Royal Edinburgh Part 5

The Spaniard adds much praise of James's temperance, a virtue indifferently practised by his subjects, and of his morality, which is still more remarkable. The amours and intrigues of his youth, Don Pedro informs his king, this young hero had entirely renounced, "or so at least it is believed," partly "from fear of G.o.d, and partly from fear of scandal," which latter "is thought very much of here"--a curious touch, which would seem to indicate a magnificent indifference to public opinion, not shared by the little northern Court, in the haughtier circles of Madrid. The picture is perhaps a little flattered; and it is hard to imagine how James could have picked up so many languages in the course of what some writers call a neglected education, confined to Scotland alone; but perhaps his father's fondness for clever artificers and musicians may have made him familiar in his childhood with foreign dependants, more amusing to a quick-witted boy than the familiar varlets who had no tongue but "braid Scots." "The King speaks besides," says Ayala, "the language of the savages who live in some parts of Scotland and in the islands"; clearly in every sense of the word a man of endless accomplishments and personal note, quite beyond the ordinary of kings.

At no time, according to unanimous testimony, had Scotland attained so high a position of national wealth, comfort, and prosperity. The wild Highlands had been more or less subdued by the forfeiture of the traditionary Lord of the Isles, and the final subjection of that lawless region, nominally at least, to the King's authority, and with every precaution for the extension of justice and order to its farthest limits. A navy had suddenly sprung into being, signalising itself in its very birth by brilliant achievements and consisting of vessels few indeed, but of exceptional size and splendour, as great for their time as the great Italian ironclads are for this, and like them springing from something of the bravado as well as for the real uses of a rapidly growing power. And there had been peace, save for that little pa.s.sage of arms on account of Perkin Warbeck, throughout all the reign of James--peace to which the warlike Scots seem to have accustomed themselves very pleasantly, notwithstanding that on the one side of the Border as on the other there was nothing so popular as war between the neighbour nations; but the exploits of Sir Andrew Wood with his _Yellow Carvel_, and the _Great Michael_ lying there proudly on the Firth, ready to sweep the seas, afforded compensation for the postponement of other struggles.

It was in these circ.u.mstances that the negotiations for James's marriage with the little Margaret, Princess Royal of England, and in every way, as it turned out, a true Tudor, though then but an undeveloped child, took place. The gallant young King, then seven or eight and twenty, in the plenitude of his manhood, was not anxious for the bride of ten persistently offered to him by her royal father; and the negotiations lagged, and seemed to have gone on _a plusieurs reprises_ for several years. But at length by the persistent efforts of Henry VII, who saw all the advantages of the union, and no doubt also of councillors on the Scots side, who felt that the continued prosperity of the country was best secured by peace, it was brought about in 1504, when James must have been just over thirty and Margaret was twelve--a very childish bride, but probably precocious, and not too simple or ignorant, as belonged to her violent Tudor blood. He "was married with her solemnedlie by the advice of the n.o.bilitie of England and Scotland, and gatt great summes of money with her: and promise of peace and unity made and ordained to stand between the two realms," says Pitscottie. The great sums, however, seem problematical, as the dower of Margaret was not a very large one, and the sacrifices made for her were considerable--the town of Berwick being given up to England as one preliminary step. The event, however, was one of incalculable importance to both nations, securing as it did the eventual consolidation in one of the realm of Great Britain, though n.o.body as yet foresaw that great consequence that might follow. Along with the marriage treaty was made one of perpetual peace between England and Scotland--a treaty indeed not worth the paper it was written upon, yet probably giving comfort to some sanguine spirits. Had the prudent old monarch remained on the throne of England as long as James ruled in Scotland it might indeed never have been broken; but Henry was already old, and his son as hot-headed as the cousin and traditionary adversary now turned into a brother. Margaret was conveyed into Scotland with the utmost pomp, and Edinburgh roused itself and put on decorations like a bride to receive the little maiden, so strangely young to be the centre of all these rejoicings: her lofty houses covered with flutterings of tapestries and banners and every kind of gay decoration, and her windows filled with bright faces, coifs, and veils, and embroideries of gold that shone in the sun. The dress worn by James, as he carried his young bride into Edinburgh seated on horseback behind him, is fully described for the benefit of after ages. He wore a jacket of cloth of gold bordered with purple velvet, over a doublet of purple satin, showing at the neck the collar of a s.h.i.+rt embroidered with pearls and gold, with scarlet hose to complete the resplendent costume.

