Henderson's half-raised suspicions to become fully awake,--“I would have
thought of nothing but the gun and the oar, and the wild water-fowl that
tempt me by sailing among the sedges yonder so far out of flight-shot,
had you not spoken of my going on shore as what was to occasion burning
of town and tower, the downfall of the evangele, and the upsetting of
the mass.”
“Follow me, then,” said Henderson, “and we will seek the Lady
Lochleven.”
They found her at breakfast with her grandson George Douglas.--“Peace be
with your ladyship!” said the preacher, bowing to his patroness; “Roland
Graeme awaits your order.”
“Young man,” said the lady, “our chaplain hath warranted for thy
fidelity, and we are determined to give you certain errands to do for us
in our town of Kinross.”
“Not by my advice,” said Douglas, coldly.
“I said not that it was,” answered the lady, something sharply. “The
mother of thy father may, I should think, be old enough to judge for
herself in a matter so simple.--Thou wilt take the skiff, Roland, and
two of my people, whom Dryfesdale or Randal will order out, and fetch
off certain stuff of plate and hangings, which should last night be
lodged at Kinross by the wains from Edinburgh.”
“And give this packet,” said George Douglas, “to a servant of ours,
whom you will find in waiting there.--It is the report to my father,”
he added, looking towards his grandmother, who acquiesced by bending her
head.
“I have already mentioned to Master Henderson,” said Roland Graeme,
“that as my duty requires my attendance on the Queen, her Grace's
permission for my journey ought to be obtained before I can undertake
your commission.”
“Look to it, my son,” said the old lady, “the scruple of the youth is
honourable.”
“Craving your pardon, madam, I have no wish to force myself on her
presence thus early,” said. Douglas, in an indifferent tone; “it might
displease her, and were no way agreeable to me.”
“And I,” said the Lady Lochleven, “although her temper hath been more
gentle of late, have no will to undergo, without necessity, the rancour
of her wit.”
“Under your permission, madam,” said the chaplain, “I will myself render
your request to the Queen. During my long residence in this house she
hath not deigned to see me in private, or to hear my doctrine; yet so
may Heaven prosper my labours, as love for her soul, and desire to bring
her into the right path, was my chief desire for coming hither.”
“Take care, Master Henderson,” said Douglas, in a tone which seemed
almost sarcastic, “lest you rush hastily on an adventure to which you
have no vocation--you are learned, and know the adage, _Ne accesseris in
consilium nisi vocatus_.--Who hath required this at your hand?”
“The Master to whose service I am called,” answered the preacher,
looking upward,--“He who hath commanded me to be earnest in season and
out of season.”
“Your acquaintance hath not been much, I think, with courts or princes,”
continued the young Esquire.
“No, sir,” replied Henderson, “but like my Master Knox, I see nothing
frightful in the fair face of a pretty lady.”
“My son,” said the Lady of Lochleven, “quench not the good man's
zeal--let him do the errand to this unhappy Princess.”
“With more willingness than I would do it myself,” said George Douglas.
Yet something in his manner appeared to contradict his words.
The minister went accordingly, followed by Roland Graeme, and, demanding
an audience of the imprisoned Princess, was admitted. He found her with
her ladies engaged in the daily task of embroidery. The Queen received
him with that courtesy, which, in ordinary cases, she used towards all
who approached her, and the clergyman, in opening his commission, was
obviously somewhat more embarrassed than he had expected to be.--“The
good Lady of Lochleven--may it please your Grace--”
He made a short pause, during which Mary said, with a smile, “My Grace
would, in truth, be well pleased, were the Lady Lochleven our _good_
lady--But go on--what is the will of the good Lady of Lochleven?”
“She desires, madam,” said the chaplain, “that your Grace will permit
this young gentleman, your page, Roland Graeme, to pass to Kinross, to
look after some household stuff and hangings, sent hither for the better
furnishing your Grace's apartments.”
“The Lady of Lochleven,” said the Queen, “uses needless ceremony, in
requesting our permission for that which stands within her own pleasure.
We well know that this young gentleman's attendance on us had not been
so long permitted, were he not thought to be more at the command of that
good lady than at ours.--But we cheerfully yield consent that he shall
go on her errand--with our will we would doom no living creature to the
captivity which we ourselves must suffer.”
