butterfly or an Indian bird, was born alone for the sunshine and the
most flowery paths of life! He saw her robbed of her purity and
sweetness--crushed like a rose beneath the coil of a snake; and fancy
painted her in a prison like his own, sad, solitary, and
desolate--broken in heart, and crushed in spirit--blighted in name and
fame and honour--withered in hope, and faded in form--a household word
of scorn to the cruel and the factious, and all by him--by him, who had
loved her so madly and so wickedly.
These thoughts poured like a current through the floodgate of memory;
each and all came back with returning consciousness; and gradually his
career arose before him, like one stupendous curse.
He sighed heavily.
"God be with thee, thou sinful and vainglorious--thou rash and
headstrong--lord!" said the priest; "now thou seest to what thy manifold
transgressions against the blessed law have brought thee."
"It was my doom--my destiny," replied the Earl, pressing his bony hands
upon his thin, wan temples.
"Nay, Lord Earl," replied the other, in a sad and broken accent; "unless
it be that a man maketh his own destiny, as assuredly thou didst thine."
"And who," he asked, endeavouring to pierce the gloom with his hopeless
eye; "who art thou that speakest thus to Bothwell?"
"One, in other days, Lord Bothwell's steadfast friend. I am John
Hepburn of Bolton--hast thou quite forgotten me? I was long the partner
of thy folly--the abettor of thine insane ambition--the partaker of thy
damning guilt! _O miserere mei Deus!_"
"Oh, Bolton! John of Bolton!" exclaimed the fettered Earl, bursting
into tears, and stretching forth his thin worn hands, which the priest
grasped with fervour; "I know thee now--and where I am, and _what_ I am.
And thou art now a priest? Oh, how much thou art to be envied!
Years--years have gone past me as the wind passes over the ocean. As
the waves arise and sink, these years have come and gone, and have left
no trace on my memory. But I feel that I am dying now!" he exclaimed in
an unearthly voice; "Oh, God of my fathers! look down with pity on me,
the most abject of their race! Oh, John of Bolton! if Heaven should be
as unforgiving as earth--if God should be as inexorable as man!"
"Think not so, Bothwell"----
"Oh! it were indeed better that I should perish altogether, and pass
into oblivion."
"Say not so," replied Bolton; "behold the flowers of the field, and the
fruits of the earth; they spring up--they bloom--they wither, and die,
but only to be reproduced at another season, more beautiful and blooming
than before. So it is with men--and so will it be with thee. All human
memory is freighted with care and sad remembrance"----
"But few with such remorse as mine."
"This contrition and grief are good," replied the priest, as, with
kindling eyes, he pointed upwards to Heaven; "by perishing thou shalt be
preserved, and die but to be renewed for ever, and in such glory as the
mind of angels can alone conceive; for He who is above us, beareth aloft
those scales, from which, on one hand, he metes out eternal life to the
good and contrite--on the other, the eternal punishment to the
unrepentant."
"Thou hast been lately in Scotland," said the Earl abruptly.
"Nay; not for ten long years," replied the priest calmly.
"Ten, ten!" reiterated Bothwell, passing his hands across his brow; "and
what of Mary?"
"She is still a captive, with the axe of the English queen hanging over
her devoted head."
Bothwell started, as if he would have leaped from the ground; but his
strength failed him, and he sank heavily on the straw among which he was
chained.
"My energies, so briefly gained, are sinking fast again; but ere they
leave me, and perhaps for ever--oh! thou who art a priest, bless me, for
I have sinned! Hear my confession--let it be written out, and attested
by the captain of my prison, that my last earthly act may be one of
justice to her whom I have so deeply wronged. Oh, John of Bolton! thou
knowest well that she was the most innocent and artless of all God's
creatures! Quick, quick! as an atonement to her, and to the world, for
all I have done--hasten, ere it be too late!" cried the Earl sinking
back, overcome by weakness and despair.
The friar knocked hurriedly on the dungeon door; it was opened by a
Danish pikeman, who, by his request, hastened to summon the attendance
of Biern Gowes, the castellan of Malmoe and governor of Draxholm.
