 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," continued mary, "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 upon the friendship and promises of your queen. look here, my lords," she exclaimed, drawing 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." after having recorded this noble speech of his mistress, bourgoing thus continues his narrative: "as they read aloud at intervals letters from babington to her majesty and from her to babington, she utterly denied _tout à plat_ having ever seen and received any such letters, much less of having replied to them." mary's judges of course laid much stress on this charge, the capital point in the accusation, and produced ciphers and other letters, and the depositions of those who were examined (as well as those of curle and nau), to prove that the queen had received and answered babington's letter, and that she was consequently accessory to the proposed assassination of queen elizabeth. mary was now closely questioned regarding the passage in her reputed letter to babington which referred to "the four horsemen who were appointed in london to inform her when the blow fell," but replied that she did not know what it meant. turning to walsingham (who had made some remarks), the queen continued: "it is easy to imitate ciphers and handwriting, as has been lately done in france by a young man who boasts that he is my son's brother. i fear that all this is the work of monsieur de walsingham for my destruction: of him who i am certain has tried to deprive me of my life, and my son of his. as to ballard, i have heard him spoken of. information reached me from france that he was a very firm catholic, and that he wished to serve me; but i was also told that he had 'great intelligence' with monsieur de walsingham, and that i must be on my guard. i know nothing more about him. i protest that i never even thought of the ruin of the queen of england, and that i would a hundred times rather have lost my life than see so many catholics suffer for my sake and be condemned to a cruel death through hatred to my person." in saying these words mary burst into tears. "no faithful subject," exclaimed burleigh, "has ever been put to death on account of religion. some have been for treason, because they maintained the bull and the authority of the pope against that of our queen." "yet i have heard just the contrary," said mary, "and read so in printed books." "the authors of such books," retorted burleigh, "also declare that the queen has forfeited the royal prerogative." when burleigh ceased speaking, walsingham, who keenly felt the queen's accusation, rose, and bowing his head addressed her, assuring her that she had been misinformed as to his sentiments. "i protest," said he, "that my soul is free from all malice. god is my witness that, as a private person, i have done nothing unworthy of an honest man, and as secretary of state, nothing unbefitting my duty. you have been told that i wish you ill, that i have often said things to your disadvantage, that i have confessed myself to be your enemy, nay, even that i planned that the death of yourself and your son should happen on the same day; but i assure you that i bear ill-will to no one, i have attempted no one's death. i protest that i am a man of conscience and a faithful servant to my mistress. i confess," continued walsingham, "that i am ever vigilant regarding all concerning the safety of my queen and country; i have closely watched all conspiracies against either. as for ballard, if he had offered me his assistance i could not have refused it, and should probably have rewarded him. if i had any secret dealings with him, why did he not declare them in order to save his life?" the queen, impressed by his denial, assured walsingham that she paid no attention to what she had heard against him, and had not believed it, adding that she implored him to give no more credit to those who calumniated her, than she gave to those who accused himself. "if you were not received in scotland as you merited," continued mary, "it was no fault of mine; i do not think that you wish to revenge yourself upon me, who knew nothing of it." she then declared that some of the ciphers were hers. "there had been others older and some more recent," she said, "but this is nothing, for people can use the same cipher on occasions, according to the correspondence they have in different places, and for this reason it is possible that morgan, who formerly served me, may have used my ciphers, in consequence of the connections which he has with the other princes." at the name of morgan, burleigh, with his usual vehemence, reproached the queen. "you know well, madame," said he, "that morgan professes to be your servant, and you have pensioned him, although you are well aware that he plotted the death of the queen along with parry, for which crime he is still a prisoner in france, having been pursued and accused by lord derby, in the name of her majesty." "you know well," replied mary, turning towards the audience, "that i have not joined in this undertaking, nor suborned any one." at this appeal several gentlemen present declared loudly that she was entirely innocent of such a crime. "you see by this," continued mary, "the evil will of some of your queen's councillors towards me. if any one has undertaken anything against the person of the queen, it is not i. for long people have conspired against her, of which you have had many proofs. i am grieved that morgan should have mixed himself up with such matters, but i cannot answer for his actions. i cannot do less than aid him in his necessities in recognition of his services, which i shall never forget, in the same way that i aid others who have assisted me." as burleigh still insisted that morgan was mary's pensioner, she again denied it, adding that she had desired money to be given to him from time to time for his use; "but," continued she, "has not england pensioned patrick gray and other scotsmen, my enemies, and even my son himself?" "it is true," replied burleigh, "that, through the negligence of its regent, the revenues of scotland are so diminished that the queen in her goodness has made some gifts to your son, the king of scotland, who is her own relation." after this avowal burleigh let the matter drop, and fresh discussions regarding the confessions of nau and curle now arose. mary's judges maintained that the queen's secretaries had confessed that their mistress had received "certain letters," and that she had replied to them, that they had done everything by her command, that they had written nothing without communicating it to her, as was her custom, as she allowed nothing to be produced without her knowledge. thus mary's "direction" of the conspiracy was proved, they declared, and it was "by her command that the secretaries wrote in her cabinet, where the despatches were made up, and that this was done generally in her presence; that after writing them they read them to her, that the despatches were closed and sealed in her cabinet, and that they had often tried to deter her from such enterprises." keenly aware of the injustice of this second-hand manner of producing evidence, the queen protested. "why," said she, "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. nau, as a servant of the king of france, may have undertaken things not according to my wishes; he had undertakings that i did not know of. he confessed publicly that he belonged to the king of france, that he did not depend on me, and would only do for me what he thought good. he often complained of me because i could not consent to many of his projects, and would not authorise 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 see plainly that what they have said is from fear of torture and death. under promise 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. for more than twelve months nau has not written in his own cabinet; he has hid himself from every one, and has written his despatches in his own private room, for his own convenience and to be more at his ease, as he said, as sir amyas and all the household can attest. "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 to avoid whom he fled. and yet," added the queen, "i do not think either the one or the other would have forgotten himself so far. as i was ill during most of the time, i could not attend to business, and generally i did not know what they were doing, but trusted to nau." "it is true," replied burleigh, "that nau avows himself a subject of the king of france; but he has been secretary to the cardinal of lorraine, and he is the sworn servant of your grace. he obeys your commands. it is of his own free will, and without being in any way constrained, that he has made his depositions, to which he has sworn, and written them and signed them with his own hand." "no doubt he was secretary of the king," returned mary, "and received wages from him, terming himself his banker in this country, and under this pretext he was very disobedient to me. i commanded him, 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. a criminal is not allowed to be sworn, and his assertions are not believed; his oath is worthless. the first oath which he has taken to his master renders all others null and void; and nau can make none that can prejudice me. and i see well," continued mary, examining one of the written depositions attributed to nau, "that he has even not written or signed as he is accustomed to do, supposing that, as you all affirm, he has written it with his own hand; may it not be that while translating and putting my letters into cipher, my secretaries may have inserted things which i did not dictate to them? may it not be also that letters similar to those now produced, may have come to their hands without, however, my seeing them? the majesty and safety of princes would be reduced to nought, if their reputation depended upon the writing and witnesses of their secretaries. i dictated nothing to them but what nature herself inspired me, for the recovery at last of my liberty. i can only be convicted by my words or by my own writings. if, without my consent, they have written something to the prejudice of the queen, your mistress, let them suffer the punishment of their rashness. but of this i am very sure, if they were now in my presence, they would clear me on the spot of all blame, and would put me out of case. show me, at least, the minutes of my correspondence written by myself; they will bear witness to what i now assert." the queen's defence, so clear and unanswerable, silenced for a time the accusers, and they took refuge in insult. "then," says bourgoing, "the chicaneurs made a great noise, calling out and striving to prove and exaggerate the facts, with fury repeating all that had been said or written,--all the circumstances, suspicions, and conjectures. in short, all the reasons they could imagine were brought to the front to make their cause good, and to accuse the queen without allowing her to reply distinctly to what they said. like 'madmen' they attacked her, sometimes one by one, sometimes all together, declaring her to be guilty, which gave occasion to her majesty to make a very noble speech on the next morning."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, pp. - .] thus ended the first day of the trial. no notice was taken of the queen's demands. her secretaries were never examined in her presence, and her own notes, so earnestly begged by her, were never produced. it was declared later on, indeed, in the star-chamber, that these notes had been destroyed by mary's own order, but no one dared assert this before herself. our readers will probably agree with m. hosack, who thus admirably sums up the result of this day's work:-- "it cannot be denied that, even according to their own account, she had maintained throughout a decisive superiority over her opponents. without counsel, or witnesses, or papers, and armed with nothing but her own clear intellect and heroic spirit, she had answered, point by point, all their allegations. knowing the weakness of their proofs, they had artfully mixed up the charge of conspiracy with the scheme of invasion; and burleigh, taking upon himself the functions of crown prosecutor, had sought to draw her attention from the main question in dispute, by dwelling on a variety of topics, which were only intended to bewilder and confuse her. but apparently perceiving his design, she brought him back again and again to the real point at issue between them."[ ] [footnote : hosack, vol. ii. p. .] chapter iv the trial _the second day_ the queen passed an anxious and sleepless night in preparation for the morrow's attack. she commenced the day in prayer, in her oratory, imploring strength to defend her honour and her life. as on the previous day, mary entered the hall attended by bourgoing, and accompanied by melville and others of her attendants. she was very pale, but her countenance expressed unabated firmness and resolution. it is to be noted that on this occasion neither the attorney-general nor the queen's sergeant took part in the proceedings. either burleigh was dissatisfied as to the way in which things were going, or he desired to show his own legal skill, and had determined to take upon himself the entire management of the trial,--a departure from the established usage, unheard of in any other state trial of the period. it was known that the queen wished to address the assembly, and as soon as she was seated all approached in silence, and with bare heads, "in great curiosity to hear her." "i beg permission, gentlemen," said she, "to speak freely and to say all that i think necessary, and without being interrupted, according to the promise made to me yesterday by the chancellor in the name of all this assembly. the manner in which i am treated appears to me very strange; not only am i brought to this place to be tried, contrary to the rights of persons of my quality, but my case is discussed by those who are not usually employed in the affairs of kings and princes. i thought only of having to reply to gentlemen who have virtue for their guide, and who hold the reputation of princes in honour; to those who devote themselves to the protection of their princes, to the preservation of their rights, and to the defence of their country, of which they are the guardians and protectors. "instead of this, i find myself overwhelmed under the importunity of a crowd of advocates and lawyers, who appear to be more versed in the formalities of petty courts of justice, in little towns, than in the investigation of questions such as the present. and although i was promised that i should be simply questioned and examined on the one point,--that, namely, concerning the attempt on the person of the queen,--they have presumed to accuse me, each striving who should surpass the other in stating and exaggerating facts, and attempting to force me to reply to questions which i do not understand, and which have nothing to do with the commission. is it not an unworthy act to submit to such conduct of such people, the title of a princess, one little accustomed to such procedures and formalities? and is it not against all right, justice, and reason to deliver her over to them, weak and ill as she is, and deprived of counsel, without papers, or notes, or secretary? it is very easy for many together, and, as it appears to me, conspiring for the same object, to vanquish by force of words a solitary and defenceless woman. there is not one, i think, among you, let him be the cleverest man you will, who would be capable of resisting or defending himself, were he in my place. i am alone, taken by surprise, and forced to reply to so many people who are unfriendly to me, and who have long been preparing for this occasion; and who appear to be more influenced by vehement prejudice and anger than by a desire of discovering the truth and fulfilling the duties laid down for them by the commission. "if, however, i must submit to this treatment, i ask, at least, that i may be permitted to reply to each person and to each point of the accusation separately, and one after the other, without confusion; as, on account of my sickness and weakness, it is impossible for me to refer back in detail, as i should wish, to such a mass of subjects all advanced confusedly together. in any case i demand that, as this assembly appears to have been convened for my accusation, another shall be summoned in which i may enter freely and frankly, defending my rights and my honour, to satisfy the desire i have of proving my innocence." "it is quite right," replied burleigh, "that your grace should say all that you wish, and you shall do so. as for those who interrogated you yesterday, they acted according to their duty. to discover the truth of facts it is necessary to discuss all questions which relate to the case in hand; as regards your demand that a fresh assembly should be convoked, it shall be seen to, but we ourselves have not the power to grant it." this moderate speech is in character with what bourgoing specially notices, namely, the temporary change in the demeanour of the accusers. "all this morning," he tells us, "the pettifogging lawyers showed themselves more modest, and not only this, but the treasurer gave them hints by signs how to act, making them speak or be silent according as he wished. from this," continues bourgoing, "we took occasion to hope that the proceedings would soon come to an end, especially as we observed that most of the noblemen had come to the assembly booted, and some even in riding dress." the forenoon passed in discussions very similar to those of the previous day, "concerning rather the overthrow of the queen by strangers, the correspondence of her majesty with the christian princes, and her deliverance from prison," than bearing upon the real question at issue, the attempt on elizabeth's life. the same wearisome questions were met by the same dignified answers, and bourgoing gives many interesting details which are not recorded in the english reports of the trial. burleigh took pains to persuade mary once more of the great favours which had been shown to her, assuring her again that the commission could have examined the proofs in her absence; and protesting that although they desired to examine her only regarding the one point of accusation, it was necessary, for the full knowledge of the truth, to read the whole correspondence brought in evidence against her. "the circumstances may be proved," returned mary, "but never the fact itself. my innocence does not depend on the reputation, or on the memory, of my secretaries, although i hold them to be honest and sincere. it is possible for letters to be sent to other persons than those to whom they were written, and several things have been inserted in those letters which i did not dictate. if my papers had not been taken from me, and if i had a secretary, i could better refute the accusations brought against me." "you will be accused of nothing previous to th june," continued burleigh, "and your papers would be of no use to you. your secretaries and the chief of the conspiracy himself (who were never put to the torture) have affirmed that you sent certain letters to babington; and although you deny this, it is for the commissioners to judge whether they should place more faith in an affirmation or in a denial. "but to return to the present question. you have formed many plans for your deliverance. if they have not succeeded, that is your own fault and not the fault of my mistress, for the scotch lords have refused to place their king under guardians again. at the very moment that the last treaty for your freedom was concluded, parry, one of your own servants, was secretly sent by morgan to assassinate the queen." mary exclaimed, "you are indeed my enemy." "yes," replied burleigh, "i am the enemy of the enemies of queen elizabeth." letters from mary to charles paget referring to the projected invasion were now read, and one from cardinal allen to the queen, in which he addressed her as his sovereign, and informed her that the matter was recommended to the duke of parma. while this was going on mary examined the faces of her judges, and questioned paulet (who was seated behind her) regarding the names of those she did not know, carefully noting "who spoke much and who spoke little or kept silence." as soon as the reading was finished burleigh accused the queen of having proposed to send her son to spain, and of transmitting to philip the second her "pretended rights" to the crown of england. "i have no kingdom to confer," replied she, "but i have a legal right in giving what belongs to me, and on this point i have to answer to no one, be it who it may."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, pp. , .] later on mary was again reproached by the lawyers with having relations with the king of spain. "it is not your affair," replied she, in a tone of authority. "it is not your affair to speak of matters concerning princes, and to inquire whether they have secret intelligences with each other." "i do not blame you for this," said burleigh; "but if the spanish army had entered the country, could you have answered for the life of the queen? would not the country have been in danger of falling into the hands of strangers?" "i do not know what were their intentions," returned the queen, "nor am i bound to answer for them; but i am very sure that they would have done something for me, and if you had wished to employ my services i should have been able to bring about a good understanding between you and them, as i have often offered to do. you should not have refused my offers. if you destroy me you will place yourselves in danger, and will receive more harm than good. of all that has been done by strangers i know nothing and am not responsible. i desired nothing save my own deliverance." unmoved by mary's words, the lawyers redoubled their accusations. they declared again that the murder of the queen, of her councillors and principal noblemen, had been determined upon; that the intention had been to burn down chartley and kill the guards; that all the catholics were to rise and place the queen of scots on the throne; that in rome mary was prayed for publicly, as legitimate queen of england, together with other things of the same nature. to this mary replied as follows:-- "i know nothing of any murder or attempt against any one, nor of any plot or invasion of the kingdom. as i have already said, i gave you sufficient warning to beware of some such enterprise, for i was sure that something was in preparation, though i knew not what. it was always hidden from me, as it was well known i should not consent to it, and also because they feared that it would injure me. these conspirators may have used my name to authorise their proceedings and strengthen their cause, but there is no letter written or signed by me; there is no one who has seen such a thing or received it, or who has communicated or spoken with me, and such a thing has been far from my intentions. "you know very well," continued mary, "that in my own kingdom i never interfered with any of the protestants, but, on the contrary, tried to win them always by gentleness and clemency, which i carried too far, and for which i have been blamed. it has been the cause of my ruin, for my subjects became proud and haughty, and abused my clemency; indeed, they now complain that they were never so well off as under my government. "as to chartley, i never heard of the proposal to burn it, but my deliverance was promised. if the foreign princes were in league, it was to free me from my prison, from which i could not escape; and for the same reason they prepared armed men to receive and defend me. if the catholics offered their aid in this matter, which i know not, it was in their own interest, as they are so wickedly treated, oppressed, and afflicted in this country that they have fallen into despair, and would as soon die as live longer under the persecution which they suffer. you gain nothing by afflicting them or me; i am but a single person. when i die the catholics and foreign princes will continue to act, unless you cease to persecute them. "as regards my wishing to take the place of the queen, the very letters you have read aloud sufficiently prove the contrary. in them i expressly declare that i desire no honours or kingdom, that i do not care for them, and that i beg no enterprise of the kind may be undertaken for me; but for the catholic cause and for god's quarrel i desire the deliverance of the first and the defence of the second. in short, you will find that i have no other desire than the overthrow of protestantism and the deliverance of myself and the afflicted catholics, for whom (as i have often said) i am ready to shed my blood. i shall esteem myself very happy if god gives me the grace to suffer and to endure death for his holy name and in the defence of his quarrel. if the pope gives me the title of queen, it is not for me to correct him. he knows what he does much better than i do. "i thank him, all christian people, and all catholic nations for the prayers they daily offer for me, and i pray them to continue to do so, and to remember me in their masses. as i belong to the number of the faithful, i hope that though now deprived of the power of assisting myself, i participate in all the prayers and good works offered in the church for all catholics. as regards the bull, i myself offered to prevent its execution." burleigh here asked her whether she had the power to do this. "but we do not care," said he, "about it in england. we make no account of the pope, or of such like." "if you will cease to persecute the catholics," replied mary, "i promise you to do much to lessen the many troubles into which you are in danger of falling." to this burleigh replied that "_no catholic had been punished for religion_." at this assertion the queen protested in earnest terms against the many cruelties shown to catholics. they were driven into exile, she said, and driven hither and thither. the prisons in england were full of them. they were charged with being guilty of treason; some because they would not obey certain of the queen's injunctions which were contrary to their conscience, others because they would not recognise her as the head of the church. queen mary also complained in general terms of the unjust way in which the present examination had been conducted, and asked that she might not be further disturbed by the unnecessary reading of letters and other documents, especially such as related to her transactions with other christian princes, to which she declined to reply. "if it pleases your grace," interrupted burleigh, "you can now withdraw; we will remain and conclude without you." the queen paid no attention to this remark, and the discussions proceeded. at last egerton, the solicitor-general, speaking for the first time, asked the queen if she had anything more to add to her defence. "i again demand," replied she, "to be heard in full parliament, and to confer personally with queen elizabeth, who would show more regard to any other queen." then rising from her seat[ ] to depart, mary added:-- "i am ready and willing to give pleasure and do service to the queen, my good sister, and to employ myself for her and for the good of the kingdom in all that i can, as i love both. i protest that after all that has taken place i desire no evil to any one in this assembly, that i pardon all that you have said or done against me, and that there is not one here to whom i do not desire good, and would willingly give pleasure." [footnote : see appendix, p. .] turning then to a little group of lords, of whom walsingham was one, the queen discussed the conduct of her two secretaries, and the motives which could have inspired their depositions. taking walsingham apart, mary said a few words to him in private, which seemed far from pleasing to him, then turning once more to the assembly, she exclaimed with dignity, "my lords and gentlemen, my cause is in the hands of god." as mary passed the table at which were seated the lawyers, she also addressed them: "gentlemen," said she, with a smile, "you have shown little mercy in the exercise of your charge, and have treated me somewhat rudely, the more so as i am one who has little knowledge of the laws of quibbling; but may god pardon you for it, and keep me from having to do with you all again." "the lawyers turned and smiled to each other, and her majesty did likewise."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] after their prisoner had withdrawn, the commissioners were prepared to give sentence, but at the last moment burleigh communicated to them elizabeth's latest instructions, contained in a letter sent from windsor on the th at midnight. in it elizabeth desired the assembly, even in the event of the prisoner being found guilty, to suspend sentence until she herself should hear and consider their report. the assembly therefore was prorogued for the space of ten days, and appointed to meet in the star-chamber at westminster. the commissioners (many of whom regretted this delay in passing sentence) lost no time in departing, the greater part of them returning to their houses in the neighbourhood until the th instant, when, as bourgoing informs us, "it is said they returned to london to assist at parliament, then assembling." thus terminated a trial which in legal history has probably no counterpart, and regarding which the following points especially strike us: the incompetence of the english tribunals, as then constituted, to judge an independent sovereign; the refusal of counsel to the prisoner, in violation of the laws of england, and in especial of the statutes of mary tudor, and elizabeth; the absence of the witnesses, whose presence in face of the accused was essential to all just procedure; the forced position of mary, not before independent and trustworthy judges, but before commissioners carefully chosen beforehand, and who, combining the offices of judge and jury, united in endeavouring to nullify the defence. at fotheringay we find the prisoner standing alone before her judges. at westminster the witnesses appear in the absence of the accused, while at neither is a single original document produced; copies, not of written letters, but pretended copies from ciphers were admitted and believed on the faith of men whose confessions were drawn from them by fear of torture or documents forged by philipps. such was the evidence by which mary was tried and condemned. chapter v suspense although bourgoing's journal furnishes us, for the first time, with some details of the queen's life during the days following the conclusion of the trial, it is provokingly silent as to the manner in which she passed the remainder of the day itself. all he notes is, that "after supper sir amyas sent the copy of her protest to her majesty." sir amyas, we may suppose, spent his evening in congenial company, for at least one guest of importance remained in the castle. burleigh writes to secretary davison from fotheringay on the same evening, and the following extracts from his letter show the spirit in which he had carried out his commission. "the queen of the castle," he writes, "was pleased to appear before us in public, so as to be heard in her own defence; but she only replied negatively upon the points in the letters regarding the plots against her majesty. she maintained that they had not been written by her, and that she had never had the smallest knowledge of them. in the other things with which she was reproached, as her escape from prison, even by force, and as to the invasion of the kingdom, she said that she neither denied nor avowed them. but her intention was, by long and artificial speeches, to excite the pity of the judges, to throw all the blame upon the person of her majesty the queen, or rather upon the council, from whom she said all the past troubles emanated; maintaining that her offers were reasonable, and that the refusal came from our side. and on this point i fought, and refuted her arguments in such a manner, by my knowledge and experience, that she did not have the advantage she had promised herself. i am also certain that the audience did not think her position worthy of much pity, her allegations being proved to be untrue."[ ] [footnote : walsingham, writing upon the same subject to leicester, says: "we have received a secret counter-order, and have found ourselves constrained to adjourn our assembly upon some pretext. this accused creature seems to have been chosen by god for the punishment of our sins, as it appears the queen is powerless to act against her as her safety demands."