Life of Mary Queen of Scots, Volume 1 (of 2)

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 - Knox, p. 320. – Buchanan’s History, Book xvii. – Chalmers, vol. i. p. 95, and vol. ii. p. 309, whose authority is a letter of Randolph, preserved in the Paper Office, and written the evening of the very day on which the battle took place. Randolph, though not on the field himself, had two servants there, and saw the dead body of the Earl, when it was brought into Aberdeen. Robertson and others have said, that Huntly, who was very corpulent, was slain on the field, or trodden to death in the pursuit. Chalmers, however, has truth on his side, when he remarks, that “Doctor Robertson, who never saw those instructive letters (of Randolph), grossly misrepresents the whole circumstances of that affair at Corrachie; he says, ‘Huntly advanced with a considerable force towards Aberdeen, and filled the Queen’s small court with the utmost consternation; and that Murray had only a handful of men in whom he could confide; but, by his steady courage and prudent conduct, gained a miraculous victory.’ For the assertion of Murray’s having only a handful of men, he quotes Keith, p. 230, in which there is not one word of the force at Corrachie on either side. The force there spoken of is what the Queen had about her two months before on her first progress into the North, not on her return to Aberdeen, after new troops had been raised, and old ones summoned to that premeditated and barbarous scene.” Knox is also a better authority upon this subject than Robertson. He gives the following curious account of the Earl’s death and subsequent fate: – “The Earl, immediately after his taking, departed this life, without any wound, or yet appearance of any stroke, whereof death might have ensued; and so, because it was late, he was cast over athwart a pair of creels, and so was carried to Aberdeen, and was laid in the tolbooth thereof, that the response which his wife’s witches had given might be fulfilled, who all affirmed (as the most part say), that that same night he should be in the tolbooth of Aberdeen, without any wound upon his body. When his lady got knowledge thereof, she blamed her principal witch, called Janet; but she stoutly defended herself (as the Devil can ever do), and affirmed that she gave a true answer, albeit she spoke not all the truth; for she knew that he should be there dead.” Knox, p. 328. “It is a memorable fact,” Chalmers elsewhere remarks, “that Huntly and Sutherland” (who was forfeited soon afterwards, as implicated in this pretended rebellion) “were two of those nobles who had sent Bishop Lesley to France, with offers of duty and services to the Queen, while Murray, Maitland, and other considerable men offered their duties and services to Elizabeth.”]

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 - Randolph in Keith, p. 230.] 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 - Little did Mary then dream of Fotheringay.] 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 - In Buchanan’s Cameleon, a severe satire, written at the request of his patron the Earl of Murray, when that nobleman quarrelled with Secretary Maitland, we have the following ridiculous account of the secret motives which led to this disastrous northern expedition. “The Queen, by advice of her uncles, devised to destroy the Earl of Murray, thinking him to be a great bridle to refrain her appetites, and impediment to live at liberty of her pleasure; not that he ever used any violence anent her, but that his honesty was so great that she was ashamed to attempt any thing indecent in his presence. She, then, being deliberate to destroy him, by the Earl of Huntly, went to the north and he in her company; and howbeit the treason was opened plainly, and John Gordon lying not far off the town (Aberdeen) with a great power, and the Earl of Murray expressly lodged in a house separate from all other habitation, and his death by divers ways sought, – this Cameleon (Maitland) whether for simpleness or for lack of foresight, or for boldness of courage, I refer to every man’s conscience that doth know him, he alone could see no treason, could fear no danger, and could never believe that the Earl of Huntly would take on hand such an enterprise.” This statement, while it gives some notion of the dependence to be placed on Buchanan’s accuracy when influenced by party feelings, betrays, at the same time, the important secret, that Maitland saw and felt the injustice of Huntly’s persecution. – Buchanan’s Cameleon, p. 9.]

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 - Brantome in Jebb, p. 495, & seq. – Chalmers, vol. i. p. 101. – Freebairn, p. 25 – and Histoire de Marie Stuart, tom. i. p. 210. Knox, as usual, gives a highly indecorous and malicious account of this affair, his drift being to make his readers believe (though he does not to venture to say so in direct terms) that Mary had first tempted, and then betrayed Chatelard; and that she was anxious to have him despatched secretly, that he might not stain her honour by a public confession. If such were really the fact, it is odd that Chatelard should have been brought to a scaffold, which was surrounded by thousands, and that, even according to Knox himself, he said nothing relating to Mary but what is narrated in the text. – Vide Knox’s History, p. 325.]

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 - Chalmers, in his account of the opening of this Parliament, seems to have committed an error. He says, (vol. i. p. 105.) “The Queen came to Parliament in her robes and was crowned.” That any coronation took place, is not at all likely. Chalmers surely had forgotten that Mary was crowned at Stirling by Cardinal Beaton just twenty years before. There was no reason why the ceremony should have been repeated. Chalmers’ mistake is probably founded upon the following passage, in a letter of Randolph’s, quoted by Keith, p. 239 – “The Parliament began 26th May, on which day the Queen came to it in her robes and crowned.” The word was is an interpolation of Chalmers. But as Randolph goes on immediately to say, – “The Duke carried the crown, Argyle the sceptre, &c.,” Chalmers probably thought Mary could not at the same time wear the crown. But the crown of state, carried upon state occasions, was no doubt different from the crown made expressly to be worn by the reigning Queen. Buchanan puts the matter beyond a doubt, for he says explicitly; – “The Queen, with the crown on her head, and in her royal robes, went in great pomp to the Parliament House – a new sight to many.” Buchanan’s History, Book xvii.] 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 - Knox’s History of the Reformation, p. 332 et seq.]