Unwillingly he came, accompanied by Christian Alborg, Otto Brawe,
captain of the king's castle of Ottenbrocht, Baron Gullemstierne, and
others, with whom he had been drinking skiedam, till their faces, where
visible through their red Danish beards and outrageous whiskers, were
flushed like scarlet--and in their presence, that document now so well
known, the CONFESSION of Bothwell's many crimes, and Mary's innocence of
all that she had ever been accused of, was written, attested, and sealed
up for transmission to King Frederick.
What a subject for a picture would this episode have formed!
That dreary vault of red granite, half-veiled in dusky obscurity, save
where the moonlight struggled through a narrow slit on one hand; while,
on the other, the flickering light of a single torch shed its fitful
glare on the unearthly form of the dying Earl--hollow-eyed, pale, and
attenuated to a skeleton--chained by the waist to his bed of straw, and
sinking fast, with the death rattle almost in his throat; the bald head
and dark robe of the priest, who knelt by his side writing down his
dying words--that priest in other days his friend and knightly
comrade--on the tall, burly figures of the sleepy Danish governor and
his friends, with their long beards, and fantastic costumes trimmed with
sable fur, stooping over the sputtering torch, to hear the faint but
terrible words of those pale lips that were about to close for ever.
"Now, blessed be God, it is done!" cried the Earl, closing his eyes;
"for I feel that I am passing from among you. I am dying! Oh, John of
Bolton! in this dread moment let me think that thou at least will stand
by my grave--will say one prayer for my soul; and, in memory of the days
of other years, will remember me with pity and forgiveness!"
Bolton pressed his clammy hand, but there was no return, for the jaw
relaxed, and the eyes turned back within their sockets, announced that
the soul of the Earl had fled.
* * * * * * * *
His grave lay under the old castle wall, in a lonely little dell.
It was shaded by the light leaves of the dwarf-birch and the purple
flowers of the lilac tree; the blue forget-me-not, the white strawberry,
and the yellow daisy, were planted there by the kind-hearted Swedes, in
memory of the poor stranger that had found a grave so far from his home,
and from where the dust of his forefathers lay.
On St. Bothan's eve, for many a returning year, a wandering priest was
seen to kneel beside that lonely grave, with eyes downcast, and a
crucifix in his clasped hands; and after praying he would go sadly away,
but whither no one knew.
Year after year passed on, and still he came to offer up that promised
prayer for the repose of the dead man's soul; though on the grave the
weeds grew long and rank, and he who lay within it had long since
mingled with the dust.
Those who first remembered the priest when they were little children,
saw him still returning when they were men and women in the prime of
life--but then he was decrepit and old.
The last time he was seen was in the reign of King Christian IV., about
the year 1622. His form was then bent with extreme old age, and he
leaned upon a staff; his hair was thin and white--his cheeks were
hollow, and he wept as he prayed.
He gazed long and wistfully at the grassy tomb, and tottered away to
return no more.
Where that poor priest died, no man knew.
And there lay the deserted grave in its loneliness, by the shore of the
northern sea, with the long grass waving on its solemn ridge, till in
time it became flattened and effaced, and its memory was forgotten; for
no kind hand ever raised a stone to mark where that memorable instance
of ambition and misrule, the last Earl of the old line of Hailes and
Bothwell, lay.
*NOTES.*
*ANNA ROSENKRANTZ.*
The foregoing story has been conceived from a passage in SUHM'S
"SAMLINGES," or Collections for the History of Denmark.
As stated in the romance, there is every reason to believe that James
Hepburn, the famous Earl of Bothwell, was married early in life to a
Norwegian lady, Anne Throndson (daughter of Christopher Throndson),
prior to his marriage with Lady Jean Gordon, of the house of Huntly, and
that his possessing, by her, certain lands in Orkney, was the reason for
his obtaining the Dukedom of these Isles in 1567.--(See _Les Affaires du
Conte de Boduel_: Bannatyne Club.)
After his battle with, and defeat at sea by, the celebrated Sir William
Kirkaldy of Grange, Bothwell entered Karmesound, a harbour between the
island of Karm and the mainland, where he was found by Captain Christian
Alborg, commander of the _Biornen_, or Great Bear, a Danish ship of war.