--see hosack, vol. ii. p. ; also _letter books of sir amyas paulet_, p. .] knowing paulet's sympathies to be entirely with mary's accusers, it is astonishing to find that his conduct to her at this moment shows signs of unwonted kindness and consideration. he, says bourgoing, "now treated the queen courteously, furnished her with the necessary things for her comfort in her lodgings, to which he added the same hall which had served for the examination, and his conversation with her was of good manners, and was rather amiable and courteous than the contrary." then this faithful servant goes on to tell us how his mistress comforted herself during the weeks of suspense that followed. "her majesty, during the whole of this time, was far from being troubled or moved by all that had passed; in fact, i had not seen her so joyous, nor so constantly at her ease, for the last seven years. she spoke only on pleasant subjects, and often, in particular, gave her opinion on some points of the history of england, in the study of which she passed a good portion of the day; afterwards discoursing on the subject of her reading with her household, quite familiarly and joyously, showing no sign of sadness, but with even a more cheerful countenance than previous to her troubles."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, pp. , .] mary had always had a taste for history, and now in the long days of captivity she seems to have given much of her time to this favourite study. the history of her own house, as well as that of the english royal family, must have had a deep and painful interest for her at a moment when she herself was threatened with a fate as tragic as any recorded in its darkest pages. in talking over the subject of her reading mary would often advert to her own affairs, calmly discussing the probabilities, and showing that she expected the worst, of her own life or death, without showing any emotion,--indeed, "her resolution was that she did not fear to die for her good quarrel," adds bourgoing; and if her people tried to assure her that her death could never be contemplated, she would say that she knew very well what would happen. mary, in fact, perceived plainly the intentions of her accusers, and not content with her own courageous dispositions, she took pains to acquire all the bodily strength possible before the day of trial. in her physician's quaint language, "her majesty took remedies for five or six days to ward off the illness which generally attacked her at the commencement of winter, and this with as much willingness and cheerfulness as she ever did before." thus the days passed until the feast of all saints. as the queen was still deprived of her chaplain, she was unable to keep the feast with the solemnity she would have wished. she passed it, however, in prayer and in reading the lives of the saints and martyrs. after dinner, while she was in her oratory, sir amyas wished to visit her, and unwilling to disturb her, "waited till her majesty had finished her prayers;" then, still with unwonted courtesy, he conversed for a considerable time with her, "as if he had nothing really to say to her, and hardly knew with what to entertain her." sir amyas, however, had his instructions from queen elizabeth, and under semblance of an ordinary conversation, his object was, if possible, to discover some sign of weakness or relenting in his prisoner's sentiments. in this he was disappointed. mary spoke cheerfully on general subjects,--about her health, which she said was improved; and about her reading, which provided her with her chief amusement. speaking of the history of england, she observed that in that country blood had never ceased to flow; to which paulet replied that it had been the same in other countries, and that nothing was more necessary when a state was threatened with serious perils. mary, paying no attention to the significance of these words, alluded to the trial, and said that she had remarked visible signs of sympathy and compassion on the countenances of several of the commissioners, and that she would like to know their names, that she might always bear them in grateful remembrance. "those who accused you and those who kept silence were all actuated by the same sentiments," retorted paulet. "not one of them was favourable to your cause. i marvel," continued paulet, "and every one else is astonished, to see you so calm, under the circumstances in which you find yourself. no living person has ever been accused of crimes so frightful and odious as you are." "i have no occasion to feel troubled or disturbed," rejoined the queen; "my conscience is at rest and i have already answered my accusers. god and i know that i have never attempted nor connived at the death or murder of any one. my conscience is perfectly free and clear on this point, and being innocent, i have rather occasion to rejoice than to be sad, having my confidence in god, the protector of the innocent." "it is a great happiness," replied sir amyas, "to have a clear conscience. god is your witness, but a false and dissimulating conscience is a bad thing; it would be better to confess and repent before god, and the world, if you are guilty, which is indeed too evident, the matter having been so well elucidated in your very presence, as you cannot deny." "no one can say that he is free from sin," answered the queen. "i am a woman and human, and have offended god, and i repent of my sins, and pray god to forgive me, doing penance for the same; but at present i do not know to whom i could or should confess--god forbid that i should ask you to be my confessor. in the present matter i am not guilty, as you well know, and i cannot therefore confess it. you will accuse me of what you like, having long had this in view; as i am a catholic, you wish to treat me as you do the others. i am quite prepared and resolved to die for my religion, and ask for nothing better. i am ready to suffer and endure for the name of god, all unworthy as i am, as have done many holy saints and martyrs, of whom i have read to-day, and whose feast we celebrate." sir amyas protested that there was no question of religion, but of invasion and murder, and that neither mary nor all the others who might be implicated in the matter could be excused, but were well worthy of punishment. "it is nothing else," returned the queen, "but it was necessary to find some other disguise for the measures which had led to this position; but i shall not fare the worse for that. do not spare me." in reply sir amyas insisted that it was not for religion, and that no one had yet been punished for religion. further he declared that he knew nothing of what the lords had done, but that they had found the facts so clear and evident that it was reported that they had given sentence, but he did not know of it. nothing was certain. and he again urged the queen to confess. to this mary rejoined as before, and added that she knew well that she had been already condemned by her judges before the trial. all that they did here," continued she, "was merely for form's sake, to give a colouring of truth to the proceedings, and to gain their ends, in which i am not bound to acquiesce, and i care nothing for what they have done; it is very easy for brigands and robbers, when they are the strongest, to overcome by force those who pass their way. my enemies keep me in prison, and it is very easy for them to dispose of me as they will. they have strength on their side, while i am weak and alone. i would that every one knew how i am treated and how my affairs are managed." "you would be very sorry if every one knew," retorted sir amyas, "but a matter of this kind cannot be kept quiet or concealed. no sentence or judgment had been delivered before the coming of the lords here." the queen remarked that she wished all christian princes and foreigners could witness how she had been treated, not for her own sake, but for the confusion of her enemies, and for the sake of those of the catholic church; for her enemies had not ceased to persecute the poor catholics, under the pretext that they were traitors because they would not recognise the queen of england as supreme head of the church. "for myself," continued she, "as i have already declared before many, i recognise no other head of the church than the pope, to whose rule it was confided by the consent of the whole church duly assembled." sir amyas said that the queen did not take the title of supreme head of the church. "god forbid," added he, "that there should be any other supreme head than jesus christ. i recognise no other." "it is on this point alone that the exclusion of catholics is founded," replied mary, "and it is a well-known fact that, following the example of henry the eighth, this title was given to your mistress. as you may believe, the calvinists, who are the most reformed, do not approve of this, but those who follow the queen's religion, who are lutherans and the inventors of that sect, consider guilty of high treason all those who deny her prerogatives. not only have those been judged to be guilty who do not recognise the queen's title, or who deny it by words or by acts, but they have been forced to declare their opinion on their conscience, and on their reply have been condemned to death. if the queen of england may not wish to accept the title, she at least knows well that it is given to her, and the person who does not give it is looked upon as guilty." sir amyas, shaking his head ironically, once more protested that his mistress did not accept such a title, nor was it given to her. he allowed, however, that the puritans and others acknowledged her as "head and governor under god of things ecclesiastical and temporal in england, as it was reasonable she should be, but not as supreme head of the church." "it all comes to the same thing," returned the queen, "whatever colour you may give it, and for the rest, i care nothing for your sentences; go, proceed as you like. i know at your age you would not assert such things unless you were backed by others."[ ] [footnote : the queen's words in the original french are too expressive to be omitted: "sa majesté dict que c'estoit manteau blanc, ou blanc manteau--mais qu'enfin estoit tout ung, quelque coulleur qu'ils luy en baillassent."--chantelauze, pp. - .] "sir amyas pretended that this was not so, and reassured the queen as well as he was able," says bourgoing, "and on his departure we formed the opinion from certain conjectures, that he was going to write her majesty's replies to the court." we find him accordingly writing to walsingham as follows:-- "i took occasion yesterday, after one, accompanied by mr. stallenge, to visit the queen.... i see no change in her, from her former quietness and serenity, certified in my last letters.... i tarried with her one hour and a half at the least; which i did on purpose to feel her disposition, and moving no new matter myself, suffered her to go from matter to matter at her pleasure.... this only thing i thought good to signify unto you that, falling in talk of the late assembly here, and having glanced at the lord zouch for his speech in the star-chamber, and also at the lord morley for some things delivered by him to the lords sitting next unto him, which she said she overheard and told him of it in the open assembly, she was curious to be informed of the names of one such sitting in such a place, and of others sitting in other places, saying that one had said little, another somewhat more, and others very much. i told her that i might easily perceive, by her hard conceit of the lords which she had named already, she was much inclined to think ill of all those that spake, and therefore i would forbear to name any man unto her; praying her to conceive honourably of the whole assembly, and to think that those which spake, and the rest which were silent, were of one consent and mind to hear her cause with all indifference."[ ] [footnote : _letter books of sir amyas paulet_, pp. , .] that paulet dreaded his interviews with mary, and tried to evade them as far as possible, we have his own evidence. "i pray you," he writes to walsingham on the same day, "let me hear from you whether it is expected that i should see my charge often, which, as i do not desire to do, so i do not see that any good can come of it, so long as i stand assured that she is forthcoming." that his prisoner might be the more securely "forthcoming," extra precautions had been taken, and that in a manner which appears to have deceived even bourgoing himself, for he notes, quite gratefully, that sir amyas had closed and restored the queen's large room for the "safety of her majesty and her convenience." on th november sir drue drury arrived to take the place of stallenge in assisting paulet in his charge; and some days later lord buckhurst, the bearer of fatal tidings, reached the castle. to understand his mission we must consider what had taken place meanwhile in london. on th october the commissioners had met in the star-chamber at westminster. at this time the two important witnesses, nau and curle, were produced. the reports of the meeting are very scanty, but apparently the witnesses were asked no questions; they are merely said to have affirmed on oath certain confessions and declarations, of which neither the originals nor copies are preserved. curle is also supposed to have affirmed "that as well the letter which babington did write to the scots queen, as the draughts of her answer to the same were both burned at her command." this declaration, which, if true, was of the utmost importance, was made on this occasion only, and in the absence of the accused. the commissioners found mary guilty, not of certain matters with which lord burleigh had charged her, but for having "compassed and imagined since the st of june aforesaid divers matters tending to the hurt, death, and destruction of the queen of england." one man alone had the courage to assert his belief in mary's innocence. lord zouch declared that he was not satisfied that "she had compassed, practised, or imagined the death of the queen of england." the commissioners added a clause to the effect that the king of scots should not be held responsible for his mother's crimes. "the said sentence," added they, "did derogate nothing from james, king of scots, in title or honour, but that he was the same in place, degree, and right as if the same sentence had never been pronounced." a few days later both houses of parliament presented an address to elizabeth, praying for execution of the sentence against the queen of scots.[ ] "we cannot find," said they, "that there is any possible means of providing for your majesty's safety but by the just and speedy execution of the said queen; the neglecting whereof may procure the heavy displeasure and punishment of almighty god, as by sundry severe examples of his great justice in that behalf left us in the sacred scriptures does appear," etc. [footnote : "parlt. has pressed e. to proceed to the execution, adding thereto that the forbearing thereof was, and would be daily, a certain and undoubted danger not only to her own life but to themselves, their posterity and the public state of this realm, as well for the cause of the gospel and the true religion of christ, as for the peace of the whole realm. greenwich, feb., eliz."--yelverton mss., f. .] to this appeal elizabeth made a very clever reply, beginning thus:-- "though my life hath been dangerously shot at, yet i protest there is nothing hath more grieved me than that one not differing from me in sex, of like rank, and degree, of the same stock, and most nearly allied to me in blood, hath fallen into so great a crime." she goes on to say that if her cousin would even now truly repent, and if her own life alone, and not the good of england, were at stake, she would most willingly pardon mary. she concludes by saying that in a matter of so great importance a speedy decision cannot be looked for, as it is her custom to deliberate long, even in matters which are unimportant as compared with this. at the end of twelve days elizabeth sent a message to both houses of parliament, begging them to reconsider the matter, and "to devise some better remedy, whereby both the queen of scots' life might be spared and her own security provided for."[ ] [footnote : hosack, pp. - .] after fresh and earnest consultation, both houses declared that mary's death was essential to the safety of the kingdom, and the declaration thus concludes:-- "therefore we pray your majesty, for the cause of god, of his church, this realm, ourselves, and yourself, that you will no longer be careless of your life and of our safety, nor longer suffer religion to be threatened, the realm to stand in danger, nor us to dwell in fear." elizabeth again made an ambiguous reply. from her subsequent conduct, however, we may judge that she had probably already determined to take mary's life, although as to the time and place she was still undecided. in the meantime lord buckhurst, together with beale, clerk of the council, proceeded to fotheringay to announce to the queen of scots that sentence of death had been pronounced against her in the star-chamber. lord buckhurst had been carefully chosen for this mission. to much talent of a high order he united a moderation of views and a charm of manners calculated to inspire confidence. nor was he a stranger to mary; he had already been sent to treat with her on several occasions, and from the fact of his absence at the trial, we may suspect that his dispositions in her regard were friendly. if so, the undertaking now before him was doubly painful, for the announcement of the sentence of death was to be but a part of his duty. elizabeth still cherished the hope of extracting some confession or revelation from mary; accordingly lord buckhurst was charged to be on the watch for any such revelation, to listen attentively to whatever the queen of scots might divulge, and to report such immediately to his mistress. special instructions were sent at the same time to paulet to lend his assistance to lord buckhurst, particularly should his prisoner consent to reveal any secret matter. lord buckhurst reached the castle on the evening of the th of november, and after a conference with paulet he returned to the village for the night. on the following day, "after dinner," he, together with paulet, sir drue drury, and beale, had an interview with mary. lord buckhurst announced himself as an envoy from his sovereign, and begged permission to deliver his message. he then proceeded to recapitulate the events of the trial and its issue, proceeding to enlarge upon elizabeth's sorrow at discovering that mary had been proved to be "not only consenting to the horrible fact of rebellion in the country against her person and state, but also the author and inventor of it." for this reason, after much deliberation, parliament had pronounced sentence of death against her. buckhurst remarked that his mistress had not yet given her consent to this measure, but added that, urged as she was by parliament, it was impossible she should not yield. "the person of the queen, the state and religion are no longer safe," he continued; "it is impossible for you both to live, and therefore one must die. for this end then, in order that you should not be taken by surprise, mr. beale and i have been sent to warn you to prepare for death, and we will send you the bishop of peterborough or the dean of ----[ ] for your consolation; they both are men of learning and understanding. take thought of your conscience and acknowledge your fault, repent and make satisfaction before god and man. if you know anything concerning this conspiracy further than what has already come to light, you are bound in christian charity to unburden your conscience; being, as you yourself say, nearly related to the queen, to whom also you are indebted for many favours. and if you know of any other persons who have taken part in this undertaking, it is your duty to declare it before your death." [footnote : bourgoing omits to give the dean's name.] "i expected nothing else," replied mary calmly. "this is the manner in which you generally proceed with regard to persons of my quality, and who are nearly related to the crown, so that none may live who aspire to it. for long i have known that you would bring me to this in the end. i have loved the queen and the country, and have done all that i could for the preservation of both. the offers which i have made are the proof of this, as beale can bear me witness. i do not fear death, and shall suffer it with a good heart. i have never been the author of any conspiracy to injure the queen. i have several times been offered my freedom, and have been blamed for refusing my consent. my partisans have abandoned me and troubled themselves no further with my affairs. to prevent this i have attempted to obtain my deliverance by gentle means, to my great disadvantage, till at last, being repulsed on one side and pressed on the other, i placed myself in the hands of my friends, and have taken part with christian and catholic princes, not, as i have before declared, and as the english themselves can bear witness by the papers which they have in their possession, through ambition nor the desire of a greater position; but i have done it for the honour of god and his church, and for my deliverance from the state of captivity and misery in which i was placed. i am a catholic,--of a different religion from yourselves; and for this reason you will take care not to let me live. i am grieved that my death cannot be of as much benefit to the kingdom as i fear it will do it harm; and this i say not from any ill-feeling or from any desire to live. for my part, i am weary of being in this world; nor do i, or any one else, profit by my being here. but i look forward to a better life, and i thank god for giving me this grace of dying in his quarrel. no greater good can come to me in this world; it is what i have most begged of god and most wished for, as being the thing most honourable for myself and most profitable for the salvation of my soul. i have never had the intention of changing my religion for any earthly kingdom, or grandeur, or good, whatever, nor of denying jesus christ or his name, nor will i now. you may feel well assured that i shall die in this entire faith and with my goodwill, and as happy in doing so as i was ever for anything that has come to me in my life. i pray god to have mercy on the poor catholics of this kingdom, who are persecuted and oppressed for their religion. the only thing i regret is, that it has not pleased god to give me before i die the grace to see them able to live in full liberty of conscience in the faith of their parents, in the catholic church, and serving god as they desire to do. i am not ignorant that for long certain persons have been plotting against me; and to speak plainly, i know well it has been done at the instance of one who professes to be my enemy. but i have spoken sufficiently of this before the commissioners." to this lord buckhurst replied that the person here alluded to had not mixed himself up in the matter more specially than the rest had done, and that he was esteemed a very good and faithful servant. he did not think that this person, nor even the greatest in the kingdom, had any special power to do anything either for her or against her, unless they were assembled in council. here mr. beale began to speak, and said that on his part he had somewhat to say to the queen of scots regarding the treaties and other matters which had occurred since she came into england, in which proceedings she had given trouble. on these points he could speak as having knowledge of what had occurred, having been employed in some of them as envoy between his mistress and queen mary. he then spoke of her taking refuge in england, asserting that his mistress had taken care of her and had caused her to be well received and treated, and had appeased her scottish subjects who had sought to pursue her. seeing queen mary's danger, his mistress had even arranged for her to retire to carlisle, to be in greater safety. "i was taken there by force and against my will," exclaimed mary. "it was for your good," retorted beale.[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, pp. - .] lord buckhurst and beale now retired, nor does the former appear to have seen mary again. the queen herself describes this interview in her correspondence, and we here give the passages that occur in her letter to the archbishop of glasgow, dated the th november:--[ ] "you would find this language strange were you not informed that it has been signified to me by the mouth of lord buckhurst, amyas paulet, my great promoter, one drew drury, knight, and mr. beale, that the assembly of the states of this country have condemned me to death. this they have announced to me on the part of their queen, exhorting me to confess and acknowledge to her my offences. for this end and to incite me to die well and patiently, and to discharge my conscience, she proposed to send me a bishop and a dean. she also says that the occasion of this my death is the instant request made to her by her people, who, considering that i am still alive, and being her rival, as it appears by my having some time ago taken the name and arms belonging to this crown (and not being prepared to renounce them, unless with the condition of being declared to be next in the succession to the throne), she cannot live in safety in her kingdom. seeing even that all the catholics call me their sovereign, and that her life has been so often attempted to this end, and that, so long as i live, her religion cannot safely exist in this kingdom. i thanked god and them for the honour they did me in considering me to be such a necessary instrument for the re-establishment of religion in this island, of which, although unworthy, i desired to take it upon myself to be a very pressing and zealous defender. in confirmation of all this, as i had before protested, i offered willingly to shed my blood in the quarrel of the catholic church; and moreover, even, if the people thought that my life could serve for the good and public peace of this island, i would not refuse to give it to them (freely) in reward for the twenty years they have detained me in prison. as to their bishops, i praise god that without their aid i know well enough my offences against god and his church, and that i do not approve their errors, nor wish to communicate with them in any way. but if it pleased them to permit me to have a catholic priest, i said i would accept that very willingly, and even demanded it in the name of jesus christ, in order to dispose my conscience, and to participate in the holy sacraments, on leaving this world. they answered me that, do what i would, i should not be either saint or martyr, as i was to die for the murder of their queen and for wishing to dispossess her. i replied that i was not so presumptuous as to aspire to these two honours; but that although they had power over my body by divine permission, not by justice, as i am a sovereign queen, as i have always protested, still they had not power over my soul, nor could they prevent me from hoping that through the mercy of god, who died for me, he will accept from me my blood and my life, which i offer to him for the maintenance of his church, outside of which i should never desire to rule any worldly kingdom, thereby risking the eternal kingdom either here or elsewhere; and i shall beg of him that the sorrow and other persecutions of body and mind which i suffer, may weigh against my sins. but to have contrived, counselled, or commanded elizabeth's death, that i have never done, nor would i suffer, for my own account, that one single _blow_ should be given to her. elizabeth's emissaries rejoined, 'you have counselled and allowed that the english should name you their sovereign, as appears by the letters of allen, lewis, and several others; and this you have not contradicted.' to this i replied that i had taken nothing upon myself in my letters, but that it was not my province to prevent the doctor and persons of the church from naming me as they pleased. this was not my province, since i was under the obedience of the church to approve what she decrees, and not to correct her; and i said the same in regard to his holiness, if (as they declared) he caused me to be prayed for everywhere under a title of which i was ignorant. in any case i wished to die and to obey the church, but not to murder any one in order to possess his rights; but in all this i saw clearly portrayed saul's persecutions of david, yet i cannot escape as he did, by the window, but it may be that from the shedding of my blood protectors may arise for the sufferers in this universal quarrel." [footnote : labanoff, vi. .] after reading these words, which bear the vivid impress of mary's steadfast faith, we are not surprised to hear that during her talk with lord buckhurst her face was illumined with an extraordinary joy at the thought that god had done her the honour to choose her as the instrument for the defence of the catholic faith;[ ] and we may imagine that lord buckhurst was capable of admiring, although he may not have sympathised with, her sentiments. paulet took different views, and in a letter to walsingham, in which he refers to the queen's "superfluous and idle speeches on other occasions," he adds, "i am deceived if my lord of buckhurst will not give the same testimony of her tediousness."[ ] [footnote : camden, ii.] [footnote : _letter books_, p. .] chapter vi after the sentence lord buckhurst left fotheringay on the st november, and the same day brought a fresh trial to the queen,--one which his presence would probably have averted. paulet, accompanied by sir drew drury, who, although, according to the queen, "far more modest and gracious," did not oppose his colleague's proceedings, waited on mary, and paulet told her that as she had shown no signs of repentance for her faults, their queen had commanded that her dais with the royal arms, the emblem of her sovereignty, should be taken down, "because," continued he, "you are now only a dead woman, without the dignity or honours of a queen." "god of his grace called me to this dignity," replied mary; "i have been anointed and consecrated such. from him alone i hold this rank, and to him alone i shall return it, with my soul. i do not recognise your queen as my superior, nor her heretical council and assembly as my judges, and i shall die a queen in spite of them. they have no more power over me than robbers at the corner of a wood might have over the most just prince or judge in the world; but i hope that god will manifest his justice in this kingdom after my death. the kings of this country have often been murdered, and it will not seem strange to me to be among them and those of their blood. it was in this way that king richard was treated to dispossess him of his rights."[ ] [footnote : see labanoff, vi. . "when the so. q.'s cloth of estate was plucked down by sir a. paulet and sir d. drury, after signification given unto her to prepare herself to die by the l. buckhurst and r.b., she mentioned the murder of k. richard ii., but sir drue answered that she needed not to fear it, for that she was in the charge of a christian gentleman."--note by beale, yelverton mss., p. .] at these words paulet ordered the queen's attendants to remove the dais, but they utterly refused to have any hand in the outrage offered to their mistress, calling aloud for vengeance on him and drury. paulet was obliged therefore to send for his soldiers, and caused the dais to be thrown on the floor. he now sat down in the queen's presence with his head covered, and ordered the billiard-table to be removed, saying to the queen, "this is no time for you to indulge in exercise or amusement."[ ] [footnote : a sad office was reserved for the cover of this table; it was afterwards used to enshroud the body of the queen after her execution, as we may see by the following passage from brantôme: "immediately after the execution, when the headsman had despoiled mary's corpse, it was carried into a room adjoining that in which her maids of honour were confined; and they, looking through a crevice, saw the body of their mistress half covered by a piece of rough woollen stuff, which had been hastily taken from the billiard-table."] "thanks be to god, i have never made use of it since it was put up," replied mary, "for you have kept me sufficiently employed in other ways." paulet's account of this scene differs in some important particulars from that of the queen. in fact, he seems to have gone beyond his instructions; and to explain and vindicate his conduct, he writes at length to secretary davison to the following effect. "he had been given to understand," he says, "by a late letter from some friend about the court, of her majesty's mislike that this lady (queen mary) did enjoy her cloth of estate." he adds that in ordering this removal he used "all possible moderation," and declares, in contradiction to mary, that she sent for the yeoman of her wardrobe and asked him to take down the dais. he maintains a discreet silence regarding his own personal rudeness in covering himself and sitting down in mary's presence; nor does he allude to the removal of the billiard-table.