it was so beautiful and so fair.]—­her noble open forehead, eyebrows which could be only blamed for being so regularly arched that they looked as if drawn by a pencil, eyes continually beaming with the witchery of fire, a nose of perfect Grecian outline, a mouth so ruby red and gracious that it seemed that, as a flower opens but to let its perfume escape, so it could not open but to give passage to gentle words, with a neck white and graceful as a swan’s, hands of alabaster, with a form like a goddess’s and a foot like a child’s, Mary was a harmony in which the most ardent enthusiast for sculptured form could have found nothing to reproach.

This was indeed Mary’s great and real crime:  one single imperfection in face or figure, and she would not have died upon the scaffold.  Besides, to Elizabeth, who had never seen her, and who consequently could only judge by hearsay, this beauty was a great cause of uneasiness and of jealousy, which she could not even disguise, and which showed itself unceasingly in eager questions.  One day when she was chatting with James Melville about his mission to her court, Mary’s offer to be guided by Elizabeth in her choice of a husband,—­a choice which the queen of England had seemed at first to wish to see fixed on the Earl of Leicester,—­she led the Scotch ambassador into a cabinet, where she showed him several portraits with labels in her own handwriting:  the first was one of the Earl of Leicester.  As this nobleman was precisely the suitor chosen by Elizabeth, Melville asked the queen to give it him to show to his mistress; but Elizabeth refused, saying that it was the only one she had.  Melville then replied, smiling, that being in possession of the original she might well part with the copy; but Elizabeth would on no account consent.  This little discussion ended, she showed him the portrait of Mary Stuart, which she kissed very tenderly, expressing to Melville a great wish to see his mistress.  “That is very easy, madam,” he replied:  “keep your room, on the pretext that you are indisposed, and set out incognito for Scotland, as King James V set out for France when he wanted to see Madeleine de Valois, whom he afterwards married.”

“Alas!” replied Elizabeth, “I would like to do so, but it is not so easy as you think.  Nevertheless, tell your queen that I love her tenderly, and that I wish we could live more in friendship than we have done up to the present”.  Then passing to a subject which she seemed to have wanted to broach for a long time, “Melville,” she continued, “tell me frankly, is my sister as beautiful as they say?”

“She has that reputation,” replied Melville; “but I cannot give your Majesty any idea of hex beauty, having no point of comparison.”

“I will give you one,” the queen said.  “Is she more beautiful than I?”

“Madam,” replied Melville, “you are the most beautiful woman in England, and Mary Stuart is the most beautiful woman in Scotland.”