A young Mary Stuart, aged around 13 years old.
Portrait by Francois Clouet (c. 1555).
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Poor Mary. Born on December 8, 1542 at Linlithgow Palace to Mary of Guise and James V of Scotland (Digby 1963, Swain 1970), Mary's life got off to a chaotic start when her father died suddenly and mysteriously on December 14, 1542 (Digby 1963, Swain 1970), only six days after she was born. In 1558, at the age of six, she was sent to France (Digby 1963) and was brought up with the children of King Henry II and Catherine de Medici while her mother remained in Scotland, acting as regent (Swain 1970).
At this time, French courtly tastes were dominated by the influence of Diane de Poitiers (Digby 1963), but make no mistake -- Catherine de Medici made her mark. During her time there, young Mary became an expert in dancing and performing in the “balls, masques and fetes in the new Italian manner introduced by Catherine de Medici” as well as being trained in the arts of dressmaking and embroidery (Digby 1963:53). Catherine, who was a renowned needlewoman herself (Lefebure 1888, Black and Kaye 1986), is said to have gathered "round her her daughters, Claude, Elizabeth, and Margaret, and sometimes the exiled Mary Stuart, and with them she passed a great portion of her time after dinner in silk needlework, in which she was as great an adept as possible" (Lefebure 1888:128).
Portrait of Catherine de Medici attributed to Francois Clouet (1555).
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
She is lucky to have learned in the company of an expert needlewoman, since Catherine de Medici had “received a convent training in needlework” (Black and Kaye 1986:33). She was also lucky enough to have married the Dauphin of France, Francis II in 1558, and became Queen Consort of France when Francis ascended the throne only a year later in 1559 (Digby 1963, Swain 1970). 1560 was a very bad year for Mary, however; in June, her mother died, and in August, Scottish Parliament formally adopted the Calvinist faith as the national religion of Scotland (Swain 1970) -- problematic for the Catholic Mary Stuart. In December, all came to ruin when Francis died and Mary, then only 18 years old, became a widow (Swain 1970).
Portrait of Francis and Mary (c. 1558).
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
In 1561, she returned to Scotland (Swain 1970), where she was troubled for no less than seven years by “John Knox and the politics of the Scottish lords” (Digby 1963:54). The transfer of her ‘moveables’ was supervised by her valet de chambre, Servais de Conde, who was responsible for the transport of beds, curtains, tapestries, and linens belonging to her late mother, as well as those articles brought by the Queen from France (Swain 1970). Listed in the inventories (through the efforts of the indefatigable Servais) we see meticulously recorded such fine materials as velvet, silk, damask, taffetas, non-tartan plaids, cloth of gold, cloth of silver, passmenterie, gold and silver fringes, as well as gold and silver thread (Swain 1970). From France, she brought with her 25 beds and canopies, many of which were embroidered in applique with cloth of gold (Swain 1970). Moreover, “from the time of her arrival new beds were constantly being made up and old ones renovated: for the Queen’s ladies, for her female fool Jardiniere, for David Rizzio, and as wedding presents for members of her household” (Swain 1970:15). Purchases of new material for the Queen's comfort were overseen by the Lord High Treasurer of Scotland, who dispensed the funds for the local purchase of items in Edinburgh (Swain 1970) -- a fact that likely made the merchants and craftspeople of Edinburgh rejoice, since her purchases at this time included: Poldavie canvas (sail cloth) and light canvas, light fustian, buckram, taffetas, satin, velvet, holland cloth (fine linen), Paris black and grey black, all hues of worsted by the pound, silks in every colour, gilt thread, coloured thread, lincum (heavy-duty) twine, and even whalebone to act as girders to the farthingales of her attire (Swain 1970).
Portrait of Mary and Darnley.
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Textile historian Margaret Swain has indicated that “she led an energetic life during these years” (Swain 1970:14), which makes her later imprisonment all the more saddening. She hunted, rode north, visited her many castles, married Henry Stuart, Lord Darnley and even “rode with him at the head of her troops on the Chaseabout Raid, when her rebellious lords fled over the border into England” (Swain 1970:14). She bore a son, the future James (VI & I), King of Great Britain (Swain 1970). The requirements for the bed constructed for her lying-in were exhaustive; assembled in May of 1566, the inventory lists orders of 15.5 ells (forearm lengths) of blue velvet for canopy and curtains -- eventually to be trimmed with blue silk fringes -- and six stone of wool and feathers respectively to stuff the mattress and pillows, along with ten ells of holland cloth (fine linen) to furnish the cradle -- replete with ribbons -- and two hundred ells of the same to be made into bedsheets and sarks (nightdresses) (Swain 1970).
Portrait of Mary and King James (1583).