[ ] [footnote : _letter books_, p. .] on the following day mary received a fresh visit from paulet and drury. paulet, fearing, no doubt, the effects of his violence, came to assure her that he had not taken down her dais by order of elizabeth, but by that of some members of the council; and he offered to write to his mistress for leave to re-erect it. in reply mary contented herself with showing him a crucifix, which she had placed in the spot formerly occupied by the dais and her arms. paulet then told her that the request which she had made through lord buckhurst had been submitted to the queen, and that she would receive the answer in a day or two. "my requests were not so numerous," rejoined the queen, "and can be speedily answered, and i presented them only in order that (after settling the fate of my attendants) i might have more time to give to god." "your object was praiseworthy, and you will have a prompt reply," said paulet; "if you had been as well disposed to reveal certain things to her majesty as you were to make requests, lord buckhurst would have presented them much more willingly." "this gentleman was a relative of your mistress, and sent by her on that account," returned mary, "and i confided to him what i thought desirable." paulet remarked that he only spoke of this to remind her that she might have sent a letter through lord buckhurst. "before things were so advanced," said mary, "i should have wished to write, but now being condemned, i have other subjects of greater moment to think of; i have to prepare myself for a better life in another world."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, pp. - .] "and hereupon," records the pitiless jailer, "she fell into a large discourse on the mercies of god towards her, and of her preparation for death, and into many other impertinent speeches not worthy to be recited. i omit some other talk which passed between her and me, upon this ground tending only to the benefit of her soul and the discharge of my conscience. and thus i departed from her, having endeavoured myself, according to your direction, to solve the two faults mentioned in your letters in as clear a manner as i could, without giving her cause to think that i came to her to that purpose."[ ] [footnote : paulet to mr. secretary davison, th november . see _letter books_, p. .] the "second fault" alluded to by paulet, and which had brought down upon him elizabeth's displeasure, lay in the fact that he had not sufficiently "entertained" mary "in the desire she had to write unto her majesty." paulet considered that he could not press the matter without a special order to that effect; he was, we know by his own words, "always very curious and precise to be warranted in all his proceedings." after lord buckhurst's departure mary naturally concluded that her hours were numbered, little thinking that two months of suspense lay before her. on the day on which the foregoing interview took place the noise of workmen in her dining-room led the queen to think that the scaffold for her execution was even then in process of erection. under this impression she called her attendants round her and made a declaration that she died a faithful catholic, and that she was entirely innocent of the crimes of which she was accused. she made them swear to bear witness for her to all the persons she mentioned to them, and to each she assigned the mission he should fulfil after her death. although her right hand was much crippled by rheumatism, mary now passed two days in writing farewell letters to her most faithful friends, which she confided to her chaplain and servants, to be delivered after her death.[ ] [footnote : in consequence of the delays by which the members of mary's household were kept in a state of quasi-imprisonment for months after their mistress's execution, these letters only reached their destination in the course of the following autumn.] there are in all four of these letters, including that to the archbishop of glasgow already quoted, and we give the remaining three in their integrity, in the certainty that no description of the queen's sentiments at this time can be as true or touching as her own words. letter to pope sixtus v.[ ] [footnote : labanoff, vi. .] _jesus maria_ holy father--as it has pleased god by his divine providence so to ordain, that in his church under his son jesus christ crucified, all those who should believe in him and be baptized in the name of the holy trinity, should recognise one universal and catholic church as mother, whose commandments together with the ten of the law we should keep under pain of damnation, it is requisite that each one who aspires to eternal life should fix his eyes upon her. i, therefore, who am born of kings and relatives all baptized in her, as i myself also was, and what is more, from my infancy, unworthy as i am, have been called to the royal dignity--anointed and consecrated by the authority and by the ministers of the church, under whose wing and in whose bosom i have been nourished and brought up--and by her instructed in the obedience due by all christians to him whom she, guided by the holy spirit, has elected according to the ancient order and decrees of the primitive church, to the holy apostolic see as our head upon earth, to whom jesus christ in his last will has given power (speaking to st. peter of her foundation on a living rock) of binding and loosing poor sinners from the chains of satan, absolving us by himself or by his ministers for this purpose appointed, of all crimes and sins committed or perpetrated by us, we being repentant, and as far as in us lies, making satisfaction for them after having confessed them according to the ordinance of the church. i call my saviour jesus christ to be my witness, the blessed trinity, the glorious virgin mary, all the angels and archangels, st. peter, the pastor, my special intercessor and advocate, st. paul, apostle of the gentiles, st. andrew and all the holy apostles, st. george, and in general all the saints of paradise,--that i have always lived in this faith, which is that of the universal church catholic, apostolic, and roman, in which being regenerated, i have always had the intention of doing my duty to the holy apostolic see. of this, to my great regret, i have not been able to render due testimony to your holiness, on account both of my detention in this captivity and my long illness, but now that it has pleased god, my holy father, to permit for my sins and those of this unfortunate island, that i (the only one remaining of the blood of england and scotland who makes profession of this faith) should, after twenty years of captivity, shut up in a narrow prison and at last condemned to die by the heretical states and assembly of this country, as it has been to-day signified to me by the mouth of lord buckhurst, amias paulet my keeper, one drew drury, knight, and a secretary named beale, in the name of their queen, commanding me to prepare to receive death, offering me one of their bishops and a dean for my consolation (a priest that i had having been taken from me long before by them, and held by them i know not where); i have thought it to be my first duty to turn me to god, and then to relate the whole to your holiness in writing, to the end that although i cannot let you hear it before my death, at least afterwards, the cause of it should be made manifest to you, which is, all things well considered and examined, their dread of the subversion of their religion in this island, which they say i plan, and which is attempted for my sake, as well by those of their own subjects who obey your laws and are their declared enemies [and who cause me to be prayed for as their sovereign in their churches, whose priests profess duty and subjection to me], as by strangers, and specially by the catholic princes and my relations, who all (so they say) maintain my right to the crown of england. i leave it to your holiness to consider the consequence of such a sentence, imploring you to have prayers made for my poor soul--and for all those who have died, or will die, in the same cause and the like sentence, and even in honour of god. i beg you to give your alms and incite the kings to do likewise to those who shall survive this shipwreck. and my intention being, according to the constitutions of the church, to confess, do penance as far as in me lies, and receive my viaticum, if i can obtain my chaplain, or some other legitimate minister, to administer to me my said sacraments; in default of this, with contrite and repentant heart i prostrate myself at your holiness' feet, confessing myself to god and to his saints, and to the same your paternity, as a very unworthy sinner and one meriting eternal damnation, unless it pleases the good god who died for sinners to receive me in his infinite mercy among the number of poor penitent sinners trusting in his mercy--imploring you to take this my general confession in testimony of my intention to accomplish the remainder in the form ordained and commanded in the church, if it is permitted me, and to give me your general absolution according as you know and think to be requisite for the glory of god, the honour of his church, and the salvation of my poor soul, between which and the justice of god i interpose the blood of jesus christ, crucified for me and all sinners, one of the most execrable among whom i confess myself to be, seeing the infinite graces i have received through him, and which i have so little recognised and employed; the which would render me unworthy of forgiveness, if his promise made to all those who burdened with sins and spiritual woes (coming to him) to be assisted by him, and his mercy did not encourage me, following his commandment to come to him, bearing my burden in order to be relieved by him of it like the prodigal son, and, what is more, offering my blood willingly at the foot of his cross for the unwearied and faithful zeal which i bear to his church; without the restoration of which i desire never to live in this unhappy world. and further, holy father, having left myself no goods in this world, i supplicate your holiness to obtain from the very christian king that my dowry should be charged with the payment of my debts, and the wages of my poor desolate servants, and with an annual obit for my soul and those of all our brothers departed in this just quarrel, having had no other private intention, as my poor servants, present at this my affliction, will testify to you; as likewise, how i have willingly offered my life in their heretical assembly to maintain my catholic, apostolic, and roman religion, and to bring back those of this island who have ignorantly gone astray (to wit, themselves); protesting that in this case i would willingly deprive myself of all the title and dignity of a queen, and do all honour and service to theirs, if she would cease to persecute the catholics; as i protest that that is the end at which i have aimed since i have been in this country, and i have no ambition nor desire to reign, nor to dispossess any other for my own personal advantage, as by illness and by long afflictions i am so weakened that i have no longer any desire to trouble myself in this world except with the service of his church, and to gain the souls of this island to god; in testimony of which, at my end, i do not wish to falter in preferring the public salvation to the personal interests of flesh and blood, which cause me to pray you,--with a mortal regret for the perdition of my poor child, after having tried by all means to regain him,--to be a true father to him, as st. john the evangelist was to the youth whom he withdrew from the company of robbers; to take, in short, all the authority over him that i can give you to constrain him, and if it please you to call upon the catholic king to assist you in what touches temporal matters, and especially that you two may together try to ally him in marriage. and if god, for my sins, permit that he should remain obstinate, i knowing no christian prince in these times who works so much for the faith, or who has so many means to aid him in the bringing back of this island, as the catholic king, to whom i am much indebted and obliged, being the only one who aided me with his money and advice in my needs, i, subject to your good pleasure, leave him all that i can have of power or interest in the government of this kingdom if my son obstinately remains outside the church. but if he finds he can bring him back, i desire he shall be aided, supported, and advised by him (the king of spain) and my relations of guise, enjoining him by my last will to hold them, after you, as his fathers, and to ally himself by their advice and consent, or in one of their two houses. and if it pleased god, i would he were worthy to be a son of the catholic king. this is the secret of my heart and the end of my desires in this world, tending as i mean them, to the good of his church and to the discharge of my conscience, which i present at the feet of your holiness, which i may humbly kiss. you shall have the true account of the manner of my last taking, and all the proceedings against me, and by me, to the end that, hearing the truth, the calumnies which the enemies of the church wish to lay upon me may be refuted by you and the truth known, and to this effect i have sent to you this bearer, requesting your holy blessing for the end, and saying to you for the last time _à dieu_.[ ] whom i pray in his grace to preserve your person for long, for the good of his church and your sorrowful flock, especially that of this island, which i leave very much astray, without the mercy of god and without your paternal care. fotheringay, _ rd november _. [footnote : this passage, we believe, refers to bourgoing, as before stated.] _from_ fotheringay _this th of november ._ excuse my writing, caused by the weakness of my arm. i hear, to my great regret, bad rumours of some persons near to your holiness who they say receive wages from this state to betray the cause of god, and there are cardinals mixed up in it. i leave it to your holiness to make examination and to have your eye on a certain lord de saint-jean, much suspected of being a spy of the high treasurer.[ ] these are false brethren, and i will answer for it, that those who have been recommended to you by me are quite otherwise. of your holiness the very humble and devoted daughter, marie, queen of scotland, dowager of france. [footnote : burleigh.] to don bernard de mendoÇa.[ ] [footnote : labanoff, vi. .] my very dear friend--as i have always known you to be zealous in god's cause, and interested in my welfare and my deliverance from captivity, i have likewise also always made you a sharer in all my intentions for the same cause, begging you to signify them to the king, monsieur my good brother, for which at present, according to the little leisure i have, i have wished to send you this last adieu, being resolved to receive the death-stroke which was announced to me last saturday. i know not when, nor in what manner, but at least you can feel assured and praise god for me that, by his grace, i had the _courage_ to receive this very unjust sentence of the heretics with contentment for the honour which i esteem it to be to me to shed my blood at the demand of the enemies of his church; whilst they honour me so much as to say that theirs cannot exist if i live; and the other point (they affirm to be) that their queen cannot reign in security--for the same reason. in both these "conditions" i, without contradicting them, accepted the honour they were so anxious to confer upon me, as very zealous in the catholic religion, for which i had publicly offered my life; and as to the other matter, although i had made no attempt nor taken any action to remove her who was in the place, still as they reproached me with what is my right, and is so considered by all catholics, as they say, i did not wish to contradict them, leaving it to them to judge. but they, becoming angry in consequence of this, told me that, do what i would, i should not die for religion, but for having wished to have their queen murdered, which i denied to them as being very false, as i never attempted anything of the kind--but left it to god and the church to settle everything for this island regarding religion and what depends upon it. this bearer[ ] has promised me to relate to you how rigorously i have been treated by this people, and ill served by others, who i could wish had not so much shewn their fear of death in so just a quarrel--or their inordinate passions. whereas from me they only obtained the avowal that i was a free queen, catholic, obedient to the church, and that for my deliverance i was obliged,--having tried for it by good means, without being able to obtain it--to procure it by the means which were offered to me, without approving (to all the means employed). [footnote : the person referred to appears to have been pierre gorion, who took the letter to mendoça, and presented him likewise with an interesting memoir of his mistress. see teulet, vi. .] nau has confessed all, curle following his example; and all is thrown upon me. they threaten me if i do not ask for pardon, but i say, that as they have already destined me to death, they may proceed in their injustice, hoping that god will recompense me in the other world. and through spite, because i will not thus confess, they came the day before yesterday, monday, to remove my dais, saying that i was no longer anything but a dead woman without any dignity. they are working in my hall; i think they are making a scaffold to make me play the last scene of the tragedy. i die in a good quarrel, and happy at having given up my rights to the king your master. i have said that if my son does not return to the bosom of the church, i confess i know no prince more worthy, or more suitable for the protection of this island. i have written as much to his holiness, and i beg you to certify to him that i die in this same wish, that i have written to you, and to him (you) know who is his near relative and old friend, and to a fourth, who above all others i leave under the protection of the king, and require him, in the name of god, not to abandon them; and i beg them to serve him in my place. i cannot write to them. salute them from me, and all of you pray god for my soul. i have asked for a priest, but do not know if i shall have one; they offered me one of their bishops. i utterly refused him. believe what this bearer tells you, and these two poor women who have been the nearest to me. they will tell you the truth.[ ] i beg of you to publish it, as i fear others will make it sound quite differently. give orders that payment should be made where you know of, for the discharge of my conscience; and may the churches of spain keep me in remembrance in their prayers. keep this bearer's secret; he has been a faithful valet to me. [footnote : elizabeth curle and jane kennedy.] may god give you a long and happy life. you will receive a token from me, of a diamond, which i valued as being that with which the late duke of norfolk pledged me his faith, and which i have nearly always worn. keep it for love of me. i do not know if i shall be allowed to make a will. i have asked for leave, but they have all my money. god be with you. forgive me if i write with pain and trouble, having not even one solitary person to aid me to make my rough copies and to write from my dictation. if you cannot read my handwriting this bearer will read it to you, or my ambassador, who is familiar with it. among other accusations criton's is one about which i know nothing. i fear much that nau and pasquier have much hastened my death, for they had kept some papers, and also they are people who wish to live in both worlds, if they can have their commodities. i would to god that fontenay had been here; he is a young man of strong resolution and knowledge. adieu. once more i recommend to you my poor destitute servants, and beg you to pray for my soul. _from_ fotheringay _this wednesday the rd of november._ i recommend to you the poor bishop of ross, who will be quite destitute.--your much obliged and perfect friend, marie r. to the duke of guise _from_ fotheringay _the th of november._[ ] [footnote : labanoff, vol. vi. p. .] my good cousin--you whom i hold as dearest to me in the world, i bid you adieu, being ready, through unjust judgment, to be put to a death, such as no one of our race, (thanks) be to god, has ever suffered, still less one of my quality; but, my good cousin, praise god for it, as i was useless in the world for the cause of god and his church being in the state i was, and i hope my death will testify to my constancy in the faith, and my readiness to die for the upholding and restoration of the catholic church in this unhappy island. and although no executioner has ever before dipped his hand in our blood, be not ashamed of it, my dear friend, for the condemnation of heretics and enemies of the church (and who have no jurisdiction over me, a free queen) is profitable before god for the children of his church. if i would belong to them i should not receive this blow. all those of our house have been persecuted by this sect; for example, your good father, with whom i hope to be received by the mercy of the just judge. i recommend to you then, my poor servants, the discharge of my debts, and i beg you to have some annual obit founded for my soul, not at your expense, but please make the necessary solicitations and give the orders which shall be required. and you shall understand my intention by these, my poor desolate servants, eye-witnesses of this my last tragedy. may god prosper you, your wife, children, brothers, and cousins, and above all our chief, my good brother and cousin,[ ] and all his. may the blessing of god and that which i would give to children of my own, be on yours, whom i recommend no less to god, than my own unfortunate and ill-advised child. [footnote : the duke of lorraine.] you will receive some tokens from me, to remind you to pray for the soul of your poor cousin, destitute of all aid and advice but that of god, which gives me strength and courage to resist alone so many wolves howling after me.--to god be the glory. believe, in particular, all that shall be said to you by a person who will give you a ruby ring from me, for i take it upon my conscience that the truth shall be told you of what i have charged her with, especially of what touches my poor servants, and regarding one of them in particular. i recommend you this person on account of her straightforward sincerity and goodness, and so that she may be placed in some good situation. i have chosen her as being most impartial and the one who will the most simply convey my orders. i beg of you not to make it known that she has said anything to you in private, as envy might harm her. i have suffered much for two years and more, and could not let you know it for important reasons. god be praised for all, and may he give you the grace to persevere in the service of his church as long as you live, and may this honour never leave our race; so that we, men as well as women, may be ready to shed our blood to maintain the quarrel of the faith, putting aside all worldly interests. and as for me, i esteem myself born, both on the paternal and maternal side, to offer my blood for it, and i have no intention of degenerating. may jesus--for us crucified--and may all the holy martyrs, by their intercession, render us worthy of willingly offering our bodies to his glory. _from_ fotheringay _this thursday th november._ thinking to degrade me, they had my dais taken down, and afterwards my guardian came to offer to write to their queen, saying he had not done this by her order, but by the advice of some of the council. i showed them the cross of my saviour, in the place where my arms had been on the said dais. you shall hear all our conversation. they have been more gentle since.--your affectionate cousin and perfect friend, marie, queen of scotland, dowager of france. chapter vii waiting for death while her cousin was thus bidding farewell to her best friends, and calmly preparing for death, elizabeth was a prey to indecision, and, in spite of the entreaties of her ministers, dared not sign the warrant of execution. about the th of november burleigh thus writes to davison: "the sentence is already more than a month and four days old, and it is time it should speak." paulet on his side was equally anxious for the end, and writes as follows to walsingham: "i should fear lest fotheringay were forgotten, if i did not know that this lady under my charge has given great cause to be remembered by all true and faithful subjects." and again in the same letter, "i thank god i have conceived a most steadfast hope of a happy resolution, and yet the experience of former times doth teach us that opportunities neglected are very often accompanied with very dangerous effects."[ ] [footnote : _letter books of sir amyas paulet_, p. .] to mitigate some of these "dangerous effects" probably, and fearing that mary's partisans would make an attempt upon fotheringay, paulet had asked for an addition to his garrison of forty soldiers, and his demand was at once complied with. with the newcomers the garrison now mustered seventy foot soldiers and fifty bowmen. moved by the imminence of the danger, france and scotland were now both making fresh efforts on behalf of mary. james, roused for a moment, had written an energetic and even menacing letter to his ambassador keith, charging him to show it to elizabeth, and henry of france had remonstrated "temperately" through de courcelles. in writing to walsingham on th december, paulet expresses himself significantly regarding these futile attempts. "i should be condemned for a busybody if i should write unto you all that i think touching the copy of the king of scots' letter to keith, not doubting but that her majesty and her most honourable council will consider of it in all respect of honour to her highness touching the manner, and in all public and christian judgment touching the matter. only i will say that, as i would be glad to hear that her majesty had not vouchsafed to read the said letters at second-hand, so i assure myself that having answered the french ambassador (coming from the mightiest prince in europe and bringing a message of great temperance) in such round, princely, and magisterial sort, as moved admiration in all the hearers; her highness being now justly provoked in many ways (if i do not mistake the copy), will not give place to the pride of so poor a neighbour, but repress the same in his first budding, a principle, or rather the only remedy in such forward, (i will not say) presumptuous attempts. i pray god the unthankfulness in the mother work not like effects in the son."[ ] [footnote : _letter books_, p. .] elizabeth now, though still shrinking from the final step of signing the warrant, caused the sentence to be publicly proclaimed by sound of trumpet throughout the kingdom,--a measure welcomed with fanatic joy by the people, and regarded by walsingham as an encouraging sign of the final realisation of his wishes. when this news reached mary she remarked that she would never have thought her good sister would proceed in so inhuman a manner towards her. the publicity now given to the sentence was, however, a consolation to mary. fear of death in itself seemed to have been unknown to her brave spirit, but as we know, she dreaded above all things private assassination, and the false rumours that she suspected would be spread regarding her if she should die without witnesses to attest her fidelity to her faith and royal dignity. in the previous september she wrote to the duke of guise, "i expect poison or some other secret death"; and it is certain that her fears were well founded. paulet at length received the reply to the requests which mary had begged lord buckhurst to present to elizabeth. on th december he thus relates his interview with mary touching this matter:-- "having signified to the queen that i had received the order to give back her money, and that i begged her to authorise one of her attendants to receive it, she sent me word that as i had taken it from her myself, she thought it only right that i should return it to her with my own hand; upon which i went to her, accompanied by sir drew drury and mr. darrell.[ ] i found her ill in bed, suffering from one of her legs. i gave her a memorandum of the money i had received from her and of that which i had spent for her.... she asked me what reply had been made to her other requests; i told her her papers would soon be returned, and that her attendants would be free to return to scotland or to france according to their own choice. [footnote : the steward appointed by elizabeth to serve queen mary.] "'yes,' returned she, 'but i cannot say if they will have leave to retire with what i shall give them.' i answered her that she could not doubt of this. 'i refer to my furniture,' continued the queen; 'as i have the intention of sending a bed to my son, it is for this that i requested leave to make my will.' she questioned me as to whether i had had an answer. i said no, but that it was unnecessary, as it depended on her own wish. she asked me what reply had been sent about her chaplain. i told her that they had the intention of soon sending him to her. such was the interview. after remitting to her the money, sir drue drury and i took our leave of her." farther on in the letter paulet adds: "i have sent two of my servants to go and fetch the priest, who is detained at mr. thomas gresley's, and i expect them both this evening, or at latest, to-morrow morning. this lady continues to show her perverse and obstinate character. she shows no sign of repentance, and no submission. she does not acknowledge her fault, does not ask for forgiveness, and shows no sign of wishing to live. it is to be feared that she will die as she has lived, and i pray god that this ignorant papist priest be not admitted to her presence for her further punishment, and also because he will strengthen her in her opposition to her majesty, and in all her errors in matters of religion, instead of bringing her to a better mind."[ ] [footnote : paulet to walsingham, _the letter books_, p. .] on the th december paulet wrote on the same subject to burleigh:[ ] "mr. secretary walsingham had authorised me to send for this queen's priest, and to let him visit her. he arrived here on the th,[ ] so that if the execution of this queen is deferred it may be repented of, as much from the political point of view as from that of religion, if he shall have stayed with her so long." [footnote : paulet to burleigh, _the letter books_, p. .] [footnote : bourgoing's journal says that m. de préau arrived on the th about four o'clock in the evening.] we must now return to the th december, as upon that day began the curious series of facts connected with queen mary's letter to her cousin. after her interview with lord buckhurst and beale, mary had discussed this question of correspondence. i here use bourgoing's words:-- "her majesty said that in former times she could write when she would, and then when it would have been profitable for both the queen and herself, it had not been permitted; that since her enemies had procured and given the sentence against her, she had not thought it could be profitable, or of any use for her to write to the queen; added to which, having been so humbled and deprived of all dignity or title, she did not see in what quality she could write for the present." mary, however, now desired to write to elizabeth, and on the th she sent melville to paulet with a message to this effect, adding that in so doing she was not impelled by any desire to save her life, to receive pardon, or to escape, but only "for the peace of her soul and as a last farewell." sir amyas declared that this was not a request to which he could give a reply on the spot, but that if her majesty liked to prepare her letter, he would forward it as soon as he should receive permission from court to do so. on hearing this mary begged paulet to come to her, but he objected that his colleague, sir drue drury, was ill, and "they did nothing one without the other"; he would therefore defer visiting her majesty till the next day, when he hoped drury would be better. the following day-- th december--accordingly, after dinner paulet and drury visited the queen, and the latter, to remove all suspicion of a danger too much in keeping with the spirit of the age to be unusual, offered to take it upon herself to _test her letter_ before it should be sent to elizabeth, in order that paulet might be assured that no subtle poison was conveyed in it. this offer did not satisfy paulet, and he said he wished "to read the letter and handle it himself before it was sealed, lest anything should be put inside the letter, as sometimes happened." "this led to some discussion, as the queen found it strange that he should ask of her what she had herself proposed to do, both by m. melville and by sir drue drury, and also by her own words at their entrance. she added that she thanked them for the good opinion they had of her, to suspect her wrongfully of putting anything in her letter which could harm the queen (of england)." in reply paulet excused himself "as well as he could," adds bourgoing. two days later the gentlemen returned to fetch the letter: this time sir amyas made excuses for having asked to see the letter before it was closed, and to test it, saying that as there might be danger within a letter as well as in its cover, it was best to make the request. "her majesty showed him her open letter, and tested it by striking it against her face, then closed it with white silk and sealed it with spanish wax. the address was 'to the queen, our sister and cousigne'; the superscription, 'your sister and cousin wrongfully imprisoned, marye r.' the letter was written in french."