CHAPTER II.

SUMMARY.

First interview between Margaret Tudor and James IV.--She is

alarmed by a conflagration--Her grief for the loss of her

palfrey--She is removed from Dalkeith to Newbattle--King’s

visit to her--Her ball and concert--Her delight at the

King’s vocal and musical skill--He kneels while she sings

and plays--Their courtship at Newbattle--Queen Margaret’s

state entrance into Edinburgh--Riding on a pillion behind her

husband--He conducts her to her apartments in Holyrood--Presents

her household to her--Her marriage in Holyrood Chapel--Her

dress and ceremonials--Her Epithalamium--Queen Margaret’s

largesse--Redeems her wedding-gown next day--She goes in state

to the High Church, Edinburgh--Tourneys in her honor--Sits

in full dress at her bay-window, Holyrood--Sees a play--Her

complaining letter to her father--Her farewell festival to her

English escort--Her attendants, court, and minstrels--Birth

of her first child--Dangerous illness--First causes of

jealousy--Her pilgrimage to St. Ninian’s--Death of her son,

&c.--Birth and loss of her eldest daughter--Queen is involved

in disputes with her father and husband--Death of her father,

Henry VII., and of her grandmother--Birth of her son Arthur--She

claims the legacy of her deceased brother, Arthur, Prince

of Wales--Death of her infant son--Her pilgrimage to St.

Duthois--Birth of her son (James V.), April 11, 1512--Naval war

between Henry VIII. and her husband--Her disputes about her

legacy--Interview with her brother’s envoy, Dr. West--Shows

him her beautiful boy--Sir David Lindsay has charge of her

son--Her angry letter to Henry VIII.--Grief for the war with

England--Disturbs her husband with her dreams--Her jealousy of

the Queen of France--Supernatural impositions, &c. &c.--King

James confides his treasure to her keeping--Leaves her the

regency in his will--Queen retires to Linlithgow--Death of her

husband at Flodden.

James IV. came in thus unexpectedly to relieve his young bride from

the anxiety of a formal introduction to him in the midst of tedious

state ceremonies, with the eyes of a multitude fixed upon them. He

wished to make acquaintance with her before such ordeal commenced; and

if his bride had a heart worth the winning, it was evident the King of

Scotland thought it most likely to be won when they were disencumbered

of the stiff stateliness ever surrounding royalty on public days.

He entered the presence of Margaret Tudor with his hawking-lure flung

over his shoulder, dressed simply in a velvet jacket; his hair and

beard curling naturally, were rather long,[68] his complexion glowing

from the manly exercise he had just been engaged in. He was the

handsomest sovereign in Europe, the black eyes and hair of his elegant

father, James III., being softened in his resemblance to the blonde

beauty of his Danish mother. Sir Walter Scott has drawn James IV.’s

portrait _con amore_, and has not exaggerated the likeness--

“For hazel was his eagle eye,

And auburn of the darkest dye

His short curled beard and hair.

Light was his footstep in the dance,

And firm his stirrup in the lists;

And oh, he had that merry glance

Which seldom lady’s heart resists.”

The young Queen met her royal lord at the doorway of her great chamber.

The King of Scotland uncovered his head and made a deep obeisance to

her, while she made a lowly reverence to him. He then took her hand and

kissed her, and saluted all her ladies by kissing them. It was noticed

that he welcomed the chivalric Earl of Surrey with especial cordiality.

“Then the King of Scotland took the Queen on one side, and they

communed together for a long space. She _held good manner_ (was

unembarrassed); and the King remained bare-headed during the time

they conversed, and many courtesies passed between them. Incontinent

(_immediately_) the board was set and served. The King and Queen

washed their hands with humble reverence, and after that set them down

at table together.

“After supper they washed again, _with the reverences_,” which

we opine to have been an elaborate series of bows and genuflexions

performed with due solemnity. “The minstrels began to blow, then Queen

Margaret danced, accompanied by my Lady Surrey. This done, King James

took leave of her, for it was late; and he went to his bed at Edinburgh

very well content at so pleasant a meeting, and that he had found the

fair company so well together.”[69]

Such happy order of affairs did not, however, last through that night.

The young Queen was roused from her first sleep with the terrific glare

of flames; a conflagration was raging within the walls of Dalkeith, and

no little alarm existed for some time, lest fatal injury to all its

inhabitants should ensue. At length the fire was subdued, which had

broken out in the stables: these were utterly consumed, and every thing

in them. The Queen’s two white palfreys were burnt; and as one of them

was much beloved by her, she spent the next morning in tears for its

loss.

When King James heard of this misfortune he sent a consoling message to

the Queen, and entreated her, as Dalkeith had proved thus unfortunate,

that she would remove to Newbattle Castle, at a short distance from

it, where every thing had been prepared for her entertainment for four

days.[70] Thither Queen Margaret removed with her train the afternoon

of August 4; but she still remained inconsolable for the loss of her

favorite animals. The King sent word that he would pay her a visit at

Newbattle that afternoon for the purpose of comforting her; “upon which

the Earl of Surrey, the Archbishop of York, and several other English

lords, rode forth intending to meet the King of Scotts.”

But James had taken a different road to Newbattle Castle, and entered

it privately. He came to the Queen’s drawing-room with a few persons,

“and found her playing at cards.” At his entry, “the Queen, rising,

advanced to receive him very gladly, of her good-will kissing him.[71]

After that the King of Scotland gave salute to all her ladies. He was

dressed in a black velvet jacket, bordered with crimson velvet and

edged with white fur.”

While Margaret and James were communing together, the lords who had

been to meet him returned from their fruitless ride. “The King did

reverence, with his bonnet in his hand, to the Archbishop of York and

the Bishop of Durham, right pleasantly welcoming them. After some words

rehearsed, the minstrels began to play a _basse_ dance, which was

danced by Queen Margaret and the Countess of Surrey. The minstrels then

played a round, the which was danced by the Queen, led by the Lord

Gray; and they were followed by many lords, ladies, and gentlewomen.

Wine and bread were then served to the King, who took the bread, and

with it served his Queen. Likewise he took the cup, and served her

first of all with wine.

“The King of Scotland then began to play on the clavichords before his

Queen; after that he played on the lute, which pleased her very much,

and she had great pleasure to hear him. Sir Edward Stanley then sat

down to the clavichords and played a ballad, which he sang withal. The

King commended it much, and called one of his gentlemen who could sing

very well, and made him sing with Sir Edward Stanley, and their voices

accorded very well. Afterward Sir Edward Stanley sang some ballads with

two of his servants, and the King of Scotland gave him good thanks.

“Then King James took leave of his bride by kissing her, and also

of her noble company. He went out to take horse.” The Queen and her

ladies took the opportunity of seeing him mount, which was indeed a

very noble feat of horsemanship, from which Shakspeare must have taken

his celebrated description of the mounting of Harry, Prince of Wales.

“James of Scotland did leap on his horse,” says our Somerset Herald,

“without putting his foot in stirrup; and the said steed was a right

fair courser; and forward the King spurred, let follow who might.”

“The Earl of Surrey, and several other lords, mounted and went after

him; of which when King James was aware, he turned shortly about, and,

uncovering and bowing courteously, rode toward the Earl, and they went

side by side together conversing for a little time; then the Earl took

leave of his Grace, and returned to the young Queen.

“At supper-time the next day, James IV. came again to the Castle. The

Queen being aware of his approach, made haste to meet him with very

humble courtesies; and after their usual salutations, they went apart

for private discourse. The Queen, in her turn, showed her musical skill

by playing on the lute and clavichord; but ever, while she played

on these instruments, King James knelt beside her, with his head

uncovered.”[72]

At the supper, which was served after the Queen had done playing, the

King sat in the chair of state at the head of the table--the Queen on

his right hand; but the stool on which she sat not being easy, the

King rose from the chair of state, and very gallantly placed her in

it. He likewise courteously desired the Earl and Countess of Surrey

to sit at the royal table. When supper was done, the King and Queen

conversed privately together, while the minstrels were performing a

long piece of music James bade farewell to the Queen for the night, by

affectionately saluting her, as usual. “The King had dressed himself on

that occasion in a tan-colored velvet doublet, richly lined with the

costly black fur called in the middle ages by the inexplicable name of

_budge_, which has been supposed to be the fur of the black otter.

He wore a fine shirt worked with gold--his hair and beard were somewhat

long. In the presence of his bride he always uncovered his head.”[73]

That evening, when he mounted his steed, the Earl of Surrey presented

him with the noble courser sent him by his father-in-law, Henry VII.

“It was well appointed with damask housings of the Tudor colors, green

and white, which hung to the ground with great buttons of silk; these,

and the bridle of velvet, were of the same colors. King James ordered

the English steed to be ridden before him to Edinburgh.”

The following day was Sunday, August 6th, and the young Queen went to

the chapel of the Castle of Newbattle “in fair order, accompanied by

her own English household, and the Lady of Newbattle. The Queen was

dressed in a gown of cloth of gold, edged with lattices (_a chequered

pattern border_) and ermine; and her gentlewomen were dressed after

the fashion of Scotland. The sermon was preached by one of the Friars

Observant.

“After mass, Queen Margaret was conveyed to her chamber; and beneath

her table, at the lowest place, sat the Lady of Newbattle, and the

Countess of Surrey with her. The other table was full of ladies; and

during the dinner, trumpets and sackbuts blew.”

“The minstrels of the Queen’s chamber began to play after dinner; and

then danced the Queen, the Countess of Surrey, the Lady Lisle, and the

daughter of the Lady of Castle Newbattle. The dance over, they passed

the Sunday afternoon in games and in conversing.” The King, as usual,

came to supper: the minstrels played, and the Queen danced before him.

The King was dressed in “a gown” of black velvet, furred with martin:

the rest of his attire was wholly black.[74]

“The next day was appointed for the Queen’s solemn entry into

Edinburgh. In the morning, being the 7th of August, the King sent the

Queen her new palfreys, which were to replace those which had been

burnt at Dalkeith; and they were all dressed in new harness. The Queen

was then very richly adorned. She came out in order of state, and was

placed in her litter. She wore a gown of cloth of gold, with a purfle

of black velvet, and a rich necklace of pearls and precious

stones.”[75]

A mile from the castle of Dalkeith, the King sent to the Queen, by a

gentleman, a great tame hart, that she might have a course. The Earl of

Surrey declined it--not because it was a shame to hunt the poor tame

creature, but because King James was in sight, and he thought the King

and Queen could hunt together afterward.

