About the middle of May, 1566, Robert Melvill was dispatched by Mary,
Queen of Scots, as a special envoy to the English Court. The ostensible
purpose of his mission was to request Queen Elizabeth to stand godmother
to the royal infant whose birth was shortly expected.[109] And it was,
indeed, with this object that his journey had, in the first instance,
been resolved upon. But, three or four days before the time originally
fixed for his departure,[110] he had been hastily summoned to Holyrood
and ordered to set out at once, and with all speed, on an errand of a
very different kind. According to the tenor of his later instructions,
he was the bearer not of a friendly message from Mary Stuart to her
loving cousin, but of a bitter complaint from the Queen of Scotland to
the English sovereign. Mary had been informed by one of her agents at
Berwick that "there was a booke wrytten agaynst her, of her lyf and
govermente".[111] Though possessing no actual knowledge of the contents
of the obnoxious libel and acquainted with its general tone and purport
only, she had "taken it so grevouslye as noth[=y]ge of longe time had
come so near her hearte".[112] Not only did she resent the insult as a
sovereign, but she also felt the outrage as a woman, and expressed her
fear lest, having come to her so suddenly and at so critical a time, the
unwelcome intelligence "sholde breed daynger to her byrthe or hurte to
her selfe".[113] And Melvill had been hurried off to London to inform
Elizabeth of the crime committed by one of her subjects, "that in tyme
this worke mighte be suppressed and",[114] more important still,
"condign punishment taken upon the wryter"; for by this means alone, the
indignant Queen declared, could it be made apparent that he was not
"mayntayned against her, not only by advise and counsell to move her
subiects agaynste her, but also by defamations and falce reports mayke
her odious to the werlde".[115]
The work at which such grievous offence had been taken was entitled
_Maister Randolphe's Fantasie_, and the informant who had given Mary
notice of its publication had also assured her that it was in reality
what it purported to be, the production of the agent who, till within a
short time previously, had represented England at the Scottish Court.
She accepted the charge without question and without doubt. In her mind
Thomas Randolph was associated with all the intrigues which had
culminated in the open defection and organized opposition of the most
powerful of her nobles, and she felt conscious of having treated him
with a harshness calculated to add an ardent desire for revenge to the
malevolent intentions by which she believed him to be actuated. During
the last six months of his residence in Edinburgh he had been subjected
to a series of petty vexations, of personal attacks and of open
accusations, which even his avowed partisanship could not justify, and
which were not less discreditable to the instigators of them than
insulting to the sovereign whom he represented. On the formation of the
league to which Mary's marriage with Darnley had given rise he had been
threatened with punishment "for practising with the Queen's
rebels".[116] Mary herself had shown her displeasure in so marked a
manner that Randolph had sent to England a formal complaint of the
difficulties thrown into his way by her refusal to give him access to
her presence, even on official business.[117] When at last she did grant
him an audience, it was not for purposes of political negotiation, but
solely to upbraid him "for his many evil offices" towards her.[118] The
dread of immediate imprisonment,[119] and the personal violence to which
he was actually subjected,[120] had rendered his position so intolerable
that he petitioned for permission to retire to Berwick.[121] His
request was denied him; but the consequences of the refusal soon showed
how ill-advised had been the action of those who had insisted upon his
continuance in functions for which he now lacked the essential
conditions of favour and security. In the beginning of the following
year he was summoned before the Queen in Council, and publicly accused
of abetting the Earl of Murray in his treasonable designs, and supplying
him with funds to carry them out.[122] In spite of his direct and
explicit denial of a charge which was in reality without foundation, he
was ignominiously ordered to leave the country.[123] Anxious as he had
been to be relieved from duties which had become as dangerous as they
were difficult, Randolph nevertheless refused to obey. He appealed from
Mary and her Lords to Elizabeth, to the sovereign to whom he owed his
allegiance, and was answerable for his conduct, by whose favour he had
been appointed to a position of confidence and honour, and at whose
command alone he would consent to surrender his trust. On hearing the
slight which had been put upon her accredited representative, the Queen
of England took up his cause with characteristic promptitude and energy.
She at once dispatched a letter to the Queen of Scots complaining "of
her strange and uncourteous treatment of Mr. Randolph",[124] and
informing her that his departure from Edinburgh would be the signal for
the dismissal of the Scottish agent from the English Court. In spite of
Elizabeth's remonstrances, and in the face of a threat which was so far
from being idly meant that it was peremptorily carried out less than a
fortnight later,[125] Randolph's expulsion was insisted upon. After
having twice again received orders from the Lords,[126] he at length
yielded to necessity and retired across the Border to Berwick.
That Randolph, smarting under such treatment, should have made use of
his enforced leisure and of the knowledge which he had had special
opportunities for acquiring to write a book by which he hoped to injure
her cause and tarnish her reputation, doubtless seemed to Mary to be so
natural that she deemed it unnecessary to institute further enquiries
into the truth of the charge brought against him. His guilt was assumed
as soon as the accusation was made, and, by a singular coincidence, if,
indeed, it was not of set purpose, the same Minister whose dismissal had
followed his own disgrace was sent back to Elizabeth to demand his
punishment.
Randolph's reply was not delayed. He was at Berwick when Melvill passed
through it on his way to London, and learnt directly from his own lips
all the particulars of the alleged libel, of the Queen's anger, and of
her determination to bring down exemplary chastisement upon the
offender's head. At once availing himself of the advantage which this
early information afforded him, he drew up an emphatic and indignant
denial of the whole indictment and a firm vindication of his conduct at
the Scottish Court. He wrote with a manly frankness and dignity which
are not always characteristic of his correspondence, adding considerable
weight to his solemn protestations of innocence by the candid avowal of
the suspicion with which he viewed the Queen's policy, and to which he
had more than once given expression in his official communications to
the home Government. "I coulde hardelye have beleved,"[127] he said,
"that anye suche reporte coulde have come owte of this towne to that Q:
or that her g. wolde upon so slender information so suddaynlie agayne
gyve credit to anye such report, in specaill that she wolde so hastelye
w^{th}owte farther assurance thus grevouslye accuse me to my Soveraign.
