A painted ceiling boss of Hercules carrying a large wooden club, dressed in classical robes

Stirling, August 1594: Music at the Baptism of Prince Henry Stuart

by

Featured Image: Stirling Castle Ceiling Boss, Hercules, from the King’s Chamber. Attribution: dun_deagh, CC BY-SA 2.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.0>, via Wikimedia Commons

2024 has been a year of many elections, and many readers may well be suffering from election fatigue. However, running a succession campaign wasn’t much easier for royalty in the pre-modern era, requiring years of careful planning, relentless public messaging, and the added element of luck in one’s personal life concerning familial births and deaths. Music had a role to play as a part of the succession planning.  This post describes the musical elements in evidence within a 1594 report of the baptism of James VI’s first-born son.

Henry Fowler, who wrote the pamplet describing the baptism for the wider benefit of readers throughout Scotland and England, was also one of the writers involved in designing the entertainments. According to Rick Bowers, Fowler’s publication represented, with Royal approval, “a reformed Protestant communiqué that breaks with a Catholic past, [and] balances Scottish nationalism with British union”, seen on royal Scottish terms (Bowers, p.4). Be grateful that modern party-political broadcasts only last for 5 minutes on the TV. James VI’s multi-day pageant underlined that he, James, and in the fulness of time, his first-born son Henry, were positioned to add the English throne to their Scottish realm, once the reign of the childless Queen Elizabeth I concluded. James’s ambitions for himself bore fruit in 1603.  Henry tragically died of typhoid fever in November 1612; ach, but he started so well.

Fowler’s account of the events in his pamphlet was catchily titled A true reportarie of the most triumphant, and royal accomplishment of the baptisme of the most excellent, right high, and mightie prince, Frederik Henry; by the grace of God, Prince of Scotland Solemnized the 30. day of August, and was first printed in Edinburgh under royal privilege by the king’s printer, Waldegrave. Copies exist of this today in at least 8 major libraries (see USTC lists), which suggests both that it was a large print run, and also that it was worth holding onto, which is remarkable for a booklet that is not, at first glance, a particularly lavish publication. Copies were also printed in London. Peter Short, who also printed Protestant-leaning literature associated with Mary Sidney and in the same period, poetry by that fellow Shakespeare, brought out an English edition in the same year (see USTC list). Thomas Creede republished it in London in 1603, the year that James’s ambitions for succession were realised (see USTC list).  Fowler’s account of the royal baptism was in its time a best-seller: people were fascinated by decoding the significance of the events described. And perhaps, a wee bit, like readers of more colourfully printed journals today, also fascinated by this glimpse into the world of the folk at the social apex of national power.

James rebuilt the Stirling Castle Chapel Royal for the service of baptism itself, although the entertainments spread throughout the castle and its vicinity.  The immediate audience included many international diplomats, carefully listed by Fowler as each moment of the carefully planned events unfold. Queen Elizabeth I was to be the Prince’s Godmother, but rather than travel herself, she was to be represented by a proxy, originally planned to be the Earl of Cumberland. Cumberland – one of the border counties, firmly English at this time, but historically part of the ancient Kingdom of Strathclyde, was a shrewd choice, geographically suggestive of historical boundary changes.  Cumberland, however, was taken ill, and a late replacement was found in Earl of Sussex; less symbolic, but conveniently available. The time taken to resolve the issue of English representation (critical to the succession hermeneutics) delayed the baptism and is noted by Fowler to have caused some impatience in the other international delegates who were milling around in Edinburgh at the King’s expense, possibly in ways that would have been all too public not to have this mentioned. France notably failed to send anyone despite having been invited (Bowers, p.8;), signalling a shift from the Franco-Scottish alliances that had marked earlier 16th century northern politics.  However, eventually, the ambassadorial lineup was complete (sans France), the building works at the Chapel Royal in Stirling were cleared as ready, and the 28th August was the settled date.

