ambassador, who had come, on the part of Henry VIII, to ask her in
marriage for the Prince of Wales, himself only five years old. Crowned
at nine months by Cardinal Beaton, archbishop of St. Andrews, she was
immediately hidden by her mother, who was afraid of treacherous dealing
in the King of England, in Stirling Castle. Two years later, not finding
even this fortress safe enough, she removed her to an island in the
middle of the Lake of Menteith, where a 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.