The rem[=e]brance hereof hathe some what greved me, but beinge so well
hable to purge my selfe of anye suche crime, and knowinge before whom I
shal be accused and hearde, with suche indifferencie as I neade not to
dowte of any partialitie, and pardoned to stond stiflye in defence of my
honestie, I condene my selfe that I sholde tayke anye such care as
almoste to pass what is sayde of me by suche, as throughe blamynge of me
wolde culler suche Iniuries as I have knowne and daylye see done to my
mestres, to my Soveraign and Countrie, to w^{ch} I am borne, w^{ch} I
will serve w^{th} boddie and lyf trewlye, and carles what beco[=m]ethe
of me, more desierus to leave behynde me the name of a trewe servante
then to possesse greate wealthe. I, therfore, in the presence of God and
by my allegens to my Soveraign, affirme trewlye and advisedlye, that I
never wrote booke agaynste her, or gave my consent or advise to anye
that ever was wrytten, nor at this hower do knowe of anye that ever was
set forthe to her defamation or dyshonour, or yet ever lyked of anye
suche that ever dyd the lyke. And that this is trewe, yt shalbe
mayntayned and defended as beco[=m]ethe one that oughte to have greater
regarde of his honestie and trothe then he doth regarde what
beco[=m]ethe of his lyf. I knowe that vnto your h: I have wrytten divers
times maynie thynges straynge to be hearde of in a princesse that boore
so greate a brute and fame of honour and vertu, as longe tyme she dyd. I
confesse a mislykinge of her doings towards my mestres. I feared ever
that w^{ch} still I stonde in dowte of, les over myche credit sholde be
given whear lyttle is mente that is spoken. I wolde not that anye waye
my mestres sholde be abused, w^{ch} made me wryte in greater vehemencie
and more ernestlye then in matters of les consequence; but yf yt be ever
provyd that I ever falcelye imagined anye thinge agaynste her, or
untrewlye reported y^{t} w^{ch} I have hearde willinglye, or dyd reveele
that w^{ch} I do knowe to anye man, savinge to suche as I am bounde
ether for deuties sake, or by co[=m]andemente, I am contente to tayke
this crime upon me, and to be defamed for a villayne, never to be better
thought of then as mover of sedition and breeder of dyscorde betwene
princes, as her g: hathe termed me. Of that w^{ch} I have wrytten to
yo^{r} h: I am sure ther is nothynge come to her eares; w^{ch} was
so farre from my mynde to put in a booke, that I have byne maynie tymes
sorrie to wryte yt vnto yo^{r} h: from whome I knowe that I ought to
keape nothynge whearby the Q. Ma^{tie} myght vnderstonde this Q: state,
or be assured what is her mynde towards her. Yf in this accusation I be
founde giltles bothe in deade and thoughte (thoughe more be to be
desyered of a gentleman that livethe onlye by the princes credit, and
seekethe no other estimation then is wone by faythefull and trewe
service) yet I will fynde my selfe satisfied, myche honered by the Q.
Ma^{tie} and bounde vnto y^{r} h: that such triall maye be had of this
matter that yt maye be knowne w^{ch} way and by whome in this towne anye
suche reporte sholde come to her g: eares; w^{ch} I require more for the
daynger that maye growe vnto this place to have suche persones in it,
then I desyer my selfe anye revenge, or, in so falce matters do mayke
greate accompte what anye man saythe or howe theis reporte of me, for
that I am assured that more shame and dyshono^r shalbe theirs in their
falce accusations, then ther cane be blamed towards me in my well
doynge."
In the face of this unqualified disclaimer, it would have required not
merely suspicion founded on the unsupported assertion of a nameless
informer, but the most direct and irrefutable evidence, to substantiate
the charge brought against Randolph. His letter bore its own
confirmation on the face of it. It was not meant for the public, who
might perhaps have been put off by high-sounding phrases and
protestations; neither was it intended for the Scottish Queen, who,
though better informed, had no special facilities for testing the
statements which it contained. It was addressed to Cecil, to the
Minister with whom Randolph had been in constant correspondence for
years, to whom he had communicated the trifling events of each
day--incidents of Court life and scraps of Court gossip--who knew the
extent of his experience of Scottish affairs, and was as familiar with
his views as with his peculiarities of style and diction in expressing
them; to the last man, in short, whom it would have been possible to
hoodwink as to the authorship of a work bearing traces of either the
hand or the inspiration of his subordinate.
But, if Randolph had been the author of the poem bearing his name,
besides being deterred from any attempt at deception by the almost
certainty of failure, he would doubtless have remembered that Cecil was
one of the bitterest enemies of the Queen of Scots, and that, at the
pitch which party animosity had reached, even though, for the sake of
appearances, some indignation might be simulated, no serious offence was
likely to be taken at a work tending to vilify the rival with whom, in
spite of the hollow show of friendship still maintained, an open
rupture was imminent, whose difficulties, far from calling forth
sympathy, were the subject of thinly-veiled exultation, whose
indiscretions were distorted into faults, and whose errors were
magnified into crimes. Had he been concerned in the production of the
_Fantasie_, he possessed sufficient shrewdness to know that his wisest
and safest course did not lie in a denial of which the falsehood could
not escape exposure, but in a confession which, whilst attended with no
real danger, might actually tend to his credit.
Cecil accepted Randolph's disclaimer without demur, and in a manner
which left no doubt that he was thoroughly convinced of its absolute
truth. It was deemed of sufficient importance to be answered with no
further delay than was rendered necessary by the slow means of
communication of the time. To his letter of the 26th of May Randolph
received a reply as early as the 6th of the following month. It has,
unfortunately, not been preserved; but, though it is impossible to
reproduce the language in which it was couched, it is easy to judge of
its purport and of the tone which pervaded it. These may be gathered
from the grateful acknowledgment which it called forth from Randolph.
