towards the west.--As they prosecuted their journey, Roland Graeme
would gladly have learned something of its purpose and tendency, but
the countenance of the personage next to whom he had been placed in the
train, discouraged all approach to familiarity. The Baron himself did
not look more grim and inaccessible than his feudal retainer, whose
grisly beard fell over his mouth like the portcullis before the gate of
a castle, as if for the purpose of preventing the escape of any word, of
which absolute necessity did not demand the utterance. The rest of the
train seemed under the same taciturn influence, and journeyed on without
a word being exchanged amongst them--more like a troop of Carthusian
friars than a party of military retainers. Roland Graeme was surprised
at this extremity of discipline; for even in the household of the Knight
of Avenel, though somewhat distinguished for the accuracy with which
decorum was enforced, a journey was a period of license, during which
jest and song, and every thing within the limits of becoming mirth and
pastime were freely permitted. This unusual silence was, however, so far
acceptable, that it gave him time to bring any shadow of judgment which
he possessed to council on his own situation and prospects, which would
have appeared to any reasonable person in the highest degree dangerous
and perplexing.
It was quite evident that he had, through various circumstances not
under his own control, formed contradictory connexions with both the
contending factions, by whose strife the kingdom was distracted, without
being properly an adherent of either. It seemed also clear, that the
same situation in the household of the deposed Queen, to which he was
now promoted by the influence of the Regent, had been destined to him by
his enthusiastic grandmother, Magdalen Graeme; for on this subject, the
words which Morton had dropped had been a ray of light; yet it was no
less clear that these two persons, the one the declared enemy, the other
the enthusiastic votary, of the Catholic religion,--the one at the head
of the King's new government, the other, who regarded that government
as a criminal usurpation--must have required and expected very different
services from the individual whom they had thus united in recommending.
It required very little reflection to foresee that these contradictory
claims on his services might speedily place him in a situation where his
honour as well as his life might be endangered. But it was not in Roland
Graeme's nature to anticipate evil before it came, or to prepare to
combat difficulties before they arrived. “I will see this beautiful and
unfortunate Mary Stewart,” said he, “of whom we have heard so much, and
then there will be time enough to determine whether I will be kingsman
or queensman. None of them can say I have given word or promise to
either of their factions; for they have led me up and down like a blind
Billy, without giving me any light into what I was to do. But it was
lucky that grim Douglas came into the Regent's closet this morning,
otherwise I had never got free of him without plighting my troth to do
all the Earl would have me, which seemed, after all, but foul play to
the poor imprisoned lady, to place her page as an espial on her.”
Skipping thus lightly over a matter of such consequence, the thoughts of
the hare-brained boy went a wool-gathering after more agreeable
topics. Now he admired the Gothic towers of Barnbougle, rising from the
seabeaten rock, and overlooking one of the most glorious landscapes in
Scotland--and now he began to consider what notable sport for the hounds
and the hawks must be afforded by the variegated ground over which they
travelled--and now he compared the steady and dull trot at which they
were then prosecuting their journey, with the delight of sweeping
over hill and dale in pursuit of his favourite sports. As, under the
influence of these joyous recollections, he gave his horse the spur,
and made him execute a gambade, he instantly incurred the censure of his
grave neighbour, who hinted to him to keep the pace, and move quietly
and in order, unless he wished such notice to be taken of his eccentric
movements as was likely to be very displeasing to him.
The rebuke and the restraint under which the youth now found
himself, brought back to his recollection his late good-humoured and
accommodating associate and guide, Adam Woodcock; and from that topic
his imagination made a short flight to Avenel Castle, to the quiet
and unconfined life of its inhabitants, the goodness of his early
protectress, not forgetting the denizens of its stables, kennels, and
hawk-mews. In a brief space, all these subjects of meditation gave way
to the resemblance of that riddle of womankind, Catherine Seyton, who
appeared before the eye of his mind--now in her female form, now in
her male attire--now in both at once--like some strange dream, which
presents to us the same individual under two different characters at
the same instant. Her mysterious present also recurred to his
recollection--the sword which he now wore at his side, and which he was
not to draw save by command of his legitimate Sovereign! But the key of
this mystery he judged he was likely to find in the issue of his present
journey.