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 - Knox, p. 345.] 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 - Keith, p. 206 and 249. – Chalmers, vol. i. p. 65, et seq. – Whittaker, vol. iii, p. 334. – Miss Benger, vol. ii, p. 145, et seq.]

The Queen’s taste in music had been cultivated from her earliest years. When almost an infant she had minstrels attached to her establishment. On her return to Scotland, she had a small band of about a dozen musicians – vocal and instrumental – whom she kept always near her person. Five of these were violars, or players on the viol;[78 - These violars were all Scotchmen, and two of them were of the name of Dow, – “a name,” says Chalmers, “consecrated to music.” Having never heard of this consecration before, we think it not unlikely that Chalmers has mistaken Dow for Gow. Vide Chalmers, vol. ii. p. 72.] three of them were players on the lute; one or two of them were organists, but the organs in the chapels at Stirling and Holyrood were the only ones which had been saved from the fury of the Reformers; and the rest were singers, who also acted as chalmer-chields, or valets-de-chambre. Mary could herself play upon the lute and virginals, and loved to hear concerted music upon all occasions. She even introduced into her religious worship a military band, in aid of the organ, consisting of trumpet, drum, fife, bagpipe, and tabor.

It was as one skilled in music that David Rizzio first recommended himself to Mary. He came to Edinburgh towards the end of the year 1561, in the train of the ambassador from Savoy. He was a Piedmontese by birth, and had received a good education. His father was a respectable professional musician in Turin, who, having a large family, had sent his two sons, David and Joseph, to push their own way in Nice, at the court of the Duke of Savoy. They were both noticed at that court, and were taken into the service of the Duke of Moretto, the ambassador already mentioned. The knowledge which David Rizzio possessed of music, says a French writer, was the least of his talents: He had a polished and ready wit, a lively imagination, full of pleasant fancies, soft and winning manners, abundance of courage, and still more assurance. “He was,” says Melville, “a merry fallow, and a guid musician.” He was, moreover, abundantly ugly, and past the meridian of life, as attested by all cotemporary writers of any authority. His brother, Joseph, is scarcely mentioned in history, though it appears that he also attached himself to Mary’s Court. At the time of David’s arrival, the Queen’s three pages, or sangsters, who used to sing trios for her, wanted a fourth as a bass. Rizzio was recommended, and he received the appointment, together with a salary of 80l. Being not only by far the most scientific musician in the Queen’s household, but likewise well acquainted both with French and Italian, Rizzio contrived to make himself generally useful. In 1564 he was appointed Mary’s French secretary, and in this situation he continued till his death.[79 - Jebb, vol. ii. p. 202. Chalmers, vol. i. p. 95, and vol. ii. p. 156. Tytler’s Enquiry, vol. ii. p. 4 et seq.; Histoire de Marie Stuart, p. 218; and Laing, vol. i. p. 10.]

An amusing peep into the interior of both the Scots and English Courts, afforded by Sir James Melville, will form an appropriate conclusion to this chapter. Sir James returned from the Continent to Scotland in May 1564. He found the Queen at St Johnstone; and she, aware of his fidelity, requested him to give up thoughts of going back to France, where he had been promised preferment. “She was so affable,” says he, “so gracious and discreet, that she won great estimation, and the hearts of many both in England and Scotland, and mine among the rest; so that I thought her more worthy to be served for little profit, than any other prince in Europe for great commodity.” But Mary had too proud a spirit to submit to be served for nothing. She was by nature liberal almost to a fault. Out of her French dowry she settled upon Melville a pension of a thousand marks, and in addition, she begged him to accept of the heritage of the lands of Auchtermuchty, near Falkland. These he refused, as he was unwilling that she should dismember, on his account, her own personal property; but they were subsequently given to some one less scrupulous. Sir James was soon afterwards sent by Mary on an embassy to Elizabeth, principally for the sake of expediting some matters connected with Mary’s intended matrimonial arrangements.

