This sudden flight filled them with inexpressible consternation. They nad obtained a promise of pardon; and it now appeared from the queen's conduct, that nothing more was intended by this promise than to amuse them and to gain time. They ventured, however, to demand the accomplishment of it; but their messenger was detained a prisoner, and the queen, advancing towards Edinburgh at the head of eight thousand men, talked in the highest strain of resentment and revenge. She had the address, at the same time, to separate Murray and his associates from the conspirators against Rizio. Sensible that the union of these parties would form a confederacy which might prove formidable to the crown, she expressed great willingness to receive the former into favour; towards the latter she declared herself inexorable. Murray and his followers were no less willing to accept a pardon on her terms The conspirators against Rizio, deprived of every resource, and incapable of resistance, fled precipitately to Newcastle [March 10], having thus changed situations with Murray and his party, who left that place a few days before. No man so remarkable for wisdom, and even for cunning, as the earl of Morton, ever engaged in a more unfortunate enterprise. Deserted basely by the king, who now denied his knowledge of the conspiracy by public proclamations, and abandoned ungenerously by Murray and his party,* he was obliged to fly from his native country, to resign the highest office, and to part with one of the most opulent fortunes in the kingdom. On her return to Edinburgh, Mary began to proceed against those concerned in the murder of Rizio with the utmost rigour of law. But, in praise of her clemency, it must be observed, that only two persons, and these of no considerable rank, suffered for this crime.t In this conspiracy there is one circumstance which, though somewhat detached, deserves not to be forgotten. In the confederacy between the king and the conspirators, the real intention of which was assassination, the preserving of the reformed church is, nevertheless, one of the most considerable articles; and the same men, who were preparing to violate one of the first duties of morality, affected the highest regard for religion. History relates these extravagances of the human mind, without pretending to justify, or even to account for them; and, regulating her own opinions by the eternal and immutable laws of justice and of virtue, points out such inconsistencies as features of the age which she describes, and records them for the instruction of ages to come. As this is the second instance of deliberate assassination which has occurred, and as we shall hereafter meet with many other instances of the same crime, the causes which gave rise to a practice so shocking to humanity deserve our particular attention. Resentment is, for obvious and wise reasons, one of the strongest passions in the human mind. The natural demand of this passion is, that the person who feels the injury should himself inflict the vengeance due on that account. The permitting this, however, would have been destructive to society; and punishment would have known no bounds, either in severity or in duration. For this reason, in the very infancy of the social state, the sword was taken out of private hands, and committed to the magistrate. But at first, while laws aimed at restraining, they really strengthened the principle of revenge. The earliest and most simple punishment for crimes was retaliation; the offender forfeited limb for limb, and life for life. The payment of a compensation to the person injured succeeded to the rigour of the former institution. In both these the gratification of private revenge was the object of law; and he who suffered the wrong was the only person who had a right to pursue, to exact, or to remit the punishment. While laws allowed such full scope to the revenge of one party, the interests of the other were not neglected. If the evidence of his guilt did not amount to a full proof, or if he reckoned himself to be unjustly accused, the person to whom a crime was imputed had a right to challenge his adversary to single combat, and, on obtaining the victory, vindicated his own honour. In almost every considerable cause, whether civil or criminal, arms were appealed to, in defence, either of the innocence or the property of the parties. Justice had seldom occasion to use her balance; the sword alone decided every contest. The passion of revenge was nourished by all these means, and grew, by daily indulgence, to be incredibly strong. Mankind became habituated to blood, not only in times of war, but of peace; and from this as well as other causes, contracted an amazing ferocity of temper and of manners. This ferocity, however, made it necessary to discourage the trial by combat; to abolish the payment of compensations in criminal cases; and to think of some milder method of terminating disputes con cerning civil rights. The punishments for crimes became more severe, and the regulations concerning property more fixed; but the princes whose province it