CHAPTER VII.
MARY’S ARRIVAL AT HOLYROOD, WITH SKETCHES OF HER PRINCIPAL NOBILITY.
Mary landed in Scotland with a mind full of anxiety and uncertainty. She came alone and unprotected, to assume the government of a country which had long been distinguished for its rebellious turbulence. The masculine spirit of her father had quailed before the storm. Her mother, whose intellectual energy she well knew, had in vain attempted to bring order out of confusion, and harassed and worn out, had at length surrendered her life in the struggle. For the last two years, it is true, the country had enjoyed, not peace and tranquillity, but a cessation from an actual state of warfare. Nevertheless, the seeds of discontent, and of mutual distrust and hatred, were as abundant as ever. Mary’s religion was well known; and her confirmed devotion to it, was by one party magnified into bigotry, and pronounced criminal; whilst by another, it was feared she would show herself too lukewarm in revenging the insults which the ancient worship had sustained. Such being the state of things, how could a young, and comparatively inexperienced queen, just nineteen years of age, approach her kingdom otherwise than with fear and trembling?
Contrasted too with her former situation, that which she was now about to fill, appeared particularly formidable. In France, even during the life of her husband, and while at the very height of her power, few of the severer duties of government rested upon her. She had all the essential authority, without much of the responsibility of a sovereign. Francis consulted her upon every occasion, and followed her advice in almost every matter in which she chose to interfere; but it was to him, or her uncles of Guise, that the nation looked, when any of the state-machinery went wrong. It would be very different in Scotland. By whatever counsel she acted, the blame of all unpopular measures would be sure to rest with her. If she favoured the Protestants, the Catholics would renounce her; if she assisted the Catholics, the Protestants would again be found assembling at Perth, listening, with arms in their hands, to the sermons of John Knox, pulling down the remaining monasteries, and subscribing additional covenants. Is it surprising then, that she found it difficult to steer her course between the rocks of Scylla and the whirlpools of Charybdis? If misfortunes ultimately overtook her, the wonder unquestionably ought to be, not that they ever arrived, but that they should have been guarded against so long. Nothing but the wisest and most temperate policy, could have preserved quietness in a country so full of the elements of internal discord. Mary’s system of government throughout all its ramifications, must have been such as no Queen of her age could have established, had there not been more than an empty compliment, in those lines of Buchanan, in which he addresses his Royal mistress as one
“Quae sortem antevenis meritis, virtutibus annos,
Sexum animis, morum nobilitate genus.”
There is, besides, a natural feeling of loyalty, which, though it may be evanescent, hardly fails to be kindled in the breasts of the populace, at the sight of their native sovereign. The Scots, though they frequently were far from being contented with the measures pursued by their monarchs, have been always celebrated for their attachment to their persons. Mary, on her first landing, became aware of this truth. As soon as it was known that she intended returning from all the splendours of France, to the more homely comforts of the land of her birth, the people, flattered by the preference she was about to show them, abated somewhat of their previous asperity. They were the more pleased, that she came to them, not as the Queen of France, who might have regarded Scotland as only a province of her empire, but as their own exclusive and independent sovereign. They recollected that she had been at the disposal of the Estates of the country, from the time she was seven days old, and they almost felt as if she had been a child of their own rearing. They knew, also, that she had made a narrow escape in crossing the seas; and the confidence she evidently placed in them, by casting anchor in Leith Roads, with only two galleys, did not pass unnoticed. But she had arrived sooner than was expected; for, so little were they aware of her intended motions, that when her two ships were first observed in the Frith, from the Castle of Edinburgh, no suspicion was entertained that they carried the Queen and her suite. It was not, till a royal salute was fired in the Roads, that her arrival was positively known, and that the people began to flock in crowds to the shore.
On the 20th or 21st of August, 1561, the Queen landed at Leith. Here she was obliged to remain the whole day, as the preparations for her reception at Holyroodhouse were not completed. The multitude continued in the interval to collect at Leith, and on the roads leading to the Palace. On the road between Leith and Restalrig, and from thence to the Abbey, the different trades and corporations of Edinburgh were drawn up in order, lining the way with their banners and bands of music. Towards evening, horses were brought for the Queen and her attendants. When Mary saw them, accustomed as she had been to the noble and richly caparisoned steeds of the Parisian tournaments, she was struck both with the inferiority of their breed, and the poorness of their furnishings. She sighed, and could not help remarking the difference to some of her friends. “But they mean well,” said she, “and we must be content.” As she passed along, she was every where greeted with enthusiastic shouts of applause—the involuntary homage which the beauty of her countenance, the elegance of her person, and the graceful dignity of her bearing, could not fail to draw forth. Bonfires were lighted in all directions; and though illuminations were then but indifferently understood in Scotland, something of the kind seems to have been attempted. On her arrival at the Palace, all the musicians of Edinburgh collected below her windows, and in strains of most discordant music continued all night to testify their joy for her return. Some of the more rigid Reformers, willing to yield in their own way to the general feeling, assembled together in a knot, and sung psalms in her honour. Among the musical instruments, the bagpipes were preeminently distinguished, which, not exactly suiting the uncultivated taste of Brantome, he pathetically exclaims, “He! quelle musique! et quel repos pour sa nuit!”[41]
It is worth while remarking here, how Knox, in his History of the Reformation, betrays his chagrin at the affectionate manner in which Mary was received. “The very face of the heavens, at the time of her arrival,” he says, “did manifestly speak what comfort was brought into this country with her, by sorrow, dolor, darkness, and all impiety; for in the memory of man that day of the year was never seen a more dolorous face of the heavens, than was at her arrival, which two days after did so continue; for, besides the surface wet, and the corruption of the air, the mist was so thick and dark, that scarce could any man espy another the length of two pair of butts. The sun was not seen to shine two days before, nor two days after. That forewarning gave God to us, but alas! the most part were blind.”[42] Knox proceeds to reprobate, in the severest terms, the unhallowed amusements which Mary permitted at Holyroodhouse. “So soon as ever her French fillocks, fiddlers, and others of that band, got the house alone, there might be seen skipping not very comely for honest women. Her common talk was, in secret, that she saw nothing in Scotland but gravity, which was altogether repugnant to her nature, for she was brought up in joyeusitye.” If Knox really believed in the omens he talks of, or thought the less of a young and beautiful woman for indulging in innocent recreation, his judgment is to be pitied. If he, in truth, did not give any credence to the one, and saw no sin in the other, his candour and sincerity cannot be very highly praised.