THREE hundred years have passed since BrantÔme wrote these lines, and his prevision has been fully verified. Writers of every opinion—friends and foes—have taken as their theme the life and death of Mary Stuart, and it would now seem as if nothing further could be written on the subject, fascinating though it has proved. Fresh historical matter bringing new evidence, however, comes to light now and then, and the publication in France, some years ago, of such testimony is our excuse for adding a short chapter to the history of Queen Mary. That this evidence relates to her last days and death, is very welcome, for we hold that in Queen Mary's case we may specially apply her own motto, "In my end is my beginning." Her death was the crown and meaning of her long trial, and the beginning of an interest which has continued to the present day.

The journal of Queen Mary's last physician, Dominique Bourgoing, published by M. Chantelauze in 1876, which recounts the events of the last seven months of Mary's life, informs us of many details hitherto unknown, while the report of the trial of which Bourgoing was an eye-witness is most valuable and interesting. Taken together with the Letters of Sir Amyas Paulet, which, although written in a very different spirit, agree in the main with Bourgoing's narrative, the journal presents us with a complete picture of the daily life of the captive Queen and the inmates of Fotheringay. In the preface to his valuable book M. Chantelauze tells us of his happy acquisition of the manuscript copy of Bourgoing's journal at Cluny, discusses the proofs of its authenticity, and refers us to the passage in Queen Mary's last letter to Pope Sixtus V., which we must consider as Bourgoing's "credentials."

"Vous aurez," writes Mary, "le vrai rÉcit de la fasson de ma derniÈre prise, et toutes les procÉdures contre moy et par moy, affin qu'entendant la vÉritÉ, les calumnies que les ennemys de l'Eglise me vouedront imposer puissent estre par vous rÉfutÉes et la vÉritÉ connue: et À cet effet ai-je vers vous envoyÉ ce porteur, requÉrant pour la fin votre sainte bÉnÉdiction."[5]

Bourgoing's Journal in effect begins from the moment specified by the Queen, at her "last taking," and contains, as she says, the full account of the proceedings taken against her. Although the interest of the narrative centres in Fotheringay, Bourgoing also gives new and interesting particulars of the way in which the Queen was removed from Chartley, the imprisonment at Tixall, and the return to Chartley before the journey to her last prison of Fotheringay.

Bourgoing begins his journal on Thursday, the 11th of August 1586, at Chartley, where the Queen had now been since the previous Christmas, and at a moment of the gravest importance for her safety. The fatal conspiracy known as the Babington Plot had been arrested, and the unhappy agents in it were awaiting their cruel doom. It was determined that Mary should be removed from Chartley, her secretaries sent to London, and her papers seized, while she was still ignorant of the fate of Babington and his companions. For this purpose William Wade, a sworn enemy to Mary, was sent down to Staffordshire to take the necessary measures, and in order that this might be done secretly, he and Sir Amyas Paulet, Mary's keeper, met at some distance from the castle, and there arranged their plan of action.

The Queen's health had improved at Chartley, and she was now able to take exercise on horseback. Paulet therefore proposed to her to ride to Tixall, the house of Sir Walter Aston, which was situated a few miles off, to see a Buck hunt. This proposal Mary accepted with pleasure, and probably with some surprise at the unusual courtesy of Sir Amyas.

On 16th August the party set out. "Her Majesty," says Bourgoing, "arrayed herself suitably, hoping to meet some pleasant company, and was attended by M. Nau, who had not forgotten to adorn himself; Mr. Curle, Mr. Melvim, and Bourgoing, her physician; Bastien Pages, mantle-bearer; and Annibal, who carried the crossbows and arrows of Her Majesty. All were mounted and in good apparel, to do her and the expected company honour, and indeed every one was joyous at the idea of this fine hunt."[6]

The Queen, who was very cheerful, rode on for about a mile, till Nau observed to her that Sir Amyas was some way behind. She stopped till he came up and spoke very kindly, saying she feared that, as he was in bad health, he could not go so fast; to which he replied courteously. The party proceeded a short way "without thinking more about it," says Bourgoing, "when Sir Amyas, approaching the Queen, said: 'Madame, here is one of the gentlemen pensioners of the Queen, my mistress, who has a message to deliver to you from her,' and suddenly M. George,[7] habited in green serge, embroidered more than necessary for such a dress, and, as it appeared to me, a man of about fifty years, dismounted from his horse, and coming to the Queen, who remained mounted, spoke to her as follows: 'Madame, the Queen, my mistress, finds it very strange that you, contrary to the pact and engagement made between you, should have conspired against her and her state, a thing which she could not have believed had she not seen proofs of it with her own eyes and known it for certain. And because she knows that some of your servants are guilty, and charged with this, you will not take it ill if they are separated from you. Sir Amyas will tell you the rest.'

