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LIFE

OF

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.

Engraved by A. Wilson

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS

PAINTED FROM THE ORIGINAL BY JOHN WATSON GORDON R.I.A.

LIFE OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, VOL. I.

Drawn by W. Brown Engraved by W. Miller

LINLITHGOW PALACE

EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR CONSTABLE & C^o. EDINBURGH:
AND HURST, CHANCE & C^o. LONDON.

1828.

LIFE

OF

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.

BY
HENRY GLASSFORD BELL, Esq.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

VOL. I.

EDINBURGH:
PRINTED FOR CONSTABLE & CO. EDINBURGH;
AND HURST, CHANCE & CO. LONDON.

1828.

PREFACE.

A new work on the subject of Mary Queen of Scots runs an eminent risk of being considered a work of supererogation. No period of British history has been more elaborately illustrated than that of her life and reign. She ascended the Scottish throne at a time replete with interest; when the country had awakened from the lethargy of ages, and when the gray dawn of civilization, heralding the full sunshine of coming years, threw its light and shade on many a bold and prominent figure, standing confessed in rugged grandeur as the darkness gradually rolled away. It was a time when national and individual character were alike strongly marked,—a time when Knox preached, Buchanan wrote, Murray plotted, and Bothwell murdered. The mailed feudal barons,—the unshrinking Reformers, founders of the Presbyterian Church, and mailed in mind, if not in body,—the discomfited, but the still rich and haughty ecclesiastics of the Romish faith, the contemporaries and followers of the stern Cardinal Beaton,—all start forth so vividly before the mind’s eye, that they seem subjects better suited for the inspired pencil of a Salvator Rosa, than for the soberer pen of History. Mary herself, with her beauty and her misfortunes, shining among the rest like the creation of a softer age and clime, fills up the picture, and rivets the interest. She becomes the centre round which the others revolve; and their importance is measured only by the influence they exercised over her fate, and the share they had in that strange concatenation of circumstances, which, as if in mockery of the nobility of her birth, and the splendour of her expectations, rendered her life miserable, and her death ignominious.

There is little wonder if such a theme, though in itself inexhaustible, should have exhausted the energies of many. Yet the leading events of Mary’s reign still give rise to frequent doubts and discussions; and the question regarding her character, which has so long agitated and divided the literary world, remains undetermined. It is indeed only they who have time and inclination to dismantle the shelves of a library, and pore over many a contradictory volume,—examine many a perplexing hypothesis,—and endeavour to reconcile many an inconsistent and distracting statement,—who are entitled to pronounce upon her guilt or innocence.

Not that it is meant to be asserted, that unpublished manuscripts and documents, calculated to throw new light upon the subject, slumber in the archives of Government, or among the collections of the learned, which have hitherto escaped the notice of the antiquarian and the scholar. On the contrary, there is every reason to believe, that all the papers of value which exist, have already been found, and given to the world. After the voluminous publications of Anderson, Jebb, Goodall, Haynes, Hardwicke, Strype, Sadler, and Murdin, it is by no means probable, that future historians will discover additional materials to guide them in their narrative of facts. But few are disposed to wade through works like these; and they who are, find, that though they indicate the ground on which the superstructure of truth may be raised, they at the same time, from the diffuseness and often contradictory nature of their contents, afford every excuse to those who wander into error. The consequence is, that almost no two writers have given exactly the same account of the principal occurrences of Mary’s life. And it is this fact which would lead to the belief, that there is still an opening for an author, who would endeavour, with impartiality, candour, and decision, to draw the due line of distinction between the prejudices of the one side, and the prepossessions of the other,—who would expose the wilful misrepresentations of party-spirit, and correct the involuntary errors of ignorance,—who would aim at being scrupulously just, but not unnecessarily severe—steadily consistent, but not tamely indifferent—boldly independent, but not unphilosophically violent.

It seems to be a principle of our common nature, to be ever anxious to wage an honourable warfare against doubt; and no one is more likely to fix the attention, than he who undertakes to prove what has been previously disputed. It is this principle which has attached so much interest to the life of the Queen of Scots, and induced so many writers (and some of no mean note) to investigate her character both as a sovereign and a woman; and the consequence has been, that one half have undertaken to put her criminality beyond a doubt, and the other as confidently pledged themselves to establish her innocence. It may seem a bold, but it is a conscientious opinion, that no single author, whether an accuser or a defender, has been entirely successful. To arrive at a satisfactory conclusion, the works of several must be consulted; and, even after all, the mind is often left tossing amidst a sea of difficulties. The talents of many who have broken a lance in the Marian controversy, are undoubted; but, if we attend for a moment to its progress, the reasons why it is still involved in obscurity may probably be discovered.

The ablest literary man in Scotland, contemporary with Mary, was George Buchanan; the Earl of Murray was his patron, and Secretary Cecil his admirer. The first publication regarding the Queen, came from his pen; it was written with consummate ability, but with a dishonest, though not unnatural leaning to the side which was the strongest at the time, and which his own interests and views of personal and family aggrandizement pointed out as the most profitable. The eloquence of his style, and the confidence of his statements, gave a bias to public opinion, which feebler spirits laboured in vain to counteract.—Less powerful as an author, but not less virulent as an enemy, Knox next appeared in the lists, and, unfurling the banner of what was then considered religion, converted every doubt into conviction, by appealing to the bigotry and the superstition of the uninformed multitude. Yet Knox was probably conscientious, if the term can be applied with propriety to one who did not believe that the Church of Rome possessed a single virtuous member.—In opposition to the productions of these authors, is the “Defence of Mary’s Honour,” by Lesley, Bishop of Ross, an able but somewhat declamatory work, and as liable to suspicion as the others, because written by an avowed partisan and active servant of the Queen. A crowd of inferior compositions followed, useful sometimes for the facts they contain, but all so strongly tinctured with party zeal, that little reliance is to be placed on their accuracy. Among these may be enumerated the works of Blackwood and Caussin, who wrote in French,—of Conæus, Strada, and Turner, (the last under the assumed name of Barnestaple,) who wrote in Latin,—and of Antonio de Herrera, who wrote in Spanish.

The calamities which, after the lapse of a century, again overtook the house of Stuart, recalled attention to the discussions concerning Mary; and though time had softened the asperity of the disputants, the question was once more destined to become connected with party prejudices. From the publication of Crawford’s “Memoirs,” in 1705, down to the appearance of Chalmers’s “Life of Mary,” in 1818, the history of the Queen of Scots has continued one of those standard subjects which has given birth to a new work, at least every five years. A few of the more important may be mentioned. In 1725, Jebb published his own life of Mary, and his collection, in two volumes folio, of works which had previously appeared both for and against her. The former production is of little value, but the latter is exceedingly useful, and indeed no one can write with fairness concerning Mary, without consulting it. Lives of the Queen by Heywood and Freebairn, shortly succeeded, both of whom were anxious to vindicate her, but in their anxiety, overshot the mark. In 1728, Anderson’s “Collections” were presented to the public, containing many papers of interest and value, which are not to be found elsewhere. But they are often disingenuously garbled, that Mary may be made to appear in an unfavourable light; and a more recent author informs us, that they were, in consequence, “sold as waste paper, leaving the editor ruined in his character, and injured in his prospects.”

In Scotland, the Rebellion of 1715, powerfully revived the animosities which had never lain entirely dormant since the establishment of a new dynasty, in 1688; and the transition from Charles to his ancestor Mary, was easy and natural. The second Rebellion in 1745, did not diminish the interest taken in the Queen of Scots, nor the ardor with which the question of her wrongs or crimes was agitated. In 1754, Mr Goodall, librarian to the Faculty of Advocates, made a valuable addition to the works already extant on the subject, in his “Examination” of the letters attributed to Mary. His habits of laborious research, combined with no inconsiderable powers of reasoning, enabled him not only to bring together many original papers, not before published, but to found on these much acute argument, and deduce from them many sound conclusions. Goodall’s work will never be popular, because it is full of ancient documents, which one is more willing to refer to than to read; but, as may be remarked of Jebb and Anderson, he who means to write of Mary, should not commence until he has also carefully perused the “Examination.”

Four years posterior to Goodall’s two volumes, appeared Robertson’s “History of Scotland.” Of course, the leading events of Mary’s reign were narrated at length, but too much with the stiff frigidity which Robertson imagined constituted historical dignity, and which was continually betraying a greater anxiety about the manner than the matter. Accordingly, what his style gained in constraint, his subject lost in interest. No one has said so much of Queen Mary, to so little definite purpose, as Robertson;—no one has so entirely failed in making us either hate or love her. Besides, he thought her guilty, on the authority of Buchanan, and has consequently thrown a false gloss over her character from beginning to end. He was supported in his opinions, it is true, by the historian Hume, but the latter having devoted most of his attention to the History of England, cannot be supposed to have been very deeply versed in the affairs of Scotland; and in so far as these are concerned, his authority is not of the highest weight. Yet, from the reputation which these two writers have acquired, and deservedly, upon other grounds, they have done more mischief to Mary than perhaps any of her calumniators, the multitude being too often inclined to forget, when once thoroughly juratus in verba magistri, that he who distinguishes himself in one department, may be, and commonly is, deficient in another.—In 1760, the credit both of Robertson and Hume was a good deal shaken, by Tytler’s “Enquiry” into the evidence against Mary. This work is neither historical nor biographical, but argumentative and controversial. It is founded upon Goodall, to whom Tytler confesses his obligations, but the reasonings are much more lucidly and popularly arranged; and though not so complete or so full of research as it might have been, it is, upon the whole, the ablest and most convincing production which has yet appeared on the side of the Queen of Scots.

Of the five works of greatest consequence which have appeared since Tytler’s, only one has ventured to tread in the footsteps of Buchanan. The first in order of date is the French “Histoire d’Elizabeth,” in five volumes, by Mademoiselle de Keralio, who devotes a large portion of her book to Mary, and, with a degree of talent that does honour to the sex to which she belongs, vindicates the Scottish Queen from the obloquy which her rival, Elizabeth, had too great a share in casting upon her.—Nearly about the same time, was published Dr Gilbert Stuart’s “History of Scotland.” It came out at an unfortunate period, for Robertson had pre-occupied the field; and it was hardly to be expected, that a writer of inferior note would dispossess him of it. But Dr Stuart’s History, though too much neglected, is in many essential particulars, superior to Robertson’s, not perhaps in so far as regards precision of style, but in research, accuracy, and impartiality. It would be wrong to say, that Stuart has committed no mistakes, but they are certainly fewer and less glaring than those of his predecessor.—Towards the end of the last century, Whittaker stood forth as a champion of the Queen of Scots, and threw into the literary arena four closely printed volumes. They bear the stamp of great industry and enthusiasm; but his materials are not well digested, and his violence often weakens his argument. The praise of ardor, but not of judgment, belongs to Whittaker; he seems to have forgotten, that there may be bigotry in a good as well as in a bad cause; in his anxiety to maintain the truth, he often plunges into error, and in his indignation at the virulence of others, he not unfrequently becomes still more virulent himself. Had he abridged his work by one-third, it would have gained in force what it lost in declamation, and would not have been less conclusive, because less confused and verbose.—Whittaker was followed early in the present century by Mr Malcolm Laing, who, with a far clearer head, if not with a sounder heart, has, in his “Preliminary Dissertation,” to his “History of Scotland,” done much more against Mary than Whittaker has done for her. Calm, collected, and well-informed, he proceeds, as might be expected from an adept in the profession to which he belonged, from one step of evidence to another, linking the whole so well together that it is at first sight extremely difficult to discover a flaw in the chain. Yet flaws there are, and serious ones; indeed, Mr Laing’s book is altogether a piece of special pleading, not of unprejudiced history. His ingenuity, however, is great; and his arguments carry with them such an air of sincerity, that they are apt to be believed almost before the judgment acknowledges them to be true. It is to be feared, that he is powerful only to be dangerous,—that he dazzles only to mislead.—The author whose two large quarto, or three thick octavo volumes, brings up the rear of this goodly array, is Mr George Chalmers. There was never a more careful compiler,—a more pains-taking investigator of public and private records, deeds, and registers,—a more zealous stickler for the accuracy of dates, the fidelity of witnesses, and the authenticity of facts. His work, diffuse, tedious, and ill-arranged though it be, full of perpetual repetitions, and abounding in erroneous theories, (for it is one talent to ascertain truth, and another to draw inferences), is nevertheless a valuable accession to the stock of knowledge previously possessed on this subject. His proofs are too disjointed to be conclusive, and his reasonings too feeble to be convincing; but the materials are better than the workmanship, and might be moulded by a more skilful hand into a shape of much beauty and excellence.

Such is an impartial view of the chief works extant upon Mary Queen of Scots; and it would appear in consequence, that something is still wanting to complete the catalogue. Three causes may be stated in particular, why so many persons of acknowledged ability should have devoted their time and talents to the investigation without exhausting it.

First, Several of the works we have named are Histories; and these, professing as they do, to describe the character of a nation rather than of an individual, cannot be supposed to descend to those minutiæ, or to enter into those personal details necessary for presenting the vivid portraits in which biography delights. History is more conversant with the genus or the species; and is addressed more to the judgment than to the feelings. There is in it a spirit of generalization, which, though it expands the mind, seldom touches the heart. Its views of human nature are on a comprehensive scale; it traces the course of empires, and marks the progress of nations. If, in the great flood of events, it singles out a few crowned and conspicuous heads, making them the beacons by which to guide its way, it associates itself with them only so long as they continue to exercise an influence over the destiny of others. It is alike ignorant and careless of those circumstances which make private life happy or miserable, and which exercise an influence over the fate of those who have determined that of so many others. Neither Hume, nor Robertson, nor Stuart, nor Keralio, therefore, have said all of Mary that they might have said;—they wrote history—not biography.

Second, Many of the productions we have named, are purely controversial, consisting almost entirely of arguments founded upon facts, not of facts upon which to found arguments. Among these may be particularly included, Tytler, Whittaker, and Laing, works which do not so much aim at illustrating the life and character of Mary, as of settling the abstract question of her guilt or innocence. They present, therefore, only such detached portions of her history as bear upon the question of which they treat. To become intimately acquainted with Mary, we must have recourse to other authors; to form an estimate of her moral character these might suffice, were it fair to be guided on that subject by the opinions of others.

Third, In most of the works, in which historical research is fully blended with argumentative deductions, erroneous theories have been broached, which, failing to make good their object, either excite suspicion, or lead into error. Thus, Goodall and Chalmers have laid it down as a principle, that in order to exculpate Mary, it was necessary to accuse her brother, the Earl of Murray, of all sorts of crimes. By representing Bothwell, as an inferior tool in his hands, they have involved themselves in improbabilities, and have weakened the strength of a good cause by a mistaken mode of treatment. Indeed this remark applies with a greater or less degree of force, to all the vindications of Queen Mary which have appeared. Why transfer the burden of Darnley’s murder from Bothwell, the actual perpetrator of the deed, to one who may have been accessory to it, but certainly more remotely? Why confirm the suspicion against her they wish to defend, by unjustly accusing another, whom they cannot prove to be criminal? If Goodall and Chalmers have done this, their learning is comparatively useless, and their labour has been nearly lost.

If the author of the following “Life of Mary Queen of Scots,” has been able in any measure, to execute his own wishes, he would trust, that by a careful collation of all the works to which he has referred; he has succeeded, in separating much of the ore from the dross, and in giving a freshness, perhaps in one or two instances, an air of originality to his production. He has affected neither the insipidity of neutrality, nor the bigotry of party zeal. His desire was to concentrate all that could be known of Mary, in the hope that a light might thus be thrown on the obscurer parts of his subject, sufficient to re-animate the most indifferent, and satisfy the most scrupulous. He commenced his readings with an unbiassed mind, and was not aware at the outset, to what conviction they would bring him. But if a conscientious desire to disseminate truth be estimable, it is hoped that this desire will be found to characterize these Memoirs. Little more need be added. The biography of a Queen, who lived two hundred and fifty years ago, cannot be like the biography of a contemporary or immediate predecessor; but the inherent interest of the subject, will excuse many deficiencies. Omissions may, perhaps, be pardoned, if there are no misrepresentations; and the absence of minute cavilling and trifling distinctions, may not be complained of, if the narrative leads, by a lucid arrangement, to satisfactory general deductions. Fidelity is at all times preferable to brilliancy, and a sound conclusion to a plausible hypothesis.

CONTENTS OF VOL. I.

INTRODUCTION.

During the reigns of James IV. and James V., Scotland emerged from barbarism into comparative civilization. Shut out, as it had previously been, from almost any intercourse with the rest of Europe, both by the peculiarities of its situation, and its incessant wars with England, it had long slumbered in all the ignorance and darkness of those remote countries, which even Roman greatness, before its dissolution, found it impossible to enclose and retain within the fortunate pale of its conquests. The refinement, which must always more or less attend upon the person of a king, and shelter itself in the stronghold of his court, was little felt in Scotland. Though attached, from long custom, to the monarchical form of government, the sturdy feudal barons, each possessing a kind of separate principality of his own, took good care that their sovereign’s superior influence should be more nominal than real. Distracted too by perpetual jealousies among themselves, it was only upon rare occasions that the nobles would assemble peaceably together, to aid the king by their counsel, and strengthen his authority by their unanimity. Hence, there was no standard of national manners,—no means of fixing and consolidating the wavering and turbulent character of the people. Each clan attached itself to its own hereditary chieftain; and, whatever his prejudices or follies might be, was implicitly subservient to them. The feuds and personal animosities which existed among the leaders, were thus invariably transmitted to the very humblest of their retainers, and a state of society was the consequence, pregnant with civil discord and confusion, which, on the slightest impulse, broke out into anarchy and bloodshed.

Many reasons have been assigned why the evils of the feudal system should have been more severely felt in Scotland than elsewhere. The leading causes, as given by the best historians, seem to be,—the geographical nature of the country, which made its baronial fastnesses almost impregnable;—the want of large towns, by which the vassals of different barons were prevented from mingling together, and rubbing off, in the collision, the prepossessions they mutually entertained against each other;—the division of the inhabitants, not only into the followers of different chiefs but into clans, which resembled so many great families, among all whose branches a relationship existed, and who looked with jealousy upon the increasing strength or wealth of any other clan;—the smallness of the number of Scottish nobles, a circumstance materially contributing to enhance the weight and dignity of each;—the frequent recourse which these barons had, for the purpose of overawing the crown, to leagues of mutual defence with their equals, or bonds of reciprocal protection and assistance with their inferiors;—the unceasing wars which raged between England and Scotland, and which were the perpetual means of proving to the Scottish king, that the very possession of his crown depended upon the fidelity and obedience of his nobles, whose good-will it was therefore necessary to conciliate upon all occasions, by granting them whatever they chose to demand; and, lastly—the long minorities to which the misfortunes of its kings exposed the country at an early period of its history, when the vigour and consistency, commonly attendant upon the acts of one mind, were required more than any thing else, but instead of which, the contradictory measures of contending nobles, or of regents hastily elected, and as hastily displaced, were sure to produce an unnatural stagnation in the government, from which it could be redeemed only by still more unnatural convulsions.

The necessary consequences of these political grievances were, of course, felt in every corner of the country. It is difficult to form any accurate estimate, or to draw any very minute picture of the state of manners and nicer ramifications of society at so remote a period. But it may be stated generally, that the great mass of the population was involved in poverty, and sunk in the grossest ignorance. The Catholic system of faith and worship, in its very worst form, combined with the national superstitions so prevalent among the vulgar, not only to exclude every idea of rational religion, but to produce the very lowest state of mental degradation. Commerce was comparatively unknown,—agriculture but imperfectly understood. If the wants of the passing hour were supplied, however sparely, the enslaved vassal was contented,—almost the only happiness of his life consisting in that animal gratification afforded him by the sports of the chase, or the bloodier diversion of the field of battle. Education was neglected and despised even by the wealthy, few of whom were able to read, and almost none to write. As for the middle and lower orders, fragments of rude traditionary songs constituted their entire learning, and the savage war-dance, inspired by the barbarous music of their native hills, their principal amusement. At the same time, it is not to be supposed that virtue and intelligence were extinct among them. There must be many exceptions to all general rules, and however unfavourable the circumstances under which they were placed for calling into activity the higher attributes of man’s nature, it is not to be denied, that their chronicles record, even in the lowest ranks, many bright examples of patience, perseverance, unsinking fortitude, and fidelity founded upon generous and exalted attachment.

It has been said, that under the reigns of the Fourth and Fifth James, the moral and political aspect of the Scotch horizon began to brighten. This is to be attributed partly to the beneficial changes which the progress of time was effecting throughout Europe, and which gradually extended themselves to Scotland,—and partly to the personal character of these two monarchs. France, Germany, and England, had made considerable strides out of the gloom of the dark ages, even before the appearance of Francis I., Charles V., and Henry VIII. James IV., naturally of a chivalric and ardent disposition, was extremely anxious to advance his own country in the scale of nations; and whilst, by the urbanity of his manners, he succeeded in winning the affections of his nobles, he contrived also to find a place in the hearts of his inferior subjects, even beside that allotted to their own hereditary chieftain,—an achievement which few of his predecessors had been able to accomplish. The unfortunate battle of Flodden, is a melancholy record both of the vigour of James’s reign, and of the national advantages which his romantic spirit induced him to risk in pursuit of the worthless phantom of military renown.

James V. had much of the ardour of his father, combined with a somewhat greater share of prudence. He it was who first made any successful inroads upon the exorbitant powers of his nobility; and though, upon more occasions than one, he was made to pay dearly for his determination to vindicate the regal authority, he was, nevertheless, true to his purpose to the very last. There seem to be three features in the reign of this prince which particularly deserve attention. The first is, the more extensive intercourse than had hitherto subsisted, which he established between Scotland and foreign nations,—particularly with France. The inexhaustible ambition of Charles V., which aimed at universal empire, and which probably would have accomplished its design had he not met with a rival so formidable as Francis I., was the means of convincing the other states of Europe, that the only security for their separate independence was the preservation of a balance of power. Italy was thus roused into activity, and England, under Henry VIII., took an active share in the important events of the age. To the continental powers, against whom that monarch’s strength was directed, it became a matter of no small moment to secure the assistance of Scotland. Both Francis and Charles, therefore, paid their court to James, who, finding it necessary to become the ally of one or other, prudently rejected the empty honours offered him by the Emperor, and continued faithful to France. He went himself to Paris in 1536, where he married Magdalene, daughter of Francis. She died however soon after his return home; but determined not to lose the advantages resulting from a French alliance, he again married, in the following year, Mary of Lorraine, daughter to the Duke of Guise, and the young widow of the Duke of Longueville. Following the example of their king, most of the Scotch nobility visited France, and as many as could afford it, sent their sons thither to be educated; whilst on the other hand, numerous French adventurers landed in Scotland, bringing along with them some of the French arts and luxuries. Thus the manners of the Scotch, gradually began to lose a little of that unbending severity, which had hitherto rendered them so repulsive.

The second peculiarity in the reign of James V., is the countenance and support he bestowed upon the clergy. This he did, not from any motives of bigotry, but solely as a matter of sound policy. He saw that he could not stand alone against his nobles, and he was therefore anxious to raise into an engine of power, a body of men whose interests he thus identified with his own. It is remarkable, that even in the most flourishing days of Catholicism, when the Pope’s ecclesiastical authority extended itself everywhere, Scotland alone was overlooked. The king was there always the head of the church, in so far as regarded all ecclesiastical appointments, and the patronage of his bishoprics and abbeys was no slight privilege to the Scottish monarch, denied as it was to other kings of more extensive temporal jurisdiction. James converted into benefices, several of the forfeited estates of his rebellious nobles, and raised the clergy to a pitch of authority they had never before possessed in Scotland. He acted upon principle, and perhaps judiciously; but he was not aware, that by thus surrounding his priests with wealth and luxury, he was paving the way for their utter destruction, and a new and better order of things.

It will be useful to observe, as the third characteristic of this reign, the encouragement James gave to the arts and sciences. For the first time, education began to take some form and system. He gave stability to the universities, and was careful to select for them the best teachers. He was fond of drawing to his court men of learning and genius. He was himself a poet of considerable ability. He had likewise devoted much of his attention to architecture—his fondness for which elegant study was testified, by his anxiety to repair, or rebuild, most of the royal palaces. He established also on a permanent footing, the Court of Session, or College of Justice; and though his reign, as a whole, was not a happy one, it probably redounded more to the advantage of his country than that of any of his predecessors.

At his death, which took place in 1542, at the early age of 30, accelerated by the distress of mind occasioned by the voluntary defeats which his refractory nobles allowed themselves to sustain, both at Falla and Solway Moss, Scotland speedily fell into a state of confusion and civil war. The events which followed are indissolubly connected with the subject of these Memoirs, and are related at length in the succeeding pages.

LIFE OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.

CHAPTER I.

SCOTLAND AND ITS TROUBLES DURING MARY’S INFANCY.

James V. left, as an inheritance to his kingdom, an expensive and destructive war with England. He likewise left what, under such circumstances, was a very questionable advantage, a treasury well stored with gold, and a coinage in good condition, produced from the mines which he had worked in Scotland. The foreign relations of the country demanded the utmost attention; but the long minority necessarily ensuing, as Mary, his only surviving lawful child, was but a few days old when James died, awakened hopes and wishes in the ambitious which superseded all other considerations. For a time England was forgotten; and the prize of the Regency became a bone of civil contention and discord.

There were three persons who aspired to that office, and the pretensions of each had their supporters, as interest or reason might dictate. The first was the Queen-Dowager, a lady who inherited many of the peculiar virtues, as well as some of the failings, of the illustrious house of Guise, to which she belonged. She possessed a bold and masculine understanding, a perseverance to overcome difficulties, and a fortitude to bear up against misfortunes, not often met with among her sex. She was indeed superior to most of the weaknesses of the female character; and having, from her earliest years, deeply studied the science of government, she felt herself, so far as mere political tactics and diplomatic acquirements were concerned, able to cope with the craftiest of the Scotch nobility. Besides, her intimate connexion with the French court, coupled with the interest she might naturally be supposed to take in the affairs of a country over which her husband had reigned, and which was her daughter’s inheritance, seemed to give her a claim of the strongest kind.

The second aspirant was Cardinal David Beaton, at that time the undoubted head of the Catholic party in Scotland. He was a man whose abilities all allowed, and who, had he been less tinctured with severity, and less addicted to the exclusive principles of the Church of Rome, might probably have filled with éclat the very highest rank in the State. He endeavoured to strengthen his title to the Regency, by producing the will of James V. in his favour. But as this will was dated only a short while before the King’s death, it was suspected that the Prelate had himself written it, and obtained the King’s signature, at a time when his bodily weakness had impaired his mental faculties. Beaton was, moreover, from his violence and rigour, particularly obnoxious to all those who favoured the Reformation.

James Hamilton, Earl of Arran, and next heir to the throne, was the third candidate, and the person upon whom the choice of the people ultimately fell. In more settled times, this choice might possibly have been judicious; but Arran was of far too weak and irresolute a character to be able to regulate the government with that decision and firmness which the existing emergency required. He had few opinions of his own, and was continually driven hither and thither by the contradictory counsels of those who surrounded him. He had joined, however, the reformed religion; and this, together with the inoffensive softness of his disposition, made him, in the eyes of many, only the more fit to govern.

The annexation of Scotland to the crown of England, either by conquest or the more amicable means of marriage, had for many years been the object nearest the heart of Henry VIII. and several of his predecessors. That his father, in particular, Henry VII., had given some thought to this subject, is evident from the answer he made to such of his Privy Council as were unwilling that he should give his daughter Margaret in marriage to James IV., on the ground that the English Crown might, through that marriage, devolve to a King of Scotland. “Whereunto the King made answer, and said, ‘What then? for if any such thing should happen (which God forbid), yet I see our kingdom should take no harm thereby, because England should not be added unto Scotland, but Scotland unto England, as to the far most noble head of the whole island; for so much as it is always so, that the lesser is wont, for honour’s sake, to be adjoined to that which is far the greater.’”[1] How correct Henry VII. was in his opinion, the accession of James VI. sufficiently proved.