"Yt may please yo^{r} H:," he wrote in a letter dated from Berwick on
the 7th of June, "that yesterdaye I receaved yo^{r} letter of the thyrde
of this instant for w^{ch} I do most humblye thanke you and have therby
receaved maynie thyngs to my c[=o]tentation. In speciall for the
wrytinge of that fantasie or dreame called by my name, that I am thought
fawltles, as in deade I am, but still greeved that I am so charged, but
that waye seeke no farther to please then with my deutie maye stonde. Yf
M^{r} Melvill remayne so well satysfied that he thinke me cleare, I
truste that he will performe no les then he promised, that the reporter
bycawse he is in this towne shalbe knowne, at the leaste yf not to me, I
wolde y^{r} h: were warned of such."[128]
A few days after the receipt by Randolph of Cecil's letter, Elizabeth
dispatched from Greenwich an answer to the complaints of which Melvill
had been the bearer. It was a singular document in which words were
skilfully used to veil the writer's meaning, and irony was disguised
beneath the fairest show of sympathy. While seeming to promise complete
satisfaction, it contained no expression but might be explained away,
and it carefully refrained from putting forth any opinion with regard to
Randolph's guilt or innocence. It began by assuring the Queen of Scots
that she was not the only one who had been moved to anger on hearing of
_Randolphe's Fantasie_, and by asserting, with feigned indignation, that
even to dream treason was held to be a crime worthy of banishment from
England, where subjects were required to be loyal not in their words
merely, but in their very thoughts also; it bade her rest satisfied
that, for the investigation of the subject complained of, such means
should be used as would let the whole world know in what esteem her
reputation was held; and it concluded by hinting at no less a punishment
than death when the truth was found out: "Mais quant je lisois la
fascherye en quoy vous estiez pour avoir ouy du songe de Randolphe"--so
ran the letter--"je vous prometz que nestiez seule en cholere. Sy est ce
que l'opinion que les songes de la nuit sont les denonciations des
pensées iournelles fussent verefyez en luy, s'il n'en eust que songé et
non point escript, je ne le penserois digne de Logis en mon Royaulme.
Car non seulement veul je que mes subiectz ne disent mal des princes,
mais que moins est, de n'en penser sinon honorablement. Et sois asseurée
que pense tellement traicter ceste cause, que tout le monde verra en
quel estyme je tiens [~vre] reno[=m]ée, et useray de telz moyens pour
en cognoistre la vérité, qu'il ne tiendra a moy sy je ne la scache. Et
la trouvant, je la laisseray a [~vre] jugement si la pugnition ne soyt
digne pour telle faulte, combien que je croy que la vye d'aulcun n'en
pourra bonnement equivaller la cryme."[129]
Whatever may have been Mary's opinion as to the true spirit of this
reply, she saw that its language left no ground for further
remonstrance. Perhaps, too, doubts may have entered her own mind as to
the authenticity of the obnoxious poem. At any rate she seems to have
thought it wise to urge the matter no further. It dropped and died away;
no reference to it again occurs in the correspondence of the period.
It would be vain to search the literature of the sixteenth century for
any trace of _Maister Randolphe's Fantasie_. No mention of it is to be
found even in the most minute and detailed of contemporary chroniclers.
In modern histories its very name is unknown. No copy of it is preserved
in our great libraries, and if a stray one should have escaped the
summary suppression which the angry Queen demanded of Elizabeth,[130] it
must be lying hidden amongst pamphlets and broadsides on the shelves of
some private collection. But, by some strange chance, though the printed
work has disappeared, the manuscript has survived; and we are still able
to satisfy our curiosity with regard to the contents of the obnoxious
satire which gave such grave offence to the Queen of Scots.[131]
In the manuscript copy preserved amongst the documents of the Record
Office,[132] _Maister Randolphe's Fantasie_--the sub-title of which
conveys the information that it is "a breffe calgulacion of the
procedinge in Scotlande from the first of Julie to the last of
December"--is prefaced by an "Epistle dedicatorie" addressed "to the
right worshipfull M^{r} Thomas Randolphe esquyre Resident for the Quenes
Ma^{ties} affaires in Scotlande". The author begins this quaint,
diffuse, and at times obscure production by setting forth the reasons
which have led him to look for "some ripe and grave patronage" for his
"small travell". He pleads the precedent of "eloquent wryters", who,
"albeit there excellent works learnedlie compiled, needed no patronage,
not onelie appeled to others learned, but sought th'awctorytie of the
gravest men, to sheld them from th'arrogant curyous and impewdent
reprehendors". With much rhetorical amplification he then proceeds to
enumerate the qualifications which seem more particularly to designate
Randolph as a fitting patron and protector. "Well may I, knowing yo^r
zelous nature and inclynacion to letters attempt to royst under the
protexion of yo^{r} name. Who can better judge of theis whole
proceedings than you? Who can so well wyttnes it as yo^{r} dailie
attendaunce? Who may better defende it then yo^{r} learned experience?