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] paulet wrote a long letter to mr. secretary davison about this time describing his interview with mary. the facts relating to the letter tally with those given by bourgoing, and though paulet's tone is bitter as usual, he adds the following postscript: "i had forgotten to signify unto you that this queen, taking her letter in both her hands, and holding the leaves open, did wipe her face with every part of both the leaves; which no doubt she did in despite that i had told her there might be as great danger within the letter as without."[ ] queen mary's letter, which had caused so much discussion, is a very interesting one, and we subjoin it. as we shall see, paulet feared its effect on his mistress, and delayed sending it:-- [footnote : see also letter, p. , _letter books_.] mary stuart to queen elizabeth.[ ] [footnote : labanoff, vi. .] _from_ fotheringay, _december , ._ madame--having been unable to obtain leave from those to whom i have been, as it were, given by you, to make known to you what i have at heart, as well to acquit myself of any feeling of ill-will, or desire to commit any cruelty or enimical act against those to whom i am related by blood, as also to communicate to you in charity what i deemed might serve for your welfare and preservation as well as for the continuance of the peace and prosperity of this island (things which could harm no one, as it was in your power to take or reject my advice, or to believe or disbelieve my words, as it seemed best to you), i resolved henceforward to strengthen myself in jesus christ alone, who is never wanting in justice and consolation to those who invoke him with all their heart, and in especial, when denuded of all human help, they are left in his holy protection. to him be the glory; he has not disappointed me in my expectations, having given me the courage, _in spe contra spem_, to endure the anguish, calomness, accusations, and contumelies of those who have no jurisdiction over me, together with a constant resolution to suffer death for the maintenance, obedience, and authority of the catholic church, apostolic and roman. lately, on hearing the sentence, given by your last assemblage of some of the state, and receiving the admonition made to me by lord buckhurst and beale, that i should prepare myself for the end of my long and wearisome trying pilgrimage, i begged them to thank you from me for such agreeable tidings, and to implore you to permit me certain things for the discharge of my conscience, the which sir paulet has since let me know you have accorded, having already allowed my chaplain to return, and together with the money which had been taken from me, and he assures me that the rest will follow. for all this i have much wished to return you thanks, and to supplicate you for one more last favour, which i have thought best to communicate to you alone, as being a last grace which i desire to owe to you alone, having no hope of anything but cruelty from the puritans, who are now the strongest in power and the most animated against me,--god knows for what reason. i wish to accuse no one, but, on the contrary, to forgive every one from my heart, as i desire to be forgiven by all and in the first place by god. and then i know that all concerning the honour or dishonour of your blood and that of a queen, daughter of a king, touches you more nearly than any one else. therefore, madame, in honour of jesus (whose name all powers obey), i require you to promise that when my enemies shall have satisfied their dark desire for my innocent blood, you will permit that my poor sorrowful servants may all together bear my body to be buried in holy ground and near those of my predecessors who are in france, especially the late queen my mother; and this because in scotland the bodies of the kings my ancestors have been insulted, and the churches pulled down and profaned, and because, suffering death in this country, i cannot have a place beside your predecessors, who are also mine; and what is more important--because in our religion we much prize being buried in holy ground. and as i am told you wish in nothing to force my conscience or my religion, and have even conceded me a priest, i hope that you will not refuse this my last request, but will at least allow free sepulture to the body from which the soul will be separated, as being united, they never knew how to obtain liberty to live in peace, or to procure the same for you, for which before god i do not in any way blame you--but may god show you the entire truth after my death. and because i fear the secret tyrany of some of those into whose power you have abandoned me, i beg you not to permit me to be executed without your knowledge--not from fear of the pain, which i am ready to suffer, but on account of the rumours which would be spread concerning my death if it were not seen by reliable witnesses; how it was done, i am persuaded, in the case of others of different rank. it is for this reason that in another place i require that my attendants remain to be spectators and witnesses of my end in the faith of my saviour, and in the obedience of his church, and that afterwards they shall all together withdraw quickly, taking my body with them as secretly as you wish, and so that the furniture and other things which i may be able to leave them in dying, be not taken from them, which will be, indeed, a very small reward for their good services. would you wish me to return a jewel which you gave me to you with my last words, or would it please you to receive it sooner? i implore of you anew to permit me to send a jewel and a last adieu to my son, together with my blessing, of which he has been deprived, owing to what you informed me of his refusal to enter into a treaty in which i was included,--by the unhappy advice of whom? this last point i leave to your conscience and favourable consideration. for the others, i demand of you, in the name of jesus christ, and in consideration of our relationship, in remembrance of king henry vii., your [great]grandfather and mine, and in honour of the dignity we have both held, and of our common sex, that my request be granted. for the rest, i think you will have certainly heard that they pulled down my dais, by your order, as they said, and that afterwards they told me that it was not done by your command, but by that of some of the council. i praise god that such cruelty, which could only show malice and afflict me after i had made up my mind to die, came not from you. i fear it has been like this in many other things, and that this is the reason why they would not permit me to write to you until they had, as far as they could, taken from me all external mark of dignity and power, telling me i was simply a dead woman, stripped of all dignity. god be praised for all. i wish that all my papers, without any exception, had been shown to you, so that it might have been seen that it was not only the care of your safety which animated all those who are so prompt in persuing me. if you grant me this my last request, give orders that i shall see what you write regarding it, as otherwise they will make me believe what they like; and i desire to know your final reply to my final request. in conclusion, i pray the god of mercy, the just judge, that he will deign to enlighten you by his holy spirit, and that he will give me the grace to die in perfect charity, as i am preparing myself to do, pardoning all those who are the cause of my death, or who have co-operated in it; and this shall be my prayer till the end. i consider it happy for me that it should come before the persecution which i foresee threatens this island--if god is not more truly feared and revered, and vanity and worldly policy not more wisely curbed. do not accuse me of presumption if, on the eve of leaving this world, and preparing myself for a better, i remind you that one day you will have to answer for your charge as well as those who are sent before, and that, making no account of my blood or my country, i desire to think of the time when, from the earliest dawn of reason, we were taught to place our soul's welfare before all temporal matters, which should cede to those of eternity.--your sister and cousin wrongfully imprisoned, marie, queen. _from_ fotheringay _this xix december _. paulet, after receiving this letter from queen mary, entered into a long conversation with her, in which he disturbed her by "rather violent discourses, warning her to thank the queen (elizabeth) and acknowledge the favours she had done her, not only at her first coming into england, but ever since, and especially in this last affair, in which, he said, she had much to be thankful for." "for my part," replied mary, "if i have received any favours, i thank her, but i do not see in what they consist. i came into this country under her promise (of assistance). she has kept me a prisoner for eighteen years, and now makes me die, which is the worst that can be done to me." "but," retorted paulet, "you owe it to the queen that she kept you from your enemies and saved your life. you were escaping to another country when the stress of weather at sea caused you to take refuge here." "there is no one in this country but you who holds this opinion," replied the queen, "or who does not know that i came to this country in a simple fishing-boat, which was to take me no farther than i wished. i came against the judgment of the nobles who were with me, of whom some are still alive. they dissuaded me from coming, saying i was putting myself in the hands of the enemies of my country and my own, from whom i should never escape, as they would put me to death; and they would not accompany me until i gave them an attestation and certificate in my handwriting that it was against their wish, and in spite of them, that i came to england. you show yourself very ignorant of my affairs, as you have shown in other conversations. when i was at lochleven queen elizabeth said, and wrote, that she would employ all her friends to deliver me from prison and subdue my enemies. if she did not wish to keep her promise to me, who came to her trusting in it, she should have sent me away, and not have detained me (against) her promise." sir amyas, nothing daunted, continued to boast of the kindness shown by his mistress in her treatment of mary, and then he and sir drue drury, addressing themselves this time to melville, who was also present, united in praising morton, after which they proceeded to declare that the king of scotland had great cause to respect the queen of england, and that she had been a good mother to him; that it was not the english who had withdrawn him from his mother's friendship, but he himself who would not enter into any league in which she took part. the english dealt with him as king of scotland, they said, who was recognised as such in england and in all foreign countries, and had been publicly acknowledged in full parliament in england and scotland. "you have no feelings of honour," said the queen, "if you praise so wicked a man as the earl of morton, who is held to be a tyrant and an usurper, who pillages and destroys all the possessions of the poor scottish subjects, holds my son a prisoner, is a false traitor, and given up to a life of debauchery and public wickedness." to this melville added other facts of the kind, having known morton. "i marvel within myself," continued mary, "how the queen of england can consider herself a good mother to my son, having always kept him apart from me, and prevented his having friendship with me. you do wrong in following young gray's advice, to treat with the son rather than with the mother, to whom the kingdom belongs, and not to him. far from being king, i protested in scotland that my resignation was forced from me; i permitted him to take the title of king on the condition that he should consult me on affairs of importance to the kingdom, that he should do nothing without me, otherwise i should not support him in anything. foreign kings only recognised him on these conditions, which not being observed, i cannot acknowledge him as king, and i doubt me the queen of england has said by her own mouth to her people, and even to the ambassadors of france, and to nau, that she had never acknowledged him as king, nor had yet given him the title." all these matters had already been discussed at the trial. "the queen," said bourgoing, "took occasion to say that they repeated these things on purpose to displease her more, and to attempt to extract something from her, as it may be supposed from the fact that sir amyas could not bear what her majesty had said concerning certain members of the council who were hostile to her, she said, and did all they could against her, and this she would say of some of them she could name till death, whom she would nevertheless pardon with all her heart." "you do ill in this," replied paulet, "as you should die in charity; there is no one of the council who wishes to do you evil against his conscience. you go against god in retaining such an opinion of them." "i do not feel my conscience charged by this," said mary, "nor have i offended god, who does not forbid one to die in an opinion of which one is sure, nor to speak in dying of that of which one has a perfect knowledge; although most surely he commands us to forgive, which i do, as i have already said, but i do not at present feel drawn to flatter, and will flatter no one, not striving to escape from their hands by this means. being resolved to die, and preparing for this, i do not intend to purchase my life, or purchase any grace, by flattery. i do not give any, and i do not ask for any, do with me what you wish. what i ask of the queen has nothing to do with my deliverance, but only concerns my religion, and for the discharge of my conscience, being on the point of putting my affairs in order touching my will, my servants, and my funeral."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, pp. - .] on the day following this interview paulet wrote the following confidential letter to davison, in which he states very plainly his reasons for delaying to send mary's letter to queen elizabeth:-- we were not a little perplexed with this motion of writing, and, indeed, did forbear to deliver our answer until we had considered of the matter privately between ourselves, wherein, as we feared greatly to give any the least cause of delay of the due examination [execution] of the long-desired justice, so, having received lately her majesty's express commandment to make offer to this lady to convey her letters if she were disposed to write, although she did not accept thereof at that time, yet, doubting lest our refusal to yield unto it at this present might be offensive to her highness, and perchance breed some slander to the cause, we condescended to her desire, beseeching god so to direct the sequel thereof as the same may redound to his glory and her majesty's safety, whereof there were no doubt, if we were as willing to take the advantage of great and urgent occasions to further this expected sacrifice, acceptable to god and man, as we are easily diverted from it upon every similar suggestion. all good and faithful subjects will be always careful of her majesty's safety, but specially in the time of christmas now at hand, which giveth occasion to many dangerous assemblies. we are content to be found faulty of this pardonable jealousy. being not able to do any good in this service, we should be very sorry, and should think ourselves more than unhappy if anything should come from us that might do hurt. and, therefore, to be plain with you as with our very friend, we have used all convenient means to delay the receiving of this, to the end it might arrive at the court too late to stay any action touching this lady that might be intended before christmas, being strongly persuaded that the delay of the execution until after christmas will give great cause to suspect an everlasting delay, either through her majesty's too great inclination to mercy, or by reason of the danger of her person in the christmas, a time subject to dangerous assemblies. and thus, etc. * * * * * _p.s._--i am very sorry that your letters of the th, received the th at nine in the morning, came not to my hands in time convenient for the stay of the priest, who, arriving here the th, was immediately admitted to the presence of his mistress, according to the direction which i had before received in that behalf. the inconvenience whereof is not so great in matter of policy as in conscience, because, indeed, the priest is [of] weak and slender judgment, and can give neither counsel nor advice worthy of a young scholar. i feared lest he might have learned some bad news during his abode with mr. gresley, but having groped him the best i can, do find that he is a mere stranger almost to those things which are common to all men, which i impute to his want of language and to mr. gresley's absence from his house now many weeks by reason of his being at london, so that he hath had little other company than of his keeper. i might have doubted lest he had dissembled his knowledge in the occurrents of this time, but having searched his papers, do find two leaves of paper craftily (as he thought) inserted in the midst of his philosophical exercises, wherein he hath set down a daily note of all that he heard spoken unto him, and likewise his answers in all this time of his absence, the same being ridiculous or do bewray his great indiscretion. i would have been glad, for some christian respects, that he should have had no access to this queen until the night before her execution, and, indeed, having received direction to send for him, i took it for a strong argument that the time of her execution was near at hand.[ ] [footnote : _letter books_, p. .] paulet's fear that mary's letter would touch elizabeth was partly justified by the event. when it was at last forwarded, leicester thus writes of this letter to walsingham: "there is a letter from the scottish queen that hath wrought tears, but i trust shall do no further hurt therein; albeit the delay is too dangerous." leicester apparently knew his royal mistress's character better than did paulet, for the tears induced no change of policy.[ ] [footnote : mary sent a ring to her cousin with this letter; hosack, ii. .] chapter viii further indignities on thursday nd december sir amyas sent for both melville and bourgoing,--an unusual proceeding, especially as hitherto, since his return, melville alone had taken and brought back the messages to the queen. when they were in the presence of sir amyas, he said that as he had something to send to the queen, he thought it expedient to give it to them, declaring he knew not what it contained, but delivered it as he had received it. he then gave them a letter from curle to his sister concerning certain money which the queen had promised him. that curle should have had the "courage," as bourgoing expresses it, to apply to mary in this way, seems to point to the fact that he considered himself innocent in her regard, and throws fresh doubt on the confessions supposed to have been extorted from him and nau. the bags for the queen contained some of her accounts; the seals had been broken, as melville and bourgoing pointed out to paulet, who replied that he had, according to his duty, broken them, that he might be aware of the contents. a letter from nau was among the papers, and a short memorandum which he had made on the papers taken to him, but the chief accounts for the year were missing, nor did they ever reach mary; in spite of much correspondence on the subject between paulet, walsingham, waad, and others, and elizabeth's own apparent wish that they should be restored. at this time paulet was laid up by a cold, and all communications between him and his prisoner had to be conveyed by her attendants. day by day the queen anxiously waited, hoping to see paulet and inquire from him concerning the subjects which were to her of the deepest interest, but his own cold and gout occupied paulet's attention far more than his prisoner's feelings. at last on the th of january, knowing that he had been out the day before, mary sent to beg him to visit her, but paulet still pleaded cold and inability to come. "we," continues bourgoing, who was evidently one of those sent, "according to our charge, said that her majesty, being unable to communicate with him, and having no reply to her letter written nearly three weeks past (to queen elizabeth), and hearing nothing about it, but being always kept in suspense, proposed writing, and that as he seemed to be better in health, her majesty would prepare her letters, so that when he was well he would find them all ready." paulet, appearing a little angry, replied that mary could write and prepare what she liked. the queen therefore wrote once more, and for the last time, to her cousin,--a letter which, as we shall see, paulet this time refused to send at all, and of which the dignified and pathetic contents would have remained unknown had not bourgoing preserved it. it runs as follows, with the exception of one paragraph, which is unintelligible:-- the last letter from queen mary to queen elizabeth.[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] madame--having prepared myself for death, according to what it pleased you to signify to me, thus ridding my enemies of their charge, and that my life may be disposed of according to their designs, i have so willingly made up my mind to leave this false world, that i protest to god and to you, that since i have not aspired to, nor do i desire, any worldly satisfaction save those which, for the discharge of my conscience, i requested through my lord buckhurst and beale, and those that i have asked of you in the last memorandum by my own hand, which depend entirely on your benevolence, and which can offend no one. as regards the petitions and requests i have been in part gratified, namely, the arrival of my chaplain and receiving a portion of my money--but of my papers i have only received certain extracts[ ]--and as i do not think you intend that things belonging to me, or the affairs of my domain, should fall into other hands, as they cannot be of service to you, as they are necessary for the making of my will, i implore you that all my statements, books of accounts, and other papers, which only relate to my private affairs, be returned to me and the rest of the money restored, so that i can put them in order, and leave the examination of them to those in my confidence and the executors of my will, to whom they may be of use after my death, as they will be to me now; that i may be sure of what i have to spend, what i can dispose of, or what i justly owe; not being able, without them, to make use of nau's extracts alone, he being a prisoner, unless i had liberty to communicate with him, or, at the least, by writing to receive information from him concerning several special (points) on which i require to be enlightened. i let messrs. paulet and drue drury know regarding certain points; and as they promised me to write, i have been expecting an answer since the nd of december, on which day they sent me some papers, with a line from my secretary nau. (they), perhaps, not thinking it reasonable to trouble you with my last requests, i fear either that my letter has never been given to you, or that you did not wish to take the trouble to (read) it. the way in which i have been treated has perhaps led (them) to imagine that i meant to beg from you some great grace, and it may even have made them fear that, in the goodness of your heart, this remonstrance would cause you some regrets at consigning one of your own blood, and quality united, to such straits. but, madame, they need not fear such pusillanimity on the one side, and on the other you can remove from them all their dread of your too great sorrow, by telling them of my request; and as it is your intention only to gratify it at my death, the which has been granted them, they cannot blame you if, through a feeling of family duty, or at the least of christian charity, you grant burial for my body. [footnote : _États_, probably papers or accounts relating to her french estates.] by the same, i require of you with instance, madame, in honour of the passion of jesus christ, not to keep me longer in this miserable suspense, which is more cruel than any certainty, but to let me fully know your will, and if it be to grant my prayer, i promise to make one for you at my death for your salvation, and for your prosperity in this world in the grace of god. and if you refuse me, i will endeavour to bear it patiently, thanking you still for leaving me no longer to languish in this miserable condition, of which i wish you knew the truth of the sufferings of my poor servants, who are losing their time and their health. for the rest, if at the hour of my death i should wish to divulge to you some secret, and of which it might be of importance to you that no one should have knowledge, being my last words, i desire to know in whom i may confide, as there are some who might, through habit, speak about it too freely, or refrain from telling it, from some reason of their own. well, then, i pray god grant you as much happiness in this world as i expect in leaving it, through his mercy, which i beg for myself and for all those who persecute me, and this happiness, of being freed from so many miseries by an innocent death; and i desire to forgive any who otherwise calumniate me and mine, if there be any.... and i hope that by my death, which is so much wished for, you and several others will experience what may be of use, and serve to clear up many things in which god may be glorified. i implore his divine majesty that all shall conduce to his honour and to your edification and preservation, and that of this whole island, for the salvation of which i would willingly give my life, nor would refuse to desert it, even were i in a better condition. i am not able to speak willingly of him[ ] in whose service, as of that of our country, i am useless, nor of the special good i wish you, being so near you in blood--seeing that, on the contrary, i serve for a pretext to others who discharge their malice against me and mine for certain reasons, which, as well as my own intentions, i leave to the judgment of the just judge.--your sister and imprisoned cousin, marye. _from my prison of_ fotheringay, _the th of january ._ [footnote : her son. here occur a few lines which, through errors of the copyist, are very unintelligible. see chantelauze, pp. - .] when the letter was written, sir amyas continued to throw every possible hindrance in the way of its transmission. the queen begged him to come to see her, offering to show him her letter and close it in his presence as before; but paulet, "being in bed motionless and with one of his arms bandaged," replied that he could not possibly move, or walk to go to her, that he much regretted it, and would go to her as soon as he could; and so for the next two days the question continued to be discussed by means of messages between the queen and paulet, but in spite of conciliating speeches on the part of the latter, it ended in the letter never being despatched. from the th of january the chronicle becomes more and more interesting, and we shall as far as possible give bourgoing's own words:-- "on friday th january melville went to speak to sir amyas about our supplies and the usual pension, and about a servant and our wages. to which he received fairly courteous replies; (sir amyas) refusing him, however, a servant, but saying that he thought means might be found for sending us our wages. upon this last point we founded our hopes that all was not at extremity. "on saturday st sir amyas sent to fetch mr. melville, mr. bourgoing, and monsieur de préau, at which we were quite astonished, not knowing what it could mean. and this last named (de préau), not wishing to go to him, as he was not in a suitable dress, according to his rank, remained behind until the same melville and bourgoing went to speak to him (paulet), to whom he refused to speak, saying he had nothing to say to them unless de préau should come. from this, still more puzzled, we concluded that it was on account of him alone that we were summoned, fearing among other things that they wished to separate him (from the queen). "m. de préau, therefore, dressed as he was, borrowed a cloak, and when we were all three come to sir amyas, he addressed himself to the said bourgoing, saying he had sent for him specially, as he had something to say to him, as also to the said sirs, melville and de préau, which he wished me to report to her majesty, as he would have done himself could he have gone to her. "sir amyas then continued that he had something to tell them which he knew would be pleasing neither to the queen nor to melville, whom he had always seen to be a faithful servant to his mistress, but that there was no remedy, and he must take it in good part. both he and de préau, said paulet, were to be separated from their mistress for the present; they were not to go into her presence, but were to retire to their own rooms. as de préau was lodged so near the queen as to make it impossible to prevent his going to her, paulet had arranged that he should lodge in one of melville's rooms. they were not to be prisoners, and were to do as they pleased, with the exception of seeing the queen. and when m. melville, protesting the sorrow that this gave him, his only consolation being to be near his mistress, and begging to be permitted to see her and to bid her farewell, sir amyas replied that he could not give him leave, and that it was not necessary; he saw nothing yet which should prevent his returning to her as usual, and that he must be patient for the present. m. de préau, protesting also his regret, said the same. "the said bourgoing then returned to her majesty, and surprised her very much, and also the others, with his tidings, which caused many thoughts and imaginings without any conclusion being arrived at, as there seemed no apparent reason for these proceedings. "the next day the queen sent bourgoing to paulet to say that after his report she would have sent him to inquire the previous day had it not been too late, and that she wished to think over what she had heard. i think (adds bourgoing) that the chief reason was that she feared i would be kept away from her like the others." bourgoing and paulet had a long discussion; the former represented to paulet how strange it appeared to his mistress that she had received no answer to her letter, and that she could not even feel assured that it had reached queen elizabeth, and not only that, but that in this doubt she had prepared another letter, and had not yet heard from sir amyas whether she might send it or not. to this paulet replied that mary's letter had certainly reached queen elizabeth, but that no answer had come. he was not the person to keep a letter back from the queen of scots, and that as regards the second letter which she had written to his mistress, his judgment told him that because he had permission to send one, this did not mean he could forward more. being pressed upon the latter point, paulet repeated that he had not permission to forward letters. bourgoing thus continues: "it was told him in the second place that she (mary) was in great distress to know the cause of her attendants being taken from her, saying that the queen of england had, at her request, sent her priest that she might have the consolation of his presence and his assistance in preparing for death, and that now when he was most necessary to her, he was taken away. there was no one so criminal, she said, but he was allowed a minister of his religion to conduct him to execution, to console and minister to him, and that the only consolations that she still had in her misery and captivity were those of her religion. she regretted infinitely (continued bourgoing) not to be able to perform her devotions as she would wish, to assist at mass, and do her duty as a good christian. queen elizabeth had promised her not to interfere with her in her religion, and yet it was for her religion only that she was persecuted. her priest was in no one's way; he interfered with nothing, devoting himself to his prayers. it would have been better not to have allowed him to return than now to remove him in her greatest need, and she now plainly perceived that they would not be content with afflicting the body but would proceed, were it possible, to destroy not only the body and life itself, but also the soul, which, however, could never be, as she had entire hope in god, that he would be with her in this last trial as he had ever been. she saw that their intention was to take her servants from her one by one, and to remove herself secretly from here to make her die when they wished, or to murder her secretly. "to the first point paulet replied that he did not doubt that the queen (mary) desired to have the priest near her, nor that she was vexed at his absence, but she might assure herself that he was not far off. he was neither in france nor in scotland, nor indeed out of the house, and that he saw no cause for thinking that, when it should be necessary as the queen thought, she should not have him. for the rest, continued he, she was peradventure not so near death as she imagined, and for the present she must be satisfied. when paulet heard, however, of the fear entertained by mary that she would be murdered, or secretly put to death, he fell into a rage, protesting that there was no greater danger of her being thus insulted than there was for bourgoing himself, who had no reason to fear that anything should be attempted against _him_. the latter then pressing the question as to whether there was really no plot of the kind against his mistress, paulet said 'that there was no more danger for her majesty that such a thing should be done to her, than there was for his own wife, his children, or himself, and of this he would dare to swear. that as for him, he was not the man to do, or make others do, such a thing, feeling indeed hurt to be thus suspected; he was a man of honour and a gentleman, and he would not wish so to dishonour himself as to wish to exercise such cruelty or to conduct himself as a turk! people must not think such things of him. when it was suggested to him that the queen did not so much fear him as others who were her enemies, and who would not be unwilling to do her a bad turn if it were to their own advantage, paulet replied that he alone would be responsible for all, and that she might assure herself that nothing of the kind would occur.' in this protest paulet did himself no less than justice, as his after conduct proved; much as he hated his prisoner, she was safe in his hands from assassination. "bourgoing before leaving paulet anxiously inquired for mary, why melville had likewise been separated from her and for what reason. to which paulet's reply was that mr. melville was an honest gentleman, that he was separated from her for no offence against queen elizabeth or for anything in particular, but there were certain reasons which made it necessary. "bourgoing then told paulet that in future his mistress would be afraid to send any one to speak to him, in the fear that he would detain them, one after the other. but paulet assured him that she need have no such fear, and that all her servants were in the house."