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Things get really crazy in 1567, with Darnley's suspicious death (Swain 1970) -- I'm noticing that this seems to be coming up a lot during this era... -- and the beginning of Mary's imposed confinement. In June of 1567, she was imprisoned by her nobles on the island of Lochleven for 10 months “and it was only then that she would seem to have had the enforced leisure to embroider” (Swain 1970:17). From Lochleven, Mary wrote to the Lords of Council to request the assistance of an embroiderer to assist with draughtsmanship, but her request was denied on the grounds of “being too dangerous, because her embroiderers, like Pierre Oudry, appear to have been faithful servants” (Swain 1970:17). She kept -- relatively speaking, of course -- a skeleton closet at this time, as the multiple requests for her personal clothing to be delivered from Lochleven can attest (Swain 1970). However, royal inventories indicate that two beds were dispatched to Lochleven -- although the household inventory of this estate makes no mention of any such articles -- and she wrote often requesting additional materials for her needlework, which appear to have been granted (Swain 1970). With the exception of her confinement at Lochleven, Mary employed two embroiderers, Pierre Oudry and Ninian Miller, during the entirety of her stay in Scotland (Swain 1970). After seven years of employ (1560-1567), Oudry was apparently dismissed after some sort of disagreement, although the portrait he painted of Her Grace is reported as having been executed eleven years later in 1578 (Digby 1963).
Portrait of Mary during her captivity by Nicholas Hilliard (c. 1578).
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
Mary fled to England in 1568, where she became the ward of George Talbot, Earl of Shrewsbury, who married Bess of Hardwick in 1569 (Digby 1963). Swain has suggested that “During Mary’s long imprisonment in England, until her execution in 1587, she had all too much time for embroidery. There are many references, in letters and memoirs, to her activity with the needle, especially during the fifteen years she was in the custody of the redoubtable Countess of Shrewsbury” (1970:19). For example, reporting his recent visit to the Shrewsbury couple and their royal captive to William Cecil, Nicholas White wrote on February 26, 1569:
I asked her Grace since the weather had cut off all exercises abroad how she passed the time within. She said that all day she wrought with her needle and that the diversity of the colours made the work seem less tedious and continued so long at it till very pain did make her to give it over; and with that laid her hand upon her left side and complained of an old grief newly increased there. Upon this occasion she entered upon a pretty disputable comparison between drawing, painting and work with the needle, affirming painting in her own opinion for the most commendable quality (Digby 1963:54-55).
Close up of an osprey embroidered by Mary Queen of Scots during her confinement (c. 1570).
Image courtesy of the Victoria and Albert Museum.
In that same year, Shrewsbury wrote to Cecil, making mention of the way in which Mary would converse and sew in the company of Lady Lewiston and Mrs. Seton “‘and her talk is altogether of indifferent or trifling matters’” (Digby 1963:55). Bearing in mind that Mary, who had legitimate claim to the highly contested English throne, represented a very real threat to Queen Elizabeth -- so basically, this is Shrewsbury writing Elizabeth's advisor in order to say "Nope, nope, nope, nothing going on here. Girls will be girls, they get together and they gossip about stupid stuff." This is definitely in Shewsbury's best interest, given the fact that charges of high treason have the tendency to turn into witch hunts in which suspect figures must be ferreted out and all of their private belongings sorted through and brandished publicly.
During those early years of her confinement, Mary and Bess appear to have become fast friends -- a friendship that would fail to endure the weathering of time and the significant strain placed on the household in the invigilation of a royal ward, not to mention an unexpected marriage (but more on that later) -- planning, designing, and executing the four Oxburgh Hangings together (Digby 1963). George Whitfield Digby has suggested that “Here it is necessary to point out that the planning and working of them had its intellectual side as well as the hours spent in working the tent and cross stitches. There was the interest of looking out the emblems, a subject in which Mary’s courtly education made her proficient, and there was doubtless a lot she could teach the shrewd but less highly educated Elizabeth Shrewsbury” (Digby 1963:56). Many of the creatures depicted in these hangings were taken from Conrad Gessner’s 1551 book Historiae Animalium (Swain 1970), and one can easily imagine how it might have felt to gaze, with some wonderment, upon a “zoo of unfamiliar birds, fish and monsters” depicted in these illustrations (Digby 1963:56). It is worth noting that the excellent condition of these hangings can likely be attributed to a remounting of the applique panels on a new velvet ground at a later date (Black and Kaye 1986:33).
The Shrewsbury Hanging, one of the Oxburgh hangings (1570-1585).
Image courtesy of the Victoria and Albert Museum.
