THE COURT OF SCOTLAND
A lady, the wonder of her kind,
Whose form was upborne by a lovely mind;
Which dilating had moulded her mien and motion,
Like a sea-flower unfolded beneath the ocean.
SHELLEY.
A few days made it apparent that York acquired a stronger power over the
generous and amiable king of Scotland, than could be given by motives of
state policy. He became his friend; no empty name with James, whose
ardent soul poured itself headlong into this new channel, and revelled
in a kind of ecstasy in the virtues and accomplishments of his favoured
guest. Both these princes were magnanimous and honourable, full of
grandeur of purpose, and gentleness of manner; united by these main
qualities, the diversities of their dispositions served rather to draw
them closer. Though Richard's adventures and disasters had been so many,
his countenance, his very mind was less careworn than that of James. The
White Rose, even in adversity, was the nursling of love; the Scottish
prince, in his palace-fostered childhood, had been the object of his
father's hatred and suspicion: cabal, violence, and duplicity had waited
on him. James governed those around him by demonstrating to them, that
it was their interest to obey a watchful, loving, generous monarch:
Richard's power was addressed to the most exalted emotions of the human
heart, to the fidelity, self-devotion, and chivalric attachment of his
adherents. James drew towards himself the confidence of men; Richard
bestowed his own upon them. James was winning from his courtesy, Richard
from his ingenuousness. Remorse had printed a fadeless stamp of thought
and pain on the king's countenance; an internal self-communion and
self-rebuke were seated in the deep shadows of his thoughtful eyes.
Richard's sorrow for the disasters he might be said to have occasioned
his friends, his disdain of his own vagabond position, his sadness when
his winged thoughts flew after the Adalid, to hover over his sweet
Monina; all these emotions were tinged by respect for the virtues of
those around him, conscious rectitude, pious resignation to Providence,
gratitude to his friends, and a tender admiration of the virgin virtues
of her he loved: so that there arose thence only a softer expression for
his features, a sweetness in the candour of his smile, a gentle
fascination in his frank address, that gave at once the stamp of
elevated feeling and goodness to his mien. He looked innocent, while
James's aspect gave token, that in his heart good and ill had waged war:
the better side had conquered, yet had not come off scathless from the
fight.
In the first enthusiasm of his new attachment, James was eager to lavish
on his friend every mark of his favour and interest; he was obliged to
check his impatience, and to submit to the necessity of consulting with
and deferring to others. His promises, though large, continued therefore
to be vague; and York knew that he had several enemies at the
council-board. The intimacy between him and the king prevented him from
entertaining any doubts as to the result; but he had a difficult task in
communicating this spirit of patient forbearance to his friends.
Sometimes they took sudden fright, lest they should all at once meet a
denial to their desires; sometimes they were indignant at the delays
that were interposed. None was more open in his expressions of
discontent than Master Secretary Frion. He who had been the soul of
every enterprise until now, who had fancied that his talents for
negotiation would be of infinite avail in the Scottish court, found that
the friendship between the princes, and Richard's disdain of artfully
enticing to his side his host's noble subjects, destroyed at once his
diplomatic weaving. He craftily increased the discontent of the proud
Neville, the disquietude of the zealous Lady Brampton, and the turbulent
intolerance of repose of Lord Barry; while Richard, on the other hand,
exerted himself to tranquillize and reduce them to reason: he was
sanguine in his expectations, and above all, confident in his friend's
sincere intention to do more than merely assist him by force of arms. He
saw a thousand projects at work in James's generous heart, every one
tending to exalt him in the eyes of the world, and to rescue him for
ever from the nameless, fugitive position he occupied. Nor was his
constant intercourse with the king of small influence over his
happiness; the genius, the versatile talents, the grace and
accomplishments of this sovereign, the equality and sympathy that
reigned between them, was an exhaustless source of more than amusement,
of interest and delight. The friends of James became his friends: Sir
Patrick Hamilton was chief among these, and warmly attached to the
English prince: another, whom at first ceremony had placed at a greater
distance from him, grew into an object of intense interest and continual
excitation.