Half-way to Edinburgh, James IV. was seen advancing with his company.

He was this time attired in grand costume. “His steed was trapped with

gold, and round its neck was a deep gold fringe; the saddle and harness

were of gold, but the bridle and head-gear of burnished silver. The

King wore a jacket of cloth of gold, lined and bordered with violet

velvet and fine black _bouge_ or _budge_ fur; his waistcoat

was of violet satin, his _hoses_ of scarlet, his shirt confined

with bands of pearls and rich stones; his spurs were long and gilt.

He rode toward the Queen in full course, at the pace at which the

hare is hunted. On seeing her, he made very humble obeisance, and,

leaping down from his horse, he came and kissed her in her litter. Then

mounting in his usual gallant fashion, without touching stirrup, a

gentleman-usher unsheathed the sword of state, and bore it before his

King in regal fashion. The Scottish sword was inclosed in a scabbard

of purple velvet, whereon was written, in letters of pearl, _God

my defende_. The like words are on the pommel, the cross, and the

_chap_ also. The Earl of Bothwell bore this sword when the royal

party reached Edinburgh town.”

The King placed himself by the Queen’s litter, and passed all the time

conversing with her and entertaining her, as he rode by her side.

“Before they entered Edinburgh, one of the King’s gentlemen brought

out a fair courser, trapped in cloth of gold, with crimson velvet,

interlaced with white and red; the King went to the horse, mounted him

without touching the stirrup in the presence of the whole company,

then tried his paces--choosing to judge himself whether it were safe

for his bride to ride on a pillion behind him, which was the mode in

which he intended to enter the city.”[76] Likewise he caused one of his

gentlemen to mount behind him, as a lady would ride, to see whether the

proud courser would submit to bear double or not.

When he had concluded all his experiments, he decided that it was not

proper to trust the safety of his bride to his favorite charger; “so

King James dismounted from him, and condescended to ride on the Queen’s

gentle palfrey. He mounted, and the Queen was placed on a pillion

behind him.”[77]

This arrangement, however, took place about a mile from the gates of

the Scottish capital. There were notable pageants and diversions to

take place before the royal party entered therein.

When the procession was properly settled, the King, leading the way

with his bride behind him, came to a green meadow half-a-mile from

Edinburgh, where a rich pavilion had been erected for the performance

of an interlude in which was mixed up both drama, joust, and tourney;

and all the royal cortege drew up to behold the pageant.

“Out of the meadow-pavilion came a knight on horseback and his

lady-paramour, who bare his horn; then another knight rode into the

meadow, and robbed him of his lady, and blew the horn. On which the

pavilion-knight exclaimed, ‘Wherefore hast thou done this? I say that I

will prove upon thee that thou hast done outrage to me!’ The invading

knight demanded ‘if he was armed?’ ‘Yea,’ said the first. ‘Well, then,’

replied the other, ‘prove thee a man, by doing thy devoir.’ They then

took their spears and jousted, but without striking each other; they

then took to their swords, and made a fair tourney. And the challenger

struck the sword from the hand of the defender, but gave it to him

again; and they began again the tourney with still more spirit; and

they did their devoir so well that, expecting that they were about to

proceed in good earnest, the King rode up to part them with the Queen

behind him, and both the King and Queen cried out, ‘Peace!’ and ordered

them to be parted.

“When the combatants had ceased their sword strife, the King called

them before him to declare the cause of contest, ‘Sire,’ said the

challenger, ‘he hath taken from me my lady-paramour, whereof I was

insured by her faith.’ The defender answered, ‘Sire, I shall defend me

against him upon this case.’”

“King James replied, ‘Bring your friends, and a day shall be appointed

for you;’ wherefore they thanked him, and everybody drew off toward

the town; and the name of the challenger was Sir Patrick Hamilton,

brother of the Lord Hamilton, the king’s cousin, who rode next him in

his procession; and the defender was Patrick Sinclair, Esq.” Great

multitudes had issued out of Edinburgh to see this performance; and so

seriously has the Somerset Herald described the scene, that it is not

easy to decide whether they were fighting in earnest or in sport.

“The next pastime that befell on the progress to Edinburgh was the

hunting of the tame deer, which was led in the royal procession, and

waited during the combat. King James ordered the creature to be loosed,

and a greyhound was sent after him. A fair course ensued;” but we

are right glad to relate that the poor beast succeeded in making the

best of his way to his old quarters at Edinburgh, and, gaining the

town, went to his place of resort in the grounds of Holyrood, where he

remained in safety.

“Vast numbers of the honest folk of Edinburgh, and of the country round

about, were assembled to see the Queen’s entry; and in fair order came

the royal procession to the gate, the Queen still riding behind the

King. When entering the city, the Grayfriars came in procession, with

the cross and some relics, which were presented by their warden for the

King to kiss. But he would not, until the Queen had kissed them; and

his Grace would still ride with his head uncovered, out of respect to

her.”

The Queen’s southern minstrel, Johannes, and his company, and her

trumpets, did their devoir at her entry, but they noted to the Herald

Somerset “that the Scotch minstrels and trumpets had not new banners.”

“Right across the entry of Edinburgh was a gate, with two tourelles,

and a window in the midst. In the tourelles were at their windows

vested angels, singing joyously for the coming of so noble a lady; and

at the middle window was another angel, who flew down and presented the

keys of the town to Queen Margaret.[78] Then came in procession the

college of the parish of St. Giles, richly vested, and they brought

the relic of the arm of their saint, which was presented to their King

to kiss.” But he courteously refused to take precedence, in this

ceremony, of his royal partner, sitting on the pillion behind him; and

Queen Margaret had the privilege of kissing the arm of St. Giles before

her lord. The King then began to sing “_Te Deum Laudamus_;” and it

may be supposed the whole of the ecclesiastics kept up the strain.

“In the midst of Edinburgh was a cross, and hard by a fountain

casting forth wine; and each one drank that would. Nigh to the cross

a scaffold, where was represented Paris and the three goddesses, with

Mercury, who gave Paris the apple of gold. But, upon the same scaffold

with these pagans, were represented the ‘Salutation of Gabriel to

the Virgin;’ the ‘Marriage of the Virgin to Joseph,’ and a pageant

with the ‘Four Virtues;’ likewise were stationed war-tabrets, which

played merrily. There were devices of a _licorne_ (unicorn),

and a greyhound, being the Stuart and the Tudor beasts.” Wreaths of

the flowers of each royal family--being _cardoons_ or thistles,

and red roses interlaced--formed the borders to these _tableaux

vivans_.

“Then the noble company all passed out of the town, and approached

to the church of the Holy Cross (Holyrood), out of which came the

Archbishop of St. Andrews, brother to the King, with his cross borne

before him, accompanied by the reverend fathers in God, the Bishop of

Aberdeen (who was Lord Privy Seal of Scotland), the Bishops of Orkney,

Caithness, Ross, Dunblane and Dunkeld, and many Abbots, all in their

pontificals, preceded by their crosses. The Archbishop of St. Andrews

gave the King a relic to kiss; but he, as before, gave precedence to

his bride.[79]

“Each one of the attendants leaped off his horse, and in fair order

followed the ecclesiastical procession into the church. The King and

Queen alighted the last, at the entrance of the church; and after the

King had aided the Queen, by taking her round the waist and lifting

her from her pillion, he led her to the high-altar, making humble

reverence. There was a place prepared for their Graces to kneel upon,

being two cushions of cloth of gold. The Lord Chamberlain of the Queen

exercised his office in her service; but the King would never kneel

down first, but both knelt together.

“In the church were the Earl of Huntly, the Earl of Errol, Lord

Constable of Scotland, the Earl of Argyle, Steward of the Household,

the Earl of Lennox, Chamberlain (in absence of the Earl of Caithness),

and the Earl of Morton, and many nobles, knights, and gentlemen, well

arrayed, who all made reverence to the royal bride, and she to them.

“When all reverences were done at the church, and the procession formed

in due order, the King proceeded to his palace of Holyrood. He went

through the cloisters, holding the Queen always round the waist, and

walking with his head uncovered, out of regard to her presence.

“Thus the King took his way through the cloisters to the great chamber

of Holyrood, where were assembled many Scottish ladies of great name,

_wiffs_ to divers of the above-mentioned lords, with numbers of

gentlemen and gentlewomen, arrayed very nobly after their country

guise. Nor did the King, on entering the great chamber, let go the

Queen till she had received the ladies who were presented to her by the

Bishop of Murray (who had been her guide from England), naming to her

the names of all of them.”[80]

“And when the Queen had saluted all the ladies presented to her, the

King kissed her for her labor, and so took her by the waist again,

with lowly courtesy, his bonnet in his hand, and brought her to her

second or inner chamber, and there saluted her once more, taking his

leave right humbly, with reverend obeisance to her, and went to his

own lodging. The King supped in his chamber, and the Queen within her

own; but the King, after supper, went to see her, and they danced some

_basse_ dances. This done, the King took his leave, and bade her

good night joyously.

“The town of Edinburgh was all that day hung with tapestry; the houses

and windows were full of lords, ladies, and gentlemen; and in the

streets so great a multitude of people, that it was a fair thing to

see. The people were very glad of the coming of their Queen, therefore

all the bells of Edinburgh town rang for mirth.

“The next day being the 8th of August, all was prepared for that right

noble marriage. The Earl of Surrey was arrayed in a long gown of cloth

of gold, and wore his rich collar of the Order of the Garter; and the

Lords Gray, Latimer, Dacres, and Scrope were right honorably arrayed.

The King of Scotland stood in his great chamber as the said lords

entered. He made reverence to everyone, his bonnet in his hand. The

King caused the English lords to sit on a form before him, and desired

them to cover their heads; he seated himself in a chair of crimson

velvet, the panels being gilt. It was set under a cloth of state, or

canopy of blue velvet figured with gold.”

After Dr. Moreshead and Dr. Rawlins, the one on the part of England,

and the other on the part of Scotland, had read and answered a

preposition, the Bishop of Aberdeen escorted the English lords to the

Queen’s chamber, where she was ready to be led by them to the church.