Who so well deserves the memorye hereof then yo^r long and wearye
service, especiallie sithence the troblesome broiles and monstrouous
eschange in this transformed and blundered comon-weale? Who may so well
auctoryshe the vnlearned aucto^r as yo^{r} w: to whom justlie awaytinge
yo^{r} succor, simplie I retyre." From this apostrophe he passes on to a
justification of his poem, in which he claims to have "delt franklie"
and, "as God shall bee his judge, not pertiallie", and which he has
produced solely in compliance with the earnest and repeated
solicitations of influential friends. "I had not compiled this tragidye,
as iustlie I may terme it", he writes, "yf some my contremen, resolved
of muche better then I can or ought conceyve of my selffe, by there
sundrye letters and meanes entreated me to wryte what I sawe, w^{ch}
chefflie by there procurement I have doen, who, havinge care of my well
doinge, perswaded me howe profytable and necessarye it was to vse my
terme and travell, and imploy that talent that might tend to my great
comodytie and avale. Theis indenyable requestes and ffrendlie reasons
did so charme me, albeit long deaffe at there enchantments, that I cold
not refuse to susteane this charge, that nowe enforcethe my well
meanynge to run post (I knowe) to some vnwelcome gwides, that w^{th}
twyned mynde will intercept my meanynge. Thus tranede and, as it were,
bewytched w^{th} this vnweldye charge of request, I pushe forthe this
vnpolished phantasey, a breffe calgulacion of theis procedinges." Though
confessedly anxious to reap any reward which his poetical venture may be
thought to deserve, the author does not appear to be equally willing to
monopolize the "blame and infayme, yf any there bee". On the contrary,
he is careful to point out--"to make his blames more excusable for there
importunytie"--that they who have urged him to write are "accessaryes yf
not principalls in his unwillinge cryme", and that it would be a cruel
hardship, indeed, were he doomed "to thole ignomynye" and "live a
condempned byarde", for the sake of "cleringe others". It is with the
evident intention of giving force to this plea that, whilst seeming to
prefer a humble request that Randolph "will not refuse to surname" the
offspring of his "restless Mewse", he takes the opportunity of pointing
him out "as the cheffe parent thereof". With what success this
questionable device was attended Mary's complaint to Elizabeth has
already set forth.
After having fenced himself round, in his dedication, with all these
rhetorical safeguards, the author turns to the reader with a poetical
appeal to "arrest his judgement", and then addresses himself to the task
of recording the "proceedings" of the eventful six months which followed
Mary's ill-advised marriage with Darnley.
The first part of the _Fantasie_ opens with a poetical sketch, in which
the author represents himself as sunk in melancholy meditation, and
endeavouring to find relief from the heavy burthen which the intrigues
and disappointments of Court life have cast upon him:--
fforwerièd[133] with cares and sorrowes source supprest,
and worldlie woos of sharpe repulse that bredes vnquyet rest,
confus'd with courtlie cares, a seate of slipper[134] stay,
that yeldes the draught of bitter swete to such as drawes that way,
in silent sort I sought unwist of any wight
to attempt some meane howe well I cold my heavy burden light.
Whilst he is thus revolving "what fyttest were for feble myndes", his
conflicting thoughts, personified as "Desire", "Tyme", "Fansye", and
"Reason", appear before him and volunteer, in turn, such advice as
seems best suited to the situation. "Desire", whose opinion is naturally
the first to find expression, suggests that he should seek "such rest as
may revive his pensive thought, with sorrow so opprest". "Tyme",
however, interposes with a reminder that "feldishe sports be now
exempt", and that the season is not "mete" for the amusements that might
delight his spirits. This affords "Fansye" an opportunity of making
herself heard.
assay yf that thie Mevses trades may ought dissolve thie care,
pervse[135] some pleasunte stile that may delight the brayne
and prove by practyse of the pen to file thie wyttes agayne.
But this advice does not meet with the approval of "Reason". She points
out to the poet that
Devyne Camenes never cold with Mavors' rage agree,
Ne yet Minerva mewse with skill was depelie scande[136]
When as[137] Bellona did decree[138] with bloody sworde in hande;
and that, if he should allow himself to be hurried by his sympathies
into championing every cause and "wrastling in eche wrong", the result
must be as useless as though "he shold stope the streame, or sporne
against the sone". Bidding him be ruled by her, she counsels him to
"mesure by myrthe some meane that may his grieves disgest", to "solace
the rage of hevmayne cares within a gladsome brest", and to follow the
safer course of "sojourning with silence", unless, indeed, he should be
able to find "a frend on whom he may repose the secretes of his mynde".
But "rareness of suche one" suggests moral reflections on the dangers of
flattery, with its "sewgred speech", and on the fickleness of
friendship, "a flyinge birde with wings of often change". These, and a
further recommendation to prudent silence, which, though it "do allay no
rage of stormy thoughte", is at least preferable to the "bankroote gest"
distrust, bring Reason's harangue to a close.
In a passage of some merit, but so singularly out of place that it
suggests an error of transcription, the poet proceeds to describe the
dreary season to which Fancy has already made reference:--
It was when Awtum had fild full the barnes with corne,
And he that eats and emtyes all away had Awtum worne,
And wynter windes approcht that doth ibayre the trene,
And Saturne's frosts, that steanes the earth had perst the
tender grene,
And dampishe mystes discendes when tempests work much harme,
And force of stormes do make all cold that somer had made warme,
whose lustie hewe dispoiled cold not possess the place,
ne yet abide Boreas' blasts that althings dothe deface.
After this digression Reason's advice is taken into consideration.
Recognizing its wisdom, the poet at first "seeks by solitarye meanes to
recreate his minde". The attempt is not, however, crowned with success.
He experiences that, "as the sowthfast sayen", "solytarynes" is but
"hewe of dispaire, ffoo to his weale, and frendlie to ech payne", and
that slender indeed "are the greves that silence do unlade". In his
solitude the evils of his own position crowd up before him, he "beats
his branes with bitter bale and woos of worldlie force", he recalls the
"painful years" which he has "lingered forth" in Scotland, with the sole
reward of seeing "his credyt crak the string with those with whome in
faythfull league he long before had bene", and himself "rolled out of
Fortune's lappe". By a natural transition he passes from his own
grievances to a consideration of the political events which have
produced them; his "bewsye heade" calls up the "sowre change", the
"sodaine fall" of the realme "from weale to woo, from welthe to wast,
and worce if ought might be".
The cue for it being thus given, there follows a recapitulation of the
"proceedings" which are the real subject of the _Fantasie_. "I saw", the
poet says:
I saw the Quene whose will occurant with her yeres
was wone[139] to worke oft that she wold by counsaile of her peres.
