‘To seek hot water beneath cauld ice,
I trow it is a great folie;
I have asked grace at a graceless face,
But there is nane for my men and me.’
The Queen and her brother sat in grave deliberation in her Majesty’s
private apartment. Moray’s face betrayed, under its usual composure,
a sense of triumph and satisfaction. The scheming earl had succeeded
in bringing about an interview, from which he expected great things,
forgetting, as such intriguers often do, the frank nature of his
sister, and the uncompromising character of the churchman whom he
wished her to conciliate. He glanced anxiously now and then at the
timepiece, for men of his stamp have scant leisure to spare, and
something like a smile overspread his features as he detected a bustle
in the ante-room which indicated an arrival.
Mary seemed absent and depressed. With her cheek leaning on her hand,
she had listened to her brother’s arguments like one whose thoughts are
far away. She was already conscious that the burden of state-craft was
too heavy for her to bear; her young head and heart, too, were aching
under the weight and restrictions of a crown.
She looked up with a weary sigh when the door opened, and a staid
usher, too long schooled at court to betray surprise, whatever he might
feel, announced the entrance of Mr John Knox.
The Reformer advanced with the grave, dignified air that was habitual
to him, and that sprang from no advantages of bodily presence, but
from the consciousness of unshaken integrity within. His flowing beard
and long black gown accorded well with the severe and thoughtful brow.
For an instant, as he lifted his eyes to the beautiful face of his
sovereign, they shone with an expression of pity and admiration, that
softened his whole countenance; but the gleam was transient, soon to
make way for an increased rigidity of demeanour, as the churchman
recalled the sacred nature of his office, and the interests he felt
commissioned to represent.
The Queen rose when he entered and greeted him courteously. They formed
a strange contrast, that pair of disputants; icy winter and leafy June,
the budding hawthorn and the gnarled oak-branch, the smiling sunbeam
and the keen north blast, could not have been more different. For a
moment they were silent, and scanned each other narrowly. Her Majesty,
as became her rank, was the first to speak.
‘I have summoned you, Master Knox,’ said she, ‘for that I would not
willingly mistrust a friend without an explanation, or condemn a
subject unheard. There is sedition abroad in Scotland, and those in
whom a Queen should put her confidence conspire to bring her authority
to nought. Master Knox, Master Knox! can you answer to your sovereign
the heavy charges brought against you?’
‘To _my_ Sovereign, and to _hers_,’ replied the Reformer, pointing
upward. ‘Confront me with mine accusers, madam, and I will put them to
open shame.’
‘Nay,’ resumed the Queen, glancing at her brother as if for support,
‘I can judge of your sedition for myself. Have you not written a book
expressly to overthrow my just government, wherein the casuistry and
lore for which you are celebrated have been employed for the worse
purpose; but which, nevertheless, I will commission the most learned
men in Europe to refute? Have you not stirred up rebellion, and even
caused bloodshed, in England, to sap the very foundations of my throne?
Have you not practised the black unhallowed art of magic, rather than
leave a stone unturned to further your cruel and undutiful enmity
against me, your Queen?’
‘Madam,’ replied the preacher, not without a certain sarcastic
admiration in his tone, ‘you are skilled in the knowledge of the
schools, and for a gentlewoman tolerably familiar with the laws
of logic and the rules of disputation. I will answer your charges
categorically and in order. If to teach the word of truth to the
discomfiture of idolatry; if to exhort the multitude to that worship
of the Spirit which is alone acceptable in the sight of Heaven; if to
fulfil the commission of _my_ Master by waging war to death against the
Roman Antichrist, to hew down root and branch, and cast into the fire
the deadly upas-tree--its breviaries, its scapularies, its masses, its
mummeries, its rank blasphemous ceremonials: if this be sedition and
rebellion, I plead guilty. If princes are not better served by those
who have cast off the yoke of the popish despot, and if subjects are
not more loyal who fear God and honour the king, than those who flatter
the crown and obey the crozier--if your Grace have not more cheerful
homage from your free Scottish people than ever your fathers enjoyed
from our priest-ridden forebears--I plead guilty. If mine enemies can
prove that one drop of blood hath ever been shed by my influence or
my consent, if they can deny that wherever I have lived, at Geneva,
in England, at Berwick, and now in Edinburgh, it has been my constant
endeavour to inculcate the doctrines of “peace and good-will,” and God
hath so blessed my labours that they have borne fruit an hundredfold--I
plead guilty. With regard to the charge of magic, I can the more easily
bear the brunt of that indictment when I mind me that my Master while
on earth was taxed with the same accusation. What said the priests?
