to execute His judgments, as in the case of Saul, who had spared Agag, and Ahab, who had spared Benhadad. Elizabeth replied by feigning the utmost reluctance to shed the blood of that wicked woman, the Queen of Scots, though she had so often sought her life, and for the preservation of which she expressed her deep gratitude to Almighty God. She wished that she and Mary were two milkmaids, with pails upon their arms, and then she would forgive her all her wrongs. As for her own life, she had no desire on her own account to preserve it; she had nothing left worth living for; but for her people she could endure much. Still, the call of her Council, her Parliament, and her people to execute justice on her own kinswoman, had brought her into a great strait and struggle of mind. But then, she said, she would confide to them a secret: that certain persons had sworn an oath within these few days to take her life or be hanged themselves. She had written proof of this, and she must, therefore, remind them of their own oath of association for the defence of her person. "She thought it requisite," she said, "with earnest prayer, to beseech the Divine Majesty so to illuminate her understanding, and to inspire her with his grace, that she might see clearly to do and determine that which should serve to the establishment of his Church, the preservation of their estates, and the prosperity of the commonwealth."
She sent a message to the two houses, expressing the great conflict which she had had in her own mind, and begging to know whether they could not devise some means of sparing the life of her relative. Both houses, on the 25th, returned answer that this was impossible. To this declaration of Parliament she returned to them one of her enigmatical answers, "If I should say that I meant not to grant your petition, by my faith, I should say unto you more perhaps than I mean. And if I should say that I mean to grant it, I should tell you more than it is fit for you to know. Thus I must deliver to you an answer answerless."
Elizabeth's next move was to announce to Mary the sentence, and to see whether she could not draw from her a confession of its justice. For this purpose she sent down to Fotheringay Lord Buckhurst and Mr. Robert Beale, with a Protestant bishop and dean, and a strong body of guards. They were to take advantage of her terror and distress of mind to draw from her this important admission. But in this the messengers signally failed. Mary heard the sentence with an air of composure, protested against its injustice, and against the right of any power in England to pass it; but declared that death would be welcome to her as the only way of escape from her weary captivity. She refused to receive the Protestant bishop and dean, and demanded to be allowed the services of her almoner. This was conceded for a brief interval; and during that interval she wrote letters to the Pope, the Duke of Guise, and to the Archbishop of Glasgow, in which she declared her innocence, her steadfastness in her religion, and called upon them to vindicate her memory. These letters were all safely delivered to their several addresses after her death.
This interview took place on the 23rd of November; and the next day Paulet went into her presence with his hat on, declared that she was now dead according to law, and had no right to the insignia of royalty: he therefore ordered the canopy of state to be pulled down, and also that her billiard-table should be taken away, because a woman under her circumstances should be better employed than in mere recreation.
On the 6th of December proclamation of the judgment of the commissioners against the Queen of Scots was made through London by sound of trumpet, whereupon the populace made great rejoicings, kindled large bonfires, and rang the bells all day as if some joyful event had occurred. They were so fully persuaded that the Queen of Scots was at the bottom of all the alleged and real plots for the overturn of the Government, the bringing in of the King of Spain, and the Roman Catholic religion, that their exultation was boundless. Thus the people, as well as the Parliament and Council, had yoked themselves to the responsibility of this act; and Mary, when she heard of it, recollected the fate of the Earl of Northumberland, and was so alarmed lest they should assassinate her in private, that she wrote to Elizabeth her last and most impressive letter. In this letter—worthy of a queen stricken with long years of affliction, grown calm under the sense of injustice, yet careful of her reputation, and mindful of her friends—she requested that her body might be sent to France to lie beside that of her mother; that she might send her last adieu and a jewel to her son; that her faithful servants might be permitted to retain the small tokens of her regard which she had given to them; and especially that she might not be put to death in private, lest her enemies should say, as they had said of others, that she had destroyed herself, or abjured her religion. She then thanked God for having sustained her under so much injustice, and told Elizabeth if she had permitted the real letters and papers to have been brought forward on the trial, they would have shown what were the true objects of her enemies. She added, "Do not accuse me of presumption if, whilst I bid adieu to this world, and am preparing for another, I remind you that one day you will there have to answer for your conduct, as well as those whom you have sent there before you."
Even on the soul of Elizabeth this letter took some effect. "There has been a letter," wrote Leicester to Walsingham, "from the Scottish queen, that hath wrought tears, but I trust shall doe no further herein; albeit, the delay is too dangerous."
The news of the trial of Mary produced a vivid sensation abroad, and Henry III. of France hastened to intercede on her behalf; but, unfortunately, his own affairs were not in that position which enabled him to exert much authority with Elizabeth. At the recommendation of L'Aubespine Chasteauneuf, his resident ambassador, Henry sent an ambassador extraordinary on this mission, M. Bellievre. He was instructed to use the most forcible language, and even menaces, to prevent the spilling of Mary's blood. But the most vexatious obstacles were thrown in the way of the reception of Bellievre. First, he was informed that hired assassins, unknown to him, had mixed themselves with his suite; and then he was questioned whether the plague had not shown itself in his household. Meantime Parliament had supported the commission which condemned Mary, and then, on the 7th of December, she admitted him to an audience at Richmond, seated on her throne and surrounded by her Court.
