with a feeling of breathless awe, very different from the usual boldness
and vivacity of his temper. In fact, he was, from education and nature,
forward, but not impudent, and was much more easily controlled by the
moral superiority, arising from the elevated talents and renown of those
with whom he conversed, than by pretensions founded only on rank or
external show. He might have braved with indifference the presence of an
earl, merely distinguished by his belt and coronet; but he felt overawed
in that of the eminent soldier and statesman, the wielder of a nation's
power, and the leader of her armies.--The greatest and wisest are
flattered by the deference of youth--so graceful and becoming in itself;
and Murray took, with much courtesy, the letter from the hands of
the abashed and blushing page, and answered with complaisance to the
imperfect and half-muttered greeting, which he endeavoured to deliver to
him on the part of Sir Halbert of Avenel. He even paused a moment ere
he broke the silk with which the letter was secured, to ask the page his
name--so much he was struck with his very handsome features and form.
“Roland Graeme,” he said, repeating the words after the hesitating page.
“What! of the Grahams of the Lennox?”
“No, my lord,” replied Roland; “my parents dwelt in the Debateable
Land.”
Murray made no further inquiry, but proceeded to read his dispatches;
during the perusal of which his brow began to assume a stern expression
of displeasure, as that of one who found something which at once
surprised and disturbed him. He sat down on the nearest seat, frowned
till his eyebrows almost met together, read the letter twice over, and
was then silent for several minutes. At length, raising his head, his
eye encountered that of the usher, who in vain endeavoured to exchange
the look of eager and curious observation with which he had been
perusing the Regent's features, for that open and unnoticing expression
of countenance, which, in looking at all, seems as if it saw and marked
nothing--a cast of look which may be practised with advantage by all
those, of whatever degree, who are admitted to witness the familiar and
unguarded hours of their superiors. Great men are as jealous of their
thoughts as the wife of King Candaules was of her charms, and will as
readily punish those who have, however involuntarily, beheld them in
mental deshabille and exposure.
“Leave the apartment, Hyndman,” said the Regent, sternly, “and carry
your observation elsewhere. You are too knowing, sir, for your post,
which, by special order, is destined for men of blunter capacity. So!
now you look more like a fool than you did,”--(for Hyndman, as may
easily be supposed, was not a little disconcerted by this rebuke)--“keep
that confused stare, and it may keep your office. Begone, sir!”
The usher departed in dismay, not forgetting to register, amongst his
other causes of dislike to Roland Graeme, that he had been the witness
of this disgraceful chiding. When he had left the apartment, the Regent
again addressed the page.
“Your name, you say, is Armstrong?”
“No,” replied Roland, “my name is Graeme, so please you--Roland Graeme,
whose forbears were designated of Heathergill, in the Debateable Land.”
“Ay, I knew it was a name from the Debateable Land. Hast thou any
acquaintance in Edinburgh?”
“My lord,” replied Roland, willing rather to evade this question than
to answer it directly, for the prudence of being silent with respect
to Lord Seyton's adventure immediately struck him, “I have been in
Edinburgh scarce an hour, and that for the first time in my life.”
“What! and thou Sir Halbert Glendinning's page?” said the Regent.
“I was brought up as my Lady's page,” said the youth, “and left Avenel
Castle for the first time in my life--at least since my childhood--only
three days since.”
“My Lady's page!” repeated the Earl of Murray, as if speaking to
himself; “it was strange to send his Lady's page on a matter of such
deep concernment--Morton will say it is of a piece with the nomination
of his brother to be Abbot; and yet in some sort an inexperienced youth
will best serve the turn.--What hast thou been taught, young man, in thy
doughty apprenticeship?”
“To hunt, my lord, and to hawk,” said Roland Graeme.
“To hunt coneys, and to hawk at ouzels!” said the Regent, smiling; “for
such are the sports of ladies and their followers.”
Graeme's cheek reddened deeply as he replied, not without some emphasis,
“To hunt red-deer of the first head, and to strike down herons of the
highest soar, my lord, which, in Lothian speech, may be termed, for
aught I know, coneys and ouzels;-also I can wield a brand and couch a
lance, according to our Border meaning; in inland speech these may be
termed water-flags and bulrushes.”