the priests, madam, who like your own were fain to own all the wealth
and power of earth at the loss of heaven--“He casteth out devils,”
said they, “by Beelzebub, the prince of the devils.” So far as I have
striven to walk in the footsteps of my Master--so far as my weak
unworthy efforts have been directed to follow His example--to this
also I plead guilty. But if these charges fail, as fail they must when
your Grace brings your own clear-sighted reason to bear upon them,
the verdict will be “not guilty,” and the accusation of rebellion and
sedition falls to the ground.’
Mary had been listening with obvious impatience and no very close
attention. She had perhaps made up her mind beforehand. She had again
seated herself, and tapped the floor fretfully with her foot, glancing
occasionally at her brother as if to ascertain his opinion of the
controversy. Moray looked on with the calm approval of a partisan, who
thinks his own man is getting the best of it. When Knox paused, the
Queen broke in with unusual vehemence.
‘And the book? At least you cannot deny the book, nor its object, nor
its reflections on my mother and myself. Even the nice casuistry of
Master Knox cannot refine away his authorship of that “First Blast
of the Trumpet against the Monstrous Regiment of Women.” Oh! it is a
worthy title for a worthy production! and, in any other country under
heaven but this, it would have brought its writer to the block. By the
crown I wear, in a parallel case, my cousin of England would have had
it burnt by the common hangman!’
She breathed quick, and gesticulated more than was her wont. She was
lashing herself into anger, the gentle Queen, as she thought of her own
weakness and Elizabeth Tudor’s strength. Knox met her glance unmoved.
When thus embarked on the tide of argument, he was no more to be
influenced by force than persuasion; the softest eyes that ever smiled,
and the sternest brows that ever frowned, were alike to him. In the
pride of his calling, and the fierce delight of disputation, a man of
marble within and without.
‘As to the book that so angers your Majesty,’ said he, ‘I own to it
freely. Yes, I wrote it deliberately, and on reflection; nor is there a
position laid down, nor an argument adduced in the whole of it, that I
fear to establish and substantiate before any ten of the most learned
men in Europe!’
‘Then you maintain that I have no just authority even over my own
subjects?’ urged the Queen, with difficulty keeping back her tears.
‘These are all fair matters for dispute, madam,’ was his reply. ‘The
learned may surely be suffered to discuss such questions unmolested,
when they refrain from putting their theories of good government into
practice. Plato himself, as I need scarcely remind your Majesty,
argued the necessity of many reforms fundamentally opposed to the very
principles of the commonwealth in which he lived. The _litera scripta
manet_ indeed, madam; but it is for future generations; and no book
written, if left unfortified by persecution, ever yet subverted the
authority existent at the time it was composed, and against which it
may seem to have been aimed. Besides, madam,’ added the churchman,
warming into good-humour as he got into the full swing of his oratory,
‘my book was not directed so much against yourself as your namesake,
the bloody Jezebel of England, with her wicked satellites, godless
Gardiner and blaspheming Bonner, the one on her right hand, and the
other on her left! Had I meant to have troubled _your_ estate, madam,
would I not have chosen a more fitting time, and a weaker breach in the
defences, for my assault?’
