Having thus recorded the relative strength and merits of the contending parties, the poet completes his picture of the lamentable state to which the kingdom has been reduced by civil discord; then, with his natural inclination to give prominence to his own troubles, bewails the "unrest" which embitters his life and is "powdering the heires upon his head". For solace he "retyres unto his booke a space", there to contemplate, "with rufull eye, what bale is incident in everie estate where tirants do prevale", and to gather "examples that bloodye feicts dothe aske vengiance and thrists for bloode againe". Cyrus, Tomiris, Cambyses, Brutus, Cassius, Bessus, Alexander, and Dionysius are called up "to represent the fine of tirants' force", and to show "howe the gwiltless bloode that is vniustlie shede dothe crave revenge". Sheer weariness, however, puts an end to the dismal meditation, and as the poet sinks into "swete slepe" it seems to him that a messenger is "thrust in at the doore" to inform him that the Queen herself is at hand. Hereupon Mary enters, and without further preface begins "her tale", to which the second part of the Fantasie is devoted.
The opening words of the Queen's confession, for such is the form into which her "complante" is thrown, assume that she is acquainted with Randolph's purpose of recording the events of which he has been a witness, and are a request that he will "inwrape her woos within his carefull clewe, that when the recorde is spread everywhere, the state of her comber first may appear". Her grief, however, as she at once explains, is not for herself—there is no cause why she should repine, for all things have succeeded according to her will—it is for the miserable state to which her headstrong resistance to the advice of those who counselled wise and moderate government has reduced her realm. But, before entering fully into her subject, by a clever paralepsy she digresses into an account of her birth and accomplishments. Written as it is by a professed enemy of Mary Stuart's the passage is of considerable interest, and may help to settle the disputed question of her personal gifts:—
Foremost amongst the defects that mar the high gifts of nature she mentions the "Gwyssian" temper which she has received from her mother, and by which she has been led to take the first false step "to wedd as she wold, suche a one as she demed wold serve her lust rather then might her weale well upholde". The fatal marriage being thus introduced, she naturally refers to its results, to the opposition of those who, having "ever tendered her state, cold not abyde to see this myscheffe", and whom, in her ungovernable temper, in her "rigour and hate", she "sought to subject to the sword". This is followed by the names of her chief opponents, the list being augmented by a few names which do not appear in the first part. Here a passage of singular significance even at the present day is unexpectedly brought in, in connection with the Duke of Argyle. It is a description of the Irish. They are stigmatized "a bloody crewe that whoso they take they helples downe hewe", and their barbarous manner of carrying on war and inhuman treatment of the enemy is thus set forth:—
From this point the Queen's "complante" becomes a narrative—interspersed with moral reflections on the dangers of despotic government and the horrors of civil wars—of the victorious though bloodless expedition against the confederate Lords. It is noteworthy that, however depreciatory the judgment which she is made to pass upon her own conduct, her energy and courage are repeatedly insisted upon in terms of unqualified praise: "The dread of no enemy cold me appaile, nor yett no travell endaunte my entent; ... I dreaded no daunger of death to ensewe, no stormy blasts cold make me retyre". Indeed, in one stanza she actually likens herself to Tomiris, and though, from the fact that it appears to be made by herself, the comparison at first strikes us as unnatural and exaggerated, looked at in its proper light, as the testimony of an avowed enemy, it is undoubtedly a high tribute of admiration to her indomitable spirit:—
The first episode referred to by the Queen is the pitching of her camp near Glasgow, for the purpose of intercepting the rebels who had taken up their position near Paisley, but who, dismayed at the rapid march of the royal army, hastily retired towards Edinburgh. This was on August 31. The poetical narrative is as follows:—
In a stanza following immediately upon this, and descriptive of the course adopted by Mary on her arrival in Edinburgh, we find the confirmation of a statement made by Captain Cockburn,[179] but indignantly denied as a shameless fabrication by those historians whose aim it has been to clear the Queen from every imputation. He asserts, not only that she imposed a fine of £20,000 on certain of the burgesses of Edinburgh after the termination of the expedition, but also that previously to this she had extorted 14,000 marks from them for the support of her army. It is the latter part of this statement which has been challenged, but which undoubtedly receives strong support from the following verses:—
Passing over the Queen's expedition into Fifeshire and the capture of Castle Campbell, "the castle of gloom", a formidable stronghold belonging to her rebel brother-in-law, the Duke of Argyle, the historical part of the narrative hastens on to the final act, the march to Dumfries and the Lords' retreat across the Border. The inglorious termination of the rebellion has been pithily summed up by Sir James Melville in his Memoirs: "Her Majesty again convened forces to pursue the rebels, till at length they were compelled to flee into England for refuge, to her who promised by her ambassadors to wear her crown in their defence, in case they were driven to any strait for their opposition unto the marriage".[181] The poet is scarcely less concise in his record of an event which he could neither hide nor gloss over, but upon which he evidently had no wish to dwell:—
