terminated by two pieces of complicated lettering, one much
obliterated, the other a monogram of the name of the Virgin Mary,
formed of the letters M. R.[14] Finally, at the extremities of this
stone, were two Roman letters of larger size—I. R.—doubtless the
initials of James Rex, for James V., the style of cutting being
precisely the same as in the initials seen on the palace built by that
king in Stirling Castle; an indirect proof, it may be remarked, of this
having been the residence of the Regent Mary.
Passing up a spiral flight of steps, we came to a darksome lobby,
leading to a series of mean apartments, occupied by persons of the
humblest grade. Immediately within the door was a small recess in the
wall, composed of Gothic stonework, and supposed by the people to
have been designed for containing holy-water, though this may well be
matter of doubt. Overhead, in the ceiling, was a round entablature,
presenting a faded coronet over the defaced outline of a shield. A
similar object adorned the ceiling of the lobby in the second floor,
but in better preservation, as the shield bore three _fleurs de lis_,
with the coronet above, and the letters H. R. below. There was a third
of these entablatures, containing the arms of the city of Edinburgh,
in the centre of the top of the staircase. The only other curious
object in this part of the mansion was the door of one of the wretched
apartments—a specimen of carving, bearing all the appearance of having
been contemporary with the building, and containing, besides other
devices, bust portraits of a gentleman and lady. This is now in the
possession of the Society of the Antiquaries of Scotland.
A portion of the same building, accessible by a stair nearer the head
of the close, contained a hall-like apartment, with other apartments,
all remarkable for their unusually lofty ceilings. In the large room
were the remains of a spacious decorated chimney, to which, in the
recollection of persons still living, there had been attached a chain,
serving to confine the tongs to their proper domain. This was the
memorial of an old custom, of which it is not easy to see the utility,
unless some light be held as thrown upon it by a Scottish proverb,
used when a child takes a thing and says he found it: ‘You found it,
I suppose, where the Highlandman found the tongs.’ In the centre of
almost all the ceilings of this part of the mansion I found, in 1824,
circular entablatures, with coats of arms and other devices, in stucco,
evidently of good workmanship, but obscured by successive coats of
whitening.
The place pointed out by tradition as the queen-regent’s oratory was in
the first-floor of the building opposite—a spacious and lofty hall,
with large windows designed to make up for the obscurity of the close.
Here, besides a finely carved piscina, was a pretty large recess, of
Gothic structure, in the back-wall, evidently designed for keeping
things of importance. Many years ago, out of the wall behind this
recess, there had been taken a small iron box, such as might have been
employed to keep jewellery, but empty. I was the means of its being
gifted to Sir Walter Scott, who had previously told me that ‘a passion
for such little boxes was one of those that most did beset him;’ and it
is now in the collection at Abbotsford.
The other portions of the mansion, accessible from different alleys,
were generally similar to these, but somewhat finer. One chamber was
recognised as the _Deid-room_; that is, the room where individuals of
the queen’s establishment were kept between their death and burial.
It was interesting to wander through the dusky mazes of this ancient
building, and reflect that they had been occupied three centuries ago
by a sovereign princess, and one of the most illustrious lineage.
Here was the substantial monument of a connection between France and
Scotland, a totally past state of things. She whose ancestors owned
Lorraine as a sovereignty, who had spent her youth in the proud halls
of the Guises in Picardy, and been the spouse of a Longueville,
was here content to live—in a _close_ in Edinburgh! In these
obscurities, too, was a government conducted, which had to struggle
with Knox, Glencairn, James Stewart, Morton, and many other powerful
men, backed by a popular sentiment which never fails to triumph. It
was the misfortune of Mary to be placed in a position to resist the
Reformation. Her own character deserved that she should have stood
in a more agreeable relation to what Scotland now venerates, for she
was mild and just, and sincerely anxious for the good of her adopted
country. It is also proper to remember on the present occasion that ‘in
her court she maintained a decent gravity, nor would she tolerate any
licentious practices therein. Her maids of honour were always busied in
commendable exercises, she herself being an example to them in virtue,
piety, and modesty.’[15] When all is considered, and we further know
that the building was strong enough to have lasted many more ages,
one cannot but regret that the palace of Mary de Guise, reduced as it
was to vileness, should not now be in existence. The site having been
purchased by individuals connected with the Free Church, the buildings
were removed in 1846 to make room for the erection of an academical
institution or college for the use of that body.[16]