 5 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 the 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 Catherine, who was now regent of France, and also awakened 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 ambassador in France, directing him to have an interview with Queen Catherine and asserting how far she would feel disposed to take Mary's part. Throckmorton did this. Queen Catherine 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, where she was a friend to them both and should not take apart 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 she 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 from either Hover or Calais, that he would go eastward along the shore of the continent by Flanders and Holland, till she gained a considerable distance from the English coast, and then would sail north along the eastern shores of the German ocean. The advice that Elizabeth should send spies to Calais and to Hover, and perhaps to other French ports, to watch there, and to let her know whenever they observed any appearances at preparations for Mary's departure. In the meantime, 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 Catherine 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 goodwill. She stopped at length at Saint Germain, and there with many tears she bade her gentle daughter-in-law along and last farewell. Many princes and nobles, especially of the family of guys, 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 Marys 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 seaman, occasioned by Mary's embarkation. The vessel which struck was so injured by the concussion that it filled immediately and sank. Most of the seaman 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. 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 for ever. The darkness like a thick veil hides thee from my sight, and I shall see thee no more. So farewell, beloved land. Farewell, for ever. 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 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 lands 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 lands 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 a certain, 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 to safety toward the lands. Mary said, however, that she felt at the time entirely indifferent as to the result. She was so disconsole 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 had been celebrated from that day to this. They are as follows. 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. Say all that wafts, he 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 19th of August, 1561, that the two galleys arrived at Leith. Leith is a small port on the shore of the frith of fourth, about two miles from Edinburgh, which is situated somewhat inland. The royal palace where Mary was to reside was called the Palace of Holyroods. It was, and is still, a large square building with an open court in the centre into which there is access for carriages through a large arch passageway in the centre 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 remained a day at least, awaiting the necessary preparations. In the meantime, the whole population began to assemble and to welcome her arrival. Military bands returned out, banners were prepared, civil and military officers in full costume assembled, and bonfires and illuminations were provided for the evening and night. In a word, Mary's subjects in Scotland did all in their power to do honour 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. Horses were prepared for Mary and her large company of attendants to ride from Leith to Edinburgh. The long capital clade moved towards Evening. The various professions and trades of Edinburgh were set 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. 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. Mary made an extremely favourable 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 do note 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 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 at the occasion, stand by, not merely to hear the words of adoration in which they mentally join, as in the case of 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 supposed, 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 solemn tea 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 priest to pretend that in breaking it, they renew the sacrifice of Christ, is in posture. 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 frenzy 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 the 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 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, 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 implications. The excitement was very great, and would probably have precedents of violent extremities had it not been for Lord James' energy and courage. He was a Protestant, but he took his station at the door of the chapel, and without saying or doing anything 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. One of the most powerful and influential leaders of the Protestant party at this time was the celebrated John Knox. He was a man of great powers of mine 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 his arrival, and it is one of the most striking instances of the strange ascendancy which marries 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 then 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 Holy Root. The four Marys 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 in sincerity, sent her back a polite reply. End of Chapter 5 Return to Scotland Chapter 6 of Mary, Queen of Scots This is a LibriVox recording, or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Ernst Patinama Mary, Queen of Scots by Jacob Abbott Chapter 6 Mary and Lord Darnley 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 Ernest 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 Mary conferred upon him. The castle and estates pertaining to this title were in the north of Scotland, in the neighbourhood 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 the 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 travelled on horseback, sometimes with the royal escort and sometimes at the head of an army of 18 or 20,000 men. These royal progressives 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 defiers of the Highlands. Occasionally she would pay visits to the nobles at the castles, to hunt in their parks, to reveal the Highland retainers, or to join them in celebrations and fates and military parades. During all this time her personal influence and ascendancy 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, forbids 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 let on by that strange and uncontrollable 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 bedroom, he followed her directly in. Mary called for help. The attendants came in and immediately sent for the Earl of Mary, 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 Mary came in, she directed him to run his dagger through the man. Mary, 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 meantime, Mary and Queen Elizabeth continued ostensibly on good terms. They sent ambassadors 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 enacted. 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, why 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 Donnelly. 