Two cushions retained at Hardwick Hall are attributed to Mary, and are described as being “‘expertly done with the finest materials, but her wish to exercise her wit and learning and her personal use of her royal badges triumph over the purity of the design, although they give an element of interest and individuality that is entirely right for a noble-born needlewoman, who is a queen” (Digby 1963:116). These cushions are generally attributed to Mary’s hand and not Bess’s because, plainly and simply, they bear her cipher -- seen also on several of the applique panels furnishing the Oxburgh Hangings, her signet ring (now housed at the British Museum, and her book stamp (Swain 1970). On some occasions, her cipher was solely comprised of her superimposed initials (as seen above, framed by two Scottish thistles), while on other occasions it is shown with her pictorial symbol of a lodestone turning to face the Pole (Swain 1970). This rendition of her cipher has been described as having been exhibited on the incredible bed spoken of by William Drummond of Hawthornden and detailed in his letter to Ben Jonson in July of 1619 (Swain 1970). Drummond, a veritable expert on emblems and impresas wrote:
For all inscriptions I have been curious to find out for you, the Impressaes and Emblemes on a Bed of State wrought and embroidered all with gold and silk by the late Queen Mary mother to our sacred Soveraign, which will embellish greatly some pages of your Book, and is worthy of your remembrance; the first is the Loadstone turning towards the pole, the word her Majesties name turned in an Anagram Maria Stuart, sa vertu m’attire, which is not much inferior to Veritas armata (Digby 1963:49).
Close up one Mary's cipher on the Marian Hanging, one of the surviving Oxburgh hangings.
Image courtesy of the Victoria and Albert Museum.
In the spring of 1572, Mary attempted to curry favour with Queen Elizabeth by presenting her with gifts of satins, taffetas, linens, and hats from France (Digy 1963). She later presented Elizabeth with a skirt of crimson satin, a nightdress, and a headdress replete with gold and silver spangles (Digby 1963). This crimson skirt, embroidered in silver thread, was presented to Queen Elizabeth by the French ambassador to serve as “‘evidence of the honour I bear her and the desire I have to employ myself in anything agreeable’” (Klein 1997:475).The gift appears to have been well met, since the ambassador, reporting back to Mary, wrote that Elizabeth “‘found it very nice and has prized it much, and it seems to me I found her much softened’” by it (Klein 1997:475). Her efforts, however, appear to have been ultimately unsuccessful, since these gifts failed to secure her release (Klein 1997) and she was later executed in 1587 on charges of plotting treason against Queen Elizabeth (Digby 1963). After her execution, Sir Amyas Paulet bemoaned that he was forbidden from discarding the remnants of her belongings, which he described as consisting of such “‘abominable trash as beads of all sorts, pictures in silks of all sorts, with some Angus Dei’” (Digby 1963:57-58).
La Morte de Marie Stuart, 1587 by Abel de Pujol (19th century).
Image courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
So now you've heard her tale of woe. At this point, you may be wondering what, if anything, I might have in common with this woman. The truth is, not much, outside of a classical early education emphasizing the performing and liberal arts, and long periods of relative isolation interspersed with periods of limited social interaction.
I live in a basement suite with tiny windows -- a gloomy and claustrophobic circumstance to some, but an abode which readily adopts a sense of hermitage and quietude. As an academic, most of my putative activity revolves around reading and writing, and this is a lifestyle ill-suited to a vibrant social life. Lately, I have taken to watching Gilmore Girls while I embroider -- not as any indication of my taste in modern media, but mostly on the recommendations of a friend that it is a show primarily premised on female discourse, and since it is dialogue heavy, I'll not miss major plot development with my eyes averted while I squint at my needlework. Having attended an all-girls private school in my early upbringing, I can veritably attest to the show's ready simulation of female companionship.
But Mary is right, the vibrancy of hue and the ready palette of varied colours do seem to brighten the dark hours of winter. To work with dedication on a long-term project does allow one to derive a certain sense of satisfaction while monitoring daily progress, or especially when completing (at last!) a particularly onerous segment of the work.
Sources Cited
Black, David, and Raymond Kaye, eds.
1986 The Royal School of Needlework Book of Needlework and Embroidery. London, England: The Oregon Press.
Digby, George Whitfield
1963 Elizabethan Embroidery. London, England: Faber and Faber.
Klein, Lisa
1997 Your Humble Handmaid: Elizabethan Gifts of Needlework. Renaissance Quarterly 50(2): 459-493.
Lefebure, Ernest
1888 Embroidery and Lace: Their Manufacture and History from the Remotest Antiquity to the Present Day: A Handbook for Amateurs, Collectors, and General Readers. Alan Cole, trans. London, England: H. Grebel and Co.
Swain, Margaret
1970 Historical Needlework: A Study of Influences in Scotland and Northern England. London, England: Barrie and Jenkins Ltd.
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