At his marriage he wore a jacket of crimson satin over a doublet of cloth of gold, with the same scarlet hose, and a gown of white damask brocaded with gold over all. No doubt the ladies were not behind in this contest of brave apparel. Grey Edinburgh, accustomed this long time to the dull tones of modern habiliments, sparkled and shone in those days of finery and splendour. The streets were meant for such fine shows; its stairheads and strong deep doorways to relieve the glories of sweet colour, plumes, and jewels. When the lists were set on the summit of the hill, the gates thrown up, the garrison in their steel caps and breastplates lining the bars, and perhaps the King himself tilting in the melee, while all the ladies were throned in their galleries like banks of flowers, what a magnificent spectacle! The half-empty streets below still humming with groups of gazers not able to squeeze among the throngs about the bars, but waiting the return of the splendid procession: and more and more banners and tapestries and guards of honour s.h.i.+ning through the wide open gates of the port all the way down to Holyrood. There was nothing but holiday-making and pleasure while the feasting lasted and the bridal board was yet spread.

While this heydey of life lasted and all was bright around and about the chivalrous James, there was a certain suitor of his Court, a merry and reckless priest, more daring in words and admixtures of the sacred and the profane than any mere layman would venture to be, whose familiar and often repeated addresses to the King afford us many glimpses into the royal surroundings and ways of living, as also many pictures of the noisy and cheerful mediaeval town which was the centre of pleasures, of wit and gay conversation, and all that was delightful in Scotland.

Dunbar's t.i.tle of fame is not so light as this. He was one of the greatest of the followers of Chaucer, a master of melody, in some points scarcely inferior to the master himself whose praise he celebrates as

"Of oure Inglisch all the light Surmounting every tong terrestrial Alls far as Mayis morrow dois mydnyght."

But it is unnecessary here to discuss the "Thrissil and the Rois," the fine music of the epithalamium with which he celebrated the coming of Margaret Tudor into Scotland, or the more visionary splendour of the "Golden Targe." The poet himself was not so dignified or harmonious as his verse. He possessed the large open-air relish of life, the broad humour, sometimes verging on coa.r.s.eness, which from the time of James I.

to that of Burns has been so singularly characteristic of Scots poetry: and found no scene of contemporary life too humble or too ludicrous for his genius--thus his more familiar poems are better for our purpose than his loftier productions, and show us the life and fas.h.i.+on of his town and time better than anything else can do. This is one, for example, in which he upbraids "the merchantis of renown" for allowing "Edinburgh their n.o.bil town" to remain in the state in which he describes it:--

"May nane pa.s.s through your princ.i.p.all gates For stink of haddocks and of skates, For cryin' of carlines and debates, For fensome flytings of defame.

Think ye not shame Before strangers of all estates That sic dishonour hurt your name?

"Your stinkand schule that standis dirk Halds the light from your Parroche Kirk, Your forestairs makis your houses mirk Like na country but here at hame Think ye not shame, Sa little policie to work In hurt and sklander of your name?

"At your hie Croce, where gold and silk Should be, there is but curds and milk, And at your Tron but c.o.kill and wilk, Pansches, puddings, of Jok and Jame.

Think ye not shame Kin as the world sayis that ilk In hurt and sklander of your name?"