He immediately demanded Bothwell's passports and licence for sailing
with flag displayed and cannon bent in the Danish seas; and, failing
their production, requested the Earl to follow him to Bergen up the
Jelta Fiord. In his declaration or report, Alborg states, "That among
the Scottish crew there was one dressed in old torn and patched
boatswain's clothes, who, some time afterwards, stated himself to be the
supreme ruler of all Scotland."
This was the Earl, with whom he reached the castle of Bergen on the 2nd
September, 1567.
The governor of the castle and province, as stated in the romance, was
Erick Rosenkrantz, a wealthy Danish noble, who, on the captain's report,
appointed a committee of twenty-four gentlemen to examine the captive.
They met on the 23rd September; among them were the bishop and four
councillors of Bergen, who successively questioned Bothwell. He
requested and obtained leave to reside in the city. Among his
followers, we are told, there was found "one David Wood, a famous
pirate."
Magister Absalom Beyer, the minister of Bergen, who has left behind him
a diary, called _The Chapter Book_, extending from the year 1533 to
1570, recorded the following, which is extracted from SUHM'S
"SAMLINGES."
"1567, _September_ 2--Came in (to Bergen harbour) the ship _Royal
David_, of which Christian Alborg is captain. He had captured a
Scottish noble, named James Hepburn, Earl of Bothwell, Duke of Orkney
and Shetland, who had been wedded to the Queen of Scotland. He was
suspected to have been in the plot against the King's life. The Council
of the kingdom having revolted against the Queen, this Earl escaped, and
has come hither to Norway.
"1567, _September_ 17--I upbraided the Lady Anne, the daughter of
Christopher Throndson, that the Earl of Bothwell had taken her from her
native country, and yet would not keep her as his lawful wife, which he
had promised her to do, with hand, mouth, and letters, which letters she
caused to be read before him; and, whereas, he has three wives
living--firstly, herself--secondly, another in Scotland, from whom he
has bought (divorced?) himself--and, thirdly, Queen Mary. The Lady Anne
opined, 'that he was good for nothing.' Then he promised her an annual
rent of a hundred dollars from Scotland, and a ship with all her anchors
and cordage complete.
"1567, _September_ 25--The Earl went to the Castle, where Erick
Rosenkrantz did him great honour.
"1567, _September_ 28--Erick Rosenkrantz made a splendid banquet for the
Earl and his followers.
"1567, _September_ 30--The Earl departed on board the David, and was
carried captive into Denmark, _where he yet remains_ in the Castle of
Malmo at this time, 1568.
"1567, _October_ 10--Part of the Earl's men were returned to Scotland,
on beard a small pink which Erick Rosenkrantz lent them, and, it is
said, they were all put to death on their landing."
The only discrepancy lies in one statement of the Magister and the
Committee; the former calls the Danish ship, the David; the latter,
_Biornen_; but probably the Captain Alborg commanded two bearing these
names.
From other passages in the diary, we find that so early as 1563, Lady
Anna Rosenkrantz moved in the best circle in the province (which she
could not have done as Bothwell's mistress); and also that she was
usually named _Skottefruin_, or the Scottish lady. Her second sister,
Dorothy, was married to John Stewart, a gentleman of Shetland; and the
third, Else', was thrice married--the last time to Axel Mouatt, a
Scottish gentleman settled in Norway.
The song sung by Anna in the first volume, is an old Norse or Lapland
ballad, and is taken from Consett's _Remarks_ in a Tour through Lapland.
*II.--THE QUEEN'S APOTHECARY.*
Three documents are still preserved in the General Register House of
Edinburgh, from which we learn the name of this person, and other
interesting items concerning that murder in the Kirk-of-Field, which
bears so prominent a place in the romance.
On the 12th February, this precept, written by the Earl of Huntly, was
issued by the Queen's order to Mr Robert Richardson, treasurer of
Scotland, to pay L40 for perfuming the King's body.
"My Lord Thesaurar, forsamekle as the Queenis Majestie and Counsell has
direckett ane Pottinger and Schirurgen to caus perfume the Kingis body,
and in respect that there is syndri thingis requirit to the samyn
quhilkis thay hadde nocht, heirfore the Queenis Majestie has ordanit me
to advertis you, that ye cans delyver fourtie pundis for performance of
sick necessars as appertenis thairtill, quhilkis sal be allouit to you,
and delyver the same to the Pottinger, and tak his vritting thairon; and
for my awin part, I vald pray you effectualy that the said soume war
perfarmit with diligence and delyverit in all haist, in respect the same
rynis to the Queenis Majesties honor and the hale cuntrey.