With such thoughts passing through his mind, Roland Graeme accompanied
the party of Lord Lindesay to the Queen's-Ferry, which they passed in
vessels that lay in readiness for them. They encountered no adventure
whatever in their passage, excepting one horse being lamed in getting
into the boat, an accident very common on such occasions, until a
few years ago, when the ferry was completely regulated. What was more
peculiarly characteristic of the olden age, was the discharge of a
culverin at the party from the battlements of the old castle of Rosythe,
on the north side of the Ferry, the lord of which happened to have some
public or private quarrel with the Lord Lindesay, and took this mode
of expressing his resentment. The insult, however, as it was harmless,
remained unnoticed and unavenged, nor did any thing else occur worth
notice until the band had come where Lochleven spread its magnificent
sheet of waters to the beams of a bright summer's sun.
The ancient castle, which occupies an island nearly in the centre of
the lake, recalled to the page that of Avenel, in which he had been
nurtured. But the lake was much larger, and adorned with several islets
besides that on which the fortress was situated; and instead of being
embosomed in hills like that of Avenel, had upon the southern side only
a splendid mountainous screen, being the descent of one of the Lomond
hills, and on the other was surrounded by the extensive and fertile
plain of Kinross. Roland Graeme looked with some degree of dismay on the
water-girdled fortress, which then, as now, consisted only of one
large donjon-keep, surrounded with a court-yard, with two round
flanking-towers at the angles, which contained within its circuit some
other buildings of inferior importance. A few old trees, clustered
together near the castle, gave some relief to the air of desolate
seclusion; but yet the page, while he gazed upon a building so
sequestrated, could not but feel for the situation of a captive Princess
doomed to dwell there, as well as for his own. “I must have been born,”
he thought, “under the star that presides over ladies and lakes of
water, for I cannot by any means escape from the service of the one, or
from dwelling in the other. But if they allow me not the fair freedom
of my sport and exercise, they shall find it as hard to confine a
wild-drake, as a youth who can swim like one.”
The band had now reached the edge of the water, and one of the party
advancing displayed Lord Lindesay's pennon, waving it repeatedly to and
fro, while that Baron himself blew a clamorous blast on his bugle. A
banner was presently displayed from the roof of the castle in reply to
these signals, and one or two figures were seen busied as if unmooring a
boat which lay close to the islet.
“It will be some time ere they can reach us with the boat,” said the
companion of Lord Lindesay; “should we not do well to proceed to
the town, and array ourselves in some better order, ere we appear
before----”
“You may do as you list, Sir Robert,” replied Lindesay, “I have neither
time nor temper to waste on such vanities. She has cost me many a hard
ride, and must not now take offence at the threadbare cloak and soiled
doublet that I am arrayed in. It is the livery to which she has brought
all Scotland.”
“Do not speak so harshly,” said Sir Robert; “if she hath done wrong,
she hath dearly abied it; and in losing all real power, one would not
deprive her of the little external homage due at once to a lady and a
princess.”
“I say to you once more, Sir Robert Melville,” replied Lindesay, “do as
you will--for me, I am now too old to dink myself as a gallant to grace
the bower of dames.”
“The bower of dames, my lord!” said Melville, looking at the rude old
tower--“is it yon dark and grated castle, the prison of a captive Queen,
to which you give so gay a name?”
“Name it as you list,” replied Lindesay; “had the Regent desired to send
an envoy capable to speak to a captive Queen, there are many gallants
in his court who would have courted the occasion to make speeches out of
Amadis of Gaul, or the Mirror of Knighthood. But when he sent blunt old
Lindesay, he knew he would speak to a misguided woman, as her former
misdoings and her present state render necessary. I sought not this
employment--it has been thrust upon me; and I will not cumber myself
with more form in the discharge of it, than needs must be tacked to such
an occupation.”