“Ay, madam,” answered the preacher, “and it is doubtless natural for
humanity to quarrel with its prison-house. Yet there have been those,
who have found, that time spent in the house of temporal captivity may
be so employed as to redeem us from spiritual slavery.”
“I apprehend your meaning, sir,” replied the Queen, “but I have heard
your apostle--I have heard Master John Knox; and were I to be perverted,
I would willingly resign to the ablest and most powerful of heresiarchs,
the poor honour he might acquire by overcoming my faith and my hope.”
“Madam,” said the preacher, “it is not to the talents or skill of the
husbandman that God gives the increase--the words which were offered
in vain by him whom you justly call our apostle, during the bustle and
gaiety of a court, may yet find better acceptance during the leisure for
reflection which this place affords. God knows, lady, that I speak in
singleness of heart, as one who would as soon compare himself to the
immortal angels, as to the holy man whom you have named. Yet would you
but condescend to apply to their noblest use, those talents and that
learning which all allow you to be possessed of--would you afford us
but the slightest hope that you would hear and regard what can be urged
against the blinded superstition and idolatry in which you are brought
up, sure am I, that the most powerfully-gifted of my brethren, that even
John Knox himself, would hasten hither, and account the rescue of your
single soul from the nets of Romish error--”
“I am obliged to you and to them for their charity,” said Mary; “but as
I have at present but one presence-chamber, I would reluctantly see it
converted into a Huguenot synod.”
“At least, madam, be not thus obstinately blinded in your errors! Hear
one who has hungered and thirsted, watched and prayed, to undertake
the good work of your conversion, and who would be content to die the
instant that a work so advantageous for yourself and so beneficial to
Scotland were accomplished--Yes, lady, could I but shake the remaining
pillar of the heathen temple in this land--and that permit me to
term your faith in the delusions of Rome--I could be content to die
overwhelmed in the ruins!”
“I will not insult your zeal, sir,” replied Mary, “by saying you
are more likely to make sport for the Philistines than to overwhelm
them--your charity claims my thanks, for it is warmly expressed and may
be truly purposed--But believe as well of me as I am willing to do of
you, and think that I may be as anxious to recall you to the ancient and
only road, as you are to teach me your new by-ways to paradise.”
“Then, madam, if such be your generous purpose,” said Henderson,
eagerly, “--what hinders that we should dedicate some part of that time,
unhappily now too much at your Grace's disposal, to discuss a question
so weighty? You, by report of all men, are both learned and witty; and
I, though without such advantages, am strong in my cause as in a tower
of defence. Why should we not spend some space in endeavouring to
discover which of us hath the wrong side in this important matter?”
“Nay,” said Queen Mary, “I never alleged my force was strong enough
to accept of a combat _en champ clos_, with a scholar and a polemic.
Besides, the match is not equal. You, sir, might retire when you felt
the battle go against you, while I am tied to the stake, and have no
permission to say the debate wearies me.--I would be alone.”
She curtsied low to him as she uttered these words; and Henderson, whose
zeal was indeed ardent, but did not extend to the neglect of delicacy,
bowed in return, and prepared to withdraw.
“I would,” he said, “that my earnest wish, my most zealous prayer, could
procure to your Grace any blessing or comfort, but especially that
in which alone blessing or comfort is, as easily as the slightest
intimation of your wish will remove me from your presence.”
He was in the act of departing, when Mary said to him with much
courtesy, “Do me no injury in your thoughts, good sir; it may be, that
if my time here be protracted longer--as surely I hope it will not,
trusting that either my rebel subjects will repent of their disloyalty,
or that my faithful lieges will obtain the upper hand--but if my time
be here protracted, it may be I shall have no displeasure in hearing one
who seems so reasonable and compassionate as yourself, and I may hazard
your contempt by endeavouring to recollect and repeat the reasons which
schoolmen and councils give for the faith that is in me,--although
I fear that, God help me! my Latin has deserted me with my other
possessions. This must, however, be for another day. Meanwhile, sir,
let the Lady of Lochleven employ my page as she lists--I will not afford
suspicion by speaking a word to him before he goes.--Roland Graeme, my
friend, lose not an opportunity of amusing thyself--dance, sing, run,
and leap--all may be done merrily on the mainland; but he must have more
than quicksilver in his veins who would frolic here.”
