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priory; the only building in the place; provided an asylum for the

royal child and for four young girls born in the same year as

herself; having like her the sweet name which is an anagram of the

word 〃aimer;〃 and who; quitting her neither in her good nor in her

evil fortune; were called the 〃Queen's Marys〃。  They were Mary

Livingston; Mary Fleming; Mary Seyton; and Mary Beaton。  Mary stayed

in this priory till Parliament; having approved her marriage with the

French dauphin; son of Henry II; she was taken to Dumbarton Castle;

to await the moment of departure。  There she was entrusted to M。 de

Breze; sent by Henry II to…fetch her。  Having set out in the French

galleys anchored at the mouth of the Clyde; Mary; after having been

hotly pursued by the English fleet; entered Brest harbour; 15th

August; 1548; one year after the death of Francis!  Besides the

queen's four Marys; the vessels also brought to France three of her

natural brothers; among whom was the Prior of St。 Andrews; James

Stuart; who was later to abjure the Catholic faith; and with the

title of Regent; and under the name of the Earl of Murray; to become

so fatal to poor Mary。  From Brest; Mary went to St。  Germain…en…

Laye; where Henry II; who had just ascended the throne; overwhelmed

her with caresses; and then sent her to a convent where the heiresses

of the noblest French houses were brought up。  There Mary's happy

qualities developed。  Born with a woman's heart and a man's head;

Mary not only acquired all the accomplishments which constituted the

education of a future queen; but also that real knowledge which is

the object of the truly learned。



Thus; at fourteen; in the Louvre; before Henry II; Catherine de

Medici; and the whole court; she delivered a discourse in Latin of

her own composition; in which she maintained that it becomes women to

cultivate letters; and that it is unjust and tyrannical to deprive

flowery of their perfumes; by banishing young girls from all but

domestic cares。  One can imagine in what manner a future queen;

sustaining such a thesis; was likely to be welcomed in the most

lettered and pedantic court in Europe。  Between the literature of

Rabelais and Marot verging on their decline; and that of Ronsard and

Montaigne reaching their zenith; Mary became a queen of poetry; only

too happy never to have to wear another crown than that which

Ronsard; Dubellay; Maison…Fleur; arid Brantome placed daily on her

head。  But she was predestined。  In the midst of those fetes which a

waning chivalry was trying to revive came the fatal joust of

Tournelles: Henry II; struck by a splinter of a lance for want of a

visor; slept before his time with his ancestors; and Mary Stuart

ascended the throne of France; where; from mourning for Henry; she

passed to that for her mother; and from mourning for her mother to

that for her husband。  Mary felt this last loss both as woman and as

poet; her heart burst forth into bitter tears and plaintive

harmonies。  Here are some lines that she composed at this time:



〃Into my song of woe;

Sung to a low sad air;

My cruel grief I throw;

For loss beyond compare;

In bitter sighs and tears

Go by my fairest years。



Was ever grief like mine

Imposed by destiny?

Did ever lady pine;

In high estate; like me;

Of whom both heart and eye

Within the coffin lie?



Who; in the tender spring

And blossom of my youth;

Taste all the sorrowing

Of life's extremest ruth;

And take delight in nought

Save in regretful thought。



All that was sweet and gay

Is now a pain to see;

The sunniness of day

Is black as night to me;

All that was my delight

Is hidden from my sight。



My heart and eye; indeed;

One face; one image know;

The which this morrnful weed

On my sad face doth show;

Dyed with the violet's tone

That is the lover's own。



Tormented by my ill;

I go from place to place;

But wander as I will

My woes can nought efface;

My most of bad and good

I find in solitude。



But wheresoe'er I stay;

In meadow or in copse;

Whether at break of day

Or when the twilight drops;

My heart goes sighing on;

Desiring one that's gone。



If sometimes to the skies

My weary gaze I lift;

His gently shining eyes

Look from the cloudy drift;