"At the Palyce of Halirudhous, the xij. februar, 1566.
"Your L. guid freind, HUNTLYE."
"To my Lord Thesraur."
(In dorso.)
"Je, Martin Picauet, appore de la Royne de Scosse, Douairiere de France,
confesse auair Recu de Mr. Robert Richardson, tresorier des finances de
la diste dame, la soume de quatre vintz livres Tourn., pour la
fourniture des drogues pour l'ambamemente de Roy, de la quelle soume
prometz en tenir compt au dist tresoreir, et a tous auttres Tesmointz
mon seing Manuel cy mis le xij., jour de februier mil cinq cent soixante
et six, auant pasques.
"E. PICAUET."
The High Treasurer's Accounts contain two interesting entries for the
above purpose,
"_Item_, the xij. day of Februar, be the Queenis grace's speciall
command to _Martine Picauet_, ypothegar, to mak furnesing of droggis,
spices, and utheris necessaris for oppining and perfuming of the Kingis
grace Majesties umquhile bodie, as his acquittance shawin upon compt
beris, ... xl. li.
"_Item_, for colis, tubbis, hardis, barrellis, and utheris necessaris
preparit for bowalling of the Kingis grace. ... xlvj. s."
For more information concerning this, see the third volume of
ARCHAEOLOGIA SCOTICA, from which this is taken.
*III.--QUEEN MARY'S ARCHERS.*
"The Archearis of our Soverane Ladyis Gaird," seem to have numbered only
seventy-five on their muster roll, in the books of the Comptroller and
Collector of the Thirds of Benefices, 1st April, 1562. The pay list is
as follows:--
"*Item*, To the Captain of the Guard, . . . . . v. c. lib.
"To Robert Stewart, Ensign, . . . . . . . . . . j. c. l. lib.
"To Corporal Jenat . . . . . . . . . . . . . . l. v. li.
"To Captain Bello . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . j. c. lib.
"To Captain Hew Lawder . . . . . . . . . . . . lxxv. lib."
Six Frenchmen, Dionese and Charles La Brone, Duval, La Bram, La Fram,
Savoy, and a Trumpeter, appear on the list.
This garde-du-corps, which were enrolled under Sir Arthur Erskine, 1st
April, 1562, or not quite a year after the Queen's return from France,
continued under pay till 1567, when they were disbanded on her
imprisonment in Lochleven. See the _Maitland Club Miscellany_.
*IV.--BOTHWELL.*
The following document is so little known, and so immediately relates to
the melancholy fate of the unhappy hero of these pages, that an apology
is almost unnecessary for presenting it here to the reader. It is the
royal order for imprisoning him in the Castle of Malmoe:--
_Til Biorn Kaas_.
"FREDERICK--Be it known unto you, that we have ordered our well-beloved
Peder Oxe, our man, Councillor and Marshall of the Kingdom of Denmark,
to send the Scottish Earl, who resides in the Castle of Copenhagen, over
to our Castle of Malmo, where he is to remain for some time. Therefore
we request of you, that you will prepare the same vaulted room in the
Castle where the Marshal Eyler Hardenberg had his apartment; and that
you will cover with mason-work the private place in the same chamber;
and where the iron bars of the windows may not be sufficiently strong
and well guarded, that you will have them repaired; and when he arrives,
that you will put him in the said chamber, give him a bed and good
entertainment, as Peder Oxe will further direct and advise you; and that
you, _before all things_, will keep a strong guard, and hold in good
security, the said Earl, as you may best devise, in order that he shall
not escape.
"THER MET SKEER WOR WILGE. (Thereby our will is done.)
"Written at Fredericksborg, the 28th day of December, of the year after
the birth of Christ, 1567."
(See _Les Affaires du Conte de Boduel_, 4to.)
END OF VOL. III.
M'CORQUODALE AND CO., PRINTERS, LONDON.
WORKS, NEWTON.