scrupulous--I pray you accept of a goodly manor; what should support
the Queen of Scotland in this her princely court, saving her own
crown-lands--and who should minister to the wants of a mother, save an
affectionate son like the Earl of Murray, who possesses so wonderfully
both the power and inclination?--Or said you it was the danger of the
task which clouded your smooth and hospitable brow?--No doubt, a page is
a formidable addition to my body-guard of females; and I bethink me it
must have been for that reason that my Lord of Lindesay refused even
now to venture within the reach of a force so formidable, without being
attended by a competent retinue.”
The Lady Lochleven started, and looked something surprised; and Mary
suddenly changing her manner from the smooth ironical affectation of
mildness to an accent of austere command, and drawing up at the same
time her fine person, said, with the full majesty of her rank, “Yes!
Lady of Lochleven; I know that Ruthven is already in the castle, and
that Lindesay waits on the bank the return of your barge to bring him
hither along with Sir Robert Melville. For what purpose do these nobles
come--and why am I not in ordinary decency apprised of their arrival?”'
“Their purpose, madam,” replied the Lady of Lochleven, “they must
themselves explain--but a formal annunciation were needless, where your
Grace hath attendants who can play the espial so well.”
“Alas! poor Fleming,” said the Queen, turning to the elder of the female
attendants, “thou wilt be tried, condemned, and gibbeted, for a spy in
the garrison, because thou didst chance to cross the great hall while my
good Lady of Lochleven was parleying at the full pitch of her voice with
her pilot Randal. Put black wool in thy ears, girl, as you value the
wearing of them longer. Remember, in the Castle of Lochleven, ears and
tongues are matters not of use, but for show merely. Our good hostess
can hear, as well as speak, for us all. We excuse your farther
attendance, my lady hostess,” she said, once more addressing the object
of her resentment, “and retire to prepare for an interview with our
rebel lords. We will use the ante-chamber of our sleeping apartment as
our hall of audience. You, young man,” she proceeded, addressing Roland
Graeme, and at once softening the ironical sharpness of her manner into
good-humoured raillery, “you, who are all our male attendance, from our
Lord High Chamberlain down to our least galopin, follow us to prepare
our court.”
She turned, and walked slowly towards the castle. The Lady of Lochleven
folded her arms, and smiled in bitter resentment, as she watched her
retiring steps.
“The whole male attendance!” she muttered, repeating the Queen's last
words, “and well for thee had it been had thy train never been larger;”
then turning to Roland, in whose way she had stood while making this
pause, she made room for him to pass, saying at the same time, “Art thou
already eaves-dropping? follow thy mistress, minion, and, if thou wilt,
tell her what I have now said.”
Roland Graeme hastened after his royal mistress and her attendants, who
had just entered a postern-gate communicating betwixt the castle and the
small garden. They ascended a winding-stair as high as the second story,
which was in a great measure occupied by a suite of three rooms, opening
into each other, and assigned as the dwelling of the captive Princess.
The outermost was a small hall or ante-room, within which opened a
large parlour, and from that again the Queen's bedroom. Another small
apartment, which opened into the same parlour, contained the beds of the
gentlewomen in waiting.
Roland Graeme stopped, as became his station, in the outermost of these
apartments, there to await such orders as might be communicated to him.
From the grated window of the room he saw Lindesay, Melville, and their
followers disembark; and observed that they were met at the castle gate
by a third noble, to whom Lindesay exclaimed, in his loud harsh voice,
“My Lord of Ruthven, you have the start of us!”
At this instant, the page's attention was called to a burst of
hysterical sobs from the inner apartment, and to the hurried
ejaculations of the terrified females, which led him almost instantly to
hasten to their assistance. When he entered, he saw that the Queen had
thrown herself into the large chair which stood nearest the door, and
was sobbing for breath in a strong fit of hysterical affection. The
elder female supported her in her arms, while the younger bathed her
face with water and with tears alternately.
“Hasten, young man!” said the elder lady, in alarm, “fly--call in
assistance--she is swooning!”