"To which Her Majesty could only reply that, as for her, she had never even thought of such things, much less wished to undertake them, and that from whatever quarter she (Elizabeth) had received her information, she had been misled, as she (Mary) had always shown herself her good sister and friend." A melancholy scene now took place. Nau and Curle, who wished to approach their mistress, were forced back, and taken off to a neighbouring village. They never saw Mary again. Melville was also removed.

The Queen's party now turned back and proceeded a mile or two, when Bourgoing, who, as he tells us, had placed himself as near as he could to his mistress, saw that they were following a new route; to this he drew the Queen's attention, and she called to Sir Amyas, who was ambling slowly in front, to know where they were going. On hearing that they were not to return to Chartley, Mary, "feeling very indisposed, and unable to proceed," dismounted from her horse and seated herself on the ground. She now implored Sir Amyas to tell her where she was to be taken; he replied that she would be in a good place, one finer than his, that she could not return to her former residence, and that it was mere loss of time to resist or remain where she was. She saying she would prefer to die there, he threatened to send for her coach and place her in it. The Queen remained inconsolable; and here it is very touching to observe Bourgoing's efforts to comfort and encourage his mistress, his entreaties to Paulet, his affectionate remonstrances with the Queen herself, and even the very improbable ideas that he propounds to console her, such as that perhaps Elizabeth was dead and Mary's friends were taking these strange measures to place her person in safety. At last the Queen was persuaded to proceed, but first, aided by Bourgoing, she withdrew a few yards, and there under a tree she "made her prayer to God, begging Him to have pity on her people and on those who worked for her, asking pardon for her faults, which she acknowledged to be great and to merit chastisement. She begged Him to deign to remember His servant David, to whom He had extended His mercy, and whom He had delivered from his enemies, imploring Him to extend also His pity to her, though she was of use to no one, and to do with her according to His will, declaring that she desired nothing in this world, neither goods, honours, power, nor worldly sovereignty, but only the honour of His holy name and His glory, and the liberty of His Church and of the Christian people; ending by offering Him her heart, saying that He knew well what were her desires and intention."[8]

On the way to Tixall, where Mary was to be lodged, two more of her attendants were separated from her; one, Lawrence, who held her bridle rein, and was observed to talk with her, and Elizabeth Pierpoint, one of her women.

Hitherto nothing has been known of the Queen's imprisonment at Tixall. Bourgoing, however, tells us a few facts. We learn that Paulet allowed Mary's apothecary, two of her women, and Martin, an equerry, to join her, and Bourgoing remained for one night before being sent back to Chartley. In the evening of her arrival at Tixall, Mary sent to ask for pen and paper to write to Queen Elizabeth; but this Paulet refused, saying he should allow no letter to be sent till he had authority from the Court.

"On the morrow, the 17th August," writes Bourgoing,[9] "Her Majesty being still in bed, I was sent for by Sir Amyas to speak with him. Before descending I asked Her Majesty if she had anything to acquaint him with, but she said I should first learn what he wanted of me; and afterwards I was not permitted to return to the Queen, but was taken to Chartley, where I remained a prisoner with the rest, awaiting the return of the Queen."

Bourgoing describes the search made at Chartley, and mentions the three coffers of papers of all sorts that were carried off by Wade and his companions. On 26th August the Queen was brought back to Chartley. On leaving Tixall a crowd of beggars, attracted no doubt by her well-known charity, assembled at the park gate, but she was as poor as they. "I have nothing to give you," she said; "I am a beggar as well as you—all is taken from me."[10]

Bourgoing's Journal thus records this day: "Thursday the 26th Her Majesty was brought back to Chartley with a great company, after being strictly detained at the place of Tiqueshal; she was welcomed by each one of us, anxious to show our devotion, not without tears on both sides, and the same day she visited us, one after the other, as one who returns home." Then he adds briefly: "After that the tears were over (Her Majesty) found nothing to say except about the papers which had been taken away, as has been related above."[11] But here Paulet's correspondence with Walsingham gives us further details, in which he describes the Queen's very just indignation at the manner in which her drawers and cabinets had been ransacked and every paper carried off. Then, turning to Paulet, she said that there were two things which he could not take from her—her royal blood and her religion, "which both she would keep until her death."

Early in September Paulet received orders to take possession of all the Queen's money. Bourgoing gives a long account of the way in which the commission was executed. Mary was ill in bed, but Paulet insisted on seeing her. He and Mr. Baquet[12] entered her apartment, leaving his son and a good number of other gentlemen and servants, all armed, in the anteroom. Paulet sent all the ladies and servants out of her room, "which made us all anxious," says Bourgoing, "not knowing what to expect from such an unusual proceeding and being unaccustomed to such words. The best I could do was to keep myself by the door, under the pretext that Her Majesty was alone, and two men with her, (where I remained) very sad and thoughtful." In the end Gervais, the surgeon, was also permitted to remain along with Bourgoing. When Paulet informed Mary that he must have her money, she at first absolutely refused to give it up. When at last Elspeth Curle had, at the Queen's bidding, opened the door of her cabinet, the Queen, "all alone in her room, which no one (of us) dared approach, and guarded by Sir Amyas's people, rose from her bed, crippled as she was, and without slipper or shoe followed them, dragging herself as well as she could to her cabinet, and told them that this money which they were taking was money which she had long put aside as a last resource for the time when she should die, both for her funeral expenses and to enable her attendants to return each to his own country after her death." Mary pleaded for some time, but Sir Amyas, while assuring her she should want for nothing, refused to leave her any of the money.