“Thy speech rings like metal,” said the Regent, “and I pardon the
sharpness of it for the truth.--Thou knowest, then, what belongs to the
duty of a man-at-arms?”
“So far as exercise can teach--it without real service in the field,”
answered Roland Graeme; “but our Knight permitted none of his household
to make raids, and I never had the good fortune to see a stricken
field.”
“The good fortune!” repeated the Regent, smiling somewhat sorrowfully,
“take my word, young man, war is the only game from which both parties
rise losers.”
“Not always, my lord!” answered the page, with his characteristic
audacity, “if fame speaks truth.”
“How, sir?” said the Regent, colouring in his turn, and perhaps
suspecting an indiscreet allusion to the height which he himself had
attained by the hap of civil war.
“Because, my lord,” said Roland Graeme, without change of tone, “he who
fights well, must have fame in life, or honour in death; and so war is a
game from which no one can rise a loser.”
The Regent smiled and shook his head, when at that moment the door
opened, and the Earl of Morton presented himself.
“I come somewhat hastily,” he said, “and I enter unannounced because my
news are of weight--It is as I said; Edward Glendinning is named Abbot,
and--”
“Hush, my lord!” said the Regent, “I know it, but--”
“And perhaps you knew it before I did, my Lord of Murray,” answered
Morton, his dark red brow growing darker and redder as he spoke.
“Morton,” said Murray, “suspect me not--touch not mine honour--I have
to suffer enough from the calumnies of foes, let me not have to contend
with the unjust suspicions of my friends.--We are not alone,” said he,
recollecting himself, “or I could tell you more.”
He led Morton into one of the deep embrasures which the windows formed
in the massive wall, and which afforded a retiring place for their
conversing apart. In this recess, Roland observed them speak together
with much earnestness, Murray appearing to be grave and earnest, and
Morton having a jealous and offended air, which seemed gradually to give
way to the assurances of the Regent.
As their conversation grew more earnest, they became gradually louder
in speech, having perhaps forgotten the presence of the page, the more
readily as his position in the apartment placed him put of sight, so
that he found himself unwillingly privy to more of their discourse than
he cared to hear. For, page though he was, a mean curiosity after the
secrets of others had never been numbered amongst Roland's failings;
and moreover, with all his natural rashness, he could not but doubt the
safety of becoming privy to the secret discourse of these powerful and
dreaded men. Still he could neither stop his ears, nor with propriety
leave the apartment; and while he thought of some means of signifying
his presence, he had already heard so much, that, to have produced
himself suddenly would have been as awkward, and perhaps as dangerous,
as in quiet to abide the end of their conference. What he overheard,
however, was but an imperfect part of their communication; and although
an expert politician, acquainted with the circumstances of the times,
would have had little difficulty in tracing the meaning, yet Roland
Graeme could only form very general and vague conjectures as to the
import of their discourse.
“All is prepared,” said Murray, “and Lindsay is setting forward--She
must hesitate no longer--thou seest I act by thy counsel, and harden
myself against softer considerations.”
“True, my lord,” replied Morton, “in what is necessary to gain power,
you do not hesitate, but go boldly to the mark. But are you as careful
to defend and preserve what you have won?--Why this establishment of
domestics around her?--has not your sister men and maidens enough
to tend her, but you must consent to this superfluous and dangerous
retinue?”
“For shame, Morton!--a Princess, and my sister, could I do less than
allow her due attendance?”
“Ay,” replied Morton, “even thus fly all your shafts--smartly enough
loosened from the bow, and not unskilfully aimed--but a breath of
foolish affection ever crosses in the mid volley, and sways the arrow
from the mark.”
“Say not so, Morton,” replied Murray, “I have both dared and done--”
“Yes, enough to gain, but not enough to keep--reckon not that she will
think and act thus--you have wounded her deeply, both in pride and
in power--it signifies nought, that you would tent now the wound with
unavailing salves--as matters stand with you, you must forfeit the
title of an affectionate brother, to hold that of a bold and determined
statesman.”
“Morton!” said Murray, with some impatience, “I brook not these
taunts--what I have done I have done--what I must farther do, I must
and will--but I am not made of iron like thee, and I cannot but
remember--Enough of this-my purpose holds.”
“And I warrant me,” said Morton, “the choice of these domestic
consolations will rest with--”
Here he whispered names which escaped Roland Graeme's ear. Murray
replied in a similar tone, but so much raised towards the conclusion, of
the sentence, that the page heard these words--“And of him I hold myself
secure, by Glendinning's recommendation.”