It was the winged boy had perst[140] her tender thought,
and Venus' joyes so tickled her that force avaled nought;
on Darlie did she dote who equall in this mase[141]
sought to assalt the forte of fame defenst with yeas and nayes,
which for a while repulst and had no passage in:
but still porsewt did rase the seige[142] that might the fortresse
wyne,
who, stronglie thus beseiged with battry rounde aboute,
at last was forst to yeld the keis, she cold not holde hym owte,
but rendered sacke and spoile unto the victor's grace,
so ritch a pray did not the Greks by Helen's meanes possesse.
To regall charge of rule she did advaunce his state,
and gave the sworde into his hand that bred civill debate.
This was affection force that blewe this gale of winde;
this regestreth the found pretence[143] within a woman's mynde
this calls us to reporte[144] and proves the proverbe trewe,
that wemens wills are sonest wone in that they after rewe.
This brede a brutyshe broile and causèd cankred spight
to move the myndes of such as did envy a stranger's might;
vnder w^{ch} shade was shrowde an other fyrme intente,
and so, by color of that change to doe what he was bente,
w^{ch} made much myserye and wrought this realme to wracke,
and sturde[145] a stiveling sture[146] amongst the muffled
contre-packe[147]
that mustrèd eche where[148] in forme and force of warre,
and clapt on armor for the feld as the comannded warre.
Here the poet, who seems anxious to lose no opportunity of pointing a
moral, interrupts for a while his sombre description of the state of
Scotland under this "reckles rule", to introduce his own reflections
upon "the slipper state of worldlie wealth that heare on earth we
finde". Resuming his lamentation, he records the undeserved disgrace of
"those whose grave advice in judgement semed vpright", and the unwise
promotion to offices of trust of those "which grated[149] but for gayne
and gropt for private pray", who presumptuously attempted to "gwide a
shipe against the storme", though they "had not the skill in calm to
stire a barge".
Lest the application of the general statement should remain doubtful, it
is illustrated by reference to the leading men of the Queen's party. To
each of them a couplet is dedicated, the symmetry being broken in favour
of Maxwell alone, who is thought worthy of a double share of satire.
Unfortunately, however, the allusions are so vague and the language in
many cases so obscure, that it is difficult to catch more than the drift
of what is intended to characterize the conduct and unveil the motives
of each individual:--
I sawe Adthole abridge with craft to conquere cost,
and forge that fact by forraigne foos that his discent might bost;
I sawe what Merton ment by shufflinge for his share,
imbrasinge those that shrowdes the shame of his possessed care;
I sawe howe Cassells crowcht affirmynge yea and na,
as redyest when chaunce brings chang to drive and drawe that way;
I sawe Crawforde encroche on slipperie renowne,
that curre favell[150] in the court might retche to higher rowme;[151]
I sawe howe Lyddington did powder it[152] with pen,
and fyled so his sewgred speche as wone the wills of men;
I sawe howe Lyndsey lurkt vnconstant of his trade[153]
alludinge[154] by his duble meanes that might his lust unlade;[155]
I sawe howe Hume in hope did hoist the sale aloft,
and howe he anker weighed with those that most for credyt sought;
I sawe howe Ruthven reigned as one of Gnator's kinde,
and howe he first preffer'd his ple respondent to his mynde.
I sawe what Maxwell mente in kindlinge the flame,
and after howe he sought new meanes to choke the smoke agayne;
whose dowble dealinge did argewe vnconstant fayth,
and shamefull wayes blowes forthe the brute[156] that may record his
death;
with feble force I sawe howe Leonox did entende,
as thriftie of a princelie rewle to regestre his ende;
I sawe the weake advise that Darlie did aforde,
as yonge in wytt as fewe of yeres to weld the regall sworde;
and sodainelie I saw howe Bulforde credyt sought,
and howe from nought he start aloft to bear the freey in court.[157]
The political correspondence and historical records of the period allow
us to remove, in some slight degree, the obscurity which veils this
passage, and supply concerning the conduct of some of the characters
alluded to in it such particulars as may help us to understand, if not
the special point of the poet's satire, at least the general reasons
which aroused his indignation and drew forth his censure.
It would have been difficult for the most bitter opponent of the royal
cause to find in Athole's conduct during the period here referred to
anything to justify an attack on his personal character. There is
consequently no matter for astonishment in the fact that the
satirist--if our interpretation of the couplet be the correct one--has
no more heinous offence to reproach him with than fidelity to his trust
and loyalty to his Queen. These, it is true, he manifested on more than
one critical occasion. It was to Athole's house in Dunkeld that Mary,
knowing herself to be surrounded with spies in Perth, determined to
retire after the memorable convention at which the intended marriage
with Darnley was made known. When, a few days later, intelligence was
brought by Lindsay of Dowhill of a plot formed by the confederate Lords
to seize the Queen's person at Parenwell, to tear her intended husband
and his father from her side, and to slay all who offered resistance to
the deed of violence, it was with Athole that Mary concerted measures to
frustrate the lawless attempt, and it was by his exertions that a body
of two hundred gentlemen was raised to serve as an escort for her. At
the public solemnization of the Queen's marriage it was Athole who, in
recognition of his faithful service, led both bride and bridegroom to
the altar, and who, at the banquet which followed, acted as her carver.
That these marks of favour were not the only rewards bestowed upon his
loyal attachment is shown by Randolph in a letter which he wrote to
Cecil a few months later,[158] and in which he states the Earl of
Athole's influence to be paramount, greater even than Bothwell's. If we
be right in interpreting the charge of "abridging with craft to conquer
cost" to mean that Athole endeavoured to husband the resources of the
kingdom, it was a course which the state of the Queen's finances more
than justified. The pecuniary difficulties in which she was involved are
repeatedly alluded to in Randolph's despatches. On the 4th of July we
find him informing Cecil of the arrival of a chest supposed to contain
supplies of money, and significantly adding that "if that way the Queen
and Darnley have either means or credit, it is so much the worse".[159]
A fortnight later[160] he refers more plainly still to the desperate
condition of the royal exchequer, and states that Mary "is so poor at
present that ready money she hath very little and credit none at all".