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, Donnelly. There was a plan of disposing of this last difficulty in a very simple manner. It was to have Mary marry Lord Donnelly 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 Donnelly, being Mary's cousin, the 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 meantime, a great many other plans were formed for Mary's marriage. Several of the princes and potent dates 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 favourites. The position of Dudley and the circumstances of the case was 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 honour in France, as a special ambassador 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 34 years of age. Mary was about 22. Sir James Melville was received with many marks of attention and honour 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 deserved 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 host 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 ear, and that she should marry him herself, worried 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 ear. This was done a short time afterward with great ceremony. Lord Donley, then a very tall and slender youth of about 19, was present on the occasion. His father and mother had been banished from Scotland, on account of some political offenses 20 years before, and he had thus himself been brought up in England. As he was a new 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 sort of honour before the Queen. Dudley kneeled before Elizabeth why 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 favour. And yet, said the Queen, I suppose you prefer you on a long lad, pointing to Donley. She knew something of Mary's half-formed design of making Donley her husband. Melville, who did not wish her to suppose that Mary had any serious intention of choosing Donley, said that no woman or 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, Donley'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 meantime, pressed upon Melville the importance of Mary's deciding soon in favour of the marriage with Lester. As to declaring in favour 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 favour 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, but 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 Lee 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 Lester, according to her wish, if she would have a 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 Lester, she would advance him to great honours and dignities, but that she could not do anything 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 Lester, and that she did not suppose Mary herself would consent to it on any terms. Accordingly, when she found Mary was exceeding 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 Lester negotiation from going any further. At any rate, Lord Darnley, then a very tall and handsome young man of 19, obtained suddenly permission to go to Scotland. Mary went to Weems Castle, and made arrangements to have Darnley come and visit her there. Weems Castle is situated in a most romantic and beautiful spot on the seashore, 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 cracks and other seats on the left of the city. Weems Castle was, at this time, the residence of Mary, Mary's brother. Mary's visit to it was an event which attracted a great deal of attention. Two people flocked into the neighbourhood, and provisions and accommodations of every kind rose enormously in price. Everyone was eager to get a glimpse of the beautiful queen. Besides, they knew that Lord Darnley was expected, and the rumour 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 Mary Lester, 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 ambassador sent her word that he was satisfied that Mary's marriage with Darnley all was arranged and settled. Queen Elizabeth was, or pretended to be, in a great rage. She sent the most urgent remonstances 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 wailay and seize her, to imprison her, and to send Donnelly 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 would wailay 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 Donnelly. The ceremony was performed in the Royal Chapel at Holy Root. 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 Donnelly 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, largesse 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. Donnelly, who was not a Catholic, retiring. After the Mass, Mary returned to the palace, and changed the morning 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 Donnelly was personally attractive in respect both to his countenance and his manners, and unfortunately this is all that can be said in his favour. He was weak-minded and yet self-conceited and vain. The sudden elevation which his marriage with the 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 great many attentions, and took great pleasure in conferring upon him, as her queenly power enabled her to do distinctions and honours. 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 cause 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 fell 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. Marie and his confederates organised 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 ambassadors, had to court disavow her having done so, she could not help them or countenance them in any way. The miserable men being reduced to a heart extremity made this disavowal. Elizabeth then said to them, Now you have told the truth. Neither I nor anyone else in my name incited you against your queen, and your abominable treason may set an example to my own subject 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. Darling was selfish, unfeeling, and incapable of requiting affection like Mary's. He treated her with the most heartless indifference, though she had done everything to awaken his gratitude and win his love. She bestowed upon him every honor which it was in a 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 Holy Root 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 and ingratitude which could required such love with such selfishness and cruelty. Mary had a secretary named David Rizio. 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 ambassadors 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 ambassadors generally traveled with pomp and parade, taking sometimes many attendants with them. The ambassador from Savoy happened to bring with him to Scotland in his train, this young man Rizio, in 1561, 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 quartet. 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 the knowledge of the French language. This French secretary went home, and Mary appointed Rizio to take his place. The native Scotchman in Mary's court were naturally very jealous of the influence of these foreigners. They looked down with special contempt on Rizio, considering him of mean rank and position and holy destitute of all claim to the office of confidential secretary to the queen. Rizio 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 want 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. Rizio 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 the French secretary, but that he was fast acquiring a great ascendancy 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 cooperate 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 Rizio'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. Rizio seemed to approve of this council 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 everything to go on as it had done. Now the Queen, having great confidence in Melville, had previously requested him that if he saw anything 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 Rizio was her only 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 