Thus old Edinburgh rises before us, beautiful and brave as she is no longer, yet thronged about the Netherbow Port, and up towards the Tron, the weighing-place and centre of city life, with fishwives and their stalls, with rough booths for the sale of rougher food, and with country la.s.ses singing curds and whey, as they still did when Allan Ramsay nearly four hundred years after succeeded Dunbar as laureate of Edinburgh. Notwithstanding, however, these defects the Scottish capital continued to be the home of all delights to the poet-priest. When his King was absent at Stirling, Dunbar in the pity of his heart sang an (exceedingly profane) litany for the exile that he might be brought back, prefacing it by the following compa.s.sionate strain:--

"We that are here in Hevinis glory To you that are in Purgatory Commendis us on our hairtly wyiss, I mean we folk in Paradyis, In Edinburgh with all merriness To you in Strivilling in distress, Where neither pleasance nor delyt is, For pity thus ane Apostle wrytis.

"O ye Heremeitis and Hankersaidillis That takis your penance at your tabillis, And eitis nocht meit restorative Nor drinkis no wyne comfortative Bot aill, and that is thyn and small, With few courses into your hall; But (without) company of lordis or knights Or any other goodly wightis, Solitar walkand your allone Seeing no thing but stok and stone, Out of your powerfull Purgatory To bring you to the bliss of glory Of Edinburgh the merry toun, We sall begin ane cairfull soun, And Dirige devout and meik The Lord of bliss doing besiek You to delyvre out of your noy And bring you soon to Edinburgh joy, For to be merry among us, And so the Dirige begynis thus."

Many are the poet's addresses to the King in happier circ.u.mstances when James is at home and in full enjoyment of these joys of Edinburgh. His prayers for a benefice are sometimes grave and sometimes comic, but never-failing. He describes solicitors (or suitors) at Court, all pus.h.i.+ng their fortune. "Some singis, some dancis, some tells storyis."

Some try to make friends by their devotion, some have their private advocates in the King's chamber, some flatter, some play the fool--

"My simpleness among the lave Wist of na way so G.o.d me save, But with ane humble cheer and face Referris me to the Kyngis grace, Methinks his gracious countenance In ryches is my sufficence."

Not always so patient, however, he jogs James's memory with a hundred remedies. "G.o.d gif ye war Johne Thomsounis man!" he cries with rueful glee through a lively set of verses--

"For war it so than weill were me Bot (without) benefice I wald not be; My hard fortune war endit then G.o.d gif ye war Johne Thomsounis man!"

John Thomson's man was, according to the popular saying, a man who did as his wife told him; and Dunbar was strong in the Queen's favour.

Therefore happy had been his fate had James been of this character. We cannot, however, follow the poet through all his pleadings and witty appeals and remonstrances, until at last in despairing jest he commends "the gray horse Auld Dunbar" to his Majesty, and draws or seems to draw at last a consolatory reply, which is thus recorded at the end of the poem under the t.i.tle of "Responsio Regis."

"Efter our writtingis, Treasurer Tak in this gray horse, Auld Dunbar, Which in my aucht with service trew In lyart changit is his heu.

Gar house him now against this Yuill And busk him like ane Bischoppis muill, For with my hand I have indorst To pay whatever his trappouris cost."

Whether this response was really from James's hand or was but another wile of the eager suitor it is impossible to tell: but he did eventually have a pension granted him of twenty pounds Scots a year, until such time as a benefice of at least fifty pounds should fall to him; so that he was kept in hope. After this Dunbar tunes forth a song of welcome to "his ain Lord Thesaurair," in which terror at this functionary's inopportune absence--since quarterday we may suppose--is lost in gratulations over his return. "Welcome," he cries--

"Welcome my benefice and my rent And all the lyflett to me lent, Welcome my pension most preclair, Welcome my awin Lord Thesaurair."

Thus the reckless and jolly priest carols. A little while after he has received his money he sings "to the Lordes of the King's Chacker," or Exchequer--

"I cannot tell you how it is spendit, But weel I wat that it is ended."