So saying, Lord Lindesay threw himself from horseback, and wrapping
his riding-cloak around him, lay down at lazy length upon the sward, to
await the arrival of the boat, which was now seen rowing from the castle
towards the shore. Sir Robert Melville, who had also dismounted, walked
at short turns to and fro upon the bank, his arms crossed on his breast,
often looking to the castle, and displaying in his countenance a mixture
of sorrow and of anxiety. The rest of the party sate like statues on
horseback, without moving so much as the points of their lances, which
they held upright in the air.
As soon as the boat approached a rude quay or landing-place, near to
which they had stationed themselves, Lord Lindesay started up from his
recumbent posture, and asked the person who steered, why he had not
brought a larger boat with him to transport his retinue.
“So please you,” replied the boatman, “because it is the order of our
lady, that we bring not to the castle more than four persons.”
“Thy lady is a wise woman,” said Lindesay, “to suspect me of
treachery!--Or, had I intended it, what was to hinder us from throwing
you and your comrades into the lake, and filling the boat with my own
fellows?”
The steersman, on hearing this, made a hasty signal to his men to back
their oars, and hold off from the shore which they were approaching.
“Why, thou ass,” said Lindesay, “thou didst not think that I meant
thy fool's head serious harm? Hark thee, friend--with fewer than three
servants I will go no whither--Sir Robert Melville will require at least
the attendance of one domestic; and it will be at your peril and your
lady's to refuse us admission, come hither as we are, on matters of
great national concern.”
The steersman answered with firmness, but with great civility of
expression, that his orders were positive to bring no more than four
into the island, but he offered to row back to obtain a revisal of his
orders.
“Do so, my friend,” said Sir Robert Melville, after he had in vain
endeavoured to persuade his stubborn companion to consent to a temporary
abatement of his train, “row back to the castle, sith it will be no
better, and obtain thy lady's orders to transport the Lord Lindesay,
myself, and our retinue hither.”
“And hearken,” said Lord Lindesay, “take with you this page, who comes
as an attendant on your lady's guest.--Dismount, sirrah,” said he,
addressing Roland, “and embark with them in that boat.”
“And what is to become of my horse?” said Graeme; “I am answerable for
him to my master.”
“I will relieve you of the charge,” said Lindesay; “thou wilt have
little enough to do with horse, saddle, or bridle, for ten years to
come--Thou mayst take the halter an thou wilt--it may stand thee in a
turn.”
“If I thought so,” said Roland--but he was interrupted by Sir Robert
Melville, who said to him good-humouredly, “Dispute it not, young
friend--resistance can do no good, but may well run thee into danger.”
Roland Graeme felt the justice of what he said, and, though neither
delighted with the matter or manner of Lindesay's address, deemed it
best to submit to necessity, and to embark without farther remonstrance.
The men plied their oars. The quay, with the party of horse stationed
near it, receded from the page's eyes--the castle and the islet seemed
to draw near in the same proportion, and in a brief space he landed
under the shadow of a huge old tree which overhung the landing place.
The steersman and Graeme leaped ashore; the boatmen remained lying on
their oars ready for further service.
Chapter the Twenty-First.
Could valour aught avail or people's love,
France had not wept Navarre's brave Henry slain;
If wit or beauty could compassion move,
The rose of Scotland had not wept in vain.
_Elegy in a Royal Mausoleum._ LEWIS.
At the gate of the court-yard of Lochleven appeared the stately form of
the Lady Lochleven, a female whose early charms had captivated James V.,
by whom she became mother of the celebrated Regent Murray. As she was of
noble birth (being a daughter of the house of Mar) and of great beauty,
her intimacy with James did not prevent her being afterwards sought in
honourable marriage by many gallants of the time, among whom she had
preferred Sir William Douglas of Lochleven. But well has it been said
----“Our pleasant vices
Are made the whips to scourge us”---
The station which the Lady of Lochleven now held as the wife of a man
of high rank and interest, and the mother of a lawful family, did not
prevent her nourishing a painful sense of degradation, even while she
was proud of the talents, the power, and the station of her son, now
prime ruler of the state, but still a pledge of her illicit intercourse.