“Ay, which may be as much trustworthy as his late conduct at the Abbey
of Saint Mary's--you have heard that his brother's election has taken
place. Your favourite Sir Halbert, my Lord of Murray, has as much
fraternal affection as yourself.”
“By heaven, Morton, that taunt demanded an unfriendly answer, but I
pardon it, for your brother also is concerned; but this election shall
be annulled. I tell you, Earl of Morton, while I hold the sword of state
in my royal nephew's name, neither Lord nor Knight in Scotland shall
dispute my authority; and if I bear--with insults from my friends, it is
only while I know them to be such, and forgive their follies for their
faithfulness.”
Morton muttered what seemed to be some excuse, and the Regent answered
him in a milder tone, and then subjoined, “Besides, I have another
pledge than Glendinning's recommendation, for this youth's fidelity--his
nearest relative has placed herself in my hands as his security, to be
dealt withal as his doings shall deserve.”
“That is something,” replied Morton; “but yet in fair love and goodwill,
I must still pray you to keep on your guard. The foes are stirring
again, as horse-flies and hornets become busy so soon as the storm-blast
is over. George of Seyton was crossing the causeway this morning with a
score of men at his back, and had a ruffle with my friends of the
house of Leslie--they met at the Tron, and were fighting hard, when the
provost, with his guard of partisans, came in thirdsman, and staved them
asunder with their halberds, as men part dog and bear.”
“He hath my order for such interference,” said the Regent--“Has any one
been hurt?”
“George of Seyton himself, by black Ralph Leslie--the devil take the
rapier that ran not through from side to side! Ralph has a bloody
coxcomb, by a blow from a messan-page whom nobody knew--Dick Seyton of
Windygowl is run through the arm, and two gallants of the Leslies have
suffered phlebotomy. This is all the gentle blood which has been spilled
in the revel; but a yeoman or two on both sides have had bones broken
and ears chopped. The ostlere-wives, who are like to be the only losers
by their miscarriage, have dragged the knaves off the street, and are
crying a drunken coronach over them.”
“You take it lightly, Douglas,” said the Regent; “these broils and feuds
would shame the capital of the great Turk, let alone that of a Christian
and reformed state. But, if I live, this gear shall be amended; and men
shall say, when they read my story, that if it were my cruel hap to rise
to power by the dethronement of a sister, I employed it, when gained,
for the benefit of the commonweal.”
“And of your friends,” replied Morton; “wherefore I trust for your
instant order annulling the election of this lurdane Abbot, Edward
Glendinning.”
“You shall be presently satisfied.” said the Regent; and stepping
forward, he began to call, “So ho, Hyndman!” when suddenly his eye
lighted on Roland Graeme--“By my faith, Douglas,” said he, turning to
his friend, “here have been three at counsel!”
“Ay, but only two can keep counsel,” said Morton; “the galliard must be
disposed of.”
“For shame, Morton--an orphan boy!--Hearken thee, my child--Thou hast
told me some of thy accomplishments--canst thou speak truth?” “Ay, my
lord, when it serves my turn,” replied Graeme.
“It shall serve thy turn now,” said the Regent; “and falsehood shall be
thy destruction. How much hast thou heard or understood of what we two
have spoken together?”
“But little, my lord,” replied Roland Graeme boldly, “which met my
apprehension, saving that it seemed to me as if in something you doubted
the faith of the Knight of Avenel, under whose roof I was nurtured.”
“And what hast thou to say on that point, young man?” continued the
Regent, bending his eyes upon him with a keen and strong expression of
observation.
“That,” said the page, “depends on the quality of those who speak
against his honour whose bread I have long eaten. If they be my
inferiors, I say they lie, and will maintain what I say with my baton;
if my equals, still I say they lie, and will do battle in the quarrel,
if they list, with my sword; if my superiors”--he paused.
“Proceed boldly,” said the Regent--“What if thy superiors said aught
that nearly touched your master's honour?”
“I would say,” replied Graeme, “that he did ill to slander the absent,
and that my master was a man who could render an account of his actions
to any one who should manfully demand it of him to his face.”
“And it were manfully said,” replied the Regent--“what thinkest thou, my
Lord of Morton?”