was to inflict the one, and to enforce the other, possessed little power. Great offenders despised their authority; smaller ones sheltered themselves under the jurisdiction of those from whose protection they expected impunity. The administration of justice was extremely feeble and dilatory. An attempt to punish the crimes of a chieftain, or even of his vassals, often excited rebellions and civil wars. To nobles, haughty and independent, among whom the causes of discord were many and unavoidable, who were quick in discerning an injury, and impatient to revenge it; who deemed it infamous to submit to an enemy, and cowardly to forgive him; who considered the right of punishing those who had injured them as a privilege of their order and a mark of independence; such slow proceedings were extremely unsatisfactory. The blood of their adversary was, in their opinion, the only thing which could wash away an affront where that was not shed, their revenge was disappointed, their courage became suspected, and a stain was left on their honour. That vengeance, which the impotent hand of the magistrate could not inflict, their own could easily execute. Under governments so feeble, men assumed, as in a state of nature, the right of judging and redressing their own wrongs; and thus assassination, a crime of all others the most destructive to society, came not only to be allowed, but to be reckoned honourable. The history of Europe, during the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, abounds with detestable instances of this crime. It prevailed chiefly among the French and Scots, between whom there was a close intercourse at that time, and a surprising resemblance in their national characters. In 1407, the only brother of the king of France was murdered publicly in the streets of Paris; and so far was this horrible action from meeting with proper punishment, that an eminent lawyer was allowed to plead in defence of it before the peers of France, and avowedly to maintain the lawfulness of assassination. In 1417, it required all the eloquence and authority of the famous Gerson, to prevail on the council of Constance to condemn this proposition, "That there are some cases in which assassination is a virtue more meritorious in a knight than in a squire, and more meritorious in a king than in a knight."* The number of eminent persons who were murdered in France and Scotland, on account either of private, or political, or religious quarrels, during the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, is almost incredible Even after those causes, which first gave rise to this barbarous practice, were removed; after the jurisdiction of magistrates, and the authority of laws, were better established, and become more universal; after the progress of learning and philosophy had polished the manners and humanized * L'Enfant, Hist. Conc. de Const. the minds of men, this crime continued in some degree. It was towards the close of the seventeenth century before it disappeared in France. The additional vigour, which the royal authority acquired by the accession of James VI. to the throne of England, seems to have but a stop to it in Scotland. The influence, however, of any national custom, both on the understanding and on the heart, and how far it may go towards perverting or extinguishing moral principles of the greatest importance, is remarkable. The authors of those ages have perfectly imbibed the sentiments of their contemporaries with regard to assassination; and they who had leisure to reflect and to judge appear to be more shocked at this crime than the persons who committed it during the heat and impetuosity of passion. Buchanan describes the murder of cardinal Beatoun and of Rizio, without expressing those feelings which are natural to a man, or that indignation which became an historian.* Knox, whose mind was fiercer and more unpolished, relates the death of Beatoun and of the duke of Guise, not only without censure, but with the utmost exultation. On the other hand, the bishop of Ross, mentions the assassination of the earl of Murray with some degree of applause. Blackwood dwells upon it with the most indecent triumph, and ascribes it directly to the hand of God.§ Lord Ruthven, the principal actor in the conspiracy against Rizio, wrote an account of it some short time before his own death, and in all his long narrative there is not one expression of regret, or one symptom of compunction, for a crime no less dishonourable than barbarous. Morton, equally guilty of the same crime, entertained the same sentiments concerning it; and in his last moments, neither he himself nor the ministers who attended him seem to have considered it as an action which called for repentance; even then he talks of David's slaughter as coolly as if it had been an innocent or commendable deed. The vices of another age astonish and shock us; the vices of our own become familiar, and excite little horror.