The Entrance

As the delegates arrived in the vicinity of Stirling Castle, King James and his writers had crafted a series of ‘entry’ entertainments to greet them.  Pride of place went to “the brave Yonkers of Edinburgh with their hagbutes” (i.e. young ‘gentlemen’ from Edinburgh’s town’s militia, armed with front-loading firearms), who provided their security service in the guise of being a guard of honour, staying in place throughout a series of outdoor dramatic sketches which featured actors drawn from the youth of Scotland’s foremost noble families (True Reportarie, Proquest digital copy, image 4). This developed into a full-scale chivalric tournament, of the kind also popular at the time in Tudor London, from which the Earl of Lennox emerged as victor.

The Day of the Baptism

More entertainments …

The second day’s entertainments involved pageants with heraldic beasts – especially the Unicorn of Scotland and the Lion of England – although plans seem to have had been disrupted in some way because “the artisans were employed in other business who should have followed foorth that invention given them” (True Reportarie, Proquest image 6).  Well, who hasn’t had that kind of problem with double-booked builders….  Luckily, things rapidly returned to form as the baptism itself got underway.

The service itself

In the Chappell Royal, the baptism began with the public presentation of the 6-month-old infant Henry.  The baby initially lay on a bed of state decorated with embroideries of the deeds of Hercules (as a side bar, images of Hercules are much in evidence in the architecture of Stirling Castle – see featured image). Luckily, no snakes needed to be wrangled on this occasion – an early feat of bravery by the mythological infant Hercules thankfully not re-enacted.  More usefully present again, in case of trouble, were “a hundredth Hagbutters (being onely the youkers of Edinburgh, bravely apparrelled)”: clearly, security was still tight. The prince was lifted and carried around the assembly, presented finally to the English ambassador in lieu of godmother Elizabeth I, to the “trumpets sounding melodiously” (True Reportarie, Proquest image 8).

Following the Old Testament reading (Genesis 21) and a sermon on that text, the Provost and Prebends (clerics) of the Chapel Royal sang Psalm 21. This particular psalm is about kingship, promising a fruitful inheritance to a Godly king (True Reportarie, Proquest image 8). The moment of baptism itself was further proclaimed by the Lord Lyon “King of Arms” and conveyed onwards by heralds and trumpets from the open windows of the Chapel, and again at the end of the service.

Trumpets appear throughout the Reportarie: heralding the arrival of noble actors for the arrival entertainments, signalling the culmination of the baptism in church, during the oaths of allegiance sworn by many Scottish nobles following the baptism, and generally punctuating other moments of resolution and progression in the wider events.  These musicians were probably drawn from a multi-generational family of trumpeters who had come over from Italy for the marriage of James IV and Margaret Tudor in 1503, and settled in Scotland permanently, becoming part of the royal household servants (see McGrattan, 1999).

The evening banquet

After more trumpet fanfares and careful adherence to an elaborate seating plan, the banquet in Stirling Castle that evening was enlivened by two major dramatic conceits: a triumphal chariot pulled by a (very strong) Moor, carrying in a first course comprising the fruits of the earth and goddesses associated with these such as Ceres; and a sea spectacular serving up the main (fish) course.  Bowers writes that health and safety concerns modified plans to yoke a real lion to the triumphant food-chariot, replacing an unwilling and potentially peckish beast with a man presenting as an enslaved person of colour (Bowers, p.14). Lovely.

The second device was a scaled model of a gunship decorated with the insignia of Scotland and Denmark, an allegory for James’s marriage with Anna of Denmark. This apparatus, carrying Neptune and other marine deities, was flanked by Sirens pretending to swim in an imaginary ocean. Siren-song was accompanied by 14 on-ship musicians “apparelled in changeable Spanish Taffataes” in the Royal colours, and “Arion with his Harp” perched on a dolphin at the ship’s prow (True Reportarie, Proquest image 13). The ship proceeded to serve up all kinds of seafood, with Arion playing on his harp all the while. The harp was, of course, the instrument that folk in the 16th century imagined that the Biblical King David played, although also, conveniently, an instrument associate with panegyric in Highland Scottish usage.

Myself, I think this is splendid.  If my local chippie provided a harpist while they fried my fish supper, I’d be a very happy customer.