These peculiarities, however, it need not be said do not belong entirely to the sixteenth century. The reader will find a great deal of beautiful poetry among the works of Dunbar. These lighter verses serve our purpose in showing once more how perennial has been this vein of humorous criticism, and frank fun and satire, in Scotland, in all ages, and in throwing also a broad and amusing gleam of light upon Edinburgh in the early fifteen hundreds, the gayest and most splendid moment perhaps of her long history.

All these splendours, however, were hard to keep up, and though Edinburgh and Scotland throve, the King's finances after a while seem to have begun to fail, and there was great talk of a pilgrimage to the Holy Land--it is supposed by the historians as a measure of securing that the King might not have the uncomfortable alternative of cutting short his splendours at home. This purpose, if it was gravely entertained at all, and not one of the proposals of change with which, when need comes, the impecunious of all cla.s.ses and ages amuse themselves to put off actual retrenchment, never came to anything. And very soon there arose complications of various natures which threw all Christendom into an uproar. Henry VIII, young, arrogant, and hot-headed, succeeded his prudent father in England, and the treaty with the Scots which made, or seemed to make, England safe on the Borders, gave the English greater freedom in dealing with the other hereditary foe on the opposite side of the Channel; while France on her side began to use all possible efforts to draw from the English alliance the faithful Scots, who had always been the means of a possible diversion, always ready to carry fire and flame across the Border, and call back the warring English to look after their own affairs. James, with perhaps his head slightly turned by his own magnificence and the prosperity that had attended him since the beginning of his career, seemed to have imagined that he was important enough to play the part of peacemaker among the nations of Europe. And there are many emba.s.sies recorded of a bustling bishop, Andrew Forman, who seems for some time to have pervaded Christendom, now at Rome, now at Paris, now in London, with various confused negotiations. It was a learned age, and the King himself, as has been seen, had very respectable pretensions in this way; but that there was another side to the picture, and that notwithstanding the translator of Virgil, the three Universities now established in Scotland, and many men of science and knowledge both in the priesthood and out of it, there remained a strong body of ignorance and rudeness, even among the dignified clergy of the time, the following story, which Pitscottie tells with much humour of Bishop Forman, James's chosen diplomatist, will show.

"This bishop made ane banquet to the Pope and all his cardinals in one of the Pope's own palaces, and when they were all set according to their custom, that he who ought (owned) the house for the time should say the grace, and he was not ane good scholar, nor had not good Latin, but begane ruchlie in the Scottise fas.h.i.+one, saying Benedicite, believing that they should have said Dominus, but they answered Deus in the Italian fas.h.i.+oun, which put the bishop by his intendment (beyond his understanding), that he wist not well how to proceed fordward but happened in good Scottis in this manner, saying, what they understood not, 'The devil I give you all false cardinals to, in nomine Patris, Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen.'

Then all the bishop's men leuch, and all the cardinals themselves; and the Pope inquired whereat they leuch, and the bishop showed that he was not ane good clerk, and that the cardinals had put him by his text and intendment, therefore he gave them all to the devil in good Scottis, whereat the Pope himself leuch verrie earnestlie."

This did not prevent his Holiness, probably delighted with such a racy visitor, from making Forman Legate of Scotland; and it is to be feared that the meddling diplomatist with his want of education, was perhaps a better example of the clergy of Scotland, who about this time began to be the mark of all a.s.sailants as illiterate, greedy, vicious, and rapacious, than such a gentle soul as the other poet of the age, afterwards bishop of Dunkeld, the one mild and tranquil possessor of the great Douglas name.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WHITE HORSE CLOSE]

