entreat you never to give me anything but your commands, as to your very humble and very obedient daughter and servant, for otherwise I shall not think I have the happiness of being in your good graces. As for my master, I will do as you have told me. I have shown the letters you have been pleased to write to me to my uncle, Monsieur de Guise, thinking that you would wish it, though, after the directions you have given me, I should not have shown them but that I was afraid I could not arrange things without his help. I write two other letters with my own hand; the one concerning Mde. de Paroys, and the other for my master, that you may be able to show that of my said master without this, so that they may not think that you have told me anything about it. . . . I should have written to you in cypher, but my secretary has told me that it was not necessary, and that he was writing to you in cypher. I write also to my natural brother (frère bastard), according to the advice of my uncle, M. de Guise. The said letters are open, in order that you may deliver them if you approve of them.'-Ibid. vol. i. p. 6. What a maze for a poor child's head of secrets and mysteries, and with what satisfaction our queen throws herself into these arcana. We have no doubt she could at this time quite command both speech and countenance, so that no one about her should guess she knew what she did not choose to be supposed acquainted with. This is all very ingenious and clever in a child, but we do think may fairly make us mistrust the intrinsic sincerity of the frank artless manner,' and the open and unsuspicious temper' her panegyrists so constantly extol in her, and by which they will always interpret the hard facts of the case which give so contrary an impression. But our readers may think us harsh in deducing such consequences from a little girl's dutiful letter to her mamma. It is solely to show her an apt pupil in a bad system. This same bad system must also share the greater part of the blame in a subsequent act of atrocious duplicity, in the well known matter of the secret bonds she was induced to put her hand to when she reached the age of fifteen. Previous to her marriage with the Dauphin, and before the arrival of the Scotch commissioners, who were to bring the articles of agreement from the Scotch parliament, Henry and her uncles, the Guises, got her to sign three secret bonds. The first of these acts (Mignet, vol. i. p. 46) was a full and free donation of Scotland to the Kings of France, in case of her dying without heirs, in consideration of the services which those monarchs had at all times rendered to Scotland by defending her from England, her ancient and inveterate enemies, and especially for the assistance which she had received from Henry II., who had maintained her independence at his own expense during her minority; the second act made over all the revenues of Scotland to France till a certain impossible sum, alleged to be due but not acknowledged by Scotland, should be paid; and the third confirmed these preceding documents, whatever public articles of agreement she might be induced to sign. After stating that for certain reasons she has no means of opposing openly measures in Scotland which she disapproves, the protestation goes on:- For this reason she has protested, and protests, that whatever agreement or consent she has made, or may make, to the articles and instructions sent by the estate of her kingdom, in case she dies without heirs, she wishes and intends that the dispositions made by her in that case for and to the profit of the Kings of France, remain entire, and have their full and entire effect in spite of the agreements and consents that she makes, or will make, hereafter, if any she makes, on these articles and instructions, or otherwise, as things that will be made directly against her will, desire, and intention.' -Labanoff, vol. i. p. 55; Tytler, vol. vi. p. 70. These three documents she signed voluntarily; and fifteen days after, with equal willingness, she signed publicly before the Scotch commissioners acts and agreements of a directly contrary import, securing the integrity of Scotland, its independence of France, and appointing an heir chosen by them in case of her dying without issue. The sin of this iniquitous transaction lies so heavily on the French court, that, by comparison, Mary, a child of fifteen, may be hardly said to bear the guilt of it; but it at least illustrates what her education had been, and what principles and practices she was already made familiar with. It is quite in conformity with the tone of her education, that Mary should send a letter to her mother by these same commissioners, full of smooth, graceful satisfaction with everything and everybody, the king, the queen, her young husband, her relations and friends, and also with the favours that had been bestowed on these same duped commissioners, who had been so well received and gratified in every possible way;' (de tout ce qu'il a