“Alas! madam,” said the preacher, “to what is it you exhort the youth,
while time passes, and eternity summons? Can our salvation be insured by
idle mirth, or our good work wrought out without fear and trembling?”
“I cannot fear or tremble,” replied the Queen; “to Mary Stewart such
emotions are unknown. But if weeping and sorrow on my part will atone
for the boy's enjoying an hour of boyish pleasure, be assured the
penance shall be duly paid.”
“Nay, but, gracious lady,” said the preacher, “in this you greatly
err;--our tears and our sorrows are all too little for our own faults
and follies, nor can we transfer them, as your church falsely teaches,
to the benefit of others.”
“May I pray you, sir,” answered the Queen, “with as little offence as
such a prayer may import, to transfer yourself elsewhere? We are sick at
heart, and may not now be disposed with farther controversy--and thou,
Roland, take this little purse;” (then, turning to the divine, she said,
showing its contents,) “Look, reverend sir,--it contains only these
two or three gold testoons, a coin which, though bearing my own poor
features, I have ever found more active against me than on my side, just
as my subjects take arms against me, with my own name for their
summons and signal.--Take this purse, that thou mayest want no means of
amusement. Fail not--fail not to bring met back news from Kinross; only
let it be such as, without suspicion or offence, may be told in the
presence of this reverend gentleman, or of the good Lady Lochleven
herself.”
The last hint was too irresistible to be withstood; and Henderson
withdrew, half mortified, half pleased, with his reception; for Mary,
from long habit, and the address which was natural to her, had learned,
in an extraordinary degree, the art of evading discourse which was
disagreeable to her feelings or prejudices, without affronting those by
whom it was proffered.
Roland Graeme retired with the chaplain, at a signal from his lady; but
it did not escape him, that as he left the room, stepping backwards, and
making the deep obeisance due to royalty, Catherine Seyton held up her
slender forefinger, with a gesture which he alone could witness, and
which seemed to say, “Remember what has passed betwixt us.”
The young page had now his last charge from the Lady of Lochleven.
“There are revels,” she said, “this day at the village--my son's
authority is, as yet, unable to prevent these continued workings of the
ancient leaven of folly which the Romish priests have kneaded into the
very souls of the Scottish peasantry. I do not command thee to abstain
from them--that would be only to lay a snare for thy folly, or to teach
thee falsehood; but enjoy these vanities with moderation, and mark
them as something thou must soon learn to renounce and contemn. Our
chamberlain at Kinross, Luke Lundin,--Doctor, as he foolishly calleth
himself,--will acquaint thee what is to be done in the matter about
which thou goest. Remember thou art trusted--show thyself, therefore,
worthy of trust.”
When we recollect that Roland Graeme was not yet nineteen, and that he
had spent his whole life in the solitary Castle of Avenel, excepting
the few hours he had passed in Edinburgh, and his late residence at
Lochleven, (the latter period having very little served to enlarge his
acquaintance with the gay world.) we cannot wonder that his heart beat,
high with hope and curiosity, at the prospect of partaking the sport
even of a country wake. He hastened to his little cabin, and turned over
the wardrobe with which (in every respect becoming his station) he had
been supplied from Edinburgh, probably by order of the Earl of Murray.
By the Queen's command he had hitherto waited upon her in mourning, or
at least in sad-coloured raiment. Her condition, she said, admitted
of nothing more gay. But now he selected the gayest dress his wardrobe
afforded; composed of scarlet slashed with black satin, the royal
colours of Scotland--combed his long curled hair--disposed his chain and
medal round a beaver hat of the newest block; and with the gay falchion
which had reached him in so mysterious a manner, hung by his side in
an embroidered belt, his apparel, added to his natural frank mien and
handsome figure, formed a most commendable and pleasing specimen of the
young gallant of the period. He sought to make his parting reverence to
the Queen and her ladies, but old Dryfesdale hurried him to the boat.
“We will have no private audiences,” he said, “my master; since you are
to be trusted with somewhat, we will try at least to save thee from
the temptation of opportunity. God help thee, child,” he added, with a
glance of contempt at his gay clothes, “an the bear-ward be yonder from
Saint Andrews, have a care thou go not near him.”
“And wherefore, I pray you?” said Roland.
“Lest he take thee for one of his runaway jackanapes,” answered the
steward, smiling sourly.
“I wear not my clothes at thy cost,” said Roland indignantly.