‘But at least,’ resumed Mary, a little mollified by this admission,
‘ye cannot deny that ye have taught the people to follow a religion
different from that of their prince. How is this to be reconciled with
the divine command that subjects should obey their rulers? I cannot
wrestle with you in argument, Master Knox; I am but a foolish woman
after all; yet here, methinks, I have you on the hip.’
He paused a moment, like a true rhetorician, gratified at an opposition
he deemed worthy to be controverted.
‘The objection, madam,’ he answered, ‘is a fair one; yet thus do I
demolish it. True religion, it cannot be disputed, cometh from God,
and not from the king, else why are we enjoined but to honour the
latter, whilst we are to fear, and consequently obey, the former? This
is the argument positive. Of the negative, I can produce instances in
abundance. The following may be thought sufficient:--The Hebrews were
not to conform to the idolatry of Pharaoh or the self-glorification of
Nebuchadnezzar the King, nor were the primitive Christians to practise
the degrading superstitions of the Roman Emperors.’
‘Good,’ replied Mary; ‘yet we read not that Jew or Christian was
justified in resisting with the sword.’
‘The Almighty had not seen fit to give them the power,’ answered Knox.
‘Then you hold that subjects are entitled to take up arms against their
sovereign,’ proceeded Mary. ‘In good faith, Master Knox, this is a
dangerous doctrine even in these lawless times.’
‘Extreme means are allowable in extreme cases,’ was his reply; ‘the
father hath authority over his family, but if the father be seized with
madness, it is lawful for the children to rise up against him, and,
stripping him of his power, to place him under constraint, for his
safety and their own. So is it with princes, madam; and that prince
who goeth about in his frenzy to commit iniquity, must be disarmed,
deposed, and cast into prison until he hath been brought to a more
sober mind, and disciplined to submission under the will of Heaven.’
It was a bold argument to propound in a royal palace in the presence of
majesty itself. The Queen looked at her brother, astonished and aghast.
True to his part, Moray assumed an air of profound reflection and
conviction after mature thought. Again Mary felt goaded to irritation
as she wondered how Elizabeth would have brooked a similar discussion,
but she commanded herself with a strong effort, and shifted her ground
for a new attack.
‘And where shall we find this will of Heaven declared,’ argued the
Queen, ‘or who shall decide between you and me when each interprets
differently the same command?’
‘The words of Scripture and the ordinances of the Church are sufficient
for our guidance,’ replied the preacher.
‘But _your_ Church is not _mine_’, retorted the Queen. ‘I believe in
my heart the Church of Rome to be the true Church of God.’
‘Your _will_, madam,’ said the other, ‘cannot impose a _reason_,
neither doth opinion constitute argument; I am fully prepared to bear
witness against the Scarlet Woman whom ye would fain substitute for the
pure Spouse: but I will employ the weapons of controversy, in which
mine adversaries are so skilled, to do battle for the right. I will
undertake to prove, against the strongest of your priestly disputants,
that the Romish Church hath more degenerated from the truth and purity
of apostolic teaching, than the Jews from the ordinances handed down
to them by their first lawgivers--Moses and Aaron--when they shouted
to the Roman governor that he should crucify the innocent, and let
Barabbas go free.’
‘My conscience tells me it is not so,’ answered Mary. ‘I cannot contend
with you in argument, as it is neither my profession nor my pleasure;
but I have read and studied and formed my own conclusions. Why should
not my views be as clear as yours, or may we not both be right?’
‘Impossible!’ thundered Knox. ‘Ye shall come out from the ungodly, and
shall not be partakers with them--no, not of one single drop in the
cup of their abominations. There is but one straight path for monarch
and subject, the queen on her throne and the beggar at the gate. I
tell you, madam, that if you deviate from it one hair’s-breadth, you
shall be lost in the howling wilderness, and become the prey of the
raging lion. I will not concede to you one jot nor one tittle; I will
prove to you that your tenets are false, your practice sinful, and your
ceremonials blasphemous. Stone by stone will I destroy the edifice that
priestly ambition hath raised on the foundations of corruption, and
cemented with the blood of the prophets from time to time, even unto
this day. First of all, I will demolish the very keystone on which the
whole fabric rests; I will cast down the idol and trample it under
my feet; I will testify in the face of all men against the gross and
godless mummery of the mass.’