The morning after his arrival in London, he was admitted to an audience by Elizabeth, whom he found pacing in an alley in her garden. The business upon which he came being arranged satisfactorily, Melville was favourably and familiarly treated by the English Queen. He remained at her Court nearly a fortnight, and conversed with her Majesty every day, sometimes thrice on the same day. Sir James, who was a shrewd observer, had thus an opportunity of remarking the many weaknesses and vanities which characterized Elizabeth. In allusion to her extreme love of power, he ventured to say to her, when she informed him she never intended to marry, “Madam, you need not tell me that; I know your stately stomach. You think, if you were married, you would be but Queen of England; and now you are King and Queen both; you may not suffer a commander.” Elizabeth was fortunately not offended at this freedom. She took Sir James, upon one occasion, into her bedchamber, and opened a little case, in which were several miniature pictures. The pretence was to show him a likeness of Mary, but her real object was, that he should observe in her possession a miniature of her favourite the Earl of Leicester, upon which she had written with her own hand, “My Lord’s picture.” When Melville made this discovery, Elizabeth affected a little amiable confusion. “I held the candle,” says Sir James, “and pressed to see my Lord’s picture; albeit she was loth to let me see it; at length, I by importunity obtained the sight thereof, and asked the same to carry home with me unto the Queen; which she refused, alleging she had but that one of his.” At another time, Elizabeth talked with Sir James of the different costumes of different countries. She told him she had dresses of many sorts; and she appeared in a new one every day during his continuance at Court. Sometimes she dressed after the English, sometimes after the French, and sometimes after the Italian fashion. She asked Sir James which he thought became her best. He said the Italian, “whilk pleasit her weel; for she delighted to show her golden coloured hair, wearing a kell and bonnet as they do in Italy. Her hair was redder than yellow, and apparently of nature.” Elizabeth herself seems to have been quite contented with its hue, for she very complacently asked Sir James, whether she or Mary had the finer hair? Sir James having replied as politely as possible, she proceeded to inquire which he considered the more beautiful? The ambassador quaintly answered, that the beauty of either was not her worst fault. This evasion would not serve; though Melville, for many sufficient reasons, was unwilling to say any thing more definite. He told her that she was the fairest queen in England, and Mary the fairest in Scotland. Still this was not enough. Sir James ventured, therefore, one step farther. “They were baith,” he said, “the fairest ladies of their courts, and that the Queen of England was whiter, but our Queen was very lusome.” Elizabeth next asked which of them was of highest stature? Sir James told her the Queen of Scots. “Then she said the Queen was over heigh, and that herself was neither over heigh nor over laigh. Then she askit what kind of exercises she used. I said, that as I was dispatchit out of Scotland, the Queen was but new come back from the Highland hunting; and that when she had leisure frae the affairs of her country, she read upon guid buiks the histories of divers countries; and sometimes would play upon the lute and virginals. She spearit gin she played weel; I said, raisonably for a Queen.”

This account of Mary’s accomplishments piqued Elizabeth’s vanity, and determined her to give Melville some display of her own. Accordingly, next day one of the Lords in waiting took him to a quiet gallery, where, as if by chance, he might hear the Queen play upon the virginals. After listening a little, Melville perceived well enough that he might take the liberty of entering the chamber whence the music came. Elizabeth coquettishly left off as soon as she saw him, and, coming forward, tapped him with her hand, and affected to feel ashamed of being caught, declaring that she never played before company, but only when alone to keep off melancholy. Melville made her a flattering speech, protesting that the music he had heard was of so exquisite a kind, that it had irresistibly drawn him into the room. Elizabeth, who does not seem to have thought as people are usually supposed to do in polite society, that “comparisons are odious,” could not rest satisfied, without putting, as usual, the question, whether Mary or she played best? Melville gave the English Queen the palm. Being now in good humour, she resolved that Sir James should have a specimen of her learning, which it is well known degenerated too much into pedantry. She praised his French, asking if he could also speak Italian, which, she said, she herself spoke reasonably well. She spoke to him also in Dutch; but Sir James says it was not good. Afterwards, she insisted upon his seeing her dance; and when her performance was over, she put the old question, whether she or Mary danced best. Melville answered, – “The Queen dancit not so high and disposedly as she did.” Melville returned to Scotland, “convinced in his judgment,” as he says, “that in Elizabeth’s conduct there was neither plain-dealing nor upright meaning, but great dissimulation, emulation, and fear that Mary’s princely qualities should too soon chase her out, and displace her from the kingdom.”

Sir James, by way of contrast, concludes this subject with the following interesting account of Mary’s well-won popularity, prudence, modesty, and good sense. “The Queen’s Majesty, as I have said, after her returning out of France to Scotland, behaved herself so princely, so honourably and discreetly, that her reputation spread in all countries; and she was determined, and also inclined to continue in that kind of comeliness even to the end of her life, desiring to hold none in her company, but such as were of the best quality and conversation, abhorring all vices and vicious persons, whether they were men or women; and she requested me to assist her in giving her my good counsel how she might use the meetest means to advance her honest intention; and in case she, being yet young, might forget herself in any unseemly gesture or behaviour, that I would warn her thereof with my admonition, to forbear and reform the same. Which commission I refused altogether; saying, that her virtuous actions, her natural judgment, and the great experience she had learned in the company of so many notable princes in the Court of France, had instructed her so well, and made her so able, as to be an example to all her subjects and servants. But she would not have it so, but said she knew that she had committed divers errors upon no evil meaning, for lack of the admonition of loving friends, because that the most part of courtiers commonly flatter princes, to win their favour, and will not tell them the verity, fearing to tine their favour; and therefore she adjured me and commanded me to accept that charge, which I said was a ruinous commission, willing her to lay that burden upon her brother, my Lord of Murray, and the Secretary Lethington; but she said that she would not take it in so good a part of them as of me. I said, I feared it would cause me, with time, to tine her favour; but she said it appeared I had an evil opinion of her constancy and discretion, which opinion, she doubted not, but I would alter, after that I had essayed the occupation of that friendly and familiar charge. In the meantime, she made me familiar with all her most urgent affairs; but chiefly in her dealing with any foreign nation. She showed unto me all her letters, and them that she received from other princes; and willed me to write unto such princes as I had acquaintance of, and to some of their counsellors; wherein I forgot not to set out her virtues, and would show her again their answers, and such occurrences as passed at the time between countries, to her great contentment. For she was of a quick spirit, and anxious to know and to get intelligence of the state of other countries; and would be sometimes sad when she was solitary, and glad of the company of them that had travelled in foreign parts.”[80 - Melville’s Memoirs, p. 110-30. The French historian Castelnau, speaks in exactly similar terms. When sent by the King of France as ambassador to Mary, “I found that princess,” he says, “in the flower of her age, esteemed and adored by her subjects, and sought after by all neighbouring states, in so much that there was no great fortune or alliance that she might not have aspired to, not only because she was the relation and successor of the Queen of England, but because she was endowed with more graces and perfection of beauty than any other princess of her time.” – Castelnau in Jebb, vol. ii. p. 460.]