“Nor at thine own either, my son” replied the steward, “else would thy
garb more nearly resemble thy merit and thy station.”
Roland Graeme suppressed with difficulty the repartee which arose to his
lips, and, wrapping his scarlet mantle around him, threw himself into
the boat, which two rowers, themselves urged by curiosity to see the
revels, pulled stoutly towards the west end of the lake. As they put
off, Roland thought he could discover the face of Catherine Seyton,
though carefully withdrawn from observation, peeping from a loophole
to view his departure. He pulled off his hat, and held it up as a token
that he saw and wished her adieu. A white kerchief waved for a second
across the window, and for the rest of the little voyage, the thoughts
of Catherine Seyton disputed ground in his breast with the expectations
excited by the approaching revel. As they drew nearer and nearer the
shore, the sounds of mirth and music, the laugh, the halloo, and the
shout, came thicker upon the ear, and in a trice the boat was moored,
and Roland Graeme hastened in quest of the chamberlain, that, being
informed what time he had at his own disposal, he might lay it out to
the best advantage.
Chapter the Twenty-Sixth.
Room for the master of the ring, ye swains,
Divide your crowded ranks--before him march
The rural minstrelsy, the rattling drum,
The clamorous war-pipe, and far-echoing horn.
_Rural Sports_.--SOMERVILLE.
No long space intervened ere Roland Graeme was able to discover among
the crowd of revellers, who gambolled upon the open space which extends
betwixt the village and the lake, a person of so great importance as Dr.
Luke Lundin, upon whom devolved officially the charge of representing
the lord of the land, and who was attended for support of his authority
by a piper, a drummer, and four sturdy clowns armed with rusty halberds,
garnished with party-coloured ribbons; myrmidons who, early as the day
was, had already broken more than one head in the awful names of the
Laird of Lochleven and his chamberlain.
[Footnote: At Scottish fairs, the bailie, or magistrate, deputed by the
lord in whose name the meeting is held, attends the fair with his
guard, decides trifling disputes, and punishes on the spot any petty
delinquencies. His attendants are usually armed with halberds, and
sometimes, at least, escorted by music. Thus, in the “Life and Death of
Habbie Simpson,” we are told of that famous minstrel,--
“At fairs he play'd before the spear-men,
And gaily graithed in their gear-men;--
Steel bonnets, jacks, and swords shone clear then,
Like ony bead;
Now wha shall play before sic weir-men,
Since Habbie's dead! ]
As soon as this dignitary was informed that the castle skiff had
arrived, with a gallant, dressed like a lord's son at the least, who
desired presently to speak to him, he adjusted his ruff and his black
coat, turned round his girdle till the garnished hilt of his long rapier
became visible, and walked with due solemnity towards the beach. Solemn
indeed he was entitled to be, even on less important occasions, for he
had been bred to the venerable study of medicine, as those acquainted
with the science very soon discovered from the aphorisms which
ornamented his discourse. His success had not been equal to his
pretensions; but as he was a native of the neighbouring kingdom of Fife,
and bore distant relation to, or dependence upon, the ancient family of
Lundin of that Ilk, who were bound in close friendship with the house
of Lochleven, he had, through their interest, got planted comfortably
enough in his present station upon the banks of that beautiful lake.
The profits of his chamberlainship being moderate, especially in those
unsettled times, he had eked it out a little with some practice in his
original profession; and it was said that the inhabitants of the village
and barony of Kinross were not more effectually thirled (which may
be translated enthralled) to the baron's mill, than they were to the
medical monopoly of the chamberlain. Wo betide the family of the rich
boor, who presumed to depart this life without a passport from Dr. Luke
Lundin! for if his representatives had aught to settle with the baron,
as it seldom happened otherwise, they were sure to find a cold friend
in the chamberlain. He was considerate enough, however, gratuitously
to help the poor out of their ailments, and sometimes out of all their
other distresses at the same time.