The imbroglio of events into which it is unnecessary for us to enter grew more and more complicated year by year, until at length it came to be a struggle between France and England for the ally who could be of most a.s.sistance to the one in the special way of injuring the other, and whom it was of the first advantage to both to secure. James was bound by the treaty of permanent peace which he had made at his marriage, and by that marriage itself, and no doubt the strong inclination of his wife, to England; but he was bound to France by a traditionary bond of a much stronger kind, by the memory of long friends.h.i.+p and alliance, and the persistent policy of his kingdom and race. The question was modified besides by other circ.u.mstances. England was, as she had but too often been, but never before in James's experience--harsh, overbearing, and unresponsive: while France, as was also her wont, was tender, flattering, and pertinacious. Henry refused or delayed to pay Queen Margaret a legacy of jewels and plate left to her by her father, and at the same time protected certain Borderers who had murdered a Scottish knight, and defended them against justice and James, while still summoning him to keep his word and treaty in respect to England; while on the other hand not only the King but the Queen of France appealed to James, he as to an ancient ally, she as to her sworn knight, to break that artificial alliance with his haughty brother-in-law. It may well have been that James in his own private soul had no more desire for such a tremendous step than the n.o.bles who struggled to the last against it.

But he had _les defauts de ses qualites_ in a high degree. He was nothing if not a knight of romance. And though, as the poet has said--

"His own Queen Margaret, who in Lithgow's bower All silent sat, and wept the weary hour,"

might be more to him than the politic Anne of France, or any fair lady in his route, it was not in him, a paladin of chivalry, the finest of fine gentlemen, the knight-errant of Christendom, to withstand a lady's appeal. Perhaps, besides, he was weary of his inaction, the only prince in Europe who was not inevitably involved in the fray; weary of holding tourneys and building s.h.i.+ps (some of which had been lately taken by the English, turning the tables upon him) and keeping quiet, indulging in the inglorious arts of peace, while everybody else was taking the field.

And Henry was arrogant and exasperating, so that even his own sister was at the end of her brief Tudor patience; and Louis was flattering, caressing, eloquent. When that last emba.s.sage of chivalry came with the ring from Anne's own finger, and the charge to ride three miles on English ground for her honour, it was the climax of many arguments. "He loves war," the Spaniard had said. "War is profitable to him and to the country"--a curious and pregnant saying. James would seem to have struggled at least a little against all the impulses which were pus.h.i.+ng him forward to his doom. He promised a fleet to his lady in France for her aid--a fleet foolishly if not treacherously handled by Arran, and altogether diverted from its intended end; finally, that having failed, James flung away all precaution and yielded to the tide of many influences which was carrying him away.

It is needless to tell over again the tale that everybody knows: how both heaven and h.e.l.l were stirred by this ill-omened undertaking; how an aged saint, venerable and stately, suddenly appeared out of the crowd when the King was at his prayers in the Cathedral of Linlithgow, with a message from on high; and how when James had gone back to Holyrood, the High Street of Edinburgh resounded in the dead of night with trumpet note and herald's call from the grim Hades of mediaeval imagination, summoning by name a long list of the Scottish n.o.bility, of whom one man defied the portent and refused the call and was saved. James paid no heed to these warnings, whether supernatural or otherwise, or perhaps was too far committed to give any heed to them, carried away by the wild and fatal stream which had caught his feet, with something of that extraordinary impetus of natural tendency long restrained which acts with tenfold force when at last yielded to. It is unnecessary either to tell the story of all the foolish fatal lingerings upon the ill-omened way: trifling with treacherous ladies for whom he cared nothing, cartels from Surrey; the abandonment of a strong position, lest it should give him an advantage, in ever greater and greater folly of chivalry: the refusal to attack, or let his artillery attack, till his foes were all safely over the bridge: all exhibitions of high honour gone mad with the intoxication of fate. The Spaniard's letter comes back in full significance as we watch with aching hearts the fatal fray. "He said to me that his subjects serve him with their persons and goods, in just or unjust quarrels, exactly as he wishes, and that therefore he does not think it right to begin any warlike undertaking without being himself the first in danger." The knight-errant kept his _consigne_ of honour to the last. He betrayed his people to the most utter defeat they had ever encountered, but he was himself the first victim.