The royal bride was arrayed in a rich robe of white and gold damask,

bordered with crimson velvet, and lined with white sarcenet. She wore a

magnificent crown, a collar of pearls and precious stones, and a rich

coif; her hair was hanging down the whole length of her body. She was

led on the right hand by the Archbishop of York, and on the left by

the Earl of Surrey. “The Queen was nobly accompanied by her ladies,

very richly arrayed--the two Ladies Nevill, the Lady Lisle, the Lady

Stanley, and the Lady Guildford,[81] and her train was borne by the

Countess of Surrey. It was arranged by the Earl of Surrey that two of

the greatest ladies of England should be accompanied, in the Queen’s

procession, by two of the greatest ladies in Scotland, all four going

together in a row, where they had room so to do; and thus they did

during the whole of the marriage festivities.”

“Thus the Queen was conveyed from her chamber to the church of

Holyrood, and placed near the font; Mistress Denton, her governess,

being always near her, and all her noble company standing on the left

side of the church.

“Then the King was brought by a very fair company, consisting of his

brother the Archbishop of St. Andrews, the Lord Hamilton his cousin,

who bore the sword of state before him. His officers of arms (heralds)

were all in their array, and all his nobles stood in order on the

right side of the church. When the King passed near the Queen he made

reverence to her, and she again to him, very humbly and lowly. He wore

a robe of white damask figured with gold, a jacket with slashes of

crimson satin, and the border of black velvet, a waistcoat of cloth of

gold, and a pair of scarlet hose. His shirt was broidered with gold

thread, his bonnet black velvet, looped up with a rich balass-ruby, and

his sword was girt about him.

“That noble marriage was performed by the Archbishop of Glasgow and

the Archbishop of York, in presence of all; and they read the bulls

of their Holy Father, the Pope,[82] consenting thereto. The trumpets

then blew up for joy; and the King, bare-headed, holding his Queen by

the right hand, passed through the said company to the high altar.

There was prepared a place with cushions of cloth of gold for them to

kneel upon; but the King would never kneel first, paying the Queen the

greatest reverence that possibly might be.

“During the Litany, which was sung and said by the Archbishops, the

King withdrew to his traverse, and the Queen to hers. At the Gospel

they made their offerings, and before the holy canon the Queen was

anointed, after which the King gave into her hand the scepter.

“At this part of the ceremony the choir bust into the _Te Deum

laudamus_; two prelates held the cloth of state over the royal

pair, during the rest of the mass;[83] and when all ceremonies were

accomplished, the lords of the household brought bread and wine in rich

pots and cups. After the collation, the King led back the Queen to her

chamber, and retired to his own.

“At dinner the King caused the Queen to be served before him, with all

the honor that might be done. At the first course she was served with

a wild boar’s head, then with a fair piece of brawn, and in the third

place with a _gambon_ (ham), which was followed by divers other

dishes, to the number of twelve, all in fair and rich vessels.

“The King was served in gilt vessels as the Queen was. His pannetiers

were the son of the Earl of Bothwell’s brother, and Lord Gray’s son;

and his cupbearer his cousin, the Lord of Hamilton. The Archbishops of

St. Andrews and York dined with him. The state-chamber was hanged with

red and blue, and in it was a _ceil_-of-state of cloth-of-gold;

but the King was not under it that same day. There was also in the

same chamber a rich state-bed, and a rich dresser,[84] set out after

the manner of the country. The Lord Gray of Scotland served the

King with water to wash, and the Earl of Huntly held the towel. The

officers-of-arms presented themselves to cry largesse, when the King

commanded Marchmont the herald thus--

“‘Go ye and cry toward the Queen _first--Largesse to the high and

mighty Princess Margaret, by the grace of God Queen of Scotland, and

first daughter of the very high and mighty Prince, Henry VII., by the

self-same grace King of England._’

“The same was cried three times in the King’s chamber, in the great

chamber close by it, and in the great hall of the King and Queen. James

would not have his largesse cried, nor instituted, saying--

“‘It sufficeth to cry hers.’

“The hangings of the chamber represented the history of Troy town, and

the painted glass in the windows were the arms of England and Scotland

biparted, to which a thistle and a rose, interleaved through a crown,

were added. After dinner the minstrels played.”

The song they performed as an epithalamium in honor of Margaret Tudor’s

nuptials has been preserved, words and music;[85] both are great

curiosities, as testimonials of the state of literature and the arts at

the era of 1503--

“O fair, fairest of every fair,

Princess most pleasant and preclare,

The loveliest that _on-live_ there been,

Welcome in Scotland to be Queen!

Young tender plant of pulchritude,

Descended of imperial blood,

Fresh fragrant flower of fairhood sheen,

Welcome in Scotland to be Queen!

Sweet lovely imp of beauty clear,

Most mighty monarch’s daughter dear,

Born of a Princess most serene,

Welcome in Scotland to be Queen!

Welcome the rose both red and white,

Welcome the flower of our delight,

Our sprite rejoicing from the spleen,

Welcome in Scotland to be Queen!”

A hall was cleared for the dance when the minstrels had concluded

their stanzas. The King and Queen danced, and many ladies, lords,

and gentlemen, “and some good bodies,” continues our quaint Somerset

Herald, “made games of _passe-passe_, which did very well.”[86]

But games of amusement which are out of fashion are the most

inscrutable of all antiquarian enigmas, and this game of “passe-passe”

remains to us a mystery.

At the hour of even-song, the King, accompanied by his nobles and

those pertaining to the Queen, but without her, went to church,

where the Abbot of Holyrood did the service. On the King’s return,

before he sat down, he sent his marriage robe to the heralds and

officers-of-arms of England, and put on another of black velvet, furred

with martens. Somerset Herald (the chronicler of these incidents), and

his companions, bore the King’s marriage-dress the next day in solemn

procession, through the court, and returned thanks to his Grace for it.

“After supper the night approached, therefore every one withdrew

himself to his lodging to take his rest; and the King led the Queen

apart. They went away together--God, by his grace, hold them in long

prosperity!”[87]

The marriage of Margaret was celebrated by the poem of “The Thistle and

the Rose,” written by William, or, as some call him, George Dunbar, a

native of Salton in East Lothian. Every one has heard of this poem,

yet very few but antiquaries know aught concerning it. To our taste it

has been excessively overpraised; the wild border-ballads preserved

from the antique minstrelsy of Scotland, such as the “Chevy Chace,” or

“Otterbourne,” and the plaintive tenderness of the “Maid of Lochryan,”

all within a few years cotemporary or precedent, are infinitely

preferable. “The Thistle and the Rose” is, however, a successful

imitation of the then fashionable style of Lydgate and Occleve,

imitators of Chaucer. Dunbar’s poem had been commenced at the time of

the marriage-treaty with Margaret and James IV., and was finished about

three months before the arrival of the bride. It is an allegory; and of

course, according to the nature of such sophisticated compositions, it

treats of all things rather than its ostensible subject, the marriage

of James the King and Margaret the Queen.

Dunbar takes for his theme the armorial bearings of James IV. He writes

many verses, indeed, respecting the Scottish lion on the shield, and

the unicorns its supporters. He has many mystical sayings on the

thistle and the rose, which are painted round about the blazonry.

By the thistle he is supposed to mean James IV., and by the rose it

is guessed that he denotes Margaret. He gives the royal Thistle an

exhortation in her behalf, which in truth he exceedingly needed,

recommending conjugal fidelity to the beautiful Rose, whose lineage, he

observes, was far above that of the Lily (Valois). There are many other

verses of far more poetical beauty than the following, but it is the

only one wherein Margaret is clearly indicated--

“Nor hold no other flower in life so dainty

Like the fresh Rose, of color red and white,

For if thou dost, hurt is thine honesty,

Considering that no flower is so perfite,

So full of virtue, pleasance, or delight,

So full of blissful angel-like beauty,

Imperial with honor and dignity.”

The royal bride was grateful for this good advice to her gay lord, and

honored Dunbar ever after with her patronage.[88]

“Every lord, lady, and gentlewoman in Edinburgh came next day to the

palace. The King went at ten o’clock that morning to mass in the great

church, accompanied by his lords and nobles. King James was arrayed in

a rich robe of cloth of gold, furred, of fine black _bouge_, his

doublet of crimson satin, his hose black velvet, his bonnet ornamented

with a St. George of gold, with a ruby dragon. A pair of gold beads

were hanging to his girdle. During the mass the Earl of Surrey came

to him, for which kindness the King took his arm till he came to his

chamber.”

“His dinner was brought in silver vessels by the officers who served

him the day before. After dinner a young man, an Italian, danced on

a cord very well for the King’s recreation. The ladies were at the

windows of the Queen’s quarters (apartments), and when the rope-dancing

was done they began to dance. Of the Queen I say nothing,” adds the

Somerset Herald, falling into personal narrative, “for that same day I

saw her not, but I understood she was in good health and merry.”[92]

“As for supper, though it was fast-day, banquets of many meats were not

forgotten. That evening the Queen sent her wedding-gown to the heralds

and officers-of-arms of Scotland. The next day Marchmont Herald barred

the court in _escharpe_, he and his companions thanking the Queen

therefor; but on the morrow she sent him a largess of fifteen nobles,

and the Scotch heralds brought again the said robe, and put it in

the wardrobe of the Queen, as she had desired when she gave them the

recompense.”[93]

The explanation of this little mysterious passage seems to be, that

the royal bride, according to ancient custom, sent her wedding-gown

as the fee of her husband’s heralds; in like manner, as it has been

previously shown, that James IV. sent his robe to the English heralds.

But Queen Margaret, like most ladies, had a certain degree of affection

for her wedding-gown. She therefore redeemed it, or purchased it back,

for fifty marks; and it was duly restored to her royal wardrobe by the

Herald Marchmont. But what our minute chronicler, the Somerset Herald,

means by Marchmont “barring the court in _escharpe_,” remains an

heraldic mystery.

“The Queen went in state to the High Church on the 10th of August, the

festival of St. Lawrence’s day, being accompanied by her noble train,

and by many great ladies of Scotland, very _honestly_ appointed.

Queen Margaret was very well arrayed in a rich robe of cloth-of-gold,

with a rich collar (necklace). Before her seat was prepared an altar,

adorned with costly images; and the curtains of her closet, within

which she was put, were figured in gorgeous hues of red, blue, and

green. As she thus sat in splendor, her appearance must have greatly

resembled that of her royal mother, Elizabeth of York, as represented

in the magnificent painted glass window at St. Margaret’s Church,

Westminster.”

The King followed Queen Margaret; he was nobly attired, and all was

in fair order. The Lord Huntly that day bore the sword of state.