Or stooping o'er the wave

I see him in the grave。



Or when my bed I seek;

And…sleep begins to steal;

Again I hear him speak;

Again his touch I feel;

In work or leisure; he

Is ever near to me。



No other thing I see;

However fair displayed;

By which my heart will be

A tributary made;

Not having the perfection

Of that; my lost affection。



Here make an end; my verse;

Of this thy sad lament;

Whose burden shall rehearse

Pure love of true intent;

Which separation's stress

Will never render less。〃





〃It was then;〃 says Brantorne; 〃that it was delightful to see her;

for the whiteness of her countenance and of her veil contended

together; but finally the artificial white yielded; and the snow…like

pallor of her face vanquished the other。  For it was thus;〃 he adds;

〃that from the moment she became a widow; I always saw her with her

pale hue; as long as I had the honour of seeing her in France; and

Scotland; where she had to go in eighteen months' time; to her very

great regret; after her widowhood; to pacify her kingdom; greatly

divided by religious troubles。  Alas! she had neither the wish nor

the will for it; and I have often heard her say so; with a fear of

this journey like death; for she preferred a hundred times to dwell

in France as a dowager queen; and to content herself with Touraine

and Poitou for her jointure; than to go and reign over there in her

wild country; but her uncles; at least some of them; not all; advised

her; and even urged her to it; and deeply repented their error。〃



Mary was obedient; as we have seen; and she began her journey under

such auspices that when she lost sight of land she was like to die。

Then it was that the poetry of her soul found expression in these

famous lines:



〃Farewell; delightful land of France;

     My motherland;

     The best beloved!

Foster…nurse of my young years!

Farewell; France; and farewell my happy days!

The ship that separates our loves

Has borne away but half of me;

One part is left thee and is throe;

And I confide it to thy tenderness;

That thou may'st hold in mind the other part。〃'



'Translator's note。…It has not been found possible to make a rhymed

version of these lines without sacrificing the simplicity which is

their chief charm。'





This part of herself that Mary left in France was the body of the

young king; who had taken with him all poor Mary's happiness into his

tomb。



Mary had but one hope remaining; that the sight of the English fleet

would compel her little squadron to turn back; but she had to fulfil

her destiny。  This same day; a fog; a very unusual occurrence in

summer…time; extended all over the Channel; and caused her to escape

the fleet; for it was such a dense fog that one could not see from

stern to mast。  It lasted the whole of Sunday; the day after the

departure; and did not lift till the following day; Monday; at eight

o'clock in the morning。  The little flotilla; which all this time had

been sailing haphazard; had got among so many reefs that if the fog

had lasted some minutes longer the galley would certainly have

grounded on some rock; and would have perished like the vessel that

had been seen engulfed on leaving port。  But; thanks to the fog's

clearing; the pilot recognised the Scottish coast; and; steering his

four boats with great skill through ail the dangers; on the 20th

August he put in at Leith; where no preparation had been made for the

queen's reception。  Nevertheless; scarcely had she arrived there than

the chief persons of the town met together and came to felicitate

her。  Meanwhile; they hastily collected some wretched nags; with

harness all falling in pieces; to conduct the queen to Edinburgh。



At sight of this; Mary could not help weeping again; for she thought

of the splendid palfreys and hackneys of her French knights and

ladies; and at this first view Scotland appeared to…her in all its

poverty。  Next day it was to appear to her in all its wildness。



After having passed one night at Holyrood Palace; 〃during which;〃

says Brantome; 〃five to six hundred rascals from the town; instead of

letting her sleep; came to give her a wild morning greeting on

wretched fiddles and little rebecks;〃 she expressed a wish to hear

mass。  Unfortunately; the people of Edinburgh belonged almost

entirely to the Reformed religion; so that; furious at the queen's

giving such a proof of papistry at her first appearance; they entered

the church by force; armed with knives; sticks and stones; with the

intention of putting to death the poor priest; her chaplain。  He left

the altar; and took refuge nea

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