Thus died the only Stewart king who ever seemed to have a fair prospect of escaping the fate of his unfortunate race. The worm in his conscience, the iron belt round his body, were perhaps only symptoms of a susceptible nature, of remorse which was excessive for the bewildered acquiescence in rebellion of an unawakened mind and an irresponsible age. And his life, if soiled by errors which were then and are now but lightly thought of in a prince, was in all public matters n.o.ble, honourable, and enlightened, with always the advantage of his country for its aim, even in the midst of the natural gaieties and extravagances of a happy temper and exuberant energy. He was extravagant, light-hearted, a lover of magnificence and display, all of which things, in the face of the political economist, sometimes prove themselves excellent for a country when the moment comes to press it forward into the ranks of high civilisation out of a ruder and more primitive development. The n.o.bility with which his father struggled to the death he held in a leash of silk or of gold, often making them the instruments of the justice which they had so long resisted. There was peace in his time such as had never before been in Scotland, and redress of grievances, and extinction or suppression of mortal feuds and intestine struggles. It is sometimes given to a man in all light-heartedness, in what seems the spontaneous way of his own impulses and pleasures, to do what is best for his surroundings and his time, without any apparent strain of self sacrifice or gravity of duty. James Stewart, the fourth of his name, was one of these happy and beautiful natures: and though his life was one of almost unbroken prosperity and brightness, yet no man can say that his stewardry was not n.o.bly held, and to the benefit of his kingdom and people. But not for this was the doom to pa.s.s by. The brightness and the prosperity came to an end in a sudden folly, infatuation, and madness, which belonged to him as his sunny nature did and his generosity of heart. And it was no evil chance, but the principle of his life, as we have seen, that in the calamity into which he drew his people he himself should be the first to fall.

CHAPTER V

JAMES V: THE LAST OF THE HEROIC AGE

The course of Scottish history during the fifteenth and beginning of the sixteenth century is like that of a s.h.i.+p on a long voyage, full of vicissitudes and adventures. The little barque amid all the wild commotions of the sea, sometimes driven before the wind, sometimes stripped of every rag of canvas, sometimes beating helpless in the trough of the waves, rights herself when the storm is over, repairs her masts, re-strings her cordage, puts forth again sail after sail; and with a sure hand at the helm and a moderate breeze in her canvas, rises white and strong against the blueness of sea and sky, triumphant over all the a.s.saults of external nature, animated by human will and courage, the most indomitable of all created things, and affording perhaps the best example of the survival and unconquerable power of these masters of the world: till again there arises in the heavens another hurricane, furious, ungovernable, rousing the sea to madness, striking once more the canvas from the yards, the masts from the deck, and leaving a mere hulk at the mercy of the waves which rush on her and over her with the wild rage of beasts of prey. Again and again these storms overtook the vessel of the State in Scotland, returning after every period of calm, after every recovery of authority, as wild, as tumultuous, as destructive as ever. Again and again they were overcome, the power of resistance restored, the equilibrium regained, only to fall once more into the raging of the elements. Each successive king, with perhaps one exception, had seized the helm as soon as his hand was fit for the strain, or even before it was strong enough for that office, and had gallantly brought the s.h.i.+p round and re-established the reign of a rational will and a certain unity of command over all the forces of the storms; but when he fell, left the helpless vessel again to be balloted about by all the winds of Fate.

[Ill.u.s.tration: SALISBURY CRAGS]

This was the case almost more wildly than ever when the fourth James Stewart died at Flodden. The heir, the helpless infant prince, was not two years old, and the flower of Scotland had been slain with their king. The mature warriors and statesmen, the wise counsellors, the men to whom the country might have looked in such an interregnum, were all gone. There remained only Churchmen and boys in the devastated country, a pa.s.sionate English queen of Tudor blood, and no settled centre of government or reorganised power. Such lords as were left a.s.sembled hastily for that pathetic oft-repeated ceremony, the crowning of the child, taken out of his cradle to have the fatal circlet put upon his head--and committed some sort of regency, such as it was, to the Queen.