"This evening," said the king to him, soon after his arrival, "you will
see the flower of our Scottish damsels, the flower of the world well may
I call her; for assuredly, when you see the Lady Katherine Gordon, you
will allow that she is matchless among women."
Richard was surprised: did James's devotion to Lady Jane Kennedy, nay,
his conscious look whenever he mentioned her, mean nothing? Besides, on
this appeal to his own judgment, he pictured his soft-eyed Spaniard,
with all her vivacity and all her tenderness, and he revolted from the
idea of being the slave of any other beauty. "Speak to our guest, Sir
Patrick," continued the king, "and describe the fair earthly angel who
makes a heaven of our bleak wilds; or rather, for his highness might
suspect you, let me, not her lover, but her cousin, her admirer, her
friend, tell half the charms, half the virtues of the daughter of
Huntley. Is it not strange that I, who have seen her each day since
childhood, and who still gaze with wonder on her beauty, should yet find
that words fail me when I would paint it? I am apt to see, and ready to
praise, the delicate arch of this lady's brow, the fire of another's
eyes, another's pouting lip and fair complexion, the gay animation of
one, the chiselled symmetry of a second. Often, when our dear Lady Kate
has sat, as is often her wont, retired from sight, conversing with some
travelled greybeard, or paying the homage of attention to some ancient
dame (of late I have remarked her often in discourse with Lady
Brampton), I have studied her face and person to discover where the
overpowering charm exists, which, like a strain of impassioned music,
electrifies the senses, and touches the hearts of all near her. Is it in
her eyes? A poet might dream of dark blue orbs like hers, and that he
had kissed eyelids soft as those, when he came unawares on the repose of
young Aurora, and go mad for ever after, because it was only a dream:
yet I have seen brighter; nor are they languishing. Her lips, yes, the
soul of beauty is there, and so is it in her dimpled chin. In the
delicate rounding of her cheeks, and the swanlike loveliness of her
throat, in the soft ringlets of her glossy hair, down to the very tips
of her roseate-tinged fingers, there is proportion, expression, and
grace. You will hardly see all this: at first you will be struck;
extreme beauty must strike; but your second thought will be, to wonder
what struck you, and then you will look around, and see twenty prettier
and more attractive; and then, why, at the first words she speaks, you
will fancy it an easy thing to die upon the mere thought of her: her
voice alone will take you out of yourself, and carry you into another
state of being. She is simple as a child, straightforward, direct:
falsehood--pah! Katherine _is_ Truth. This simplicity, which knows
neither colouring nor deviation, might almost make you fear, while you
adore her, but that her goodness brings you back to love. She is good,
almost beyond the consciousness of being so: she is good because she
gives herself entirely up to sympathy; and, beyond every other, she
dives into the sources of your pleasures and pains, and takes a part in
them. The better part of yourself will, when she speaks, appear to leap
out, as if, for the first time, it found its other half; while the worse
is mute, like a stricken dog, before her. She is gay, more eager to
create pleasure than to please; for to please, we must think of
ourselves, and be ourselves the hero of the story, and Katherine is ever
forgetful of self: she is guileless and gall-less; all love her; her
proud father, and fiery, contentious Highland brothers, defer to her;
yet, to look at her, it is as if the youngest and most innocent of the
graces read a page of wisdom's book, scarce understanding what it meant,
but feeling that it was right."
It was dangerous to provoke the spirit of criticism by excessive praise;
Richard felt half inclined to assert that there was something in the
style of the king's painting that showed he should not like this lauded
lady; but she was his cousin, he was proud of her, and so he was silent.