** I return from this digression to the course of the history The charm which had at first attached the queen to Darnly, and held them for some time in a happy union, was now entirely dissolved; and love no longer covering his follies and vices with its friendly veil, they appeared to Mary in their full dimension and deformity. Though Henry published a proclamation disclaiming any knowledge of the conspiracy against Rizio, the queen was fully convinced that he was not only accessary to the contrivance, but to the commission of that odious crime. That very power which, with liberal and unsuspicious fondness, she had conferred upon him, he had employed to insult her authority, to limit her prerogative, and to endanger her person. Such an outrage it was impossible any woman could bear or forgive. Cold civilities, secret distrust, frequent quarrels, succeeded to their former transports of affection and confidence. The queen's favours were no longer conveyed through his hands. The crowd of expectants ceased to court his patronage, which they found to avail so little. Among the nobles, some dreaded his furious temper, others complained of his perfidiousness; and all of them despised the weakness of his understanding and the inconstancy of his heart. The * Buchan. 295. 345. † Knox. 334. Append. 119. 1 Crawf. Mem. Append. **In the first accounts of Rizio's murder sent to England, there seem to have been mingled (as is usual in relating extraordinary events) some circumstances which afterwards appeared to be false: among others, that a friar named Black had been slain at the same time with Rizio. Packhurst, bishop of Norwich, in communicating this intelligence to his correspondent Bullinger, an eminent reformed divine of Zurich, expresses no condemnation of the murder of Rizio, and exults over the supposed death of the friar in terms which, in our times, will appear as shocking as they are puerile: "Fraterculus quidam, nomine Black, papistarum antesignanus, eodem tempore in aula occiditur: Sic niger hic nebulo, nigra quoque morte peremptus, invitus nigrum subito descendit in Orcum." Burn. Hist. of Reform. iii. App. 360. Keith, 350. It See Appendix, No. XVI. * people themselves observed some parts of his conduct which little suited the dignity of a king. Addicted to drunkenness, beyond what the manners of that age could bear, and indulging irregular passions, which even the licentiousness of youth could not excuse, he, by his indecent behaviour, provoked the queen to the utmost; and the passions which it occasioned often forced tears from her eyes, both in public and private. Her aversion for him increased every day, and could be no longer concealed. He was often absent from court, appeared there with little splendour, and was trusted with no power. Avoided equally by those who endeavoured to please the queen, who favoured Morton and his associates, or who adhered to the house of Hamilton, he was left almost alone in a neglected and unpitied solitude.† About this time a new favourite grew into great credit with the queen, and soon gained an ascendant over her heart, which encouraged his enterprising genius to form designs that proved fatal to himself, and the occasion of all Mary's subsequent misfortunes. This was James Hepburn, earl of Bothwell, the head of an ancient family, and, by his extensive possessions and numerous vassals, one of the most powerful noblemen in the kingdom. Even in that turbulent age, when so many vast projects were laid open to an aspiring mind, and invited it to action, no man's ambition was more daring than Bothwell's, or had recourse to bolder or more singular expedients for obtaining power. When almost every person of distinction in the kingdom, whether papist or protestant, had joined the congregation in opposing the dangerous encroachments of the French upon the liberties of the nation, he, though an avowed protestant, adhered to the queen regent, and acted with vigour on her side. The success which attended the arms of the congregation having obliged him to retire into France, he was taken into the queen's service, and continued with her till the time of her return into Scotland. From that period, every step of his conduct towards Mary was remarkably dutiful; and, amidst all the shiftings of faction, we scarcely ever find him holding any course which could be offensive to her. When Murray's proceedings with regard to her marriage gave umbrage to the queen, she recalled Bothwell from that banishment into which she had been obliged with reluctance to drive him, and considered his zeal and abilities as the most powerful supports of her authority. When the conspirators against Rizio seized her person, he became the chief instrument of recovering her liberty, and served her, on that occasion, with so much fidelity and success as made the deepest impression on her mind, and greatly increased the confidence which she had hitherto placed in him. Her gratitude loaded him with marks of her bounty; she raised him to offices of profit and trust, and transacted no matter of importance without his advice. By complaisance and assiduity he confirmed and fortified these dispositions of the queen in his favour, and insensibly paved the way towards that vast