Mary looked shocked and a little scared at his vehemence; she was
irritated, too, by this unscrupulous attack on all she held most
sacred, but she controlled herself, and only replied, quietly--
‘Abuse is not argument, Master Knox; neither are assertions of much
weight until they are proved.’
He settled his gown on his shoulders, and spreading his hands before
him, proceeded to demonstrate his propositions in the manner that had
become habitual to him in the pulpit, checking off the main points of
his argument on his fingers as he proceeded.
‘Ye maintain the mass,’ said he, ‘to be a sacrifice, and, as such, to
be holy in itself, for that things are sanctified which have been once
placed upon the altar! Ye argue that in the Scriptures are to be found
antitypes that shall support this doctrine, and that Melchizedek, when
he brought out bread and wine before Abraham, prefigured the offering
which ye now esteem to be the holiest of mysteries. I will not pause
to discuss with one of your Majesty’s learning the object with which
Melchizedek brought forth these provisions, nor the arguments which may
be produced for and against the probability that he simply offered them
as refreshment to Abraham and his company. We will let this be for the
present, and proceed at once to the very root and core of the matter.
Ye shall observe, madam, that of sacrifices, there are two kinds--the
sacrifices of propitiation, and the sacrifices of thanksgiving--the
_propitiatoriæ_ and the _eucharistiæ_. Now, with regard to the
former,’----
‘Hold, sir!’ interrupted the Queen, much to the divine’s
disappointment. ‘Now ye are launched on the depths of controversial
divinity, which are too profound for me, and ye would fain confuse and
overwhelm me with your learned Latin terms; I pray your mercy. Under
favour, I shall find those who are better capable than I am of holding
their ground in argument against Master Knox.’
‘So be it, madam,’ answered the Reformer, proudly; ‘as in the dark ages
our ancestors feared not to encounter the strongest champions armed
with fleshly weapons in the lists, so shall I be found, I humbly trust,
prompt at the hour of trial to do battle in the cause of truth.’
‘Those champions, at least, turned not their weapons against a weak,
helpless woman,’ replied Mary, in a tone of considerable exasperation.
‘When they opposed their sovereign, it was to resist tyranny and
oppression: not to deprive him of his dignity, and even curtail him of
his very amusements. They fronted him boldly in the field, but they
would have scorned to wound him in his tenderest feelings, or to attack
him in the privacy of his household.’
‘Your Majesty’s shaft is well aimed,’ replied Knox; ‘yet doth it
rebound harmless from the armour of duty in which the minister of the
Word is encased. It is my calling, madam, to reprove sin from the
pulpit, whether it be found rearing its head on high in the palace, or
crawling among the sewers of the street. I tell you, Mary Stuart, that
the day will come when your masques and your music and your mummeries
shall be recorded against you in such characters of fire as roused
Belshazzar and his nobles from their last revelry on earth. In your
feastings and fiddlings and dancings, do ye remember the dance of
death, down which ye are footing it so thoughtlessly? When your ears
are tickled by the foolish squeaking of your lutes, your rebecks, or
your virginals, do ye reflect on the awful blast of the last trumpet,
and the wail of perdition coming up from the lake of fire?’
‘Then you esteem a simple, innocent measure to be an unpardonable sin?’
retorted the Queen, in high scorn. ‘Master Knox, Master Knox! is there
not a certain virtue called Charity, without which all the others are
of no avail?’
‘The guilt of the action, madam,’ answered he, argumentatively,
‘depends on the motive of the dancer. David, indeed, leaped and danced
before the ark; but it was in pious zeal and singleness of heart.