“Had James done to her,” she said, in her secret heart, “the justice he
owed her, she had seen in her son, as a source of unmixed delight and of
unchastened pride, the lawful monarch of Scotland, and one of the
ablest who ever swayed the sceptre.” The House of Mar, not inferior in
antiquity or grandeur to that of Drummond, would then have also boasted
a Queen among its daughters, and escaped the stain attached to female
frailty, even when it has a royal lover for its apology. While such
feelings preyed on a bosom naturally proud and severe, they had a
corresponding effect on her countenance, where, with the remains of
great beauty, were mingled traits of inward discontent and peevish
melancholy. It perhaps contributed to increase this habitual
temperament, that the Lady Lochleven had adopted uncommonly rigid and
severe views of religion, imitating in her ideas of reformed faith
the very worst errors of the Catholics, in limiting the benefit of the
gospel to those who profess their own speculative tenets.
In every respect, the unfortunate Queen Mary, now the compulsory guest,
or rather prisoner, of this sullen lady, was obnoxious to her hostess.
Lady Lochleven disliked her as the daughter of Mary of Guise, the legal
possessor of those rights over James's heart and hand, of which she
conceived herself to have been injuriously deprived; and yet more so as
the professor of a religion which she detested worse than Paganism.
Such was the dame, who, with stately mien, and sharp yet handsome
features, shrouded by her black velvet coif, interrogated the domestic
who steered her barge to the shore, what had become of Lindesay and
Sir Robert Melville. The man related what had passed, and she smiled
scornfully as she replied, “Fools must be flattered, not foughten
with.--Row back--make thy excuse as thou canst--say Lord Ruthven
hath already reached this castle, and that he is impatient for Lord
Lindesay's presence. Away with thee, Randal--yet stay--what galopin is
that thou hast brought hither?”
“So please you, my lady, he is the page who is to wait upon----”
“Ay, the new male minion,” said the Lady Lochleven; “the female
attendant arrived yesterday. I shall have a well-ordered house with this
lady and her retinue; but I trust they will soon find some others to
undertake such a charge. Begone, Randal--and you” (to Roland Graeme)
“follow me to the garden.”
She led the way with a slow and stately step to the small garden, which,
enclosed by a stone wall ornamented with statues, and an artificial
fountain in the centre, extended its dull parterres on the side of
the court-yard, with which it communicated by a low and arched portal.
Within the narrow circuit of its formal and limited walks, Mary Stewart
was now learning to perform the weary part of a prisoner, which, with
little interval, she was doomed to sustain during the remainder of her
life. She was followed in her slow and melancholy exercise by two female
attendants; but in the first glance which Roland Graeme bestowed
upon one so illustrious by birth, so distinguished by her beauty,
accomplishments, and misfortunes, he was sensible of the presence of no
other than the unhappy Queen of Scotland.
Her face, her form, have been so deeply impressed upon the imagination,
that even at the distance of nearly three centuries, it is unnecessary
to remind the most ignorant and uninformed reader of the striking traits
which characterize that remarkable countenance, which seems at once
to combine our ideas of the majestic, the pleasing, and the brilliant,
leaving us to doubt whether they express most happily the queen, the
beauty, or the accomplished woman. Who is there, that, at the very
mention of Mary Stewart's name, has not her countenance before him,
familiar as that of the mistress of his youth, or the favourite daughter
of his advanced age? Even those who feel themselves compelled to believe
all, or much, of what her enemies laid to her charge, cannot think
without a sigh upon a countenance expressive of anything rather than
the foul crimes with which she was charged when living, and which still
continue to shade, if not to blacken, her memory. That brow, so truly
open and regal--those eyebrows, so regularly graceful, which yet were
saved from the charge of regular insipidity by the beautiful effect of
the hazel eyes which they overarched, and which seem to utter a thousand
histories--the nose, with all its Grecian precision of outline--the
mouth, so well proportioned, so sweetly formed, as if designed to speak
nothing but what was delightful to hear--the dimpled chin--the stately
swan-like neck, form a countenance, the like of which we know not to
have existed in any other character moving in that class of life,
where the actresses as well as the actors command general and undivided
attention. It is in vain to say that the portraits which exist of this
remarkable woman are not like each other; for, amidst their discrepancy,
each possesses general features which the eye at once acknowledges as
peculiar to the vision which our imagination has raised while we read
her history for the first time, and which has been impressed upon it by
the numerous prints and pictures which we have seen. Indeed we cannot
look on the worst of them, however deficient in point of execution,
without saying that it is meant for Queen Mary; and no small instance
it is of the power of beauty, that her charms should have remained the
subject not merely of admiration, but of warm and chivalrous interest,
after the lapse of such a length of time. We know that by far the most
acute of those who, in latter days, have adopted the unfavourable view
of Mary's character, longed, like the executioner before his dreadful
task was performed, to kiss the fair hand of her on whom he was about to
perform so horrible a duty.