This testimony in Mary’s favour, from a cotemporary author of so much respectability, is worth volumes of ordinary panegyrick.

CHAPTER XII.

MARY’S SUITORS, AND THE MACHINATIONS OF HER ENEMIES

Mary had now continued a widow for about three years, but certainly not from a want of advantageous offers. It was in her power to have formed almost any alliance she chose. There was not a court in Europe, where the importance of a matrimonial connexion with the Queen of Scotland, and heir-apparent to the English throne, was not acknowledged. Accordingly, ambassadors had found their way to Holyrood Palace from all parts of the Continent. The three most influential suitors were, the Duke of Anjou, brother of Mary’s late husband, Francis II., and afterwards King of France, on the death of his other brother, Charles IX. – the Archduke Charles of Austria, third son of the Emperor Ferdinand – and Don Carlos of Spain, heir-apparent to all the dominions of his father, Philip II. None of these personages, however, were destined to be successful. The death of the Duke of Guise, and the greater influence which consequently fell into the hands of Catharine de Medicis, made some alteration in the Duke of Anjou’s prospects, and diminished his interest with Mary. Besides, it was considered dangerous to marry the brother of a late husband. The Archduke Charles found, that his proposals to the Scottish Queen excited so much the jealousy of his elder brother, Maximilian, that it became necessary for him reluctantly to quit the field. It is not improbable that Don Carlos might have been listened to, had not Mary found it necessary, for reasons which will be mentioned immediately, to give up all thoughts of a Continental alliance. Had she married Carlos, she might have saved him from the untimely fate inflicted by parental cruelty in 1568.

Of all the sovereigns who at this time watched Mary’s intentions with the most jealous anxiety, none felt so deeply interested in the decision she might ultimately come to, as Elizabeth. To her, Mary’s marriage was a matter of the very last importance. If she connected herself with a powerful Catholic prince, her former claims upon the English throne might be renewed; and her Scottish armies, assisted by continental forces, might ultimately deprive Elizabeth of her crown. Even though Mary did not proceed to such extremities, if she had a Catholic husband, and more especially if there were any children of the marriage, all the Catholics of Europe would rally round her, and her power would be such, that her requests would be tantamount to commands. So far as Elizabeth’s own interests, and those of the kingdom over which she reigned, were involved, she was called upon to pay all due attention to the proceedings of so formidable a rival as Mary. But the English Queen’s selfish and invidious policy far over-stepped the limits marked out by the laws of self-defence. Having determined against marriage herself, she could not bear to think that the Queen of Scots should be any thing but a “barren stock” also. It made her miserable to know that her power should end with her life, whilst Mary might become the mother of a long line of kings. She hoped, therefore, though she did not dare to avow her object, to be able to exert such influence with Murray and the Scottish Reformers, that Mary, by their united machinations, might find it impossible ever to form another matrimonial alliance; and with this view her first step was to inform “her good sister,” that if she married without her consent, she would have little difficulty in prevailing upon the Parliament of England to set aside her succession.

Driven hither and thither by so many contrary opinions and contending interests, it was no easy matter for the Scottish Queen to come to a final determination upon this subject. Although, in her own words, “not to marry she knew could not be for her, and to defer it long many incommodities might ensue,” she at the same time saw that there were insuperable reasons against a foreign alliance. The loss of her best and most powerful continental friend, the Duke of Guise, was one of these; another was, the avowed wish of Elizabeth and the English nation; and the third, and that which weighed most forcibly, the earnest entreaties of her own subjects. The great proportion of the inhabitants of Scotland were now Protestants; and to have attempted to place over them a foreign Catholic Prince, would have been to have incurred the risk of throwing them at once into the arms of Elizabeth, and of losing their allegiance for ever. Mary was therefore willing to make a virtue of necessity, and to allow herself to be guided very much by “her good sister’s discretion.” This concession to the English Queen was far from being agreeable to Catharine de Medicis and the French Court. It seemed to be paving the way for a cessation of that friendship which had so long existed between France and Scotland. Catharine, altering her policy, began to treat Mary with every mark of attention. She paid up the dowry she received from France, which had fallen into arrears, and requested Mary to exercise as much patronage and influence in that country as she chose. Elizabeth, however, had already suggested a husband for her; and, to the astonishment of every body, had named her favourite minion, Dudley, Earl of Leicester. Though the proposal of one of her own subjects, and one too, whom she had raised from comparative obscurity, was regarded by Mary as little else than an insult, she agreed, that two commissioners upon her part, Murray and Maitland – should meet two of Elizabeth’s, the Duke of Bedford and Randolph, to discuss the expediency of the match. At the conference, which took place at Berwick, it was stated for Mary, that she could never condescend to marry a newly-created English Earl, having so long a list of princes of the blood-royal of the noblest houses of Europe among her suitors; and it was added, boldly, that Elizabeth seemed somewhat deficient even in self-respect, when she could think of recommending such a husband for a Queen, her kinswoman. It is not at all likely, that either Elizabeth, or the Earl of Leicester, expected or wished any other answer. Elizabeth could hardly have done without her favourite; and the Earl would have fallen into irretrievable disgrace, had he dared to confess a preference for any mistress over the one he already had.

