Then taking the crucifix from Annibal, and the gold broidered handkerchief which she had had prepared the night before, the Queen took farewell of her poor servants, whose grief was heartbreaking. "They took leave of her with cries and lamentations, some kissing her hands, some her feet, while others kissed her dress, and she, embracing them, was taken away all alone."
Supported by Paulet's guards, the Queen descended the great staircase. On the first landing the Lords Kent and Shrewsbury were waiting for her. They were struck with the perfect tranquillity and noble demeanour with which she walked to meet her death. At the bottom of the staircase her faithful master of the household, Melville, who had now been separated from her for three weeks, was permitted to approach. As soon as he saw his mistress he fell at her feet to receive her last instructions, and in accents of profoundest despair told her "how much such a leave-taking was difficult for him to bear, as he had to endure such a sight after having been so long separated from her."
"As thou hast always been a good and faithful servant to me," replied Mary, "so I beg thee to continue in these same sentiments towards my son.[133] I die with the regret of not having been able to acquit myself towards thee, but to him is reserved the joy of recompensing thee. Tell him to keep me in memory, and report to him faithfully what thou shalt have seen of his mother's last moments. I have not attacked his religion any more than that of others, and I wish him all prosperity. As I pardon all in Scotland who have offended me, so would I wish that they would pardon me. May God enlighten my son, and send him His Holy Spirit."
Melville, overcome with grief, exclaimed, "Madame, it will be the sorrowfullest message that ever I carried when I shall report that my Queen and mistress is dead."[134]
"Not so," rejoined Mary. "To-day, good Melville, thou seest the end of Mary Stuart's miseries, that should rejoice thee. Thou knowest that the world is but vanity and misery. Be the bearer of this news, that I die a Catholic, firm in my religion, a faithful Scotchwoman and a true Frenchwoman. God forgive those who have sought my death. He who is the true Judge of the secret thoughts and actions of men, knows what their intentions have been, and that I have always desired to see England and Scotland happily united. Commend me to the King my son,[135] and tell him that I have done nothing that could prejudice his kingdom of Scotland or the dignity of sovereign princes, nor anything which could derogate from our prerogatives and superiority. Take him my blessing." At these words she made the sign of the cross, as if to bless her son.
"The hour has struck," interrupted one of the commissioners. The Queen embraced Melville, who had remained all the time on his knees, saying, "And thus adieu, good Melville, till we meet in the next world;—and pray to God for me," she added as she moved on, making an effort to restrain her tears.
The contemporary accounts of this scene all note that Mary addressed Melville with the familiar "thou," "in which it is to be remarked," says Blackwood, "that the Queen never had used this term 'thou' to any one, whoever he might be." At this moment William Fitzwilliam, the Castellan of Fotheringay, advanced and respectfully kissed Mary's hand. We have before referred to the gratitude felt by the Queen for this gentleman's courtesy and sympathy,—a gratitude which she evinced by making him a small present before her death.
The Queen, addressing Kent and Shrewsbury, earnestly begged them to intercede with Queen Elizabeth on behalf of her secretary Curle, "and for certayne monye to be paid to him," and also to permit her servants to assist at her death, so that they might bear witness that she persevered in her faith to her last breath.[136] To her first request they returned no answer, but after conferring together regarding the second, they asked Mary which of her people she wished to be with her, limiting the number to five or six. She mentioned Melville, Bourgoing, Pierre Gorion, Jacque Gervais, Didier; and of her women Elizabeth Curle and Jane Kennedy.
To the men no objection was raised, but the lords absolutely refused to allow the women to enter the hall, declaring that their cries and lamentations would be an occasion of trouble and scandal, as no doubt they would wish to dip their handkerchiefs in the Queen's blood.