But the Queen ejaculated in a faint and broken voice, “Stir not, I
charge you!--call no one to witness--I am better--I shall recover
instantly.” And, indeed, with an effort which seemed like that of one
struggling for life, she sate up in her chair, and endeavoured to resume
her composure, while her features yet trembled with the violent emotion
of body and mind which she had undergone. “I am ashamed of my weakness,
girls,” she said, taking the hands of her attendants; “but it is
over--and I am Mary Stewart once more. The savage tone of that man's
voice--my knowledge of his insolence--the name which he named--the
purpose for which they come--may excuse a moment's weakness, and it
shall be a moment's only.” She snatched from her head the curch or cap,
which had been disordered during her hysterical agony, shook down the
thick clustered tresses of dark brown which had been before veiled under
it--and, drawing her slender fingers across the labyrinth which they
formed, she arose from the chair, and stood like the inspired image of a
Grecian prophetess in a mood which partook at once of sorrow and pride,
of smiles and of tears. “We are ill appointed,” she said, “to meet
our rebel subjects; but, as far as we may, we will strive to present
ourselves as becomes their Queen. Follow me, my maidens,” she said;
“what says thy favourite song, my Fleming?
'My maids, come to my dressing-bower,
And deck my nut-brown hair;
Where'er ye laid a plait before,
Look ye lay ten times 'mair.'
“Alas!” she added, when she had repeated with a smile these lines of an
old ballad, “violence has already robbed me of the ordinary decorations
of my rank; and the few that nature gave me have been destroyed by
sorrow and by fear.” Yet while she spoke thus, she again let her slender
fingers stray through the wilderness of the beautiful tresses which
veiled her kingly neck and swelling bosom, as if, in her agony of mind,
she had not altogether lost the consciousness of her unrivalled charms.
Roland Graeme, on whose youth, inexperience, and ardent sense of what
was dignified and lovely, the demeanour of so fair and high-born a lady
wrought like the charm of a magician, stood rooted to the spot with
surprise and interest, longing to hazard his life in a quarrel so
fair as that which Mary Stewart's must needs be. She had been bred in
France--she was possessed of the most distinguished beauty--she had
reigned a Queen and a Scottish Queen, to whom knowledge of character was
as essential as the use of vital air. In all these capacities, Mary
was, of all women on the earth, most alert at perceiving and using the
advantages which her charms gave her over almost all who came within the
sphere of their influence. She cast on Roland a glance which might have
melted a heart of stone. “My poor boy,” she said, with a feeling partly
real, partly politic, “thou art a stranger to us--sent to this doleful
captivity from the society of some tender mother, or sister, or maiden,
with whom you had freedom to tread a gay measure round the Maypole. I
grieve for you; but you are the only male in my limited household--wilt
thou obey my orders?”
“To the death, madam,” said Graeme, in a determined tone.
“Then keep the door of mine apartment,” said the Queen; “keep it till
they offer actual violence, or till we shall be fitly arrayed to receive
these intrusive visiters.”
“I will defend it till they pass over my body,” said Roland Graeme; any
hesitation which he had felt concerning the line of conduct he ought to
pursue being completely swept away by the impulse of the moment.
“Not so, my good youth,” answered Mary; “not so, I command. If I have
one faithful subject beside me, much need, God wot, I have to care for
his safety. Resist them but till they are put to the shame of using
actual violence, and then give way, I charge you. Remember my commands.”
And, with a smile expressive at once of favour and of authority, she
turned from him, and, followed by her attendants, entered the bedroom.
The youngest paused for half a second ere she followed her companion,
and made a signal to Roland Graeme with her hand. He had been already
long aware that this was Catherine Seyton--a circumstance which could
not much surprise a youth of quick intellects, who recollected the sort
of mysterious discourse which had passed betwixt the two matrons at the
deserted nunnery, and on which his meeting with Catherine in this place
seemed to cast so much light. Yet such was the engrossing effect of
Mary's presence, that it surmounted for the moment even the feelings of
a youthful lover; and it was not until Catherine Seyton had disappeared,
that Roland began to consider in what relation they were to stand to
each other. “She held up her hand to me in a commanding manner,” he
thought; “perhaps she wanted to confirm my purpose for the execution of
the Queen's commands; for I think she could scarce purpose to scare me
with the sort of discipline which she administered to the groom in the
frieze-jacket, and to poor Adam Woodcock. But we will see to that anon;
meantime, let us do justice to the trust reposed in us by this unhappy
Queen. I think my Lord of Murray will himself own that it is the duty of
a faithful page to defend his lady against intrusion on her privacy.”