In August[161] he announces that "she hath borrowed money of divers, and
yet hath not wherewith to pay so many soldiers as are levied for two
months". If, under these circumstances, Athole set himself the arduous
and thankless task of narrowly watching over the expenditure of funds
which it was so difficult to raise, and even if the allusion contained
in the enigmatical accusation of "forging that fact by forrayne foos"
should point to any part taken by him in obtaining "about fifteen
hundred francs which had been sent out of France", no impartial judge
can behold in this a proof of anything but loyalty to his kinswoman and
Queen.
The charge of "shufflinge for his share", the only intelligible count in
the indictment contained in the couplet devoted to Morton, is fully
justified by the able but unscrupulous statesman's conduct during the
period of civil strife to which the _Fantasie_ refers. On the formation
of the league for which Mary's intentions towards her cousin had
afforded a pretence, Morton had joined the ranks of the confederate
Lords. Before long, however, his opposition to the marriage was overcome
and his services secured for the royal cause by the sacrifice on the
part of Lennox and Darnley of their claims to the honours and estates of
Angus. Though his motives were very far from being disinterested, his
conduct was for a while in strict conformity with the pledge which had
been bought from him, and he successfully exerted his influence to
conciliate some of the bitterest opponents to the royal marriage. Such
as it was, however, his loyalty was but shortlived. He took umbrage at
the part assigned to Lennox in the command of the army which marched out
to encounter the confederates. In the month of October his treasonable
designs were so far from being a secret that Randolph described him as
"only making fair weather with the Queen till he could espy his
time".[162] But by her prompt and energetic action in compelling him to
surrender the Castle of Tantallon to the Earl of Athole,[163] the Queen
obliged him to declare himself sooner than he had intended, and before
his treachery could do any material injury to her cause.
Like his kinsman Morton, Ruthven, though serving in the royal army, was
in league with the rebels. Between him and Mary there had never existed
any great sympathy, though, out of consideration for Lennox, whose
intimate associate he was, she admitted him for a while to her favour
and confidence. As early as the beginning of July, however, it was
reported that "the Lord of Ruthven had entered into suspicion",[164] and
three months later he was also mentioned amongst those who were "only
making fair weather with the Queen".[165] His final defection took place
at the same time and for the same cause as Morton's, the "plee" which he
"preffered"--that is, the claim which he also laid to a part of the
Angus estates, in right of Janet Douglas, his wife--having been set
aside by the royal order which made over Tantallon to Athole.
The lines directed against Lennox and Darnley require neither
explanation nor comment. The ambition of the one and the boyish weakness
and vanity of the other are well known. In selecting these as the
objects of his satirical allusions, the poet has not treated them with
greater severity than they deserved, nor, indeed, than they have met
with at the hands of both contemporary and subsequent historians.
As regards Maxwell, it is not difficult to account for the prominence
given to him, nor for the "unconstant fayth and shamefull ways" with
which he is reproached. At the outbreak of hostilities he held the
office of Warden of the Western Border. The confidence placed in him,
however, he betrayed, not only by allowing the insurgents to remain
unmolested within the district under his keeping, and actually giving
them entertainment, but also by subscribing with them[166] and devoting
a thousand pounds, which he had received from England, to the equipment
of a troop of horse for service against his sovereign. Mary took his
treason so greatly to heart that, in a letter to Beton, Archbishop of
Glasgow, she inveighed in terms seldom to be met with in her
correspondence against "the traitor Maxwell, who, to his great disgrace,
had basely violated his faith to her, and sent his son as his pledge to
England, undeterred by the remembrance of the treatment to which his
other boy was exposed, of which he had told her himself".[167] After the
Queen's bloodless victory over her rebellious nobles, and the retreat of
Moray and his associates from their last city of refuge in Scotland,
Maxwell, fearful of the consequences of his own treasonable conduct,
begged to be allowed to return to his allegiance. Three days after
Mary's arrival at Dumfries, he was brought before her by Bothwell and
some of the loyal lords who offered to become sureties for his fidelity.
He was received with generous kindness by his sovereign, who not only
granted him a free pardon, but carried her magnanimity so far as to
accept the hospitality of his castle of Lochmaben, where she remained
until her return to Edinburgh.
The couplet in which the satirist tells us how Ledington "did powder it
with pen, and fyled so his sewgred speech as wone the wills of men",
pithily characterizes the secretary's conduct, not merely on the special
occasion to which allusion is here made, but throughout the whole of his
eventful career. The other names introduced into the passage are known
to be those of noblemen who embraced the Queen's cause, but the records
of the period make no reference to any acts of theirs of sufficient
importance to call for either praise or censure, though the subsequent
defection of some of their number seems to justify the doubt cast on the
sincerity of their motives. With regard to the last of these names, that
of Bulford is probably a corrupted form of some more familiar
appellation. It may possibly be intended to designate James Balfour,
Parson of Fisk, who "at this time", according to John Knox, "had gottin
all the guiding in the Court" and "was preferred before all others, save
only the Erle of Athole".[168]
With this black list of those who "prowld for private pray", the poet
contrasts the confederate Lords by whom "right was erect and wilfull
wronge supprest", whose "judgements ever vncontrolde did floryshe with
the best", who "sought by civill meanes for to advaunce the realme", but
who were "chast away" because "the Quene wold not abide there grave
advise that counsaled her to watch a better tide". The names held up for
special reverence are those of Murray, Hamilton, Argyle, Rothose,
Glencairn, Boyd, Ochiltree, and Grange, and it is open to question
whether their action, in revolting from their sovereign and entering
into negotiations with Elizabeth and her agents, warrants the praise
bestowed upon them in the following lines:--
ffor Murray's constant fayth and ardent zeale to truthe
had not the grace to fordge and feane that worldlie wytts pursewthe;
nor Hamilton cold have no hope to hold his seate;
nor yet Argile to abide the court the pirrye[169] was to greate;
Rothose might not resyst that stedfastnes profest;
nor Glencarne cold averde with wrong that rigor had incest;[170]
nor Boide wold not attempt the trades[171] of no mystrust;
nor Ogletree concure with such as rewlèd but for lust;
Grange wold not grate for grace, no burden he wold beare
whose horye head expert in warrs did bred the courtyers feare.