Henry VIII., though aiming at the same object as his father, thought it more natural that Scotland should accept of an English, than England of a Scottish King. Immediately, therefore, after the birth of Mary, he determined upon straining every nerve to secure her for his son Edward. For this purpose, he concluded a temporary peace with the Regent Arran, and sent back into Scotland the numerous prisoners who had surrendered themselves at Solway Moss, upon an understanding that they should do all they could to second his views with their countrymen. His first proposals, however, were so extravagant, that the Scottish Parliament would not listen to them for a moment. He demanded not only that the young Queen should be sent into England, to be educated under his own superintendance, but that he himself, as her future father-in-law, should be allowed an active share in the government of Scotland. Having subsequently consented to depart considerably from the haughty tone in which these terms were dictated, a treaty of marriage was agreed upon at the instigation of Arran, whom Henry had won to his interests, in which it was promised, that Mary should be sent into England at the age of ten, and that six persons of rank should, in the mean time, be delivered as hostages for the fulfilment of this promise.

It may easily be conceived, that whatever the Regent, together with some of the reformed nobility and their partisans, might think of this treaty, the Queen Mother and Cardinal Beaton, who had for the present formed a coalition, could not be very well satisfied with it. Henry, with all the hasty violence of his nature, had, in a fit of spleen, espoused the reformed opinions; and if Mary became the wife of his son, it was evident that all the interests both of the House of Guise and of the Catholic religion in Scotland, would suffer a fatal blow. By their forcible representations of the inevitable ruin which they alleged this alliance would bring upon Scotland, converting it into a mere province of their ancient and inveterate enemies, and obliging it to renounce forever the friendship of their constant allies the French, they succeeded in effecting a change in public opinion; and the result was, that Arran found himself at length obliged to yield to their superior influence, to deliver up to the Cardinal and Mary of Lorraine the young Queen, and refuse to ratify the engagements he had entered into with Henry. The Cardinal now carried every thing before him, having converted or intimidated almost all his enemies. The Earl of Lennox alone, a nobleman whose pretensions were greater than his power, could not forgive Beaton for having used him merely as a cat’s paw in his intrigues to gain the ascendency over Arran. Lennox had himself aspired at the Regency, alleging that his title, as presumptive heir to the Crown, was a more legitimate one than that of the House of Hamilton, to which Arran belonged. But the still more ambitious Cardinal flattered only to deceive him; and when Lennox considered his success certain, he found himself farther from the object of his wishes than ever.

Seeing every other hope vain, Lennox set on foot a secret correspondence with Henry, promising that monarch his best support, should he determine upon avenging the insult he had sustained, through the vacillating conduct of the Scotch. Henry gladly availed himself of the offer, and sent a considerable force under the Earl of Hartford to the North, by sea, which, having landed at Leith, and plundered that place, as well as the neighbouring city of Edinburgh, again took its departure for England, without attempting to penetrate further into the country. This was an unprofitable and ill-advised expedition, for it only tended to exasperate the minds of the Scotch, without being of any service to Henry. The Earl of Huntly well remarked concerning it, that even although he might have had no objections to the proposed match, he had a most especial dislike to the manner of wooing.

The Earl of Lennox now found himself deserted in the midst of his former friends, and went prudently into voluntary exile, by retiring into England. Here Henry, in reward of his former services, gave him his niece, the Lady Margaret Douglas, in marriage. She was the daughter, by the second marriage, of Henry’s sister, the Lady Margaret, wife of James IV., who, after the King’s death, espoused Archibald Earl of Angus. By this alliance, Lennox, though it was impossible for him to foresee such a result, became the father of Henry Darnley, and a long line of Kings.

Shortly afterwards, an event well known in Scottish history, and which was accomplished by means only too frequently resorted to in those unsettled times, facilitated the conclusion of a short peace with England. Cardinal Beaton, elevated by his success, and anxious, now that all more immediate danger was removed, to re-establish on a firmer basis the tottering authority of the Romish Church, determined upon striking awe into the people, by some memorable examples of severity towards heretics. About the end of the year 1545, he made a progress through several parts of his diocess, accompanied by the Earl of Argyle, who was then Lord Justice General, and other official persons, for the purpose of trying and punishing offenders against the laws of the Church. At Perth, several of the lieges were found guilty of arguing or disputing concerning the sense of the Holy Scriptures, in opposition to an Act of Parliament, which forbade any such freedom of speech, and five men and one woman were condemned to die. Great intercession was made for them, but in vain; the men were hanged, and the woman was drowned. Still farther to intimidate the Reformers, a yet more memorable instance of religious persecution and cruelty was presented to them a few months afterwards. George Wishart was at this time one of the most learned and zealous of all the supporters of the new doctrines in Scotland. He had been educated at the University of Cambridge, and had, in his youth, officiated as one of the masters of the grammar school at Montrose. His talents and perseverance rendered him particularly obnoxious to the Cardinal, who, having contrived to make him his prisoner, carried him to his castle at St Andrews. An Ecclesiastical Court was there assembled, at which Wishart was sentenced to be burnt. It may give us a clearer idea of the spirit of the times, to know, that on the day on which this sentence was to be put in execution, Beaton issued a proclamation, forbidding any one, under pain of church censure, to offer up prayers for so notorious a heretic. When Wishart was brought to the stake, and after the fire had been kindled, and was already beginning to take effect, it is said that he turned his eyes towards a window in the castle overlaid with tapestry, at which the Cardinal was sitting, viewing with complacency the unfortunate man’s suffering, and exclaimed,—“He who, from yonder high place, beholdeth me with such pride, shall, within few days, be in as much shame as now he is seen proudly to rest himself.” These words, though they met with little attention at the time, were spoken of afterwards as an evident and most remarkable prophecy.

It was not long after this martyrdom, that Cardinal Beaton was present at the marriage of one of his own illegitimate daughters, to whom he gave a dowry of 4000 merks, and whose nuptials were solemnized with great magnificence. Probably he conceived, that the more heretics he burned, the more unblushingly he might confess his own sins against both religion and common morality.

On the prelate’s return to St Andrew’s, Norman Lesly, a young man of strong passions, and eldest Son to the Earl of Rothes, came to him to demand some favour, which the Cardinal thought proper to refuse. The particulars of the quarrel are not precisely known, but it must have been of a serious kind; for Lesly, taking advantage of the popular feeling which then existed against the Cardinal, determined upon seeking his own revenge by the assassination of Beaton. He associated with himself several accomplices, who undertook to second him in this design. Early on the morning of the 29th of May 1546, having entered the castle by the gate, which was open to admit some workmen who were repairing the fortifications, he and his assistants proceeded to the door of the Cardinal’s chamber, at which they knocked. Beaton asked,—“Who is there?”—Norman answered,—“My name is Lesly,”—adding, that the door must be opened to him, and those that were with him. Beaton now began to fear the worst, and attempted to secure the door. But Lesly called for fire to burn it, upon which the Cardinal, seeing all resistance useless, permitted them to enter. They found him sitting on a chair, pale and agitated; and as they approached him he exclaimed,—“I am a Priest—ye will not slay me!” Lesly, however, losing all command of his temper, struck him more than once, and would have proceeded to further indignities, had not James Melville, one of the assassins, “a man,” says Knox, “of nature most gentle and most modest,” drawn his sword, and presenting the point to the Cardinal, advised him to repent of his sins, informing him, at the same time, that no hatred he bore his person, but simply his love of true religion induced him to take part against one whom he looked upon as an enemy to the gospel. So saying, and without waiting for an answer, he stabbed him twice or thrice through the body. When his friends and servants collected without, the conspirators lifted up the deceased Prelate, and showed him to them from the very window at which he had sat at the day of Wishart’s execution. Beaton, at the time of his death, was fifty-two. He had long been one of the leading men in Scotland, and had enjoyed the favour of the French King, as well as that of his own sovereign James V. Some attempt was made by the Regent to punish his murderers, but they finally escaped into France.[2]

There is good reason to believe that Henry VIII. secretly encouraged Lesly and his associates in this dishonest enterprise. But, if such be the case, that monarch did not live long enough to reap the fruits of its success. He died only a few months later than the Cardinal; and, about the same time, his cotemporary, Francis I., was succeeded on his throne by his son Henry II. These changes did not materially affect the relative situation of Scotland. They may, perhaps, have opened up still higher hopes to the Queen Dowager, and the French party; but, in England, the Duke of Somerset, who had been appointed Lord Protector during the minority of Edward VI., was determined upon following out the plans of the late monarch, and compelling the Scotch to agree to the alliance which he had proposed.

In prosecution of his designs, he marched a powerful army into Scotland, and the result was the unfortunate battle of Pinkie. The Earl of Arran, whose exertions to rescue the country from this new aggression, were warmly seconded by the people, collected a force sufficiently numerous to enable him to meet and offer battle to Somerset. The English camp was in the neighbourhood of Prestonpans, and the Scotch took up very advantageous ground about Musselburgh and Inveresk. Military discipline was at that time but little understood in this country; and the reckless impetuosity of the Scotch infantry was usually attended either with immediate success, or, by throwing the whole battle into confusion, with irretrievable and signal defeat. The weapons to which they principally trusted, were, in the first place, the pike, with which, upon joining with the enemy, all the fore-rank, standing shoulder to shoulder together, thrust straight forwards, those who stood in the second rank putting their pikes over the shoulders of their comrades before them. The length of these pikes or spears was eighteen feet six inches. They seem to have been used principally on the first onset, and were probably speedily relinquished for the more efficient exercise of the sword, which was broad and thin, and of excellent temper. It was employed to cut or slice with, not to thrust; and, in defence against any similar weapon of the enemy, a large handkerchief was wrapt twice or thrice about the neck, and a buckler invariably carried on the left arm.[3]

For some days the two armies continued in sight of each other, without coming to any general engagement. The hourly anxiety which prevailed at Edinburgh regarding the result, may be easily imagined. To inspire the soldiers with the greater courage, it was enacted by Government, that the heirs of those who fell upon this occasion in defence of their country, should for five years be free from Government taxes, and the usual assessments levied by landlords. At length, on Saturday the 10th of September 1547, the Scotch, misled by a motion in the English army, which they conceived indicated a design to retreat, rashly left their superior situation, and crossing the mouth of the Esk at Musselburgh, gave the Protector battle in the fields of Pinkie, an adjoining country seat. They were thus so exposed, that the English fleet, which lay in the bay, was enabled, by firing upon their flank to do them much mischief. The Earl of Angus, who was leading the van-guard, found himself suddenly assailed by a flight of arrows, a raking fire from a regiment or two of foreign fusileers, and a discharge of cannon which unexpectedly opened upon him. Unable to advance, he attempted to change his position for a more advantageous one. The main body imagined he was falling back upon them in confusion; and to heighten their panic, a vigorous charge, which was at this moment made by the English cavalry, decided the fortune of the day. After a feeble resistance the Scotch fled towards Dalkeith, Edinburgh, and Leith, and being hotly pursued by their enemies, all the three roads were strewed with the dead and dying. In this battle the Earl of Arran lost upwards of 8000 men; among whom were Lord Fleming, together with many other Scotch noblemen and gentlemen.

The English army advanced immediately upon Leith, which they took and pillaged; and would have entered Edinburgh, had they not found it impossible to make themselves masters of the Castle. The fleet ravaged the towns and villages on the coasts of the Forth, and proceeded as far north as the River Tay, seizing on whatever shipping they could meet with in the harbours by which they passed.

Far, however, from obtaining by these violent measures, the ultimate object of his desires, Somerset found himself farther from his point than ever. The Scotch, enraged against England, threw themselves into the arms of France; and the Protector, understanding that affairs in the south had fallen into confusion, in his absence, was obliged to return home, leaving strong garrisons in Haddington, and one or two other places, which he had captured. The Earl of Arran, and Mary of Guise, sent immediate intelligence to Henry II., of all that had taken place; and, sanctioned by the Scottish Parliament, offered to conclude a treaty of marriage between his infant son, the Dauphin Francis, and the young Scottish Queen. They, moreover, agreed to send Mary into France, to be educated at the French Court, until such time as the nuptials could be solemnized. This proposal was every way acceptable to Henry, who, like his father Francis, perfectly understood the importance of a close alliance with Scotland, as the most efficient means for preventing the English from invading his own dominions. He sent over an army of 6000 men, to the aid of the Regent; and in the same vessels, which brought these troops, Mary was conveyed from Dumbarton into France. Henry also, with much sound policy, in order to strengthen his interests in Scotland, bestowed, about this time, upon the Earl of Arran, the title of the Duke of Chatelherault, together with a pension of some value. During a period of two years, a continual series of skirmishings were carried on between the Scotch, supported by their French allies, and the English; but without any results of much consequence on either side. In 1550, a general peace was concluded; and the marriage of the Scottish Queen was never afterwards made the ground of war between the two countries.

From this period, till Mary’s return to her own country, the attention of Scotland was entirely engrossed with its own affairs, and the various important events connected with the rise, progress, and establishment of the Reformation. As these effected no slight change in the political aspect of the country, and exercised a material influence over Mary’s future destiny, it will be proper to give some account of them in this place; and these details being previously gone through, the narrative, in so far as regards Queen Mary, will thus be preserved unbroken.

CHAPTER II.

SCOTLAND AND THE SCOTTISH REFORMERS, UNDER THE REGENCY OF THE QUEEN-DOWAGER.

It was in the year 1517, that Luther first stated his objections to the validity of the indulgences granted so liberally by Pope Leo X. From this year, those who love to trace causes to their origin, date the epoch of the Reformation. It was not, however, till a considerably later period, that the new doctrines took any deep root in Scotland. In 1552, the Duke of Chatelherault, wearied with the fatigues of Government, and provoked at the opposition he was continually meeting with, resigned the regency in favour of the Queen-mother. Mary of Guise, by a visit she had shortly before paid to the French Court, had paved the way for this accession of power. Her brothers, the Duke of Guise and Cardinal of Lorraine, were far from being satisfied with the state of parties in Scotland. Chatelherault, they knew to be of a weak and fluctuating disposition; and it seemed to them necessary, both for the preservation of the ancient religion, and to secure the allegiance of the country to their niece, the young Queen, that a stronger hand, guided by a sounder head, should hold the reigns of the State. Upon their sister’s fidelity they knew they could depend; and it was principally through the influence of French gold and French intrigue, that she was placed in the regency.

The inhabitants of Scotland were at this time divided into two great classes,—those who were still staunch to the Church of Rome, and those who were determined on effecting a reformation. At the head of the former was John Hamilton, Archbishop of St Andrews, who, upon the murder of Cardinal Beaton, had obtained that appointment through the Duke of Chatelherault, whose natural brother he was. He was greatly the Duke’s superior in courage and sagacity, and was deeply imbued with the prelatical spirit of ambition then so prevalent. The resignation of the regency provoked him exceedingly, the more especially as Mary, to strengthen her own authority, found it necessary at first to treat the Reformers mildly. He was consoled, however, by the death of Edward VI. in 1553, and the accession of the young King’s eldest sister Mary to the English throne,—as bigoted and determined a Catholic as ever lived.

The man who had placed himself at the head of the Reformers, and who, although young, had already given Hamilton and his party good cause to tremble at his increasing authority, was James Stuart, the eldest of Mary’s three illegitimate brothers,—and one who occupies a most important station in the history of his country. His father made him, when only seven years old, Prior or Commendator of St Andrews, an office which entitled him, though a layman, to the full income arising from that rich benefice. It was soon discovered, however, that he had views far beyond so comparatively humble a rank. Even when a boy, it was his ambition to collect around him associates who were devoted to his service and desires. He went over with Mary to France in 1548, but remained there only a very short time; and, at the age of twenty-one, he was already looked up to by the Scottish Reformers as their chief. His knowledge was extensive, and considerably in advance of the times in which he lived. His personal bravery was undoubted, and his skill in arms so great, that few of his military enterprises were unsuccessful. His passions, if they were strong, seem also to have been deep, and entirely under his own command. Whatever may be thought of the secret motives which actuated him, he was seldom betrayed into any symptoms of apparent violence. He thus contrived to hold a steady course, amidst all the turbulence and convulsions of the age in which he lived; whilst the external decorum and propriety of his manners, so different from the ill-concealed dissoluteness of many of his cotemporaries, endeared him the more to the stern followers of Luther. It is curious to observe the very opposite views which different historians have taken of his character, more especially when they come to speak of him as the Earl of Murray and the Regent of Scotland. It would be improper and unnecessary to anticipate these discussions at present, since it is hoped the reader will be able to form his own estimate upon this subject, from the facts he will find recorded in these Memoirs.

It must be evident, that with two such men, each at the head of his own party, the country was not likely to continue long in a state of quietness. The Queen Regent soon found it necessary, at the instigation of the French Court, to associate herself with the Archbishop of St Andrews,—in opposition to which coalition, a bond was drawn up in 1557, by some of the principal Reformers, in which they announced their resolution to form an independent congregation of their own, and to separate themselves entirely from the “congregation of Satan, with all the superstitious abomination and idolatry thereof.” Articles, or Heads of a Reformation, were soon afterwards published, in which it was principally insisted, that on Sunday and other festival days, the Common-Prayer should be read openly in the parish churches, along with the lessons of the Old and New Testaments; and that preaching and interpretation of the Scriptures in private houses should be allowed.

In the following year, one of the first outrages which the Reformers committed in Scotland, took place in Edinburgh. On occasion of the annual procession through the city, in honour of the tutelar Saint—St Giles, the image of that illustrious personage, which ought to have been carried by some of the priests, was amissing,—the godly having, beforehand, according to John Knox, first drowned the idol in the North Loch, and then burned it. It was therefore necessary to borrow a smaller saint from the Gray-Friars, in order that this “great solemnity and manifest abomination” might proceed. Upon the day appointed, priests, friars, canons, and “rotten Papists,” assembled, with tabors, trumpets, banners, and bagpipes. At this sight, the hearts of the brethren were wondrously inflamed; and they resolved, that this second dragon should suffer the fate of the first. They broke in upon the procession; and though the Catholics made some slight resistance at first, they were soon obliged to surrender the image into the hands of the Philistines, who, taking it by the heels, and knocking, or, as the reformed historian says, dadding its head upon the pavement, soon reduced it to fragments, only regretting, that “the young St Giles” had not been so difficult to kill as his father. The priests, alarmed for their personal safety, sought shelter as quickly as possible, and gave Knox an opportunity of indulging in some of that austere mirth which is peculiarly remarkable, because so foreign to his general style. “Then might have been seen,” says he, “so sudden a fray as seldom has been seen among that sort of men within this realm; for down goes the cross, off go the surplices, round caps, and cornets with the crowns. The Gray-Friars gaped, the Black-Friars blew, and the priests panted and fled, and happy was he that first got the house; for such a sudden fray came never among the generation of Antichrist within this realm before.” The magistrates had some difficulty in prevailing upon the mob to disperse, after they had kept possession of the streets for several hours; and the rioters escaped without punishment; for “the brethren assembled themselves in such sort in companies, singing psalms, and praising God, that the proudest of the enemies were astounded.”[4]

The Commissioners who, about this time, were sent into France, and the motives of their embassy, will be spoken of afterwards. But the remarkable circumstance, that four of them died when about to return home,—one at Paris, and three at Dieppe,—had a considerable influence in exciting the populace to still greater hatred against the French party,—it being commonly suspected that they had come by their death unfairly. The Congregation now rose in their demands; and among other things, insisted that “the wicked and scandalous lives” of churchmen should be reformed, according to the rules contained in the New Testament, the writings of the ancient fathers, and the laws of Justinian the Emperor. For a while, the Queen Regent temporized; but finding it impossible to preserve the favour of both parties, she yielded at length to the solicitations of the Archbishop of St Andrews, and determined to resist the Reformers vigorously. In 1559, she summoned all the ministers of the Congregation, to appear before her at Stirling. This citation was complied with, but not exactly in the manner that the Queen wished; for the ministers came not as culprits, but as men proud of their principles, and accompanied by a vast multitude of those who were of the same mode of thinking. The Queen, who was at Stirling, did not venture to proceed to Perth; and the request she made, that the numbers there assembled should depart, leaving their ministers to be examined by the Government, having been refused, she proceeded to the harsh and decisive measure of declaring them all rebels.

The consternation which this direct announcement of hostilities occasioned among them, was still at its height, when the great champion of the Scottish Reformation, John Knox, arrived at Perth. This celebrated divine had already suffered much for “the good cause;” and though his zeal and devotion to it were well known, it was not till latterly that he had entertained much hope of its final triumph in his native country. He had spent the greater part of his life in imprisonment or exile; he had undergone many privations, and submitted to many trials. But these were the daily food of the Reformers; and, whilst they only served to strengthen them in the obduracy of their belief, they had the additional effect of infusing a morose acerbity into dispositions not naturally of the softest kind. Knox had returned only a few days before from Geneva, where he had been solacing his solitude by writing and publishing that celebrated work, which he was pleased to entitle, “The first blast of the trumpet against the monstrous regiment of women.” This treatise, directed principally against Mary of England, not forgetting Mary Queen of Scots and her mother of Guise, rather overshot its own purpose, by bringing the Reformer into disrepute with Elizabeth, who came to the crown soon after its appearance. To pacify that Queen, for it appears even Knox could temporize occasionally, he gave up his original intention of blowing his trumpet thrice, and his first blast was his last.[5]

The day after the ministers and their friends, had been declared rebels, Knox delivered at Perth what Keith terms “that thundering Sermon against Idolatry.” The tumult which ensued at the conclusion of this discourse, has been attributed by some historians to accident; but Keith’s suspicion, that Knox had a direct intention to excite it, seems well founded, when we consider the ferment in which the minds of his audience were at the time, and the peculiar style in which he addressed them. Buchanan is of the same opinion, though he would naturally have leant to the other conclusion. He says that Knox, “in that ticklish posture of affairs, made such a pathetic sermon to the multitude who were gathered together, that he set their minds, which were already fired, all in a flame.” If, in addition to this, the usual manner of Knox’s eloquence be considered, it will hardly be questioned but that the outrage of that day was of his doing. His vehemence in the pulpit was at all times tremendous; indeed, in so far as the effect he produced upon his hearers was concerned, he seems to have trusted almost as much to the display of his physical as of his mental energies. Many years after the period now alluded to, when he was in his old age, and very weak, Melville tells us, that he saw him every Sunday go slowly and feebly, with fur about his neck, a staff in his hand, and a servant supporting him, from his own house, to the parish church in St Andrews. There, after being lifted into the pulpit, his limbs for some time were so feeble, that they could hardly support him; but ere he had done with his sermon, he became so active and vigorous, that he was like “to ding the pulpit in blads, and flie out of it.”[6] What he must have been, therefore, in his best days, may be more easily imagined than described.

On the present occasion, after Knox had preached, and some of the congregation had retired, it appears that some “godly men” remained in the church. A priest had the imprudence to venture in among them, and to commence saying mass. A young man called out that such idolatry was intolerable, upon which it is said that the priest struck him. The young man retorted, by throwing a stone, which injured one of the pictures. The affair soon became general. The enraged people fell upon the altars and images, and in a short time nothing was left undemolished but the bare walls of the church. The Reformers throughout the city, hearing of these proceedings, speedily collected, and attacking the monasteries of the Gray and Black Friars, along with the costly edifice of the Carthusian Monks, left not a vestige of what they considered idolatrous and profane worship in any of them. The example thus set at Perth was speedily followed almost everywhere throughout the country.

These outrages greatly incensed the Queen Regent, and were looked upon with horror by the Catholics in general. To this day, the loss of many a fine building, through the zeal of the early Reformers, is a common subject of regret and complaint. It is to be remembered, however, that no revolution can be effected without paying a price for it. If the Reformation was a benefit, how could the Catholic superstition be more successfully attacked, than by knocking down those gorgeous temples, which were of themselves sufficient to render invincible the pride and inveterate bigotry of its votaries? The saying of John Knox, though a homely, was a true one,—“Pull down their nests, and the rooks will fly away.” It is not improbable, as M’Crie conjectures, that had these buildings been allowed to remain in their former splendour, the Popish clergy might have long continued to indulge hopes, and to make efforts, to be restored to them. Victories over an enemy are celebrated with public rejoicings, notwithstanding the thousands of our fellow-countrymen who may have fallen in the contest. Why should the far more important victory, over those who had so long held in thraldom the human mind, be robbed of its due praise, because some statues were mangled, some pictures torn, and some venerable towers overthrown?[7]

With as little delay as possible, the Queen Regent appeared with an army before Perth, and made herself mistress of the town. The Reformers, however, were not to be intimidated; and their strength having, by this time, much increased, it was deemed prudent by the Regent not to push matters to an extremity. Both parties agreed to disband their forces, and to refer the controversy to the next Parliament. As was to be expected, this temporary truce was not of long duration. Incessant mutual recrimination and aggression, soon induced both sides to concentrate their forces once more. Perth was re-taken by the Reformers, who shortly afterwards marched into Edinburgh. After remaining there for some time, they were surprised by a sudden march which the Queen made upon them from Dunbar, and were compelled to fall back upon Stirling.

A belief was at this time prevalent at the court of France, that the Prior of St Andrews, who was the principal military leader of the Congregation, had views of a treasonable nature even upon the crown itself, and that he hoped the flaw in his legitimacy might be forgotten, in consideration of his godly exertions in support of the true faith. A new reinforcement of French soldiers arrived at Leith, which they fortified; and the French ambassador was commanded to inform the Prior, that the King, his master, would rather spend the crown of France, than not be revenged of the seditious persons in Scotland.

The civil war now raged with increased bitterness, and with various success, but without any decisive advantage on either side for some time. The Reformers applied for assistance to Queen Elizabeth, who favoured their cause for various reasons, and would, no doubt, much rather have seen Murray in possession of the Scottish crown, than her own personal rival, Mary. The Congregation having found it impossible, by their own efforts, to drive the French out of Leith, Elizabeth, in the beginning of the year 1560, fitted out a powerful fleet, which, to the astonishment of the Queen Regent and her French allies, sailed up the Firth of Forth, and anchored in the Roads, before even the purpose for which it had come was known. A treaty was soon afterwards concluded at Berwick between the Lords of the Congregation and Elizabeth’s Commissioner, the Duke of Norfolk, by which it was agreed, on the part of the former, that no alliance should ever be entered into by them with France; and on that of the latter, that an English army should march into Scotland early in spring, for the purpose of aiding in the expulsion of the French troops.

This army came at the time appointed, and was soon joined by the forces of the Reformers. The allies marched directly for Leith, which they invested without loss of time. The siege was conducted with great spirit, but the town was very resolutely defended by the French. So much determination was displayed upon both sides, that it is difficult to say how the matter might have ended, had not the death of the Queen Regent, which took place at this juncture, changed materially the whole aspect of affairs. She had been ill for some time, and during her sickness resided in the Castle of Edinburgh. Perceiving that her end was approaching, she requested an interview with some of the leaders of the Congregation. The Duke of Chatelherault, the Prior of St Andrews, or the Lord James, as he was commonly called, and others, waited upon her in her sick-chamber. She expressed to them her sincere grief for the troubles which existed in the country, and advised that both the English and French troops should be sent home. She entreated that they would reverence and obey their native and lawful sovereign, her daughter Mary. She told them how deeply attached she was to Scotland and its interests, although by birth a Frenchwoman; and at the conclusion, she burst into tears, kissing the nobles one by one, and asking pardon of all whom she had in any way offended. The day after this interview, Mary of Guise died. Her many excellent qualities were long remembered in Scotland; for even those who could not love, respected her. In private life, if this term can be used with propriety when speaking of a Queen, she appears to have been most deservedly esteemed. She set an example to all her maids of honour, of piety, modesty, and becoming gravity of deportment; she was exceedingly charitable to the poor; and had she fallen upon better days, her life would have been a happier one for herself, and her memory more generally prized by posterity. Her body was carried over to France, and buried in the Benedictine Monastery at Rheims.[8]

Very soon after the death of the Queen Regent, Commissioners arrived both from France and England, with full powers to conclude a treaty of peace between the three countries. By the loss of their sister, the Princes of Lorraine had been deprived of their chief support in Scotland, and, being actively engaged in schemes of ambition nearer home, they found it necessary to conciliate, as they best could, the predominating party there. The important treaty of Edinburgh, which will be mentioned frequently hereafter, was concluded on the 14th of June 1560. It was signed on the part of France by the two plenipotentiaries, Monluc, Bishop of Valence, and the Sieur Derandon, reckoned two of the best diplomatists of the day; and, on the part of England, by Wotton, Dean of Canterbury, and Elizabeth’s prime minister, Cecil, one of the ablest men of that or any age. The interests of the Congregation were intrusted principally to the Lord James. In consequence of this treaty, the French troops were immediately withdrawn. The fortifications of Leith and Dunbar were destroyed, and a Parliament was held, whose acts were to be considered as valid as if it had been called by the express commands of the Queen. In that Parliament, the adherents of the Congregation were found greatly to out-number their adversaries. An act of oblivion and indemnity was passed for all that had taken place within the two preceding years; and, for the first time, the Catholics, awed into silence, submitted to every thing which the Reformers proposed. A new Confession of Faith was sanctioned; the jurisdiction of the Ecclesiastical Courts was abolished; and the exercise of worship, according to the rites of the Romish Church, was prohibited under severe penalties—a third act of disobedience being declared capital.