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, pp. - .] paulet's real sentiments on this occasion may be gathered from a letter to mr. secretary davison, written two days before.[ ] although written from a bed of sickness, he evinces no sympathy for the queen's chronic ill-health, nor does it seem to occur to him that chartley was as unwholesome for his delicate prisoner as for himself, the "naughty waters" there having contributed to aggravate the queen's rheumatism and other ailments. [footnote : see _paulet's letters_, p. .] on the monday ( rd january) melville had an interview with paulet--the first since he had been separated from the others--and spoke in the same sense as his mistress of his separation from her. sir amyas replied very courteously, but declined to give any reason for this decision. he likewise declined to give m. de préau and melville a separate allowance of food, saying that as when they were with the others there was sufficient for all, nothing extra was now needed. all this created much surmise and anxiety among the queen's people, but that same evening a clue was given to the mystery. about five o'clock the fotheringay porter, newrins, came to forbid jehan landet, the queen's butler, to carry the rod before the dishes of meat served to his mistress. (this office had belonged to melville, as master of the household, and had only been exercised by landet since his absence.)[ ] [footnote : this practice had probably been adopted by mary from the french custom. m. de chantelauze quotes the following from a court ceremonial of the reign of louis xiv.: "la viande de sa majeste sera porté en cette ordre, deux des gardes marcheront les premiers, ensuite l'huissier de salle, _le maître d'hôtel avec son bâton_," etc.] "at this," says bourgoing, "her majesty was greatly astonished, and wished at once to send to sir amyas to learn the reason, but he would receive no one, saying that it was too late and that they could speak to him next day, and if it was about the rod being forbidden, it was no use, as if he had remembered when m. melville was taken away, it would have been forbidden then. on the following day the queen sent bourgoing to paulet with a message to say that although she had for a time felt relief from her fear of being secretly put to death, in consequence of the assurances she had received through bourgoing of his good intentions in her regard, the same painful doubt now recurred to her mind. she saw in the new order he had given fresh cause to fear that the last vestiges of her royal dignity were taken from her only in order that such a crime might the more easily be committed. her majesty was surprised," continued bourgoing, "that paulet should take the trouble to forbid so small a thing, which could not possibly do good or harm. he could of course command his own servants, and if he wished, do nothing for her or to honour her, but her majesty was of opinion that he should not forbid her own attendants to do what was according to their duty and to their oath to her, their mistress. "to this sir amyas replied by again protesting that her majesty did herself great wrong, did wrong to the queen and state of england, to the council, and to himself, to think that they wished to undertake anything so unworthy or so insulting as to kill, to poignard, or murder her secretly, or of a sudden, whether by night or day; that he felt heart-broken to think he was supposed capable of committing such butchery, or of permitting such. 'the queen is a woman of great talent and intelligence,' continued paulet, 'and of experience in many things, and i am surprised that she should torment herself about this; she knows well that her priest, her steward, her dais, have all been taken away, and now she is disturbed for a trifle, because a rod which was borne before her food is taken away; she does harm to herself, being an attainted, convicted, and a condemned woman.'" bourgoing replied that she thought she had reason to be displeased, precisely because they showed ill-will in so small a matter, and for a trifle; she remembered that the same was done to king richard, who was degraded from all honour and state, or at least of all signs of either, and then he was suddenly put to death, murdered in a moment. she feared the same would be done to her. once more sir amyas flew into a rage, saying such words were not good to hear, and that such messages ought not to be sent to him, and accusing bourgoing of himself inventing the message. bourgoing assured him that he only repeated the queen's words, and after a little further discussion they separated. on friday rd february melville begged for an interview with paulet, but the latter would not see him, and to all his messages of inquiry to know why he was separated from his mistress, and what he had done to deserve this, the same answer was returned,--melville had done nothing blameworthy, but things must be as they were, and he must have patience. mary was more suffering in health during this time, and on the saturday bourgoing was sent to ask paulet to allow him to search for some herbal remedies in the gardens of the neighbouring village. "her majesty," says bourgoing, "sent the said bourgoing to inform sir amyas of the indisposition, and to pray that he might be allowed to go out to gather herbs in some of the gardens of the gentlemen of the village to make a special remedy. he made a great point of this, but sir amyas said he should have everything he liked to ask for, if he would write it down, and being still pressed by bourgoing to let him go himself, sir amyas replied that he could not be responsible alone for this, he must consult with his comrade sir drue drury, and in the course of monday he should have an answer. i pressed sir amyas," continues the faithful physician, "not to delay so long, as her majesty was already indisposed and quite crippled, i feared she should become seriously ill, as had often been the case before, the more especially as she had so few attendants with her to nurse and care for her, and for these reasons it was necessary for her to begin to use the remedies next day."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, pp. - .] on hearing this paulet changed his mind, and as soon as bourgoing left him, sent word that he might go out, although it was against his judgment. it is to be feared that this act of clemency was not due to mere benevolence on paulet's part. a contemporary author thus comments on the fact: "this wretched traitor was expecting the warrant of execution, and knew no remedy would be needed, but to cause less suspicion he permitted on that day what had of late been forbidden."[ ] [footnote : _la mort de la royne d'escosse_, paris, ; _ap._ jebb, ii. .] the same thought, doubtless, occurred to the queen; for we read that on the next day, sunday, when she was asked if she would continue the remedies, she, having heard of the arrival of beale, replied that peradventure no more would be required, and that it was useless for her to take medicines if she was to die. everything, indeed, now betokened the near approach of the final tragedy; nor were other signs wanting, such as impress the popular imagination.[ ] "on the th january, which was a sunday," writes another contemporary, "between midnight and one o'clock there appeared in the heavens a great flame of fire, which of a sudden illumined the window of the queen's room, and gave a great light; it returned three times to the same place, and was seen in no other part of the said castle. this light was so bright that one could easily have read or written by it,--a thing which greatly astonished and alarmed the guards who were appointed to watch under that window, as they have all deposed."[ ] [footnote : _la mort de la royne d'escosse_, paris, ; _ap._ jebb, ii. .] [footnote : teulet, v. .] we must now leave the prisoner, to consider the cruel and, to her own courtiers, the most perplexing conduct of elizabeth, as the moment approached when she saw herself forced to come to a final decision. chapter ix the death warrant the warrant for the execution of the queen of scots was still unsigned, and elizabeth remained a prey to indecision. throughout the country every kind of possible and impossible rumour was afloat. philip of spain, it was said, was preparing a vast armament at lisbon for the invasion of england. the prince of parma was expected to rescue the queen of scots, and even to carry off elizabeth herself. the duke of guise was reported to have actually landed in sussex, and the scotch, it was declared, had marched across the border. these and many other wild stories served to inflame public opinion. at last one report, more credible than the rest, averred that paulet had put mary to death. "god grant this is true," writes one of walsingham's agents, "for she has lived too long; good protestants blame the queen for waiting so long, for god commanded that rulers should govern with great severity."[ ] [footnote : brit. mus. harley ms., , no. .] what paulet's views were of the agitation in general, and of this story, we learn by the following letter to davison under date of th january:-- 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[ ] 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.[ ] [footnote : hinder.] [footnote : _letter books_, p. .] 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 to herself 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[ ] 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. [footnote : see appendix, p. --"the queen of scots."] the unsigned warrant remained meanwhile in davison's charge. on the st of february, the court being then at greenwich, lord howard (lord high admiral) sent for 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 might attach 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."[ ] 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 to take 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?" [footnote : hosack, ii. . chantelauze, pp. - . davison's defence. _life of davison_, by sir henry nicolas, etc.] "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.[ ] [footnote : paulet's _letter books_, p. .] 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 your hands, 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. _at_ london, _ st february ._ 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 rd 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.[ ] [footnote : paulet's _letter books_, p. .] (a copy of a letter to sir francis walsingham, of the nd of february , at six in the afternoon, being the answer to a letter from him, the said sir francis, of the st of february , received at fotheringay the nd 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. _from_ fotheringay, _ nd february ._ 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 rd 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.[ ] [footnote : " feb. davison sent word to r.b. (robert beale) at o'clock at night to meet him at walsin'm's house next morning. " r.b. went, and w'm. shewed him the com. signed, and that he had been appointed to carry it down. at a later time r.b. said unto sir ch. hatton and sec. davison that he doubted not but that h.m. was resolved that the execution should be done, and the answer was that he needed not to doubt thereof, seeing the commission under her hand and the great seal of eng., but that she would rather be therewith well pleased."--yelverton mss., f. --report by mr. henry talbot, third son of earl of shrewsbury.] 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,[ ] 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 to the 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."[ ] [footnote : "davison and r.b. on their arrival had a meeting with these,--the treasurer, e. of derby, e. of leicester, lds. cobham, hunsden, chamberlain, vice-chamberlain, and wolley."--yelverton mss., f. --talbot's report.] [footnote : no officer of the chancery knew of the sealing of the commission save the chancellor and davison.--yelverton mss., f. .] paulet's letter reached london on th 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, remarked that "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.[ ] [footnote : see chantelauze, pp. - .] as soon as beale had received the warrant he started for fotheringay.[ ] yet the question of the manner of mary'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."[ ] 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 edward ii. and richard ii., it was not thought convenient or safe to proceed covertly but openly, according to the statute."[ ] [footnote : "to divert attention from r.b. leaving london, a commission was given to him to go into herts, bedf., etc., to hear hues and cries."--yelverton mss., f. .] [footnote : report sent up by mr. henry talbot, third son of earl of shrewsbury. yelverton mss., f. .] [footnote : yelverton mss. , f. . see queen mary's words at chap. viii. p. .] 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 £ 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."[ ] 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"[ ] (signed london, rd february). [footnote : mss. folio , yelverton; lord calthorpe. note in beale's hand.] [footnote : mss. folio . lord walsingham to paulet by digby, rd february.] after informing the earl of kent of his duty on the way, beale had reached fotheringay on sunday evening, th 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.[ ] [footnote : beale's note continues thus: "wherefore the speech delivered to the sc. queen the day before her death was, that the earls had a message to deliver unto her from h. mty., which she should understand by the commission under h. mty's. hand and great seal openly shewed and read. and for that purpose the commission was also openly read upon the scaffold, and divers gentlemen's hands taken unto a declaration of the manner of her execution, the original wherof remaineth with the e. of shrewsbury."] chapter x the last day on earth "on tuesday the th 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."[ ] [footnote : walsingham wrote to paulet to this effect: "this will be brought by beale along with the commission for the execution of your charge. r.b. cannot well arrive before monday at a.m. it is thought well that the two earls should in some place meet unto you and have some conference touching the form of the exc'n. you may do well to think of some convenient place for the purpose. i send you a letter to the sheriff from my lords unsealed, to the end you may see what colour is used for his employment." walsingham's memorial, see appendix, p. .] 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 with her 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,[ ] 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."[ ] [footnote : _la mort de la royne_, _ap._ jebb, ii. .] [footnote : according to m. kervyn de lettenhove (_marie stuart_, ii. ) shrewsbury expressed himself with more sympathy, and with a return of his former friendliness for the queen. "madame," said he, "i would have greatly desired that another than i should announce to you such sad intelligence as that which i now bring on the part of the queen of england, but he and i being both faithful servants, i could but obey the commandment she gave me. it is to admonish you to prepare yourself to undergo the sentence of death pronounced against you."] other writers give us a few more details which here supplement bourgoing's narrative.[ ] 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.[ ] "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 continual affliction. 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 eighteen years, 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?'" [footnote : chantelauze, p. ; _la mort_, p. , where the document is given at length.] [footnote : "she seemed not to be in any terror, for ought that appered by any of hir outward gesture or behaviour (other than marvelling shee should die), but rather with smiling cheer and pleasing countenance digested and accepted the sayde admonition of preparation to hir (as she sayde) unexpected execution: saying that hir death should be welcome unto hir, seeing hir majestie was so resolved, and that that soule were too too far unworthye the fruition of the joyes of heaven for ever, whose bodye would not in this world be content to endure the stroake of the executioner for a moment. and that spoken, shee wept bitterlye and became silent."--"execution of mary queen of scots," r. wingfield, _clarendon hist. soc._] 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 to remain 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 and constant, 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,[ ] 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. [footnote : m. chantelauze, p. .] "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 i have 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."[ ] 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. [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] 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."[ ] [footnote : _la mort de la royne_, p. ; chantelauze, p. .] "i was far," exclaimed mary, "from thinking myself worthy of such a death, and i humbly receive it as a token of my admission among the elect servants of god."[ ] 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." [footnote : miss strickland, vii. ; see kervyn de lettenhove, ii. .] the queen asked when she was to die. "tomorrow morning at eight o'clock,"[ ] 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 lie beside her royal husband's in st. denis, or at least by her mother in the church of st. peter at rheims. [footnote : jebb, _ibid._; chantelauze, p. .] 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. it was 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";[ ] and having bowed to the queen, he retired with the other commissioners. [footnote : see chantelauze, pp. , ; _la mort_, p. .] 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 in order. 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."[ ] [footnote : _la mort de la royne d'escosse_, jebb, ii. .] 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 little purses, with a paper on which the name of each of her servants was written in her own hand.[ ] [footnote : _la mort de la royne d'escosse_, jebb, ii. .] 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."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] "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.[ ] [footnote : some of the facts of bourgoing's narrative of the last days were communicated by him to the anonymous author of the _mort de la royne d'escosse_, and to blackwood. see jebb, ii.] 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,[ ] 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.[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] [footnote : _la mort de la royne d'escosse_, jebb, ii. ; blackwood, jebb, ii. p. .] seated in an arm-chair, with an inventory in her hand, the queen now examined the contents of her wardrobe,[ ] 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.[ ] 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:-- [footnote : "elle annonça l'intention de descendre dans sa garde-robe pour leur en faire le partage; mais bourgoing lui representa qu'elle recontrerait les gardes, placés aux pied de l'escalier."--k. de lettenhove, ii. .] [footnote : among these last gifts bourgoing received "two rings, two small silver boxes, the queen's two lutes, her music-book bound in velvet, and the red hangings of her bed." while among those given to elizabeth curle we find mentioned a gold and enamelled tablet containing portraits of the queen, her husband (francis ii.), and her son. this portrait, it seems probable, was the original of the picture of mary afterwards placed in the church of st. andrew in antwerp.] to prÉau.[ ] [footnote : the original french in labanoff, vi. ; and in blackwood, _ap._ jebb, ii. .] no date (_ th february _). 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 the gravity 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,[ ] 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. [footnote : melville.] 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.[ ] [footnote : this will was preserved for long at the scotch college in paris. it bore the traces of the tears shed by the queen as she wrote it.--strickland, vii. ; see also blackwood, p. .] 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. letter to henry iii., king of france.[ ] [footnote : labanoff, vi. .] monsieur, my brother-in-law--it is now almost twenty years since i--by god's permission, and for my sins, as i think--came to throw myself upon the mercy of this queen, my cousin, where i have had many trials; and now at last i am condemned to death by her and her government. i have asked for my papers--which were taken by them--in order to make my will, but i have obtained nothing that can be of use to me, nor have i permission to make another will; and they have even refused the desire i expressed that my body should, after my death, be removed to your kingdom, where i, your sister and former ally, had the honour to be queen. to-day after dinner it was announced to me that to-morrow, without fail, i must die like a criminal, at seven[ ] o'clock of the morning. [footnote : the copies of this letter here differ, some reading seven, some eight o'clock.] i have not had leisure to write a long account of all that took place, but if you will please to believe my physician and those others my sorrowful servants, you will know the truth, and that, thanks be to god, i despise death, and faithfully protest that i suffer it innocent of all crime, even were i their subject, which i can never be. the catholic faith and the maintenance of the right which god has given me to this throne, these are the two points of my condemnation; and yet they will not allow me to say that i die for the catholic faith, but say that i die because i am dangerous to their religion, and the proof of this is that they have taken my chaplain from me. although he is in the house, i cannot obtain leave for him to hear my confession, nor give me holy communion at the hour of my death; but they made great efforts that i should receive consolation and religious instruction from their minister brought here for the purpose. the bearer of this and his companions--chiefly subjects of yours--will testify to you of my deportment at this the last scene of my life. it remains only for me to implore you, as most christian king, my brother-in-law, friend and ally, who have done me so much honour as to love me and protest of your affection, that under this blow you show proof of your virtue in these matters by charitably aiding me in that which it is impossible for me to do without your assistance, namely, to reward my desolate attendants by giving them their salaries, and by having prayer made to god for a queen who has been called very-christian, and who dies a catholic and destitute of all means. regarding my son, i commend him to you inasmuch as he shall merit it, as i cannot answer for him; for my servants i beg your help with clasped hands. i venture to send you two rare stones, valuable for health, the which i desire you to have in perfection, as also i wish you a long and happy life. you will receive them as from your very affectionate sister-in-law, who in dying desires to show her affection for you. i will again recommend my servants to you in a memoranda, and you will command, if you please, that my soul shall benefit by a portion of that which you owe me, in honour of jesus christ, to whom i will pray for you to-morrow at my death. i beg you to grant sufficient to found an obit, and to make the desired alms.--this wednesday, at two hours after midnight.--your very affectionate good sister, marie. when this, her last letter, was written, the queen made a short memorandum to recommend once more her attendants to henry iii. she begged him to take bourgoing as his doctor, and "to believe all he should tell him." having now set all her affairs in order, mary told her attendants that "she wished to think no more of worldly matters, but desired to employ the little time she had to live for the things of eternity." it was now two o'clock in the morning. in order to imitate our lord, and to prepare for her last journey, the queen had her feet washed. then, overcome with fatigue, she lay down on her bed without undressing, while her women, who had already arrayed themselves in mourning garments to mark their grief, watched and prayed around her.[ ] it was the queen's custom to have some pages of the lives of the saints read to her every evening. this night she desired jane kennedy to look for the life of some saint who had once been a great sinner. she stopped her at the life of the good thief, saying humbly, "in truth he was a great sinner, but not so great as i have been. i wish to take him for my patron for the time that remains to me. may my saviour, in memory of his passion, remember me and have mercy on me, as he had of him at the hour of his death." [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] it presently occurred to the queen that a handkerchief would be required to bandage her eyes. she told one of her women to bring her a very fine and beautiful one, edged with gold embroidery, and carefully put it aside for the occasion. for some hours the queen rested on her bed. she lay immovable, with closed eyes and hands crossed on her breast, but she did not sleep. her attendants perceived, by the movement of her lips and an occasional peaceful smile, that she was praying, and all absorbed in the thought of the life to come. as jane kennedy expressed it, she seemed to be "laughing with the angels." outside the queen's room sinister noises disturbed the silence of the night. from the great hall came ominous sounds of hammering, and in the intervals of silence the measured tramp of the troops posted round the castle could be distinguished. thus passed the dreary night, full of anguish to the watchers, but spent in a holy calm and peace by the royal victim herself. chapter xi the end "he is not worthy of the joys of heaven whose body cannot suffer the stroke of the executioner."--queen mary to kent, camden, p. . it was tuesday morning, the th of february. when the queen heard six o'clock strike she called her women to her, reminding them that she had but two hours to live.