There was a ball at court that night; and he would see many he had never
seen before; James made it a point that he should discover which was his
cousin. He could not mistake. "She is loveliness itself!" burst from his
lips; and from that moment he felt what James had said, that there was a
"music breathing from her face," an unearthly, spirit-stirring beauty,
that inspired awe, had not her perfect want of pretension, her quite,
unassuming simplicity, at once led him back to every thought associated
with the charms and virtues of woman. Lady Brampton was already a link
between them; and, in a few minutes, he found himself conversing with
more unreserve and pleasure than he had ever done. There are two
pleasures in our intercourse in society, one is to listen, another to
speak. We may frequently meet agreeable, entertaining people, and even
sometimes individuals, whose conversation, either by its wit, its
profundity, or its variety, commands our whole rapt attention: but very
seldom during the course of our lives do we meet those who thaw every
lingering particle of ice, who set the warm life-springs flowing, and
entice us, with our hearts upon our lips, to give utterance to its most
secret mysteries; to disentangle every knot and fold of thought, and,
like sea-weed in the wave, to spread the disregarded herbage, as a
tracery matchlessly fair before another's eyes. Such pleasure Richard
felt with Katherine; and, ever and anon, her melodious voice interposed
with some remark, some explanation of his own feelings, at once
brilliant and true.
Richard knew that Sir Patrick Hamilton loved the Lady Katherine Gordon;
he also was related to the royal family. Hamilton, in the eyes of all,
fair ladies and sage counsellors, was acknowledged to be the most
perfect knight of Scotland; what obstacle could there be to their union?
Probably it was already projected, and acceded to. Richard did not
derogate from the faith that he told himself he owed to Monina, by
cultivating a friendship for the promised bride of another, and moreover
one whom, after the interval of a few short months, he would never see
again. Satisfied with this reasoning, York lost no opportunity of
devoting himself to the Lady Katherine.
His interests were the continual subject of discussion in the royal
counsel-chamber. There were a few who did not speak in his favour. The
principal of these was the earl of Moray, the king's uncle: the least in
consideration, for he was not of the council, though he influenced it:
but the bitterest in feeling, was Sir John Ramsey, laird of Balmayne,
who styled himself Lord Bothwell. He had been a favourite of James the
Third. His dark, fierce temper was exasperated by his master's death,
and he brooded perpetually for revenge. He had once, with several other
nobles, entered into a conspiracy to deliver up the present king to
Henry the Seventh; and the traitorous intent was defeated, not from want
of will, but want of power in his abettors. Since then, Lord Bothwell,
though nominally banished and attainted, was suffered to live in
Edinburgh, nay, to have access to the royal person. James, whose
conscience suffered so dearly by the death of his father, had no desire
to display severity towards his ancient faithful servant; besides, one
who was really so insignificant as Sir John Ramsey. This man was
turbulent, dissatisfied: he was sold to Henry of England, and had long
acted as a spy; the appearance of York at Edinburgh gave activity and
importance to his function: his secret influence and covert intrigues
retarded somewhat the projects and desires of the king.
When the first opposition made to acknowledging this pretender to the
English crown was set aside, other difficulties ensued. Some of the
counsellors were for making hard conditions with the young duke, saying,
that half a kingdom were gift enough to a Prince Lackland: a golden
opportunity was this, they averred, to slice away a bonny county or two
from wide England; he whom they gifted with the rest could hardly say
them nay. But James was indignant at the base proposal, and felt
mortified and vexed when obliged to concede in part, and to make
conditions which he thought hard with his guest. After a noisy debate,
these propositions were drawn out, and York was invited to attend the
council, where they were submitted for his assent.
These conditions principally consisted in the surrender of Berwick, and
the promised payment of one hundred thousand marks. They were hard; for
it would touch the new monarch's honour not to dismember his kingdom;
and it were his policy not to burden himself with a debt which his
already, oppressed subjects must be drawn on to pay. The duke asked for
a day for consideration, which was readily granted.