Thus, the Reformation finally triumphed in Scotland. Though as yet only in its infancy, and still exposed to many perils, it was nevertheless established on a comparatively firm and constitutional basis. The Catholics, it is true, aware of the school in which Mary had been educated, were far from having given up all hope of retrieving their circumstances; and they waited for her return with the utmost impatience and anxiety. But they ought to have known, that whatever might have been Mary’s wishes, their reign was over in Scotland. A Sovereign may coerce the bodies, but he can never possess a despotic sway over the minds of his subjects. The people had now begun to think for themselves; and a belief in the mere mummeries of a fantastic system of Christianity, and of the efficacy of miracles performed by blocks of wood and stone, was never again to form a portion of their faith. A brief account of one of the last, and not least ludicrous attempts which the Popish clergy made to support their sinking cause, will form a not improper conclusion to this chapter.

There was a chapel in the neighbourhood of Musselburgh, dedicated to the Lady of Loretto, which, from the character of superior sanctity it had acquired, had long been the favourite resort of religious devotees. In this chapel, a body of the Catholic priests undertook to put their religion to the test, by performing a miracle. They fixed upon a young man, who was well known as a common blind beggar, in the streets of Edinburgh, and engaged to restore to him, in the presence of the assembled people, the perfect use of his eyesight. A day was named, on which they calculated they might depend on this wonderful interposition of divine power in their behalf. From motives of curiosity, a great crowd was attracted at the appointed time to the chapel. The blind man made his appearance on a scaffold, erected for the occasion. The priests approached the altar, and, after praying very devoutly, and performing other religious ceremonies, he who had previously been stone blind, opened his eyes, and declared he saw all things plainly. Having humbly and gratefully thanked his benefactors, the priests, he was permitted to mingle among the astonished people, and receive their charity.

Unfortunately, however, for the success of this deception, a gentleman from Fife, of the name of Colville, determined to penetrate, if possible, a little further into the mystery. He prevailed upon the subject of the recent experiment to accompany him to his lodgings in Edinburgh. As soon as they were alone, he locked the chamber-door, and either by bribes or threats, contrived to win from him the whole secret. It turned out, that in his boyhood, this tool, in the hands of the designing, had been employed as a herd by the nuns of the Convent of Sciennes, then in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh. It was remarked by the sisterhood, that he had an extraordinary facility in “flyping up the lid of his eyes, and casting up the white.” Some of the neighbouring priests, hearing accidentally of this talent, imagined that it might be applied to good account. They accordingly took him from Sciennes to the monastery near Musselburgh, where they kept him till he had made himself an adept in this mode of counterfeiting blindness, and till his personal appearance was so much changed, that the few who had been acquainted with him before, would not be able to recognise him. They then sent him into Edinburgh to beg publicly, and make himself familiarly known to the inhabitants, as a common blind mendicant. So far every thing had gone smoothly, and the scene at the Chapel of Loretto might have had effect on the minds of the vulgar, had Colville’s activity not discovered the gross imposture. Colville, who belonged to the Congregation, instantly took the most effectual means to make known the deceit. He insisted upon the blind man’s appearing with him next day, at the Cross of Edinburgh, where the latter repeated all he had previously told Colville, and confessed the iniquity of his own conduct, as well as that of the priests. To shelter him from their revenge, Colville immediately afterwards carried him off to Fife; and the story, with all its details, being speedily disseminated, exposed the Catholic clergy to more contempt than ever.[9]

CHAPTER III.

MARY’S BIRTH, AND SUBSEQUENT RESIDENCE AT THE FRENCH COURT, WITH A SKETCH OF THE STATE OF SOCIETY AND MANNERS IN FRANCE, DURING THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

Mary Stuart, Queen of Scots, was the third child of James V. and his wife, Mary of Guise. That lady had born him previously two sons, both of whom died in infancy. Mary came into the world on the 7th of December 1542, in the Palace of Linlithgow.[10] She was only seven days old when she lost her father, who at the time of her birth lay sick in the Palace of Falkland. James died, as he had lived, with a kingly and gallant spirit. In the language of Pitscottie, he turned him upon his back, and looked and beheld all his nobles and lords about him, and, giving a little smile of laughter, kissed his hand, and offered it to them. When they had pressed it to their lips for the last time, he tossed up his arms, and yielded his spirit to God. James was considered one of the most handsome men of his day. He was above the middle stature; his hair flowed luxuriantly over his shoulders in natural ringlets, and was of a dark yellow or auburn colour; his eyes were gray, and very penetrating; his voice was sweet toned; and the general expression of his countenance uncommonly prepossessing. He inherited a vigorous constitution, and kept it sound and healthy by constant exercise, and by refraining from all excesses in eating or drinking. He was buried in the Royal Vault in the Chapel of Holyrood House, where his embalmed body, in a state of entire preservation, was still to be seen in the time of the historian Keith.

The young Queen was crowned by Cardinal Beaton at Stirling, on the 9th of September 1543. Her mother, who watched over her with the most careful anxiety, had been told a report prevailed that the infant was sickly, and not likely to live. To disprove this calumny, she desired Janet Sinclair, Mary’s nurse, to unswaddle her in the presence of the English Ambassador, who wrote to his own court that she was as goodly a child as he had seen of her age.

Soon after her birth, the Parliament nominated Commissioners, to whom they intrusted the charge of the Queen’s person, leaving all her other interests to the care of her mother. The two first years of her life, Mary spent at Linlithgow, where it appears she had the small-pox, a point of some importance, as one of her historians remarks, in the biography of a beauty and a queen.[11] The disease must have been of a particularly gentle kind, having left behind no visible traces. During the greater part of the years 1545, 46 and 47, she resided at Stirling Castle, in the keeping of Lords Erskine and Livingstone. Here she received the first rudiments of education from two ecclesiastics, who were appointed her preceptors, more, however, as matter of form, than from any use they could be of to her at so early an age. When the internal disturbances of the country rendered even Stirling Castle a somewhat dangerous residence, Mary was removed to Inchmahome, a sequestered island in the Lake of Monteith. That she might not be too lonely, and that a spirit of generous emulation might present her with an additional motive for the prosecution of her studies, the Queen Dowager selected four young ladies of rank as her companions and playmates. They were each about her daughter’s age, and either from chance, or because the conceit seemed natural, they all bore the same surname. The four Maries were, Mary Beaton, a niece of Cardinal Beaton, Mary Fleming, daughter of Lord Fleming, Mary Livingstone, whose father was one of the young Queen’s guardians, and Mary Seaton, daughter of Lord Seaton.

Mary having remained upwards of two years in this island, those who had, at the time, the disposal of her future destiny, thought it expedient, for reasons which have been already explained, that she should be removed to France. She was accordingly, in the fifth year of her age, taken to Dumbarton, where she was delivered to the French Admiral, whose vessels were waiting to receive her, and attended by the Lords Erskine and Livingstone, her three natural brothers, and her four Maries, she left Scotland.

The thirteen happiest years of Mary’s life were spent in France. Towards the end of July 1548, she sailed from Dumbarton, and, after a tempestuous voyage, landed at Brest on the 14th of August. She was there received, by Henry II.’s orders, with all the honours due to her rank and royal destiny. She travelled, with her retinue, by easy stages, to the palace at St Germain En Laye; and to mark the respect that was paid to her, the prison-gates of every town she came to were thrown open, and the prisoners set free. Shortly after her arrival, she was sent, along with the King’s own daughters, to one of the first convents in France, where young ladies of distinction were instructed in the elementary branches of education.

The natural quickness of her capacity, and the early acuteness of her mind, now began to manifest themselves. She made rapid progress in acquiring that species of knowledge suited to her years, and her lively imagination went even the length of attaching a more than ordinary interest to the calm and secluded life of a nunnery. It was whispered, that she had already expressed a wish to separate herself forever from the world; and it is not improbable, that had this wish been allowed to foster itself silently in her bosom, Mary might ultimately have taken the veil, in which case her life would have been a blank in history. But these views were not consistent with the more ambitious projects entertained by Henry and her uncles of Lorraine. As soon as they were informed of the bent which her mind appeared to be taking, she was again removed from the convent to the palace. To reconcile her to parting with the vestal sisters, Henry, whose conduct towards her was always marked by affection and delicacy, selected, from all the noble Scotch families then residing in France, a certain number to constitute her future household. The tears which Mary shed, however, upon leaving the nunnery, proved the warmth of her young heart; and that her feelings were not of merely momentary duration, is evinced by the frequent visits she subsequently paid this asylum of her childhood,—and by the altar-piece she embroidered with her own hands for the chapel of the convent.

In no country of Europe was education better understood than it then was in France. Francis I., who remodelled, upon a magnificent scale, the University of Paris, only followed the example which had already been set him by Louis XII. The youth of all countries flocked to the French schools. The liberal principles which induced the government to maintain, at its own expense, professors, who lectured to as many students as chose to hear them, was amply repaid by the beneficial consequences arising from the great influx of strangers. A competent knowledge of Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Mathematics, Moral Philosophy and Medicine, could be acquired in France for literally nothing. Nor was it necessary, that he who sought for the blessings of education, should profess any particular system of religious faith. The German Protestant, and the Spanish Catholic, were allowed, in these noble institutions, to take their seat side by side. Henry supported the church as an engine of state, whilst he detested the arrogant pretensions and empty insolence of many of the clergy, and was determined that they should not interfere with the more enlightened views which he himself entertained. In this, he only followed the opinions of his illustrious father, Francis, who used to remark, that monks were better at teaching linnets to whistle, playing at dice, tippling, and gormandizing, than in doing good either to religion or morality.

The host of authors, and men of genius, who flourished in France about this period, was another cause of its literary eminence. “Learning,” says Miss Benger, “far from being the badge of singularity, had become the attribute of a superior station.” “There was,” observes the ingenious Pasquier, “a glorious crusade against ignorance.” Many of the names then celebrated have since, it is true, passed into oblivion, but the multitude who cultivated letters, show the spirit of the times. Beza, Seve, Pelletier and others, led the van in the severer departments of intellect; whilst Bellay, Ronsard and Jodelle, showed the way, to a host of followers, in the cultivation of poetry, and the softer arts of composition.

Nor must the great statesmen and warriors, whose presence lent a lustre to the court, be forgotten in this view of the existing pre-eminence of France. The two Houses of Bourbon and Guise, had each given birth to many names destined for immortality. The present chiefs of Bourbon were Anthony, Duke of Navarre, and Louis, known in the history of the world as the first Prince of Condé. There were six brothers of the Guises, of whom the two most illustrious were Francis Duke of Guise, and Charles Cardinal of Lorraine. But they all held the very highest offices in the church or state; one was a Cardinal, and another a Grand Prior; a third, the Duke d’Aumale, commanded the army then in Italy; and the fourth, the Marquis d’Elbeuf, was intrusted with the charge of the French troops in Scotland. But he who held the balance of power between all these contending interests, was the great Montmorency, Constable of France. He had, by this time, become a veteran in the service of the French monarchs. Louis XII. had acknowledged his virtues, and Francis I. looked to him for advice and aid in every emergency. Henry felt almost a filial affection and reverence for so distinguished a statesman and patriot; and Diana de Poictiers herself, the fascinating widow of the Duke de Valentinois, frequently found that she possessed less influence with the monarch than the venerable and unostentatious Montmorency. The minister was at all times surrounded by a formidable phalanx of friends and supporters. Of these his own sons were not the least considerable; and his nephews, the two Colignys, need only to be mentioned, to awaken recollections of some of the most remarkable events of French history.

Neither must we omit to mention the two ladies who held the highest places in the French Court. The sister and the wife of Henry II. resembled each other but faintly, yet both secured the admiration of the country. The Princess Margaret had established herself by her patronage of every liberal art, and her universal beneficence, in the hearts of the whole people. Her religion did not degenerate into bigotry, and her charity, whilst it was at all times efficient, was without parade. She became afterwards the Duchess of Savoy; but till past the meridian of life, she continued constantly at her brother’s Court,—a bright example of all that was virtuous and attractive in female character. To her, France was indebted for discovering and fostering the talents of its great Chancellor Michel L’Hopital; and the honourable name by which she was universally known was that of Minerva. The King’s wife, Catherine de Medicis, was more respected for her talents than loved for her virtues. But as yet, the ambition of her nature had not betrayed itself, and little occasion had been afforded for the exercise of those arts of dissimulation, or the exposure of that proneness to envy and resentment, which at a later period became so apparent. She was still in the bloom of youth, and maintained a high character, not without much show of reason.

Such being the general aspect of the country and the Court, it cannot fail to become evident, that so far from being a just cause of regret, nothing could have redounded more to Mary’s advantage than her education and residence in France. If bigotry prevailed among the clergy, it was not countenanced at the Court, for Henry cared little about religion, and his sister Margaret was suspected of leaning to the Reformed opinions. If Parisian manners were known to be too deeply tinctured with licentiousness, the palace of Catherine must be excepted from the charge; for even the deportment of Diana herself was grave and decorous, and for his sister’s sake, the King dared not have countenanced any of those grosser immoralities in which Henry VIII. of England so openly indulged. The Cardinal of Lorraine, who was at the head of the Parisian University, quickly discovering Mary’s capabilities, directed her studies with the most watchful anxiety. She was still attended by the two preceptors who had accompanied her from Scotland, and before she was ten years old, had made good progress in the French, Latin, and Italian languages. French was all her life as familiar to her as her native tongue; and she wrote it with a degree of elegance which no one could surpass. Her acquaintance with Latin was not of that superficial kind but too common in the present day. This language was then regarded as almost the only one on whose stability any reliance could be placed. It was consequently deemed indispensable, that all who aspired at any eminence in literature, should be able to compose in it fluently. Mary’s teacher was the celebrated George Buchanan, who was then in France, and who, whatever other praise he may be entitled to, was unquestionably one of the best scholars of his time. The young Queen’s attention was likewise directed to Rhetoric, by Fauchet, author of a treatise on that subject which he dedicated to his pupil,—to history by Pasquier,—and to the delightful study of poetry, for which her genius was best suited, and for which she retained a predilection all her life, by Ronsard.

Nor must it be imagined that Mary’s childhood was exclusively devoted to these more scholastic pursuits. She and her young companions, the Scotch Maries and the daughters of Henry, were frequently present at those magnificent galas and fêtes, in which the King himself so much delighted, and which were so particularly in unison with the taste of the times, though no where conducted with so much elegance and grace, as at the French Court. The summer tournaments and fêtes champêtres, and the winter festivals and masquerades, were attended by all the beauty and chivalry of the land. In these amusements, Mary, as she grew up, took a lively and innocent pleasure. The woods and gardens also of Fontainbleau, afforded a delightful variation from the artificial splendours of Paris. In summer, sailing on the lakes, or fishing in the ponds; and in winter, a construction of fortresses on the ice,—a mimic battle of snow-balls,—or skating, became royal pastimes. Mary’s gait and air, naturally dignified and noble, acquired an additional charm from the attention she paid to dancing and riding. The favourite dance at the time was the Spanish minuet, which Mary frequently performed with her young consort, to the admiration of the whole court. In the livelier gailliarde, she was unequalled, as was confessed, even by the beautiful Anne of Este, who, in a pas des deux, acknowledged that she was eclipsed by Mary.

The activity of her body indeed, kept, upon all occasions, full pace with that of her mind. She was particularly fond of hunting; and she and her maids of honour were frequently seen following the stag through the ancestral forests of France. Her attachment to this amusement, which continued all her life, exposed her, on several occasions, to some danger. So early as the year 1559, when hunting in France, some part of her dress was caught by the bough of a tree, and she was cast off her horse when galloping at full speed. Many of the ladies and gentlemen in her train passed by without observing her, and some so near as actually to tread on her riding-dress. As soon as the accident was discovered, she was raised from the ground; but, though the shock had been considerable, she had too manly a spirit to complain, and, readjusting her hair, which had fallen into confusion, she again mounted her horse, and rode home smiling at the accident.[12]

Another, but more sedentary amusement with Mary, was the composition of devices. To excel in these, required some wit and judgment. A device was the skilful coupling of a few expressive words with any engraved figure or picture. It was an art intimately connected with the science of heraldry, and seems to have suggested the modern seal and motto. The composition of these devices was, as it is somewhere called, only “an elegant species of trifling;” but it had something intellectual in it, which the best informed ladies of the French court liked. An old author, who writes upon this subject, elevates it to a degree of importance rather amusing. “It delights the eye,” he says, “it captivates the imagination, it is also profitable and useful; and therefore surpasseth all other arts, and also painting, since this only represents the body and exquisite features of the face, whereas a device exposes the rare ideas and gallant sentiments of its author; it also excels poetry, in as much as it joineth profit with pleasure, since none merit the title of devices unless they at once please by their grace, and yield profit by their doctrine.”

Mary’s partialities were commonly lasting, and when in very different circumstances, she frequently loved to return to this amusement of her childhood. Some of the emblems she invented, betray much elegance and sensibility of mind. On the death of her husband Francis, she took for her device a little branch of the liquorice-tree, whose root only is sweet, all the rest of the plant being bitter, and the motto was, Dulce meum terra tegit. On her cloth of state was embroidered the sentence, En ma fin est mon commencement; “a riddle,” says Haynes, “I understand not;” but which evidently meant to inculcate a lesson of humility, and to remind her that life, with all its grandeur, was the mere prologue to eternity. The French historian, Mezeray, mentions also that Mary had a medal struck, on which was represented a vessel in a storm, with its masts broken and falling, illustrated by the motto, Nunquam nisi rectam; indicating a determination rather to perish than deviate from the path of integrity.[13] When she was in England, she embroidered for the Duke of Norfolk a hand with a sword in it, cutting vines, with the motto Virescit vulnere virtus. In these and similar fancies, she embodied strong and often original thoughts with much delicacy.

In the midst of these occupations and amusements, Mary was not allowed to forget her native country. Frequent visits were paid her from Scotland, by those personally attached to herself or her family. In 1550, her mother, Mary of Guise, came over to see her, accompanied by several of the nobility. The Queen-dowager, a woman of strong affections, was so delighted with the improvement she discovered in her daughter’s mind and person, that she burst into tears of joy; and her Scottish attendants were hardly less affected by the sight of their future Sovereign. Henry, with his young charge, was at Rouen, when the Queen-dowager arrived. To testify his respect for her, he ordered a triumph to be prepared, which consisted of one of those grotesque allegorical exhibitions then so much in vogue; and, shortly afterwards, the two Queens made a public entry into Paris. Mary of Guise had there an opportunity likewise of seeing her son by her first husband, the Duke de Longueville, Mary’s half-brother, but who seems to have spent his life in retirement, as history scarcely notices him. It may well be conceived, that the widow of James V. returned even to the regency of Scotland with reluctance, since she purchased the gratification of her ambition by a final separation from her children.[14]

It was about the same time that Mary first saw Sir James Melville, who was then only a few years older than herself, and who was sent over in the train of the Bishop of Monluc, when he returned after signing the Treaty of Edinburgh, to be one of Mary’s pages of honour. Sir James was afterwards frequently employed by the Queen as her foreign ambassador, and his name will appear more than once in the sequel. We have spoken of him here for the purpose of introducing an amusing anecdote, which he gives us in his own Memoirs, and which illustrates the state of manners at that period. Upon landing at Brest, the Bishop proceeded direct to Paris. But Sir James, who was young, and could hardly have endured the fatigue of this mode of travelling, was intrusted to the care of two Scotch gentlemen, who had come over in the same ship. Their first step was to purchase three little “naigies,” on which they proposed riding to Paris, any thing in the shape of a diligence being out of the question. To ensure greater safety on the journey, three others joined the party,—two Frenchmen, and a young Spaniard, who was on his way to the College at Paris. On the evening of the first day, they arrived at the town of Landerneau, where all the six were lodged in one room, containing three beds. The two Frenchmen slept together in one, the two Scotsmen in another, and Melville and the Spaniard in the third. The company on the whole does not appear to have been of the most respectable kind; for, as Melville lay awake, he heard “the twa Scotchmen devising how they were directed to let him want naething; therefore, said they, we will pay for his ordinair all the way, and shall count up twice as meikle to his master when we come to Paris, and sae shall win our ain expenses.” The two Frenchmen, on their part, thinking that nobody in the room understood French, said to each other, “These strangers are all young, and know not the fashion of the hostelries; therefore we shall deal and reckon with the hosts at every repast, and shall cause the strangers pay more than the custom is, and that way shall we save our expenses.” At all this Melville, as he tells us, could not refrain from “laughing in his mind,” and determined to be upon his guard. “Yet the twa Scotch young men,” he adds in his antique phraseology, “would not consent that I should pay for myself, hoping still to beguile the Bishop, but the Spaniart and I writ up every day’s compt.” The Frenchmen being foiled in their swindling intentions, had recourse to a still bolder manœuvre. One day, as the party were riding through a wood, two other Frenchmen, who had joined them a short time before, suddenly leapt off their horses, and, drawing their swords, demanded that the others should deliver up their purses. Melville and his Scotch friends, however, were not to be thus intimidated. They also drew their swords, and prepared for resistance; on seeing which, the Frenchmen affected to make a joke of the whole affair, saying that they merely wanted to try the courage of the Scotchmen, in case they should have been attacked by robbers. “But the twa last loons,” says Melville, “left us at the next lodging; and the twa Scotch scholairs never obtenit payment frae the Bishop for their pretendit fraud.” Sir James arrived in safety at Paris, having taken thirteen days to ride from Brest to the capital.[15]

Thus diversified by intercourse with her friends and with her books, by study and recreation, Mary’s early life passed rapidly away. It has been already seen, that whatever could have tended to corrupt the mind or manners was carefully removed from the young Queen. As soon as Mary entered upon her teens, she and her companions, the two young princesses, Henry’s daughters, spent several hours every day in the private apartment of Catherine de Medicis, whose conversation, as well as that of the foreign ambassadors and other persons of distinction who paid their respects to her, they had thus an opportunity of hearing. Conæus mentions, that Mary was soon observed to avail herself, with great earnestness, of these opportunities of acquiring knowledge; and it has been hinted, that the superior intelligence she evinced, in comparison with Catherine’s own daughters, was the first cause of exciting that Queen’s jealousy. It was perhaps at some of these conferences that Mary imperceptibly imbibed, from her future mother-in-law, and her not unfrequent visitor, Nostradamus, a slight portion of that tendency to superstitious belief then so prevalent. One of the most remarkable characters about Henry’s court, was Nicolas Cretin, or Nostradamus, as he was more commonly called, who combined in his own person the three somewhat incongruous professions of physician, astrologer, and philosopher. He asserted, that he was not only perfectly acquainted with the laws of planetary influence, but that, by the inspiration of divine power, he could predict the events of futurity. The style of his prophecies was in general sufficiently obscure; yet such was the reverence paid to learning in those days (and Nostradamus was a very library of learning), that he was courted and consulted even by the first statesmen in France. Mary had far too lively a fancy to escape the infection; and the force of this early bias continued to be felt by her more or less all her life.

CHAPTER IV.

MARY’S MARRIAGE, PERSONAL APPEARANCE, AND POPULARITY.

The time now approached when Henry began to think of confirming the French authority in Scotland, by consummating the contract of marriage which had so long existed between Francis and Mary. This was not, however, to be done without considerable opposition from several quarters. The Constable Montmorency, and the House of Bourbon, already trembled at the growing influence of the Guises, plainly foreseeing, that as soon as the niece of the Duke and Cardinal of Lorraine became wife to the Dauphin, and consequently, upon Henry’s death, Queen of France, their own influence would be at an end. It is not improbable that Montmorency aimed at marrying one of his own sons to Mary. At all events, he endeavoured to persuade Henry that he might find a more advantageous alliance for Francis. The Guises, however, were not thus to be overreached; and the King more willingly listened to their powerful representations in favour of the match, as it had long been a favourite scheme with himself. It would be uncharitable to ascribe to the agency of any of those who opposed it, an attempt which was made some time before by a person of the name of Stuart, a Scottish archer in the King’s guards, to poison Mary. Stuart being detected, was tried, condemned, and executed, but made no confession which could lead to any discovery of his motives. It is most likely that he had embraced the reformed religion, and was actuated by a fanatical desire to save his country from the dominion of a Catholic princess.

Francis, the young Dauphin, who was much about Mary’s own age, was far inferior to her, both in personal appearance and mental endowments. He was of a very weakly constitution; and the energies of his mind seem to have been repressed by the feebleness of his body. But if unable to boast of any distinguishing virtues, he was undegraded by the practice of any vice. He was amiable, timid, affectionate, and shy. He was aware of his want of physical strength, and feared lest the more robust should make it a subject of ridicule. He appears to have loved Mary with the tenderest affection, being probably anxious to atone to her, by every mark of devotion, for the sacrifice he must have seen she was making in surrendering herself to him, in all the lustre of her charms. Yet there is good reason to believe that Mary really loved Francis. They had been playmates from infancy; they had prosecuted all their studies together; and though Francis cared little for the pleasures of society, and rather shunned than encouraged those who wished to pay their court to him, Mary was aware that, for this very reason, he was only the more sincere in his passion for her. It was not in Mary’s nature to be indifferent to those who evinced affection for her; and if her fondness for Francis were mingled with pity, it has long been asserted, that “pity is akin to love”.

On the 24th of April 1558, the nuptials took place. In December the preceding year, a letter from Henry had been laid before the Scotch Parliament, requesting that some persons of rank should be sent over from Scotland as Commissioners to witness the marriage; and in compliance with this desire, the Lord James, Prior of St Andrews, and eight other persons of distinction, arrived at the French Court in March 1558.[16] Their instructions commanded them to guard against French encroachments, upon the rights and privileges of Scottish subjects; and, that no doubt might remain regarding the right of succession to the Scottish throne, they were to obtain from the King of France a ratification of his former promise, to aid and support the Duke of Chatelherault in his claims upon the crown, in case Mary died without issue. They were also to require a declaration to a similar effect from the Queen and Dauphin. All these demands were at once complied with.