Though this seemed to indicate a point where the Fantasie might come to a fitting close, it is drawn out for fully a hundred lines in order that the moral of the whole narrative may be duly brought home to the reader. So far as Mary herself is concerned, the gist of her long homily may be given in her concluding words:—
The poet's own moralizing, with which, as with an epilogue, the whole poem is brought to an end, is wider in its application. The dangers which beset greatness and the advantages which accompany "golden mediocrity" are its leading theme, and are set forth in a passage which brings together a number of familiar illustrations drawn from inanimate nature:—
Both the poem and the Epistle Dedicatory bear the signature of Thomas Jenye. It is the name of an unscrupulous adventurer who held some subordinate position in the service of Thomas Randolph, whilst he was in Scotland, and afterwards of Sir Henry Norris, in the Netherlands. From the literary point of view, the most noteworthy feature of his Fantasie is the barefacedness with which he pilfered, not only the ideas, but the actual words of others. Indeed, in its introduction and conclusion, which consist, for the most part, of moral reflections, Jenye's satire is little better than a patchwork, rather cleverly made up, it is true, of lines purloined from Surrey, Grimsald, Sackville, and the other writers who figure with them in Tottell's Miscellany. But besides being a curiosity in plagiarism, the Fantasie is a valuable historical document, by reason of the accuracy with which it describes the various incidents of Murray's revolt, of which Jenye was practically an eyewitness.
Mary, Queen of Scots, was beheaded in 1587. Fourteen years later there was published in Rouen a play which bore the title of Tragédie de la Reine d'Escosse, and which had for its subject the condemnation and death of Elizabeth's unfortunate prisoner. The author styled himself Anthoine de Montchrestien sieur de Vasteville; but it was alleged by his enemies that he was nothing more aristocratic than the son of an apothecary of Falaise called Mauchrestien. He had, however, the good fortune to be brought up, though in what connection is uncertain, with two lads belonging to a family of authentic nobility; and by the time he reached his twentieth year, he had the training and education of a gentleman of the period. With the sword which he assumed as the emblem of the class to which he claimed to belong, he adopted the fashionable readiness to draw it on the slightest provocation. His first recorded encounter, however, very nearly proved his last. With the odds of three to one against him, he was grievously wounded and left for dead on the highway. But he recovered, and, in the true spirit of a Norman, consoled himself for his defeat and his injuries by suing the chief of his adversaries, the Baron de Gouville. That he obtained damages to the amount of 12,000 livres may be taken as a proof that all the blame was not on his side. The success of this legal action encouraged him to take proceedings against one of his trustees, who had failed to do his duty by him. A further indemnity of 1000 livres was the result. About this time, too, he married a rich widow whose good graces he had previously secured by helping her to win a lawsuit in which her husband had been the defender.
As early as 1596, Montchrestien had published the tragedy of Sophonisbe. Five years later there appeared a volume bearing his name, and containing a miscellaneous collection of prose and verse, including five tragedies, of which one was the Mary Stuart play, with the running title of l'Escossoise. In the midst of a literary success to which numerous sets of complimentary verses testify, a real tragedy changed the whole course of the Norman adventurer's career. In a duel with a young nobleman, he killed his adversary. Whether he did so in fair fight or, as his detractors alleged, by means of a disloyal stratagem, he was equally amenable to the severe law against single combat which Henry IV had lately promulgated. To no purpose did the poet appeal to the king in some eloquent verses in which he begged to be allowed to expiate his offence by dying for his sovereign on the field of honour:—
He was obliged to seek safety in exile, and retired to England. There his "Stuart" tragedy was of service to him. He presented it to James, who showed his appreciation of the work by interceding with the King of France on behalf of the author. The result was favourable, but not immediate; and several years had to elapse before the outlawry was reversed.
Montchrestien had gone to England in the character of a poet and a gentleman. He returned to France to become an economist and manufacturer. In 1615 he published a volume entitled, Traicté de l'Œconomie Politique. Never before had the term been used; and the subject dealt with was as novel as its name. Shortly after this, the founder of the science for which such great destinies were in store, established a cutlery on the banks of the Loire. That his venture was successful seems hardly probable, for less than four years later he was engaged in the shipping trade. The story that he endeavoured to better his financial position by the desperate expedient of counterfeiting the coin of the realm rests on no trustworthy authority, and may be dismissed as one of the many calumnies by which his enemies sought to blacken his memory after his tragic death. That event took place in 1621; and the various incidents that led up to it might well be shaped into a novel of adventure, though they must here be summarized in a few brief sentences. When religious troubles again broke out in France, after the Assembly of La Rochelle, Montchrestien threw in his lot with the Protestant party. He went about for some months in his native province of Normandy, endeavouring to organize an insurrection. On the 7th of October he, together with his servant and six Huguenot captains, was taken by surprise in an inn. In the scuffle that followed, a pistol shot through the head put an end to his adventurous career. According to the barbarous custom which then prevailed in France, as it did in Scotland also, sentence was pronounced over his dead body. It was burnt and the ashes were scattered to the winds.