“I think,” replied Morton, “that if the young galliard resemble a
certain ancient friend of ours, as much in the craft of his disposition
as he does in eye and in brow, there may be a wide difference betwixt
what he means and what he speaks.”
“And whom meanest thou that he resembles so closely?” said Murray.
“Even the true and trusty Julian Avenel,” replied Morton.
“But this youth belongs to the Debateable Land,” said Murray.
“It may be so; but Julian was an outlaying striker of venison, and made
many a far cast when he had a fair doe in chase.”
“Pshaw!” said the Regent, “this is but idle talk--Here,
thou Hyndman--thou curiosity,” calling to the usher, who now
entered,--“conduct this youth to his companion--You will both,” he
said to Graeme, “keep yourselves in readiness to travel on short
notice.”--And then motioning to him courteously to withdraw, he broke up
the interview.
Chapter the Nineteenth.
It is and is not--'tis the thing I sought for,
Have kneel'd for, pray'd for, risk'd my fame and life for,
And yet it is not--no more than the shadow
Upon the hard, cold, flat, and polished mirror,
Is the warm, graceful, rounded, living substance
Which it presents in form and lineament.
OLD PLAY.
The usher, with gravity which ill concealed a jealous scowl, conducted
Roland Graeme to a lower apartment, where he found his comrade the
falconer. The man of office then briefly acquainted them that this would
be their residence till his Grace's farther orders; that they were to go
to the pantry, to the buttery, to the cellar, and to the kitchen, at
the usual hours, to receive the allowances becoming their
station,--instructions which Adam Woodcock's old familiarity with the
court made him perfectly understand--“For your beds,” he said, “you must
go to the hostelry of Saint Michael's, in respect the palace is now full
of the domestics of the greater nobles.”
No sooner was the usher's back turned than Adam exclaimed with all
the glee of eager curiosity, “And now, Master Roland, the news--the
news--come unbutton thy pouch, and give us thy tidings--What says the
Regent? asks he for Adam Woodcock?--and is all soldered up, or must the
Abbot of Unreason strap for it?”
“All is well in that quarter,” said the page; “and for the rest--But,
hey-day, what! have you taken the chain and medal off from my bonnet?”
“And meet time it was, when yon usher, vinegar-faced rogue that he is,
began to inquire what Popish trangam you were wearing.--By the mass, the
metal would have been confiscated for conscience-sake, like your other
rattle-trap yonder at Avenel, which Mistress Lilias bears about on her
shoes in the guise of a pair of shoe-buckles--This comes of carrying
Popish nicknackets about you.”
“The jade!” exclaimed Roland Graeme, “has she melted down my rosary into
buckles for her clumsy hoofs, which will set off such a garnish nearly
as well as a cow's might?--But, hang her, let her keep them--many a
dog's trick have I played old Lilias, for want of having something
better to do, and the buckles will serve for a remembrance. Do you
remember the verjuice I put into the comfits, when old Wingate and she
were to breakfast together on Easter morning?”
“In troth do I, Master Roland--the major-domo's mouth was as crooked as
a hawk's beak for the whole morning afterwards, and any other page in
your room would have tasted the discipline of the porter's lodge for it.
But my Lady's favour stood between your skin and many a jerking--Lord
send you may be the better for her protection in such matters!”
“I am least grateful for it, Adam! and I am glad you put me in mind of
it.”
“Well, but the news, my young master,” said Woodcock, “spell me the
tidings--what are we to fly at next?--what did the Regent say to you?”
“Nothing that I am to repeat again,” said Roland Graeme, shaking his
head.
“Why, hey-day,” said Adam, “how prudent we are become all of a sudden!
You have advanced rarely in brief space, Master Roland. You have well
nigh had your head broken, and you have gained your gold chain, and you
have made an enemy, Master Usher to wit, with his two legs like hawks'
perches, and you have had audience of the first man in the realm, and
bear as much mystery in your brow, as if you had flown in the court-sky
ever since you were hatched. I believe, in my soul, you would run with a
piece of the egg-shell on your head like the curlews, which (I would we
were after them again) we used to call whaups in the Halidome and its
neighbourhood. But sit thee down, boy; Adam Woodcock was never the lad
to seek to enter into forbidden secrets--sit thee down, and I will go
and fetch the vivers--I know the butler and the pantler of old.”