It has been alleged, however, that a very gross deceit was practised, upon this occasion, by the French Court. It is said, that though, to satisfy the Scotch Commissioners, all their requests were ostensibly granted, Henry took secret measures to render these grants entirely inefficacious. Mary, it is asserted, on the 4th of April, signed three papers, in the first of which she made over the kingdom of Scotland in free gift to the King of France, to be enjoyed by him and his heirs, should she die without children; in the second, (lest it might not be deemed expedient to insist upon the first,) she assigned to the King of France the possession of Scotland, after her decease without children, till he should be reimbursed of a million pieces of gold, or any greater sum which he should be found to have expended on her during her residence in France; and, in the third, she protested, that whatever declarations she might subscribe, in compliance with the desire of the Scotch Parliament, touching the lineal succession of her crown, the genuine sense of her mind was contained only in the two preceding papers.[17] If this dishonourable transaction really took place, whilst it cannot involve Mary, a young and inexperienced girl of fifteen, in any serious blame, it certainly reflects the highest discredit both upon Henry and his advisers of the house of Guise. There is good reason, however, to believe, that these instruments, though they unquestionably exist, are forgeries. It was not an uncommon trick in those times, for the Reformers to stir up jealousy against a Catholic sovereign, by alleging, that he had promised away his country to some well known papist. The Prince of Condé, in December 1568, was not aware of the authenticity of any such papers; for, if he had been, he would undoubtedly have mentioned them when he asked Elizabeth’s assistance to establish the Protestant religion in France. On the contrary, he trumps up a ridiculous story, to which no one has ever given any credit, that Mary had ceded her right to the crown of England, in behalf of the King of France’s brother, Henry Duke of Anjou. After Mary’s death, it was confidently reported, and with equal falsehood, that by her testament she had left England to the King of Spain, unless her son became a Roman Catholic. There is, besides, internal evidence of a striking nature, that these deeds were forgeries. For its discovery, we are indebted to the industry and research of Goodall.[18]

Some of the provisions in the marriage-contract between Francis and Mary, are sufficiently remarkable to deserve being recorded. The jointure assigned by it to the Queen, provided her husband died King of France, is 60,000 livres, or a greater sum, if a greater had ever been given to a Queen of France. If her husband died only Dauphin, the jointure was to be 30,000 livres. The eldest son of the marriage was to be King of France and Scotland; and if there were no sons, the eldest daughter was to be Queen of Scotland only, with a portion of 400,000 crowns, as a daughter of France,—every younger daughter being allowed 300,000 crowns. Should her husband die, Mary was to be at liberty either to remain in France or return to Scotland, with an assurance that her jointure would be always duly paid her. The Dauphin was to bear the name and title of King of Scotland, and enjoy all the privileges of the crown-matrimonial.

The marriage, for which so many preparations had thus been made, was solemnized in the church of Notre Dame, the ceremony being performed by the Cardinal of Bourbon, Archbishop of Rouen. Upon this occasion, the festivities were graced by the presence of all the most illustrious personages of the Court of France; and when Francis, taking a ring from his finger, presented it to the Archbishop, who, pronouncing the benediction, placed it on the young Queen’s finger, the vaulted roof of the Cathedral rung with congratulations, and the multitude without rent the air with joyful shouts. The spectacle was altogether one of the most imposing which, even in that age of spectacles, had been seen in Paris. The procession, upon leaving the church, proceeded to the palace of the Archbishop, where a magnificent collation was prepared,—largess, as it moved along, being proclaimed among the people, in the name of the King and Queen of Scots. In the afternoon, the royal party returned to the palace of the Tournelles—Catherine de Medicis and Mary sitting together in the same palanquin, and a Cardinal walking on each side. Henry and Francis followed on horseback, with a long line of princes and princesses in their train. The chronicler of these nuptials is unable to conceal his rapture, when he describes the manner in which the palace had been prepared for their reception. Its whole appearance, he tells us, was “light and beautiful as Elysium.” During supper, which was served upon a marble table in the great hall, the King’s band of “one hundred gentlemen” poured forth delicious strains of music. The members of Parliament attended in their robes; and the princes of the blood performed the duty of servitors—the Duke of Guise acting as master of the ceremonies. The banquet being concluded, a series of the most magnificent masks and mummeries, prepared for the occasion, was introduced. In the pageant, twelve artificial horses, of admirable mechanism, covered with cloth of gold, and ridden by the young heirs of noble houses, attracted deserved attention. They were succeeded by six galleys, which sailed into the hall, each rich as Cleopatra’s barge, and bearing on its deck two seats, the one filled by a young cavalier, who, as he advanced, carried off from among the spectators, and gently placed in the vacant chair, the lady of his love. A splendid tournament concluded these rejoicings.

During the whole of these solemnities, every eye was fixed on the youthful Mary; and, inspired by those feelings which beauty seldom fails to excite, every heart offered up prayers for her future welfare and happiness. She was now at that age when feminine loveliness is perhaps most attractive. It is not to be supposed, indeed, that in her sixteenth year, her charms had ripened into that full-blown maturity which they afterwards attained; but they were, on this account, only the more fascinating. Some have conjectured that Mary’s beauty has been extolled far beyond its real merits; and it cannot be denied that many vague and erroneous notions exist regarding it. But that her countenance possessed in a pre-eminent degree the something which constitutes beauty, is sufficiently attested by the unanimous declaration of all cotemporary writers. It is only, however, by carefully gathering together hints scattered here and there, that any accurate idea can be formed of the lineaments of a countenance which has so long ceased to exist, unless in the fancy of the enthusiast. Generally speaking, Mary’s features were more Grecian than Roman, though without the insipidity that would have attached to them, had they been exactly regular. Her nose exceeded a little the Grecian proportion in length. Her hair was very nearly of the same colour as James V.’s—dark yellow, or auburn, and, like his, clustered in luxuriant ringlets. Her eyes,—which some writers, misled by the thousand blundering portraits of her scattered everywhere, conceive to have been gray, or blue, or hazel,—were of a chestnut colour,—darker, yet matching well with her auburn hair. Her brow was high, open, and prominent. Her lips were full and expressive, as the lips of the Stuarts generally were; and she had a small dimple in her chin. Her complexion was clear, and very fair, without a great deal of colour in her cheeks. Her mother was a woman of large stature, and Mary was also above the common size. Her person was finely proportioned, and her carriage exceedingly graceful and dignified.[19]

In this description of Mary’s personal appearance, we have placed a good deal of reliance on the research and accuracy of Chalmers. It will be observed, that our account differs, in many essential particulars, from that of Robertson, who says—“Mary’s hair was black, though, according to the fashion of that age, she frequently wore borrowed locks, and of different colours. Her eyes were a dark gray; her complexion was exquisitely fine; and her hands and arms remarkably delicate, both as to shape and colour. Her stature was of an height that rose to the majestic.” Where Robertson discovered that Mary’s hair was black, or her eyes gray, he does not mention. That her eyes were not black, we have the direct testimony of Beal, Clerk to the Privy Council of England, who was ordered by Cecil to be present at the death of the Scottish Queen, and who describes her as having “chestnut-coloured eyes.” As to her hair, and her other features, though Melville, in his Memoirs, certainly seems to imply that the former was auburn, yet, as he does not expressly say so, we suspect correct conclusions can be arrived at only by a reference to the best authenticated portraits which have been preserved of Mary. This, however, is far from being a criterion by which opinions should be rashly formed. There are few persons in the whole range of history, likenesses of whom have been more eagerly sought after; and, in proportion to the anxiety manifested to secure originals, has been the temptation to mislead and deceive. Almost all the paintings said to be originals of Mary Queen of Scots, are the impositions of picture-dealers. When the demand for these paintings became general, it was not at all unusual to despatch emissaries over the Continent to pick up every picture, the costume and general appearance of which in the least resembled the Scottish Queen. During Mary’s life, and for some time after her death, the fame of her beauty, and the interest attached to her fortunes, induced numerous ladies of rank, who flattered themselves that they were like her, to have portraits painted in the style then well understood by the phrase à la Mary Stuart. There was, in particular, a celebrated Continental beauty of those days—a Countess of Mansfeldt—(we speak on the authority of a living artist of celebrity), who resembled Mary in many particulars, and all whose portraits (nor were they few in number) when they afterwards came into the hands of the picture-dealers, were affirmed to be Maries. Thus, in the lapse of years, the truth became so involved in uncertainty, that even Robertson, allowing himself to be too hastily misled, has lent his name to the dissemination of error.

Horace Walpole, after having made extensive inquiries on this subject, has recorded, that he never could ascertain the authenticity and originality of any portrait of Mary, except of that in the possession of the Earl of Morton, which was painted when she was at Lochleven. Chalmers, in order to come as near the truth as possible, employed Mr Pailou, an artist of ability, to compare the picture belonging to the Earl of Morton, with two or three other undoubted originals which have been discovered since Walpole wrote. Pailou commenced by sketching the outline of his picture from Lord Morton’s original. He then proceeded to the examination of three genuine portraits of Mary, one in the Church of St Andrew in Antwerp, another in the Scotch College at Douay, and a third in the Scotch College at Paris. Neither did he forget the profile heads of Mary struck upon her coins, nor the marble figure representing her on her tomb in Henry VII’s Chapel, which Walpole thought a correct likeness. Mr Pailou thus made Lord Morton’s picture the basis of his own, but, as he advanced, constantly referred to the others, “till he got the whole adjusted and coloured.” Though we cannot exactly approve of thus cooking up a picture from various different sources, and should be inclined to think, that too much was left by such a mode of procedure to the arbitrary taste of the artist, we nevertheless feel satisfied that Mr Pailou has hit upon a tolerably accurate likeness. His picture, engraved by Scriven, forms the frontispiece to the second volume of Chalmers’s work. The brow, eyes, mouth, and chin, he has given with great success. But the painting is far from being without faults;—the face is a good deal too round and plump, the nose is made slightly aquiline—a decided mistake,—and the neck is much too short, at least so it appears in the engraving.

The portrait of Mary, which forms the frontispiece to the present volume, and on which we place greater reliance than on any with which we are acquainted, is an engraving executed expressly for this work, from an original picture of much merit.[20] It was painted when Mary was in France, by an Italian artist of eminence, who flourished as her cotemporary in the sixteenth century, and whose name is on the canvas. It would have been impossible to say at what precise age it represented Mary, though, from the juvenility of the countenance, it might have been concluded that it was taken a year or two before she became Dauphiness, had not the painter fortunately obviated the difficulty, by inserting immediately after his own signature the date, which is 1556, when she was just fourteen. It is upon this picture that we have chiefly founded our description of Mary’s personal appearance. What gives us the greater confidence in its authenticity and accuracy, is, that it very exactly corresponds with two other portraits, believed on good grounds to be originals. This is a strong circumstance, for it is a very common and just remark, that almost no two likenesses of Mary agree. The paintings to which we allude are, first, one at the seat of Logie Almond, which represents Mary at the same age, but in a religious habit. It gives precisely the same view of the left side of the face as the engraving in this volume does of the right. From the style and other circumstances, it is very probable, that both pictures were painted by the same artist. The second is in the possession of his Grace the Duke of Hamilton, and is in one of the private apartments at Hamilton palace. It represents Mary at a somewhat more advanced period of life, but the features are quite the same. There is still a third picture, said to be an original, in the collection of the Marquis of Salisbury, at Hatfield House, and which has been engraved for Miss Benger’s Memoirs, which very closely resembles our own. To be yet more assured, we have carefully examined the heads upon Mary’s gold and silver coins. Some of these are inaccurate, but they have all a general resemblance to each other. A silver coin, of 1561, and the gold real stamped in 1562, agree minutely with our picture,—a circumstance which cannot but be considered a strong corroboration of its truth. It is unnecessary to make any apology to the reader for having entered thus minutely upon a subject of so much general interest.[21]

With regard to the asseverations of cotemporary writers, as to the effects which Mary’s beauty produced, many of them are almost too extravagant to be believed. They prove, nevertheless, that, whatever beauty may be, whether a mere fortunate arrangement of material atoms, or a light suffused upon the face, from the secret and etherial mind, it was a gift which Nature had lavishly bestowed on Mary. A year or two previous to her marriage, when walking in a religious procession, through the streets of Paris, with a lighted torch in her hand, a woman among the crowd was so struck with her appearance, that she could not help stopping her to ask,—“Are you not indeed an angel?” Brantome, with more questionable sincerity, compares her, at the age of fifteen, to the sun at mid-day. He tells us also, that the brother of Francis, afterwards Charles IX., never saw even a picture of Mary, without lingering to gaze upon it, declaring passionately, that he looked upon Francis as the happiest man on earth, to possess a creature of so much loveliness. Nay, Brantome even goes the length of asserting, that no man ever saw Mary who did not lose his heart to her. He is pleased, likewise, with some naïveté, to pay her several high compliments at the expense of her native country. It appears that Mary, amidst all the gaieties of the French Court, had not forgot her early residence at Inchmahome, in the quiet lake of Monteith. Actuated by these recollections and other motives, she delighted to testify her regard for Scotland in various ways; and, among others, by frequently wearing in public the graceful Highland costume. The rich and national Stuart tartan became her exceedingly; and Brantome, who seems to have been greatly puzzled by the novelty of the dress, is nevertheless forced to declare, that when arrayed after “the barbarous fashion of the savages of her country, she appeared a goddess in a mortal body, and in a most outré and astonishing garb.” Mary herself, was so fond of this costume, that she wore it in one of the portraits which were taken of her in France. If she appeared so beautiful thus “habillée à la sauvage,” exclaims Brantome, “what must she not be in her rich and lovely robes made à la Française, ou l’Espagnole, or with a bonnet à l’Italienne; or in her flowing white dress, contending in vain with the whiteness of her skin!” Even when she sung, and accompanied herself upon the lute, Brantome found occasion to discover a new beauty,—“her soft snowy hand and fingers, fairer than Aurora’s.” “Ah royaume d’Escosse!” he touchingly adds, “Je croy que, maintenant, vos jours sont encore bien plus courts qu’ils n’estoient, et vos nuits plus longues, puisque vous avez perdu cette Princesse qui vos illuminoit!” The historian, Castelnau, in like manner, pronounces Mary “the most beautiful and accomplished of her sex;” and Mezeray tells us, that “Nature had bestowed upon her every thing that is necessary to form a complete beauty;” adding, that “by the study of the liberal arts and sciences, especially painting, music, and poetry, she had so embellished her natural good qualities, that she appeared to be the most amiable Princess in Christendom.” On the occasion of her marriage, not only were the brains of all the jewellers, embroiderers, and tailors of Paris put in requisition, but a whole host of French poets felt themselves suddenly inspired. Epithalamiums poured in from all quarters, spiced with flattery of all kinds, few of which have been borne down the stream of time so honourably for their author’s abilities as that of Buchanan, who, having long struggled with poverty, had at last risen to independence, under the patronage of Cardinal Lorraine. This poem is well known, but is not more complimentary than that of Joachim du Bellay, who, after comparing Mary to Venus, concludes his song with these lines:—

“Par une chaîne à sa langue attachée
Hercule à soi les peuple attiroit;
Mais celle ci tire ceux qu’elle voit
Par une chaîne à ses beaux yeux attachée.”

Homage, so general, cannot have been entirely misplaced, or very palpably exaggerated.

In Scotland, through the instigation of the Queen Regent, Mary’s nuptials, which were far from being agreeable to a numerous party, were celebrated with probably less sincere, and certainly much more homely expressions of pleasure. Orders were sent to the different towns “to make fyres and processions general.” Mons-Meg, the celebrated great gun of Edinburgh Castle, was fired once; and there is a charge of ten shillings in the treasurer’s accounts of that year paid to certain persons for bringing up the cannon “to be schote, and for the finding and carrying of her bullet after she was schote frae Wardie Muir to the Castel of Edinburgh,”—a distance of about two miles. A play was also enacted, but of what kind it is difficult to say, at the expense of the city of Edinburgh.

CHAPTER V.

MARY THE QUEEN DAUPHINESS, THE QUEEN, AND THE QUEEN DOWAGER OF FRANCE.

Shortly after the espousals, Mary and her husband retired to one of their princely summer residences. Here she unostentatiously discharged the duties of a respectful and attentive wife, in a manner which gained for her the admiration of all who visited them. Delightful as society and amusements must at that age have been to her, she readily accommodated herself to the peculiar temper of Francis, and seemed willing, for his sake, to resign all the gaieties of the court.

But the intriguing and restless ambition of her uncles could not allow her to remain long quiet. About this time, Mary Tudor, who had succeeded Edward VI. on the English throne, died; and although the Parliament of that country had declared that the succession rested in her sister Elizabeth, it was thought proper to claim for Mary Stuart a prior right. The ground upon which they built this claim was the following. Henry VIII. married for his first wife Catharine of Arragon, widow of his brother Arthur, and by her he had one child, Mary. Pretending after having lived with her eighteen years, that his conscience rebuked him for making his brother’s wife the partner of his bed, he procured a divorce from Catharine for the purpose of marrying Anne Boleyn, by whom he had also one daughter, Elizabeth. Growing tired of this new wife, she was sent to the scaffold to make way for Jane Seymour, by whom he had one son, Edward. Of this uxorious monarch’s other three wives, it is unnecessary to speak. Henry had procured from the British Parliament a solemn act, declaring both his daughters illegitimate, and he left his crown to Edward VI., who accordingly succeeded him. Upon Edward’s death, the Parliament, rescinding their former act, in order to save the nation from a civil war, called to the throne Henry’s eldest daughter Mary,—not, however, without a protest being entered in behalf of the Scotch Queen by her guardians. Upon Mary’s death, the opportunity again occurred of pressing the claims of the daughter of James V. The mother of that king, it will be remembered, who married his father James IV., was the eldest daughter of Henry VII., and sister, consequently, of Henry VIII. Henry was, therefore, Mary’s maternal grand-uncle; and if his wives, Catharine and Anne Boleyn, were legally divorced, she had certainly a better right to the English Crown than any of their illegitimate offspring. Soon after the accession, however, of Edward VI., the Parliament, complying with the voice of the whole nation, had declared them legitimate; and as Elizabeth now quietly took possession of the throne, and could hardly by any chance have been dispossessed, it was, to say the least, extremely ill-advised to push Mary forward as a rival claimant.

For various reasons, however, this was the policy which the Guises chose to pursue. Nor did they proceed to assert her right with any particular delicacy or caution. Whenever the Dauphin and his Queen came into public, they were greeted as the King and Queen of England; and the English arms were engraved upon their plate, embroidered upon their scutcheons and banners, and painted on their furniture.[22] Mary’s favourite device, also, at this time, was the two crowns of France and Scotland, with the motto, Aliamque moratur, meaning that of England. The prediction made by the Duke of Alva, on observing this piece of empty parade, was but too fatally fulfilled,—“That bearing of Mary Stuart’s,” said he, “will not be easily borne.”

About this time Mary seems to have been attacked with the first serious illness which had overtaken her in France. It was not of that acute description which confined her to bed, but was a sort of general debility accompanied with a tendency to frequent fainting. It is mentioned in Forbes’s State Papers, that on one occasion, to prevent her from swooning in church, her attendants were glad to bring her wine from the altar. There were some at the French Court who would have felt little grief had this illness ended fatally, considering how serious a blow Mary’s death would have been to the too predominating influence of the House of Guise. In England, the news would have been particularly agreeable to Elizabeth, whose ambassador at Paris eagerly consoled her with the intelligence that Mary was not expected to be of long continuance. The natural strength of her constitution, however, soon restored her to her former health and spirits.

But it was destined that there was to be another and more unexpected death at the French Court. Henry II., while exhibiting his prowess at a tournament, on the occasion of the marriage of his daughter Elizabeth to Philip of Spain, in July 1559, received a wound in the head from the spear of his antagonist, the Count Montgomery, which, though apparently not of much consequence at first, occasioned his dissolution eight days afterwards. A considerable change immediately took place in the aspect of the Court. The stars of the Duchess de Valentinois, and of the Constable Montmorency, set at once; and that of Catharine de Medicis, though not entirely obscured, shone lower in the horizon. She was now only the second lady in France, Mary Stuart taking the precedence. The Guises reigned along with her, and the House of Bourbon trembled. Catharine, who could bear no superior, more especially one young enough to be her own daughter, could ill disguise her chagrin. As a guardian, however, of her late husband’s younger sons, the presumptive heirs to the crown, she was entitled to maintain her place and authority in the Government. There is a curious little anecdote of her which shows how much the change in her situation was preying on her mind. As she was leaving the Palace of the Tournelles, to accompany Francis to the Louvre, where he was to appear as the new Sovereign, she fell into a reverie, and in traversing the gallery, took a wrong turn, and was entirely separated from her party before she discovered her mistake. She soon overtook them, however, and as they passed out, said to Mary,—“Pass on, Madam, it is now your turn to take precedence.” Mary accepted the courtesy, but with becoming delicacy insisted that Catharine should enter the carriage first.[23] There is something more affecting in the change which Henry’s death produced in the condition of the venerable Montmorency and his family. He whom three monarchs had loved and respected, who had given dignity to their counsels, and ensured success to their arms, was not considered worthy of remaining in the palace of the feeble and entrammelled Francis. With a princely retinue, he retired honourably to his mansion at Chantilly.

Mary was now at the very height of European grandeur. The Queen of two powerful countries—and the heir-presumptive of a third,—in the flower of her age,—and, from her superior mental endowments, much more worshipped, even in France, than her husband, she affords at this period of her history as striking an example as can be found of the concentration of all the blessings of fortune in one person. She stood unluckily on too high and glorious a pinnacle to be able to retain her position long, consistent with the vices vitæ mortalium. Whilst she conducted herself with a prudence and propriety altogether remarkable, considering her youth and the susceptibility of her nature, she began to be regarded with suspicion at once by France, England, and Scotland. In France, she was obliged to bear the blame of many instances of bigotry and over-severity in the government of her uncles;—in England, Elizabeth took every opportunity to load with opprobrium a sister Queen, whose descent, birth, station, and accomplishments, were so much superior to her own;—in Scotland, the Reformers, inspired by James Stuart, who, with ulterior views of his own, was contented to act as the tool of Elizabeth, laboured to make it be believed that Mary was an uncompromising and narrow-minded Catholic.

In September 1559, Francis was solemnly crowned at Rheims; and during the remainder of the season, he and Mary, attended by their nobles, made various progresses through the country. In December, Francis, whose health was evidently giving way, went, by the advice of his physicians, to Blois, celebrated for the mildness of its climate. It affords a very vivid idea of the ignorant superstition of the French peasantry to learn, that on his journey thither, every village through which he passed was deserted. An absurd story had been circulated, and was universally believed, that the nature of Francis’s complaints were such, that they could only be cured by the royal patient bathing in the blood of young children. Francis himself, although probably not informed of the cause, observed with pain how he was every where shunned; and, notwithstanding the soothing tenderness of Mary, who accompanied him, is said to have exclaimed to the Cardinal Lorraine, “What have I done to be thus shunned and detested? They fly me; my people abhor me! It is not thus that the French used to receive their King.”[24]

Misfortunes, it is said, never come singly. Whilst Mary was performing the part of an affectionate nurse to her husband, she sustained an irretrievable loss in the death of her mother, the Scottish Regent, in June 1560; and in the December following, her husband, Francis, died at Orleans, in the 17th year of his age, and the 17th month of his reign.[25] Feeling that his exhausted constitution was sinking rapidly, and that his death was at hand, almost the last words he spoke were to testify his affection for Mary, and his sense of her virtues. He earnestly beseeched his mother to treat her as her own daughter, and his brother to look upon her as a sister. He was a prince, says Conæus, in whom, had he lived, more merit would probably have been discovered than most people suspected.[26] The whole face of things in France was by this event instantly changed again. Francis the Little, as he was contemptuously termed by the French, in opposition to his father Francis the Great, was succeeded by his younger brother, Charles IX. He being still a minor, his mother, Catharine, contrived to get herself appointed his guardian, and thus became once more Queen of France, the nobility, as Chalmers remarks, being more inclined to relish a real minority, than an imaginary majority. Catharine’s jealousy of Mary Stuart, of course extended itself, with greater justice, to her uncles of Guise. It was now their turn to make way for Montmorency; and the Cardinal of Lorraine, one of the most intriguing statesmen of the age, retired, in no very charitable mood of mind, to his archbishopric at Rheims, where, in a fit of spleen, he declared he would devote himself entirely to religion.

There is something exceedingly naïve and amusing in Sir James Melville’s account of this “gret changement.” “The Queen-mother,” says he, “was blyth of the death of King Francis, her son, because she had na guiding of him, but only the Duke of Guise and the Cardinal, his brother, by raisoun that the Queen, our maistress, was their sister’s dochter. Sa, the Queen-mother was content to be quit of the government of the house of Guise; and for their cause (sake) she had a great mislyking of our Queen.” Of Montmorency, who, as soon as he heard of the illness of Francis, commenced his journey towards the Court, he says,—“The Constable, also chargit to come to the court, looked for na less, and seamed to be seak, making little journees, caried in a horse-litter, drew time sae lang by the way, that the King, in the meantime, died. Then he lap on horsbak and cam freely to the Court and commandit, like a Constable, the men of war that gardit the Croun, by the Duke of Guise commandement, to pack them aff the toune. The Queen-mother was also very glaid of his coming, that by his autority and frendship with the King of Navarre, she mycht the better dryve the house of Guise to the door.” Of Mary, who, it may well be supposed, felt this change more than any one, Melville says,—“Our Queen also, seeing her friends in disgrace, and knawing hirself no to be weil liked, left the Court, and was a sorrowful widow when I took my leave at hir, in a gentilman’s house, four myle fra Orleans.” To this “gentilman’s house,” or chateau, in the neighbourhood of Orleans, Mary had retired to shed in private those tears, which the death of her husband called forth. In losing Francis, she had lost the playmate of her childhood, the husband of her youth, and what, by many women, would be considered as serious a loss as either, the rank and title of Queen of France. It was here, probably, that she composed those verses to the memory of her deceased husband, which her biographers have so frequently copied, and which are so full of gentle and unaffected feeling.

Mary, however, was at this time a personage of too much importance in the politics and affairs of Europe, to be left long unmolested to the indulgence of that sincere, but commonly temporary, sorrow of a widow of eighteen. New suitors were even now beginning to form hopes of an alliance with her; and two of the earliest in the field were, Don Carlos of Spain, and the King of Navarre. But Mary was determined to listen to no proposals of a matrimonial nature, till she had arranged the plan of her future life. France was no longer for her the country it had once been. Her affectionate father-in-law Henry, and her amiable, though weak, husband Francis, both of whom commanded for her the first rank in the State, were dead; her mother would never visit her more, for her tomb had already been erected at Rheims, and her proud uncles had been banished from the Court. Mary had too high a spirit, and knew her own superiority too well, to brook for a moment the haughty control of Catharine de Medicis. She felt that not all the blood of all the merchants of Italy, could ever elevate the Queen-Dowager to an equality with one who, as it is said she herself once expressed it, drew her descent from a centinary line of Kings. Catharine felt this painfully, and the more so, that when Mary once more made her appearance at Court, she perceived, in the words of Miss Benger, that “the charms of her conversation, her graceful address, her captivating accomplishments, had raised the woman above the Queen.”

In the mean time, by the Reformed party in Scotland, the news of the death of Francis was received with any thing but sorrow. Knox declared triumphantly that “his glory had perished, and that the pride of his stubborn heart had vanished into smoke.” The Lord James, her natural brother, was immediately deputed by the Congregation to proceed to France, to ascertain whether the Queen intended returning to her native country, and if she did, to influence her as much as possible in favour of the true gospel and its friends. Nor were the Catholics inactive at this critical juncture. A meeting was held, at which were present the Archbishop of St Andrews, the Bishops of Aberdeen, Murray, and Ross, the Earls of Huntly, Athol, Crawfurd, and Sutherland, and many other persons of distinction, by whom it was determined to send as their ambassador to Mary, John Lesly, afterwards Bishop of Ross, and one of the Queen’s staunchest friends, both during her life and after it. He was of course instructed to give her a very different account of the state of matters from that which the Lord James would do. He was to speak to her of the power and influence of the Catholic party; and to contrast their fidelity both to her and to her mother, with the rebellious proceedings of those who supported the covenant.