Not so, that child of sin, the daughter of Herodias, graceful and
fierce-hearted as the panther, when she danced off the head of John the
Baptist. Think ye, madam, that the walls of Holyrood will shelter the
guilty more securely than the roof of Antipas? Think ye that can be but
a harmless folly in the Queen of Scotland, which entailed the curse of
blood on that flaunting minion who so charmed and cozened the Tetrarch
of Galilee?’
‘And you dare compare me to her!’ exclaimed Mary, rising from her chair
with flashing eyes. ‘This is too much! Moray! Brother! I appeal to you!
This is too much!’
And turning away she covered her face with both hands and burst into
tears.
Even Knox could not see her thus, unmoved. He hastened to explain
away all that was most offensive in his allusions. As far as lay in
his uncompromising nature, he strove to modify the virulence of his
declamation.
‘Nay, madam,’ said he, ‘to be effectual the remedies of the physician
must be unpalatable; but I mean not to offend your Majesty, not to
be guilty of any disrespect towards your person. I would that you
could see many matters in another and a clearer light, for your own
welfare and that of your people. It is my zeal for your Majesty’s
happiness here and hereafter that makes me so stern and so unpleasant
a counsellor. I will fulfil my duty even at the risk of your Majesty’s
displeasure, and yet it grieves me in my human weakness to see your
fair face sad. It is my daily prayer that Mary Stuart should be brought
into the right path. I am an old man, madam, if not in years, in labour
and bodily infirmities. I am no courtier, ye know right well. Believe
me, I cherish no disloyalty towards your person. I would fain see you a
happy triumphant monarch, the joy of your people, the hope and stay of
the godly, a fruitful branch in the vineyard, and a second Deborah in
Israel!’
The Queen was easily mollified. A bright smile dried the tears on her
face, and she stretched her hand graciously to the zealous Reformer.
‘Ye shall advise with me from time to time, Master Knox,’ said she.
‘If I cannot compete with you in argument, I can at least equal you in
truth and sincerity, and a good-will to that which is right.’
The churchman’s stern nature was moved. He bent over the hand she gave
him, and made as though he would have touched it with his lips; then
dropped it somewhat awkwardly, and resumed with a little embarrassment.
‘I am at your Majesty’s service always, second only to His whose
minister I am. Yet I beseech you to dismiss me. I may tarry no longer;
even now I shall be blamed that I am not at my book.’
‘Ye cannot be always at your book,’ replied the Queen, smiling. ‘Doth
not Solomon tell us, “there is a time for all things?”’
‘Even so, madam,’ answered Knox, moving respectfully towards the door;
‘yet must Time himself be seized by the forelock, for his poll is bald
behind. Master Buchanan would not fail to remind your Majesty--
“Fronte capillatâ post est occasio calva.”’
The Queen either imperfectly heard or did not perfectly understand, for
she bowed her farewell without replying; but Moray, pondering on the
adage, shook his head as he murmured more to himself than to her--
‘There is a time even for seizing the time; and it is but an indiscreet
haste that would pluck the pear before it is ripe!’
As Knox traversed the ante-room in leaving the royal audience chamber,
he found the Maries sitting at work in that apartment, and paused for
an instant on his way through, to contemplate that which was in truth
a sufficiently pleasing scene. The ladies were seated in different
attitudes at their embroidery, and although, doubtless, they had been
in the full tide of conversation previously, there was a profound
silence at the moment of his entrance.
Wistfully, nay sadly, with the concerned air of one who looks on a bed
of lilies that he foresees are to be withered at night by the early
frost, the preacher gazed for an instant on this bevy of beauty ere he
uncovered his head to salute them. In doing so, his cap slipped out of
his hand to the ground, and it was curious to observe the behaviour
of the Maries at this juncture. It is needless to state that Master
Knox enjoyed but a small share of popularity amongst these ladies. As
the official reprover of all their gaieties and amusements, it may
easily be understood that they looked on him with no approving eye, and
that if they had one favourite aversion at the court, next to a wet
Valentine’s Day, it was Master John Knox.
