might grant her a greater courtesy were she a woman of a less calling than a Queen of Scotland. Seeing that this did not move them, she continued with warmth, "Am I not the cousin to your queen, a descendant of the blood-royal of Henry VII., a married Queen of France, and the anointed Queen of Scotland?" This produced so much effect that it was agreed to admit four of her men and two of her women servants; and she selected the steward, physician, apothecary, and surgeon, with the maids Kennedy and Curle.
The sheriff and his officers then moved towards the scaffold: the Earls of Shrewsbury and Kent followed; next Paulet and Drury, Mary, with Melville bearing her train, in the rear. Old Amyas relaxed some of his sternness, and offered her his arm to mount the scaffold, for which she thanked him, observing that it was the most acceptable service he had ever offered her. On the scaffold was the block, a low stool, and a cushion, all covered with black. The executioner from the Tower, dressed in black velvet, with his assistants, stood opposite to the stool, on which she seated herself. The servants and all but the chief personages just mentioned, stood on the floor of the hall. As soon as Beale had read the warrant, which Mary heard without any symptom of uneasiness, she addressed the spectators, begging them to remember that she was a sovereign princess, not subject to the laws, the sovereign, or the Parliament of England, but was brought there by violence and injustice to suffer. She repeated again her protestation that she had never injured or contemplated injury to the Queen of England; that she pardoned all her enemies, and thanked God that she was thought worthy to shed her blood for her religion. Here the Dean of Peterborough interrupted her, and began to give a history of her life, and of the favours which Elizabeth had shown to her, and who was killing her body to save her soul.
Mary bade the officious churchman spare himself his trouble, for that she was born in her religion, had lived in it, and meant to die in it. She then turned from him; but the unabashed dean, who no doubt thought he was doing God service whilst he was persecuting an unhappy victim in her last moments, went round to the other side of her, and began again. The Earl of Shrewsbury, who seems to have been the only true gentleman present, bade him desist and repeat a prayer. Whilst he repeated his prayer, Mary pronounced one of her own for her suffering Church, for her son, and, imitating the Saviour, for her enemy and destroyer, Elizabeth; then, holding up her crucifix, she said, "As thy arms, O God, were stretched out upon the cross, so receive me into thy arms of mercy, and forgive my sins." "Madam," said the Earl of Kent, who knew much less of real Christianity than he believed, "you had better leave such Popish trumperies, and bear him in your heart." She replied, "I cannot hold this representation of his sufferings in my hand, but I must at the same time bear him in my heart." The whole of Mary's conduct on the scaffold showed that, apart from all sacred rites and ceremonies, she had learnt the true spirit of the Redeemer.
Mary bade her maids disrobe her, which they attempted, drowned in tears; but the executioners, who thought they were going to lose their perquisites, rushed forward, and insisted on doing that themselves. The queen begged them to desist, but finding it useless, observed to the earls, with a smile, that she was not accustomed to employ such grooms, or to undress before so numerous a company; but she signed to her maids to be silent by putting her finger to her lips, giving them her blessing, and soliciting their prayers. Kennedy tied a handkerchief edged with gold over her eyes, and the executioner led her to the block. The chief executioner, though from the Tower, was so unnerved by the fact of severing a crowned head, and by the cries and groans of the attendants, that he missed his aim, struck a deep wound into the base of the skull, and not till the third blow succeeded in his task. When he held up the head, the features of which were so convulsed that they were unrecognisable, and cried, "God save Queen Elizabeth!" the bigoted dean said, "So perish all her enemies;" and the rude, fanatical Kent, "So perish all the enemies of the Gospel." Not a single voice was heard to cry "Amen." The spectacle of a dying queen, long oppressed by captivity and calumny, now blessing her enemies in her last moments, had made all forget that she was of a different creed and party: they felt only that she was a woman and a Christian.
An affecting incident marked the execution. The queen's little dog followed her, concealed herself amongst her clothes, and would not be removed except by force, when he flew back to the body, and lay down betwixt the head and shoulders. The corpse was embalmed, enclosed in lead, and left for six months in the same room, when Elizabeth ordered it to be buried with Royal state in the abbey church of Peterborough, opposite to the tomb of Catherine of Arragon. There it remained for twenty-five years, when it was removed to Westminster Abbey by order of James.
The Earl of Shrewsbury dispatched his son with the intelligence of the execution of Mary, which reached the Court the next day. Burleigh, who received the letter, immediately sent for Davison and several of the Privy Council, and it was concluded to keep the fact from the queen for a short time. But such a fact, though it might be officially, could not be otherwise concealed. The news flew abroad, and the Protestant population gave a loose to their joy by the universal ringing of bells and kindling of bonfires. Elizabeth neither could nor did remain ignorant of the cause of this noisy exultation. She inquired why the bells rung so merrily, and was told, says Davison, for the execution of the Queen of Scots; but she took no notice of it, having not been officially informed. Far from displaying any emotion of any kind, she took her usual airing, and on her return appeared to be enjoying herself in the company of Don Antonio, the pretender to the crown of Portugal. But in the morning, being then officially informed, she flew into very well-acted official paroxysms of rage and grief. She declared that she had never contemplated or sanctioned such a thing; that Davison had betrayed her, whom she had charged not to let the warrant go out of his hands; and that the whole Privy Council had acted most unwarrantably.
Davison, who fondly hoped that he had secured himself under the shield of the Privy Council, made his appearance at Court; but the councillors, who saw there must be a victim, advised him to keep out of sight for a few days; and the consequence was, that his amiable