[ ] then rising, she dressed herself with unusual care and magnificence, as in preparation for some great and solemn occasion. her robes--the only ones she had reserved of former splendours--were such as were then worn by queens-dowager. the skirt and bodice of black satin were worn over a petticoat of russet-brown velvet; while the long regal mantle, also of black satin, embroidered with gold and trimmed with fur, had long hanging sleeves and a train. the queen's head-dress was of white crape, from which fell a long veil of the same delicate material, edged with lace. round her neck she wore a chain of scented beads with a cross, and at her waist a golden rosary. [footnote : the details respecting the last hours of the life of queen mary are derived chiefly from two original narratives, both of which are printed in the second volume of jebb. they are the following: ( ) blackwood, adam, _martyre de marie stuart_, paris, , jebb, p. ; ( ) _la mort de la royne d'escosse_, , _ibid._ p. . the information which they contain has been carefully used by hosack, chantelauze, bourgoing, and kervyn de lettenhove, thereby rendering unnecessary further references to the several authorities given by jebb.] [illustration: contemporary drawing of the execution of mary queen of scots at fotheringay. from the calthorpe ms.] [illustration: list of names, in beale's handwriting, of those present at the execution. accompanying the calthorpe drawing.] while mary dressed she gave orders that all her household should assemble. when this was done, bourgoing, by her desire, read her will aloud, after which she signed it, and gave it to him to deliver to the duke of guise, entrusting him at the same time with her "principal notes and papers" and her gifts to the king and queen of france; then sending for the casket containing her money, mary distributed the little purses she had prepared the evening before, and put aside a sum of écus for the poor, which was afterwards given to m. de préau to distribute. to each of her male attendants the queen also gave two rose nobles to be given to the poor, _à son intention_, nor were the immediate wants of the little band of followers forgotten, for the queen gave écus to bourgoing to help to defray the journey to france. the whole sum at mary's disposal for her last donations did not exceed écus. when all was arranged the queen took farewell of her people, exhorting and consoling them, once more embracing the women and giving her hand to be kissed by the men. "my dear friends," she said, "i regret infinitely that i have not been able to show my gratitude to you in deed, as i should have wished, for the good and faithful services you have rendered me in my need.... i beg you all to assist at my death, and to testify to my unalterable devotion to my religion. be the witnesses of my last acts and my last words. i could not find any more faithful." the queen now passed into the ante-chamber, which was arranged as an oratory; and kneeling before the altar, "where mass was said secretly before her chaplain was taken from her," she remained for a long time in prayer, surrounded by her attendants, praying and weeping together. at length bourgoing, seeing her extreme paleness and fearing for her strength, as he knew she was unable to kneel for any long time, assisted the queen to rise, and brought her a little bread and wine, which she accepted willingly, thanking him by a smile for his care in bringing her her last repast. she had hardly resumed her prayers when a loud knocking was heard at the door. it was locked inside, and the messenger, raising his voice, announced that the lords were waiting. mary, without rising, and the door remaining closed, desired her attendants to ask for a few moments' delay, that she might finish her devotions. as eight o'clock had already struck, which was the latest hour they had assigned, the commissioners feared that the queen meant to offer resistance, and ordered paulet's soldiers to break open the door and to bring her by force, if at a fresh summons she refused to appear; but the queen had no such thought. calm and ready for her sacrifice, she waited in prayer for the final summons. at the second knock the door opened, and the sheriff, bearing his white wand, entered alone. when he perceived mary kneeling before the altar, surrounded by her household and wrapt in prayer, he was silent from surprise and perhaps emotion, and after a moment's pause could only murmur, "madame, the lords have sent me to you." "yes, let us go," replied the queen in a firm voice, turning towards him. bourgoing, while he supported her under the arms to help her to rise, asked her whether she wished him to give her the ivory crucifix from the altar. "you have given me great pleasure by reminding me," she replied. "it was my intention." she took the cross in her hands, kissed it with fervour, and gave it to annibal stuart, her groom of the chamber (_valet de chambre_), to carry before her. then, assisted by bourgoing and preceded by the sheriff, she proceeded. before she passed the threshold, however, bourgoing, impelled by a feeling of delicacy and affection with which we can sympathise, told her that neither he nor any of her other attendants could bear to offer her their arm to deliver her to her executioners; the only consolation that remained to them, he said, would be to follow her to assist her to her last breath. "you are right," returned mary; and addressing the sheriff, she added, "my servants do not wish to lead me to death. i cannot walk without help; let me be a little assisted." two of paulet's soldiers came and supported her, and the sad procession moved on, mary's weeping attendants walking, some in front, some behind. at the door the queen's followers were stopped, however, and forbidden to follow her farther. "then these insist, and pleaded strongly to accompany her. all, even the women, had it been possible, would have used force, declaring that it was not permissible that they should take her away without any one being with her; it was not the custom for princesses to go thus alone, asking what they wanted to do with her now, who for nineteen years had not left her in any place whatsoever without some one to assist her; that it was not seemly to make her die without having her servants present as witnesses to her actions, or they must suppose that they wished to execute some unworthy cruelty which they wished to conceal.... "in all this bourgoing did not spare himself, thinking he had more credit than the others," etc. but it was all in vain; they were forced back with menaces into the queen's apartments. mary said nothing, but that they did her wrong in preventing her servants from assisting at her death, and this as gently as possible. then taking the crucifix from annibal, and the gold broidered handkerchief which she had had prepared the night before, the queen took farewell of her poor servants, whose grief was heartbreaking. "they took leave of her with cries and lamentations, some kissing her hands, some her feet, while others kissed her dress, and she, embracing them, was taken away all alone." supported by paulet's guards, the queen descended the great staircase. on the first landing the lords kent and shrewsbury were waiting for her. they were struck with the perfect tranquillity and noble demeanour with which she walked to meet her death. at the bottom of the staircase her faithful master of the household, melville, who had now been separated from her for three weeks, was permitted to approach. as soon as he saw his mistress he fell at her feet to receive her last instructions, and in accents of profoundest despair told her "how much such a leave-taking was difficult for him to bear, as he had to endure such a sight after having been so long separated from her." "as thou hast always been a good and faithful servant to me," replied mary, "so i beg thee to continue in these same sentiments towards my son.[ ] i die with the regret of not having been able to acquit myself towards thee, but to him is reserved the joy of recompensing thee. tell him to keep me in memory, and report to him faithfully what thou shalt have seen of his mother's last moments. i have not attacked his religion any more than that of others, and i wish him all prosperity. as i pardon all in scotland who have offended me, so would i wish that they would pardon me. may god enlighten my son, and send him his holy spirit." [footnote : she "charged him as he would answer before god, to deliver her speeches and messages to her son in such sort as she did speak them, all which tended to will him to govern wisely in the fear of god, to take heed to whom he betook his chiefest trust, and not to be an occasion to be evil thought of by the queen of england, her good sister."--mss. cal. b. v. f. b.] melville, overcome with grief, exclaimed, "madame, it will be the sorrowfullest message that ever i carried when i shall report that my queen and mistress is dead."[ ] [footnote : "'ah, madame, unhappy me, what man on earth was ever before the messenger of so important sorrow and heaviness as i shall be, when i shall reporte that my good and gracious queen and mistress is behedded in england?' this sayde, tears prevented him of any further speaking; whereupon the sayde queen, powring forth hir dying tears, thus answered him," etc. etc.--"account of the execution by robert wyngfield" (clarendon hist. soc.)] "not so," rejoined mary. "to-day, good melville, thou seest the end of mary stuart's miseries, that should rejoice thee. thou knowest that the world is but vanity and misery. be the bearer of this news, that i die a catholic, firm in my religion, a faithful scotchwoman and a true frenchwoman. god forgive those who have sought my death. he who is the true judge of the secret thoughts and actions of men, knows what their intentions have been, and that i have always desired to see england and scotland happily united. commend me to the king my son,[ ] and tell him that i have done nothing that could prejudice his kingdom of scotland or the dignity of sovereign princes, nor anything which could derogate from our prerogatives and superiority. take him my blessing." at these words she made the sign of the cross, as if to bless her son. [footnote : "but commend me to my son once again, and tell him that i have not done anything that can be prejudicial to his state, and say unto him from me that he trust not too much to practices and policies, for practices and policies will have an end."--see ashmole mss., appendix, p. .] "the hour has struck," interrupted one of the commissioners. the queen embraced melville, who had remained all the time on his knees, saying, "and thus adieu, good melville, till we meet in the next world;--and pray to god for me," she added as she moved on, making an effort to restrain her tears. the contemporary accounts of this scene all note that mary addressed melville with the familiar "thou," "in which it is to be remarked," says blackwood, "that the queen never had used this term 'thou' to any one, whoever he might be." at this moment william fitzwilliam, the castellan of fotheringay, advanced and respectfully kissed mary's hand. we have before referred to the gratitude felt by the queen for this gentleman's courtesy and sympathy,--a gratitude which she evinced by making him a small present before her death. the queen, addressing kent and shrewsbury, earnestly begged them to intercede with queen elizabeth on behalf of her secretary curle, "and for certayne monye to be paid to him," and also to permit her servants to assist at her death, so that they might bear witness that she persevered in her faith to her last breath.[ ] to her first request they returned no answer, but after conferring together regarding the second, they asked mary which of her people she wished to be with her, limiting the number to five or six. she mentioned melville, bourgoing, pierre gorion, jacque gervais, didier; and of her women elizabeth curle and jane kennedy. [footnote : "the true report of the death of that rare and princely martyr mary stuardo," etc.--_mary queen of scots_, vol. xxi. no. . "being come into the hall, she stayed, and with a smiling countenance asked shrewsbury why none of her own servants were suffered to be present at her death. he answered that the queen his mistress had so commanded. "and that all her poor servants might enjoy that quietly which by her will and testament she had given them. and lastly, that they might be well entreated and sent home safely and honestly into their own country. and to this i do conjure you my lords to do."--see tanner mss., appendix, p. .] to the men no objection was raised, but the lords absolutely refused to allow the women to enter the hall, declaring that their cries and lamentations would be an occasion of trouble and scandal, as no doubt they would wish to dip their handkerchiefs in the queen's blood. "alas! poor souls," replied the queen, "they will do none of the things you fear, my lords; i promise you that in their name. no, your queen, who is a maiden queen, cannot have given this cruel order to refuse to the women of another queen the consolation of assisting at her death. assuredly you would not wish to refuse me such a just request. my dear women only ask one boon--that of being present at my last moments." as mary uttered these words she was observed to weep, the first tears she had shed since the reading of the warrant of execution. kent and shrewsbury still hesitated. "do you then forget," exclaimed the queen, with noble indignation, "that i am cousin to your queen, that i am of the blood royal of henry vii., that i am queen-dowager of france, and anointed queen of scotland?"[ ] [footnote : account of mary's execution in a letter to burleigh-ellis, nd series, p. .] vanquished by this appeal, the commissioners permitted that jane kennedy and elizabeth curle, the two women designated by mary, should accompany her.[ ] [footnote : "the above named were sent for, who were, together with the others, in prayer, and at their arrival thought she was dead, but being descended into the hall, found that they were only commencing to read her sentence. "who coming into the hall and seeing the place of execution prepared and their sovereign mistress expecting death, they began to cry out in most woful and pitiful sort. wherewith she held up her hands, willing them for her sake to forbear and be silent. 'for,' quoth she, 'i have passed my word to these lords that you shall be quiet and not offend them.' and presently there appeared in them a wonderful show of subjection and loyal obedience, as to their natural prince, whom even at the instant of death they honoured with all reverence and duty. for though their breasts were seen to rise and swell as if their wounded hearts would burst in sunder, yet did they (to their double grief) forbear outward plaints to accomplish her pleasure."--contemporary mss.] the procession now moved on and entered the hall; the sheriff and his escort leading the way, followed by paulet, drury, beale, and the two earls. the queen followed, attended by bourgoing and her other servants, melville carrying her train. the great hall of the castle was hung entirely with black. at the upper end of the apartment, near the large gothic fireplace, "in which was a great fire,"[ ] stood the scaffold, which was raised about two feet from the ground, and measured about twelve feet square. it was covered with black serge, as were the stool and cushion prepared for the queen, and surrounded on three sides by a balustrade, made low enough to allow the spectators to see all that passed. at the fourth side, towards the end of the hall, the scaffold was approached by two steps. the block, made of oak and covered also with black, was placed near the chimney-piece. by it stood the executioner and his assistant, both in long black velvet gowns, with white aprons, and both wearing black masks. the executioner bore a large axe mounted with a short handle, "like those with which they cut wood."[ ] in front of the block chairs were placed for my lords kent and shrewsbury. two other chairs, placed higher up the room, outside the balustrade, awaited paulet and drury. round the scaffold was stationed a guard of halberdiers, the men of huntingdon.[ ] among the spectators who alone were permitted to enter the hall might be observed lord montague, his eldest son, and robert tyrell. a large crowd surrounded the castle, kept in order by a troop of horsemen which had arrived the preceding night. [footnote : contemporary mss., f. b.] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] [footnote : these details regarding the scaffold are taken chiefly from the valuable drawing of the execution found among beale's papers.--yelverton mss.] the queen had now reached the threshold of the hall.[ ] when she perceived the scaffold she elevated the crucifix which she carried above her head, and undismayed by the terrible scene before her, advanced with great dignity.[ ] arrived at the scaffold, mary, unable to ascend the steps without assistance, accepted paulet's arm, saying gently, "thanks for your courtesy, sir amyas; this will be the last trouble i shall give you, and the most agreeable service you have ever rendered me." mary seated herself on the stool covered with black prepared for her with her usual grace and majesty, shrewsbury and kent standing on each side of her, the sheriff in front. she made the sign of the cross, then addressing elizabeth's officers, she begged them of their good pleasure to bring her chaplain to her, in order that she might console herself in god, and receive from him some admonitions with his last blessing; the which was absolutely refused her. beale now ascended the scaffold and read aloud the royal commission for the execution.[ ] the queen appeared to be listening attentively, but those near her observed, by the expression of her countenance, that her thoughts had left the things of this world and were occupied with those of heaven. at the conclusion of the sentence the hall rang with a loud "god save the queen." mary, unmoved by this demonstration, made the sign of the cross.[ ] shrewsbury, turning to her, said, "madame, you hear what we are commanded to do." [footnote : "from the moment of her arrival in the hall until she received the blow of the axe, no change was perceptible in her countenance, but, on the contrary, overcoming her suffering by her natural fortitude, her speech was always assured, and her mode of action was exceeding tranquil."--mss. report of execution (teulet, iv. ).] [footnote : in order probably to divert the attention of the crowd, and perhaps as an insult to the queen, the musicians placed in the courtyard played as she entered the hall a mournful dirge, an air commonly played at the execution of witches. the mss. of this music was discovered some years ago at oxford, and is now published.] [footnote : "during the reading of which commission the queen of scots was silent, listening unto it with as small regard as if it had not concerned her at all, and with as cheerfull countenance as if it had been a pardon from her majesty for her life, using as much strangeness in word and deed as if she had never known any of the assembly, or had been ignorant of the english language."--see tanner mss., appendix, p. .] [footnote : conn says that at the conclusion of the reading the queen, looking at her crucifix, was heard to say, "judica me, deus, et discerne causam meam."] "do your duty," mary answered simply. she again made the sign of the cross, and looking at the assembly "with a joyous countenance, her beauty more apparent than ever, a bright colour in her face," she made a speech, of which her servants recorded the sense at least, if not the text. "my lords," said mary, "i was born a queen, a sovereign princess, not subject to laws, a near relative of the queen of england and her legitimate heir. after having been long and wrongfully imprisoned in this country, where i have endured many pains and evils, no one having any right or power over me, i am now, through force, and being in men's power, about to close my life. i thank my god that he has permitted that in this hour i die for my religion, and that he has given me this grace that before dying i have been brought before a company who will be witness that i die catholic. as to the crime which they have fixed upon me--the death of the queen--i never suggested it, nor consented to it, nor to anything against her person. i have always loved her, and the country also. i have offered myself, under many good and most honourable conditions, to bring to an end the troubles of this kingdom and my deliverance from captivity, but i was neither heard nor believed. you, my lords, and you, beale, know this. at last my enemies have come to the end of their designs to make me die; however, i forgive them with a good heart, as i do all those who have done or attempted anything against me; and each one, whoever he may be, who may have offended me, or done me harm, as i beg all to be so good as to forgive me. after my death it will be known and seen to what end those who are the authors of my being sent from this world have desired and procured my death. i accuse no one any more than i have done previously; my tongue shall do harm to no one."[ ] [footnote : chantelauze, p. . this speech was communicated by bourgoing to the anonymous author of _la mort de la royne d'escosse_, jebb, ii.] the dean of peterborough, dr. fletcher, now advanced, and placing himself in front of the queen, made her a profound reverence, and said that he had come to her by his mistress's command in order to prepare her for death. "peace, mr. dean," replied mary gently, "i have nothing to do with you; i do not wish to hear you; you can be silent if you please, and go from hence."[ ] and as he began again to exhort her, mary said resolutely, "you gain nothing; i will not listen to you; be silent, please," and turned her back upon him. fletcher, however, continued to insist, placing himself again before her and exhorting her to repent "of her crimes," till shrewsbury, shocked, bade him be silent and begin to pray. [footnote : "mr. dean, mr. dean, trouble me not; i am settled and persuaded in the catholick roman faith, and mind to spend my blood in defence of it."--see ashmole mss., appendix, p. .] kent, observing that mary often made the sign of the cross with the crucifix she held in her hand, rudely exclaimed, "madame, what does it avail you to hold in your hands this vain image of christ if you do not bear him in your heart?" "how is it possible," returned the queen gently, "to have such an image in one's hands without the heart being profoundly touched by it? nothing is more suitable for a christian about to die than to bear in his arms the true mark of his redemption." shrewsbury now proposed that as the queen would not listen to the dean's exhortation, they should all pray for her in common. "i thank you, my lords," said mary, "but i cannot pray with you, because we are not of the same religion. pray if you wish, i will pray also."[ ] fletcher now commenced to pray in english that god would grant repentance to mary; that he would bless queen elizabeth in granting her a long life, victory over her enemies, and the triumph of the protestant religion. this prayer was repeated in chorus by the assembly. [footnote : brantôme.] meanwhile the queen prayed aloud in latin, repeating some of the penitential psalms. the "miserere," "in te domine-speravi," "qui habitat in adjutorio," etc.[ ] [footnote : "she slided off her stool, and kneeling, said divers latin prayers."--see tanner mss., appendix, p. .] when the dean had finished his prayer there was a deep silence. mary continued to pray aloud, but now in english, often striking her breast with her crucifix and kissing it with great devotion.[ ] with hands clasped and eyes raised to heaven, she prayed thus: "send me your holy spirit, lord, that at the hour of my death he may enlighten me and enable me to understand the mystery of your passion, so that i may persevere in your faith till my last breath, and that i may bear with patience the torment inflicted in my person on the catholic church. grant, lord," continued mary with great fervour, "that my death may ensure the peace and union of all christendom, peace between christian princes, the conversion of england to the true faith, the perseverance of catholics in their creed and their constancy in martyrdom." [footnote : "whenever she wished to express any vehement passion of her soul in these prayers, every one wept and wailed, seeing her strike her breast with her crucifix of ivory, and this she did very frequently."--contemporary mss., report of execution.] mary also prayed for the pope and pastors of the church, and for all her enemies, "that he would pardon them as she did;"[ ] for queen elizabeth, "that it would please him to give her his blessing, so that she might worship him in the truth;"[ ] and for her son's conversion to the catholic faith. she declared that she hoped to be saved in, and by, the blood of christ, at the foot of whose crucifix she would shed her blood,[ ] and lovingly confided herself to the protection of the blessed virgin and all the saints, invoking in particular st. peter, and st. andrew, the patron of scotland. when her prayer was finished the queen once more kissed the crucifix, and looking upon it with an expression of love and immense confidence, she exclaimed, "as thy arms, my god, were extended on a cross, so receive me into the arms of thy mercy. extend to me thy mercy, and pardon me all my sins." "then turning herself towards the side on which her attendants were, she asked them in like manner to pray her saviour to condescend to receive her, and forthwith she embraced them with great fortitude ... kissing her cross without ceasing." the queen now rose and reseated herself.[ ] kent and shrewsbury approached, and asked her if she had no secret matter to reveal to them, but she replied that she had said enough, and was not disposed to say more. then seeing that the time had come, without being asked, she rose and prepared herself calmly and cheerfully for death.[ ] the executioner, his face hidden by his black mask, advanced to remove her dress, but the queen gently moved him aside with her hand, saying smilingly, "let me do this; i understand this business better than you; i never had such a groom of the chamber."[ ] she took out the pins of her head-dress, and calling jane kennedy and elizabeth curle, who were praying at the foot of the scaffold, she began, with their assistance, to disrobe, observing that she was not accustomed to do so before so many. the poor women, unable to restrain their emotion, wept bitterly, and uttered heartrending cries, "and crossed themselves, praying in latin;" but their mistress placed her finger on their mouths and chid them tenderly. "do not weep any more," said she. "i am very happy to go from this world; you should rejoice to see me die for such a good quarrel; are you not ashamed to cry? if you weep any more i will send you away, as i promised for you."[ ] the queen then took from her neck the gold cross, wishing to give it to jane kennedy. "my friend," she said to the executioner, "you cannot make use of this, leave it to this lady; she will give you more than its value in money." but bull seized it roughly, saying, "it is my right," and put it into his shoe.[ ] the queen had now laid aside her mantle and veil, her collar and _pourpoint_, and remained in her brown velvet skirt and black satin bodice with long sleeves.[ ] "then she, with a smiling countenance, turning to her men-servants as melville and the rest, standing upon the bench near the scaffold, crossing them with her hand, bade them farewell, and bade them pray for her until the last hour. then embracing her women, she blessed them, making the sign of the cross on their foreheads." [footnote : teulet, iv. .] [footnote : "she prayed that the queen's majesty might long reign peaceably, might prosper and serve god, ... and that the god of heaven would of his goodness avert his plagues from this silly island; ... that he would receive her soul into his heavenly hand."--contemporary mss., f. b.] [footnote : see tanner mss., appendix, .] [footnote : "her meditations ended, she arose and kissed her two gentlewomen, and bowed her body towards her men, and charged them to commend her to her sweet son, to whom she sent her blessing, with promise to pray for him in heaven, and lastly to salute her friends wheresoever."--contemporary mss.] [footnote : "she laying her crucifix upon the stool, one of the executioners took from her neck the agnus dei, which she, laying hands of it, gave it to one of her women, and told the executioners that they should be answered in money for it."--see tanner mss., appendix, p. .] [footnote : "then came one bulle, the hangman of london."--contemporary mss.] [footnote : ashmole mss. , f. : "ne cry point pour moi; ja promys pour vous."] [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] [footnote : "and with joy rather than with sorrow helped to make unready herself, putting on a pair of sleeves with her own hands which they had pulled off, and that with some haste, as if she had longed to be gone."--see ashmole mss., appendix, p. .] "adieu for the last time," she said in french. "adieu, au revoir;" and when jane kennedy had bandaged her eyes, she desired them to go down from the scaffold. the executioners fell on their knees at the queen's feet, begging her, as was the custom, to forgive them her death. "i forgive you with all my heart," she replied, "for in this hour i hope you will bring to an end all my troubles." the queen, who was seated on her stool, unbound, and still holding her crucifix, raised her head and stretched out her neck, thinking she was to be beheaded with a sword, according to the privilege granted in france to royal persons.[ ] "my god," she said fervently, "i have hoped in thee; i give back my soul into thy hands." the executioners, seeing her mistake, assisted her to rise and conducted her to the block, where they made her kneel down, and as she knelt upright, still thinking she was to be beheaded with the sword, they made her lie flat with her head on the low block, only a few inches high.[ ] as the queen repeated the words "in te domine-speravi," lord shrewsbury raised his wand to give the fatal signal. [footnote : "the executioners had prepared cords to bind her, but she put them aside."--_vera relazione_, milan, .] [footnote : "then being ready to the block ... mr. doctor willed her to die in the true faith of christ. quoth she, 'i believe firmly to be saved by the passion and blood of jesus christ, and therein also i believe according to the faith of the ancient catholic church of rome, and therefor i shed my blood.'"--contemporary mss.; see also _marie stuart_, by kervyn de lettenhove, ii. .] [illustration: _walker & boutall, ph. sc._ _execution of mary queen of scots, from the background of the blairs portrait. (enlarged.)_] the executioner lifted the axe, but stopped at a sign from his assistant, who had perceived that the queen, to enable herself to breathe, had placed her hands under her chin. the assistant moved them and held them behind her back. mary continued to pray aloud, and in the deep silence that reigned in the hall she could be heard repeating the verse, "in manus tuas domine commendo." these were her last words. the executioner, affected perhaps by sympathy and by the general emotion visible among the bystanders, struck with an ill-assured aim, and only wounded the queen severely, but she neither moved nor made a sound.[ ] at the third blow the soul of mary stuart passed to its eternal reward. [footnote : "after the which stroke she spoke these words, 'lord jesus, receive my soul.'"--contemporary mss.] and here we would fain end our narrative, letting our thoughts dwell only on the sorrow that filled the hearts of the queen's desolate servants and the sympathy evinced by others present at her execution,[ ] for, as a contemporary writer tells us, "it was remarked that the earl of shrewsbury and many others were bedewed with tears;" but other and cruel incidents claim our attention. [footnote : "la plus part la tenoient innocente et, si l'execution eust été publique, il y eust eu rumeur bien grande, et elle eust été secourue et délivrée."--_les derniers propos de la royne d'escosse._] as soon as the queen was dead the executioner "forthwith took the head, and raising it and showing it to the people, he said, according to custom, 'god save the queen.'... to these words the people answered, 'amen.' 'yes,' said the earl of kent, with a loud voice and with great forwardness, 'amen, amen. may it please god that all the queen's enemies be brought into the like condition.' the dean of peterbro spoke to the same effect."[ ] "the gates of the castle were kept closed, so that no one could pass out until a messenger had been despatched first to the court (and this was about one o'clock of the same day) with a letter and the certificate of the execution."[ ] this messenger was henry talbot, third son of lord shrewsbury, from whose report we have already quoted. [footnote : "and after, the body lying there headless, bleeding, my lord kent, standing by it, said with a loud voice, 'this be the end and reward of all that hate the gospel and her majesty's government.'"--see ashmole mss., appendix, p. .] [footnote : teulet mss.; ashmole mss., _ibid._] when kent and shrewsbury had left the scaffold, "every man being commanded out of the hall except the sheriff and his men, she was carried by them up into a great chamber, lying ready for the surgeons to embalm her;"[ ] but before this was done the executioner placed the head on a dish and showed it from the window to the crowd assembled in the courtyard. this he did three times.[ ] about four o'clock in the afternoon the body was "stripped, embalmed, and placed in a coffin, after having been wrapped in a waxed winding sheet." [footnote : "and embalmed and sered and rested to the burial."--contemporary mss., f. b.] [footnote : "it is said that one of mary's attendants, amyas cawood, painted the head of the dead queen, and the picture now at abbotsford, dated th feb. , and signed by cawood, confirms this tradition."] mary had earnestly charged her women to care for her body as they had done for her soul, but they were absolutely denied this last favour. "the tragedy ended," says blackwood, "these poor ladies, careful of their mistress's honour, addressed themselves to paulet, and begged that the executioner should not touch the body of her majesty, and that they might be allowed to undress it after every one had left," but he sent them away _fort lourdement_, telling them to leave the hall. the room belonging to the queen's ladies was next the great chamber where the body was placed. they could see the remains of their beloved mistress by looking through the keyhole, and consoled themselves by kneeling and praying by the door; but paulet, discovering this, had the keyhole stopped up.[ ] the story of the queen's faithful little dog has been often told, but it is impossible not to refer to the touching incident as recorded by a contemporary. "the queen of scotland," says he, "had a little dog with her upon the scaffold, who was sitting there during the whole time, keeping very quiet and never stirring from her side, but as soon as the head was stricken off and placed upon the seat, he began to bestir himself and cry out; afterwards he took up a position between the body and the head, which he kept until some one came and removed him, and this had to be done by violence."[ ] the poor animal was washed, and everything else stained by the queen's blood was either washed or burnt. "the paternosters were tossed into the fire which was in the hall," and the executioners were sent away, "not having any one thing that belonged unto her."[ ] [footnote : jebb, ii. pp. , , .] [footnote : teulet mss.] [footnote : _ibid._; tanner mss., appendix, p. .] thus ends one of the great tragedies of history in which the vanquished becomes truly the victor. to use the words of an old scottish writer, "the queen of england may do what she will, the tomb of our queen is more durable than she imagines, as her effigy and that of her virtues are better engraven in our hearts than they could be in marble."