Though of active habits, the great Reformer was somewhat stiff and
enfeebled with rheumatism; he stooped with difficulty, and for a while
could not recover his lost head-gear.
Mistress Beton, sitting bolt upright, looked straight beyond him at
the opposite wall with the air of being as unconscious of his presence
as Mary Hamilton really was. The latter had indeed been all the
morning immersed in a brown study from which it seemed impossible to
extricate her. Mistress Carmichael was not in the best of humours, and
it may be observed that her fair brow had of late been continually
clouded, and her eyes full of tears, without apparent cause. She made
not the slightest movement of assistance in the old man’s favour,
and even whispered something to Mary Seton with marked and offensive
indifference; but the latter, springing gaily from her chair, picked
up the fallen skull-cap and returned it to its owner with a pleasant
smile, which, saucy as it was, brightened her whole face, like a
sunbeam.
‘I thank thee, fair mistress,’ said Knox. ‘These old limbs of mine are
stiff now, and the time is not far off when they shall be motionless
for evermore. Your knees are young and supple; the more cause have you
to be thankful and to bend them while you can in prayer.’
‘The neck may be stiff as well as the knees,’ answered Mary Seton,
glancing meaningly towards the Queen’s chamber. ‘I hope my loyalty may
outlast my lissomeness, if I live to be as old as your reverence!’
He smiled on her sorrowfully yet kindly.
‘The young,’ said he, ‘think that they are to live for ever, and the
old hope still to live a few years longer. Fair mistress, fear God, do
your duty, and snap your fingers at the chances of life.’
Mistress Beton here interposed with stately scorn.
‘We shall scarce take lessons of Master Knox,’ said she, ‘in our duty
towards the Queen. Under favour, sir, we need none of your reverence’s
teaching in loyalty and obedience.’
He turned good-humouredly towards her, still smiling.
‘Ye are angry with me, fair ladies,’ said he, ‘and why? Because I
am too old to learn your courtly graces, and too honest to use your
courtly terms? Because I call a fig a fig, when I see one, and a spade
a spade. Nay, ye should rather prize and cherish one who can look even
on _your_ beauty without his eyes being dazzled, and tell you the truth
for your salvation, rather than a lie for your ruin.’
‘Ye speak fairly,’ answered Mary Seton, who in virtue of her previous
civility seemed to have constituted herself in some sort his
protectress. ‘Yet I warrant me ye spake not so tenderly to her Majesty
even now. I marvel that ye are not abashed to look thus boldly in the
face of an anointed Queen!’
‘Nay, young lady,’ answered the preacher, in a tone of pleasant humour,
‘why should the fair face of a gentlewoman frighten me, who have
fronted many angry men? Think ye a bonny brow, unscored by guilt, can
be an object of terror, whether it be crowned with a circle of gold
like hers, or a wealth of bright hair like your own? No, no, the old
man can neither be coaxed nor frightened from doing his duty.’
The Maries looked from one to the other in uncertainty. Knox had
obviously gained their attention, and he added a few words with a good
motive.
‘I tell ye the truth, fair ladies,’ said he, preparing to withdraw.
‘Better take it from me than the truth-teller to whom ye must listen
some day, whether ye will or no. Ay! what a goodly life were this if it
could last for ever, or if we might but pass to heaven with all this
gay gear; but out upon the knave death! that cometh whether we will or
no, and strippeth us of all, and taketh us we know not where! Prepare
yourselves for him now, fair ladies, while he is afar, so when he
cometh ye shall be found watching, and may laugh in his face.’
His admonition was well meant and received with sufficient decorum, but
the impression soon faded away, for he had not been gone five minutes
ere they fell to discussing his outward appearance, the severity of his
manners, the fashion of his garments, and the general unloveliness of
his demeanour.