that of shedding her blood for her religion. She recited her injuries and the frauds and perjuries of her enemies, and then laying her hand on the Testament upon her table, called God to witness that she had never imagined, much loss attempted, anything against the life of the Queen of England.
The Earl of Kent, who appears to have been a bigot and a churl of the rudest description, and whose conduct throughout was brutal and unfeeling in the extreme, cried, "That book is a Popish Testament, and, of course, the oath is of no value." "It is a Catholic Testament," replied the queen, "and on that account I prize it the more; and therefore, according to your own reasoning, you ought to judge my oath the more satisfactory." But the Earl of Kent only bade her have done with her Papistical superstition, and attend to the spiritual services of the Dean of Peterborough, whom her Majesty had appointed to attend her. Mary declined the services of the dean, and requested to have the aid of Le Preau, her almoner, the last indulgence which she had to ask from them. It was refused, on the plea that it was contrary to the law of God and of the land, and would endanger not only the souls but the lives of the commissioners. A long conversation followed this refusal, and Mary asked whether the foreign powers had made no efforts in her behalf, and whether her only son had forgotten her; and finally, when she was to suffer. The Earl of Shrewsbury replied with much emotion, "To-morrow morning, at eight o clock."
Mary received this announcement with a calm dignity which awed and even affected the beholders. When the earls had risen and were about to withdraw, the queen asked earnestly whether Nau was dead or alive. Drury replied that he was still alive in prison. "What!" she exclaimed, "is Nau's life to be spared, and mine taken?" And again laying her hand on the Testament—"I protest before God that Nau is the author of my death. He has brought me to the scaffold to save his own life. I die in the place of Nau, but the truth will soon be known."
When the door was closed after the earls, her attendants burst into an agony of grief, but she bade them dry their tears, for it was not an occasion to weep on but to rejoice in. She bade them hasten supper, for she had much to do. Whilst supper was preparing she prayed long and fervently, and on being called supped sparingly, as was her custom. Before rising, she drank to all her servants, who pledged her in return upon their knees, and with many tears entreated her forgiveness for anything with which, during their service, they had grieved or offended her. She forgave them, and asked their pardon for any faults towards them, on her part; and followed this with some advice regarding their future conduct, adding once more her conviction that Nau was the cause of her death.
This done she sat down to write, and prepared three letters, one to her confessor—in which she complained of the cruelty of her enemies, who refused her his assistance, and begged his prayers during the night—one to the Duke of Guise, and the third to the King of Franco. She now retired to her closet with her maids, Jane Kennedy and Elspeth Curle, and spent the night in devotion. About four o'clock she lay down on her bed, but did not sleep, her lips still continuing in motion, and her mind evidently being occupied in prayer. At dawn she called round her her household, read to them her will, distributed amongst them her clothes and money; kissed the women, and gave her hand to the men to kiss. She then went into her chapel, followed by the whole group, who knelt and prayed behind her, as she knelt and prayed at the altar.
Whilst she was thus engaged, the commissioners, attended by the sheriff, and Paulet and his guard, making from 150 to 200 persons, assembled in the great hall, where a scaffold was already raised and covered with black cloth. At eight o'clock, Andrews, the sheriff, entered, and told her that it was time. She then arose, took the crucifix in her right hand, and her prayer-book in her left, and followed him. Her servants were moving in train, but they were ordered by the officers to remain, and Mary, therefore, bade them be content, and turning gave them her blessing. They received it on their knees, in a convulsion of grief, some kissing her hands, others clinging to and kissing her robe. She went forth with a calm and pleasant air, clad in a gown of black satin, with a veil of lawn fastened to her caul and flowing to the ground. To her girdle hung her chaplet, and she still held in her hand the ivory crucifix. As the door closed behind her, a loud and agonised lament rose from her attendants.
She was received by the earls and her keepers, and at the foot of the stairs she found her old and faithful servant, Sir Robert Melville, who for the last three weeks had been denied access to her. The old man, in a passion of grief, flung himself on his knees before her, and exclaimed, "Ah, madam! unhappy me! Was over a man on earth a bearer of such sorrow as I shall be, when I shall report that my good and gracious queen and mistress was beheaded in England?" This was all that his emotion would allow him to utter, and Mary said, "Good Melville, cease to lament. Thou hast cause to joy rather than mourn, for thou shalt see the end of Mary Stuart's troubles. Know that this world is but vanity, subject to more sorrow than an ocean of tears can bewail. But I pray thee report that I die a true woman to my religion, to Scotland, and to France. May God forgive them that have long thirsted for my blood as the hart doth for the brooks of water. O God! thou art the author of truth, and truth itself. Thou knowest the inmost chambers of my thoughts, and that I always wished the union of England and Scotland. Commend me to my son, and tell him that I have done nothing prejudicial to the dignity or independence of his crown, or favourable to the pretended superiority of our enemies."
Here she burst into tears, kissed Melville, saying, "Good Melville, farewell; and once again, good Melville, farewell, and pray for thy mistress and queen." This parting seemed to make her feel more sensibly the cruelty of being forbidden to have the rest of her servants present at her death. She again entreated that they might be admitted, but the ungenial Earl of Kent objected that they might be troublesome by the clamorousness of their grief, and might practise some Popish mummery, or dip their handkerchiefs in her blood. Mary pledged her word for the propriety of their behaviour, and said she felt assured that Elizabeth, as a maiden queen, would wish her to have her women about her at her death. Still there was no answer, and she added that she thought they
