That
fair and frivolous dame, 'very very woman,' certainly did her best, by
her behaviour, to encourage the belief that she was the cause of these
sorrows. Even so, when the Bonny Earl Moray--the tallest and most
beautiful man in Scotland--died like a lion dragged down by wolves, the
people sang:

He was a brave gallant,
And he rode at the ring,
And the Bonny Earl Moray,
He might have been the King.

He was a brave gallant,
And he rode at the glove,
And the Bonny Earl Moray
He was the Queen's love.

On one side was a beautiful Queen mated with James VI, a pedant and a
clown. On the other side were, first the Bonny Earl, then the Earl of
Gowrie, both young, brave, handsome, both suddenly slain by the King's
friends: none knew why. The opinion of the godly, of the Kirk, of the
people, and even of politicians, leaped to the erroneous conclusion that
the young men perished, like Konigsmarck, because they were beautiful and
beloved, and because the Queen was fair and kind, and the King was ugly,
treacherous, and jealous. The rumour also ran, at least in tradition,
that Gowrie 'might have been the King,' an idea examined in Appendix A.
Here then was an explanation of the slaying of the Ruthvens on the lines
dear to romance. The humorous King Jamie (who, if he was not always
sensible, at least treated his flighty wife with abundance of sense) had
to play the part of King Mark of Cornwall to Gowrie's Sir Tristram. For
this theory, we shall show, no evidence exists, and, in 'looking for the
woman,' fancy found two men. The Queen was alternately said to love
Gowrie, and to love his brother, the Master of Ruthven, a lad of
nineteen--if she did not love both at once. It is curious that the
affair did not give rise to ballads; if it did, none has reached us.

In truth there was no woman in the case, and this of course makes the
mystery much less exciting than that of Mary Stuart, for whom so many
swords and pens have been drawn. The interest of character and of love
is deficient. Of Gowrie's character, and even of his religion, apart
from his learning and fascination, we really know almost nothing. Did he
cherish that strongest and most sacred of passions, revenge; had he
brooded over it in Italy, where revenge was subtler and craftier than in
Scotland? Did this passion blend with the vein of fanaticism in his
nature? Had he been biding his time, and dreaming, over sea,