It was soon after this conference that Randolph, by Elizabeth’s directions, repaired to the Queen at St Andrews, to ascertain from her own lips what were her real sentiments on the subject of marriage. He found her living very quietly in a merchant’s house, with a small train. She had been wearied with the state and show of a Court, and had determined to pass some weeks in her favourite retirement of St Andrews, more as a subject than a queen. She made Randolph dine and sup with her every day during his visit; and she frequently, upon these occasions, drank to the health of Elizabeth. When Randolph entered upon matters of business, Mary said to him playfully, – “I sent for you to be merry, and to see how like a bourgeoise wife I live with my little troop; and you will interrupt our pastime with your great and grave matters? I pray ye, Sir, if ye be weary here, return home to Edinburgh; and keep your gravity and great embassade until the Queen come thither; for, I assure ye, you shall not get her here, nor I know not myself where she is become. Ye see neither cloth of estate, nor such appearance that you may think that there is a Queen here; nor I would not that you should think that I am she at St Andrews, that I was at Edinburgh.” Randolph was thus, for the time, fairly bantered out of his diplomatic gravity. But next day, he rode abroad with the Queen, and renewed the subject. Mary then told him, that she saw the necessity of marrying, and that she would rather be guided in her choice by England than by France, or any other country after Scotland. She frankly added, that her reason for paying this deference to Elizabeth, was to obtain an acknowledgment of her right of succession to the English crown. She was making a sacrifice, she said, in renouncing the much more splendid alliances which had been offered her; and she could not be expected to do so without a return on the part of Elizabeth. Fearful that the crafty Randolph might make a bad use of this open confession, she suddenly checked herself; – “I am a fool,” she said, “thus long to talk with you; you are too subtle for me to deal with.” But Randolph, finding her in a communicative mood, was unwilling that the conversation should drop so soon. Some further discourse took place, and Mary, in conclusion, gave utterance to the following sentiments, which do honour both to her head and heart. “How much better were it,” said she, “that we two being queens, so near of kin and neighbours, and being in one isle, should be friends and live together like sisters, than, by strange means, divide ourselves to the hurt of us both; and to say that we may for all that live friends, we may say and prove what we will, but it will pass both our powers. You repute us poor; but yet you have found us cumbersome enough. We have had loss; ye have taken scaith. Why may it not be between my sister and me, that we, living on peace and assured friendship, may give our minds, that some as notable things may be wrought by us women, as by our predecessors have been done before. Let us seek this honour against some other, rather than fall to debate amongst ourselves.”[81 - Keith, p. 269. – Chalmers, vol. i. p. 123.]

Mary, however, was by this time convinced of Elizabeth’s want of sincerity, and formed, therefore, a matrimonial plan of her own, which, she flattered herself, would be considered judicious by all parties. It will be recollected, that, during the troubles which ensued soon after Mary’s birth, Matthew, Earl of Lennox, having drawn upon himself the suspicion, both of the Protestant and Catholic parties in Scotland, retired into England, where Henry VIII. gave him his niece in marriage. The Lady Margaret Douglas was daughter of the eldest daughter of Henry VII., the Princess Margaret, who, upon the decease of her first husband James IV., had married the Earl of Angus, of which marriage the Lady Margaret was the issue. Lennox, belonging as he did to the house of Stuart, was himself related to the Royal Family of Scotland; and his wife, failing the children of Henry VIII., and the direct line of succession by her mother’s first husband James IV., in which line Mary stood, was the legal heir to the crown of England. The first child of this marriage died in infancy. The second, afterwards known as Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley, was born in 1546, and was, consequently, about four years younger than Mary. This disparity in point of years, though unfortunate in another point of view, was not such as to preclude the possibility of an alliance between two persons, in whose veins flowed so much of the blood of the Stuarts and the Tudors.

Henry VIII. had, along with his niece, bestowed upon Lennox English lands, from which he derived a yearly revenue of fifteen hundred marks. His own estates in Scotland were forfeited, so that he thus came to be considered more an English than a Scottish subject. He had long, however, nourished the secret hope of restoring his fortunes in his native land. His wife, who was a woman of an ambitious and intriguing spirit, induced him, at an early period, to educate his son with a view to his aspiring to the hand of the Scottish Queen. On the death of Francis II. she went herself to Paris, for the purpose of ingratiating herself with Mary, and securing a favourable opinion for Darnley. Mary, probably, gave her some hope that she might, at a future date, take her proposals into serious consideration; for it appears, by some papers still preserved in the British Museum, that few rejoiced more sincerely at the Queen’s safe arrival in Scotland, than Lady Lennox. She is said to have fallen on her knees, and, with uplifted hands, thanked God that the Scottish queen had escaped the English ships. For this piece of piety, and to show her the necessity of taking less interest in the affairs of Elizabeth’s rival, Cecil sent Lady Lennox to prison for some months.