With real zeal for his cause on one side, and perfect confidence in his
friends' integrity on the other, these difficulties became merely
nominal, and the treaty was speedily arranged. But the month of
September was near its close; a winter campaign would be of small avail:
money, arms, and trained men, were wanting. The winter was to be devoted
to preparation; with the spring the Scottish army was to pass the
English border. In every discussion, in every act, James acted as his
guest's brother, the sharer of his risks and fortunes: one will, one
desire, was theirs. Sir Patrick Hamilton went into the west to raise
levies: no, third person interposed between them. It was the king's
disposition to yield himself wholly up to the passion of the hour. He
saw in Richard, not only a prince deprived of his own, and driven into
exile, but a youth of royal lineage, exposed to the opprobium of
nicknames and the accusation of imposture. The king of France
acknowledged, but he had deserted him: the archduke had done the same:
how could James prove that he would not follow in these steps? He levied
the armies of his kingdom in his favour; he was to fight and conquer for
him next spring. The intervening months were intolerable to the fervent
spirit of the Stuart--something speedy, something now, he longed, he
resolved to do; which, with a trumpet-note, should to all corners of the
world declare, that he upheld Richard of York's right--that he was his
defender, his champion. Once he penned a universal challenge, then
another especially addressed to Henry Tudor; but his invasion were a
better mode than this. Should he give him rank in Scotland?--that would
ill beseem one who aspired to the English crown. Should he proclaim him
Richard the Fourth in Edinburgh?--York strongly objected to this.
Money?--it were a base gilding; besides, James was very poor, and had
melted down his plate, and put his jewels to pawn, to furnish forth the
intended expedition. Yet there was one way,--the idea was as
lightning--James felt satisfied and proud; and then devoted all his
sagacity, all his influence, all his ardent soul, to the accomplishment
of a plan, which, while it insured young Richard's happiness, stamped
him indelibly as being no vagabond impostor, but the honoured prince,
the kinsman and ally of Scotland's royal house.
King James and the duke of York had ridden out to inspect a Lowland
regiment, which the earl of Angus proudly displayed as the force of the
Douglas. As they returned, James was melancholy and meditative. "It is
strange and hard to endure," he said at last, fixing on his companion
his eyes at once so full of fire and thought, "when two spirits contend
within the little microcosm of man. I felt joy at sight of those bold
followers of the Douglas, to think that your enemy could not resist
them; but I do myself foolish service, when I place you on the English
throne. You will leave us, my lord: you will learn in your bonny realm
to despise our barren wilds: it will be irksome to you in prosperity, to
think of your friends of the dark hour."
There was sincerity in these expressions, but exaggeration in the
feelings that dictated them. Richard felt half-embarrassed, in spite of
gratitude and friendship. The king, following the bent of his own
thoughts, not those of others, suddenly continued: "Our cousin Kate at
last, finds grace in your eyes; is she not good and beautiful, all cold
and passionless as she is?"
"Cold!" the Lady Katherine, whose heartfelt sympathy, was a sunny clime
in which he basked--whose sensibility perpetually varied the bright
expression of her features--York repeated the word in astonishment.
"Thou findest her wax?" inquired James, smiling; "by my troth, she has
proved but marble before."
"I cannot guess even at your meaning," replied York, with all the warmth
of a champion; "the lady is in the estimation of all, in your own
account, the best daughter, the most devoted friend, the kindest
mistress in the world. How can we call that spirit cold, which animates
her to these acts? It is not easy to perform, as she does, our simplest
duties. How much of self-will, of engrossing humour, even of our
innocent desires and cherished tastes, must we not sacrifice, when we
devote ourselves to the pleasure and service of others? How much
attention does it not require, how sleepless a feeling of interest,
merely to perceive and understand the moods and wishes of those around
us! An inert, sluggish nature, half ice, half rock, cannot do this. To
achieve it, as methinks your fair kinswoman does, requires all her
understanding, all her sweetness, all that exquisite tact and
penetrative feeling I never saw but in her."