esté possible.) Mary is justly termed unfortunate, though not, as we have said, from the circumstances which are understood to obtain for her this affecting epithet; her misfortune seems really to lie in the fitness and congeniality of the position in which she was now placed with the leading features of her character. There was in herself nothing counter to the training she receivedno resolute independent sense of right and wrong to resist this false teaching. Things around her were all smooth, easy, and delightful, and she seems to have acquiesced without a doubt in the fact, that this was the way kings reigned, and nations were ruled. She at once acquired high ideas of the rights of sovereignty, especially of its superiority to, and independence of, every earthly tribunal; and low ones of the responsibilities of this exalted station, and of the duties which it imposes. Her sojourn in France deprived her of all feelings of nationality, so that she regarded her own country only as a dependency on her adopted kingdom, important to her as the source of her own power and greatness, but mere banishment and expatriation as her home. It is hardly a censure to say that Mary wanted patriotism, so removed was she from everything to excite this virtue; but still, on this point we find a great contrast between her and her rival (to adopt the received phraseology) Elizabeth. We do not believe, that, had Elizabeth, even at the same early age, been exposed to the same temptation, she could have been induced by any power, or for the sake of any personal advantage, so to sign away her people and her country by a stroke of her pen. But the deep duplicity in which Mary was bred made nothing seem true or real. No promise was binding, nothing was what it seemed to be; and, consequently, the only objects worth striving for were pleasure and personal aggrandisement, and the only intellectual endowments to be cultivated were such as furthered these ends,-external graces and accomplishments, and a certain subtle penetration, as far removed from the qualities of a sound judgment, as cunning is from wisdom. What real good Henry and the Guises could have proposed to themselves by this sacrifice of the young queen's integrity, it is difficult to make out; any honest man would have seen it was a measure as impossible to carry out as it was unjust in conception, but it was only too much in conformity with the treacherous policy of those times. Beyond its moral influence on those concerned, and as illustrating the principles on which Mary's character was formed, it did, in fact, produce no fruit,-it came to nothing. The next step taken by her under their advice had more definite consequences, though in itself less reprehensible. It was the first of the many fatal' measures which mark her reign; fatal, as filling her own mind with pretensions she could never realize, and never abandon; and fatal, as bringing upon her the permanent jealousy and mistrust of that great queen, whose genius always ruled over Mary's. For if we will amuse ourselves with ideas of fatality, apart from the inevitable consequences of men's actions, to Mary might well have been addressed the soothsayer's warning words: 'Thy dæmon, that's the spirit which keeps thee, is Where hers is not; but, near her, thy angel Becomes a Fear, as being o'erpower'd; therefore It was an evil hour for Mary, when, insulting Elizabeth's honour and daring her vengeance, she called herself Queen of England;-an empty claim, as we regard it now, for Elizabeth 6 6 knew so firmly how to keep her own, that we cannot understand what a strong grasp it needed; but no empty claim to either queen, never forgotten by her who was injured by it, nor in her inner intention once renounced by Mary. And it should be kept equally in mind by the student of those times, that, on Mary Tudor's death, Mary of Scotland did assert herself her heir to the English throne by virtue of the bull which declared Elizabeth illegitimate. For here we find a key to much of that malignity,' vindictiveness,' envy,' and jealousy,' which is ascribed to Elizabeth in all her dealings with Mary; sometimes most unjustly ascribed,-for often Elizabeth acted like the truest friend to her rival, and did what her best friends did, or ought to have done, but on other occasions, with too much colour of truth. The jealousy that Elizabeth felt against Mary was not, we believe, that weak, personal sentiment, which it is assumed to be. It was not a vain woman's jealousy of another's superior attractions, but it was a queen's jealousy of a powerful rival, who had gifts and talents to assert her claims, and followers to maintain them. Elizabeth, great woman as she was, had yet too high an opinion of her own right to general admiration, and too many flatterers to feed these notions, to have much room for jealousy. All Mary's lovers had been rejected by herself; she was the object of universal homage and unbounded adulation; and, perhaps, none of all the judgments of