“The King was dressed in a gown of crimson figured velvet, furred of

_genets_, a doublet of black satin, hose of scarlet, and bonnet of

the day before, with the St. George; and,” adds our herald journalist,

“his beard was _kyted_ of shears,”[94]--an alteration in his

personal arrangements evidently suggested by his young bride, as the

fact that his beard and hair were somewhat too long had been mentioned

rather disapprovingly. _Kyted of shears_, when interpreted, may

perhaps mean “clipped with scissors.”

“When King James arrived within the curtain of his royal closet at

the High Church, he made humble reverence to his Queen; and she did

in like manner to him. At the offering, both the King and Queen

offered together. The King, when the mass was done, for the love of

the Queen made forty-one knights. After the oath taken, Earl Bothwell

_chaussed_ them with the gilt spurs. The King gave them the

stroke, or accolade, with the sword which had been borne before him.

“When all was done, King James turned to Queen Margaret and her chief

lady, and said to her Grace--‘These are your knights!’ Then taking her

by the hand, he led her to the door of her chamber, and entered with

her, and they were well and _honestly_[95] served with plenty of

ypocras, and likewise all the Queen’s attendants.”

Jousts were held, when the royal party rose from dinner, at the

_basse_ court, before the windows of the dining-hall at Holyrood.

This court, it is explained, was not provided with barriers, and had

only the tilt. The windows were well appointed, and hung with rich

draperies. “The King appeared at one of the windows, accompanied by

the Archbishops of York and St. Andrews, and the Bishop of Durham. The

Queen appeared at the bay-window of her great chamber, accompanied by

her ladies and others of the realm of Scotland, and with my lord, her

Great Chamberlain. The said windows were arrayed for her still more

richly than those of the King. Opposite the King and Queen’s window

was a scaffold erected, on which stood my Lord of Surrey and the Earl

of Bothwell only, as judges of the tilting and sword-play or tourney.

Lord Morley, the Constable, the officers-of-arms, and many other

officers and trumpeters, stood in the court. My Lord of Hamilton, the

King’s cousin, dressed in red satin, Lord Roos, Sir Davy Hume, William

Cockburn, Patrick Sinclair, and Henry Bruce, each one ran a course

with spear and sword, the points broken or blunted. Some broke spears,

others did not.”

“When the courses and the tourney were concluded, the King and Queen

of Scotland went to supper; then they danced, and retired to their

chamber. In the course of that day, the Archbishop of York and the

Bishop of Durham took leave of their royal Graces, that they might

commence their homeward journey betimes next morning.

“The Queen did not attend mass the next day, but kept her chamber.

After dinner she danced with her husband, and they seemed to pass their

time in marvelous mirth and gladness.[96] There were jousts that day,

and many spears were broken. The Queen again appeared in great state,

enthroned in the great bay-window off her presence-chamber at Holyrood,

which was richly adorned as the day before; and she was surrounded by

Scottish ladies in the garb of their country. Her Grace entertained

the King that evening in her great chamber. There was supper, and John

English and his companions played.” The performance of John English and

his company was of the dramatic kind.

Sir Davy Owen, Sir Richard Poulle, John Huse, and Sir Edward Stanley,

and many others of the Queen’s English train and escort, that evening

took their _congé_ of Queen Margaret and the King, and went their

way.[97] They carried with them a private letter from the young bride

of Scotland to her father, Henry VII.[98] Part of it was written at

her dictation by one of her ladies. The postscript is in her own hand,

if hand her extraordinary marks can be called. The epistle is strongly

characteristic of Margaret’s discontented disposition. From its tenor

it is evident that the tender and considerate conduct of the King of

Scotland had failed to awaken the slightest movement of affection, or

even gratitude, in her heart. Her detracting remarks “on this King”

appear in unpleasant contrast with his attentive and winning conduct,

to which the English herald, John Young, has borne impartial witness in

the foregoing narrative.

“My most dear Lord and Father,--In the most humble wise that I

can think, I recommend me unto your Grace, beseeching you of

your daily blessing, and that it will please you to give hearty

thanks to all your servants, the which, by your commandment,

have given right good attendance on me at this time, and

specially to all the ladies and _jantilwomen_ which hath

accompanied me hither, and to give credence to this good lady,

the bearer hereof; for I have showed her more of my mind than I

will write at this time.

“Sir, I beseech your Grace to be good and gracious lord to

Thomas, which was footman to the Queen my _moder, whose sowle

God assoyle_” (it has been shown previously that her mother,

Elizabeth of York, died just before Margaret departed for

Scotland,) “for he hath been one of my footmen hither, with as

great diligence and labour to his great charge of his own good

and true mind. I am not able to recompense him except by the

favor of your Grace.

“Sir, as for news, I have none to send, but that my Lord of

Surrey is in great favor with _this King here_, that he can

not forbear the company of him at no time of the day. He and the

Bishop of Murray ordereth every thing as nigh as they can to the

King’s pleasure; I pray God it may be for my poor heart’s ease

in time to come. They call not my Chamberlain to them, who, I

am sure, would speak better for my part than any of them that be

of _that_ council. But if he speak any thing for my cause,

my Lord of Surrey hath such words unto him that he dare speak

no further. God send me comfort to his pleasure, and that I and

mine, that be left here with me, may be well entreated.”

So far the child-Queen has communicated her grievances through the pen

of one of her attendants; but she thinks proper to finish the letter

in her own hand. It does not seem that Princesses of fourteen years

old, in those days, held the pens of ready writers: the orthography

and characters are equally barbarous; altogether, Margaret’s first

autograph is nearly illegible; and one would think that it was

tribulation of heart alone that could force the effort of concluding

the complaining epistle. She proceeds--

“For God’s sake, Sir, hold me excused that I write not myself to

your Grace, for I have no leisure at this time; but with a wish

I would I were with your Grace now, and many times more. And for

this that I have written to your Grace, it is very true; but I

pray God I may find it well for my welfare hereafter. No more to

your Grace at this time; but our Lord have you in his keeping.

Written with the hand of your humble _daughter_.

“MARGARET.”

The next day there was another grand presentation of the Scottish

ladies to the Queen, a public dinner and playing with blunted swords

and spears in the Court of Holyrood, the Queen again sitting in royal

state in the bay-window of her presence-chamber during the tourney,

when many spears were broken in her presence.

A day of solemn festival was held on the succeeding Sunday, August

13; it seems to have been the farewell feast to such of the English

party as were yet remaining. The Queen was led to church accompanied

by the Earl of Surrey--a nobleman who occupied, as our readers have

just ascertained by her letter, a very low place in her good graces.

“She was arrayed in a gown of purple-figured velvet, bordered with gold

thread, and furred with ermines; it was made with great _rebras_.”

The rebras were large trumpet-shaped sleeves. The portraits of Anne of

Bretagne, Queen of Louis XII., and Anne Boleyn are in this costume: the

fashion lasted almost through the reign of Henry VIII.

Queen Margaret likewise wore a rich girdle and a splendid collar or

necklace of _pierrerie_, or colored gems; Lady Surrey bore her

train, assisted by Sir John Hume. The King followed her, attended by

his great officers. He was royally robed in cloth of gold furred with

marten; his doublet was crimson satin lined with cloth of gold. To

his bonnet hung “a rich bag,” and his shirt was embroidered with fine

pierrerie and pearls. When he arrived at his curtained closet, he made

a humble reverence to his Queen, as she did also to him.

“At the offering were assembled three noble Scottish lords, who were

that day to be made earls in the Queen’s presence. When mass was

now over, they were presented to the King by Marchmont Herald. They

promised to hold their oaths, and then the King of Scotland girdled

them with their swords _above their shoulders_. Then the King took

the Queen’s hand and led her to the company; but because it rained,

her Grace passed through the King’s chamber to enter her own. The Earl

of Surrey dined with the King, and other lords dined with him; after

dinner a morality was played by John English and his company before the

King and Queen, and then dances were danced.”

“At the accustomed hour. King James went to even-song;” but the Queen,

who seems to have declined such constant church-going, was not there;

“therefore the making of some knights who were to have been made for

love of her, was put off until next day.”[99]

Without being entirely guided by the English memorialist of this

remarkable royal marriage, we may add that the northern historians,

with Bishop Lesley at their head, declare “that all was conducted

honorably, after the Scottish fashion. Scotchmen were, at this time,

not behind, but far above the Englishmen, both in apparel, rich

jewels, and massy chains--many ladies having their habiliments set

with goldsmith’s work, garnished with pearl and precious stones, being

withal mounted on gallant and well-trapped horses, which were comely to

see.”

Lesley says, moreover, “When all things were done and finished,

the Earl of Surrey, with all the English lords, returned to their

country, giving great praise, not only to the valor and manhood

of the Scottishmen, but also to their good manners, and the hearty

entertainment which they received of them; and divers English ladies

and young gentlewomen remained with the Queen, who were after married

to noblemen of the realm in Scotland, whose posterity lives yet in

honor to our days.”[100]

The return of the English party with Lord Surrey, left the royal

new married pair at leisure to commence their plans for matrimonial

felicity. But small hopes of that needful ingredient in the cup of

life were there for them. Margaret’s letter to her father shows her

as an ill-educated girl of fourteen, not the most reasonable period

of human life in any station, and particularly trying in hers. The

series of flatteries and adorations she had experienced in her bridal

tour, had only puffed up the vanity and presumption to which the female

character, at that age, is peculiarly liable. The sedulous attentions,

and little fond indulgences, with which her accomplished lord had

humanely endeavored to soothe and console her for her removal from

her country and parent, were all utterly thrown away on a thankless

and murmuring spirit. Margaret was as little grateful to the Earl

of Surrey, for his successful escort to the throne matrimonial of

Scotland. All the return she makes is an incendiary endeavor to sow

strife between him and the King her father;[101] strife which, in due

time, might have brought forth murderous fruits.

It was not very probable that a sullen, spoiled child, in her

thirteenth summer, could prove an attractive companion to a monarch of

James IV.’s character, who, in 1503, had entered his thirty-first year.

Had Margaret Tudor reached one half the age of her spouse, she might

have had more success in disputing his heart with the matured beauties

of her court; as the case was, it could only be expected that she would

grow up to womanhood, with the passions of anger and jealousy in a

perpetual state of exercise.