The Lord James went by the way of England, and Lesly sailed from Aberdeen for Holland. Both made good speed; and Lesly arrived at Vitry in Champagne, where Mary was then residing, only one day before the Prior of St Andrews. He lost no time in gaining admission to the Queen; and though there is little doubt that his views were more sincere and honourable than those of her brother, it is at the same time very questionable whether the advice he gave her was judicious; and it is probably fortunate that Mary’s good sense and moderation led her to reject it. Lesly commenced with cautioning her against the crafty speeches which he knew the Lord James was about to make to her, assuring her that his principal object was to insinuate himself into her good graces, to obtain the chief management of affairs, and crush effectually the old religion. The Prior, Lesly assured her, was not so warm in the cause of the Reformers, from any conviction of its truth, as from his wish to make it a stepping-stone for his own ambition. For these reasons, he advised her to bring with her to Scotland an armed force, and to land at Aberdeen, or some northern port, where the Earl of Huntly and her other friends would join her with a numerous army, at the head of which she might advance towards Edinburgh, and defeat at once the machinations of her enemies. The Queen, in reply to all this, merely desired that Lesly should remain with her till she returned to Scotland, commanding him to write, in the mean time, to the Lords and Prelates who sent him, to inform them of her favourable sentiments towards them, and of her intention to come speedily home.[27]

The day after Lesly’s audience, Mary’s old friend the Lord James (for it will be remembered, that thirteen years before he had come to France with her, and he had in the interval paid her one or two visits) obtained an interview with his sister. He had every desire to retain the favourable place which he flattered himself he held in her estimation; and, though so rigid a Reformer among his Scottish friends, his conscience does not seem to have prevented him from paying all the court he could to his Catholic Sovereign. In the course of his conversation with her, he carefully avoided every subject which might have been disagreeable to Mary. He beseeched her to believe, that she would not find the remotest occasion for any foreign troops in Scotland, as the whole nation was prepared faithfully to obey her. This assurance was true, as it turned out; but it is not quite certain whether the Prior of St Andrews was thinking, at the time, so much of its truth, as of its being convenient, for various reasons, that Mary should have no standing force, at her command, in her own kingdom. Mary gave to her brother the same general sort of answer that she had previously given to Lesly. At the same time, she was secretly disposed to attribute greater weight to his arguments, and treat him with higher consideration, for a reason which Melville furnishes. It appears that the French noblemen, who, on the conclusion of peace with England had returned from Scotland, had all assured her, that she would find it most for her interest to associate in her councils the leaders of the Reformers,—particularly the Prior himself,—the Earl of Argyle, who had married her natural sister, the Lady Jane Stuart,—and Maitland of Lethington.

It is worthy of notice, that, affairs of state having been discussed, the Prior ventured to speak a word or two for his own interest. He requested that the Earldom of Murray might be conferred on him, and the Queen promised to attend to his request on her return to Scotland. Having thus prudently discharged his commission, the Lord James took his leave, visiting Elizabeth on his way home, as he had already done before passing over into France. About the same time, many of the Scotch nobility, in anticipation of her speedy return, came to pay their duty to the Queen, and, among them, was the celebrated Earl of Bothwell.[28]

CHAPTER VI.

MARY’S RETURN TO SCOTLAND, AND PREVIOUS NEGOTIATIONS WITH ELIZABETH.

Elizabeth being informed of Mary’s intended movements, thought the opportunity a favourable one, for adjusting with her one or two of their mutual disagreements. Mary’s refusal to ratify the celebrated treaty of Edinburgh, had particularly galled the English Queen. Most of the essential articles of that treaty had already been carried into effect; and as Francis and Mary had sent their ambassadors into Scotland with full powers, they were bound according to the ordinary laws of diplomacy, to agree to whatever concessions their plenipotentiaries made. But, as Robertson has remarked, Cecil “had proved greatly an overmatch for Monluc.” In the sixth article, which was by far the most offensive to the Scottish Queen, he had got the French delegates to consent to a declaration, that Francis and Mary should abstain from using and bearing the title and arms of the kingdom of England, not only during the life of Elizabeth, but “in all times coming.” There was here so palpable a departure from all law and justice, that, if there was ever a case in which a sovereign was justified in refusing to sanction the blunders of his representatives, it was this. Robertson’s observations on the point are forcible and correct. “The ratification of this article,” says he, “would have been of the most fatal consequence to Mary. The Crown of England was an object worthy of her ambition. Her pretensions to it gave her great dignity and importance in the eyes of all Europe. By many, her title was esteemed preferable to that of Elizabeth. Among the English themselves, the Roman Catholics, who formed at that time a numerous and active party, openly espoused this opinion; and even the Protestants, who supported Elizabeth’s throne, could not deny the Queen of Scots to be her immediate heir. A proper opportunity to avail herself of all these advantages, could not, in the course of things, be far distant, and many incidents might fall in to bring this opportunity nearer than was expected. In these circumstances, Mary, by ratifying the article in dispute, would have lost that rank which she had hitherto held among neighbouring princes; the zeal of her adherents must have gradually cooled; and she might have renounced, from that moment, all hopes of ever wearing the English crown.”

Mary, therefore, cannot be, in fairness, blamed for her conduct regarding this treaty. But, as has been already said, she allowed herself to be persuaded to a very great imprudence, when she advanced, what she declared to be a present and existing claim on the English Crown. This was an aggravation of the offence, which Elizabeth could never pardon. She determined to retort upon Mary, as efficiently though not quite so directly. She found means to hint to her friends in Scotland, that it would not be disagreeable to her, were the Earl of Arran, eldest son of the Duke of Chatelherault, and, after his father, presumptive heir to the throne, to propose himself to her as a husband. This was accordingly done, and must have touched Mary very closely, especially as she had no children by her husband Francis. But as Elizabeth had never any serious intention of accepting of Arran’s proposals, she was resolved upon taking another and much more unjustifiable method of harassing Mary.

Knowing that she possessed the command of the seas, the English Queen imagined that she had it in her power to prevent, if she chose, Mary’s return to her own kingdom. Before granting her, therefore, as in common courtesy she was bound to do, a free passage, she determined on seizing the opportunity for again pressing the ratification of the treaty of Edinburgh. With this view, she desired Sir Nicolas Throckmorton, her ambassador at Paris, to wait on the Queen of Scots, ostensibly to congratulate her on her recovery from an attack of ague, but in reality to press this matter upon her attention. The audience which Mary granted to Throckmorton upon this occasion, together with another which she gave him a few weeks afterwards, introduce us to her, for the first time, acting for herself, in her public and important capacity of Queen of Scotland. All historians unite in expressing their admiration of the talented and dignified manner in which she conducted herself, though only in her nineteenth year. We have fortunately a full account of both conferences, furnished by Sir Nicolas Throckmorton himself, in his letters to the Queen of England.

The ambassador, on his first interview, having expressed Elizabeth’s happiness at Mary’s recovery, proceeded to renew the demand which had so frequently been made to her regarding the treaty of Edinburgh. Mary, in answer, said, that she begged to thank the Queen her good sister for her congratulations, and though she was not yet in perfect health, she thanked God for her evident convalescence. As to the treaty of Edinburgh, she begged to postpone giving any final answer in the affair until she had taken the advice of the nobles and estates of her own realm. “For though this matter,” she said, “doth touch me principally, yet doth it also touch the nobles and estates of my realm; and, therefore, it is meet that I use their advice therein. Heretofore they have seemed to be grieved that I should do any thing without them, and now they would be more offended if I should proceed in this matter of myself without their advice.” She added, that she intended to return home soon, and that she was about to send an ambassador to Elizabeth, to require of her the common favour of a free passage which princes usually ask of each other in such cases. In a spirit of conciliation and sound policy, she concluded with these words. “Though the terms wherein we have stood heretofore have been somewhat hard, yet I trust, that from henceforth we shall accord together as cousins and good neighbours. I mean to retire all the Frenchmen from Scotland who have given jealousy to the Queen my sister, and miscontent to my subjects; so that I will leave nothing undone to satisfy all parties, trusting the Queen my good sister will do the like, and that from henceforth none of my disobedient subjects shall find aid or support at her hands.”—Seeing that Mary was not to be moved from the position she had taken regarding this treaty, Throckmorton went on to sound her upon the subject of religion. His object was to ascertain what course she intended to pursue towards the Scottish Reformers. Mary stated to him distinctly her views upon this important matter, and there was a consistency and moderation in them hardly to have been expected from the niece of the Cardinal of Lorraine, had we not been previously aware of the strength of her superior mind. “I will be plain with you,” said she to the ambassador. “The religion which I profess I take to be most acceptable to God; and indeed, I neither know, nor desire to know, any other. Constancy becometh all people well, but none better than princes, and such as have rule over realms, and especially in matters of religion. I have been brought up in this religion, and who might credit me in any thing if I should show myself light in this case.” “I am none of those,” she added, “that will change their religion every year; but I mean to constrain none of my subjects, though I could wish that they were all as I am; and I trust they shall have no support to constrain me.” It will be seen, in the sequel, whether Mary ever deviated for a moment from the principles she here laid down. Throckmorton ventured to ask, if she did not think many errors had crept into her church, and whether she had ever seriously weighed the arguments in support of the Reformed opinions. “Though I be young, and not well learned,” she replied modestly, “yet have I heard this matter oft disputed by my uncle,—my Lord Cardinal, with some that thought they could say somewhat in the matter; and I found no great reason to change my opinion. But I have oft heard him confess, that great errors have come into the church, and great disorder among the ministers and clergy, of which errors and disorders he wished there might be a reformation.” Here this conference concluded.[29]

Elizabeth, as soon as she understood that Mary waited for the advice of her Privy Counsellors and her Parliament, before ratifying the treaty of Edinburgh, addressed a letter to the “States of Scotland,” as she was pleased to term them, but, in point of fact, only to her old allies the Lords of the Congregation. The object of this letter was to convey, in haughty and even insolent terms, a threat that, unless they secured their Queen’s assent to the treaty, they might cease to look for any aid or protection from her. In other words, its meaning was this:—Through my interference, you have been able to establish the new Gospel; your Queen you know to be a Catholic; and as it is not unlikely that she may associate in her councils your old enemies the Catholic nobility, it is in me you trust to enable you to rebel successfully against your lawful Sovereign. But I have no intention to give you my support for nothing; and unless your reformed consciences will permit of your insisting that Mary Stuart shall sign away her hereditary right of succession to the English throne, I shall henceforth have nothing more to do with you. No other interpretation can be put on such expressions as the following, couched in terms whose meaning sophistry itself could not hide. “In a matter so profitable to both the realms, we think it strange that your Queen hath no better advice; and therefore we do require ye all, being the States of that realm upon whom the burden resteth, to consider this matter deeply, and to make us answer whereunto we may trust. And if you shall think meet, she shall thus leave the peace imperfect, by breaking of her solemn promise, contrary to the order of all princes, we shall be well content to accept your answer, and shall be as careless to see the peace kept, as ye shall give us cause; and doubt not, by the grace of God, but whosoever of ye shall incline thereto, shall soonest repent. You must be content with our plain writing.”

To this piece of “plain writing,” the Reformers, probably at the instigation of the Lord James, sent a submissive and cringing answer. “Your Majesty,” they say, “may be well assured, that in us shall be noted no blame, if that peace be not ratified to your Majesty’s contentment.”—“The benefit that we have received is so recent, that we cannot suddenly bury it in forgetfulness. We would desire your Majesty rather to be persuaded of us, that we, to our powers, will study to leave it in remembrance to our posterity.” In other words,—Whatever our own Queen Mary may determine on doing, we shall remain steady to your interests, and would much rather quarrel with her than with you. To this state of mind had Elizabeth’s machinations contrived to bring the majority of the young Queen’s subjects.[30]

In the meantime, Mary had sent an ambassador into England to demand a safe conduct for her approaching voyage. This was expressly refused; and Throckmorton was again ordered to request an audience with Mary, to explain the motives of this refusal. “In this conference,” observes Robertson, “Mary exerted all that dignity and vigour of mind of which she was so capable, and at no period of her life, were her abilities displayed to greater advantage.” Throckmorton had recourse to the endless subject of the treaty of 1560, or, as it is more commonly called, the treaty of Edinburgh, as the apology his mistress offered for having, with studied disrespect, denied the suit made by Mary’s ambassador, in the presence of a numerous audience,—a direct breach of courtly etiquette. Mary, before answering Throckmorton, commanded all her attendants to retire, and then said,—“I like not to have so many witnesses of my passions as the Queen, your mistress, was content to have, when she talked with M. D’Oysel. There is nothing that doth more grieve me, than that I did so forget myself, as to require of the Queen, your mistress, that favour, which I had no need to ask. I may pass well enough home into my own realm, I think, without her passport or license; for, though the late king, your master, used all the impeachment he could, both to stay me and catch me, when I came hither, yet you know, M. l’Ambassadeur, I came hither safely, and I may have as good means to help me home again, if I could employ my friends.” “It seemeth,” she added, with much truth, “that the Queen, your mistress, maketh more account of the amity of my disobedient subjects, than she doth of me, their sovereign, who am her equal in degree, though inferior in wisdom and experience, her nighest kinswoman, and her next neighbour.” She then proceeded very forcibly to state, once more, her reasons for refusing to ratify the treaty. It had been made, she said, during the life of Francis II., who, as her lord and husband, was more responsible for it than she. Upon his death, she ceased to look for advice to the council of France, neither her uncles nor her own subjects, nor Elizabeth herself, thinking it meet, that she should be guided by any council but that of Scotland. There were none of her ministers with her; the matter was important; it touched both them and her; and she, therefore, considered it her duty to wait, till she should get the opinions of the wisest of them. As soon as she did, she undertook to send Elizabeth whatever answer might appear to be reasonable. “The Queen, your mistress,” observed Mary, “saith that I am young; she might say that I were as foolish as young, if I would, in the state and country that I am in, proceed to such a matter, of myself, without any counsel; for that which was done by the King, my late lord and husband, must not be taken to be my act; and yet I will say, truly, unto ye, and as God favours me, I did never mean otherwise, unto the Queen, your mistress, than becometh me to my good sister and cousin, nor meant her any more harm than to myself. God forgive them that have otherwise persuaded her, if there be any such.”

It may seem strange, that as the sixth article was the only one in the whole treaty of Edinburgh, which occasioned any disagreement, it was not proposed to make some alteration in it, which might have rendered it satisfactory to all parties. Mary would have had no objection to have given up all claim upon the Crown of England, during the lifetime of Elizabeth, and in favour of children born by her in lawful wedlock,—if, failing these children, her own right was acknowledged. There could have been little difficulty, one would have thought, in expressing the objectionable article accordingly. But this amendment would not by any means have suited the views of Elizabeth.[31] To have acknowledged Mary’s right of succession would have been at once to have pointed out to all the Catholics of Europe, the person to whom they were to pay their court, on account not only of her present influence, but of the much greater which awaited her. Besides, it might have had the appearance of leaving it doubtful, whether Elizabeth’s possession of the throne was not conceded to her, more as a favour than as a right. This extreme jealousy on the part of the English Queen, originated in Mary having imprudently allowed herself to be persuaded to bear the arms of England, diversely quartered with her own, at the time Elizabeth was first called to the crown. At the interview we have been describing, Throckmorton, being silenced with regard to the ratification of the treaty, thought he might with propriety advert to this other subject of complaint.

“I refer it to your own judgment, Madam,” said he, “if any thing can be more prejudicial to a prince, than to usurp the title and interest belonging to him.” Mary’s answer deserves particular attention. “M. L’Ambassadeur,” said she, “I was then under the commandment of King Henry my father, and of the king my lord and husband; and whatsoever was then done by their order and commandments, the same was in like manner continued until both their deaths; since which time, you know I neither bore the arms, or used the title of England. Methinks,” she added, “these my doings might ascertain the queen your mistress, that that which was done before, was done by commandment of them that had power over me; and also, in reason, she ought to be satisfied, seeing I (now) order my doings, as I tell ye.” With this answer Throckmorton took his leave.[32]

Seeing that matters could not be more amicably adjusted, Mary prepared to return home, independent of Elizabeth’s permission. Yet it was not without many a bitter regret that she thought of leaving all the fascinations of her adopted country, France. When left alone, she was frequently found in tears; and it is more than probable, that, as Miss Benger has expressed it, “there were moments when Mary recoiled with indescribable horror from the idea of living in Scotland—where her religion was insulted, and her sex contemned; where her mother had languished in misery, and her father sunk into an untimely grave.” At last, however, the period arrived when it was necessary for her to bid a final adieu to the scenes and friends of her youth. She had delayed from month to month, as if conscious that, in leaving France, she was about to part with happiness. She had originally proposed going so early as the spring of 1561, but it was late in July before she left Paris; and as she lingered on the way, first at St Germains, and afterwards at Calais, August was well advanced before she set sail. The spring of this year, says Brantome poetically, was so backward, that it appeared as if it would never put on its robe of flowers; and thus gave an opportunity to the gallants of the Court to assert, that it wore so doleful a garb to testify its sorrow for the intended departure of Mary Stuart.[33] She was accompanied as far as St Germains by Catharine de Medicis, and nearly all the French Court. Her six uncles, Anne of Este, and many other ladies and gentlemen of distinction, proceeded on with her to Calais. The historians Castelnau and Brantome were both of the Queen’s retinue, and accompanied her to Scotland. At Calais she found four vessels, one of which was fitted up for herself and friends, and a second for her escort; the two others were for the furniture she took with her.

Elizabeth, meanwhile, was not inattentive to the proceedings of the Scottish Queen. Through the agency of her minister, Cecil, she had been anxiously endeavouring to discover whether she would render herself particularly obnoxious either to Catharine de Medicis, or the leading men in Scotland, by making herself mistress of Mary’s person on her passage homewards, and carrying her a prisoner into England. Her ambassador, Throckmorton, had given her good reason to believe that Catharine was not disposed to be particularly warm in Mary’s defence.[34] As to Scotch interference, Camden expressly informs us, that the Lord James, when he passed through England on his return from France, warned Elizabeth of Mary’s intended movements, and advised that she should be intercepted. This assertion, though its truth has been doubted, is rendered exceedingly probable by the contents of two letters, which have been preserved. The first is from Throckmorton, who assures Elizabeth that the Lord James deserves her most particular esteem;—“Your Majesty,” he says, “may, in my opinion, make good account of his constancy towards you; and so he deserveth to be well entertained and made of by your Majesty, as one that may stand ye in no small stead for the advancement of your Majesty’s desire. Since his being here (in France), he hath dealt so frankly and liberally with me, that I must believe he will so continue after his return home.”[35] The other letter is from Maitland of Lethington, one of the ablest men among the Scotch Reformers, and the personal friend and co-adjutor of the Lord James, to Sir William Cecil. In this letter he says;—“I do also allow your opinion anent the Queen our Sovereign’s journey towards Scotland, whose coming hither, if she be enemy to the religion, and so affected towards that realm as she yet appeareth, shall not fail to raise wonderful tragedies.” He then proceeds to point out, that, as Elizabeth’s object, for her own sake, must be to prevent the Catholics from gaining ground in Scotland, her best means of obtaining such an object, is to prevent a Queen from returning into the kingdom, who “shall so easily win to her party the whole Papists, and so many Protestants as be either addicted to the French faction, covetous, inconstant, uneasy, ignorant, or careless.”—“So long as her Highness is absent,” he adds, “in this case there is no peril; but you may judge what the presence of a prince being craftily counselled is able to bring to pass.” “For my opinion,” he concludes, “anent the continuance of amity betwixt these two realms, there is no danger of breach so long as the Queen is absent; but her presence may alter many things.”[36]

To make assurance doubly sure, Cecil desired Randolph, the English resident in Scotland, to feel the pulse of the nobility. On the 9th of August 1561, only a few days before Mary sailed from France, Randolph wrote from Edinburgh an epistle to Cecil, in which he assures him that it will be a “stout adventure for a sick crazed woman,” (a singular mode of designating Mary), to venture home to a country so little disposed to receive her. “I have shewn your Honour’s letters,” he says, “unto the Lord James, Lord Morton, Lord Lethington; they wish, as your Honour doth, that she might be stayed yet for a space; and if it were not for their obedience sake, some of them care not tho’ they never saw her face.”—And again—“Whatsomever cometh of this, he (Lethington), findeth it ever best that she come not.” Knox also, it seems, had been written to, and had expressed his resolution to resist to the last Mary’s authority. “By such letters as ye have last received,” says Randolph, “your Honour somewhat understandeth of Mr Knox himself, and also of others, what is determined,—he himself to abide the uttermost, and others never to leave him, until God hath taken his life.”—“His daily prayer is, for the maintenance of unity with England, and that God will never suffer men to be so ungrate as by any persuasion to run headlong unto the destruction of them that have saved their lives, and restored their country to liberty.”[37]

Elizabeth having thus felt her way, and being satisfied that she might with safety pursue her own inclinations, was determined not to rest contented with the mere refusal of passports. Throckmorton was ordered to ascertain exactly when and how Mary intended sailing. The Scottish Queen became aware of his drift, from some questions he put to her, and said to him cuttingly,—“I trust the wind will be so favourable, as I shall not need to come on the coast of England; and if I do, then M. l’Ambassadeur, the Queen, your mistress, shall have me in her hands to do her will of me; and if she be so hard-hearted as to desire my end, she may then do her pleasure, and make sacrifice of me. Peradventure, that casualty might be better for me than to live.” Throckmorton, however, made good his point, and was able to inform Elizabeth that Mary would sail either from Havre-de-Grace or Calais, and that she would first proceed along the coast of Flanders, and then strike over to Scotland. For the greater certainty, he suggested the propriety of some spies being sent across to the French coast, who would give the earliest intelligence of her movements. Profiting by this and other information, all the best historians of the time agree in stating, that Elizabeth sent a squadron to sea with all expedition. It was only a thick and unexpected fog which prevented these vessels from falling in with that in which Mary sailed. The smaller craft which carried her furniture, they did meet with, and, believing them to be the prize they were in search of, they boarded and examined them. One ship they detained, in which was the Earl of Eglinton, and some of Mary’s horses and mules, and, under the pretence of suspecting it of piracy, actually carried it into an English harbour. The affectation of “clearing the seas from pirates,” as Cecil expresses it, was a mere after-thought, invented to do away with the suspicion which attached itself to this unsuccessful attempt. Its real purpose was openly talked of at the time. Sir Nicholas Bacon, Lord Keeper, in a speech he made at a meeting of the Privy Council in 1562, said frankly,—“Think ye that the Scottish Queen’s suit, made in all friendly manner, to come through England at the time she left France, and the denial thereof, unless the treaty were ratified, is by them forgotten, or else your sending of your ships to sea at the time of her passage?” Camden, Holinshed, Spottiswoode, Stranguage, and Buchanan, all speak to the same effect; and Elizabeth’s intentions, though frustrated, hardly admit of a doubt.[38]

On the 25th of August 1561, Mary sailed out of the harbour of Calais,—not without shedding, and seeing shed many tears. She did not, however, part with all the friends who had accompanied her to the coast. Three of her uncles,—the Duke d’Aumale, the Marquis D’Elbeuf, and the Grand Prior,—the Duke Danville, son to Montmorency, and afterwards Constable of France, one of the most ardent and sincere admirers that Mary perhaps ever had,—and many other persons of rank, among whom was the unfortunate poet Chatelard, who fluttered like a moth round the light in which he was to be consumed,—sailed with her for Scotland. Just as she left the harbour, an unfortunate accident happened to a vessel, which, by unskilful management, struck upon the bar, and was wrecked within a very short distance of her own galley. “This is a sad omen,” she exclaimed, weeping. A gentle breeze sprang up; the sails were set, and the little squadron got under way, consisting, as has been said, of only four vessels, for Mary dreaded lest her subjects should suppose that she was coming home with any military force. The feelings of “la Reine Blanche,” as the French termed her, from the white mourning she wore for Francis, were at all times exceedingly acute. On the present occasion, her grief amounted almost to despair. As long as the light of day continued, she stood immoveable on the vessel’s deck, gazing with tearful eyes upon the French coast, and exclaiming incessantly,—“Farewell, France! farewell, my beloved country!” When night approached, and her friends beseeched her to retire to the cabin, she hid her face in her hands, and sobbed aloud. “The darkness which is now brooding over France,” said she, “is like the darkness in my own heart.” A little afterwards, she added,—“I am unlike the Carthaginian Dido, for she looked perpetually on the sea, when Æneas departed, whilst all my regards are for the land.” Having caused a bed to be made for her on deck, she wept herself asleep, previously enjoining her attendants to waken her at the first peep of day, if the French coast was still visible. Her wishes were gratified; for during the night the wind died away, and the vessel made little progress. Mary rose with the dawn, and feasted her eyes once more with a sight of France. At sunrise, however, the breeze returned, and the galley beginning to make way, the land rapidly receded in the distance. Again her tears burst forth, and again she exclaimed,—“Farewell, beloved France! I shall never, never, see you more.” In the depth of her sorrow, she even wished that the English fleet, which she conjectured had been sent out to intercept her, would make its appearance, and render it necessary for her to seek for safety, by returning to the port from whence she had sailed. But no interruption of this kind occurred.[39]

It is more than likely, that it was during this voyage Mary composed the elegant and simple little song, so expressive of her genuine feelings on leaving France. Though familiarly known to every reader, we cannot deny ourselves the pleasure of inserting it here.

Adieu, plaisant pays de France!
O my patrie,
La plus cherie;
Qui a nourri ma jeune enfance.
Adieu, France! adieu, mes beaux jours!
La nef qui déjoint mes amours,
N’à cy de moi que la moitié;
Une parte te reste; elle est tienne;
Je la fie à ton amitié,
Pour que de l’autre il te souvienne![40]

Brantome, who sailed in the same vessel with Mary, and gives a particular account of all the events of this voyage, mentions, that the day before entering the Frith of Forth, so thick a mist came on, that it was impossible to see from the poop to the prow. By way of precaution, lest they should run foul of any other vessel, a lantern was lighted, and set at the bow. This gave Chatelard occasion to remark, that it was taking a very unnecessary piece of trouble, so long at least as Mary Stuart remained upon deck, and kept her eyes open. When the mist, at length, cleared away, they found their vessel in the midst of rocks, from which it required much skill and no little labour to get her clear. Mary declared, that so far as regarded her own feelings, she would not have looked upon shipwreck as a great calamity; but that she would not wish to see the lives of the friends who were with her endangered (among whom not the least dear were her four Maries), for all the kingdom of Scotland. She added, that as a bad omen had attended her departure so this thick fog seemed to be but an evil augury at her arrival. At length, the harbour of Leith appeared in sight, and Mary’s eye rested, for the first time, upon Arthur Seat and the Castle of Edinburgh.

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.

M’Crie, the able but too partial biographer of Knox, and the defender of all his errors and failings, speaking of Mary at this period, says;—“Nursed from her infancy in a blind attachment to the Roman Catholic religion, every means had been employed before she left France, to strengthen this prejudice, and to inspire her with aversion to the religion which had been embraced by her people. She was taught that it would be the great glory of her reign, to reduce her kingdom to the obedience of the Romish See, and to co-operate with the Popish Princes on the Continent in extirpating heresy. With these fixed prepossessions, Mary came into Scotland, and she adhered to them with singular pertinacity to the end of her life.”[43] The whole of this statement is in the highest degree erroneous. We have seen that Mary was not nursed in a blind attachment to the Catholic religion—some of her best friends, and even one or two of her preceptors, being attached to the new opinions. We have seen, that so far from having any “prejudice” strengthened before she left France, she was expressly advised to give her support to the Reformers; and we have heard from her own lips, her mature determination to tolerate every species of worship throughout her kingdom. That she ever thought of “co-operating with the Popish Princes of the Continent, that she might reduce her kingdom to the obedience of the Romish See, and extirpate heresy,” will be discovered immediately to be a particularly preposterous belief, when we find her intrusting the reins of Government to the leaders of the Reformed party. To this system of moderation, much beyond that of the age in which she lived, Mary adhered, “with singular pertinacity, to the end of her life.” M’Crie, in proof of his gratuitous assertions, affirms, that she never examined the subjects of controversy between the Papists and Protestants. This also is incorrect, as he would have known, had he read that letter of Throckmorton’s, in which, as has been seen, she informed the Ambassador of the frequent opportunities she had enjoyed of hearing the whole matter discussed in the presence of the Cardinal Lorraine; and the confession which that discussion extorted both from the Cardinal and herself, of the necessity of some reformation among the Catholics, though not to the extent to which the Protestants pushed it. M’Crie further objects, that Mary never went to hear Knox, or any of the Reformed divines, preach. Knox, from the invariable contempt with which he affected to treat Mary, no doubt particularly deserved such a compliment; and as to the other divines, by all of whom she was hated, what would have been the use of leaving her own chapel to listen to sermons which could not have altered the firm conviction of her mind, and which, consequently, it would have been hypocrisy to pretend to admire? We return from this digression.