Having thus recorded the relative strength and merits of the contending
parties, the poet completes his picture of the lamentable state to which
the kingdom has been reduced by civil discord; then, with his natural
inclination to give prominence to his own troubles, bewails the "unrest"
which embitters his life and is "powdering the heires upon his head".
For solace he "retyres unto his booke a space", there to contemplate,
"with rufull eye, what bale is incident in everie estate where tirants
do prevale", and to gather "examples that bloodye feicts dothe aske
vengiance and thrists for bloode againe". Cyrus, Tomiris, Cambyses,
Brutus, Cassius, Bessus, Alexander, and Dionysius are called up "to
represent the fine of tirants' force", and to show "howe the gwiltless
bloode that is vniustlie shede dothe crave revenge". Sheer weariness,
however, puts an end to the dismal meditation, and as the poet sinks
into "swete slepe" it seems to him that a messenger is "thrust in at the
doore" to inform him that the Queen herself is at hand. Hereupon Mary
enters, and without further preface begins "her tale", to which the
second part of the _Fantasie_ is devoted.
The opening words of the Queen's confession, for such is the form into
which her "complante" is thrown, assume that she is acquainted with
Randolph's purpose of recording the events of which he has been a
witness, and are a request that he will "inwrape her woos within his
carefull clewe, that when the recorde is spread everywhere, the state of
her comber first may appear". Her grief, however, as she at once
explains, is not for herself--there is no cause why she should repine,
for all things have succeeded according to her will--it is for the
miserable state to which her headstrong resistance to the advice of
those who counselled wise and moderate government has reduced her realm.
But, before entering fully into her subject, by a clever paralepsy she
digresses into an account of her birth and accomplishments. Written as
it is by a professed enemy of Mary Stuart's the passage is of
considerable interest, and may help to settle the disputed question of
her personal gifts:--
I hold it nedles to bragg of my birthe,
by loyall dascent endowed a quene;
my ffather doth wytness it even to his death,
who in this weale most noblie did reigne;
and that halffe a Gwyssian[172] by birth I bene,
and howe the Frenshe Kinge in marag did endowe
me with royall right, a madlie[173] widowe.
But I cold bost of bewtie with the best,
in skilfull poincts of princelie attire,
and of the golden gwiftes of nature's behest
who filed my face of favor freshe and fayre;
my bewtie shynes like Phebus in the ayre,
and nature formed my feater beside
in such proport[174] as advanseth my pride.
Thus fame affatethe[175] my state to the stares,
enfeoft with the gwyftes of nature's devise,
that soundes the retreat to others princes eares
whollie to resigne to me the chefest price;
but what doth it avale to vant in this wyse?
for as the sowre sent the swete tast do spill
so are the good gwyftes corrupted with ill.
Foremost amongst the defects that mar the high gifts of nature she
mentions the "Gwyssian" temper which she has received from her mother,
and by which she has been led to take the first false step "to wedd as
she wold, suche a one as she demed wold serve her lust rather then might
her weale well upholde". The fatal marriage being thus introduced, she
naturally refers to its results, to the opposition of those who, having
"ever tendered her state, cold not abyde to see this myscheffe", and
whom, in her ungovernable temper, in her "rigour and hate", she "sought
to subject to the sword". This is followed by the names of her chief
opponents, the list being augmented by a few names which do not appear
in the first part. Here a passage of singular significance even at the
present day is unexpectedly brought in, in connection with the Duke of
Argyle. It is a description of the Irish. They are stigmatized "a bloody
crewe that whoso they take they helples downe hewe", and their barbarous
manner of carrying on war and inhuman treatment of the enemy is thus set
forth:--
This savage kinde, they knowe no lawe of armes,
they make not warrs as other do assay,
they deale not deathe by [_without_] dredfull harmes,
yeld or not yeld whoso they take they slay,
they save no prysonners for ransome nor for pay,
they hold it hopeles of the bodye dead
except they see hym cut shorter by the heade.
From this point the Queen's "complante" becomes a
narrative--interspersed with moral reflections on the dangers of
despotic government and the horrors of civil wars--of the victorious
though bloodless expedition against the confederate Lords. It is
noteworthy that, however depreciatory the judgment which she is made to
pass upon her own conduct, her energy and courage are repeatedly
insisted upon in terms of unqualified praise: "The dread of no enemy
cold me appaile, nor yett no travell endaunte my entent; ... I dreaded
no daunger of death to ensewe, no stormy blasts cold make me retyre".
Indeed, in one stanza she actually likens herself to Tomiris, and
though, from the fact that it appears to be made by herself, the
comparison at first strikes us as unnatural and exaggerated, looked at
in its proper light, as the testimony of an avowed enemy, it is
undoubtedly a high tribute of admiration to her indomitable spirit:--
Amidde w^{ch} rowte, yf thou thie selffe had bene,
and seen howe I my matters did contryve,
thou woldest have reckened me the lustyest Quene
that ever Europe fostred heare to live;
yea, if Tomiris her selffe had bene alive,
who dreaded great hosts with her tyrannye,
cold not shewe herself more valiant then I.
The first episode referred to by the Queen is the pitching of her camp
near Glasgow, for the purpose of intercepting the rebels who had taken
up their position near Paisley, but who, dismayed at the rapid march of
the royal army, hastily retired towards Edinburgh. This was on August
31. The poetical narrative is as follows:--
In Glasco towne I entrenched my bandes,
and they in Paselee, nor far distant from thence,
where erelie on the morrowe, west by the sande,[176]
they gave me larum with warlicke pretence;
we were in armes but they were gone thence,
to the ffeldes we marcht in battell array,
expectinge our foos, but they were awaye.