And after a moment in which the country was paralysed with woe and every house full of mourning, Scotland plunged once more into the angry waves, among the lions of ever-recurring anarchy and strife.

Nothing in all this turbulent and terrible history has ever been so tragic as Flodden. The nation which had lost the very flower and strength of its fighting men, its defenders and champions, the families which had lost their chiefs, their breadwinners--often father and son together, the master and his heir--were struck dumb with dismay and anguish. It was only a long time after, when despair had sunk into a softened recollection, that it was possible even to breathe forth that wail over the Flowers of the Forest which all Scotland knows. In the first shock of such an appalling event there is no place for elegy.

There was a broken cry of anguish throughout the country, echoed from castle and cottage, where the poor women clung together, mistress and maid equal in the flood of common loss: and there was at the same time a strained and terrible rallying of all the poor defenders left, the old men and rusty arms, those of every house upon the Border and every town upon the road who had been left behind, to meet as well as they could the no doubt inevitable march of the conquering English army, which everybody felt sure must follow. When the news reached Edinburgh the magistrates of the town put forth a proclamation calling upon the inhabitants to prepare for the defence of the capital, and forbidding the women--a most significant and heartrending order, perhaps unique in public doc.u.ments--to spread dismay through the streets by their crying and lamentations. The condition into which the community must have fallen when this became a public danger it is unnecessary to remark upon. The wail that sounded through all the country must have risen to a pa.s.sionate pitch in those crowded streets, where the gates were closed and all the defences set, and nothing looked for but the approach of the victorious English with swords still dripping with Scottish blood. While Edinburgh waited breathless for this possible attack an extension of the existing wall was begun to defend the southern suburb, then semi-rural, containing the country-houses of the wealthy burghers and lawyers, the great convent of the Greyfriars, that of St. Mary in the Field, and many other monastic houses. This additional wall greatly increased the breadth of the _enceinte_, which now included a considerable s.p.a.ce of embowered and luxuriant fields on the south side. It was called the Flodden Wall, and kept the memory of that great catastrophe and disaster before the minds of the citizens for many a day.

But for some reason or other the English army which had cut Scotland to pieces at Flodden went no farther. The victory was no doubt a very costly one, and perhaps Henry VIII did not wish to drive the kingdom of which his sister would now be Regent to extremity, or do anything more to increase the desperate hostility of a country which was capable of giving him so much trouble. At all events Surrey's army was disbanded, and Scotland was left to resume her struggle within herself: which proved the wildest and most miserable turmoil and anarchy which her troubled records had yet known.

It would be at once hopeless and unnecessary to enter into any sketch of the endless tumults of this time of distress. There was a momentary lull in which, though all the old personal feuds arose again, the poor little King and his mother were left undisturbed--she in possession of a regency more or less nominal, and in a state of health which must have subdued her activities, for her second son was not born till several months after her husband's death. But this child was only a few months old when Margaret, young, beautiful, impa.s.sioned, and impetuous, compromised her position by a sudden marriage with the young Earl of Angus--still almost a boy, and with nothing but his good looks to recommend him--an event which at once aroused all sleeping enmities and precipitated the usual struggle for the possession of the infant king. I will attempt nothing but an indication of one or two scenes in Edinburgh which took place during this struggle. Undeterred by the evil a.s.sociations which surrounded that name, the Scottish lords bethought themselves of the French Duke of Albany, the nearest member of the royal family, the son of that duke who had been the terror of James III, who had conspired with England, and who finally had established himself in France and died there. His son was a French subject, the son of a French mother, inheriting through her great estates in France and a position which was little inferior in dignity, and much superior in comfort, to that of the hara.s.sed monarch of a most turbulent kingdom. But he was James Stewart, the nearest in blood to the crown, and his name seems, temporarily at least, to have united all parties, even the Queen, though his presence was fatal to her claims of regency, receiving him with courtesy and an apparent welcome. He had not been many months, however, in Scotland before, with the sanction of his council, he claimed from Margaret the possession of the King and his brother--sending four peers, appointed guardians, to the castle, to receive the children. It was in July 1515, two years after Flodden, when no doubt Edinburgh had regained that common cheerfulness and bustle of a great town which is so little interrupted even by the gravest public events. The deputation with their attendants proceeded from the Canongate, where they had been sitting in a.s.sembly, through the Netherbow Port and the bustling crowded High Street, to the castle, no doubt gathering with them on their way all the eager crowd which could free itself from shop or booth, all the pa.s.sers-by in the streets, a continually-increasing throng. Who the four lords were we are not told. The whole incident is recorded in a letter of Lord Dacre to the English Council. No doubt he had his information either from the Queen herself or from members of her household. Of the four men chosen by Albany the Queen was at liberty to reject one, and no doubt they were men of weight and gravity, probably not unworthy of the trust.