The nobility, who now flocked to Holyrood from all parts of the country, constituted that portion of the inhabitants of Scotland, who, for many centuries, had exercised almost unlimited influence over their native sovereigns. Their mutual dissensions during the late long minority, had a good deal weakened their respective strength; and the progress of time was gradually softening the more repulsive features of the feudal system. But still the Scottish barons deemed themselves indispensable to the councils of their monarch, and entitled to deliver opinions, which they expected would be followed, on every affair of state. They collected at present, under the influence of a thousand contending interests and wishes. With some of the more distinguished figures in the group, it will be necessary to make the reader better acquainted.

Of the Lord James, who was now shortly to become the Earl of Murray, the title by which he is best known in Scottish history, a good deal has already been said. That he must secretly have regretted his sister’s return to Scotland, may be safely concluded, from the facts formerly stated. He was too skilful a politician, however, to betray his disappointment. Had he openly ventured to oppose Mary, the result would have been at all events uncertain, and his own ruin might have been the ultimate consequence. He considered it more prudent to use every means in his power to conciliate her friendship; and wrought so successfully, that before long, he found himself the person of by far the most consequence in the kingdom. Mary, perhaps, trusted too implicitly to his advice, and left too much to his controul; yet it is difficult to see how she could have managed otherwise. It is but fair also to add, that for several years Murray continued to keep his ambition (which, under a show of moderation, was in truth enormous) within bounds. Nor does there appear to be any evidence sufficient to stamp Murray with that deeper treachery and blacker guilt, which some writers have laid to his charge. The time, however, is not yet arrived for considering his conduct in connexion with the darker events of Mary’s reign. The leading fault of his administration is, that it was double-faced. In all matters of importance, he allowed himself to be guided as much by the wishes of Elizabeth, secretly communicated to him, as by those of his own Sovereign. He probably foresaw that, if he ever quarrelled with Mary, it would be through the assistance of the English Queen alone he could hope to retrieve his fortunes. This subservience to Elizabeth, among those in whom she confided, was, indeed, the leading misfortune of Mary’s reign. Had her counsellors been unbiassed, and her subjects undistracted by English intrigue, her prudent conduct would have got the better of the internal dissensions in her kingdom, and she would have governed in peace, perhaps in happiness. But it was Elizabeth’s jealous and narrow-minded policy, to prevent, if possible, this consummation. With infinite art, and, if the term is not debased by its application, with no little ability, she accomplished her wishes, principally through the agency of the ambitious and the self-interested, among Mary’s ministers. One of these, the Earl of Murray, unquestionably was. At the time of which we are writing, he was in his thirty-first year, possessing considerable advantages both of face and person, but of reserved, austere, and rather forbidding manners. Murray’s mother, who was the Lady Margaret Erskine, daughter of Lord Erskine, had married Sir Robert Douglas of Lochleven. He had also, as has been mentioned, several illegitimate brothers, particularly Lord John and Lord Robert, and one sister, Jane, who married the Earl of Argyle, and to whom Mary became very sincerely attached.

Associated with the Earl of Murray, both as a leader of the Reformers, and as a servant of Elizabeth, but not allowing his ambitious views to carry him quite so far as the Earl, was William Maitland of Lethington, Mary’s Secretary of State. He was the eldest son of Sir Richard Maitland of Lethington, and was about five years older than Murray. He had been educated at the University of St Andrews, and had travelled a good deal on the Continent, where he studied civil law. John Knox, in his History, claims the honour of having converted Maitland to the Reformed opinions. Whether this be true or not, it is certain that, after having for some time co-operated with Mary of Guise, he finally deserted her, and continued to act with the Reformers, as Secretary of State, an office to which he had been appointed for life, in 1558. It has been already seen, that a close and confidential intercourse subsisted between him and Cecil; and that he too would have been glad, had Mary’s return to Scotland been prevented. That Maitland possessed an acute and subtle genius, there can be no doubt; that he had cultivated his mind to good purpose, and understood the art of composition as well as any man of the age, is undeniable. That his manners were more polished than those of most of the Scottish nobility, is also true; but, that his talents were of that high and exquisite kind, which Robertson and some other historians have described, does not appear. During his political career, many instances occur, which seem to imply a vacillating and unsteady temperament, a fault which can hardly be forgiven in a statesman.

James Douglas, Earl of Morton, another associate of Murray, was one of the most powerful and least respectable of those who had embraced the Reformation. Restless, factious, crafty, avaricious and cruel, nothing could have saved him from general odium, but his pretended zeal for religion. This was a cloak for many sins; by flattering the vanity of Knox and the other gospel-ministers, he contrived to cover the hollowness of his character, and to patch up a reputation for sanctity. In consequence of the rebellion of the Earl of Angus, his uncle, during the reign of James V., Morton had been obliged to spend several years in England, where he lived in great poverty. But the only effect adversity had produced upon him, was a determination to be more rapacious when he recovered his power. His ambition was of a more contracted and selfish kind than Murray’s, and he had not so cool a head, or so cautious a hand.

The Duke of Chatelherault, Mary’s nearest relation, being advanced in years, had retired from public life. The Earl of Arran, his son, who, it will be remembered, had been induced to propose himself as a husband for Elizabeth, was of a weak and almost crazed intellect. Indeed it was not long before the increasing strength of the malady made it necessary to confine him. He came to Court, however, upon Mary’s arrival, and having been unsuccessful with Elizabeth, chose to fall desperately in love with his own Queen. But Mary had always an aversion to him, originating no doubt in the want of delicacy towards her, which had characterized his negociations with Elizabeth, and confirmed by his own presuming and disagreeable manners. His father’s natural brother, the Archbishop of St Andrews, is the only other member of the family worth mentioning. He was still staunch to the Roman Catholic party; but had of late seen the wisdom of remaining quiet, and though he became rather a favourite with Mary, it does not appear that he henceforth took a very active interest in public affairs.[44]

James Hepburne, Earl of Bothwell, though some of the leading features of his character had hardly shown themselves at the period of which we speak, merits nevertheless, from the part he subsequently acted, especial notice at present. He had succeeded his father in his titles and estates in the year 1556, when he was five or six and twenty years of age. He enjoyed not only large estates, but the hereditary offices of Lord High Admiral of Scotland, Sheriff of Berwick, Haddington and Edinburgh, and Baillie of Lauderdale. With the exception of the Duke of Chatelherault, he was the most powerful nobleman in the southern districts of Scotland. Soon after coming to his titles, he began to take an active share in public business. In addition to his other offices, he was appointed the Queen’s Lieutenant on the Borders, and Keeper of Hermitage Castle, by the Queen Regent, to whom he always remained faithful, in opposition to the Lord James, and what was then termed the English faction. He went over to France on the death of Francis II. to pay his duty to Mary, and on his return to Scotland, was by her intrusted with the discharge of an important commission regarding the Government. Though all former differences were now supposed to have been forgotten, there was not, nor did there ever exist, a very cordial agreement between the Earls of Murray and Bothwell. They were both about the same age, but their dispositions were very different. Murray was self-possessed, full of foresight, prudent and wary. Bothwell was bold, reckless, and extravagant. His youth had been devoted to every species of dissipation; and even in manhood, he seemed more intent on pleasure than on business. This was a sort of life which Murray despised, and perhaps he calculated that Bothwell would never aim at any other. But, though guided by no steady principles, and devoted to licentiousness, Bothwell was nevertheless not the mere man of pleasure. He was all his life celebrated for daring and lawless exploits, and vanity or passion, were motives whose force he was never able to resist. Unlike Murray, who, when he had an end in view, made his advances towards it as cautiously as an Indian hunter, Bothwell dashed right through, as careless of the means by which he was to accomplish his object, as of the consequences that were to ensue. His manner was of that frank, open, and uncalculating kind, which frequently catches a superficial observer. They who did not study him more closely, were apt to imagine that he was merely a blustering, good-natured, violent, headstrong man, whose manners must inevitably have degenerated into vulgarity, had he not been nobly born, and accustomed to the society of his peers. But much more serious conclusions might have drawn by those who had penetration enough to see under the cloak of dissoluteness, in which he wrapped himself and his designs. With regard to his personal appearance, it does not seem to have been remarkably prepossessing. Brantome says, that he was one of the ugliest men he had ever seen, and that his planners were correspondently outré.[45] Buchanan, who must have known Bothwell well, and who draws his character with more accuracy than was to have been expected from so partial a writer, says, in his “Detection:”—“Was there in him any gift of eloquence, or grace of beauty, or virtue of mind, garnished with the benefits which we call of fortune? As for his eloquence and beauty, we need not make long tale of them, since both they that have seen him can well remember his countenance, his gait, and the whole form of his body, how gay it was; they that have heard him, are not ignorant of his rude utterance and blockishness.” As to Bothwell’s religious opinions, Buchanan remarks very truly, that wavering between the different factions, and despising either side, he counterfeited a love of both.[46] Such was the man of whom we shall have occasion to say so much in the course of these Memoirs.

In the Lords Ruthven and Lindsay, remained unaltered all the characteristics of the ruder feudal chiefs, rendered still more repulsive by their bigoted zeal in favour of the Reformed opinions. They were men of coarse and contracted minds, fit instigators to villany, or apt tools in the hands of those who were more willing to plan than to execute.

Opposed to all these nobles, was the great lay head of the Catholic party in Scotland, John, Earl of Huntly. His jurisdiction and influence extended over nearly the whole of the north of Scotland, from Aberdeen to Inverness. He was born in 1510, and had been a personal friend and favourite of James V. He ranked in Parliament as the Premier Earl of Scotland, and in 1546, was appointed Chancellor of the kingdom. He was always opposed to the English party, and had been taken prisoner at the battle of Pinkie, fighting against the claims of Edward VI., upon the infant Mary. He made his escape, in 1548, and as a reward for his services and sufferings, obtained, in the following year, a grant of the Earldom of Murray, which, however, he again resigned in 1554. He continued faithful to the Queen Regent till her death. Upon that occasion, we have seen that he and other nobles sent Lesley, with certain proposals, to Mary. He was an honourable man and a good subject, though the termination of his career was a most unfortunate one. The respect which his memory merits, is founded on the conviction, that he had too great a love for his country and sovereign ever to have consented to have made the one little better than tributary to England, or to have betrayed the other into the hands of her deadliest enemy.

Such were the men who were now to become Mary’s associates and counsellors. The names of most of them occur as members of the Privy Council which she constituted shortly after her return. It consisted of the Duke of Chatelherault, the Earl of Huntly, the Earl of Argyle, the Earl of Bothwell, the Earl of Errol, Earl Marschall, the Earl of Athol, the Earl of Morton, the Earl of Montrose, the Earl of Glencairn, the Lord Erskine, and the Lord James Stuart. In this Council, the influence of the Lord James, backed as it was by a great majority of Protestant nobles, carried every thing before it.

Elizabeth, finding that Mary had arrived safely in her own country, and had been well received there, lost no time in changing her tone towards the Scottish queen. Her English resident in Scotland, was the celebrated Randolph, whom she kept as a sort of accredited spy at Mary’s court. He has rendered himself notorious by the many letters he wrote to England upon Scottish affairs. He had an acute, inquisitive, and gossiping turn of mind. His style is lively and amusing; and though the office he had to perform is not to be envied, he seems to have entered on it con amore, and with little remorse of conscience. His epistles are mostly preserved, and are valuable from containing pictures of the state of manners in Scotland at the time, not to be found any where else, though not always to be depended on as accurate chronicles of fact. To Randolph, the Queen of England now wrote, desiring him to offer her best congratulations to Mary upon her safe arrival. She sent him also a letter which he was to deliver to Mary, in which she disclaimed ever having had the most distant intention of intercepting her on her voyage. Mary answered Elizabeth’s letter with becoming cordiality. She, likewise, sent Secretary Maitland into England, to remain for some time as her resident at Elizabeth’s Court. She was well aware for what purposes Randolph was ordered to continue in Edinburgh; and said, that as it seemed to be Elizabeth’s wish that he should remain, she was content, but that she would have another in England as crafty as he. Maitland was certainly as crafty, but his craftiness was unfortunately too frequently directed against Mary herself.

CHAPTER VIII.

JOHN KNOX, THE REFORMERS, AND THE TURBULENT NOBLES.

Mary had been only a few days in Scotland when she was painfully reminded of the excited and dangerous state of feeling which then prevailed on the important subject of Religion. Her great and leading desire was to conciliate all parties, and to preserve, unbroken, the public peace. With this view she had issued proclamations, charging her subjects to conduct themselves quietly; and announcing her intention to make no alteration in the form of religion as existing in the country at her arrival. Notwithstanding these precautions, the first breach of civil order took place at the very Palace of Holyroodhouse. Mary had intimated her intention to attend the celebration of a solemn mass in her chapel, on Sunday the 24th of August, 1561, the first Sunday she spent in Scotland. The Reformers, as soon as they got the upper hand, had prohibited this service under severe penalties, and these principles of intolerance they were determined to maintain. Mary had not interfered with their mode of worship; but this was not enough;—they considered themselves called upon to interfere with hers. In anticipation of the mass, for which she had given orders, the godly, Knox tells us, met together and said,—“Shall that idol be suffered again to take place within this realm? It shall not.” They even repented that they had not pulled down the chapel itself at the time they had demolished most of the other religious houses; for the sparing of any place where idols were worshipped was, in their opinion, “the preserving the accursed thing.” When Sunday arrived, a crowd collected on the outside of the chapel; and Lord Lindsay, whose bigotry has been already mentioned, called out with fiery zeal,—“The idolatrous priests shall die the death, according to God’s law.” The Catholics were insulted as they entered the chapel, and the tumult increased so much, that they feared to commence the service. At length, the Lord James, whose superior discrimination taught him, that his party, by pushing things to this extremity, were doing their cause more harm than good, stationed himself at the door, and declared he would allow no evil-disposed person to enter. His influence with the godly was such, that they ventured not to proceed to violence against his will. He was a good deal blamed, however, by Knox for his conduct. When the service was concluded, Lord James’s two brothers were obliged to conduct the priests home, as a protection to them from the insults of the people; and in the afternoon, crowds collected in the neighbourhood of the palace, who, by their disloyal language and turbulent proceedings, signified to the Queen their disapprobation, that she had dared to worship her God in the manner which seemed to herself most consistent, both with the revealed and natural law. Many of Mary’s friends, who had accompanied her from France, were so disgusted with the whole of this scene, that they announced their intention of returning sooner than they might otherwise have done. “Would to God,” exclaims Knox, “that altogether, with the mass, they had taken good-night of the realm for ever!”

On the following Sunday, Knox took the opportunity of preaching, what Keith might have termed, another “thundering sermon” against idolatry. In this discourse he declared, that one mass was more fearful to him than ten thousand armed enemies would be, landed in any part of the realm on purpose to suppress the whole religion. No one will deny, that the earlier Reformers of this and all other countries would, naturally and properly, look upon Popish rites with far greater abhorrence than is done by the strictest Protestants of more modern times. Nor is it wonderful that the ablest men among them, (and John Knox was one of those), should have given way so far to the feelings of the age, as to be unable to draw the exact line of distinction between the improvements of the new gospel, and the imperfections of the old. The faith which they established, was of a purer, simpler, and better kind than that from which they were converted. Yet, making all these allowances, there does seem to have been something unnecessarily overbearing and illiberal in the spirit which animated Knox and some of his followers. When contrasted with the mildness of Mary at least, and even with the greater moderation observed in some of the other countries of Europe, where the Reformation was making no less rapid progress, the anti-Catholic ardor of the good people of Scotland must be allowed to have over-stepped considerably the just limits of Christian forbearance. It is useful also to observe the inconsistencies which still existed in the Reformed faith. Whilst the Catholic religion was reprobated, Catholic customs springing out of that religion do not seem to have called forth any censure. On the very day on which Knox preached the sermon already mentioned, a great civic banquet was given by the city of Edinburgh to Mary’s uncles, the Duke Danville, and other of her French friends; and, generally speaking, Sunday was, throughout the country, the favourite day for festivities of all kinds.

The mark of attention paid to her relations pleased Mary, but her pleasure was rendered imperfect, by perceiving how powerful and unlooked for an enemy both she and they had in John Knox. Aware of the liberal manner in which she had treated him and his party, she thought it hard that he should so unremittingly exert his influence to stir up men’s minds against her. That this influence was of no insignificant kind, is attested by very sufficient evidence. Knox was not a mere polemical churchman. His friends and admirers intrusted to him their temporal as well as spiritual interests. He was often selected as an umpire in civil disputes of importance; and persons whom the Town-council had determined to punish for disorderly conduct, were continually requesting his intercession in their behalf. When differences fell out even among the nobility, he was not uncommonly employed to adjust them. He was besides, at that time, the only established clergyman in Edinburgh who taught the Reformed doctrines. There was a minister in the Canongate, and another in the neighbouring parish of St Cuthberts, but Knox was the minister of Edinburgh. He preached in the church of St Giles, which was capable of holding three thousand persons. To this numerous audience he held forth twice every Sunday, and thrice on other days during the week. He was regular too in his attendance at the meetings of the Synod and the General Assembly, and was frequently commissioned to travel through the country to disseminate gospel truth. In 1563, but not till then, a colleague was appointed to him.

Animated by a sincere desire to soften if possible our Reformer’s austere temper, Mary requested that he might be brought into her presence two days after he had delivered his sermon against idolatry. Knox had no objection whatever to this interview. To have it granted him at all would show his friends the importance attached to his character and office; and from the manner in which he determined to carry himself through it, he hoped to strengthen his reputation for bold independence of sentiment, and undeviating adherence to his principles. This was so far well; but Knox unfortunately mingled rudeness with his courage, and stubbornness with his consistency.

Mary opened the conversation by expressing her surprise that he should have formed so very unfavourable an opinion of herself; and requested to know what could have induced him to commence his calumnies against her so far back as 1559, when he published his book upon the “monstrous government of women.”[47] Knox answered, that learned men in all ages considered their judgments free, and that, if these judgments sometimes differed from the common judgment of mankind, they were not to blame. He then ventured to compare his “First Blast of the Trumpet” to Plato’s work “On the Commonwealth,” observing, with much self-complacency, that both these books contained many new sentiments. He added, that what he had written was directed most especially against Mary—“that wicked Jezabel of England.” The Queen, perceiving that this was a mere subterfuge, said, “Ye speak of women in general.” Knox confessed that he did so, but again went the length of assuring her, though the assurance seems to involve a contradiction, that he had said nothing “intended to trouble her estate.”

Satisfied with this concession, Mary proceeded to ask, why he could not teach the people a new religion without exciting them to hold in contempt the authority of their Sovereign? Knox found it necessary to answer this question in a somewhat round-about manner. “If all the seed of Abraham,” said he, “should have been of the religion of Pharaoh, what religion should there have been in the world? Or if all men, in the days of the Roman Emperors, should have been of the religion of the Roman Emperors, what religion should have been on the face of the earth? Daniel and his fellows were subject to Nebuchadnezzar and unto Darius, and yet they would not be of their religion.” “Yea,” replied Mary promptly, “but none of these men raised the sword against their princes.” “Yet you cannot deny that they resisted,” said Knox, refining a little too much; “for those who obey not the commandment given them, do in some sort resist.” “But yet,” said the Queen, perceiving the quibble, “they resisted not with the sword.” The Reformer felt that he had been driven into a corner, and determined to get out of it at whatever cost. “God, Madam,” said he, “had not given unto them the power and the means.” “Think ye,” asked Mary, “that subjects having the power may resist their princes?” “If princes exceed their bounds, Madam,” said Knox, evidently departing from the point, “no doubt they may be resisted even by power.” He proceeded to fortify this opinion with arguments of no very loyal kind; and Mary, overcome by a rudeness and presumption she had been little accustomed to, was for some time silent. Nay, Randolph, in one of his letters, affirms that he “knocked so hastily upon her heart that he made her weep.” At length she said, “I perceive then that my subjects shall obey you, and not me, and will do what they please, and not what I command; and so must I be subject to them, and not they to me.” Knox answered, that a subjection unto God and his Church was the greatest dignity that flesh could enjoy upon the face of the earth, for it would raise it to everlasting glory. “But you are not the Church that I will nourish,” said Mary; “I will defend the Church of Rome, for it is, I think, the true Church of God.” Knox’s coarse and discourteous answer shows that he was alike ignorant of the delicacy with which, in this argument, he should have treated a lady, and of the respect a queen was entitled to demand. “Your will, Madam,” said he, “is no reason; neither doth your thought make the Roman harlot to be the true and immaculate spouse of Jesus Christ. Wonder not, Madam, that I call Rome a harlot, for that Church is altogether polluted with all kinds of spiritual fornication, both in doctrine and manners.” Whilst this speech must have deeply wounded the feelings of Mary, a sincere Catholic as she was, it cannot entitle the Reformer to any praise on the score of its bravery and independence. Knox knew that the whole country would, in a few days, be full of his conference with the Queen. By yielding to her, he had nothing to gain; and, as his reputation was his dearest possession, he hoped to increase it by an unmanly display of his determined zeal. Mary, perceiving what sort of a man she had to deal with, soon afterwards broke off the conversation.[48]

On the same day that the Queen gave Knox this audience, she made her first public entry into Edinburgh. She rode up the Canongate and High Street, to the Castle, where a banquet had been prepared for her. She was greeted, as she passed along, with every mark of respect and loyalty; and pains had been taken to give to the whole procession, as striking and splendid an air as possible. The Town had issued proclamations, requiring the citizens to appear in their best attire, and advising the young men to assume a uniform, that they might make “the convoy before the court more triumphant.” When Mary left the castle after dinner, on her way back, a pageant which had been prepared was exhibited on the Castle Hill. The Reformers could not allow this opportunity to pass, without reminding her that she was now in a country where their authority was paramount. The greater part of this pageant, represented the terrible vengeance of God upon idolaters. It was even, at one time, intended to have had a priest burned in effigy; but the Earl of Huntly declared, he would not allow so gross an insult to be offered to his sovereign.

Soon after paying this compliment to the City of Edinburgh, Mary determined upon making a progress through the country, that she and her subjects might become better acquainted with each other. She made this progress upon horseback, accompanied by a pretty numerous train. There appears at the time to have been only one wheeled carriage in Scotland. It was a chariot, (as it is called in the treasurer’s books), probably of a rude enough construction, which Margaret of England brought with her when she married James IV. Mary, no doubt, knew that it would have been rather adventurous to have attempted travelling on the Scotch roads of that day in so frail and uncertain a vehicle. It is not, however, to be supposed, that a Queen such as Mary, with her Lords and Ladies well-mounted around her, could pass through her native country without being the object of universal admiration, even without the aid of so wonderful a piece of mechanism as a coach or a chariot. Her first stage was to the palace at Linlithgow. Here she remained a day or two, and then proceeded to Stirling. On the night of her arrival there, she made a very narrow escape. As she lay in bed asleep, a candle, that was burning beside her, set fire to the curtains; and had the light and heat not speedily awakened her, when she immediately exerted her usual presence of mind, she might have been burned to death. The populace said at the time, that this was the fulfilment of a very old prophecy, that a Queen should be burned at Stirling. It was only the bed, however, not the Queen that was burned, so that the prophet must have made a slight mistake. On the Sunday she spent at Stirling, the Lord James, finding perhaps, that his former apparent defence of the mass, had hurt his reputation among the Reformers, corrected the error by behaving with singular impropriety in the Royal chapel. He was assisted by the Lord Justice General, the Earl of Argyle, in conjunction with whom he seems to have come to actual blows with the priests. This affair was considered good sport by many. “But there were others,” says Randolph, alluding probably to Mary, “that shed a tear or two.” “It was reserved,” Chalmer’s remarks, “for the Prime Minister and the Justice General, to make a riot in the house which had been dedicated to the service of God, and to obstruct the service in the Queen’s presence.”[49]

Leaving Stirling, Mary spent a night at Lesly Castle, the seat of the Earl of Rothes, a Catholic nobleman. On the 16th of September she entered Perth. She was everywhere welcomed with much apparent satisfaction; but in the midst of their demonstrations of affection, her subjects always took care to remind her that they were Presbyterians, and that she was a Papist. In the very pious town of Perth, pageants greeted her arrival somewhat similar to those which had been exhibited to her on the Castle Hill at Edinburgh. Mary was not a little affected by observing this constant determination to wound her feelings. In riding through the streets of Perth, she became suddenly faint, and was carried from her horse to her lodging. Her acute sensibility often produced similar effects upon her health, although the cause was not understood by the unrefined multitude. With St Andrews, the seat of the Commendatorship of the Lord James, she seems to have been most pleased, and remained there several days. She returned to Edinburgh by the end of September, passing, on the way, through Falkland, where her father had died. Knox was much distressed at the manifestation of the popular feeling in favour of Mary during this journey. He consoles himself by saying, that she polluted the towns through which she passed with her idolatry; and in allusion to the accident at Stirling, remarks, “Fire followed her very commonly on that journey.”[50]

It was, perhaps, to counteract, in some degree, the impression which Mary’s affability and beauty had made upon her subjects, that soon after her return to Edinburgh, a very singular proclamation was issued by the civil authorities of that town. It was couched in the following terms:—“October 2. 1561. On which day the Provost, Baillies, Council, and all the Deacons, perceiving the Priests, Monks, Friars, and others of the wicked rabble of the Anti-Christ the Pope, to resort to this town, contrary to the tenor of a previous proclamation; therefore ordain the said proclamation, charging all Monks, Friars, Priests, Nuns, Adulterers, Fornicators, and all such filthy persons, to remove themselves out of this town and bounds thereof, within twenty-four hours, under the pain of carting through the town, burning on the cheek, and perpetual banishment.”[51] The insult offered to the Sovereign of the realm, by thus attempting to confound the professors of the old religion with the most depraved characters in the country, was too gross to be allowed to pass unnoticed. Mary did not bring these bigoted magistrates to trial,—she did not even imprison them, but with much mildness, though with no less firmness, she ordered the Town-Council instantly to deprive the Provost and Baillies of the offices they held, and to elect other better qualified persons in their stead.[52]

During the remainder of the year 1561, the only public affairs of consequence, were the appointment of the Lord James as the Queen’s Lieutenant on the Borders, where he proceeded to hold courts, and endeavoured, by great severity and many capital punishments, to reduce the turbulent districts to something like order; and the renewal on the part of Queen Elizabeth of the old dispute concerning the treaty of Edinburgh. Mary, having now had the benefit of advice from her Council, without directly refusing what Elizabeth asked, gave her, in pretty plain terms, to understand, that she could never think of signing away her hereditary title and interest to the Crown of England. “We know,” she says, in a letter she wrote to Elizabeth on the subject, “how near we are descended of the blood of England, and what devices have been attempted to make us, as it were, a stranger from it. We trust, being so nearly your cousin, you would be loth we should receive so manifest an injury, as entirely to be debarred from that title, which, in possibility, may fall to us.”

Most of Mary’s French friends had, by this time, returned home. Her uncle, the Marquis D’Elbeuf, however, remained all winter with her. In losing the Duke of Danville, Mary lost one of her warmest admirers; but it appears, that from his being already married, (though he could have obtained a divorce,) and from other considerations, Mary rejected his addresses. Many foreign princes were suing for the honour of her alliance, among whom were Don Carlos of Spain, the Archduke Charles of Austria, the King of Sweden, the Duke of Ferrara, and the Prince of Condé; but Mary did not yet see the necessity of an immediate marriage. Among her own subjects, there were two who ventured upon confessing their attachment, and nourishing some hopes that she might be brought to view it propitiously. These were the Earl of Arran, already mentioned, and Sir John Gordon, second son of the Earl of Huntly. The former of these Mary never liked; and though the latter far excelled him in accomplishments, both of body and mind, she does not seem to have given him encouragement either. Inspired by mutual jealousy, these noblemen, of course, detested each other; but Arran was the more factious and absurd. Having taken offence at some slights which he supposed had been offered him, he had retired to St Andrews, where he was believed, by those who knew his restless temperament, to be hatching sedition. Upon one occasion—a Sunday night in November—just before the Queen had retired to bed, a report was suddenly spread through the palace, that Arran had crossed the water at the head of a strong body of retainers, and was marching direct for Holyroodhouse, with the intention of carrying off the Queen to Dumbarton Castle, which was in the possession of his father, or to some other place of strength. This report, which gained credit, it was scarcely known how, excited the greatest alarm. Mary’s friends collected round her with as much speed as possible; the gates were closed, and the Lords remained in arms within the court all night. Arran did not make his appearance, and the panic gradually subsided,—though the nobles determined to keep guard every night for some time. This is the foundation of the assertion made by some writers, that Mary kept a perpetual body guard, which, unfortunately, she never did during the whole of her reign. The Duke of Chatelherault, who came to Court soon after, alleged, that the rumour which had gained credence against his son, was only a manœuvre of his enemies; and though his son’s conduct was, on all occasions, sufficiently outré, it is not unlikely that this allegation was true.