In one taste alone did this dissimilar pair agree, which was in their

love for music. The Tudor race had retained their Celtic predilection

for that science, and all practically excelled in it. The royal Stuarts

possessed much instrumental skill, together with the inspiration of

true poetry. Thus, whatsoever discrepancies there might have been

between James Stuart and Margaret Tudor in age, temper, and talents,

they were united in their musical predilections.

The King’s bounty was overflowing to Margaret’s musicians, for their

performances at the marriage, as his privy-purse expenses bear witness.

On his wedding-day, he presented to her eight English minstrels the

large sum of forty French crowns; to the trumpets of England, £28; to

Queen Margaret’s four minstrels who remained with her, £7; but her

five _loud_ minstrels had £28. The King had £3 10_s._ given

out to him, to play at cards, on the evening of August 21. It seems

that he did not decrease the contents of his card-purse, but with

right princely spirit he gave all his winnings to Queen Margaret’s

English harpers. A few days afterward, the King presented to Bountas,

a cornet-player, who played in Queen Margaret’s chamber, twenty-eight

shillings. The following month, her “loud minstrels,” and her

cornet-player, got double fees; and Bountas was presented, by the King,

with “new quhisellis” or whistles.[102]

These last benefactions were on account of the festivities at his

Queen’s coronation; for soon after he convened his Parliament of the

three estates of his kingdom, Margaret was solemnly crowned in the

Parliament Hall.

James IV. then commenced a progress through the southern provinces of

his kingdom, to show his subjects his English bride. Bishop Lesley, the

Scottish historian, takes care to note how nobly they were entertained

at abbeys, and what rich purses of gold were always devoted by the

Church of Scotland to their royal visitors--one to the Queen as well as

to the King.

Margaret was still a child, therefore notations of pleasure and

amusements constitute the sole records of her married life for a

year or two. The anniversary of her marriage in 1504, was spent at

the fortress of Dunottar, of which the head of the noble family of

Keith was then castellan. Here, in August, James IV. kept court with

princely cheer, and gave, in the course of the month, many donations

to Margaret’s musical band. “Two English songstresses, who sang in

the pavilion to the Queen at Dunottar Castle, had a donation of

27_s._: the King likewise ordered a benefaction of 18_s._ to

the _chield_ that played on the monochord.”[103] Queen Margaret’s

luter had fees amounting to 56_s._, likewise Pate Harper, who

played the _clarcha_; the English boy Cuddy, and Souter the

luter, got a share in a largess of £3 10_s._, given by the royal

Stuart. The Queen’s luter was given a donation to get his lute out

of pawn; four Italian minstrels had fees to clear them of the town;

and Hog the tale-teller, or _diseur_, was given a benefaction of

13_s._[104]

Dunottar Castle, in the county of Kincardine, the scene of the royal

festivities where all these musicians found employment in August,

1504, was a mighty fortress, situated on a perpendicular rock, with a

table-land of several acres in extent on the summit. The site projects

into the sea, and is almost insular. It is, at present, one of the most

majestic ruins in Scotland.[105]

As Dunottar was in that day impregnable, James IV. had probably removed

his Queen thither for security, during the disturbances among the clans

and the Lords of the Isles, which almost raised a civil war that summer

in Scotland.[106]

The young Queen brought Scotland an heir, February 10, 1505–6; but she

hung between life and death for many days afterward. Her sad condition

could not, however, restrain her husband’s excessive joy for the

birth of a living heir-apparent to Scotland; he presented the lady

who brought him the glad tidings with a cup of silver, heaped with a

hundred gold pieces. The child was born at Holyrood, and baptized with

suitable triumph.[107]

The young mother being in a desperate state of health, her royal

spouse testified the greatest anxiety for her amendment--not, however,

by remaining at home for the purpose of watching over her, but by

performing a pilgrimage on foot to the shrine of St. Ninian, on the

coast of Galloway; this, he persuaded his suffering partner, would

greatly conduce to her recovery.

King James was attended by his four Italian minstrels, who, when

they arrived at the shrine, were completely exhausted by their long

pedestrian expedition, and were forced to be carried back to Holyrood

on horses hired for the occasion. The King, who was as hardy and manly

as any of his countrymen, persevered in all he had vowed, and withal in

some other journeyings more than he made public. However, his loving

lieges were exceedingly edified by his tender attentions in making this

pedestrian pilgrimage for the benefit of Margaret’s health, especially

when it was found that her recovery was perfectly coincident with the

moment at which her King offered, in her behalf, at the shrine of St.

Ninians.[108] Margaret had, nevertheless, subsequently reason to know

that James would have shown more true love to her by staying at home;

for it was on this pilgrimage that he renewed his acquaintance with the

handsome Jane Kennedy, mother of his son James Stuart, then under the

tuition of Erasmus at Rotterdam. James IV. afterward imposed this boy

on the Church of Scotland as Primate.

Besides the usual share of trouble and crime incurred by such

connections, the King of Scotland entered into a life-long enmity with

Archibald, Earl of Angus, Old Bell-the-Cat, who was wooing Jane Kennedy

for honorable matrimony. Notwithstanding all the scandals regarding the

King and Jane, the old Earl carried her off, and actually married her,

although, in the course of the contention, James IV. imprisoned him.

When the young Queen wholly recovered, she likewise made a pilgrimage

of thanksgiving, on a most magnificent scale, to St. Ninians. Margaret

traveled in a litter to the Galloway coast. Her baggage took seventeen

pack-horses to carry it; her chapel plate and furniture, called the

Queen’s “chapel-graith,” were borne in two coffers. James’s wardrobe

required three horses to bear it. He, as well as the Queen, was

attended by his chaplains and “chapel-gear.” The royal pilgrimage

lasted twenty days.[109]

“The Queen was sore vexed with sickness that year;”[110] nor was her

health amended by the loss of her first-born, who died at Stirling

Castle when he was little more than a twelvemonth old, February 17,

1506–7. His preceptor, the Bishop of Galloway, expired exactly at the

same time. The poor young Queen passed the first years of her marriage

in a state of invalidism: moreover she had the vexation of seeing her

husband’s heart disputed by a crowd of rivals.

The Christmas of 1507 was kept merrily at old Holyrood. Among other

expenses for the festive proceedings of the court, thirty dozen of

little bells were provided and delivered to Thomas Boswell, for the

dancers at the royal revels on the last night of the old year, 1507.

One of the canons of Holyrood was paid 7_d._ for his pains in

mending the organ there.

The Valentine-tide was kept joyously with music, minstrels, and

mummers. If Queen Margaret were ill it was for no lack of gayety.

King James himself went and “fetched a female minstrel whose name

(or character-name) was Wantonness, and gart her sing in the Queen’s

chamber;”[111] and Wantonness received for her pains 13_s._ of the

royal bounty. Again, on the following “March 6, Wantonness and her twa

marrows (associates) wha sang with her, had a gratuity of 13_s._”

Among the numerous minstrels entertained and paid at the court of

James and Margaret may be reckoned O’Donnel, an Irish harper, to whom

was given the handsome fee of seven pounds. “Ane bard-wife, called

Agnes Cargill,” had 13_s._; the harper on the Erse clarcha had

9_s._; Gray Steil, the luter, had 5_s._[112]--his name of

Gray Steil was probably derived from a national ballad so called, as

King James gave two of his fiddlers 9_s._ for singing the song of

Gray Steil to his satisfaction.

James IV. was at the height of his prosperity and good fortune in

the summer of 1508. He saw his alliance sedulously courted by the

King of France, Louis XII., who sent a solemn embassy to him in May,

when Edinburgh was the scene of splendid fêtes, to welcome the French

nobles. An unknown knight, called “the Wild Knight,” who was surrounded

by attendants like “salvage men in their attire,” won great renown at

the jousting held in honor of the embassy from Louis XII., June, 1508.

All the French knights were reversed, one after the other, before the

powerful and skillful arm of the Wild Knight, to the great satisfaction

of the Queen and all Englishmen and Scotchmen present. At the giving of

the prizes, the gallant King of Scotland claimed a prize as his due,

“because he was the conquering Wild Knight.” The somewhat inhospitable

course of cuffs, bruises, and downfalls, with which the royal James had

entertained his French guests, was succeeded by their invitation to a

grand festival, called a Round Table of King Arthur.

The King of Scotland remembering all the parade that his wise

father-in-law, Henry VII., had made regarding the restoration of the

blood of King Arthur to the throne of England, resolved to give the

child, whom his Queen, Margaret, was daily expected to bring, the truly

British name of Arthur. But the infant proved a girl, and Margaret

languished long, in great peril of her life. Her daughter died as soon

as christened.[113]

The Queen appears to have passed the autumn at Lochmaben Castle, the

noble structure on the Lochmaben Lake, in Annandale, where Robert Bruce

is said to have been born. It is possible that the King of Scotland

took her there in hopes that their expected offspring might draw its

first breath in the natal place of his renowned ancestor. The only

memento of the royal sojourn at Lochmaben is a quaint entry in the

King’s Compotus,[114] recording “a gratification of 14_s._ to the

crooked Vicar of Dumfries, who sung to the King and Queen at Lochmaben,

September 17, 1508.”

James IV. had left his Queen to keep court at Holyrood by herself,

while he went in the beginning of April 1508 to perform his devotions

at his favorite haunt the shrine of St. Ninians at Whitehorn,

where report again whispered that the fair lady Jane Kennedy was

the real attraction. During his absence Dr. West, an envoy from

his father-in-law Henry VII., tired of waiting at Berwick for a

safe-conduct, came to Edinburgh, where he had several interviews

with the young Queen. His business was to explain why Henry VII.

had arrested James’s kinsman, the Earl of Arran, and his brother

Sir Patrick Hamilton--it was because they had taken the liberty of

traveling through England for embarkation to France, without a passport

or safe-conduct.

Queen Margaret labored in vain, when her husband returned, to procure

an interview for Dr. West. James was seriously displeased with the

capture of his kinsmen. He sent word to Dr. West “that he was too

busy with superintending the making gunpowder, and with” the very

incomprehensible occupation of “scotting hewmyss,[115] to spare time to

speak to him.”

The Queen took the part of her sire with more warmth than discretion.