Formal, in a double proportion, both as a physician and as a person in
office, and proud of the scraps of learning which rendered his language
almost universally unintelligible, Dr. Luke Lundin approached the beach,
and hailed the page as he advanced towards him.--“The freshness of the
morning upon you, fair sir--You are sent, I warrant me, to see if we
observe here the regimen which her good ladyship hath prescribed, for
eschewing all superstitious observances and idle anilities in these
our revels. I am aware that her good ladyship would willingly have
altogether abolished and abrogated them--But as I had the honour to
quote to her from the works of the learned Hercules of Saxony, _omnis
curatio est vel canonica vel coacta_,--that is, fair sir, (for silk and
velvet have seldom their Latin _ad unguem_,) every cure must be wrought
either by art and induction of rule, or by constraint; and the wise
physician chooseth the former. Which argument her ladyship being pleased
to allow well of, I have made it my business so to blend instruction and
caution with delight--_fiat mixtio_, as we say--that I can answer
that the vulgar mind will be defecated and purged of anile and Popish
fooleries by the medicament adhibited, so that the _primae vice_ being
cleansed, Master Henderson, or any other able pastor, may at will throw
in tonics, and effectuate a perfect moral cure, _tuto, cito, jucunde_.”
“I have no charge, Dr. Lundin,” replied the page--
“Call me not doctor,” said the chamberlain, “since I have laid aside
my furred gown and bonnet, and retired me into this temporality of
chamberlainship.”
“Oh, sir,” said the page, who was no stranger by report to the character
of this original, “the cowl makes not the monk, neither the cord the
friar--we have all heard of the cures wrought by Dr. Lundin.”
“Toys, young sir--trifles,” answered the leech with grave disclamation
of superior skill; “the hit-or-miss practice of a poor retired
gentleman, in a short cloak and doublet--Marry, Heaven sent its
blessing--and this I must say, better fashioned mediciners have
brought fewer patients through--_lunga roba corta scienzia_, saith the
Italian--ha, fair sir, you have the language?”
Roland Graeme did not think it necessary to expound to this learned
Theban whether he understood him or no; but, leaving that matter
uncertain, he told him he came in quest of certain packages which should
have arrived at Kinross, and been placed under the chamberlain's charge
the evening before.
“Body o' me!” said Doctor Lundin, “I fear our common carrier, John
Auchtermuchty, hath met with some mischance, that he came not up last
night with his wains--bad land this to journey in, my master; and the
fool will travel by night too, although, (besides all maladies from your
_tussis_ to your _pestis_, which walk abroad in the night-air,) he may
well fall in with half a dozen swash-bucklers, who will ease him at once
of his baggage and his earthly complaints. I must send forth to inquire
after him, since he hath stuff of the honourable household on hand--and,
by our Lady, he hath stuff of mine too--certain drugs sent me from
the city for composition of my alexipharmics--this gear must be looked
to.--Hodge,” said he, addressing one of his redoubted body-guard,
“do thou and Toby Telford take the mickle brown aver and the black
cut-tailed mare, and make out towards the Kerry-craigs, and see what
tidings you can have of Auchtermuchty and his wains--I trust it is only
the medicine of the pottle-pot, (being the only _medicamentum_ which
the beast useth,) which hath caused him to tarry on the road. Take
the ribbons from your halberds, ye knaves, and get on your jacks,
plate-sleeves, and knapskulls, that your presence may work some terror
if you meet with opposers.” He then added, turning to Roland Graeme, “I
warrant me, we shall have news of the wains in brief season. Meantime
it will please you to look upon the sports; but first to enter my
poor lodging and take your morning's cup. For what saith the school of
Salerno?
_Poculum, mane haustum,
Restaurat naturam exhaustam.”_
“Your learning is too profound for me,” replied the page; “and so would
your draught be likewise, I fear.”
“Not a whit, fair sir--a cordial cup of sack, impregnated with wormwood,
is the best anti-pestilential draught; and, to speak truth, the
pestilential miasmata are now very rife in the atmosphere. We live in
a happy time, young man,” continued he, in a tone of grave irony, “and
have many blessings unknown to our fathers--Here are two sovereigns
in the land, a regnant and a claimant--that is enough of one good
thing--but if any one wants more, he may find a king in every peel-house
in the country; so if we lack government, it is not for want of
governors. Then have we a civil war to phlebotomize us every year, and
to prevent our population from starving for want of food--and for the
same purpose we have the Plague proposing us a visit, the best of all
recipes for thinning a land, and converting younger brothers into elder
ones. Well, each man in his vocation. You young fellows of the sword
desire to wrestle, fence, or so forth, with some expert adversary; and
for my part, I love to match myself for life or death against that same
Plague.”