Accordingly, he stepped to the little vestibule, made fast, with lock
and bar, the door which opened from thence to the large staircase, and
then sat himself down to attend the result. He had not long to wait--a
rude and strong hand first essayed to lift the latch, then pushed and
shook the door with violence, and, when it resisted his attempt to open
it, exclaimed, “Undo the door there, you within!”
“Why, and at whose command,” said the page, “am I to undo the door of
the apartments of the Queen of Scotland?”
Another vain attempt, which made hinge and bolt jingle, showed that
the impatient applicant without would willingly have entered altogether
regardless of his challenge; but at length an answer was returned.
“Undo the door, on your peril--the Lord Lindesay comes to speak with the
Lady Mary of Scotland.”
“The Lord Lindesay, as a Scottish noble,” answered the page, “must await
his Sovereign's leisure.”
An earnest altercation ensued amongst those without, in which Roland
distinguished the remarkable harsh voice of Lindesay in reply to
Sir Robert Melville, who appeared to have been using some soothing
language--“No! no! no! I tell thee, no! I will place a petard against
the door rather than be baulked by a profligate woman, and bearded by an
insolent footboy.”
“Yet, at least,” said Melville, “let me try fair means in the first
instance. Violence to a lady would stain your scutcheon for ever. Or
await till my Lord Ruthven comes.”
“I will await no longer,” said Lindesay; “it is high time the business
were done, and we on our return to the council. But thou mayest try thy
fair play, as thou callest it, while I cause my train to prepare the
petard. I came hither provided with as good gunpowder as blew up the
Kirk of Field.”
“For God's sake, be patient,” said Melville; and, approaching the door,
he said, as speaking to those within, “Let the Queen know, that I, her
faithful servant, Robert Melville, do entreat her, for her own sake, and
to prevent worse consequences, that she will undo the door, and admit
Lord Lindesay, who brings a mission from the Council of State.”
“I will do your errand to the Queen,” said the page, “and report to you
her answer.”
He went to the door of the bedchamber, and tapping against it gently, it
was opened by the elderly lady, to whom he communicated his errand, and
returned with directions from the Queen to admit Sir Robert Melville and
Lord Lindesay. Roland Graeme returned to the vestibule, and opened the
door accordingly, into which the Lord Lindesay strode, with the air of
a soldier who has fought his way into a conquered fortress; while
Melville, deeply dejected, followed him more slowly.
“I draw you to witness, and to record,” said the page to this last,
“that, save for the especial commands of the Queen, I would have made
good the entrance, with my best strength, and my best blood, against all
Scotland.”
“Be silent, young man,” said Melville, in a tone of grave rebuke; “add
not brands to fire--this is no time to make a flourish of thy boyish
chivalry.”
“She has not appeared even yet,” said Lindesay, who had now reached the
midst of the parlour or audience-room; “how call you this trifling?”
“Patience, my lord,” replied Sir Robert, “time presses not--and Lord
Ruthven hath not as yet descended.”
At this moment the door of the inner apartment opened, and Queen Mary
presented herself, advancing with an air of peculiar grace and majesty,
and seeming totally unruffled, either by the visit, or by the rude
manner in which it had been enforced. Her dress was a robe of black
velvet; a small ruff, open in front, gave a full view of her beautifully
formed chin and neck, but veiled the bosom. On her head she wore a small
cap of lace, and a transparent white veil hung from her shoulders over
the long black robe, in large loose folds, so that it could be drawn at
pleasure over the face and person. She wore a cross of gold around her
neck, and had her rosary of gold and ebony hanging from her girdle. She
was closely followed by her two ladies, who remained standing behind her
during the conference. Even Lord Lindesay, though the rudest noble
of that rude age, was surprised into something like respect by the
unconcerned and majestic mien of her, whom he had expected to find
frantic with impotent passion, or dissolved in useless and vain sorrow,
or overwhelmed with the fears likely in such a situation to assail
fallen royalty.
“We fear we have detained you, my Lord of Lindesay,” said the Queen,
while she curtsied with dignity in answer to his reluctant obeisance;
“but a female does not willingly receive her visiters without some
minutes spent at the toilette. Men, my lord, are less dependant on such
ceremonies.”