[ ] [footnote : funeral oration by r.p., .] chapter xii peterborough "non tibi contextis lucent funalia lignis, sed coeli stellæ; nænia tristis abest, sed canit ad feretrum superum chorus aliger, et me, coelesti incipiens voce, silere jubet." maffei, _poemata_, p. . for six long months the body of the dead queen was to remain neglected and apparently forgotten within the walls of fotheringay, and her attendants, in spite of their natural desire to return to their homes and friends, were condemned to a quasi-imprisonment for even a longer space of time. after the scaffold had been removed mary's chaplain, du préau, was allowed to join the other mourners, and on the morning after the execution he said mass for her soul. but later in the day paulet sent for melville and bourgoing, and ordered that the altar should be taken down, and asked them to take an oath that mass should not be said again. melville excused himself, saying he was a protestant and not concerned. bourgoing energetically refused. paulet therefore sent for du préau, who was evidently a timid man, and who took the oath insisted upon.[ ] paulet also demanded the box containing the vestments, and the following note in his inventory of mary's effects probably refers to its contents: "memorandum that the priest claimeth as of the late queen's gift a silver chalice with a cover, two silver cruets, four images, the one of our lady in red coral, with divers other vestments and necessaries belonging to a massing priest." paulet likewise entered the queen's oratory and made an inventory of its contents; among them was a book in which he may have read these words written by mary, "on my garments they have cast lots."[ ] paulet had already written to davison asking for orders regarding mary's household, etc.; he concludes his letter,--written on the day itself of the execution,--thus: "the children of god have daily experience of his mercy and favour towards such as can be content to depend of his merciful providence, who doth not see as man seeth, but his times and seasons are always just and perfectly good. the same god make us all thankful for his late singular favours." there is a significant postscript added by beale: "we may not forbear to signify unto you that these two earls[ ] (kent and shrewsbury) have showed a very singular and faithful affection to her majesty's service in this action, as you shall be informed more particularly by me, robert beale, at my return to the court, which shall be shortly by the grace of god." [footnote : "il jura sur la bible de ne faire aucune office de religion craignant d'estre resserré en prison."--jebb, ii. - .] [footnote : labanoff, vii. .] [footnote : yelverton mss. .] it is curious to find that the "singular and faithful affection" manifested by the commissioners did not save them from an unpleasant moment with elizabeth. there is a petition signed by kent, shrewsbury, paulet, and beale, in which they justify their conduct to their irate mistress, who was then endeavouring to throw the blame of mary's death on every one but herself.[ ] this document bears the mark of two cuts made by scissors. "does this indicate that the minute was considered unnecessary and never presented?" says m. kervyn de lettenhove, "or should we, on the contrary, see in this the anger of elizabeth, on whom the suppliants wished to fix the responsibility at the moment when she most energetically denied her participation?"[ ] beale, on his side, thought it necessary to justify himself separately. "i thought," he writes, "that i ought to fulfil the order; i was the queen's servant and bound to obey her. if, in those circumstances, the queen had been exposed to some danger, it would have been my fault. i was convinced that her safety depended on the death of the queen of scotland; i found sufficient warrant in an order signed by herself."[ ] [footnote : _marie stuart_, baron kervyn de lettenhove, ii. .] [footnote : see appendix, p. , "privy council to the queen."] [footnote : yelverton mss. .] paulet rejoiced to see the end of his residence at fotheringay, of which, as he said, the cause was withdrawn, "to my great joy and to the joy of all faithful christians, subjects of the queen," but when he reached london he found matters quite different to his expectations, and in the time of trouble is said to have thrown all the blame on walsingham. the storm did not last long, however, as paulet was made chancellor of the garter in the month of april . although absent from fotheringay he still seems to have retained his jurisdiction over queen mary's attendants. it was to him that melville and bourgoing applied in march for permission to sell their horses, and to write to france regarding the bequests made to them by their late mistress; and to him that darrell in the following june sends "the petition of the whole household and servants of the late queen of scotland," asking to be released from prison and to be allowed to leave the country. this petition was either never answered, or refused, as the household remained at fotheringay till october.[ ] [footnote : on th october mendoça announces their arrival in france.] before then elizabeth's policy had caused her to give her victim a royal funeral. this incident--would that we could say, act of reparation--has hitherto, perhaps, met with less attention than it deserved, and we will endeavour to gather together the details regarding what is an unique fact in history, sympathising the while with the sentiments of mary's attendants, who stoutly refused the mourning mantles offered them by queen elizabeth for an occasion which must have seemed to them a very questionable tribute to their mistress's memory. in a tract entitled "a remembrance of the order and manner of the burial of mary queen of scots," we learn that on sunday, the th july , "there went from peterborough m---- dethick (sir william), _alias_ garter, principal king of arms, and five heralds, accompanied with forty horse and men, to conduct the body of mary, late queen of scots, from fotheringham castle in northamptonshire to peterborough aforesaid, ... having for that purpose brought a royal coach, drawn by four horses and covered with black velvet, richly set forth with escotcheons of the armes of scotland, and little penons round about it, the body, being enclosed in lead and the same coffined in wood, was brought down and reverently put into the coach; at which time the heralds put on their coats of arms, and bareheaded with torches light, brought the same forth of the castle about ten of the clock at night, and so conveyed it to peterborough." behind the heralds walked melville, bourgoing, gorion, gervais, and two others of mary's household. the procession moved slowly, and reached peterborough, twelve miles distant, between one and two in the morning. at the door of the cathedral the body was received by the bishop of peterborough, the dean and chapter, and clarencieux, king at arms, "and in the presence of the scots which came with the same,"[ ] "and without bells or chanting"[ ] it was placed in a vault prepared for it in the south aisle at the entrance of the choir. thus mary's tomb was opposite that of catherine of aragon, and the same grave-digger, scarlet,[ ] prepared both vaults for these royal and injured occupants. [footnote : "the bishop of peterborough, the deane, the prebendes, and the rest meeting the same at the bridge, being not far from the town."--from _the scottish queen's buriall at peterborough_.] [footnote : "there was at that time not any offices of the church service done, the bishop being ready to have executed therein; but it was by all that were present, as well scotch as others, thought good and agreed that it should be done at the day and time of solemnity."--"manner of the solemnity," etc., from gunton's _hist. of peterborough_, lond. .] [footnote : "there is a memorial entred on the wall of the cathedral of peterborough for _one_ who, being _sexton_ therof, interred _two_ queens therein (katherine dowager and mary of scotland), more than _fifty_ years intervening betwixt the several sepultures."--fuller's _worthies_, ii. .] as soon as the coffin had been lowered, the grave was covered with a brick vaulting, only a small opening being left, and no further ceremony took place until the tuesday following. on monday afternoon the principal personages who were to take part in the ceremony arrived.[ ] [footnote : "upon monday in the afternoon came to peterborough all the lords and ladies, ... and at the bishop's palace was prepared a great supper for them."] the hall of the episcopal palace was hung with black, and at one end was erected the royal dais and chair of state, as if queen elizabeth were to be present in person. "on tuesday, being the first of august, in the morning, about eight of the clock, the chief mourner, being the countess of bedford, was attended upon by all the lords and ladies, and brought into the presence chambre within the bishop's palace, which all over was hanged with black cloath; she was by the queens majesties' gentlemen ushers placed somewhat under a cloth of estate of purple velvet; where, having given to the great officers these staves of office, viz. to the lord steward, lord chamberlayne, the treasurer and comptroller, she took her way into the great hall where the corps stood."[ ] [footnote : "a remembrance of the order and manner of," etc., _archæologia_, i. .] the last words must refer to the figure in wax of the dead queen, which had no doubt been prepared according to custom. lady bedford, bearing all the insignia of her sovereign whom she represented, supported by the earls of rutland and lincoln, her train borne by lady st. john, now respectfully followed the royal bier to the cathedral, escorted by garter king at arms, by the heralds, and a great number of peers, peeresses, knights, and ladies in deep mourning, as well as by the household of the dead queen. the cathedral had been draped in black "six or seven yards high from the grounde." every second pillar hung with black baize and adorned with escutcheons, some bearing mary's arms alone, and some those of francis and darnley, impaled severally with the arms of scotland. the choir was also hung with black baize, "garnished with escutcheons as aforesaid," and the space above the choir "was in most solemn manner hanged with four bredthes of black bayes sowed togeather; garnished at the upper end with escutcheons of mettall, and one each side, as aforesayde."[ ] [footnote : "the solemnity of the funeral," etc., drawn up by sir william dethick, garter king of arms.] the procession was met at the church door by the bishop and clergy, and advanced slowly to the choir while anthems were sung. "the concourse of people was of many thousands." mary's weeping attendants and her chaplain bearing a cross, took, as may be seen, their part in the procession, but before the service began all save melville and barbara mowbray, who were protestants, left the church and remained outside in the cloisters until the close of the ceremony.[ ] we give the order of procession according to the report drawn up by garter king at arms. [footnote : "les hérauts à quelque temps de là et après le sermon fait par l'evesque de lincolne, les fut initer dans le cloistre où ils estoient, de venir à l'offrande, ce qu'ils refuserent de faire, disans qu'ils n'offraient point à un autel qu'ils n'approuvient pas."--_martyre de marie stuart_, blackwood.] the order for the buriall for marie queen of scotts, at peterborough, observed the first of august, on tuesday, .[ ] [footnote : from the _bibliotheca topographica britannica_, article no. xl. "hist. of ant. fotheringay," p. .] two conductors with } the sheryfes bailie, and black staves in } the baylie of coates. } peterborough. poore men[ ] (one hundred) in gownes, two and two. two yeomen } john hamshiere, harbingers } and in clokes. } john keyes. [footnote : all other accounts agree in calling these "poore women," "poore old women, for the most part widowes."] the standard borne by sir george savill knight. gentlemen in clokes, two and two, _videlizet_. syxe groomes. the deane of peterborough's man. mr. stafforde's sonne. master of wardrobe's two men. the bishope of peterborough's stewarde. james howland. edward jackson. richard kylefett. robert cotton. the lorde compton, one man. the lady st. john, of basinge, one. the lorde willoughby of parram, one. the lorde mordant, and ladie, two. the lorde dudley, and the ladie, two. the lady marie savell, one. the lady talbott, one. the lord st. john, and the ladie, two. the bishope of peterborough, one. the bishope of lyncolne, one. the erle of lyncolne, and the countis, three. the old countis of bedford, chief mourner, three. gentlemen in gownes. mr. worme. } mr. howland. } mr. horseman, } } mr. femis, } three sewars. } .... } } ten. mr. creuse. } mr. watsonn. } mr. alyngton. } mr. marmaduke darrell. } docture fortescue thomas. } scottes in cloakes, seventeen. a scottish priest.[ ] [footnote : du préau, mary's french chaplain. "monsieur du préau aumosnier, en long manteau, portant une croix d'argent en main."--from "ordre du convoy," etc.] gownes. two chaplayns to the bishops aforesayde. mr. fortescue, master of queene elizabeth's wardrope. the two bishopps, peturborough and lincolne. the greate banner. borne by sir andrew nowell. { mr. melvin, and sir edward montague, } { comptroller and treasurer to the queen } { of scottes. } the lord chamberlayne, } the lord stewarde, } great officers. the lorde dudley. the lord st. john of basnige (_sic._) two yeomen of the garde, in clokes, with black staves in their handes. the halm and creaste, borne by .... pourcyvant of armes. the targett, borne by rouge dragon, a pourcyvant of armes. the coate of armes, borne by somersett, herald of armes. then clarentius kinge of armes, and a gentleman huisher goyng with him. then the body was carryed by these six gentlemen in cloakes; videlizett. francis fortescue. } william fortescue. } thomas stafforde. } six. nycholas smythe. } nycholas hyde. } fortescue sen'r. of aywood. } bannerolls, eight, borne by these gentlemen, videlizett, william fitz william. } mr. gryffith, of drugley.[ ] } mr. robert wyngfield. } mr. bevill. } eight. mr. lynne. } mr. john wyngfield. } mr. john spencer. } mr. fortescue of aywood. } [footnote : dingley?] the canopie. borne by these four knightes, videlizett, sir thomas manners. } sir george hastinges. } four. sir james harrington. } sir richard knightley. } the bodie assisted be these four, the lorde mordantt. } the lorde willoughby of param. } four. the lorde compton. } sir thomas cycill, knight. } then, garter kinge of armes, and a gentleman huisher with him. then, the chief mourner. the countis of bedford. assisted by the erles of rutland and lyncolne, her trayne borne by the ladie st. john of basing, who was assisted by mr. john manners, vize chamberlain. the other mourners, videlizet, twelve. the countis of rutland. the countis of lyncolne. the ladie talbott. the ladie marie savill.[ ] the ladie mordantt. the ladie st. john of bletsoe. the ladie manners. the ladie cecill. the ladie montague. the ladie nowell. mistris alington. a scottish gentlewoman. [footnote : she was an erle's daughter.] then, two of the yeomen of the guardes in clokes. scottish gentlewomen, eight, too and too. then, gentlewomen of countisses, too and too. then, baronissis and ladies, accordinge to ther degree. then, gentlewomen. thirty. the countis of bedforde, four. the countis of rutland, three. the countis of lyncolne, three. ladie st. john of baznige, two. ladie talbott, two. ladie marie savill, two. ladie mordantt, two. ladie st. john of bletneshoe, two. ladie manners, two. ladie cycill, two. ladie montegue, two. ladie nowell, two. mystris alyngton, two. all yeomen in coates. the countise of bedforde, allowed for ten men. the countis of rutland, eight men. the countis of lincolne, eight men. the ladie of st. john of basing, five men. all baronissis and ladies, five apeece. all knightes, two men apeece. all knightes wyfes too apeece. all esquires one man apeece.[ ] [footnote : it is curious that paulet does not appear in any list of those present at the funeral.] when the bier reached the choir it was placed on a catafalque, which derrick describes as "a stately hearse with a topp square rising lik a field-bed, which was covered on the tipps with black bayes, garnished with escutions as affore of mettall and besett with pinecles from the topp, on each quarter, most butiful to behoulde: whereupon were painted, on some, the scottish armes alone, and on others some, the armes of france and darnley, impaled, and st. andrewe's crosse, a, in a filde, o; and also an unicorne tripping, a, attyred and unguled, or, with felde, b; with a crowne, and a chayne turning over his back, or. on the topp of the hearse was set two escutchions of the scotch armes, cut out in paste boarde, guilded, and an impereall crowne, guilded, and cut out in past board." dean fletcher arranged the ceremonials, and the bishop of lincoln preached the well-known sermon, commencing by rejoicings for the "happy death of the high and mighty princesse mary," of whom he very cleverly says: "i have not much to say of her life or death, knowing little of the one, and not having assisted at the other."[ ] prayers followed, and at the offering lord bedford advanced and placed before the altar the coat of mail, helm, sword, and shield which were afterwards hung over the grave.[ ] at the end the heralds, according to custom, broke their staves and threw them into the grave, "and so every one departed as they came, after their degrees, to the bishop's palace, where was prepared a most royal feast, and a dole given unto the poore."[ ] mary's attendants were invited to take part in the banquet, the hosts "praying them to eat well, and to ask for anything they wished, so that nothing should be wanting to them, such being the orders of their mistress;"[ ] but, as we may readily believe, they replied by their tears. "the servants of the dead queen," says blackwood, were "in a separate room, mingling many tears with their food and drink."[ ] [footnote : _archæologia_, i. ; miss strickland, vii.] [footnote : "the royal ensigns of an helmet, sword, and scutcheon remained to the year hanging high over the place of burial."--"manner of the solemnity," etc., from gunton's _hist. of peterborough_.] [footnote : "a remembrance," etc., _archæologia_, p. .] [footnote : jebb, ii. .] [footnote : _martyre de marie stuart_, collected works of adam blackwood, paris, , p. .] amidst all the pomp and display of this funeral one point had been omitted: no tablet or inscription marked the spot where mary lay, and it remained for a faithful subject of the dead queen, the same adam blackwood, to supply this omission. on occasion of a pilgrimage made by him to peterborough, blackwood placed the following well-known epitaph over his mistress's grave:-- mary queen of scots, daughter of a king, widow of the king of france, cousin and next heir to the queen of england, endowed with royal virtues and a royal mind (the right of princes being oftentimes in vain implored) by barbarous and tyrannical cruelty, the ornament of our age, and truly royal light is extinguished. by the same unrighteous judgement both mary queen of scots with natural death, and all surviving kings (now made common persons) are punished with civil death. a strange and unusual kind of monument this is, wherin the living are included with the dead; for with the sacred ashes of this blessed mary, know that the majesty of all kings and princes lieth here violated and prostrated. and because regal secresy doth enough and more admonish kings of their duty--traveller, i say no more. it, however, "continued not long, but was taken away and cast aside,"[ ] probably on account of the sympathy it called forth, and the tomb remained almost forgotten till james, having ascended the english throne, thought of honouring his injured mother's remains. [footnote : _martyre de marie stuart_, collected works of adam blackwood, paris, , p. .] regarding mary's faithful followers and their after-fate we know the few following particulars. by their refusal to assist at the service or to share in the funeral banquet, they seem to have incurred afresh elizabeth's displeasure, and this is one of the reasons alleged for their continued imprisonment after the ceremony. when at length they obtained their freedom bourgoing, "who had assisted mary from the first day of her stricter imprisonment until the hour of her death,"[ ] and to whom, as we know, fell the solemn duty of narrating the incidents of the queen's death to the king and queen of france, no doubt fulfilled his mission, and his written narrative attests his devotion to his mistress, but we have been unable, to our great regret, to trace his further history. gorion fulfilled his task by transmitting to mendoça mary's farewell letter, accompanied by an interesting narrative of her last moments, written presumably by himself.[ ] elizabeth curle also acquitted herself of her charge by taking to morgan the diamond ring left him by mary in gratitude for his "good and long service." she afterwards joined her former companion and friend barbara mowbray, nor were they divided in death, as they were buried together at antwerp, under the tomb bearing the effigy of their beloved mistress. the latin inscription referring to the queen's martyrdom recalls the fact that elizabeth assisted at her execution and received her last kiss. the faithful jane kennedy, whom we may perhaps consider as mary's favourite attendant, after returning to scotland, married andrew melville, and was drowned in a storm when on her way to meet anne of denmark on her arrival in scotland as james's queen. [footnote : teulet, iv. (chateauneuf's words).] [footnote : _ibid._, v. .] chapter xiii westminster "it appertaynes to ye duty we owe to our dearest mother that like honour should be done to her body, and like monument be extant to her as ourselves have already performed to our deare sister ye late queen elizabeth."--james vi. th sept. . sixteen years after the ceremony we have described in the last chapter james, now king of england, at last desired to show some mark of respect to his mother's memory, and sir william dethick was again intrusted with this mission. on the th of august he was sent to peterborough with "a rich pall of velvet, embroidered with the arms of the mighty princess mary queene of scotts." he was also the bearer of letters to the bishop of peterborough to ask leave to place it on the coffin, which, being obtained, the pall was "by him caryed and laid uppon and over the corps of the said late queene, assisted by many knights and gentlemen." a large concourse of people were present at the ceremony. the bishop preached a sermon suitable to the occasion in the morning, and in the afternoon the dean "preached of the same." in the interval there was a splendid banquet. "then the queene of scotland," says our authority quaintly, "was most royally and sumptuously (re)enterred by the said gentee on the th august."[ ] [footnote : harl. mss., , p. .] [illustration: _walker & boutall, ph. sc._ _medallion containing miniature of mary queen of scots and relics now in the possession of lady milford._] nine years later james, after erecting the well-known monument to queen elizabeth in westminster abbey, determined to do the same honour to his mother. he therefore addressed the following letter to the dean and chapter of peterborough:[ ]-- [footnote : _history of fotheringay._ by some confusion of dates the year is here given instead of .] to the dean and chapter of peterborough.[ ] [footnote : _antiquities of fotheringay_, p. . noble's _hist. of the college of arms_, p. .] to our trusty and well-beloved the dean and chapter of our cathedral church of peterborough; and in their absence, to the right reverend father in god, the bishop of peterborough, and to such of the prebendaries and other officers of the church as shall be found there. james r. trusty and well-beloved, we greet you well, for that we think it appertains to the duty we owe to our dearest mother that like honour should be done to her body and like monument be extant of her, as others, hers, and our progenitors have been used to be done, and ourselves have already performed to our dear sister the late queen elizabeth, we have commanded a memorial of her to be made in our church of westminster, the place where the kings and queens of this realm are usually interred: and for that we think it inconvenient that the monument and her body should be in several places; we have ordered that her said body, remaining now interred in that our cathedral church of peterborough, shall be removed to westminster, to the reverend father in god, our right trusty and well-beloved servant the bishop of coventry and lichfield, bearer therof; to whom we require you (or to such as he shall assign) to deliver the corps of our said dearest mother, the same being taken up in as decent and respectful manner as is fitting. and for that there is a pall now upon the hearse over her grave which will be requisite to be used to cover her said body in the removing therof, which may perhaps be deemed as a fee that should belong to the church; we have appointed the said reverend father to pay you a reasonable redemption for the same, which being done by him, we require you that he may have the pall to be used for the purpose aforesaid.[ ] given under our signet at our honour of hampton court, the eight and twentieth day of september in the tenth year of our reign of england, france, and ireland, and of scotland the six and fortieth. [footnote : the same as sent nine years before. oh, royal economy!] here follows a memorandum to this effect:-- these letters were delivered to the right reverend father in god, the lord bishop of peterborough, and to me, henry williamson, one of the prebends of the said cathedral church, in the absence of the dean and the rest of our prebends, and the contents therof were executed the fourth day of october, in the year aforesaid, (signed) w.k. although no doubt the removal of the body was effected with great solemnity and state, no detailed record of the ceremony has been discovered. the beautiful tomb in westminster is too well known to need description. in it we see, as remarks one of mary's latest historians, if not a memorial of filial piety, at least a mark of james's taste for art.[ ] the effigy of the queen seems to have been taken from a contemporary portrait, possibly from the fine picture still in the possession of the earl of morton, but neither this fact nor the name of the sculptor can now be known. [footnote : chantelauze, p. .] our task is now concluded. at the foot of queen mary's tomb we lay this small tribute to her memory. appendix account of the execution of queen mary stuart from the tanner ms. , f. , in the bodleian library, oxford a report of the manner of execution of the scottish queen performed the eighth day of february anno in the great hall within the castle of fotheringham with relation of speeches uttered and actions happening in the said execution from the delivery of the said scottish queen unto mr. thomas andrewes, esq., sheriff of the county of northampton unto the end of the same execution. first, the said scottish queen, being carried by two of sir amias pawlett's gentlemen and the sheriff going before her, came most willingly out of her chamber into an entry next the hall; at which place the earl of shrewsbury and the earl of kent, commissioners for the execution, with the two governors of her person and divers knights and gentlemen, did meet her; where they found one of the scottish queen's servants, named melvyn, kneeling on his knees; who uttered these words with tears to the queen of scots, his mistress, "madam, it will be the sorrowfullest message that ever i carried when i shall report that my queen and dear mistress is dead." then the queen of scots shedding tears, answered him, "you ought to rejoice and not to weep for that the end of mary stuart's troubles is now done. thou knowest, melvin, that all this world is but vanity and full of troubles and sorrows. carry this message from me and tell my friends that i died a true woman to my religion, and like a true scottish woman and a true french woman; but god forgive them that have long desired my end. and he that is the true judge of all secret thoughts knoweth my mind, how it hath ever been my desire to have scotland and england united together. and commend me to my son, and tell him that i have not done any thing that may prejudice his kingdom of scotland. and so, good melvin, farewell." and kissing him she bade him pray for her. then she turned her unto the lords and told them that she had certain requests to make unto them. one was for a sum of money (which she said sir amias pawlett knew of) to be paid to one curle, her servant. next, that all her poor servants might enjoy that quietly which by her will and testament she had given unto them. and lastly, that they might be all well entreated and sent home safely and honestly into their own country. "and this i do conjure you, my lords, to do." answer was made by sir amias pawlett. "i do well remember the money your grace speaketh of, and your grace needeth not to make any doubt of the not performance of your request, for i do surely think they shall be granted." "i have (said she) one other request to make unto you, my lords, that you will suffer my poor servants to be present about me at my death, that they may report when they come into their countries how i died a true woman unto my religion." then the earl of kent, one of the commissioners, answered, "madam, that cannot well be granted, for that it is feared lest some of them would with speeches both trouble and grieve your grace and disquiet the company; of which already we have had some experience, or seek to wipe their napkins in some of your blood, which were not convenient." "my lord (said the queen of scots), i will give my word and promise for them that they shall not do any such thing as your lordship hath named. alas, poor souls, it would do them good to bid me farewell, and i hope your mistress, being a maiden queen, in regard of womanhood will suffer me to have some of my own people about me at my death; and i know she hath not given you so straight a commission but that you may grant me more than this if i were a far meaner woman than i am." and then feigning to be greived, with some tears uttered these words: "you know that i am cousin to your queen and descended from the blood of henry the viith., a married queen of france and the anointed queen of scotland." whereupon after some consultation they granted that she might have some of her servants according to her grace's request, and therefore desired her to make choice of half a dozen of her men and women. who presently said that of her men she would have melvin, her apothecary, her surgeon, and one other old man besides; and of her women those two that did use to lie in her chamber. after this she, being supported by sir amias's two gentlemen aforesaid and melvin, carrying her train, and also accompanied with lords, knights, and gentlemen aforenamed, the sheriff going before her, she passed out of the entry into the hall with her countenance careless, importing therby rather mirth than mournfull chere, and so she willingly stepped up to the scaffold which was prepared for her in the hall, being two foot high and twelve foot broad with rails round about, hanged and covered with black, with a low stool, long cushion and block, covered with black also. then having the stool brought her, she sat down, by her, on her right hand the earl of shrewsbury and the earl of kent, and on the left hand stood the sheriff, before her the two executioners; round about the rails stood knights, gentlemen, and others. then silence being made the queen's majestie's commission for the execution of the said queen of scots was opened by mr. beal, clerk of the council, and these words pronounced by the assembly, "god save the queen," during the reading of which commission the queen of scots was silent, listening unto it with as small regard as if it had not concerned her at all; and with as cheerfull countenance as if it had been a pardon from her majesty for her life; using as much strangness in word and deed as if she had never known any of the assembly or had been ignorant of the english language. then mr. doctor fletcher, dean of peterborough, standing directly before her without the rails, bending his body with great reverence, began to utter this exhortation following: "madam, the queen's most excellent majesty," etc.; and uttering these words three or four times she told him, "mr. dean, i am settled in the ancient catholic roman religion, and mind to spend my blood in defence of it." then mr. dean sayd, "madam, change your opinion and repent you of your former wickedness, and set your faith only in jesus christ, by him to be saved." then she answered again, "mr. dean, trouble not yourself any more, for i am settled and resolved in this my religion, and am purposed herein to die." then the earl of shrewsbury and the earl of kent, perceiving her so obstinate, told her that