Dressed, then, in a deep mourning robe, and with all those charms of
face, shape, and manner, with which faithful tradition has made each
reader familiar, Mary Stewart advanced to meet the Lady of Lochleven,
who, on her part, endeavoured to conceal dislike and apprehension under
the appearance of respectful indifference. The truth was, that she
had experienced repeatedly the Queen's superiority in that species of
disguised yet cutting sarcasm, with which women can successfully avenge
themselves, for real and substantial injuries. It may be well doubted,
whether this talent was not as fatal to its possessor as the many others
enjoyed by that highly gifted, but most unhappy female; for, while it
often afforded her a momentary triumph over her keepers, it failed not
to exasperate their resentment; and the satire and sarcasm in which she
had indulged were frequently retaliated by the deep and bitter hardships
which they had the power of inflicting. It is well known that her death
was at length hastened by a letter which she wrote to Queen Elizabeth,
in which she treated her jealous rival, and the Countess of Shrewsbury,
with the keenest irony and ridicule.
As the ladies met together, the Queen said, bending her head at the same
time, in return to the obeisance of the Lady Lochleven, “We are this
day fortunate--we enjoy the company of our amiable hostess at an unusual
hour, and during a period which we have hitherto been permitted to give
to our private exercise. But our good hostess knows well she has at all
times access to our presence, and need not observe the useless ceremony
of requiring our permission.”
“I am sorry my presence is deemed an intrusion by your Grace,” said the
Lady of Lochleven. “I came but to announce the arrival of an addition
to your train,” motioning with her hand towards Roland Graeme; “a
circumstance to which ladies are seldom indifferent.”
“Oh! I crave your ladyship's pardon; and am bent to the earth with
obligations for the kindness of my nobles--or my sovereigns, shall I
call them?--who have permitted me such a respectable addition to my
personal retinue.”
“They have indeed studied, Madam,” said the Lady of Lochleven, “to show
their kindness towards your Grace--something at the risk perhaps of
sound policy, and I trust their doings will not be misconstrued.”
“Impossible!” said the Queen; “the bounty which permits the daughter of
so many kings, and who yet is Queen of the realm, the attendance of
two waiting-women and a boy, is a grace which Mary Stewart can never
sufficiently acknowledge. Why! my train will be equal to that of any
country dame in this your kingdom of Fife, saving but the lack of a
gentleman-usher, and a pair or two of blue-coated serving-men. But I
must not forget, in my selfish joy, the additional trouble and charges
to which this magnificent augmentation of our train will put our kind
hostess, and the whole house of Lochleven. It is this prudent anxiety, I
am aware, which clouds your brows, my worthy lady. But be of good cheer;
the crown of Scotland has many a fair manor, and your affectionate son,
and my no less affectionate brother, will endow the good knight your
husband with the best of them, ere Mary should be dismissed from this
hospitable castle from your ladyship's lack of means to support the
charges.”
“The Douglasses of Lochleven, madam,” answered the lady, “have known
for ages how to discharge their duty to the State, without looking for
reward, even when the task was both irksome and dangerous.”