"The Queen of the castle," he writes, "was pleased to appear before us in public, so as to be heard in her own defence; but she only replied negatively upon the points in the letters regarding the plots against Her Majesty. She maintained that they had not been written by her, and that she had never had the smallest knowledge of them. In the other things with which she was reproached, as her escape from prison, even by force, and as to the invasion of the kingdom, she said that she neither denied nor avowed them. But her intention was, by long and artificial speeches, to excite the pity of the judges, to throw all the blame upon the person of Her Majesty the Queen, or rather upon the council, from whom she said all the past troubles emanated; maintaining that her offers were reasonable, and that the refusal came from our side. And on this point I fought, and refuted her arguments in such a manner, by my knowledge and experience, that she did not have the advantage she had promised herself. I am also certain that the audience did not think her position worthy of much pity, her allegations being proved to be untrue."[43]
Knowing Paulet's sympathies to be entirely with Mary's accusers, it is astonishing to find that his conduct to her at this moment shows signs of unwonted kindness and consideration. He, says Bourgoing, "now treated the Queen courteously, furnished her with the necessary things for her comfort in her lodgings, to which he added the same hall which had served for the examination, and his conversation with her was of good manners, and was rather amiable and courteous than the contrary." Then this faithful servant goes on to tell us how his mistress comforted herself during the weeks of suspense that followed. "Her Majesty, during the whole of this time, was far from being troubled or moved by all that had passed; in fact, I had not seen her so joyous, nor so constantly at her ease, for the last seven years. She spoke only on pleasant subjects, and often, in particular, gave her opinion on some points of the history of England, in the study of which she passed a good portion of the day; afterwards discoursing on the subject of her reading with her household, quite familiarly and joyously, showing no sign of sadness, but with even a more cheerful countenance than previous to her troubles."[44]
Mary had always had a taste for history, and now in the long days of captivity she seems to have given much of her time to this favourite study. The history of her own house, as well as that of the English royal family, must have had a deep and painful interest for her at a moment when she herself was threatened with a fate as tragic as any recorded in its darkest pages. In talking over the subject of her reading Mary would often advert to her own affairs, calmly discussing the probabilities, and showing that she expected the worst, of her own life or death, without showing any emotion,—indeed, "her resolution was that she did not fear to die for her good quarrel," adds Bourgoing; and if her people tried to assure her that her death could never be contemplated, she would say that she knew very well what would happen. Mary, in fact, perceived plainly the intentions of her accusers, and not content with her own courageous dispositions, she took pains to acquire all the bodily strength possible before the day of trial. In her physician's quaint language, "Her Majesty took remedies for five or six days to ward off the illness which generally attacked her at the commencement of winter, and this with as much willingness and cheerfulness as she ever did before."
Thus the days passed until the Feast of All Saints. As the Queen was still deprived of her chaplain, she was unable to keep the feast with the solemnity she would have wished. She passed it, however, in prayer and in reading the lives of the saints and martyrs. After dinner, while she was in her oratory, Sir Amyas wished to visit her, and unwilling to disturb her, "waited till Her Majesty had finished her prayers;" then, still with unwonted courtesy, he conversed for a considerable time with her, "as if he had nothing really to say to her, and hardly knew with what to entertain her." Sir Amyas, however, had his instructions from Queen Elizabeth, and under semblance of an ordinary conversation, his object was, if possible, to discover some sign of weakness or relenting in his prisoner's sentiments. In this he was disappointed. Mary spoke cheerfully on general subjects,—about her health, which she said was improved; and about her reading, which provided her with her chief amusement. Speaking of the history of England, she observed that in that country blood had never ceased to flow; to which Paulet replied that it had been the same in other countries, and that nothing was more necessary when a state was threatened with serious perils.
Mary, paying no attention to the significance of these words, alluded to the trial, and said that she had remarked visible signs of sympathy and compassion on the countenances of several of the Commissioners, and that she would like to know their names, that she might always bear them in grateful remembrance.
"Those who accused you and those who kept silence were all actuated by the same sentiments," retorted Paulet. "Not one of them was favourable to your cause. I marvel," continued Paulet, "and every one else is astonished, to see you so calm, under the circumstances in which you find yourself. No living person has ever been accused of crimes so frightful and odious as you are."
"I have no occasion to feel troubled or disturbed," rejoined the Queen; "my conscience is at rest and I have already answered my accusers. God and I know that I have never attempted nor connived at the death or murder of any one. My conscience is perfectly free and clear on this point, and being innocent, I have rather occasion to rejoice than to be sad, having my confidence in God, the protector of the innocent."
"It is a great happiness," replied Sir Amyas, "to have a clear conscience. God is your witness, but a false and dissimulating conscience is a bad thing; it would be better to confess and repent before God, and the world, if you are guilty, which is indeed too evident, the matter having been so well elucidated in your very presence, as you cannot deny."
"No one can say that he is free from sin," answered the Queen. "I am a woman and human, and have offended God, and I repent of my sins, and pray God to forgive me, doing penance for the same; but at present I do not know to whom I could or should confess—God forbid that I should ask you to be my confessor. In the present matter I am not guilty, as you well know, and I cannot therefore confess it. You will accuse me of what you like, having long had this in view; as I am a Catholic, you wish to treat me as you do the others. I am quite prepared and resolved to die for my religion, and ask for nothing better. I am ready to suffer and endure for the name of God, all unworthy as I am, as have done many holy saints and martyrs, of whom I have read to-day, and whose feast we celebrate."
Sir Amyas protested that there was no question of religion, but of invasion and murder, and that neither Mary nor all the others who might be implicated in the matter could be excused, but were well worthy of punishment.