Another tumult, which soon afterwards occurred, shows how difficult it was, at this time, to preserve quietness and good order. It had been reported among the more dissolute nobles, that the daughter of a respectable merchant in Edinburgh, was the chere amie of the Earl of Arran. Bothwell, always at home in any affair of this kind, undertook to introduce the Marquis D’Elbeuf to the lady; Lord John, brother of the Commendator of St Andrews, was also of the party. They went to her house the first night in masks, and were admitted, and courteously entertained. Returning next evening, they were disappointed to find, that the object of their admiration refused to receive their visits any longer. They proceeded, therefore, to break open the doors, and to create much disturbance in the house and neighbourhood. Next day the Queen was informed of their disorderly conduct, and she rebuked them sharply. But Bothwell and the Lord John, animated partly by their dislike to the house of Hamilton, and partly by a turbulent spirit of contradiction, declared they would repeat their visit the very next night in despite of either friend or foe. Their intentions being understood, the servants of the Duke of Chatelherault and Arran thought themselves called upon to defend a lady whom their masters patronized. They assembled accordingly with jack and spear in the streets, determined to oppose force to force. Bothwell wished for nothing else, and collected his friends about him in his own lodgings. The opposite party, however, increased much more rapidly than his, and began to collect in a threatening manner before his house. The magistrates saw the necessity of interfering; the alarm-bell was rung, and despatches were sent off to Holyrood, to know what course was to be taken. The Earls of Argyle and Huntly, together with the Lord James, joined the civic authorities, and, proceeding out to the mob, made proclamation, that all men should instantly depart on pain of death. This had the desired effect; the streets gradually became quiet, and Bothwell gave up his wild scheme. Mary, next day, ordered both the Duke of Chatelherault and the Earl of Bothwell to appear before her. The first came accompanied by a crowd of Protestants, and the latter with an equal number of Catholics. But the Queen was not to be over-awed, and having investigated the matter, Bothwell was banished from Court for ten days.[53]

This was only the prelude to a still more serious difference, which took place between these untamed and irascible nobles. The Earl of Arran appeared before the Queen, and declared that a powerful conspiracy had been formed against the life of the Lord James, upon whom the title of Earl of Mar, as preliminary to that of Murray, had recently been conferred. This conspiracy, he said, had originated with himself and his father, who were beginning to tremble, lest the newly created Earl’s influence with the Queen, might induce her to set aside the Hamilton succession, in favour of her illegitimate brother. That the Earl of Mar had really proposed some such arrangement, seems to be established on good authority.[54] The Earl of Huntly, together with Mar’s old enemy, Bothwell, had been induced by the Hamiltons to join in this plot. The intention was, to shoot the Earl of Mar when hunting with the Queen, to obtain for the Hamiltons his authority in the government, and to give the Catholic party greater weight in the state. Huntly’s eldest son, the Lord Gordon, was also implicated in Arran’s confession. A few days before the whole of these plans were to be carried into execution, the weak and vacillating Arran, according to his own declaration, had been seized with remorse of conscience; and, actuated by his ancient friendship for Mar, and his love for the Queen, determined on disclosing every thing.

Historians seem to have been puzzled, what degree of dependence they should place upon the truth of this strange story, told by one who was already half crazed, and soon afterwards altogether insane. That there is good reason, however, for giving credit to his assertions, is evident, from the manner in which all contemporary writers speak, and the fact, that the Queen sent both him and Bothwell to prison. When the affair was further investigated, it was found to involve so many of the first nobility of the land, and among others, Arran’s own father, Chaltelherault, whom he could never be expected publicly to accuse, that Mary resolved not to push matters to extremity against any one. She ordered the Duke of Chatelherault, however, to deliver up the Castle of Dumbarton; and, at the Earl of Mar’s instigation, she kept Bothwell a prisoner, first in the Castle of St Andrews, and afterwards in that of Edinburgh, until he made his escape, and left the country for upwards of two years. It is remarkable, that this conspiracy should not have been hitherto dwelt upon at greater length, tending as it does to develope the secret motives by which the Earl of Mar was actuated in his subsequent feuds with the Earl of Huntly.[55] It is worth recollecting too, though the fact has not been previously noticed, that this was the first occasion on which Bothwell aimed at making himself master of the Queen’s person. The design, though unsuccessful, shows the spirit which long continued to actuate him. Had Mary fallen into his hands at this period, it is not likely that she would ever have had it in her power to marry Darnley, and the whole complexion of her fate might have been changed.

In February 1562, Mary gave a series of splendid entertainments, on the occasion of the marriage of her favourite brother, James. He was then in the thirty-first year of his age, and chose for his wife Lady Agnes Keith, eldest daughter of the Earl of Marschal. The marriage was solemnized in the church of St Giles; and Knox took advantage of the occasion, to offer the Lord James a wholesome, but somewhat curiously expressed advice; “for,” said the preacher to him, “unto this day has the kirk of God received comfort by you, and by your labours; in the which, if hereafter you shall be found fainter than you were before, it will be said that your wife has changed your nature.” Knox and his friends were subsequently much scandalized by “the greatness of the banquetting, and the vanity thereof,” which characterized the honeymoon. The issue of this marriage was three daughters, two of whom married Scotch noblemen, and the third died young.[56]

In August 1562, Mary commenced the progress into the North, which, in so far as some of her principal nobility were concerned, was attended with such very important consequences.

CHAPTER IX.

MARY’S EXPEDITION TO THE NORTH.

The Lord James, now Earl of Mar, had for some time felt, that so long as he was regarded with suspicion by the Hamiltons, and with ill-concealed hatred by the Earl of Huntly and the Gordons, his power could not be so stable, nor his influence so extensive, as he desired. If it is true that he had already proposed to Mary to set aside the succession of the Earl of Arran, it is equally true that she had refused his request. Foiled, therefore, in this, his more ambitious aim, he saw the necessity of limiting, in the meantime, to more moderate bounds, his views of personal preferment. With regard to the Hamiltons, he had succeeded in securing their banishment from court, and in making them objects of suspicion and dislike to the Queen. There was not indeed sufficient talent in the family ever to have made it formidable to him, had it not been that it was of the blood royal. Though not possessing this advantage, the Gordons were always looked upon by Mar as more dangerous rivals. He had long nursed a secret desire, at least to weaken, if not to crush altogether, the power of Huntly. In getting himself created Earl of Mar, he had made one step towards his object. The lands which went along with this title were part of the royal demesnes; but had for some time been held in fee by the Earls of Huntly. Her brother had prevailed upon Mary to recall them in his favour, and he was thus able to set himself down in the very heart of a country, which had hitherto acknowledged no master who did not belong to the house of Gordon. Huntly felt this encroachment bitterly; and it makes it the more probable, that he had secretly joined with Arran in his plot upon Mar; at any rate Mar gave him full credit for having done so. Their mutual animosity being thus exasperated, to the highest pitch, Huntly left the Court, and the Prime Minister waited anxiously for the first opportunity that might occur, to humble effectually the great leader of the Catholics.

In prosecution of his purpose, Mar now obtained a grant under the Privy Seal of the earldom of Murray. A grant under the Privy Seal constituted only an inchoate, not a complete title. To ratify the grant and make it legal, it was necessary to have the Great Seal also affixed to it. The Great Seal, however, was in the custody of Huntly, as Lord Chancellor; and as Mar well knew that the grant of this second earldom infringed upon Huntly’s rights even more than the former, he saw the propriety of keeping it secret for some time. The earldom of Murray, which, with its lands and appurtenances, was bestowed upon Huntly in 1549, for his services in the war with England, had been again recalled by the Crown in 1554, when Huntly fell into the displeasure of the Queen-Regent, in consequence of having refused to punish with fire and sword some Highland rebels. But in 1559, the title and lands were restored, not as a free grant, but as a lease during five years, to Huntly, his wife and heirs, on the condition of a yearly payment of 2500 merks Scots. Till 1564, therefore, Huntly was entitled to consider himself master of all the lands and revenues of this earldom. But in 1561, the title and lands were privately conferred upon the Earl of Mar. It is true, that he might have applied thus early only to prevent himself from being anticipated, and might not have intended to encroach on Huntly’s rights before the legal period of his enjoying them had expired. The advantage, however, he so eagerly took of an incident that occurred in the month of June 1562, proves that Mar had never any intention to keep his title to the earldom of Murray locked up for three years.[57]

The father of James, Lord Ogilvy, had married one of the Earl of Huntly’s sisters, who gave her some lands in liferent as her dowry. Upon her husband’s death, considerations induced her to surrender the liferent to her brother, and the Earl then gave it to his son, Sir John Gordon. But Lord Ogilvy was displeased with his mother’s conduct, and questioned its legality. The matter, however, was decided against him, though not before it had occasioned much bad blood between him and Sir John Gordon. These two noblemen unfortunately met on the streets of Edinburgh; and though Sir John had married Ogilvy’s sister, all ties of relationship were disregarded, and an affray took place, in which both were assisted by their respective servants. It does not exactly appear who was the aggressor in this scuffle, but, from the circumstances which led to it, the probability is, that it was Ogilvy. Both noblemen were severely wounded; and the magistrates, enraged at their breach of the peace, committed them to prison.[58] Mary with her Court was at Stirling, but the Earl of Mar obtained permission to depart for Edinburgh, to examine into the whole affair. The son of the Earl of Huntly was now within his power, and he saw the advantages which might be made to accrue to himself in consequence. After examination, he ordered the Lord Ogilvy and his retainers to be set at liberty, but Sir John Gordon he sent to the common gaol. Sir John, not liking to trust himself in such hands, made his escape, after remaining in prison for about a month, and proceeded to his father’s house in the North to recite to him his grievances.[59]

Such being the state of feeling subsisting between the Queen’s prime minister and these great Northern chieftains, it can scarcely be allowed that Robertson expresses himself correctly when he says, “The Queen happened to set out on a progress into the northern parts of the kingdom.” Her motions were at this time entirely regulated by the Earl of Mar, who, seeing the contempt which had been offered to her authority by the flight of his son, felt satisfied that Mary could not pass through the extensive territories of Huntly, without either giving or receiving some additional cause of offence, which would in all probability lead to consequences favourable to Mar’s ambition. Unless this hypothesis be adopted, no rational cause can be assigned why the Queen should have chosen this particular season for her visit to the North. From the recent suspicion which had attached to the Earl of Huntly, as one of Arran’s colleagues in a conspiracy against her favourite minister, and the still more recent conduct of his son Sir John Gordon, she certainly could have no intention to pay that family the compliment of honouring them with her royal presence as a guest. North of Aberdeen, however, nearly the whole country was subservient to Huntly; and if Mary did not pass through it as a friend, she must as an enemy. This was the consideration that prompted the Earl of Mar to fix this year for the expedition. It was owing to negociations with Elizabeth, concerning a personal interview between the two Queens, that Mary was unable to set out till towards the middle of August.

The Queen left Edinburgh on horseback, as usual, attended by a very considerable train. Among others, four members of her Privy Council went with her,—the Earls of Argyle, Morton, Marschall, and Mar,—the three first of whom had no particular liking for Huntly, and were, besides, entirely under the direction of the last. Randolph also attended the Queen in this journey, and furnishes some details concerning it. On the 18th of August, 1562, she left Stirling; and, after a disagreeable and fatiguing journey, arrived at Old Aberdeen on the 27th. Here she remained for several days, and all the nobility in these parts came to pay their homage to her. Among the rest were the Earl and Countess of Huntly, who entreated her to honour them with a visit at Huntly Castle, informing her that they had endeavoured to make suitable preparations for her entertainment. Mary, at Mar’s instigation of course, (for, as far as her own feelings were concerned, she must have looked with favour upon the first Catholic Peer of the realm), received them coldly. This was but a poor return for Huntly’s long tried fidelity to herself and family; for, whatever quarrels he may have had with the nobility, he had always preserved inviolate his respect for the royal prerogative. His son, Sir John Gordon, also came to Aberdeen, and surrendered himself to the Queen, to be dealt with as her justice might direct. He was neither tried nor taken into custody; but, with more refined policy, he was ordered by Mar, and the rest of the Queen’s Council, to proceed voluntarily to Stirling Castle, and there deliver himself, as a prisoner, to the keeper, Lord Erskine, Mar’s uncle. It was, no doubt, foreseen that this order, so disproportioned in its severity to the offence which occasioned it, would not be complied with, nor was it wished that it should. Guided by similar advice, Mary refused to visit the residence of the Earl of Huntly,—a refusal which was pathetically lamented by Randolph, as it was “within three miles of her way, and the fairest house in this country.” We learn from the same authority, that there was such a scarcity of accommodation, in Old Aberdeen, that Randolph, and Maitland the secretary, who had recently returned from England, were obliged to sleep together in the same bed. This is, perhaps, rendered the less remarkable, when we are informed that there were, at the University, only fifteen or sixteen scholars.

On the 1st of September, Mary left Aberdeen for Inverness; but, in the interval, the Earl of Mar, perceiving that there might be some occasion for their services, had collected a pretty strong body of men, who marched forward with the Queen and her train. In journeying northwards, she travelled by Rothiemay, Grange, Balvenie, and Elgin, passing very near the Earl of Huntly’s castle. No entreaty would induce her to enter it; but she permitted the Earl of Argyle and Randolph to partake of its hospitality for two days. “The Earl of Huntly’s house,” says Randolph, “is the best furnished that I have seen in this country. His cheer is marvellous great; his mind then, such, as it appeared to us, as ought to be, in any subject, to his sovereign.” On the 8th of September, Mary went from Elgin to Tarnaway, the baronial residence of the earldom of Murray, and at that time in possession of a tenant of the Earl of Huntly. Information being there received that Sir John Gordon’s friends and vassals, exasperated at the over-degree of rigour with which he was treated, were assembling in arms; and that Sir John, instead of going to Stirling, had joined the rebels, a proclamation was issued, charging him to surrender, by way of forfeit, into the Queen’s hands, his houses and fortresses of Findlater and Auchindoune. This proclamation was expressed with a bitterness which must only have enraged the discontents the more. It required the surrender of these strongholds, with the avowed intention of breaking the power of the rebels, and in consideration of her Majesty having heard “the many grievous complaints of the poor people of this country, hearing them to be herreit (robbed) and oppressed by him and his accomplices, in times by-past; and fearing the like, or worse, should be done in time coming.” The same proclamation described Sir John Gordon’s wife as “Lady Findlater, his pretended spouse.”[60]

Fearing that even all this might not be enough to induce Huntly to take such steps as might be plausibly construed into treason, Mar now, for the first time, produced his title to the Earldom of Murray, and assumed the name. The only meeting of council held north of Aberdeen was at Tarnaway, and at the first council after the Queen had returned to Aberdeen, we find Mar’s name changed to that of Murray. Robertson, who has followed Buchanan’s, or in other words Murray’s own account of the transactions in the North, in referring Mar’s assumption of the Earldom of Murray to a later date, forgets that it must have been sanctioned by Mary and her Council; and that the only opportunity for doing so, in the interval of their departure from, and return to Aberdeen, was at Tarnaway.[61]

This new insult upon himself and family was, as Murray expected, deeply felt by the Earl of Huntly. He began to suspect that it was intended to ruin him; and in this extremity, with evident reluctance, he prepared to defend himself. Mary, meanwhile, marched forward to Inverness. “On her arrival,” says Robertson, “the commanding officer in the Castle, by Huntly’s orders, shut the gates against her.” The gates were shut, but certainly not by Huntly’s orders; for as soon as he heard that the Castle had been summoned, he sent his express commands to the governor (who had acted upon his own responsibility) to surrender it. These commands, however, came too late; the Castle had been taken by storm, and the governor put to death. What right the Earl of Murray, or even the Queen herself, had to demand the surrender of the castle, which belonged hereditarily to Lord George Gordon, the Earl of Huntly’s eldest son, does not appear. As Chalmers remarks, the whole proceeding seems to have been illegal and unwarrantable. Huntly, who was on his way to Inverness, to attempt an arrangement of these disputes, by a personal interview with the Queen, when he heard of the execution of the governor, returned to his castle.[62]

The Gordons were now fairly roused; and, collecting their followers, they determined to act resolutely, but not as aggressors. Mary was made to believe that she was in the midst of a hostile country; and though there was, in reality no intention to attack her, every means was taken to inspire her with fear, and to convince her of the treacherous designs of the Earl of Huntly. But Mary, had a courageous spirit, when it was necessary to exert it. “In all those garbrilles,” says Randolph, “I never saw the Queen moved,—never dismayed; nor never thought I that stomach to be in her that I find. She repented nothing, but when the Lords and others at Inverness came in the morning from the watch; that she was not a man, to know what life it was to lie all night in the fields, or to walk upon the causeway with a jack and knapsack, a Glasgow buckler and a broadsword.”

On the 15th of September, the Queen returned southwards. She had with her about two thousand men, and as she advanced, their number increased to 3000. She marched by Kilravock and Tarnaway, to Spynie Castle. Thence, she proceeded through the country of the Gordons, crossing the Spey at Fochabers, and going by the way of Cullen and Banff. Throughout the whole course of this march, Murray took care to make her believe that she was in danger of being attacked every moment. If there had been any enemy to fight with, “what desperate blows,” says Randolph, “would not have been given, when every man should have fought in the sight of so noble a Queen, and so many fair ladies!” The only incidents which seem to have occurred, were summonses to surrender, given by sound of trumpet at Findlater House, and at Deckford, mansions of Sir John Gordon. The keepers of both refused; but they were not acting upon their master’s authority. Having slept a night at the Laird of Banff’s house, Mary returned, on the 22d of September, to Aberdeen. Her entry into the New Town, was celebrated by the inhabitants with every demonstration of respect. Spectacles, plays, and interludes were devised; a richly wrought silver cup, with 500 crowns in it, was presented to her; and wine, coals, and wax, were sent in great abundance to her lodgings.

But the Earl of Murray, was not yet satisfied that he had humbled the Gordons enough. It was true, that the lands of Sir John had been forfeited,—that the castle of Lord George had been captured,—and that the title and estates of the earldom of Murray had been wrested from Huntly. But Huntly’s power still remained nearly as great as ever; and it seemed doubtful whether Murray would ever be able to seat himself quietly in his new possessions, situated as they were in the very heart of the Earl’s domains. The privy council were therefore prevailed upon to come to the resolution that the Earl of Huntly, in the language of Randolph, “shall either submit himself, and deliver his disobedient son John, or utterly to use all force against him, for the subversion of his house for ever.” To enforce this determination, Murray levied soldiers, and sent into Lothian and Fife for officers in whom he could place confidence, particularly Lindsay and Grange. With what show of reason the unfortunate Huntly could be subjected to so severe a fate, it is difficult to say. He had come to offer his obedience and hospitality to the Queen, on her first arrival at Aberdeen;—he remained perfectly quiet during her journey through that part of the country which was subject to him;—he sent to her, after she returned to Aberdeen, the keys of the Houses of Findlater and Deckford, which she had summoned unsuccessfully on her march from Cullen to Banff;—and he delivered to her, out of his own castle, a field-piece which the Regent Arran had long ago given to him, and which Mary now demanded. He added, that “not only that, which was her own, but also his body and goods, were at her Grace’s commands.”[63] His wife, the Countess of Huntly, led Captain Hay, the person sent for the cannon, into the chapel at her castle, and placing herself at the altar, said to him,—“Good friend, you see here the envy that is borne unto my husband. Would he have forsaken God and his religion as those that are now about the Queen’s grace, and have the whole guiding of her, have done, my husband had never been put at as now he is. God, and He that is upon this holy altar, whom I believe in, will, I am sure, preserve, and let our true meaning hearts be known; and as I have said unto you, so, I pray you, let it be said unto your mistress. My husband was ever obedient unto her, and so will die her faithful subject.”[64]

That Mary should have given her sanction to these iniquitous proceedings, can only be accounted for by supposing, what was in truth the case, that she was kept in ignorance of every thing tending to exculpate Huntly, whilst various means were invented to inspire her with a belief, that he had conceived, and was intent upon executing a diabolical plot against herself and government. It was given out, that his object was to seize upon the Queen’s person,—to marry her by force to his son Sir John Gordon,—and to cut off Murray, Morton, and Maitland, his principal enemies.[65] Influenced by these misrepresentations, which would have been smiled at in later times, but which, in those days, were taken more seriously, the Queen put the fate of Huntly into the hands of Murray. Soon after her return to Aberdeen, an expedition was secretly prepared against Huntly’s castle. If resistance was offered, the troops sent for the purpose were to take it by force, and if admitted without opposition, they were to bring Huntly, a prisoner to Aberdeen. Intimation, however, of this enterprise and its object was conveyed to the Earl, and he contrived to baffle its success. His wife received the party with all hospitality; threw open her doors, and entreated that they would examine the whole premises, to ascertain whether they afforded any ground of suspicion. But Huntly himself, took care to be out of the way, having retired to Badenoch.[66]

Thus foiled again, Murray, on the 15th of October, called a Privy Council, at which he got it declared, that unless Huntly appeared on the following day before her Majesty, “to answer to such things as are to lay to his charge,” he should be put to the horn for his contempt of her authority, and “his houses, strengths, and friends, taken from him.”[67] However willing he might have been to have ventured thus into the lion’s den, Huntly could not possibly have appeared within the time appointed. On the 17th of October, he was therefore denounced a rebel in terms of the previous proclamation, and his lands and titles declared forfeited.[68] Even yet, however, Huntly acted with forbearance. He sent his Countess to Aberdeen on the 20th, who requested admission to the Queen’s presence, that she might make manifest her husband’s innocence. So far from obtaining an audience, this lady, who was respected and loved over the whole country, was not allowed to come within two miles of the Court, and she returned home with a heavy heart. As a last proof of his fidelity, Huntly sent a messenger to Aberdeen, offering to enter into ward till his cause might be tried by the whole nobility. Even this offer was rejected; and, goaded into madness, the unfortunate Earl at length collected his followers round him, and, raising the standard of rebellion, not against the Queen, but against Murray, advanced suddenly upon Aberdeen.

This resolute proceeding excited considerable alarm at Court. Murray, however, had foreseen the probability of such a step being ultimately taken, and had been busy collecting forces sufficient to repel the attack. A number of the neighbouring nobility had joined him, who, not penetrating the prime minister’s real motives, were not displeased to see so proud and powerful an earldom as that of Huntly likely to fall to pieces. On the 28th of October, Murray marched out of Aberdeen at the head of about 2000 men. He found Huntly advantageously stationed at Corrachie, a village about fifteen miles from Aberdeen. Huntly’s force was much inferior to that of Murray, scarcely exceeding 500 men. Indeed, it seems doubtful, whether he had advanced so much for the purpose of fighting, as for the sake of giving greater weight to his demands, to be admitted into the presence of the Queen, who, he always maintained, had been misled by false council. Perceiving the approach, however, of his inveterate enemy Murray, and considering the superiority of his own position on the hill of Fare, he relinquished all idea of retreat, and determined, at any risk to accept the battle which was offered him. The contest was of short duration. The broadswords of the Highlanders, even had the numbers been more equal, would have been no match for the spears and regular discipline of Murray’s Lowland troops. Their followers fled; but the Earl of Huntly and his two sons, Sir John Gordon and Adam, a youth of seventeen, disdaining to give ground, were taken prisoners. The Earl, who was advanced in life, was no sooner set upon horseback, to be carried triumphantly into Aberdeen, than the thoughts of the ruin which was now brought upon himself and his family overwhelmed him; and, without speaking a word, or receiving a blow, he fell dead from his horse.[69]

Sir John Gordon who was pronounced the author of all these troubles, having been marched into Aberdeen, was tried, condemned, and executed. He may have been an enemy of Murray’s, but so far from being a traitor to the Queen, he was one of the most devoted admirers and attached subjects she ever had. Yet Murray took care to have it reported, that Sir John, before he was beheaded, confessed, that if his father had taken Aberdeen, he was determined to have “burned the Queen, and as many as were in the house with her.”[70] So palpable a falsehood throws additional light upon the motives which instigated the prime minister throughout. With a refinement of cruelty, he insisted upon Mary giving her public countenance to his proceedings, by consenting to be present at Gordon’s death. She was placed at a window, opposite to which the scaffold had been erected. Gordon, who was one of the handsomest men of his times, observed her, and fixing his eyes upon her, “gave her to understand by his looks,” says Freebairn, “that her presence sweetened the death he was going to suffer only for loving her too well.” He then fell upon his knees, and prepared to lay his head upon the block. Mary, totally unable to stand this scene, was already suffused in tears; and when she was informed that the unskilful official, instead of striking off the head, had only mangled the neck, she fainted away, and it was some time before she could be recovered.[71] Adam Gordon was indebted to his youth for saving him from his brother’s fate. He lived to be, as his father had been, one of Mary’s most faithful servants. Lord Gordon, the late Earl’s eldest son, who was with his father-in-law, the Duke of Chatelherault, at Hamilton, was soon afterwards seized and committed to prison, Murray finding it convenient to declare him implicated in the Earl’s guilt. Having remained under arrest for some months, he was tried and found guilty, but the execution of his sentence was left at the Queen’s pleasure. She sent him to Dunbar Castle; and as Murray could not prevail upon her to sign the death-warrant, he had recourse to forgery; and had the keeper of the castle not discovered the deceit, the Lord Gordon’s fate would have been sealed. Mary was content with keeping him prisoner, till a change in her administration restored him to favour, and to the forfeited estates and honours of his father.

One other incident connected with these tragical events is worth recording. Means having been taken for the preservation of Huntly’s body, it was sent by sea to Leith, and lay for several months at Holyroodhouse. In the Parliament which met in May 1563, these melancholy remains were produced, to have sentence of forfeiture pronounced against them. To obviate if possible this additional calamity, the Countess of Huntly, widow of the deceased, appeared before the Parliament, and with the spirit of a Gordon requested to be heard in her late husband’s defence. The request was refused; Huntly’s castles and houses were rifled of their property, his friends and vassals fined, and many escheats granted to those who had assisted in crushing this once noble family.[72]

Murray having now no farther occasion for the Queen’s presence at Aberdeen, the Court moved southwards on the 5th of November. On her way home, she visited Dunottar Castle, Montrose, Arbroath, Dundee, Stirling, and Linlithgow. She arrived at Edinburgh on the 22d, having been absent upwards of three months. It is much to be regretted, that she ever undertook this northern expedition. Though she had little or no share in its guilt, she had allowed herself to be made an effectual tool in the hands of Murray, who was now more powerful than any minister of Mary’s ought to have been. He had forced the Earl of Bothwell into exile; he had brought the Duke of Chatelherault and Arran into disgrace; and having accomplished the death of the courageous Huntly, he had obtained for himself and friends the greater part of that nobleman’s princely estates and titles. Besides, he was more popular among the Reformers than ever, for the destruction of the Gordon family had been long wished for by them. In short, though without the name, he was the King of Scotland, and his sister Mary was his subject.

CHAPTER X.

CHATELARD’S IMPRUDENT ATTACHMENT, AND KNOX’S PERSEVERING HATRED.