The good-natured falconer set forth upon his errand, busying himself
about procuring their refreshment; and, during his absence, Roland
Graeme abandoned himself to the strange, complicated, and yet
heart-stirring reflections, to which the events of the morning had given
rise. Yesterday he was of neither mark nor likelihood; a vagrant boy,
the attendant on a relative, of whose sane judgment he himself had
not the highest opinion; but now he had become, he knew not why, or
wherefore, or to what extent, the custodier, as the Scottish phrase
went, of some important state secret, in the safe keeping of which the
Regent himself was concerned. It did not diminish from, but rather added
to the interest of a situation so unexpected, that Roland himself
did not perfectly understand wherein he stood committed by the state
secrets, in which he had unwittingly become participator. On the
contrary, he felt like one who looks on a romantic landscape, of which
he sees the features for the first time, and then obscured with mist and
driving tempest. The imperfect glimpse which the eye catches of rocks,
trees, and other objects around him, adds double dignity to these
shrouded mountains and darkened abysses, of which the height, depth, and
extent, are left to imagination.
But mortals, especially at the well-appetized age which precedes twenty
years, are seldom so much engaged either by real or conjectural subjects
of speculation, but that their earthly wants claim their hour of
attention. And with many a smile did our hero, so the reader may term
him if he will, hail the re-appearance of his friend Adam Woodcock,
bearing on one platter a tremendous portion of boiled beef, and on
another a plentiful allowance of greens, or rather what the Scotch call
lang-kale. A groom followed with bread, salt, and the other means of
setting forth a meal; and when they had both placed on the oaken table
what they bore in their hands, the falconer observed, that since he knew
the court, it had got harder and harder every day to the poor gentlemen
and yeoman retainers, but that now it was an absolute flaying of a flea
for the hide and tallow. Such thronging to the wicket, and such
churlish answers, and such bare beef-bones, such a shouldering at
the buttery-hatch and cellarage, and nought to be gained beyond small
insufficient single ale, or at best with a single straike of malt to
counterbalance a double allowance of water--“By the mass, though, my
young friend,” said he, while he saw the food disappearing fast under
Roland's active exertions, “it is not so to well to lament for former
times as to take the advantage of the present, else we are like to lose
on both sides.”
So saying, Adam Woodcock drew his chair towards the table, unsheathed
his knife, (for every one carried that minister of festive distribution
for himself,) and imitated his young companion's example, who for the
moment had lost his anxiety for the future in the eager satisfaction of
an appetite sharpened by youth and abstinence.
In truth, they made, though the materials were sufficiently simple, a
very respectable meal, at the expense of the royal allowance; and Adam
Woodcock, notwithstanding the deliberate censure which he had passed on
the household beer of the palace, had taken the fourth deep draught
of the black jack ere he remembered him that he had spoken in its
dispraise. Flinging himself jollily and luxuriously back in an old
danske elbow-chair, and looking with careless glee towards the page,
extending at the same time his right leg, and stretching the other
easily over it, he reminded his companion that he had not yet heard
the ballad which he had made for the Abbot of Unreason's revel. And
accordingly he struck merrily up with
“The Pope, that pagan full of pride,
Has blinded us full lang.”------
Roland Graeme, who felt no great delight, as may be supposed, in the
falconer's satire, considering its subject, began to snatch up his
mantle, and fling it around his shoulders, an action which instantly
interrupted the ditty of Adam Woodcock.
“Where the vengeance are you going now,” he said, “thou restless
boy?--Thou hast quicksilver in the veins of thee to a certainty, and
canst no more abide any douce and sensible communing, than a hoodless
hawk would keep perched on my wrist!”
“Why, Adam,” replied the page, “if you must needs know, I am about to
take a walk and look at this fair city. One may as well be still mewed
up in the old castle of the lake, if one is to sit the live-long night
between four walls, and hearken to old ballads.”
“It is a new ballad--the Lord help thee!” replied Adam, “and that one of
the best that ever was matched with a rousing chorus.”
“Be it so,” said the page, “I will hear it another day, when the rain
is dashing against the windows, and there is neither steed stamping, nor
spur jingling, nor feather waving in the neighbourhood to mar my marking
it well. But, even now, I want to be in the world, and to look about
me.”