Seeing the difficulties which stood in the way of all her other suitors, Mary, in the year 1564, began seriously to think of Darnley. A marriage with him would unite, in the person of the heir of such marriage, the rival claims of the Stuarts and the Tudors upon the English succession, failing issue by Elizabeth; and it would give to Scotland a native prince of the old royal line. It was difficult to see what reasonable objections could be made to such an alliance; and that she might at all events have an opportunity of judging for herself, Mary granted the Earl of Lennox permission to return to Scotland, in 1564, after an exile of twenty years, and promised to assist him in reclaiming his hereditary rights. Elizabeth, who was well aware of the ultimate views with which this journey was undertaken, and had certainly no desire to forward their accomplishment, made nevertheless no opposition to it. With her usual sagacity, she calculated that much discord and jealousy would arise, out of the Earl’s suit, in favour of his son. She knew that the House of Hamilton, whose claims upon the Scottish crown were publicly recognised, looked upon the Lennox family as its worst enemies; and that the haughty nobility of Scotland would ill brook to see a stripling elevated above the heads of all of them. Besides, the principal estates of Lennox now lay in England; and in the words of Robertson, “she hoped by this pledge to keep the negotiation entirely in her own hands, and to play the same game of artifice and delay which she had planned out, if her recommendation of Leicester had been more favourably received.”

In the Parliament which assembled towards the end of the year 1564, Lennox was restored to his estates and honours. Such of his possessions as had passed into the hands of the Earl of Argyle, were surrendered with extreme reluctance; and the Duke of Chatelherault, dreading the marriage with Darnley, continued obstinate in his hatred. The Earl of Murray too, aware that this new connection would be a fatal blow to his influence, set his face against it from the first. Maitland, on the contrary, who felt that he had been hitherto kept too much under by the prime minister, did not anticipate with any regret the decline of his ascendancy. The Secretary, and most of the other members of the Privy Council, were assiduously courted by Lennox. He made presents both to the Queen and them of valuable jewels; but to Murray, whose enmity he knew, he gave nothing.[82 - Chalmers says (vol. i. p. 120), that the “Countess of Lennox sent Murray a diamond,” which, though true, is not supported by the authority he quotes – Randolph in Keith, who says (p. 259) – “Lennox giveth to the Queen and most of the council jewels; but none to Murray.” The authority Chalmers ought to have quoted is Melville (p. 127), who, on his return from his embassy to England, brought some presents with him from Lady Lennox, who was then not aware of the precise state of parties in Scotland. “My Lady Lennox,” says Melville, “sent also tokens: to the Queen a ring with a fair diamont; ane emerald to my Lord her husband, who was yet in Scotland; a diamont to my Lord of Murray; ane orloge or montre (watch) set with diamonts and rubies, to the secretary Lethington; a ring with a ruby to my brother Sir Robert; for she was still in good hope that her son, my Lord Darnley, should come better speed than the Earl of Leicester, anent the marriage with the Queen. She was a very wise and discreet matron, and had many favourers in England for the time.”] That Murray’s weight in the government, however, had not yet decreased, is apparent, from his procuring an enactment, to gratify the Protestants, in the parliament of this year, making the attending of mass, except in the Queen’s chapel, punishable with loss of goods, lands, and life: and the Archbishop of St Andrews having infringed this act, was imprisoned, in spite of Mary’s intercession, for some months.

Early in 1565, Darnley obtained leave from Elizabeth to set out for Scotland. His ostensible purpose was to visit his father, and to see the estates to which he had been recently restored; but that his real object was to endeavour to win the good graces of Mary, was no secret. Elizabeth’s wish being to involve Mary in a quarrel, as well with some of her own nobility, as with England, there was much art in the plan she laid for its accomplishment. She consented that the Earl of Lennox should go into Scotland to recover his forfeited estates, and that his son should follow him to share in his father’s good fortune; she even went the length of recommending them both to the especial favour of the Scottish Queen; but of course said not a word of any suspicions she entertained of the projected alliance. As soon as it should appear that Mary’s resolution was taken, she would affect the greatest indignation at the whole proceedings, and pretend that they had been cunningly devised and executed, hoping either to break off the match altogether, or to make Mary’s nuptial couch, any thing but a bed of roses. Thus was the Scottish Queen to be systematically harassed, and made miserable, to gratify the splenetic jealousy, and lull the selfish terrors, of her sister of England.