It is not difficult to realise the flying rumour which would go like the wind before them announcing their errand, and how windows and doorways and stairheads would fill with eager spectators, and all the moving population would press up the hill after them to see what was to be seen. The high houses full on every story of eager heads thrust forth, relieving with unintentional yet lively decoration the many-windowed fronts, the shopkeepers crowding at their doors or seizing cap and halberd to follow, the hum and excitement of the roused town, surround the envoys like the background of a picture. Most probably they went on foot, the distance being so short, preceded by a glittering herald and pursuivant--perhaps David Lindsay, who can tell? still too young to wear the Lion of Scotland on his tabard, but keen and curious to see this scene--he who had seen the envoy of heaven in Linlithgow Church and so many other wonderful things. The crowd surged upwards, keeping a respectful s.p.a.ce in the midst for the lords with their train, and filled with colour and movement and the murmuring of numbers that great square before the castle gates which had held the same excited throng so often.

And before the heralds could summon the wardens or demand entrance in the name of the Regent, the great gates rolled back, and all who were near enough to see gazed in amazement at such a group in the gateway as must have filled many eyes with tears, and which gave at once the most astonis.h.i.+ng climax to that wonderful picture. There Margaret stood, a young woman of twenty-five, not a n.o.ble type of beauty, perhaps, but with the fresh and florid Tudor good looks, and no doubt the imperious Tudor port imposing to the crowd, with her child in his little cloak and plumed bonnet, four years old, holding her hand. Among her little troop of attendants, the ladies of her subdued Court, and the cl.u.s.ter of cavaliers who surrounded her young husband, there might well be another name of gentler fame--the then Provost of St. Giles, Gawin Douglas, poet and statesman, who was her counsellor and the negotiator of her many troubled affairs. But in this emergency it was the Queen herself who bade the startled lords stand and deliver their message. They stepped forward in some confusion, one would guess, not having calculated upon this sudden encounter with such an unexpected champion, difficult to silence--not only a queen with all the prestige both real and sentimental which surrounds such a position, but also a mother whose children were threatened. When they had finished their explanation, the crowd looking on, no doubt impatient of the pause and of the voices that could not reach their ears, Margaret stepped back and bade her attendants quickly to let down the portcullis. They must have been stationed ready with the intention, and no doubt the lords had no attendants with them who could have hindered any such step or forced an entrance. While the people looked on wondering, the iron bars came cras.h.i.+ng down, and in a moment the Queen and her child were safe though visible within. Then Margaret addressed through that iron trellis the astonished deputation. She told them that she was the guardian of the castle, enfeoffed in it by her royal husband, and not minded to yield it to any man, but that she respected the Parliament and country, and would take six days to consider the demand made to her. The lords left outside had no alternative but to turn and go back, not we may be sure without a chorus of commentaries from the lively crowd, ever quick to note the discomfiture of its masters, and delighted with such a novel sensation: though the grave burghers would shake their heads at the boldness of the Englishwoman who had so confronted the Scots lords in their own city.