"I am glad you say this," said James. "Yes, Kate has a warm heart: none
has a better right to say so than I. There are--there were times, for
the gloom of the dark hour is somewhat mitigated--when no priest, no
penance, had such power over me as my cousin Katherine's sweet voice.
Like a witch she dived into the recesses of my heart, plucking thence my
unholy distrust in God's mercy. By St. Andrew! when I look at her, all
simple and gentle as she is, I wonder in what part of her resides the
wisdom and the eloquence I have heard fall from her lips; nor have I had
the heart to reprove her, when I have been angered to see our cousin Sir
Patrick driven mad by her sugared courtesies."
"Does she not affect Sir Patrick?" asked Richard, while he wondered at
the thrilling sensation of fear that accompanied his words.
"'Yea, heartily,' she will reply," replied the king; "'Would you have me
disdain our kinsman?' she asks when I rail; but you, who are of gender
masculine, though, by the mass! a smooth specimen of our rough kind,
know full well that pride and impertinence are better than equable,
smiling, impenetrable sweetness. Did the lady of my love treat me thus,
'sdeath, I think I should order myself the rack for pastime. But we
forget ourselves; push on, dear prince. It is the hour, when the hawks
and their fair mistresses are to meet us on the hill's side. I serve no
such glassy damsel; nor would I that little Kennedy's eye darted fires
on me in scorn of ray delay. Are not my pretty Lady Jane's eyes bright,
Sir Duke?"
"As a fire-fly among dark-leaved myrtles."
"Or a dew-drop on the heather, when the morning sun glances on it, as we
take our mountain morning-way to the chase. You look grave, my friend;
surely her eyes are nought save as nature's miracle to you?"
"Assuredly not," replied York; "are they other to your majesty--you do
not love the lady?"
"Oh, no!" reiterated James, with a meaning glance, "I do not love the
Lady Jane; only I would bathe in fire, bask in ice, do each and every
impossibility woman's caprice could frame for trials to gain--but I
talk wildly to a youthful sage. Say, most revered anchorite, wherefore
doubt you my love to my pretty mistress?"
"Love!" exclaimed Richard; his eyes grew lustrous in their own soft dew
as he spoke. "Oh, what profanation is this! And this you think is love!
to select a young, innocent, and beauteous girl--who, did she wed her
equal, would become an honoured wife and happy mother--to select her,
the more entirely to deprive her of these blessings--to bar her out for
ever from a woman's paradise, a happy home; you, who even now are in
treaty for a princess-bride, would entice this young thing to give up
her heart, her all, into your hands, who will crush it, as boys a gaudy
butterfly, when the chase is over. Dear my lord, spare her the
pain--yourself remorse; you are too good, too wise, too generous, to
commit this deed and not to suffer bitterly."
A cloud came over James's features. The very word "remorse" was a sound
of terror to him. He smote his right hand against his side, where dwelt
his heart, in sore neighbourhood to the iron of his penance.
At this moment, sweeping down the near hill-side, came a gallant array
of ladies and courtiers. The king even lagged behind; when near, he
accosted Katherine, he spoke to the earl of Angus, to Mary Boyd, to all
save the Lady Jane, who first looked disdainful, then hurt, and, at
last, unable to straggle with her pain, rode sorrowfully apart. James
tried to see, to feel nothing. Her pride he resisted, her anger he
strove to contemn, her dejection he could not endure: and, when riding
up to her unaware, he saw the traces of tears on her cheek, usually so
sunny bright with smiles, he forgot everything save his wish to console,
to mollify, to cheer her. As they returned, his hand was on her
saddle-bow, his head bent down, his eyes looking into hers, and she was
smiling, though less gay than usual. From that hour James less coveted
the prince's society. He began a little to fear him: not the less did he
love and esteem him; and more, far more, did he deem him worthy of the
honour, the happiness he intended to bestow upon him.