Sir Patrick Hamilton, meantime, appeared at the Scottish court--whether

he had escaped or came on his parole is not explained; but he raised

doleful complaints to the King, of the ill-treatment that his brother

Arran received in his place of detention in England. The Queen

contradicted those who repeated this saying, affirming “that Sir

Patrick had assured her that her father had entertained the Earl of

Arran very well.” An inquiry took place in presence of the King, the

Queen, Sir Patrick Hamilton, and Dr. West. The result was, that Sir

Patrick had really told the Queen “that his brother had been very ill

entreated by her royal father.”[116]

The news of the decease of Henry VII. soon afterward arrived from

England. The loss of her affectionate father was the heaviest grief

with which Margaret’s young life had been visited. This was soon after

followed by that of her grandmother, the Countess of Richmond, who, for

a few weeks, had exercised the office of regent for Henry VIII.

The marriage of Henry VIII. and Katharine of Arragon, the widow of

Arthur, Prince of Wales, had taken place peacefully and prosperously.

Henry VIII., Margaret, and their young sister Mary Tudor, their aunt

Katharine Plantagenet, and her son, were all that remained of the once

numerous descendants of Edward IV. The English and Scottish thrones, as

Margaret’s children had hitherto died in their infancy, were singularly

destitute of heirs-male.

In the autumn of 1509, Queen Margaret again brought forth a living son.

He was born at Holyrood, October 20.[117] The young mother insisted

that the heir-apparent of Scotland and heir-presumptive of England

should bear the national name of Arthur, in remembrance of her favorite

brother--a measure which, however, savored more of family affection

and gratitude than of policy. The boy was christened Arthur, and

proclaimed, with great state, Prince of Scotland and Lord of the Isles.

The legacy bequeathed by Arthur, Prince of Wales, to his sister

Margaret, may be remembered. Whether Henry VII. conceived that the

young Prince had no right to bequeath his personals and valuables,

or whether he chose to retain them in his grasp, is not easy to

define; but it is certain that Queen Margaret was in a great state of

excitement concerning them. Very soon after her father’s death, she

agitated the matter with her brother Henry VIII., who answered her

civilly; but the goods and chattels were nevertheless not forthcoming.

The Queen lost her infant son, Arthur, in July, 1511. He died at

Edinburgh Castle. Margaret and James were deeply afflicted at this

loss, and left Holyrood suddenly in consequence. The unfortunate young

mother was again “sore vexit with sickness.”

When the royal pair returned to the capital, among the amusements

devised to divert Queen Margaret’s grief, a play was performed in her

presence at Holyrood, October 12, 1511. The day is remarkable, because

the illustrious poet, David Lindsay of the Mount, is first mentioned

then, as one of the royal household. He acted in the play, and received

from the royal stores a dress of blue and yellow taffety to attire

himself for the part he performed.[118]

That year and ensuing spring were remarkably unhealthy. A comet had

been seen casting beams like a sun, which glared for twenty-one nights:

it frightened the King and Queen into fits of ultra devotion. Although

Margaret had been thrice the mother of living children, she, like her

sister-in-law, Katharine of Arragon, was still childless. By the King’s

advice, she took a pilgrimage to St. Duthois of Ross, and returned to

Edinburgh about July 10, to assist at the reception of her brother’s

ambassadors, Lord Dacre and Sir Robert Drury. The ensuing April 11,

1512,[119] Queen Margaret was delivered at her palace of Linlithgow of

“ane fair Prince,” who was shortly after baptized James, and proclaimed

Prince of Scotland and the Isles. He lived to be James V.

Meantime a fierce naval contest occurred between the fleets of England

and Scotland. The ground of dispute was alleged piracy; the brave

Scottish Admiral Barton fell, and his ships were captured by Sir

Edward Howard--terrible losses to James IV.

Lord Dacre and Dr. West came when Margaret’s infant son was about

a month old, May 4,[120] to hear the statement the Queen made of

her claims on the disputed legacy from her own lips. The following

interview is extracted from the dispatches of Dr. West to his King,

Henry VIII. She had removed from Linlithgow with her boy, to her

husband’s royal seat of Stirling Castle. The conversation took place

after dinner.[121] Directly Dr. West was introduced, Queen Margaret

asked, writes he--

“If your Grace had sent her legacy?”

West answered, “Yea, which I was to deliver to her, so that the King of

Scots would promise to keep the treaty of peace.”

“And not else?” asked Queen Margaret.

“No,” replied Dr. West. “And if the King of Scots, your husband,

persists in war, the King of England, my master, will not only keep the

legacy, but take from him the best towns he has in Scotland.”

What Queen Margaret would have answered to this uncivil rejoinder Dr.

West declares he knew not, for King James entered her withdrawing-room,

and the conversation ceased.

The war mentioned by Dr. West was on the eve of exploding between Henry

VIII., and Louis XII. James of Scotland meant to rank himself among

the allies of France. Henry, being young and pugnacious, had demanded

of Louis XII. the payment of “the pension” for which Edward IV. had

compounded his claims on the French provinces, the inheritance of his

ancestress, Eleanor of Aquitaine. It amounted to about 50,000 louis;

and, as if for a lesson to the destructive ambition of princes, it

had cost several lives for every coin received: for it has never been

paid but to three very prosperous sovereigns of England, to keep them

quiet--viz. Edward IV., Henry VIII., and Charles II., and very few

installments of this blood-bought annuity did either receive. Lindsay

of Pitscottie, however, notices that Henry VIII. claimed his pension,

and got it, from Louis XII.

As King James was resolved to adhere to the ancient alliance of France,

Dr. West demanded leave to depart. The King requested him[122] “first

to go and see the Queen and the young Prince at Linlithgow;” adding,

“that Queen Margaret had tokens for the King her brother and Queen

Katharine.”

“Item,” adds the reverend envoy,[123] “on Sunday afternoon I rode to

Linlithgow, and came thither by four o’clock. As soon as I alighted,

her Grace, Queen Margaret, sent Sir John Sinclair for me. Howbeit, ‘she

told me she had done the best that was in her power, and would continue

so to do.’ And without further communication about her legacy, or any

other matter, she delivered me the tokens for your Grace, the Queen,

and the Princess (her sister Mary). Queen Margaret then commanded that

I should be taken to see the Prince, and so I was. Verily, he is a

right fair child, and a large one for his age.”[124]

The beautiful babe that Queen Margaret displayed with pride to the

English envoy was afterward James V. Even at that tender age, he

had been given in charge to Sir David Lindsay of the Mount, who was

appointed by James IV. to be gentleman-usher to the royal infant. He is

called both “the Prince’s usher” and “the keeper of the King’s grace.”

He entered on his office the day the heir of Scotland was born. Never

did an infant prince receive more tender service from any nurse than

the son of Queen Margaret from this noble and learned gentleman. It was

doubtless owing to his judicious treatment that the infant Prince did

not follow his brethren and sister to the grave.

There are few prettier passages in historical biography than the lines

wherein Sir David Lindsay describes the manner in which he amused,

and, at the same time, awoke the dawning intellect of the young

royal Stuart, whom he bore on his arm until he could run alone. From

the testimony of Sir David himself, it appears that Queen Margaret

had provided her infant Prince both with nurse and governess; but

their occupations must have been complete sinecures, since Sir David

of the Mount did nothing but play with him by day, and watch him

at night. These employments of a royal baby’s vice-chamberlain are

fully confirmed by comparison with the Bruges Journal of Lewis

Gruthuse,[125] who saw Sir Richard Vaughan (afterward beheaded at

Pontefract by Richard III.) taking similar care of Edward V. in his

infancy; like the stout Earl of Warwick, also, who did not disdain to

dandle the infant Henry VI., and thought it no shame to be depicted

with his King of six months old on his warlike arm.[126]

“I take the Queen’s grace, thy mother, to witness,” says Sir David

Lindsay, “likewise my Lord Chancellor, your nurse, and your old

governess, how, when you slept, it was nightly close to my cheek; how

often, in the day, I bore your grace on my back, even as a packman. But

sometimes you bestrode my neck, dancing and jumping, with many a nod

and smile. Nay, the very first syllables you lisped were meant as my

name, being Pa Da Lyné; and this you said that I might play on my lute

to divert you.” However, it is doing great wrong to the faithful Sir

David to translate into plain prose, for the benefit of those who love

not the sight of metre, his naïve and pleasant lines, which, after all,

give the same information, only many degrees better, as follows:--

“I entered to thy majesty

The day of thy nativity;

I pray thy grace for to consider,

Thou hast made many lords and lairds,

And given them many rich rewards,

To them which were full far to seek,

When I lay nightly by thy cheek,

I take the Queen, her grace, thy mother,

My Lord the Chancellor, and other,

Thy nurse, and thy old mistress,[127]

I take them all to bear witness.

Old Willy Dale,[128] were he alive,

My life full well he could describe,

How, as a packman bears his pack,

I bore your Grace upon my back.

Sometime you strode upon my neck,

Dancing with many a bend and beck.

The first _syllabs_ that thou didst mute,

”Were ‘Pa Da Lyné on the lute.’”

These “syllabs,” as Sir David terms the first accents of the infant

Prince, were supposed to mean, “Play, Davy Lindsay, on the lute.” The

affectionate David describes how thereupon he snatched up the lute,

and played “twenty springs,” or tunes. But the musical faculties of

his charge, when once excited, never let David have repose from the

instrument:--

“From play thou’st never let me rest;

But Ginkerton[129] thou likest the best.”

The King and Queen of Scotland remained malcontent with England the

whole winter. James could not forgive the loss of his favorite seaman,

Barton; while Margaret led every one a weary life concerning the

detention of her legacy. She was ill in health, and expected sympathy

and consolation from her brother. Dr. West was sent again to confer

with her on the subject of dispute. He arrived in Edinburgh, March

16, 1513.[130] He brought letters of condolence to the Queen, on her

illness, from Henry VIII., and many promises respecting the legacy;

but he certainly came empty-handed, and unprovided with any means

of payment. Henry persisted in declaring that he would only deliver

the goods to his sister in case Scotland remained at peace with him;

and King James, determining to maintain his alliance with France, to

appease Margaret promised “to give her as many jewels, and better and

richer abuilzements,” than those her brother unjustly kept from her.

She wrote the following letter[131] to Henry VIII. by Dr. West--

“Right excellent, right high and mighty Prince, our dearest and

best beloved Brother.

“We commend us unto you in our most hartlie wise. Your

ambassador, Doctor West, delivered us your loving letters, in

which ye show us that, when ye heard of our sickness, ye took

great heaviness.

“Dearest brother, we are greatly rejoiced that we see ye have

respect to our disease; we give ye our hearty thanks, and your

writing is to us good comfort.