Some days later Sir Amyas again visited the Queen, and interrogated her at length regarding her knowledge of Babington and the conspiracy, concluding by saying "that she would be spoken to more fully about it, as it was necessary that the whole thing should be cleared up. From this Her Majesty took occasion to think she would be examined, but no one imagined this would be in the manner we shall hereafter see."[13]

About 15th September Paulet began to speak to Mary of the intended move to Fotheringay; he did not tell her the name of the place, but said that it would be very beneficial for her health to move from Chartley, and that she should be taken to one of the Queen's castles situated thirty miles from London. He also informed Mary that he now understood why her money had been taken from her. He perceived, he said, that it was for fear she should give it away or use it for some dangerous purpose on the road, and he had been assured she would receive it back when she should reach her journey's end. The Queen was quite willing to leave Chartley, and was anxious to take the journey before her indisposition should increase. Bourgoing thus continues:—

"From now they commenced to prepare the luggage and everything for the departure which was fixed for the Tuesday following, the 20th of the said month, but was deferred till the next day on account of the change in the appointed lodging, which was supposed to be Worcester or else Chazfort (?); but both were changed and Fotheringay was chosen, a castle of the (English) Queen's in Northamptonshire.... Of all these things we were only told secretly, and Her Majesty never knew for certain where they were taking her, not even on the day she reached her new dwelling, but used to think sometimes they were taking her one way, sometimes another. Before starting in the morning they would tell her whether she had a long or a short journey to make, sometimes the number of miles, but they would never tell her the place where she was to sleep that night."

On the Monday before the party left Chartley, Sir Thomas Gorges and Stallenge (Usher of Parliament) arrived "with their pistols in their belts." This arrival caused anxiety among Mary's followers, who were only reassured when they observed that Gorges and Stallenge addressed her more courteously than they expected.

"The following Wednesday, which was St. Matthew's Day (21st September), Her Majesty being ready to start, the doors of all the rooms were locked where her servants were, who were to remain behind, and the windows were guarded for fear that they should speak to her, or even see her." Mary was carried to her coach, as she was still unable to walk. As the Queen started, Sir Thomas Gorges, who, together with Stallenge, accompanied the party, accosted her, and informed her that he had something to say to her from his mistress. "I pray God," replied Mary, "that the message is better and more agreeable than the one you recently brought me." To which Gorges answered, "I am but a servant." "With this Her Majesty was content, telling him that she could not consider him to blame."[14] It was not till the next day that the message was delivered.

The Queen and her escort spent the first night at Burton,[15] and the next morning before starting, Mary, who had been in great anxiety to know what he had to say, sent for Sir Thomas. The message, in part similar to the previous one, was to the effect that Elizabeth was utterly surprised that Mary should have planned such enterprises, and even to have hands laid on her who was an anointed Queen. Gorges swore that his mistress had never been so astonished or distressed by anything that had ever happened. "My mistress knows well," he said, "that if your Majesty were sent to Scotland, you would not be in safety; your subjects there would do you an ill turn; and she would have been esteemed a fool had she sent you to France without any reason."

To this Mary replied very fully, declaring that she had never planned anything against the Queen of England or the State. "I am not so base," said she, "as to wish to cause the death or to lay hands on an anointed Queen like myself, and I have comported myself towards her as was my duty." Mary remarked that she had several times warned Elizabeth of things to her advantage, and then reverted to her own long imprisonment, and her many sufferings. "If all the Christian prelates, my relations, friends, and allies," continued she, "moved by pity, and having compassion for my fate, have made it their duty to comfort and aid me in my misery and captivity, I, seeing myself destitute of all help, could not do less than throw myself into their arms and trust to their mercy, but, however, I do not know what were their designs, nor what they would have undertaken, nor what were their intentions. I have no part with this, and have not been the least in the world mixed up in it. If they have planned anything, let her (Elizabeth) look to them; they must answer for it, not I. The Queen of England," concluded Mary, "knows well that I have warned her to look to herself and her Council, and that perchance foreign kings and princes might undertake something against her, upon which she replied that she was well assured of both foreigners and her own subjects, and that she did not require my advice."[16]

Gorges' only reply was that he prayed God this was true, but he showed Mary every courtesy by the way, "as well for her lodgings as for requisite commodities for the journey." Nothing of any importance occurred during the remainder of the journey, and on 25th September the party reached Fotheringay.