Mary returned from her Northern expedition towards the conclusion of the year 1562. The two following years, 1563 and 1564, undistinguished as they were by any political events of importance, were the quietest and happiest she spent in Scotland. Her moderation and urbanity had endeared her to her people; and, in her own well regulated mind, existed a spring of pure and abiding satisfaction. Nevertheless, vexations of various sorts mingled their bitterness in her cup of sweets. An occurrence which took place early in 1563, demands our attention first.

The poet Chatelard has been already mentioned as one of those who sailed in Mary’s train, when she came from the continent. He had attached himself to the future Constable of France, the Duke Danville, and was a gentleman of good family and fortune, being by the mother’s side the grand-nephew of the celebrated Chevalier Bayard. The manly beauty of his person was not unlike that of his ancestor; and, besides being well versed in all the more active accomplishments of the day, he had softened and refined his manners by an ardent cultivation of every species of belles-lettres. It was this latter circumstance that gained for him the occasional favourable notice of Mary. A poetess herself, as much by nature as by study, her heart warmed towards those who indulged in the same delightful art. Chatelard wrote both in French and Italian; and, finding that Mary deigned to read and admire his productions, he seems thenceforth to have made her the only theme of his enamoured and too presumptuous Muse. To the Queen this was no uncommon compliment. She received it, gracefully, and sometimes even amused herself with answering Chatelard’s effusions. This condescension almost turned the young poet’s brain. He had left Scotland with the Duke Danville, and Mary’s other French friends, at the end of the year 1561; but he eagerly seized the opportunity afforded him, by the civil wars in France, to return before twelve months had elapsed. The Duke Danville sent him to Mary’s court, there is every reason to believe, to press upon her attention once more his own pretensions to her hand. But Chatelard, in the indulgence of his mad passion, forgot the duty he owed his master; and, for every word he spoke in prose for the Duke, he spoke in verse twenty for himself. Mary, long accustomed to this species of adulation, and looking upon flattery as a part of a poet’s profession, smiled at the more extravagant flights of his imagination, and forgot them as soon as heard. These smiles, however, were fatal to Chatelard. “They tempted him,” says Brantome, “to aspire, like Phaeton, at ascending the chariot of the sun.” In February 1563, he had the audacity to steal into the Queen’s bedchamber, armed with sword and dagger, and attempted to conceal himself till Mary should retire to rest. He was discovered by her maids of honour; and Mary, though much enraged at his conduct, was unwilling, for a first offence, to surrender him to that punishment which she knew would be inflicted were it known to her Privy Council. She was contented with reprimanding him severely, and ordering him from her presence.

This leniency was thrown away upon the infatuated Chatelard. Only two nights afterwards, the Queen having, in the interval, left Edinburgh for St Andrews, he again committed the same offence. As she went to St Andrews by the circuitous route of the Queensferry, she slept the first night at Dumfermline, and the second at Burntisland. Here Chatelard insolently followed the Queen into her bedroom, without attempting any concealment, and assigned, as the motive for his conduct, his desire to clear himself from the blame she had formerly imputed to him. Mary commanded him to leave her immediately, but he refused; upon which she saw the necessity of calling for assistance. The Earl of Murray was at hand, and came instantly. The daring boldness of Chatelard’s conduct could no longer be concealed; the proper legal authorities were sent for from Edinburgh; the poet was tried at St Andrews, and was condemned to death. He was executed on the 22d of February, and conducted himself bravely, but as a confirmed enthusiast, even on the scaffold. He would not avail himself of the spiritual advice of any minister or confessor; but having read Ronsard’s Hymn on Death, he turned towards the place where he supposed the Queen was, and exclaimed in an unfaltering voice, “Farewell, loveliest and most cruel Princess whom the world contains!” He then, with the utmost composure, laid his head upon the block, and submitted, with all resignation, to his fate.[73]

Mary remained at St Andrews till the middle of April, when she removed to Loch Leven, where she had better opportunities of enjoying her favourite amusements of hunting and hawking. She went thither in considerable grief, occasioned by the news she had lately received from France, of the death of two of her uncles, the Duke of Guise, and the Grand Prior. The former had been barbarously assassinated at the siege of Orleans, by a Protestant bigot of the name of Poltrot; and the latter had been fatally wounded at the battle of Dreux. Alluding triumphantly to the murder of the Duke of Guise, Knox expressed himself in these words, “God has stricken that bloody tyrant.” This enmity to the House of Guise, which Knox carried even beyond the grave, was now no novelty. Some months before, he had taken occasion to preach a severe sermon against Mary and her friends, in consequence of an entertainment she gave at Holyrood, upon receiving news of her uncles’ successes in the French civil wars. Mary had, in consequence, sent for Knox a second time, when he repeated to her the principal part of his sermon, in a manner which made it appear not quite so obnoxious as she had been induced to believe. She had then the magnanimity to tell him, that though his words were sharp, she would not blame him for having no good opinion of her uncles, as they and he were of a different religion. She only wished that he would not publicly misrepresent them, without sufficient evidence upon which to ground his charges. Knox left Mary, “with a reasonable merry countenance,” and some one observing it, remarked, “He is not afraid!” Knox’s answer is characteristic, and does him credit, “Why should the pleasing face of a gentlewoman affray me? I have looked in the faces of many angry men, and yet have not been afraid above measure.”

The third time that Knox was admitted into Mary’s presence was at Loch Leven. This, as indeed every interview she had with the celebrated Reformer, and she had only four, exhibits her character in a very favourable point of view. It appears, that whilst the Queen reserved for herself the right of celebrating mass in her own chapel, it was prohibited throughout the rest of the kingdom. Some instances had occurred in which this prohibition had been disregarded; and upon these occasions the over-zealous Protestants had not scrupled to take the law into their own hands. Mary wished to convince Knox of the impropriety of this interference. He thought it necessary to defend his brethren; but his answer to the Queen’s simple question,—“Will ye allow that they shall take my sword in their hands?”—though laboured, is quite inconclusive. That “the sword of justice is God’s,” may be a very good apopthegm, but would be a dangerous precept upon which to form a practical rule in the government of a state. Mary, however, knowing by experience that it was hopeless to attempt to change Knox’s sentiments, and not wishing to enter into an argument with him, passed to other matters. Though she disliked the rudeness of his manners, she had a respect for the unbending Stoicism of his principles; and having too much good sense to hold any one responsible for the peculiarities of his belief, she could not help persuading herself, that she would finally soften the asperity of those with whom she disagreed, only upon articles of faith. With this view, she conversed with Knox upon various confidential matters, and actually did succeed in winning for the moment the personal favour of her stern adversary. “This interview,” observes Dr M’Crie, “shows how far Mary was capable of dissembling, what artifice she could employ, and what condescensions she could make, when she was bent on accomplishing a favourite object.” There is something very uncharitable in the construction thus put upon the Queen’s conduct. She had, no doubt, a favourite object in view; but that object was mutual reconcilement, and the establishment, as far as in her lay, of reciprocal feelings of forbearance and good will among all classes of her subjects. The “artifice” she used, consisted merely in the urbanity of her manners, and her determination to avoid all violence, in return for the violence which had been exhibited towards herself.

Soon after this conference, Mary went to Edinburgh, to open in person the first Parliament which had been held since her return to Scotland. Its session continued only from the 26th of May, to the 24th of June 1563; but during that short period, business of some importance was transacted. The Queen on the first day rode to the Parliament House in her robes of state,—the Duke of Chatelherault carrying the crown, the Earl of Argyle the sceptre, and the Earl of Murray the sword.[74] She was present on three or four occasions afterwards; but on the first day she made a speech to the representatives of her people, which was received with enthusiastic applause. This applause was wormwood to Knox, who, with even more than his usual discourtesy towards a sex whom he seems to have despised, says,—“Such stinking pride of women as was seen at that Parliament, was never before seen in Scotland.” He was heartily borne out in his vituperations by the rest of the preachers. The rich attire which Mary and the ladies of her court chose to wear, were abominations in their eyes. They held forth to their respective flocks against the “superfluity of their clothes,” the “targeting of their tails,” and “the rest of their vanity.” It was enough, they said, “to draw down God’s wrath not only upon these foolish women, but upon the whole realm.” At this Parliament the Earldoms of Huntly and Sutherland were declared forfeited; an act was passed for preventing any one from summoning the lieges together without the Queen’s consent; some judicious legislative measures of a domestic nature were established; and an act of oblivion for all acts done from the 6th of March 1558, to the first of September 1561, was unanimously carried. This act of oblivion was declared to have no reference whatever to a similar act sanctioned by the Treaty of Edinburgh, the ratification of which was expressly avoided by the Queen. Its object, how—was precisely the same,—namely, to secure the Reformers against any disagreeable consequences which might arise out of the violences they committed during the first heat of the Reformation.

An act of oblivion thus obtained as a free gift from Mary, and not as a consequence of his favourite Treaty of Edinburgh, was by no means agreeable to Knox. He assembled some of the leading Members of Parliament, and urged upon them the necessity of forcing from the Queen a ratification of this treaty. Even the Protestant Lords, however, felt how unjust such a demand would be. The Earl of Murray himself, one of Knox’s oldest and staunchest friends, refused to ask Mary to take this step. Knox, in consequence, solemnly renounced Murray’s friendship, and a coldness subsisted between them for nearly two years. Foiled in his object, the Reformer had recourse to his usual mode of revenge. He preached another “thundering sermon.” The object of this sermon was to convince the people, that as soon as a Parliament was assembled, they had the Queen in their power to make her do what they chose. “And is this the thankfulness that ye render unto your God,” said he, “to betray his cause, when ye have it in your hands to establish it as you please?” Before concluding, he adverted to the report that her Majesty would soon be married, and called upon the nobility, if they regarded the safety of their country, to prevent her from forming an alliance with a Papist.

“Protestants as well as Papists,” says Knox’s biographer, “were offended with the freedom of this sermon, and some who had been most familiar with the preacher, now shunned his company.” There must have been something more than usually bitter and unjust in a discourse which produced such results. It was the occasion of the last and most memorable interview which the Reformer had with Mary. As soon as she was made acquainted with the manner in which he had attacked her, she summoned him to her presence. He was accompanied to the palace by Lord Ochiltree, and some other gentlemen; but John Erskine of Dun, a man of a mild and gentle temper, was the only one allowed to enter Mary’s apartment along with Knox. The Reformer found his Queen in considerable agitation. She told him she did not believe any prince had ever submitted to the usage she had experienced from him. “I have borne with you,” she said, “in all your rigorous manner of speaking, both against myself, and against my uncles; yea, I have sought your favour by all possible means; I offered unto ye presence and audience whensoever it pleased ye to admonish me; and yet I cannot be quit of you.” She then passionately burst into tears, so that, as Knox says with apparent satisfaction, they could scarce “get handkerchiefs to hold her eyes dry; for the tears and the howling, besides womanly weeping, stayed her speech.” The preacher, when he was allowed to speak, complacently assured her Majesty that when it pleased God to deliver her from that bondage of darkness and error wherein she had been nourished, she would not find the liberty of his tongue offensive. He added, that in the pulpit he was not his own master, but the servant of Him who commanded that he should speak plain, and flatter no flesh upon the face of the earth. Mary told him that she did not wish for his flattery, but begged to know what rank he held in the kingdom to entitle him to interfere with her marriage. Knox, whose self-esteem seldom forsook him, replied, that though neither an Earl, Lord, nor Baron, he was a profitable and useful member of the commonwealth, and that it became him to teach her nobility, who were too partial towards her, their duty. “Therefore, Madam,” he continued, “to yourself I say that which I spake in public: whensoever the nobility of this realm shall be content, and consent that you be subject to an unlawful husband, they do as much as in them lies to remove Christ, to banish the truth, to betray the freedom of this realm, and perchance shall in the end do small comfort to yourself.” Language so unwarranted and uncalled for again drew tears from Mary, and Erskine, affected by her grief, attempted to soften down its harshness. Knox looked on with an unaltered countenance, and comparing his Sovereign to his own children, when he saw occasion to chastise them, he said,—“Madam, in God’s presence I speak. I never delighted in the weeping of any of God’s creatures; yea, I can scarcely well abide the tears of mine own boys, when mine own hands correct them. Much less can I rejoice in your Majesty’s weeping; but, seeing I have offered unto ye no just occasion to be offended, but have spoken the truth as my vocation craves of me, I must sustain your Majesty’s tears, rather than dare hurt my conscience, or betray the commonwealth by silence.” That he might not be longer under the necessity of sustaining tears he could so ill abide, Mary commanded him to leave her presence, and wait her pleasure in the adjoining room.

Here his friends who were expecting him, and who had overheard some of the conversation which had just taken place, perceiving how much he had excited the Queen’s just indignation, would hardly acknowledge him. In his own words, “he stood as one whom men had never seen.” His confidence, however, did not forsake him. Observing Mary’s maids of honour seated together, and richly dressed, he took the opportunity, that he might not lose his time, of giving them also some gratuitous advice. “Fair ladies,” he said with a smile, “how pleasant were this life of yours, if it should ever abide, and then in the end that we might pass to heaven with this gear: but fy upon that knave, Death, that will come whether we will or not; and when he has laid on the arrest, then foul worms will be busy with this flesh, be it never so fair and so tender; and the silly soul I fear shall be so feeble, that it can neither carry with it gold, garnishing, targeting, pearl, nor precious stones.” Shortly afterwards Erskine, who had somewhat pacified the Queen, came to inform him that he was allowed to go home.[75]

As the Queen and Knox came just once more into public contact, and that only a few weeks after the date of the above interview, it may be as well to terminate our interference with the affairs of the Reformer in this place. The Queen having gone to Stirling, a disturbance took place one Sunday during her absence at the Chapel of Holyrood. Some of her domestics and Catholic retainers, had assembled for the celebration of worship, after the form of the Romish Church. The Presbyterians were at the time dispensing in Edinburgh the Sacrament of the Supper, and were consequently more zealous than usual in support of their own cause. Hearing of the Catholic practices carried on at Holyrood, they proceeded thither in a body, burst into the Chapel, and drove the priests from the altar. To quell the riot, the Comptroller of the Household was obliged to obtain the assistance of the Magistrates, and even then it was not without difficulty that the godly were prevailed upon to disperse. Two of their number, who had been more violent than the rest, had indictments served upon them for “forethought felony, hamesucken, and invasion of the Palace.” Knox and his friends determined to save these two men from punishment, at whatever risk. The means they adopted to effect their purpose were of the most seditious kind. It was determined to overawe the judges by displaying the power of the accused; and with this view, Knox wrote circular letters to all the principal persons of his persuasion, requesting them to crowd to Edinburgh on the day of trial. He thus assumed to himself the prerogative of calling Mary’s subjects together, in direct opposition to one of the acts of the late Parliament. When those letters were shown to the Queen, and her Privy Council, at Stirling, they were unanimously pronounced treasonable, and Knox was summoned to appear before a convention of nobles, to be held in Edinburgh a few weeks afterwards, for the purpose of trying him. It was, however, intimated to him, that as the Queen wished to be lenient, if he would acknowledge his fault, and throw himself upon her mercy, little or no punishment would be awarded. He obstinately refused to make the slightest concession, and in consequence nearly lost the friendship of Lord Herries, with whom he had been long intimate.

On the day of trial, public curiosity was much excited to know the result. The Lords assembled in the Council Chamber at Holyrood; the Queen took her seat at the head of the table, and Knox stood uncovered at the foot. The proceedings were opened by Secretary Maitland, who stated the grounds of the accusation, and explained in what manner the law had been infringed. Knox made a declamatory and very unsatisfactory reply. The substance of his defence was, that there were lawful and unlawful convocations of the people, and that, as the Act of Parliament could not apply to the assembling of his congregation every Sunday, neither could he be held to have transgressed it by writing letters to the heads of his church, calling them together upon a matter of vital importance to their religion. The sophistry of this reasoning was easily seen through. It was answered for the Queen, that his sermons were sanctioned by Government, and that their tendency was supposed to be peaceable; but that the direct purpose of the letters in question was to exasperate the minds of the lieges. One passage, in particular was read, in which Knox said, alluding to the two persons who were indicted,—“This fearful summons is directed against them, to make, no doubt, a preparative on a few, that a door may be opened to execute cruelty upon a greater multitude.” “Is it not treason, my Lords,” said Mary, “to accuse a Prince of cruelty? I think there be acts of Parliament against such whisperers.” Knox endeavoured to evade the force of this remark by a very evident quibble. “Madam,” he said, “cast up when you list the acts of your Parliament, I have offended nothing against them; for I accuse not in my letter your Grace, nor yet your nature, of cruelty. But I affirm yet again, that the pestilent Papists who have inflamed your Grace against those poor men at this present, are the sons of the Devil, and therefore must obey the desires of their father, who has been a liar and a man-slayer from the beginning.” More words were spoken on both sides, but nothing further was advanced that bore directly upon the subject in hand. It is worthy of notice, however, that Knox, in the course of his defence, actually forgot himself so far as to institute a comparison between Mary and the Roman Nero. At length, having been fully heard, he was ordered to retire, and after some discussion, the vote of guilty or not guilty was put to the nobles. There being a considerable preponderance of Protestant lords at the meeting, it was carried that Knox had not committed any breach of the laws. He evinces his triumph on this occasion by remarking spitefully in his History,—“That night was neither dancing nor fiddling in the Court; for Madam was disappointed of her purpose, whilk was to have had John Knox in her will by vote of her nobility.” His acquittal certainly disappointed Mary; but it only served to convince her more and more, that bigotry and justice were incompatible.

Before concluding this chapter, one of the peculiarities of the Scottish Reformer’s mind deserves to be noticed. That he was a strong thinker and a bold man, cannot be denied; yet, as has been before remarked, he himself confesses that he was much addicted to superstition. This weakness, if real, lowers him considerably in the scale of intellect; and, if affected, proves that, amidst all the pretensions of his new doctrines, he still retained a taint of priestly craft. Alluding to the year of which we speak, (1563), he has incorporated into his History the following remarkable passage. “God from Heaven, and upon the face of the earth, gave declaration that he was offended at the iniquity that was committed even within this realm; for upon the 20th day of January, there fell wet in great abundance, which in the falling freezed so vehemently, that the earth was but one sheet of ice. The fowls both great and small freezed, and could not fly; many died, and some were taken and laid before the fire, that their feathers might resolve; and in that same month the sea stood still, as was clearly observed, and neither ebbed nor flowed the space of twenty-four hours. In the month of February, the fifteenth and eighteenth days thereof, were seen in the firmament battles arrayed, spears and other weapons, and as it had been the joining of two armies. These things were not only observed, but also spoken and constantly affirmed by men of judgement and credit. But the Queen and our Court made merry.”[76] It would thus appear, that Knox’s mind was either a strange compound of strength and imbecility, courage and fear, sound sense and superstition, or that duplicity was more a part of his character than is generally supposed.

CHAPTER XI.

THE DOMESTIC LIFE OF MARY, WITH SOME ANECDOTES OF ELIZABETH.

The summer and autumn of the year 1563, were spent by Mary in making various excursions through the country. She had not yet visited the west and south-west of Scotland. Shortly after the rising of Parliament, she set out for Glasgow, and from thence went on to Dumbarton and Loch-Lomond. In the neighbourhood of its romantic scenery, she spent some days, and then crossed over to Inverary, where she visited her natural sister, the Countess of Argyle, to whom she was much attached. Upon leaving Inverary, she passed over the Argyleshire hills, and came down upon the Clyde at Dunoon. Following the course of the river, she next visited Toward Castle, near the entrance of the Bay of Rothesay. Here she crossed the Frith of Clyde, and landing in Ayrshire, spent several weeks in this Arcadian district of Scotland. She then went into Galloway, and before her return to Edinburgh, visited Dumfries, and other towns in the south. Her next excursion was to Stirling, Callander, and Dumblane, in the neighbourhood of which places she remained till late in the season. The earlier part of 1564, she spent at Perth, Falkland, and St Andrews; and in the autumn of this year, she again went as far north as Inverness, and from thence into Ross-shire. “The object of that distant journey,” says Chalmers, “was not then known, and cannot be completely ascertained.” “She repassed through the country of the Gordons, which had once been held out as so frightful. She remained a night at Gartley, where there is still a ruined castle, and the parish whereof belongs even now to the Duke of Gordon. She rode forward to Aberdeen, without seeing Huntly’s ghost, and went thence to Dunnottar, where she remained a night, and thence, proceeding along the coast road, to Dundee. She then crossed the Tay into Fife, and diverging for a few days to St Andrews, she returned to Edinburgh about the 26th of September, after an absence of two months.”

As we are speedily to enter upon a new and more bustling, though not a happier period, of Mary’s life, we should wish to avail ourselves of the present opportunity, to convey to the reader some notion of her domestic habits and amusements, and how, when left to herself, she best liked to fill up her time. The affability and gentleness of her manners, had endeared her even more than her personal attractions, to all who frequented her court. She had succeeded, by the firm moderation of her measures, not only in giving a more than ordinary degree of popularity to her government, but, by the polished amenity of her bearing, her powers of conversation, and varied accomplishments, she had imparted to the court of Holyrood a refinement and elegance we in vain look for under the reign of any of her predecessors. There is a vast difference between an over-degree of luxuriousness and a due attention to the graces. Under the influence of the former, a nation becomes effeminate, and addicted to every species of petty vice; under that of the latter, its characteristic virtues are called only more efficiently into action. The tree is not the less valuable divested of its rugged bark. It is to the example set by Mary, that we are to attribute, in a great degree, that improvement in the manners and feelings of Scotch society, which speedily placed this country more upon a par with the rest of civilized Europe. Had the precepts of John Knox been strictly followed, the blue bonnets of a rigid, unbending Presbyterianism would probably to this day have decorated the heads of two-thirds of the population. A scarcity which prevailed about the commencement of the year 1564, drew from this stern Reformer the assertion, that “the riotous feasting and excessive banqueting used in city and country, wheresoever the profane Court repaired, provoked God to strike the staff of bread, and to give his maledictions upon the fruits of the earth.” Mary judged differently of the effects produced by these “profane banquetings,”—and so will the political economists of more modern times.

It was only, after the performance of duties of a severer kind, that Mary indulged in recreation. She sat some hours regularly every day with her Privy Council; and, with her work-table beside her and her needle in her hand, she heard and offered opinions upon the various affairs of State. To the poor of every description, she was, like her mother, exceedingly attentive; and she herself benevolently superintended the education of a number of poor children. To direct and distribute her charities, two ecclesiastics were appointed her elcemosynars; and they, under her authority, obtained money from the Treasurer in all cases of necessity. She gave an annual salary also to an advocate for the poor, who conducted the causes of such as were unable to bear the expenses of a lawsuit; and to secure proper attention for these causes, she not unfrequently took her seat upon the bench when they came to be heard. Her studies were extensive and regular. She was well versed in history, of which she read a great deal. Every day after dinner she devoted an hour or two to the perusal of some Latin classic, particularly Livy, under the superintendence of George Buchanan. In reward for his services, she gave him the revenue of the Abbey of Crossraguel in Ayrshire, worth about 500l. a year. This grant was probably made at the request of the Earl of Murray, who was Buchanan’s patron, and to whom he always considered himself more indebted than to the Queen. Buchanan, whose talents for controversial writing it was foreseen might be useful, had also a pension of 100l. a year from Elizabeth. Mary had a competent knowledge of astronomy and geography; and her library in the Palace of Holyrood contained, among other things, two globes, which were at that time considered curiosities in Scotland,—“the ane of the heavin, and the uther of the earth.” She had, besides, several maps, and a few pictures, in particular portraits of her father, her mother, her husband Francis II., and Montmorency. Being fond of all sorts of exercises, she frequently received ambassadors and others, to whom she gave audience, in the Palace gardens. She had two of these,—the southern and the northern; and, not contented with their more limited range, she often extended her walk through the King’s Park, and sometimes even along the brow of Salisbury Crags or Arthur Seat. She had gardens and parks attached to all her principal residences throughout Scotland,—at Linlithgow,—at Stirling,—at Falkland,—at Perth,—and at St Andrews. It was in one of her gardens at Holyrood that she planted a sycamore she had brought with her from France, and which, becoming in time a large and valuable tree, was an object of curiosity and admiration even in our own day. It was blown down only about ten years ago, and its wood was eagerly sought after, to be made into trinkets and costly relics.

To her female followers and friends, Mary was ever attentive and kind. For her four Maries, her companions from infancy, she retained her affection during all the vicissitudes of her fortune. At the period of which we write, she still enjoyed the society of all of them; but Mary Fleming afterwards became the wife of Secretary Maitland, and Mary Livingstone of Lord Semple. Mary Beaton and Mary Seaton remained unmarried. Madame de Pinguillon, who had come with the Queen from France, and to whom she was extremely partial, continued in her service for several years, her husband being appointed Master of the Household. They both returned to their own country when the troubles in Scotland began. There were many other ladies belonging to the court, whose names possess no interest, because unconnected with any of the events of history.

Mary’s establishment was by no means expensive or extraordinary. She does not appear to have had so great a variety of dresses as Elizabeth, yet she was not ill provided either. Her common wearing gowns, as long as she continued in mourning, which was till the day of her second marriage, were made either of camlet, or damis, or serge of Florence, bordered with black velvet. Her riding-habits were mostly of serge of Florence, stiffened in the neck and body with buckram, and trimmed with lace and ribands. In the matter of shoes and stockings, she seems to have been remarkably well supplied. She had thirty-six pair of velvet shoes, laced with gold and silver; she had ten pair of hose woven of gold, silver, and silk, and three pair woven of worsted of Guernsey. Silk stockings were then a rarity. The first pair worn in England were sent as a present from France to Elizabeth. Six pair of gloves of worsted of Guernsey are also mentioned in the catalogue, still existing, of Mary’s wardrobe. She was fond of tapestry, and had the walls of her chambers hung with the richest specimens of it she could bring from France. She had not much plate; but she had a profusion of rare and valuable jewels. Her cloth of gold, her Turkey carpets, her beds and coverlids, her table-cloths, her crystal, her chairs and foot-stools covered with velvet, and garnished with fringes, were all celebrated in the gossiping chronicles of the day.

The Scottish Queen’s amusements were varied, but not in general sedentary. She was, however, a chess-player, and anxious to make herself a mistress of that most intellectual of all games. Archery was one of her favourite out-of-door pastimes, and she indulged in it frequently in her gardens at Holyrood. She revived the ancient chivalric exercise of riding at the ring, making her nobles contend against each other; and crowds frequently collected on the sands at Leith to witness their trials of skill. Tournaments Mary did not so much like, because they tempted the courageous to what she thought unnecessary danger; and when obliged to be present at them in France, it was remarked, that her superior delicacy of feeling always marred her enjoyment, from the anticipation that they might end in bloodshed. These sentiments were probably strengthened by the unfortunate manner in which Henry II. met his death. The now almost obsolete, but then fashionable and healthful amusement of hawking, was much esteemed by Mary. Her attachment to it was hereditary, for both her father and grandfather were passionately fond of it. James V. kept a master-falconer, who had seven others under him. In 1562, hawks of an approved kind were brought for Mary from Orkney; and in the same year, she sent a present of some of them to Elizabeth. To riding and hunting, as has been already seen, Mary had long been partial.

Within doors, Mary found an innocent gratification in dancing, masquings, and music. She was herself, as has been seen, a most graceful dancer, moving, according to Melville, “not so high, nor so disposedly,” as Elizabeth; by which we may understand that she danced, as they who have been taught in France usually do, with greater ease and self-possession, or, in other words, with less effort—less consciousness that she was overcoming a difficulty in keeping time, and executing the steps and evolutions of the dance. The masques and mummeries, which were occasionally got up, were novelties in Scotland, and excited the anger of the Reformers, though it is difficult to tell why. Randolph, describing a feast at which he was present in 1564, mentions that, at the first course, some one, representing Cupid, made his appearance, and sung, with a chorus, some Italian verses; at the second, “a fair young maid” sung a few Latin verses; and at the third, a figure dressed as Time concluded the mummery, with some wholesome piece of morality. Upon other occasions, several of which will be alluded to afterwards, masques were performed upon a more extensive scale. These amusements were seldom or never allowed to degenerate into dissipation, by being protracted to untimely hours. Mary was always up before eight o’clock;—she supped at seven, and was seldom out of bed after ten.[77]