Rizio 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 meantime, Rizio 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 the 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 the process of time, one after another, of those about the court, finding that Rizio'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 Rizio found his position becoming stronger, and the possibility 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 incorrigibly 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 errors 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 nonetheless 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 Donley's marriage, for in order to take up the story of Rizio from the beginning, we have been obliged to go back in our narrative. Rizio exerted all his influence in favor of the marriage, and thus both strengthened his influence with Mary and made Donley 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. Donley relied therefore upon Rizio's friendship and devotion to his service, forgetting that in all these past efforts Rizio was acting out of regard to Mary's wishes and not to his own. As long therefore as Mary and Donley continued to pursue the same objects and aims, Rizio was the common friend and ally of both. The enemies of the marriage, however, disliked Rizio more than ever. As Donley's character developed itself gradually after his marriage, everybody began to dislike him also. He was unprincipled and vicious, as well as imperious and proud. His friendship for Rizio 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 assemble their anger. It was not very long after the marriage of Mary and Donley before they began to become alienated from each other. Mary did everything 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 share 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 Donley 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 Donley, 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 Donley, by her own act, there were other difficulties doubtless in mind arising from the character of Donley and his unfitness, which was every day becoming more manifest, to be entrusted 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, Donley, 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, endeavouring to dissuade him from such a course. Donley resented these kind cautions, and retorted upon her in so violent and brutal 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. Insiding her public documents, she insisted on having her name recorded first. These things irritated and provoked Donley 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. Rizio, 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 Donley's power. Donley was very much incensed against him, and earnestly desired to find some way to affect his destruction. He communicated these feelings to a certain fierce and fearless nobleman named Ruthman, and asked his assistants to contrive some way to take vengeance upon Rizio. Ruthman was very much pleased to hear this. He belonged to a party of the lords of the court who also hated Rizio, though they had hated Donley besides so much that they had not communicated to him their hostility to the other. Ruthman and his friends had not joined Murray and the other rebels in opposing the marriage of Donley. They had chosen to acquiesce in it, hoping to maintain an ascendancy over Donley, 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 pardons and allowed to return, hoping to combine with them after their return, and then together to make their power superior to that of Donley and Rizio. They considered Donley and Rizio both as their rivals and enemies. When they found, therefore, that Donley was plotting Rizio's destruction, they felt a very strong as well as 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 Murray to Rizio. 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 guilty one. A painting still hanging in the private rooms, which belonged to Murray in the palace at Holy Road, represents Rizio 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 was something especially repulsive in his appearance and manner, such a heart as Murray'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 refuge in the kind devotedness of such a friend as Rizio proved himself to be to her. However this may be, Rothman made such suggestions to Donley as goaded him to madness, and a scheme was soon formed for putting Rizio to death. The plan, after being deliberately matured in all its arrangements, was carried into effect in the following manner. The offense occurred early in the spring of 1566, less than a year after Murray'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. Murray was, at the time of these occurrences, in a 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 Hollywood. This room was on the third floor, and it opened into Murray's bedroom marked B. Darnley had a room of his own immediately below Murray's. There was a little door, D, leading from Murray's bedroom to a private staircase built in the wall. This staircase 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 C.H. The building which is now in ruins. Behind Murray's bedroom was an enter-room, R, with a door, O, leading to the public staircase by which her apartments were approached. All these apartments still remain, and are explored annually by thousands of visitors. 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. Rothman 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 Rizio that he left his bed, put on a suit of armor, and came forth to the work. The armor is preserved in a 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 Rizio, 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 come up by this private staircase, in order to avoid being intercepted or delayed by the domestics in attendance in the answer room, R, of which there would have been danger if they had ascended by the public staircase at T. Finding that Darnley did not return, Rothman and his party ascended the stairs, entered the bedchamber through the little door at D., and then advanced to the door of the cabinet, his heavy iron armor clanking as he came. The queen, alarmed, demanded the meaning of this intrusion. Rothman, 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. Rizio perceived that his hour was come. The attendants flocked into the assistance of the queen and Rizio. Rothman'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. Rizio cried out in an agony of fear, and sought refuge behind the queen. The queen herself fainted. The table was overturned, and Rizio, having received one wound from a dagger, was seized and dragged out through the bed-chamber, B., and through the enterum R. to the door, O., where he fell down, and was stabbed by the murders again and again till he ceased to breathe. After the scene was over, Darnley and Ruffin 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 Rizio 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 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 Rizio 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 Rizio. 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 Rizio's fate the next day. The violence of the conspirator did not stop with the destruction of Rizio. 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 in confusion caused by this struggle was over, they found that Mary overcome with agitation and terror, with 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 Donley 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, she said, 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 Donley came to see her. He persuaded her that he himself had nothing to do with the murder of Rizio. 