Lord Lindesay, casting his eye down on his own travel-stained and
disordered dress, muttered something of a hasty journey, and the Queen
paid her greeting to Sir Robert Melville with courtesy, and even, as
it seemed, with kindness. There was then a dead pause, during which
Lindesay looked towards the door, as if expecting with impatience the
colleague of their embassy. The Queen alone was entirely unembarrassed,
and, as if to break the silence, she addressed Lord Lindesay, with
a glance at the large and cumbrous sword which he wore, as already
mentioned, hanging from his neck.
“You have there a trusty and a weighty travelling companion, my lord.
I trust you expected to meet with no enemy here, against whom such
a formidable weapon could be necessary? it is, methinks, somewhat a
singular ornament for a court, though I am, as I well need to be, too
much of a Stuart to fear a sword.”
“It is not the first time, madam,” replied Lindesay, bringing round the
weapon so as to rest its point on the ground, and leaning one hand on
the huge cross-handle, “it is not the first time that this weapon has
intruded itself into the presence of the House of Stewart.”
“Possibly, my lord,” replied the Queen, “it may have done service to my
ancestors--Your ancestors were men of loyalty”
“Ay, madam,” replied he, “service it hath done; but such as kings love
neither to acknowledge nor to reward. It was the service which the knife
renders to the tree when trimming it to the quick, and depriving it of
the superfluous growth of rank and unfruitful suckers, which rob it of
nourishment.”
“You talk riddles, my lord,” said Mary; “I will hope the explanation
carries nothing insulting with it.”
“You shall judge, madam,” answered Lindesay. “With this good sword was
Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, girded on the memorable day when he
acquired the name of Bell-the-Cat, for dragging from the presence of
your great grandfather, the third James of the race, a crew of minions,
flatterers, and favourites whom he hanged over the bridge of Lauder,
as a warning to such reptiles how they approach a Scottish throne. With
this same weapon, the same inflexible champion of Scottish honour
and nobility slew at one blow Spens of Kilspindie, a courtier of your
grandfather, James the fourth, who had dared to speak lightly of him
in the royal presence. They fought near the brook of Fala; and
Bell-the-Cat, with this blade, sheared through the thigh of his
opponent, and lopped the limb as easily as a shepherd's boy slices a
twig from a sapling.”
“My lord,” replied the Queen, reddening, “my nerves are too good to
be alarmed even by this terrible history--May I ask how a blade
so illustrious passed from the House of Douglas to that of
Lindesay?--Methinks it should have been preserved as a consecrated
relic, by a family who have held all that they could do against their
king, to be done in favour of their country.”
“Nay, madam,” said Melville, anxiously interfering, “ask not
that question of Lord Lindesay--And you, my lord, for shame--for
decency--forbear to reply to it.”
“It is time that this lady should hear the truth,” replied Lindesay.
“And be assured,” said the Queen, “that she will be moved to anger by
none that you can tell her, my lord. There are cases in which just scorn
has always the mastery over just anger.”
“Then know,” said Lindesay, “that upon the field of Carberry-hill, when
that false and infamous traitor and murderer, James, sometime Earl of
Bothwell, and nicknamed Duke of Orkney, offered to do personal battle
with any of the associated nobles who came to drag him to justice, I
accepted his challenge, and was by the noble Earl of Morton gifted
with his good sword that I might therewith fight it out--Ah! so help me
Heaven, had his presumption been one grain more, or his cowardice one
grain less, I should have done such work with this good steel on his
traitorous corpse, that the hounds and carrion-crows should have found
their morsels daintily carved to their use !”
The Queen's courage well-nigh gave way at the mention of Bothwell's
name--a name connected with such a train of guilt, shame, and disaster.
But the prolonged boast of Lindesay gave her time to rally herself, and
to answer with an appearance of cold contempt--“It is easy to slay
an enemy who enters not the lists. But had Mary Stewart inherited her
father's sword as well as his sceptre, the boldest of her rebels should
not upon that day have complained that they had no one to cope withal.
Your lordship will forgive me if I abridge this conference. A brief
description of a bloody fight is long enough to satisfy a lady's
curiosity; and unless my Lord of Lindesay has something more important
to tell us than of the deeds which old Bell-the-Cat achieved, and how he
would himself have emulated them, had time and tide permitted, we will
retire to our private apartment, and you, Fleming, shall finish reading
to us yonder little treatise _Des Rodomontades Espagnolles_.”