posterity regarding herself would have surprised her more than its unanimous award of the palm of beauty and grace to her sister queen. Our author, though full of prejudice against Elizabeth, is yet alive to her great qualities. It is thus that he introduces her to his readers. We omit a long and well-known extract, which occurs in the middle of the passage, from the account of her person and manner left by the Venetian ambassador: What was the character of this princess, whose hostility the court of France did not fear to excite against Mary Stuart, who, from that moment, became her rival, both as a queen and a woman? High-spirited, imperious, extremely proud, with great energy, astuteness, and capacity, Elizabeth had long been compelled to dissimulate her feelings and her religious faith during the terrible reign of her sister, who would have proscribed her but for the support given her by Philip II. She had lived at a distance from the Court under strict surveillance, and had thus acquired those habits of deception which combined in her with the haughty and violent passions she inherited from her father. . . . . To the most solid learning Elizabeth united the most agreeable accomplishments. She was an excellent musician, and danced to perfection. Certain gifts of person, great mental attractions, all the adornments of a brilliant education, much originality without sufficient grace, and the resources of a strong and lively imagination, rendered her remarkable as a woman; whilst her acute and penetrating judgment, her unwearied application, her haughty and politic disposition, and her active ambition, destined her to be a great Queen. On the day of her accession she displayed those qualities which characterised all the rest of her life. She took possession of the throne as a matter of course, and passed from oppression to command without either surprise or uneasiness. Adopting the policy which was destined to constitute the glory of her reign, she pursued it assiduously, but without precipitancy. We cannot say she was a zealous Protestant, but she was averse to Catholicism, as the religion which had oppressed her youth, and still menaced her crown. She felt more disposed to detest than to contest it. She said that she had read neither Luther nor Calvin, but S. Jerome and S. Augustine, and she considered that the points of difference between the various Christian communities were of very little importance. She therefore restored Protestantism rather from policy than conviction, in order to give the direction of affairs, and the government of the state, to her own party, and withdraw it from her adversaries. 'She immediately surrounded herself with men of great ability or entire devotion to her service. Her two principal advisers were Lord Robert Dudley, one of the sons of the Duke of Northumberland, whom she appointed her Master of the Horse, and who remained her favourite as long as he lived; and William Cecil, whom she made Secretary of State, and who was her prime minister for forty years. Careful to retain those whom she had chosen, she was always well served. She never permitted her favourites to become for a single moment her masters, and her most experienced ministers were never more than her useful instruments. On all occasions, though she sought counsel, she acted upon her own decisions. Her will, guided solely by either calculation or interest, was sometimes slow, often audacious, always sovereign. In less than a month after she had succeeded Mary Tudor, the Spanish ambassador wrote to Philip II:"She is held in incomparably greater dread than her sister. She orders and does whatever she pleases, just as absolutely as the king her father." Speaking of herself, with a full consciousness of what she was and what she could effect, Elizabeth said about this time, "that she would let the world know that there was in England a woman who acted like a man, and who was awed neither by a Constable of Montmorency like the King of France, nor by a Bishop of Arras like the King of Spain.""-Mignet, vol. i. pp. 51–55. Such was the woman whom Mary so rashly provoked. We do not esteem M. Mignet a judge of how far Elizabeth was influenced by religious feeling. He probably does not understand the position of the English Church, and its middle course between two extremes, which Elizabeth in her arbitrary way helped to establish. But there is truth, though unfriendly truth, in the rest. Elizabeth had duplicity. It was the art and study of the times, and she was an adept in it, as far as gaining her ends proves it. But the practice of duplicity being universal, we must learn to discriminate between different kinds. That for which the Court of France of the period is so infamously distinguished was aggressive in its character, and so far unprovoked. It used it as a weapon of offence, as an assassin uses a dagger. Elizabeth's dissimulation was first assumed to protect her very life, which one rash word would have sacrificed; and in a general |