project which his immoderate ambition had perhaps already conceived, and which, in spite of many difficulties, and at the expense of many crimes, he at last accom plished. The hour of the queen's delivery now approached. As her palace was defended only by a slender guard, it seemed imprudent to expose her person, at this time, to the insults she might suffer in a kingdom torn by * Keith, 329. † Melv. 131, &c. The enterprising spirit of Bothwell was so conspicuous as to procure him several marks of distinction during his residence in France. Hardwick's State Papers, i. 143. Throgmorton, the English ambassador at Paris, and one of the most sagacious ministers employed by Elizabeth, points him out as a person who was to be dreaded and observed. "The earl of Bothwell," says he in a etter, Nov. 28, 1560, "is departed to return into Scotland, and hath made boast that he will do great things, and live in Scotland in despite of all men. He is a glorious, rash, and nazardous young man; and therefore it were meet that his adversaries should both have an eye to him, and also keep him short." Ibid. p. 149. || Ibid. 92, 93. ¶ Melv. 133. Knox, 396. Anders i 90. factions and prone to mutiny. For this reason the privy council advised the queen to fix her residence in the castle of Edinburgh, the strongest fortress in the kingdom, and the most proper place for the security of her person.* In order to render this security more perfect, Mary laboured to extinguish the domestic feuds which divided some of the principal nobles. Murray and Argyll were exasperated against Huntly and Bothwell by reciprocal and repeated injuries. The queen by her authority and entrea ties, effected a reconcilement among them, and drew from them a promise to bury their discords in everlasting oblivion. This reconcilement Mary had so much at heart that she made it the condition on which she again received Murray into favour.† On the 19th of June, Mary was delivered of her only son James, a prince whose birth was happy for the whole island, and unfortunate to her alone. His accession to the throne of England united the two divided kingdoms in one mighty monarchy, and established the power of Great Britain on a firm foundation; while she, torn early from her son by the cruelty of her fate, was never allowed to indulge those tender passions, nor to taste those joys which fill the heart of a mother. Melvil was instantly despatched to London with an account of this event It struck Elizabeth, at first, in a sensible manner, and the advantage and superiority which her rival had acquired by the birth of a son forced tears from her eyes. But before Melvil was admitted to an audience, she had so far recovered the command of herself, as to receive him not only with decency but with excessive cheerfulness; and willingly accepted the invi tation which Mary gave her, to stand godmother to her son.‡ As Mary loved splendour and magnificence, she resolved to celebrate the baptism of the young prince with great pomp; and for that purpose sent invitations of the same kind to the French king, and to the duke of Savoy, the uncle of her former husband. The queen, on her recovery, discovered no change in her sentiments with respect to the king.§. The death of Rizio, and the countenance he had given to an action so insolent and unjustifiable, were still fresh in her memory. She was frequently pensive and dejected. Though Henry sometimes attended at court, and accompanied her in her progresses through different parts of the kingdom, he met with little reverence from the nobles, while Mary treated him with the greatest reserve, and did not suffer him to possess any authority. The breach between them became every day more apparent.** Attempts were made towards a reconcilement, particularly by Castelnau, the French ambassador; but, after such a violent rupture, it was found no easy matter to bind the nuptial knot anew; and, although he prevailed on the king and queen to pass two nights together, we may, with great probability, pronounce this appearance of union, to which Castelnau trusted, not to have been sincere; we know with certainty that it was not lasting. Bothwell, all this while, was the queen's prime confidant. Without his participation no business was concluded, and no favour bestowed. Together with this ascendant over her councils, Bothwell, if we may believe the cotemporary historians, acquired no less sway over her heart. But at what precise time this ambitious lord first allowed the sentiments of a lover to occupy the place of that duty and respect which a subject owes his sovereign; or when Mary, instead of gratitude for his faithful services, felt a passion of another nature rising in her bosom, it is no easy matter to determine. Such delicate transitions of passion can be discerned only by those who are admitted near the persons of the parties, and who can view the secret workings of the heart with calm and acute observation. Neither * Keith, 335, Il Melv. 148. † Ibid. 336. Append. 139. ¶ Keith, 350 Mely 132 Melv. 138. See Append. No. XVII. **Keith Append. 169, ++ Keith, 169. |