“Tarry, madam,” said Lindesay, his complexion reddening in his turn, “I
know your quick wit too well of old to have sought an interview that
you might sharpen its edge at the expense of my honour. Lord Ruthven and
myself, with Sir Robert Melville as a concurrent, come to your Grace on
the part of the Secret Council, to tender to you what much concerns the
safety of your own life and the welfare of the State.”
“The Secret Council?” said the Queen; “by what powers can it subsist or
act, while I, from whom it holds its character, am here detained under
unjust restraint? But it matters not--what concerns the welfare of
Scotland shall be acceptable to Mary Stewart, come from whatever quarter
it will--and for what concerns her own life, she has lived long enough
to be weary of it, even at the age of twenty-five.--Where is your
colleague, my lord?--why tarries he?”
“He comes, madam,” said Melville, and Lord Ruthven entered at the
instant, holding in his hand a packet. As the Queen returned his
salutation she became deadly pale, but instantly recovered herself
by dint of strong and sudden resolution, just as the noble, whose
appearance seemed to excite such emotions in her bosom, entered the
apartment in company with George Douglas, the youngest son of the Knight
of Lochleven, who, during the absence of his father and brethren,
acted as Seneschal of the Castle, under the direction of the elder Lady
Lochleven, his father's mother.
Chapter the Twenty-Second.
I give this heavy weight from off my head,
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand;
With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
With mine own hand I give away my crown,
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
With mine own breath release all duteous oaths.
RICHARD II.
Lord Ruthven had the look and bearing which became a soldier and a
statesman, and the martial cast of his form and features procured him
the popular epithet of Greysteil, by which he was distinguished by his
intimates, after the hero of a metrical romance then generally known.
His dress, which was a buff-coat embroidered, had a half-military
character, but exhibited nothing of the sordid negligence which
distinguished that of Lindesay. But the son of an ill-fated sire, and
the father of a yet more unfortunate family, bore in his look that cast
of inauspicious melancholy, by which the physiognomists of that time
pretended to distinguish those who were predestined to a violent and
unhappy death.
The terror which the presence of this nobleman impressed on the Queen's
mind, arose from the active share he had borne in the slaughter of
David Rizzio; his father having presided at the perpetration of that
abominable crime, although so weak from long and wasting illness, that
he could not endure the weight of his armour, having arisen from a
sick-bed to commit a murder in the presence of his Sovereign. On that
occasion his son also had attended and taken an active part. It was
little to be wondered at, that the Queen, considering her condition
when such a deed of horror was acted in her presence, should retain an
instinctive terror for the principal actors in the murder. She returned,
however, with grace the salutation of Lord Ruthven, and extended her
hand to George Douglas, who kneeled, and kissed it with respect; the
first mark of a subject's homage which Roland Graeme had seen any of
them render to the captive Sovereign. She returned his greeting in
silence, and there was a brief pause, during which the steward of the
castle, a man of a sad brow and a severe eye, placed, under George
Douglas's directions, a table and writing materials; and the page,
obedient to his mistress's dumb signal, advanced a large chair to the
side on which the Queen stood, the table thus forming a sort of bar
which divided the Queen and her personal followers from her unwelcome
visitors. The steward then withdrew after a low reverence. When he had
closed the door behind him, the Queen broke silence--“With your favour,
my lords, I will sit--my walks are not indeed extensive enough at
present to fatigue me greatly, yet I find repose something more
necessary than usual.”
She sat down accordingly, and, shading her cheek with her beautiful
hand, looked keenly and impressively at each of the nobles in turn.
Mary Fleming applied her kerchief to her eyes, and Catherine Seyton and
Roland Graeme exchanged a glance, which showed that both were too deeply
engrossed with sentiments of interest and commiseration for their royal
mistress, to think of any thing which regarded themselves.
“I wait the purpose of your mission, my lords,” said the Queen, after
she had been seated for about a minute without a word-being spoken,--“I
wait your message from those you call the Secret Council.-I trust it
is a petition of pardon, and a desire that I will resume my rightful
throne, without using with due severity my right of punishing those who
have dispossessed me of it.”