The fish course was also (sequentially with the harp?) accompanied by “howboyes” (hautboys, or shawms) playing music ‘in five partes’, and then “viols with voices in plaine counterpointe” performed songs written with Latin verses, on a general theme of universalised panegyric. After the songs, recorders and flutes had a further slot in the programme.  And finally, the musicians combined in “a general consort of the best instruments” (True Reportarie, image 14).  This arrangement of homogeneous and heterogeneous ensembles follows the idea prevalent in the Renaissance of the true consort (all instruments of the same family, which could thereby be more likely to tuned in similar fashion), and the ‘broken’ consort (like our modern band, a mix of different kinds of instruments, which might in this period not be quite so easy to tune together). The difference between blended and diverse-sounding instruments shows a particular aesthetic sensitivity that survives today in the homogenous blending of choral singers in the high-church Anglican tradition, in early music recorder or viol consorts, and in the sociable musicianship of the classical string quartet.

At the very end of the banquet, “there was sung with most delicate dulce [sweet] voices and sweet harmonie in 7 partes, the 128 psalme, with 14 voices” (True Reportarie, Proquest image 14); these may have been the same Chapell Royal singers as heard in the baptism service earlier in the day.  Psalm 128 talks about a happy man having a fruitful wife and children like ‘olive plants’ around the table, and again placed King James and his family within a typology of Royal Kingship derived from scripture.

The end of the banquet was marked by gunfire from the ship, accompanied by “trumpets and hoboyes” (True Reportarie, Proquest image 14).

The afterparty (in Edinburgh)

The Danes hosted a further banquet in their large, real-life ship in the Forth back in Edinburgh, which Fowler remarked involved a great deal of wine and (live) naval gunfire.  If there was music on that occasion, the account is mute; or, possibly, the partygoing in other respects was noisier.

Concluding Remarks

Two things from this account should be highlighted of relevance to Scottish music.

Firstly, although Fowler, and doubtless King James himself, might have taken more trouble over the poetry and lyrics in the songs, it is remarkable how much musical sound accompanied this event.  The Scottish entertainments drew on highly skilled singers (clearly capable in polyphonic part-song), viols, hautboys, trumpets, recorders, flutes, and a harp.  Some of these may have been on the regular payroll. Others must have been brought in for the occasion. Fowler doesn’t name performers, but it’s very possible that many of these were normally resident in Scotland. While the scale of this occasion was unusual, this is evidence that Scotland had sophisticated instrumental and vocal resources even after the cultural changes brought about by the Protestant Reformation.  Just because church music became simpler and scripturally-grounded doesn’t mean that all music stopped in 1560 (a view one sometimes finds in some polemics).

Secondly, it is notable that Fowler himself highlights the evident importance of particular psalms in these state festivities. Psalms were, by this time, a core feature of the Scottish reformed church, normally sung in the metrical translations approved in the national psalter. Mostly, in parish churches, these would be sung in unison, although in the context of a royal banquet, outside of church, clearly ‘sweet harmony’ was appreciated. This particular musical repertoire usage is evidence that James VI was presenting himself as a kind of King David, a theme that can be found elsewhere in his writings, providing a Biblical model for divinely-ordained rule that drew together diverse tribes (see e.g. Campell and MacKechnie; Kilgore).  King David was famously musical, and was imagined to have been one of the authors of the psalms in ancient Israel. James VI was definely less musical, although he did like writing poetry, and he was perfectly able to command others to produce what he couldn’t necessarily produce himself.  Once he became King of England as well as Scotland, James commissioned some of the best experts in Biblical languages to produce a new English language translation of the Bible: the King James Authorised Version of the Bible of 1611. The psalms in that version came with royal approval.

I have one query in my head that is a bit of an itch that needs scratching.  Clearly, alongside David, Hercules was important to James VI. Shakespeare’s play Macbeth, written to please the king, has quite a few Hercules references (see Zimmerman, 2006). Nothing to do with music, really … but now I’m curious to find a piece that reveals more about that side of the iconography.

Further Reading

 

 

Leave a comment

Cookie preferences