1435
It was bedtime, and the old vaulted chambers of the Dominican monastery
at Perth echoed with sounds that would seem incongruous in such a home
of austerity, but that the disturbed state of Scotland rendered it
the habit of her kings to attach their palaces to convents, that they
themselves might benefit by the 'peace of the Church', which was in
general accorded to all sacred spots.
Thus it was that Christmas and Carnival time of 1435-6 had been spent
by the Court in the cloisters of Perth, and the dance, the song, and the
tourney had strangely contrasted with the grave and self-denying habits
to which the Dominicans were devoted in their neighboring cells. The
festive season was nearly at an end, for it was the 20th of February;
but the evening had been more than usually gay, and had been spent in
games at chess, tables, or backgammon, reading romances of chivalry,
harping, and singing. King James himself, brave and handsome, and in the
prime of life, was the blithest of the whole joyous party. He was the
most accomplished man in his dominions; for though he had been basely
kept a prisoner at Windsor throughout his boyhood by Henry IV of
England, an education had been bestowed on him far above what he would
have otherwise obtained; and he was naturally a man of great ability,
refinement, and strength of character. Not only was he a perfect knight
on horseback, but in wrestling and running, throwing the hammer, and
'putting the stane', he had scarcely a rival, and he was skilled in all
the learned lore of the time, wrote poetry, composed music both sacred
and profane, and was a complete minstrel, able to sing beautifully and
to play on the harp and organ. His Queen, the beautiful Joan Beaufort,
had been the lady of his minstrelsy in the days of his captivity, ever
since he had watched her walking on the slopes of Windsor Park, and
wooed her in verses that are still preserved. They had now been eleven
years married, and their Court was one bright spot of civilization,
refinement, and grace, amid the savagery of Scotland. And now, after the
pleasant social evening, the Queen, with her long fair hair unbound, was
sitting under the hands of her tire-women, who were preparing her for
the nights rest; and the King, in his furred nightgown, was standing
before the bright fire on the hearth of the wide chimney, laughing and
talking with the attendant ladies.
Yet dark hints had already been whispered, which might have cast a
shadow over that careless mirth. Always fierce and vindictive, the
Scots had been growing more and more lawless and savage ever since
the disputed succession of Bruce and Balliol had unsettled all royal
authority, and led to one perpetual war with the English. The twenty
years of James's captivity had been the worst of all--almost every noble
was a robber chief; Scottish Borderer preyed upon English Borderer,
Highlander upon Lowlander, knight upon traveler, everyone who had armor
upon him who had not; each clan was at deadly feud with its neighbour;
blood was shed like water from end to end of the miserable land, and the
higher the birth of the offender the greater the impunity he claimed.
Indeed, James himself had been brought next to the throne by one of the
most savage and horrible murders ever perpetrated--that of his elder
brother, David, by his own uncle; and he himself had probably been only
saved from sharing the like fate by being sent out of the kingdom. His
earnest words on his return to take the rule of this unhappy realm were
these: 'Let God but grant me life, and there shall not be a spot in my
realm where the key shall not keep the castle, and the bracken bush the
cow, though I should lead the life of a dog to accomplish it.'
This great purpose had been before James through the eleven years of his
reign, and he had worked it out resolutely. The lawless nobles would
not brook his ruling hand, and strong and bitter was the hatred that
had arisen against him. In many of his transactions he was far from
blameless: he was sometimes tempted to craft, sometimes to tyranny; but
his object was always a high and kingly one, though he was led by the
horrid wickedness of the men he had to deal with more than once to
forget that evil is not to be overcome with evil, but with good. In the
main, it was his high and uncompromising resolution to enforce the laws
upon high and low alike that led to the nobles' conspiracies against
him; though, if he had always been true to his purpose of swerving
neither to the right nor to the left, he might have avoided the last
fatal offence that armed the murderer against his life.
The chief misdoers in the long period of anarchy had been his uncles and
cousins; nor was it till after his eldest uncle's death that his return
home had been possible. With a strong hand had he avenged upon the
princes and their followers the many miseries they had inflicted upon
his people; and in carrying out these measures he had seized upon the
great earldom of Strathern, which had descended to one of their party in
right of his wife, declaring that it could not be inherited by a female.
In this he appears to have acted unjustly, from the strong desire
to avail himself by any pretext of an opportunity of breaking the
overweening power of the great turbulent nobles; and, to make up for
the loss, he created the new earldom of Menteith, for the young Malise
Graham, the son of the dispossessed earl. But the proud and vindictive
Grahams were not thus to be pacified. Sir Robert Graham, the uncle
of the young earl, drew off into the Highlands, and there formed
a conspiracy among other discontented men who hated the resolute
government that repressed their violence. Men of princely blood joined
in the plot, and 300 Highland catherans were ready to accompany the
expedition that promised the delights of war and plunder.
Even when the hard-worked King was setting forth to enjoy his holiday at
Perth, the traitors had fixed upon that spot as the place of his doom;
but the scheme was known to so many, that it could not be kept entirely
secret, and warnings began to gather round the King. When, on his way
to Perth, he was about to cross the Firth of Forth, the wild figure of
a Highland woman appeared at his bridle rein, and solemnly warned him
'that, if he crossed that water, he would never return alive'. He was
struck by the apparition, and bade one of his knights to enquire of her
what she meant; but the knight must have been a dullard or a traitor,
for he told the King that the woman was either mad or drunk, and no
notice was taken of her warning.
There was likewise a saying abroad in Scotland, that the new year, 1436,
should see the death of a king; and this same carnival night, James,
while playing at chess with a young friend, whom he was wont to call the
king of love, laughingly observed that 'it must be you or I, since there
are but two kings in Scotland--therefore, look well to yourself'.
