The Tragedy of Fotheringay / Founded on the journal of D. Bourgoing, physician to Mary Queen of Scots, and on unpublished ms. documents

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.[131] 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."

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

IT was Tuesday morning, the 8th 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.[132] 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.

Contemporary Drawing of the Execution of Mary Queen of Scots at Fotheringay.
From the Calthorpe MS.
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List of Names, in Beale’s handwriting, of those present at the Execution.
Accompanying the Calthorpe Drawing.
Enlarge

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 700 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 150 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 5000 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.[133] 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."

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."[134]

"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,[135] 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.

"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.[136] 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.

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?"[137]

Vanquished by this appeal, the commissioners permitted that Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth Curle, the two women designated by Mary, should accompany her.[138]

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,"[139] 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."[140] 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.[141] Among the 300 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.

The Queen had now reached the threshold of the hall.[142] 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.[143] 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.[144] 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.[145] Shrewsbury, turning to her, said, "Madame, you hear what we are commanded to do."

"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."[146]

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."[147] 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.

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."[148] 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.

Meanwhile the Queen prayed aloud in Latin, repeating some of the penitential Psalms. The "Miserere," "In te Domine-speravi," "Qui habitat in adjutorio," etc.[149]

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.[150] 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."

Mary also prayed for the Pope and pastors of the Church, and for all her enemies, "that He would pardon them as she did;"[151] for Queen Elizabeth, "that it would please Him to give her His blessing, so that she might worship Him in the truth;"[152] 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,[153] 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.[154] 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.[155] 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."[156] 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."[157] 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.[158] 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.[159] "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."

"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.[160] "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.[161] As the Queen repeated the words "In te Domine-speravi," Lord Shrewsbury raised his wand to give the fatal signal.

Walker & Boutall, Ph. Sc.

Execution of Mary Queen of Scots,
from the background of the Blairs Portrait. (enlarged.)
Enlarge

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.[162] At the third blow the soul of Mary Stuart passed to its eternal reward.

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,[163] 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.

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."[164] "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."[165] This messenger was Henry Talbot, third son of Lord Shrewsbury, from whose report we have already quoted.

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;"[166] 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.[167] 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."

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.[168] 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."[169] 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."[170]

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."[171]

CHAPTER XII

PETERBOROUGH

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.[172] 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."[173] 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[174] (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."

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.[175] 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?"[176] 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."[177]

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 1587.

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.[178]

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 30th July 1587, "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,"[179] "and without bells or chanting"[180] 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,[181] prepared both vaults for these royal and injured occupants.

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.[182]

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."[183]

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."[184]

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.[185] We give the order of procession according to the report drawn up by Garter king at arms.

The Order for the Buriall for Marie Queen of Scotts,
at Peterborough, observed the First of
August, on Tuesday, 1587.[186]

Poore men[187] (One hundred) in gownes, two and two.

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.

SCOTTES IN CLOAKES,

seventeen.
A Scottish Priest.[188]

GOWNES.

Two Chaplayns to the Bishops aforesayde.
Mr. Fortescue, master of Queene Elizabeth's wardrope.
The two Bishopps, Peturborough and Lincolne.

THE GREATE BANNER.

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.

BANNEROLLS,

THE CANOPIE.

THE BODIE

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.[190]

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.

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.[191]

When the bier reached the choir it was placed on a catafalque, which Derrick describes as "a stately hearse with a topp 8 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."[192] 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.[193] 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."[194] 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;"[195] 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."[196]

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:—