When Montchrestien wrote l'Escossoise, six years before the birth of Corneille, tragedy made no attempt to depict the conflict of antagonistic passions, but contented itself with the exposition of a pathetic situation, considered from various points of view. When this had been set forth with sufficient detail, the dénouement, instead of being enacted before the spectators, was indicated in a concluding narrative. All Montchrestien's tragedies are drawn up on this plan; and he is so faithful to the old classic form that he retains even the chorus. It is worthy of notice, however, that what has been called "dialogue cornélien", that quick alternation of antithetical couplets and even single lines, suggestive of the sharp clashing of swords in the hands of two well-matched opponents, is one of the characteristics of his manner, and is handled by him with considerable skill and vigour.
In the Stuart tragedy the "entreparleurs" are the Queen of Scots, the Queen of England, an anonymous Councillor, Davison, a Master of the Household, a Messenger, a Page, and two Choruses, one composed of Mary's female attendants, and another consisting of the "Estates" of England. The first act is opened by Elizabeth, who, in a long speech which she addresses to her Councillor, bewails her hard fate and her precarious tenure of both crown and life. She is particularly hurt at the ingratitude of the Queen of Scots, whom she has deprived of her liberty, it is true, but otherwise treated right royally. And apostrophizing the rival whose fair face hides so much disloyalty, envy, and spite, so much fury and so much daring, she asks her whether her heart is not touched at the thought of the countless ills to which England must become a prey if it should lose its lawful Sovereign.
Enlarging on this idea, the Councillor urges the Queen to put her prisoner to death:—It is a pious deed to kill a murderess; it cannot be displeasing to a just God that punishment should be inflicted on the wicked; and, moreover, has not the impunity of vice often brought ruin and death on kingdoms and on kings? To such arguments as these, Elizabeth replies that kings and queens are answerable to God alone; that Sovereigns who put their enemies to death increase instead of diminishing their number; and that severity only engenders hatred. And her last words contain the half-expressed resolve to try what clemency will do to disarm her rival. This the Councillor meets with the significant question—
To close the act the Chorus then appears and sings the delights of the golden age and the simple life, as compared with the troubles and anxieties that embitter the existence of princes.
When the short second act opens, sentence of death has been passed on Mary Stuart, and the Estates of England appear before their Queen to demand that, for their safety, the sentence shall be carried out. Elizabeth accedes so far as to promise that she will leave the matter in their hands. But that is only a device to gain time. As soon as she is by herself, she calls up a vivid picture of what foreign nations and posterity will think of her if she allows the blood of a Sovereign to stain the scaffold, and is so horrified at it that she determines to interfere. She leaves the stage and disappears from the tragedy with the words:
In spite of the hopes inspired by Elizabeth, the next act introduces Davison, who has been dispatched to notify her sentence to the royal prisoner, and who, in an effective monologue, expresses his sense of the responsibility which he is incurring and of the odium which he will be made to bear:
Davison is followed by Mary, whom her attendants accompany. In a touching speech she tells the sad story of her life—her unhappy childhood, her brief reign in France, her return to her Scottish kingdom, of which the distracted state is described in a few vigorous lines:
To this accusation of having plotted the death of her husband she replies with an impassioned apostrophe to him, calling upon him to rise from the dead and bear witness to her innocence. Then she recalls her flight from Scotland, and, forgetful of historical fact, attributes it to adverse fate and a furious storm that she was obliged to land on the inhospitable shores of the barbarous English:
And now that no hope of liberty remains, the royal captive longs for the death which she believes to have already been prepared for her. At this point there is a really dramatic situation. The sorrowing Queen has scarcely been assured by the Chorus that her enemies will not dare proceed to such extremes, when a page announces the approach of a royal messenger. It is Davison. He has come to make her death sentence known to the prisoner, who welcomes it as the news of her speedy deliverance.
The fourth act is a lofty elegy—Mary's farewell to the world. The tender and touching lines with which it opens indicate the spirit with which it is animated throughout.
In the fifth act, devoted to the usual narrative of the catastrophe, a messenger tells the Master of the Household how nobly and bravely his mistress met her death:
The lamentations of the Chorus close the pathetic scene. This is not yet tragedy; but it is not far from being splendid in parts. It is the work, if not of a dramatist, at least of an eloquent rhetorician combined with a lyric poet of high gifts. And when it is remembered that the play was written before his twenty-fifth year, by the man who afterwards showed his keen power of analysis and his psychological insight in his treatise on political economy, it is justifiable to regret that the circumstances of his adventurous life induced him to abandon the literary career which had opened so auspiciously for him.