Little did the blithe monarch guess that at that moment one of the
conspirators, touched by a moment's misgiving, was hovering round,
seeking in vain for an opportunity of giving him warning; that even
then his chamberlain and kinsman, Sir Robert Stewart, was enabling
the traitors to place boards across the moat for their passage, and
to remove the bolts and bars of all the doors in their way. And the
Highland woman was at the door, earnestly entreating to see the King, if
but for one moment! The message was even brought to him, but, alas! he
bade her wait till the morrow, and she turned away, declaring that she
should never more see his face!
And now, as before said, the feast was over, and the King stood, gaily
chatting with his wife and her ladies, when the clang of arms was heard,
and the glare of torches in the court below flashed on the windows. The
ladies flew to secure the doors. Alas! the bolts and bars were gone! Too
late the warnings returned upon the King's mind, and he knew it was he
alone who was sought. He tried to escape by the windows, but here the
bars were but too firm. Then he seized the tongs, and tore up a board
in the floor, by which he let himself down into the vault below, just
as the murderers came rushing along the passage, slaying on their way a
page named Walter Straiton.
There was no bar to the door. Yes, there was. Catherine Douglas, worthy
of her name, worthy of the cognizance of the bleeding heart, thrust her
arm through the empty staples to gain for her sovereign a few moments
more for escape and safety! But though true as steel, the brave arm was
not as strong. It was quickly broken. She was thrust fainting aside, and
the ruffians rushed in. Queen Joan stood in the midst of the room, with
her hair streaming round her, and her mantle thrown hastily on. Some of
the wretches even struck and wounded her, but Graham called them off,
and bade them search for the King. They sought him in vain in every
corner of the women's apartments, and dispersed through the other rooms
in search of their prey. The ladies began to hope that the citizens and
nobles in the town were coming to their help, and that the King might
have escaped through an opening that led from the vault into the tennis
court. Presently, however, the King called to them to draw him up again,
for he had not been able to get out of the vault, having a few days
before caused the hole to be bricked up, because his tennis balls used
to fly into it and be lost. In trying to draw him up by the sheets,
Elizabeth Douglas, another of the ladies, was actually pulled down into
the vault; the noise was heard by the assassins, who were still watching
outside, and they returned.
There is no need to tell of the foul and cruel slaughter that ensued,
nor of the barbarous vengeance that visited it. Our tale is of golden,
not of brazen deeds; and if we have turned our eyes for a moment to the
Bloody Carnival of Perth, it is for the sake of the King, who was too
upright for his bloodthirsty subjects, and, above all, for that of the
noble-hearted lady whose frail arm was the guardian of her sovereign's
life in the extremity of peril.
In like manner, on the dreadful 6th of October, 1787, when the
infuriated mob of Paris had been incited by the revolutionary leaders
to rush to Versailles in pursuit of the royal family, whose absence they
fancied deprived them of bread and liberty, a woman shared the honor of
saving her sovereign's life, at least for that time.
The confusion of the day, with the multitude thronging the courts and
park of Versailles, uttering the most frightful threats and insults, had
been beyond all description; but there had been a pause at night, and at
two o'clock, poor Queen Marie Antoinette, spent with horror and fatigue,
at last went to bed, advising her ladies to do the same; but their
anxiety was too great, and they sat up at her door. At half-past four
they heard musket shots, and loud shouts, and while one awakened the
Queen, the other, Madame Auguier, flew towards the place whence
the noise came. As she opened the door, she found one of the royal
bodyguards, with his face covered with blood, holding his musket so as
to bar the door while the furious mob were striking at him. He turned
to the lady, and cried, 'Save the Queen, madame, they are come to murder
her!' Quick as lightning, Madame Auguier shut and bolted the door,
rushed to the Queen's bedside, and dragged her to the opposite door,
with a petticoat just thrown over her. Behold, the door was fastened on
the other side! The ladies knocked violently, the King's valet opened
it, and in a few minutes the whole family were in safety in the King's
apartments. M. de Miomandre, the brave guardsman, who used his musket to
guard the Queen's door instead of to defend himself, fell wounded; but
his comrade, M. de Repaire, at once took his place, and, according to
one account, was slain, and the next day his head, set upon a pike, was
borne before the carriage in which the royal family were escorted back
to Paris.
M. de Miomandre, however, recovered from his wounds, and a few weeks
after, the Queen, hearing that his loyalty had made him a mark for the
hatred of the mob, sent for him to desire him to quit Paris. She said
that gold could not repay such a service as his had been, but she hoped
one day to be able to recompense him more as he deserved; meanwhile, she
hoped he would consider that as a sister might advance a timely sum to a
brother, so she might offer him enough to defray his expenses at Paris,
and to provide for his journey. In a private audience then he kissed her
hand, and those of the King and his saintly sister, Elizabeth, while the
Queen gratefully expressed her thanks, and the King stood by, with tears
in his eyes, but withheld by his awkward bashfulness from expressing the
feelings that overpowered him.
Madame Auguier, and her sister, Madame Campan, continued with their
royal lady until the next stage in that miserable downfall of all that
was high and noble in unhappy France. She lived through the horrors of
the Revolution, and her daughter became the wife of Marshal Ney.
Well it is that the darkening firmament does but show the stars, and
that when treason and murder surge round the fated chambers of royalty,
their foulness and violence do but enhance the loyal self-sacrifice
of such doorkeepers as Catherine Douglas, Madame Auguier, or M. de
Miomandre.
'Such deeds can woman's spirit do,
O Catherine Douglas, brave and true!
Let Scotland keep thy holy name
Still first upon her ranks of fame.'