Darnley, in the midst of a severe snow-storm, travelled with all expedition to Edinburgh. Upon his arrival he found that Mary was at Wemyss Castle in Fife, whither, at his father’s desire, he immediately proceeded. The impression which it is said he made upon the Queen, at even his first interview, has been much exaggerated. Chalmers, alluding principally to Robertson’s account of this matter, acutely remarks, “The Scottish historians would have us believe, that Mary fell desperately in love with Darnley at first sight; they would have us suppose, as simply as themselves, that the widowed Queen, at the age of twenty-two,” (it should have been twenty-three), “who knew the world, and had seen the most accomplished gentlemen in Europe, was a boarding-school Miss, who had never till now seen a man.” Mary received Darnley frankly, and as one whom she wished to like; but she had been too long accustomed to admiration, to be prepared to surrender her heart at the first glance. It was not Mary’s character to allow herself to be won before she was wooed. She was, no doubt, glad to perceive that Darnley was one of the handsomest young men of the day. She said playfully, that “he was the lustiest and best proportioned long man she had seen.” She might have said a good deal more; for all historians agree in noticing the grace of his person, the easy elegance of his carriage, the agreeable regularity of his features, and the animated expression of his countenance, lighted up, as it was, by a pair of dazzling eyes. He excelled too in all the showy and manly accomplishments so much in vogue among the young nobility. His riding and dancing were unrivalled; and to gratify Mary, he avowed, whether real or affected, a great fondness for poetry and music. Melville says quaintly, “He was of a heigh stature, lang and small, even and brent up; well instructed from his youth in all honest and comely exercises.”[83 - In confirmation of the fact, that he was “well-instructed,” it may be mentioned, that, before he was twelve years old, he wrote a tale, called “Utopia Nova.” Some ballads are also ascribed to him; and Bishop Montague, in his Preface to the Works of James VI., mentions, that he translated Valerius Maximus into English. His only literary effort, which seems to have been preserved, is a letter he wrote when about nine years old from Temple Newsome, his father’s principal seat in Yorkshire, to his cousin Mary Tudor, Queen of England. It deserves insertion as a curiosity:“Like as the monuments of ancient authors, most triumphant, most victorious, and most gracious Princess, declare how that a certain excellent musician, Timotheus Musicus, was wont, with his sweet-proportioned and melodious harmony, to inflame Alexander the Great, Conqueror and King of Macedonia, to civil wars, with a most fervent desire, even so, I, remembering with myself oftentimes how that (over and besides such manifold benefits as your Highness heretofore hath bestowed on me) it hath pleased your most excellent Majesty lately to accept a little plot of my simple penning, which I termed Utopia Nova; for the which, it being base, vile, and maimed, your Majesty hath given me a rich chain of gold; – the noise (I say) of such instruments, as I hear now and then, (although their melody differ much from the sweet strokes and sounds of King Alexander’s Timotheus), do not only persuade and move, yea prick and spur me forward, to endeavour my wits daily (all vanities set apart) to virtuous learning and study, being thereto thus encouraged, so oftentimes by your Majesty’s manifold benefits, gifts, and rewards; but also I am enflamed and stirred, even now my tender age notwithstanding, to be serving your Grace, wishing every hair in my head for to be a worthy soldier of that same self heart, mind and stomach, that I am of. But where as I perceive that neither my wit, power, nor years, are at this present corresponding unto this, my good will: these shall be, therefore, (most gracious Princess) most humbly rendering unto your Majesty immortal thanks for your rich chain, and other your Highness’ sundry gifts, given unto me without any my deservings, from time to time. Trusting in God one day of my most bounden duty, to endeavour myself, with my faithful hearty service, to remember the same. And being afraid, with these my superfluous words to interturb (God forfend) your Highness, whose most excellent Majesty is always, and specially now, occupied in most weighty matters, thus I make an end. Praying unto Almighty God most humbly and faithfully to preserve, keep, and defend your Majesty, long reigning over us all, your true and faithful subjects, a most victorious and triumphant Princess. Amen. – From Temple Newsome, the 28th March 1554.Your Majesty’s most bounden and obedient subject and servant,Henry Darnley.165]