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 Rutherford 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. Donley saw this. He felt that he, as well as Mary, were in the rebel's power. They formed a plan to escape together. They succeeded. They fled to a distant castle, collected a large army, the people everywhere 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 Rizio 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. End of Chapter 7 Rizio Recording by Katie Riley January 2009 Chapter 8 of Mary Queen of Scots This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Mary Queen of Scots by Jacob Abbott Chapter 8 Bothwell 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 so unmanageable that he was at one time sent into management. He was, however, afterward recalled, and again entrusted with power. He entered ardently into Mary's service in her contest with the murderers of Rizio. He assisted her in raising an army after her flight, and in conquering Morton, Rithvin, 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, free-booters, 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 own government, after the overthrow of the murderers of Rizio, 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 travelled 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 to 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, promising 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 organise a party in his favour 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. Ambassadors came from all the important courts of the Continent to do honour to the occasion. Elizabeth sent the Earl of Bedford as her ambassador, with a present of a baptism font of gold which had cost a sum equal to five thousand dollars. The baptism took place at Sterling in December with every possible accompaniment of pomp and parade, and was followed by many days of festivities and rejoicings. The whole country were interested in the event except Darnley, who declared solemnly, while the preparations were making, that he should not remain to witness the ceremony, but should go off in 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 Rothsy, 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. In due time after the coronation, the various ambassadors 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 meantime, Bothwell and Murray were competitors for the confidence in regard of the Queen, and it began to seem probable that Bothwell would win the day. Murray, in one of her excursions, was travelling in the southern part of the country, when she heard that he had been wounded in an encounter with a party of desperados near the border. Moved partly perhaps by compassion and partly by gratitude for his services, Murray 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 Murray'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 the circumstances of its execution. The latter represented as an instance of highly and decorous 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 Murray. He had been married but a few months to a beautiful lady a few years younger than the Queen. The question, however, whether Murray 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 a 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 respectability 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 handwriting he would join it, otherwise not. Bothwell failed to furnish this evidence saying that the Queen was really privy to and in favour 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 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 rumours 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 Holy Rood 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 in 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 afterwards 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 Holy Rood's house. Besides, his disorder was contagious. It is supposed to have been the smallpox, 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. The situation of this house is seen near the city wall on the left, in the accompanying view of Edinburgh. Holy Rood's house is the large square edifice in the foreground and the castle crowned the hill in the distance. There is now, as there was in the days of Mary, a famous street extending from Holy Rood's house to the castle, called the Canon Gate at the lower end and the High Street above. This street, with the castle at one extremity in Holy Rood's 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 passageway 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 everything 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. There is included in the book a following plan of the house in which Darnley was lodged. 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 this 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 Holy Road. The bride and bridegroom were favourite 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 got 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 which belonged to Mary. Mary was all this time directly overhead 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 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 servant's 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 maintained 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 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 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 Rizio's death. On entering her palace too at Holy Road 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 a thing as such a time if she was really in the counsels 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 meantime, Mary and Bothwell went together into the hall where the servants were rejoicing and making Mary 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 accountants 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, conscious, 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 their 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 sting 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 Holy Road, 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 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 informed 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, used a vast sensation all over Scotland. Everybody 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 forced 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 connected 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 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 whatsoever. Toward the end of April, Mary was about returning from the castle of Sterling 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 Lindlethgau, 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 to, 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. 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 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 favour, and he could not depend upon any assurance of her favour less than 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 favour 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 favour again. A short time after this they were married. The ceremony was performed in a very private and unaustentatious manner, and took place in May, about three months after the murder of Darnley. By some persons Mary's account of the transaction at Dunbar is believed. Others think that the whole affair was all a pre-concerted 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 favourably for the unhappy queen, according to the warmth of the interest awakened in their hearts by beauty and misfortune.