since she would not hear the exhortation begun by mr. dean, "we will pray for your grace that if it standeth with god's will you may have your heart lightened even at the last hour with the true knowledge of god, and so die therein." then she answered, "if ye will pray for me, my lords, i will thank you, but to join in prayer with you i will not, for that you and i are not of one religion." then the lords called for mr. dean, who kneeling on the scaffold stairs began his prayer, "o most gracious god and merciful father," etc., all the assembly, saving the queen of scots and her servants, saying after him: during the saying of which prayer the queen of scots, sitting upon a stool, having about her neck an agnus dei, in her hand a crucifix, at her girdle a pair of beads with a golden cross at the end of them, a latin book in her hand, began with tears and loud voice to pray in latin, and in the midst of her prayers she slided off from the stool and kneeling said divers latin prayers. and after the end of mr. dean's prayer she kneeling prayed to this effect in english; for christ, his afflicted church, and for an end of their troubles, for her son and for the queen's majesty, that she might prosper and serve god aright. she confessed that she hoped to be saved by and in the blood of christ, at the foot of whose crucifix she would shed her blood. then said the earl of kent, "madam, settle christ jesus in your heart and leave those trumperies." then she, little regarding or nothing at all his honor's good counsel, went forward with her prayers; desiring that god would avert his wrath from this island, and that he would give her grace and forgiveness of her sins. these with other prayers she made in english, saying she forgave her enemies with all her heart that had long sought her blood, and desired god to convert them to the truth; and in the end of prayer she desired all saints to make intercession for her to jesus christ, and so kissed the crucifix, and crossing of herself, said these words, "even as thy arms, o jesus, were spread here upon the cross, so receive me into thy arms of mercy and forgive me all my sins." her prayer ended, the executioners kneeling desired her grace to forgive them her death. who answered, "i forgive you with all my heart, for now i hope you shall make an end of all my troubles." then they with her two women helping of her up, began to disrobe her of her apparell. then she laying her crucifix upon the stool, one of the executioners took from her neck the agnus dei, which she laying hands of it gave it to one of her women and told the executioners that they should be answered in money for it. then she suffered them with her two women to disrobe her of her apparell, of her chain, of her pomander beads, and all other her apparell most willingly; and with joy rather than with sorrow helped to make unready herself, putting on a pair of sleeves with her own hands which they had pulled off, and that with some haste, as if she had longed to be gone. all this while they were pulling off her apparell she never changed her countenance, but with smiling chere she uttered these words that she had never such grooms to make her unready, and she never put off her clothes before such a company. then she being stripped of all her apparell saving her petticoat and kertell, her two women beholding her made great lamentation and crying and crossed themselves prayed in latin. then she turning herself to them embracing them, said these words in french, "ne criez vous, j'ay promis pour vous;" and so crossing and kissing them, bade them pray for her, and rejoice and not mourn, for that now they should see an end of all their mistress's troubles. then she with a smiling countenance, turning to her men-servants, as melvin and the rest standing upon a bench nigh the scaffold, who sometimes weeping, sometimes crying out, and loudly and continually crossing themselves, prayed in latin, crossing them with her hand, bade them farewell, and wishing them to pray for her even until the last hour. this done one of her women, having a corpus christi cloth lapt up the corner ways, kissing it, put it over the queen of scot's face and pinned it fast to the caul of her head. then the two women departed from her, and she kneeling down upon a cushion most resolutely and without any token or fear of death, she spake aloud this psalm in latin, "in te domine confido, non confundat in eternum," etc. then groping for the block she laid down her head, putting her chin on the block with both her hands, which holding there still had been cut off had they been not espied. then lying upon the block most quietly, and stretched out her arms and legs, cryed, "in manus tuas, domine," etc., three or four times. then she lying very still on the block, one of the executioners holding of her slightly with one of his hands, she endured two strokes of the other executioner with an axe, she making very small noise or none at all, and not stirring any part of her from the place where she lay; and so the executioners cut off her head saving one little gristle, which being cut asunder he lifted up her head to the view of all the assembly and bade god save the queen. then her dressing of lawn falling off from her head it appeared as grey as one of threescore and ten years old, and polled very short, her face in a moment being so much altered from the form she had when she was alive as few could remember her by her dead face. her lips stirred up and down almost a quarter of an hour after her head was cut off. then mr. dean said with a loud voice, "so perish all the queen's enemies," and afterwards the earl of kent came to the dead body, and standing over it with a loud voice said, "such be the end of all the queen's and the gospel's enemies." then one of the executioners pulling off her garters espied her little dog, which was crept under her clothes, which could not be gotten forth but by force. it afterwards would not depart from the dead corpse, but came and laid between her head and her shoulders, which being imbrued with her blood was carried away and washed, as all things else were, that had any blood, was either burned or clean washed, and the executioners sent away with money for their fees; not having any one thing that belonged unto her. and so every man being commanded out of the hall except the sheriff and his men she was carried by them up into a great chamber lying ready for the surgeons to embalm her. * * * * * from ms. endorsed "executio regina scotorum" the description of the queen of scots, both for her own as also for the manner of her apparrell as she came to suffer death the th of february . first, she was of stature high, big made and somewhat round shouldered, her face broad and fatt, double chinned and hazel eyed: her borrowed hair aborne, having on her head a dressing of lawn edged with bone lace, a pomander chain, an agnus dei about her neck, a crucifix in her hand, and a pair of beads at her girdle with a golden cross at the end of them, a veil of lawn fastened to her caul bowed out with wire and edged round about with bone lace, a gown of black satin printed with a train, and long sleeves to the ground set with acorn buttons of jet trimmed with pearl, and short sleeves of satin black cut with a pair of sleeves of purple velvet, whole under them a whole kyrtle of figured satin black, her petticoat upper body's unlaced in the back of crimson satin and her petticoat skirts of crimson velvet, her shoes spanish leather with the rough side outward, a pair of green silk garters, her nether stocks of worsted coloured watchette clocked with silver and edged on the tops with silver, and next her legs a pair of jersey hose white. * * * * * from the ashmole ms. , f. , in the bodleian library, oxford the manner of the scottish queen's execution performed the th of february in the great hall within the castle of fotheringham. the said scottish queen being attended by the sheriffs and supported by two of sir amias paulet's gentlemen, came out of her chamber down into an entry next to the hall about of the clock, at which place the earl of shrewsbury, the earl of kent, commissioners for the execution, with the two governors of her person, and divers knights and gentlemen, justices of the peace within the county of northampton, going out of the hall did meet her, where they found one of her servants named melvin kneeling on his knees uttering these words, "madam, it will be the sorrowfullest message that ever i carried when i shall report that my queen and mistress is dead." then the queen of scots weeping answered him, "you ought to rejoice rather than weep, for that the end of all marie stuard's troubles is now come; thou knowest, melvin, that all this world is but vanity and full of troubles, but carry thou this message unto my son, and tell my friends that i die a true woman to my religion, true scottish and true french. god forgive them that have long desired my end, but god, the true judge of all secret thoughts, knoweth my mind, how that ever it hath been my desire to have scotland and england united together. but commend me to my son once again, and tell him that i have not done anything that can be prejudicial to his state, and say unto him from me that he trust not too much to practices and policies, for practices and policies will have an end. farewell." and kissing him she bade him pray for her. then she turned her face to the lords, the commissioners, and told them she had certain requests to make unto them, one was for a sum of money to be paid to one curle her servant; secondly, that all her poor servants might enjoy that quietly which by her will and testament she gave them; next, that they may be all well entreated and sent home safely and honestly into their countries. "and this as i crave so do i conjure you, my lords, to do." answer was made by sir amias paulet. "your grace need not to make any doubt of the not performance of your request, for i am sure they shall be well used." "i have," said the queen of scots, "another request to make unto you my lords, which is that you would suffer my poor servants to be present about me at my death, that they may report when they come into their countries how i died a true woman to my religion." then my lord of kent, one of the commissioners, answered, "madam, it cannot well be granted, for that it is feared lest some of them would with speeches both trouble and grieve your grace and disquiet the company of which already we have some experience, or seek to wipe their napkins in some of your blood, which is not convenient." "my lord," said the queen of scots, "i will give my word and promise for them that they shall not do any such thing as your lordships have named. alas! poor souls, it will do them good to bid me farewell. i hope your mistress, being a maiden queen, in regard of womanhood will suffer me to have some of my own people about me at my death, and i know she hath not given you so straight a commission but you might grant me more than this if i were far meaner than i am." and then seeming to be much grieved, with some tears, uttered these words: "you know that i am cousin to your queen, and descended from the blood of henry the th, and have been a married queen of scotland." where upon some consultation they granted that she might have some of her servants according to her request, and therefore they desired her to make choice of some of women and men. who presently said that of her men she would have melvin, her apothecary and physician, and one other old man beside; and of her women, those two that did lie in her chamber. after this she being supported by the two gentlemen aforesaid, and accompanied with the lords, knights, and gentlemen above named, and the sheriffs going before her out of the entry into the great hall, her countenance careless, importing rather mirth than mourning, and so with silence she went up to the scaffold which was prepared for her in the hall, being two foot high and twelve foot broad, with rails round about hanged and covered with black cotton. then having the stool brought her she sat her down, by her on the right hand on two stools the earl of shrewsbury and the earl of kent, her majestie's commissioners; on the left hand stood mr. thomas andrewes, sheriff, and before her the two executioners; round about the rails stood the knights and gentlemen and the halberdiers, and without the rails directly before her stood mr. doctor fletcher, dean of peterborough. then silence being made the queen's majesty's commission for the execution of the said queen of scots was openly read by mr. beale, clarke of the county, and after that these words pronounced by the assembly, _god save the queen_. during the reading of which commission the said queen of scots used silence but listed unto it with small regard, as if it had not concerned her at all, and with a cheerful countenance using as much strangeness in word and deed as if she had never known any of the assembly or had been ignorant of the english language. then mr. dean of peterborough, bending his body with great reverence, began to utter his exhortation, beginning thus, "madam, the queen's most excellent majesty," etc., as it is before written; and uttering these words three or four times, she said, "mr. dean, mr. dean, trouble me not; i am settled and persuaded in the catholick roman faith and mind to spend my blood in defence of it." then mr. dean said, "madam, lay aside those unclean dregs of superstition which you have about you, and repent you of your sins and settle your faith only on jesus christ by him to be saved." then she answered again and again, "i am settled and resolved in the catholick roman faith, and am purposed therein to die." then the earls of shrewsbury and kent, perceiving her so obstinate, told her that since she would not hear the exhortation began by mr. dean, we will pray for your grace that if it stand with god's will you may have your heart lightened even at the last hour with the true knowledge of god. then she answered: "if you pray for me, my lords, i will thank you, but to join in prayer i will not, your prayers will do me no good, for that you and i am not of one religion." the lords called for mr. dean, who, kneeling upon the scaffold staires, began this prayer:-- a prayer all the assembly except the queen of scots and her servants saying after him, during the time of which prayer the queen of scots, sitting upon her stool, having about her necke an agnus dei, in her hand a crucifix, at her girdle a pair of beads with a medal at the end of them, and a latin primer in her hand, began with loud and fast voice to pray in latin, and in the midst of her prayers she slided off her stool, and kneeling said divers latin prayers, and after the end of mr. dean's prayer she kneeling prayed in english to this effect--for christ's poor afflicted church, and for an end of all their troubles, for her son that he might prosper and fear god, and for the queen that she might prosper and serve god aright; she confessed that she hoped to be saved by the blood of christ, at the foot of whose crucifix she would shed her blood. then said my lord of kent, "madam, settle christ jesus in your heart and leave these trumpery things." she prayed that god would avert his wrath from this island, and that god would give her grief and forgiveness for all her sins. these with other prayers she made in english, saying she forgave her enemies with all her heart that had long sought her blood, and desired god to convert them to the truth, and in the end of her prayer she desired all the company of heaven to make intercession for her, and so kissing her crucifix and crossing herself said these words, "even as the arms of jesus are spread here upon the cross, so receive me unto thy mercy and forgive me all my sins." her prayer being ended the two executioners, kneeling on their knees, desired her grace to forgive them, who answered, "i forgive you with all my heart, for now i hope you shall make an end of all my troubles." then they, with her two women keeping her up, begin to disrobe her of her apparel. then she letting fall her crucifix, one of the two hangmen took from her neck the agnus dei, which she, laying hand on, gave it to one of her women, and told one of the executioners that he should be answered money for it. then she suffered her two women to disrobe her of her chain of pomander beads and all other her apparel most willingly, and with joy rather than with sorrow helping to make unready herself, putting on a pair of sleeves with her own hands which they had pulled off, and that with some haste, as though she longed to be gone; all the time they were putting off her apparel she never changed her countenance, but with smiling cheer she uttered these words--that she never had such women to make her unready, and that she never put off her clothes before such a company. then she being stripped of all her apparel saving her petticoat and kirtel, her two women began to cry and lament, then she turned her to them, and embracing them, said these words in french: "ne cry point pour moi. ja promys pour vous." and so crossing and kissing them both she told them that they had more cause to rejoice than to weep, for that now they should see an end of their mistress's troubles. then she with a smiling countenance turning to her men-servants, as melvin and the rest standing upon the bench near the scaffold, crossing them with her hand bade them farewell, and bade them pray for her until the last hour. this done she went alone to the block and kneeled down, then one of her women, having a corpus cloth lapped three-corner-wise, kissing it, put it over her face and pinned it fast to the caul of her head, and so kneeling upon the cushion most resolutely and without any token of the fear of death she spake aloud certain verses of the psalms in latin. "in te, domine, confido, non confundes in eternum." then groping for the block she laid down her head, putting her chin over the block with both her hands under it, which had been cut off had they not been preseen. then lying upon the block and stretching out her body, she cried aloud, "in manus tuas domine," etc., three or four times, then one of the executioners kneeling held her down by the middle and the other gave the stroke, missing her neck cut into the bone of the head behind, but she moved not, and at the second time he cut off her head save only one sinew, which, being sawed asunder with the axe, lifted up the head to the view of all the standers by and bid god save the queen. and the dean said, "and so perish all her enemies." her head was grey as one of years of age, polled very short, her face being so much altered immediately from the form she had when she was alive as few could remember for her dead face; she gasped after her head was cut off by the space of half a quarter of an hour, and after, the body lying there headless bleeding, my lord of kent standing by it said with a loud voice, "this be the end and reward of all that hate the gospel and her majesty's government." then one of the executioners putting off her stockings, her little, waiting dog was got under her clothes, which could not be gotten forth but by force, which afterwards came and lay betwixt her head and her shoulders, which being imbrued with her blood was carried away and washed, and the executioners departed with money for their pains, and not having any one thing that belonged to her, either of her apparel or any other thing that was hers. and so the dead body and the head was carried by the sheriff and his men into the great chamber, lying there ready for the chirurgeons to embalme her. finis. * * * * * from the ashmole ms. , f. , in the bodleian library, oxford the manner of the execution of mary queen of scots, anno , the th of february, in the presence of such whose names be underwritten. first, after she was brought down by the sheriff to the place prepared in the hall for the purpose, by the command of us the earls of shrewsbury and kent, her majesty's commission was openly read, and then, according to a direction given before to mr. doctor fletcher, dean of peterborough, he was willed to use some short and pithy speech which might tend to admonish her of the dreariness of her death and the only means of salvation in christ jesus. as soon as he began to speak she interrupted him, saying she was a catholick, and that it was but a folly, being so resolutely determined as she was, to move her otherwise, and that our prayers would do her little good. nevertheless a prayer was read by the said dean, which was pronounced (_sic_) by all the assembly, that it would please god if it were his will to send her his spirit and true repentance to bless her majesty and confound her enemies. during which time of prayer she, being come down with many superstitions, crosses, and a pair (praier) of beads, prayed also aloud. when the dean had done then she openly pronounced a prayer to this effect: to beseech god to send her his holy spirit, and that she trusted to receive her salvation in his blood, and of his grace to be received into his kingdom. she besought god to forgive her enemies as she forgave them, and to turn his wrath from this island, to bless the queen's majesty that she might serve him, likewise to be merciful to her son, and to have compassion of his afflicted church, and though she was not worthy to be heard, yet she had a confidence in his mercy, and prayed all the saints to pray unto her saviour to receive her. after this, turning aside towards her servants, she desired them to pray for her that her saviour would receive her. then upon petition made by the executioners, she pardoned them, and said she was glad that the end of all her sorrows was so near, then she misliked the whining and weeping of her women, saying that they ought rather to thank god for her resoluteness, and so kissing them willed them to depart the scaffold, and again with a cross, with her hands towards her said servants, she bade them farewell, and so resolutely kneeled down, and having a kerchief bound over her eyes, laid down her neck, whereupon the executioners proceeded, she repeating these words, "in manus tuas domine commendo spiritum meum," and certain other verses of the psalms. the names of them that were present at the execution:-- ea. shrewsbury ea. kent am. paulett r. knightley r. wingfeild r. beale th. andrewes th. montague jo. wingfild jo. crues r. fletcher d. drurie ed. montague th. brudewell ri. forrest finis. * * * * * the queen of scots "what is to be answered" (dec.)--to that which cicero "pro deiotaro" sayd to cæsar, est ita in usitatem regem cap. reum esse ut ante hoc tempus non sit auditum. porsenna pardoned q. mutius that wold have slayn hym. remedia sanguinolenta sunt mitia ... calamitate. sanguis sanguinem procreat. quamquam somnus sit necessarius, medici tamen ... dare capava. nunquam auditum est, neque ratio potest comprehendi, reginam scotorum esse judiciabili. for takyng away of the scots queen's liff cannot be a preservatyve to the queen, but contrary, for the offence that hir frends will conceive, shall provocque them. the queen of scotts is so afflicted as she can lyve but few yers or dayes, and therfor not to be douted (feared) but rather to be pitied ever. the french kyng promiseth that he will impeach with his power, that there shall be no such attemtat as ar pretended to have bene against the queen's majesty. he will gyve order that the queen of scotts' kynsfolk that ar in france shall bynd themselves, and shall sign uppon ther fayths, that the queen of scotts, nor any for hir, shall enterprise any thing against the queen's majesty. if the queen's majesty will propound any other meanes which she shall judg more proper for her suerty and satisfaction and will shew the same to the ambassadors, they will employ ther power therin. endorsed--"reasons in the lord threasurer burghley's owne hand concerning the queen of scots." burghley's holograph, p. hist. mss. com., hatfield house papers, part iii. p. . * * * * * memorial from secretary walsingham touching the execution of the queen of scots - , feb. .--letters presently to be sent to e.l. (earl of leicester), with order to return speedy answer. sir amias to be assured of the e(arl) of k(ent) repair to fotheringhay at the day appointed before he send the particular letter to the earl of shrewsbury. after the return of the earl of kent's answer, burnell to be sent down unto sir amias with the commission and letters unto the two earls. for the colouring of his going down he is to have a commission to be furnished with post-horses in scotland. (noted in margin) the earl of kent may be ordered to advertise sir amias of the time of his coming by some trusted servant of his own. the earl of shrewsbury to be warned by the particular letter immediately after burnell's arrival. to consider what speeches were fit for the two earls to use at the time of the execution. (noted in margin by burghley) to express her many attempts both for destruction of the queen's person and the invasion of this realm; that the hope and comforts she hath given to the prince palatine, traitors of this realm, both abroad and here at home, are the very occasions of all the attempts that have been against her majesty's person, and so confessed, and yet so continue, so as sure by the laws of god and man she is justly condemned to die. the whole realm hath often time vehemently required that justice might be done, which her majesty cannot longer delay. to set down a form of proceeding in the execution by way of advice. the lords that are to be made acquainted with this matter are to consult on these points. to appoint only the scottish queen's chief officers and servant to assist at the execution, excluding the women. to direct the earls what to do in case she shall desire any private speech. (noted by burghley) not to refuse it, so it be to three or two at the least. some especial person to be appointed to note her speech. her servant(s) both (s) and (_sic_) for to be stayed for a time in this realm. (noted by burghley) to remain also in the castle until further order. sir amias to be directed to the gates "strayte" after warning given to the queen. the earl to be appointed how many of the servants shall attend at the time of the execution. the body to be buried in the night in the parish church in such uppermost[ ] place as by the two earls shall be thought fit. [footnote : this word interlined in burghley's hand.] whether not meet to be "barlmed" (embalmed). to send down the "shryve" (sheriff) of northampton if he be here. the exec(utioner) to be sent down. to take order that her jewels and plate may not be embezzled by her servants. that melvill and her principal women be acquainted therewith, and their seals to be put to the cases, etc.[ ] [footnote : the words are interlined by burghley.] if the sheriff by some great impediment cannot attend, to advise what then to be done. the lords at the court[ ] to give out that there will be no execution. [footnote : _ibid._] (the sheet of paper has been torn through from end to end, but has since been repaired.) endorsed by burghley--" nd feb. . memorial for the scots queen from mr. secretary walsingham." hist. mss. com., hatfield house papers, part iii. no. . * * * * * the privy council to the queen ( - ) th feb.--we, your born, bound, and sworn subjects, servants, and counsellors, attending in your court, for your service only, do most lowly, humbly, and sorrowfully pray and beseech your majesty, that you will suspend your heavy sensure against us, until we may declare the intention of our late councils for the orderly removing of the danger of your life, and the manner of our proceedings therin. and in the meantime, to the bottom of our hearts, we confess that we are most heartily sorry to hear that your majesty is so deeply grieved in your mind, as thereby your health, the maintenance of your life, must needs be hindered, and the present government of your state being now environed with many difficulties, or rather dangers, for lack of your favourable audience to be given to us, must needs receive great detriment, and hardly to be recovered. and howsoever your majesty doth make our actions to be the ground of your grief and offence towards us, wherof we are most sorry, yet we beseech your majesty, in your great wisdom, though you will yet continue offended against us, yet cease to grieve yourself with thinking of that which never can be revoked, and let us hear your offence to our griefs, until it may please your majesty either to hear us for our defence, or to change your mind, when you shall plainly see with the eyes of all your faithful subjects, that there was never any worldly act that could bring more surety to your own life, more strength to all your good subjects at home, and your friends abroad, nor, contrarywise, more grieve and discomfort your enemies, in seeing the anchor of their hold lost, and the foundation of all their intended machinations dissolved. thus, most gracious lady, though we are most desirous to have your offence against us qualified, as we hope in god's goodness to obtain by means of the clearness of our consciences, yet we rather prefer with sobbing hearts our desire to have your grief of mind to cease, and to give yourself to your natural food and sleep, to maintain your health, without which we have no comfort to live or breathe. endorsed by burghley--"a writing in the name of all the counsellors that sent mr. beale to the earl of shrewsbury." burghley's draft, - / pp. hist. mss. com., hatfield house, vol. iii. * * * * * the conference or commyssone between the quene of scottes and the lordes concerninge her examinacion f. , ....--in the morninge upon frydaie, shee resolved to appeare, and so aboute of the clocke came furthe into the presence chamber, which was prepared and hanged with clouthe of state in the upper parte and downe alonge bothe sides. there were formes covered with grene for the earles and lordes on the righte side, and for barons on the lefte side. somewhat below the middle of the chamber was a barre sette and within the barre a fourme for the knightes of the privie counsell, and before there fourmes was a chair with a quishione and a foote carpett, for the quene of scottes, dyrectlie againste the seate belowe. in the middle of the chamber was a table, wherat sate the quene's attorney and sollicitor, the quene's sergeaunte, the clerkes of the crowne, the two notaries directlie above the table. in the middeste of the chamber were two fourmes, wherupon sate, on the righte side, the lord chief justice of england, the lorde chief baron, doctor dalle, doctor forde. over againste them sate the lord chief justice of the common pleas, justice piream; belowe the barre sate suche gentlemen as came to see the action. on the right side were these lordes:-- [on the left side.] the lord chauncelor } { the lord aburgaveny the lord treasourer } { the lord zouche earle of oxford } { the lord morley earle of shrewsburie } { the lord stafford earle of kente } { the lord graye earle of derby } { the lord sturton earle of worcester } { the lord sandes earle of rutlaund } { the lord wentworth, earle of cumberland } sir james crofte { the lord mordant, earle of warwicke } sir walter mildmaie { the lord st john of bletso earle of lincolne } sir ralphe sadler { the lord compton earle of penbrooke } sir frauncis walsingham { the lord chenie viscounte montague } mr. vice-chamberlaine hist. mss. com., lord kenyon, . * * * * * note to page from _mary stewart: a brief statement_, hosack, p. . there is a note in cecil's writing, written about the time of the york conference ( ), which contrasts curiously with bromley's words. cecil says, "she is to be helped because she came willingly into the realm upon trust of the queen's majesty. she trusted upon the queen's majesty's help, because she had in her troubles _received many messages to that effect_." note to page "att her risinge first upp, shee talked longe with the lord treasourer, cominge to him to his seate, after to mr. vice-chamberlaine and to mr. secretarye, excusinge herselve unto them, and like a serpente to winde herselve unto them. she said unto the earle of warwicke that shee hard hee was an honourable gentleman, desiringe him not to beleve all thinges that hee hard of her, desiringe him to comende her to my lord of leycester, sayinge that shee wished him good successe in all his affaires."--hist. mss. com., lord kenyon, , pp. - . * * * * * inscription round the miniature, and list of the relics | _reverse_ maria [...] scotiæ regina | ex ligno s crucis martyrio affecta a'o [ ] | s. quirini s. victor septembris in anglia. | s. bernardi abb. | s. margaretæ | b.p. ignatii b. campiani m s. barbaræ, v.m. | s. flori m b. walpole s. mar...... | b.p. xaverii b. stanislai s. catharin[æ s]enens | b. aloysii b. garneti s. aldegundis, v. | s. margaretæ scotiæ | s. car boromei s. co...enæ | s. vincentii m s. scholasticæ v.m. | s. jacobi minor m b.m. teresæ | s. m... m | s. thomi | s. iovini m | s. polycarpi m the end _printed by_ r. & r. clark, _edinburgh._