It was not, however, Darnley’s exterior in which Mary and her subjects were principally interested. The bent which nature and education had given to his mind and character, was a much more important subject of consideration. With regard to his religious sentiments, they seem to have sat loosely upon him; though his mother was a Catholic, he himself professed adherence to the Established Church of England.[84 - Keith, p. 278.] In Scotland, he saw the necessity of ingratiating himself with the Reformers; and he went, the very first Sunday he spent in Edinburgh, to hear Knox preach. But Darnley’s great misfortune was, that, before he had learned any thing in the school of experience, and in the very heat and fire of youth, he was raised to an eminence which, so far from enabling him to see over the heads of other men, only rendered him giddy, and made his inferiority the more apparent. He was naturally of a headstrong and violent temper, which might, perhaps, have been tamed down by adversity, but which only ran into wilder waste in the sunshine of prosperity. He was passionately fond of power, without the ability to make a proper use of it. It is not unlikely that, had he continued a subject for some years longer, and associated with men of sound judgment and practical knowledge, he might have divested himself of some of the follies of youth, and acquired a contempt for many of its vices. But his honours came upon him too suddenly; and the intellectual strength of his character, never very great, was crushed under the load. Conscious of his inability to cope with persons of talent, he sought to gather round him those who were willing to flatter him on account of his rank, or to join him in all kinds of dissipation, with the view of sharing his ill-regulated liberality. Of the duties of a courtier, he knew something; but of those of a politician, he was profoundly ignorant. The polish of his manners gained him friends at first; but the reckless freedom with which he gave utterance to his hasty opinions and ill-grounded prejudices, speedily converted them into enemies. He had only been a short time in Scotland, when he remarked to one of the Earl of Murray’s brothers, who pointed out to him on the map the Earl’s lands, “that they were too extensive.” Murray was told of this; and, perceiving what he had to expect when Darnley became King, he took his measures accordingly. Mary, whose affliction it was to have husbands far inferior to herself in mental qualifications, beseeched Darnley to be more guarded in future. That he was somewhat violent and self-sufficient, she did not feel to be an insuperable objection, considering, as she did, the political advantages that might accrue from the alliance. She hoped that time would improve him; and besides, she did not yet know the full extent of his imperfections, as he had, of course, been anxious to show her only the fairer side of his character. Melville speaks of him, even when he came to be most hated, as a young prince, who failed rather for lack of good counsel than of evil will. “It appeared to be his destiny,” says he, “to like better of flatterers and evil company, than of plain speakers and good men; whilk has been the wreck of many princes, who, with good company, might have produced worthy effects.” Randolph himself allows, that for some weeks, his “behaviour was very well liked, and there was great promise of him.” He had been about a month at Court before he ventured to propose himself as a husband to Mary; and at first she gave him but small encouragement, telling him she had not yet made up her mind, and refusing to accept of a ring, which he offered her.[85 - Melville’s Memoirs, p. 134.] This was not like one who had fallen in love at first sight. But the Queen invariably conducted herself with becoming self-respect towards Darnley, permitting, as Miss Benger remarks, rather than inviting, his intentions.

Darnley, thus finding that, though the ball was at his foot, the game was not already won, saw it necessary to engage with his father’s assistance, as powerful a party as possible to support his pretensions. Sir James Melville was his friend, and spoke in his favour to Mary. All the Lords who hated or feared Murray did the same; among whom were, the Earls of Athol and Caithness, and the Lords Ruthven and Hume. A still more useful agent than any of these, Darnley found in David Rizzio, who, as the Queen’s French Secretary, and one whose abilities she respected, had a good deal of influence with her. Rizzio knew that for this very reason he was hated by Murray, and others of the Privy Council. He was, therefore, not ill pleased to find himself sought after by her future husband, for he hoped thus to retain his place at Court, and perhaps to rise upon the ruin of some of those who wished his downfal. An accidental illness which overtook Darnley, when the Queen, with her Court, was at Stirling, about the beginning of April 1565, was another circumstance in his favour. At first, his complaint was supposed to be a common cold, but in a few days it turned out to be the measles. The natural anxiety which Mary felt for Darnley’s recovery, induced her to exhibit a tenderer interest in him than she had ever done before. She paid him the most flattering attentions, and continued them unwearyingly, though her patient was provokingly attacked by an ague, almost immediately after his recovery from the measles.[86 - Mary’s conduct upon this occasion may be compared with that of Elizabeth to her favourite Essex; but the Scottish Queen’s motives were of a far purer and better kind. “When Essex,” says Walpole, “acted a fit of sickness, not a day passed without the Queen’s sending after to see him; and she once went so far as to sit long by him, and order his broths and things.” “It may be observed,” remarks Chalmers, “that Mary was engaged (or rather secretly resolved) to marry Darnley, but Elizabeth only flirted with Essex.”]

It is worth noticing, that while Mary was thus occupied in attending to Darnley, the Earl of Bothwell returned to Scotland from his involuntary banishment. His former misdemeanours were not yet forgotten, and he was summoned by the Queen and Murray to take his trial in Edinburgh; but not liking to trust himself in the hands of his ancient enemies, he again left the country for six months. He did not depart before giving utterance to several violent threats against Murray and Maitland, and speaking so disrespectfully of the Queen, that Randolph says she declared to him, upon her honour, that he should never receive favour at her hands.[87 - Keith, p. 270, and Chalmers, vol. ii. p. 214, et seq.]

The Queen of Scots being now resolved to bestow her hand on Darnley, sent her Secretary, Maitland, to London, to intimate her intentions, and to request Elizabeth’s approbation. This was the very last thing Elizabeth meant to give. The matter had now arrived exactly at the point to which she had all along wished to bring it. She had prevailed upon Mary to abandon the idea of a foreign alliance; she had induced her to throw away some valuable time in ridiculous negociations concerning the Earl of Leicester; she had consented, first that the Earl of Lennox, and then that his son Darnley, should go into Scotland; and she did not say a single syllable against it till she had allowed Mary to be persuaded, that no marriage in Christendom could be more prudent. It was now that the cloven-foot was to betray itself; that her faction was to be called upon to exert itself in Scotland; that the cup was to be dashed from Darnley’s lips; and that Mary was to be involved in the vortex of civil dissension. The historian Castelnau, whom Mary at this time sent as her ambassador to France, and who there obtained their Majesties’ consent to the marriage, mentions, that when he returned through England, he found the Queen much colder than formerly, complaining that Mary had subtracted her relation and subject, and that she was intending to marry him without her permission, and against her approbation. “And yet I am sure,” adds Castelnau, “that these words were very far from her heart; for she used all her efforts, and spared nothing to set this marriage a-going.”[88 - Castelnau in Keith, p. 277.]