The original Loretto—or, as it should more correctly be spelt, Loreto—is an Italian town situated in the province of Ancona, and only a few miles from the shores of the Adriatic. Its four to five thousand inhabitants consist mainly of dealers in objects of piety and in beggars, and its only importance lies in the fame of its shrine, to which many thousands of pilgrims resort yearly.
The cult of Our Lady of Loreto is based on one of the most marvellous, not to say the most daring, of medieval legends. According to the traditional account, St. Helena, the mother of Constantine, had caused a church to be built at Nazareth, over the cottage which the Blessed Virgin had once inhabited. That church the Saracens overthrew. They were preparing to destroy the Santa Casa itself when, on the night of May 12, 1291, angels, anticipating and surpassing the feats of modern engineering, transported it into Dalmatia. For various reasons it was again removed three successive times from one locality to another, until it finally took its stand on the high road between Recanati and the sea. There is a divergence of opinions as to the origin of the name by which the magnificent shrine which shelters the Santa Casa has become known through the whole world. Some authorities attribute it to the fact that the Holy House was deposited in a field belonging to a widow called Lauretta, whilst others connect it with the existence of a laurel grove on the site chosen by the carrier angels. In addition to the cottage, and within it, there is a statue of the Madonna. It is attributed to St. Luke, whom medieval legends commonly regarded as portraitist-in-ordinary to the Virgin Mary. Another relic consists of the dish out of which the Virgin ate. The popularity which the shrine of Loreto acquired through the ages may be estimated from the fact that towards the end of the eighteenth century its wealth was valued at more than a million sterling. In 1797 Pius VI was obliged to draw on its treasury in order to fulfil the conditions imposed on him by the Treaty of Tolentino. War having again broken out, the French occupied Loreto and took possession of the miraculous statue, which was relegated to a shelf beneath that occupied by a mummy in the Cabinet des Médailles of the Bibliothéque Nationale. Napoleon restored it to the Pope in 1802.
The fame acquired by the Italian Loreto led to the establishment, in other countries, of similar shrines—branch establishments for the granting of indulgences and the performance of miracles. Of such Scotland possessed at least two. One of them, which does not seem to have acquired more than a local reputation, was in Perth. The other stood "beyond the eastern gate of Musselburgh and on the margin of the links". The date and circumstances of its foundation are set forth by the Diurnal of Remarkable Occurrents, which, amongst the entries for 1533, has the following:—"In this mene tyme thair came ane heremeit, callit Thomas Douchtie, in Scotland, quha haid bein lang capitane (?captive) before the Turk, as was allegit, and brocht ane ymage of our Lady with him, and foundit the Chappel of Laureit, besyid Musselburgh". In addition to this evidence there is a charter of James V, dated July 29, 1534, and confirming the grant by the Bailies, of a "petra" of land in the territory of Musselburgh, to Thomas Duthy, of the Order of St. Paul, first hermit of Mount Sinai, for the erection of a chapel in honour of Almighty God and of Blessed Mary of Laureto.[191]
Beside sanctioning the foundation of the shrine, James gave it a tangible proof of his patronage. In August, 1534, as is shown by the Accounts of the Lord High Treasurer, he spent £22, 13s. 2d. in purchasing the materials and paying for the making and ornamenting of albs, amices, stoles, chasubles, and altar towels.[192] We learn from John Lesley, Bishop of Ross, that, in 1536, before setting out on his voyage to France for the purpose of bringing home the Lady Magdalene as his bride, the King, being in Stirling, "passit thairfra on his feitt, in pilgrimag to the Chappell of Lorrett, besid Mussilburgh". This statement is borne out by an entry in the Liber Emptorum: "Hodie (9th August), soluto disjunio, rex pedestre peregrinavit de Stirling versus Sanctam Mariam de Laureit et pernoctabat in Edinburgh".[193] The Accounts supply the further information that on this occasion he made a gift of four altar towels, two of "Dornik", that is, of the diapered linen cloth manufactured at Tournay, and two of bleached Breton canvas. Including twenty shillings "for sewing of XX crocis upoun the saidis towellis", the expense incurred amounted to £6, 11s. 6d. The sum of fourteen shillings was left with the "chapellanis of Lawrete to pray for the Kingis Grace"; and a further offering of two crowns was made after the actual embarkation at Newhaven.[194]
Thomas Duthie's foundation throve under the influence of royal favour, and from all parts of the country, pilgrimages to the shrine were performed, as Sir David Lyndsay testifies:
The satirist taxes the pilgrims with licentiousness, and alleges that