“We can not believe that of your mind, or by your command,

we are so unfriendly dealt with in our _Fader’s_[132]

legacy, whereof we would not have spoken nor written, had

not the Doctor spoken to us of the same in his credence. Our

husband knows it is withholden for his sake, and will recompense

us so far as the Doctor shows him.[133] _We are ashamed

therewith_, and would God never word had been thereof. It

is not worth such estimation as in your divers letters of the

same. _And we lack nothing: our husband is ever the longer

the better to us_, as knows God; who, right high and mighty

Prince, our dearest and best beloved brother, have you in

governance.

“Given under our signet, at our Palace of Linlithgow, the 9th

day of April.

“Your loving Sister,

“MARGARET.”

James IV., although resolved to support Louis XII. against his

brother-in-law, was anxious for the preservation of the peace of

Europe, likely to be disturbed by the perpetual requisitions of the

pension Henry VIII. insisted on receiving from France, and of the

legacy his queen demanded with equal pertinacity. The war between Henry

and Louis had commenced with a naval action in Conquet Bay, in which

the victory was dubious; but the death of the brave naval commander,

Sir Edward Howard, made it disastrous to the English. James IV. regrets

this loss, although Howard had slain his Admiral Barton the preceding

year; and he mentions his Queen as sharing in these feelings. “Surely,

dear brother,”[134] writes the crowned chevalier, when urging his

earnest desire for peace in Europe, “we think there is more loss to you

of your late admiral who deceased, to his great honor and laud, than

the advantage that might have been to you of winning all the French

galleys and their equipage. The loss is great to Christendom of that

said umquhile valiant knight, and other noblemen that on both sides

apparently perished. Pray you, dearest brother, to take our writings in

gude part, as our own is; for verily we are sorry, and also our dearest

_fallow_ (consort) for this loss, through acquaintance of his

_fader_, that noble knight, the Earl of Surrey, who convoyed our

dearest _fallow_ the Queen to us. Right excellent, right high and

mighty Prince, our dear brother and cousin, the blessed Trinity have

you in tuition. Given under our signet, at our Palace of Edinburgh, the

xxiii. of May.”

Soon after the return of Dr. West to England, a decisive demand of

Margaret’s legacy was made, the alternative being a declaration of war

from the King of Scotland. If Lindsay of Pitscottie may be credited,

a very singular dispatch, full of flattering promises, was the

answer:--[135]

“My lord ambassador desires to have of me silver-work, golden work,

rings, chains, precious stones, and other the abuilzements pertaining

to a prince, left in legacy by my eldest brother Arthur to my eldest

sister, Margaret, Queen of Scotland. I grant thereto she shall be well

answered of the same, and the double thereof. And if,” concludes Henry

VIII., “the King of Scotland will promise faithfully to keep his word

by me, I shall incontinent, _with the consent of my nobles_,

make him Duke of York and governor of England to my home-coming--for

heirs of England must come either of him or me, and I have none as

yet lawfully; but I hear say that Margaret my sister hath a pretty

boy, likely to grow a man of estimation. I pray God to bless him, and

keep him from his enemies, and give me grace to see him in honor when

he cometh of age, that I may entertain him according to my honor and

duty.”[136]

Subsequently, this curious passage in the history of the royal family

of Scotland and England is confirmed by the pertinacity with which

Queen Margaret required that her brother, when destitute of male heirs,

should create her son James, Duke of York. Again, the remarkable

circumstance that the legacy is always mentioned as that of Arthur,

Prince of Wales, by the Scotch historians, deserves notice; while the

English historians, and even the letters of their envoys, allude to it

as the legacy of Margaret’s father. But the Scotch are certainly right,

since Henry VII. left no such legacy.[137]

King James, finding that his brother-in-law had actually sailed to

invade Louis XII. (June 1st, 1513), dispatched to the aid of his ally

his two great ships, which always sailed in consort--the Margaret,

which he had named after his Queen, and the James; likewise the great

St. Michael, and a fleet of smaller vessels, under the command of his

kinsmen, the Earls of Huntly and Arran. Like all marine expeditions

under the command of soldiers, it was an abortive one; and the Earl of

Arran incurred his King’s displeasure by his strange manœuvers, and

excited suspicion, that if he had had sufficient seamanship, he would

have run away with the fleet.

Meantime James IV. sent his Lord Lion to declare war on Henry VIII.,

then besieging Terouenne; and the Lord Lion, in his herald’s dress,

being introduced by Garter, in his garb of solemnity, to the presence

of Henry VIII., then in his camp, declared war in a set and serious

oration.[138] Among the other wrongs which had induced the King of

Scots to declare war, are enumerated the following:--“Because King

Henry had taken various Scotchmen out of our realm, and chained them

in prison by the craigs (necks); likewise withholding our wiff’s

legacy (promised in divers letters) in despite of us; and slaughter of

Andrew Barton, by your awn command, quha had not offended you or your

lieges--breaking peace and amity by that deed.”[139]

Here was cause enough for war. The naval conflict in time of profound

peace; the death, in consequence, of James’s gallant seaman, Andrew

Barton--to say nothing of the cruelty of catching Scotchmen and

“chaining them by the craigs”--were outrages bad enough, without the

further aggravation of depriving Margaret of the legacy, regarding

which she had made such ceaseless requisitions.

Nevertheless, as soon as war was actually declared against her

brother, Queen Margaret began to be excessively full of lamentations

for the measure she had urged on. Her jealousy was excited by the

correspondence Anne of Brittany, Queen of France, commenced with James

IV., urging him to do his devoir, as chevalier-errant, by invading

England, and marching three days, with banners displayed, over the

Borders. In token that she had chosen him as her knight, Queen Anne

sent him a ring of immense value, taken off her finger.

James was eager to make a diversion in favor of his ally by invading

England, but soon found that his wedded partner meant to let him have

little quiet in consequence, either by day or by night; the cause

of grievance being, that the Queen of France had written him “ane

love-letter.”

Common sense might have represented to her that the Queen of France was

a woman dying of decline. She was, withal, old enough to be her mother.

King James, however gallantly disposed to the French Queen, had never

beheld her; neither was he likely so to do. The ideas of the disputed

jewels, and the message of the Queen of France, working together in

Margaret’s irritable brain, either produced uneasy visions, or led her

to feign some. The tragical events that soon after occurred, caused

her to give them forth as prophetic--in which representation she was

supported by certain grave chroniclers.[140] The dreams themselves

are good for nothing as events in political history; but, as symptoms

of the state of a person’s mind and thoughts, have a certain value in

historical biography. Just as James IV. was completing his musters of

feudal militia, for the purpose of invading England, Queen Margaret one

night awoke him with sobs, tears, and even cries. On being awakened by

her husband, she assured him that she had been frightened and perplexed

by terrifying dreams. One time she thought she saw him hurled down

a great precipice, and crushed and mangled at the bottom; while she

lost one of her eyes. Then the scene changed; and she thought that,

while she was looking at her jewels, chains, and sparkling coronets

of diamonds, they suddenly turned to pearls before her face--pearls

which are the emblems of widowhood and tears. James told her these were

wild visions, merely produced by the vagaries of sleep, and not to be

regarded. Upon which Queen Margaret commenced a curtain-lecture, by

asking him “Why he preferred pleasing the Queen of France to her, his

wife and the mother of his children?” She likewise insisted on going

with him to the south. “If you will,” she said, “suffer me to accompany

you; it may be that my countrymen will yield to a peace. I hear the

Queen, my sister (Katharine of Arragon), will be there, in the army,

in her husband’s absence. If we meet, who knows what God, by our means,

may bring to pass?”[141]

James was incensed at her proceeding to abuse Anne of Bretagne, the

Queen of France, as a woman “twice married, by means of divorces.”

The royal pair had a great quarrel; and Margaret, finding that if she

dreamed never so much to the purpose, she failed of having her own way,

took other measures.

Indeed, the alledged supernatural occurrences which preceded the

invasion of England--the principal scene of which took place at her

own private dwelling of the palace of Linlithgow--when joined to

her own proceedings in breaking James’s rest by dreaming alarming

dreams, may very well lead to the inference that Margaret had entered

surreptitiously into a series of schemes[142] for working on the

prominent weakness of her husband’s mind--which was an imagination

easily excited by the marvelous. Notwithstanding her aptitude to dream

dreams, it is the opinion of her biographer that she was herself not

only totally free from any superstitious credulity, but by no means

over given to belief in the supernatural, even in the sacred truths of

religion. An immense mass of her correspondence is before us. Never

did any person write so many letters concerning herself with so little

allusion to belief in any future state, or with such utter carelessness

in regard to any world but the present. They are, at the same time,

totally free from superstition: not a dream, an omen, a prediction,

or even an observance of a lucky or an unlucky day, is to be found in

several hundreds of very egotistical epistles now under examination.

The inference is therefore plain, that Margaret’s dreams were dreamed

for the nonce, as preludes to the following incident, which was

probably contrived (or at least connived at) by her.

James IV. had passed a few days at the Queen’s palace at Linlithgow,

before he called together his feudal muster. At the council held in the

morning, it was observed that he was out of spirits. In the evening he

attended vespers at the stately abbey-church of St. Michael, adjoining

to the Queen’s palace, for the purpose of praying for the success of

the expedition.[143] While praying in St. Katharine’s chapel, near

the porch,[144] “there came ane man, clad in a blue gown or blouse,

belted about him with a roll of white linen: he had brodikins or

buskins on his feet. His head was bare, bald on the top, with yellow

locks hanging on each side: his age about fifty. He came fast forwards

among the lords, crying and speering specially for the King, saying

‘that he wanted to speak with him.’” It seems that petitions were

often presented by the people when the King was at his devotions.

“At last the man reached the desk where King James was at prayers.

He made no due reverence to him, or salutations; but leaned him

_gruffling_[145] upon the desk, (bent down to the desk), and spoke

thus--‘Sir King, my mother has sent me to thee, charging thee not to go

where thou art purposed; which, if thou do, thou shalt not fare well,

nor none that is with thee. Further--she forbade thee not to mell nor

follow the counsel of women; which if thou do, thou wilt be confounded

and brought to shame.’”

By the time these words were spoken, even-song was nearly done. The

King paused, studying to give him an answer. Meantime, before the

King’s eyes, and in presence of all the lords about him, “like the

blink of the sunbeam or the whiff of the whirlwind, the man evanished

away, and could no more be seen.” “I heard,” continues Lindsay of

Pitscottie, “Sir David Lindsay and John Inglish, the marshal (who were

at that time both of them young men, and special servants to the King’s

grace), thought to have taken this man, that they might have speered

further tidings at him; but they could not touch him.”[146]

The traditions of Linlithgow declare that another attempt being made to

catch the masquerader, who seems to have assumed the character of St.