* * * * *
when fame had brought that the Llords were gone
to Edenbrough towne to wage[177] men of warre,
to supplie there force, and make them more stronge
of expert trayns[178] to joyne in this jarre,
I hasted forwarde to interrupt them there,
but by the way I harde they were gone
from Edenbrough, and had clene left the towne.
In a stanza following immediately upon this, and descriptive of the
course adopted by Mary on her arrival in Edinburgh, we find the
confirmation of a statement made by Captain Cockburn,[179] but
indignantly denied as a shameless fabrication by those historians whose
aim it has been to clear the Queen from every imputation. He asserts,
not only that she imposed a fine of £20,000 on certain of the burgesses
of Edinburgh after the termination of the expedition, but also that
previously to this she had extorted 14,000 marks from them for the
support of her army. It is the latter part of this statement which has
been challenged, but which undoubtedly receives strong support from the
following verses:--
And some that had incurred my blame,
by worde or wronge or other like meane,
for redye coigne I compounded with them,
that I might better my soulgiers maynteyne,
th'unwonted charge that I did susteane
was thus considered in everie dome[180]
to surpasse the yerelie revenue of my crowne.
Passing over the Queen's expedition into Fifeshire and the capture of
Castle Campbell, "the castle of gloom", a formidable stronghold
belonging to her rebel brother-in-law, the Duke of Argyle, the
historical part of the narrative hastens on to the final act, the march
to Dumfries and the Lords' retreat across the Border. The inglorious
termination of the rebellion has been pithily summed up by Sir James
Melville in his Memoirs: "Her Majesty again convened forces to pursue
the rebels, till at length they were compelled to flee into England for
refuge, to her who promised by her ambassadors to wear her crown in
their defence, in case they were driven to any strait for their
opposition unto the marriage".[181] The poet is scarcely less concise in
his record of an event which he could neither hide nor gloss over, but
upon which he evidently had no wish to dwell:--
We came to Domfreis to attempt our might,
but all was in vane, our foos were awaie;
there was none there that wold us resiste,
nor yett affirme that I did gainesaye.
* * * * *
They unable to abide or resist my might
entred perforce into th'inglishe pale.
In Carlile they all were constrayned to light,
where the Lord Scrowpe entreated them all;
and th'Erle of Bedforde leivetenante generall
of th'inglish northe, whose fervent affection
I ever dreaded to deale in this action,
whose noble hart enflamed with ruthe
to see theis Llords driven to dystresse,
sought the meanes he could to advance the truthe.
* * * * *
What racke, Randolphe? Thou thie selffe knowes
I retorned a victore without any blows.
Though this seemed to indicate a point where the _Fantasie_ might come
to a fitting close, it is drawn out for fully a hundred lines in order
that the moral of the whole narrative may be duly brought home to the
reader. So far as Mary herself is concerned, the gist of her long homily
may be given in her concluding words:--
'Tis fittest for a prince,
and such as have the regyments of realmes,
there subjects hartes with myldnes to convince,
and justice mixt, avoydinge all extremes;
ffor like as Phebus with his cherefull beames
do freshlie force the fragrant flowers to floryshe,
so rulers' mildness subjects love do noryshe.
The poet's own moralizing, with which, as with an epilogue, the whole
poem is brought to an end, is wider in its application. The dangers
which beset greatness and the advantages which accompany "golden
mediocrity" are its leading theme, and are set forth in a passage which
brings together a number of familiar illustrations drawn from inanimate
nature:--
I then said to myself methinkes this may assure
all those that clyme to honor's seate there state may not endure;
the hills of highest hight are sonest perskt with sone,
the silver streames with somer's drowght are letten oft to rone,
the loftiest trees and groves are ryfest rent with winde,
the brushe and breres that thickest grow the flame will sonest finde,
the loftie rerynge towers there fall the ffeller bee,
most ferse dothe fulgent lyghtnyng lyght where furthest we may see,
the gorgyous pallace deckt and reared vp to the skye
are sonner shokt with wynter stormes then meaner buildings bee,
vpon the highest mounts the stormy wynds do blowe,
the sewer seate and quyet lief is in the vale belowe;
by reason I regawrde the mean estate most sure,
that wayteth on the golden meane & harmles may endure;
the man that wyselie works in welthe doth feare no tide,
when fortune failes dispeareth not but stedfastlie abide,
for He that sendeth stormes with windes and wynter blasts,
and steanes with hale the wynter face & fils ech soile with frosts
He slaks the force of cold he sends the somer hote,
he causethe bayle to stormy harts of joy the spring & rote.
Reader regawrde this well as I of force nowe must,
appoinct thie mewse to merke my verse thus ruffled up in rust,
and lerne this last of me: Imbrace thie porpose prest,
and lett no storme to blowe the blasts to lose the port of rest;
and tho the gale be great & frowarde fortune fayle,
againe when wynde do serve at will hoist not to hye the saile
ffor prowffe may toche the stone to prove this firme and plaine,
that no estate may countervale the gyld or golden meane.
Both the poem and the Epistle Dedicatory bear the signature of Thomas
Jenye. It is the name of an unscrupulous adventurer who held some
subordinate position in the service of Thomas Randolph, whilst he was in
Scotland, and afterwards of Sir Henry Norris, in the Netherlands. From
the literary point of view, the most noteworthy feature of his
_Fantasie_ is the barefacedness with which he pilfered, not only the
ideas, but the actual words of others. Indeed, in its introduction and
conclusion, which consist, for the most part, of moral reflections,
Jenye's satire is little better than a patchwork, rather cleverly made
up, it is true, of lines purloined from Surrey, Grimsald, Sackville, and
the other writers who figure with them in _Tottell's Miscellany_. But
besides being a curiosity in plagiarism, the _Fantasie_ is a valuable
historical document, by reason of the accuracy with which it describes
the various incidents of Murray's revolt, of which Jenye was practically
an eyewitness.