John, he eluded the grasp by slipping behind a curtain which concealed

a private stair leading toward the upper part of the church, and that,

on leaving this place of refuge, he was seen crossing the court, and

entering Linlithgow Palace by a small door under the chapel window.

He was said to have been a servant of Queen Margaret.[147] Hence the

report prevalent throughout all history that he was suborned by her.

The distraction of the times, and his own incessant occupations,

evidently prevented the King from inquiring into this clumsy

imposition, which, if cleverly sifted, might have brought down his

stern displeasure on his wedded partner. Like most intrigues of the

same species, it had no effect in changing the current of events;

for James went immediately to Edinburgh to hasten his invasion of

England.[148]

All the marvels meant to deter King James from his expedition were

not yet exhausted: his artillerymen at Edinburgh worked night as well

as day at bringing down military stores from the Castle. They were

employed one night heaving down the cannon called the Seven Sisters,

which the King had had lately cast by his master-gunner, Borthwick,

when, about midnight, a strange scene took place at the Mercat Cross.

A summons was shouted forth, called by the proclaimer “the summons of

Platcock,”[149] which, it was implied, was the name of some fiend,

“requiring certain earls, lords, barons, and gentlemen, and sundry

burgesses, designating each individual by name, to appear before his

master in forty days, wheresoever he might be.” But it does not appear

that the person who played this audacious prank dared mention the

King.[150]

The ghostly summons was evidently a parody on the recent requisition

of King James to his feudal militia, which he had called out to do

him their bounden service against his adversary of England for their

usual forty days, bringing their arms and provision. Not only the

warlike yeomanry, but those burgesses of Edinburgh who owed military

service, were called upon to do their duty by the King. One of them,

Mr. Richard Lawson, who either had been, or was afterward, Provost

of Edinburgh,[151] being very ill at ease, probably not remarkably

relishing his liege lord’s call to the battle-field, had stepped out

for air on the balcony of his house, when the fiend at the Mercat

Cross, just opposite, was vociferating the list of those who were to

fall. Richard Lawson, to his horror, heard his own name as a summoned

one; “whereupon, hearing the voice, he marveled what it should be; so

he cried out to his servant to bring him his purse, and took out of

it one crown, which he cast over his balcony, saying--‘I for my part

appeal from your summons and judgment, and betake me to the mercy of

God.’”

“Verily,” continues our author,[152] “he who caused me chronicle this

was ane sufficient landed gentleman, who was in the town of Edinburgh

at the time; and he swore, after the field, there was not one man

whose name was called on in Platcock or Pluto’s summons that came home

alive, excepting only Richard Lawson, who appealed against it.” But it

is most probable that Richard Lawson was the very person who contrived

the incident: as he was one of the civic authorities, he had particular

opportunities of arranging aught that was done or acted at the Market

Cross; he was the only witness of the matter; and he was evidently of

the peace or Queen’s party.

James IV. was peculiarly liable to superstitious impressions, it is

true, but only when his conscience was offended or sore on any subject.

He treated the farce played at the Mercat Cross with the contempt

it deserved, when it was duly related to him in the morning. “Nor,”

continues our chronicler,[153] “would he give credence to sign or

token that made against his purpose, but refused all advice which was

for the weal of his crown and country. Neither would he listen to the

counsel of his wise and prudent wife, Margaret, Queen of Scotland, for

no prayer or supplication she could make him, showing ‘That he had

but one son, which was o’er weak a warrant to the realm of Scotland;

that it was therefore o’er soon for him to pass to battle, leaving

so few successors behind him. Therefore she desired him to stay till

God should send him more successors, for she could assure him that if

he entered England at that time he would get battle.’ Yet this wise

and loving counsel was not taken in good part by him, because she was

sister to the King of England. Albeit, this noble woman, laboring as

mickle (much) as she might for the weal of her husband, and as well

as for the love she bore her brother the King of England, she desired

that no discord should occur between the two realms in her time.

But nothing could stay the King from going to the Boroughmoor (near

Edinburgh), where all his earls, lords, barons, and burgesses were

assembled, and all manner of their men between sixty and sixteen,

spiritual and temporal, burgh and land, islesmen and others, which

amount to the number of a hundred thousand, not reckoning carriage-men

and artillerymen, who had the charge of fifty shot of cannons.”[154]

He was not at this time on very good terms with the Queen.[155] As

the supernatural plots which beset him all the time he was preparing

for the field began with the nightly disquietude he had experienced

on account of her prophetic dreams, he probably guessed that she was

the instigator of the celestial messenger at Linlithgow, and of the

more clumsy and audacious farce performed opposite to citizen Lawson’s

balcony at the Mercat Cross, Edinburgh--the scene, in truth, of many an

odd political freak before and since. Margaret had, moreover, excited

her husband’s displeasure by connecting herself with the Douglas party,

ever inimical to the Scottish crown.

The old Earl of Angus, surnamed Bell-the-Cat, had incensed James by

joining in the remonstrances his Queen made against his war with

England.[156] Thus Queen Margaret’s name--and the fact ought to be

noted--was identified with the Douglas faction even before the death of

her first husband. It is true the infidelities of the King made Angus

and the Queen make common cause together. The old earl was jealous

of his gay countess, Jane Kennedy, who was likewise a cause of sore

displeasure to Margaret.

Nevertheless, James IV. made up all enmities with his Queen the evening

before he marched for the Border, when, according to her own words, he

confided to her the place of his treasure; “in case,” as he said, “that

aught happened other than good to him.” Likewise, he wrote an order,

and gave her to receive in trust for his infant son the last subsidy

Louis XII. had paid to him, being eighteen thousand golden sols, or

crowns of the sun.[157] Besides this mass of treasure, he then gave his

Queen many other valuables, as she herself acknowledges in one of her

subsequent letters.[158] This trust, which has never before taken its

place in history, had a remarkable effect on her future life.

The King likewise made his testament, and solemnly delivered that

and his young son to the keeping of William Elphinstone, Bishop of

Aberdeen, an ecclesiastic greatly venerated in Scotland.[159] In case

of his own death, James constituted Margaret his Queen “tutrix” to his

heir, but only as long as she remained a widow.

Having thus given all due confidence to Margaret as Queen and mother

of his son, James IV. marched southward with his unwieldy feudal

militia. He made no scruple of very soon wounding the feelings of

Margaret as a wife, although he had paid every regard to her as his

Queen. His sudden passion for the Lady Heron of Ford speedily became

matter of public scandal. This lady was taken when James IV. stormed

Henry VIII.’s frontier castle of Ford. The castellan, her husband, had

been for some time prisoner of war at Edinburgh. The influence of the

King’s beautiful captive was noticed by all his nobles; and the young

Archbishop of St. Andrews (the illegitimate son whom James had forced

into the primacy of the Scottish church) was supposed to have been

equally charmed with her lovely young daughter.

Twenty days had elapsed since James IV. had marched for the Border,

when a sudden pause occurred in the brilliant successes with which he

had opened the campaign. The enchantress who had paralyzed his warlike

ardor, was considered in the Scottish camp as a spy of the English

general.[160]

The Earl of Surrey, the same nobleman who had escorted Queen Margaret

to Edinburgh, now commanded the English army against James IV., to

whose former friendship and intimacy with him on that occasion may be

attributed many of the impolitic but knightly courtesies he now showed

him. On the contrary, Surrey, as the general of an implacable monarch,

and the defender of an invaded country, naturally took every advantage

that presented itself, and more, perhaps, than an honorable man ought

to have done in the case of Lady Heron’s noxious influence over her

captor.

The chiefs of the King’s feudal muster openly murmured against their

royal master for his neglect of his military duties; they, however,

took the opportunity, headed by the Queen’s friend, Angus, of urging

him to retreat back into Scotland with the credit of the mischief he

had already done to the English enemy, which more than redeemed the

romantic pledge he had given to the Queen of France. James, however,

was intoxicated with his first successes, or else loth to restore the

Lady Heron to her rightful owner. He declared “he would fight the

English if they were a hundred thousand more in numbers; and as for old

Bell-the-Cat, he might go back if he were afraid. For himself, when he

had fought the English he would retire, and not till then.”[161]

Surrey had dispatched a herald to King James requesting “that he would

appoint a day for battle,” a request with which the Scottish King, in

the spirit of knight-errantry (disdaining all thoughts of advantage to

be gained by military strategy), very naïvely complied, following the

laws of the tournament rather than the rules of warlike science.

The battle of Flodden was lost before it was begun, by the unseasonable

courtesy of King James, who prevented his able gunner, Borthwick,

from demolishing the English army, as it defiled within range of his

“seven sister cannon, Thraw-mouthed Meg,” and other instruments of

destruction. Surrey must have calculated to a nicety on the punctilios

of the crowned chevalier, before he put his army in such remarkable

jeopardy. Indeed, without some previous knowledge of the personal

intimacy between James and the astute English veteran on the occasion

of Margaret’s marriage, many passages are unaccountable in the conduct

of the latter on the memorable morning of September 9th, 1513. But he

knew his man; he had probably received some chivalric pledge from James

during their former intimacy, of which he now took advantage, with

cunning reliance on the inviolability of his knightly word. King James

followed up his first imprudence by leaving his impregnable situation

on Flodden heights, and descending into the lower ground, that he might

engage Lord Surrey in a fair field.

The disastrous result is universally known. No one can improve on the

battle-scene in _Marmion_, which adds the faithfulness of history

to its peculiar charm of true poetry. The recital of battles from a

woman’s pen is almost as impertinent and out of place as disquisitions

on theology; both have been sedulously avoided in these regal

biographies.[162]

James IV. must therefore be left to his doubtful fate, while the

narrative returns to his Queen, The following stanzas were written by a

cotemporary English poet.[163] The lines he has supposed to be spoken

by the brave and unfortunate King of Scotland.

“Farewell, my Queen, sweet Lady Margaret!

Farewell, my Prince! with whom I used to play:

I wot not where we shall together meet.

Farewell, my Lords and Commons! eke for aye:

Adieu! ye shall no ransom for me pay.

Yet I beseech you, of your charity,

To the high Lord merciful that ye pray,

Miserere mei Deus et salva me.”