profound respect--"ane that we think's no very wise. He's been bletherin
awa there to himsel, saving yer honour's presence, like a bubbly-jock,
for this half-hour back, and we can neither mak tap, tail, nor mane o'
what he's sayin."
"What! a madman, Johnstone?" said the Earl of Murray, the queen's
half-brother, for it was no less a personage; then hurriedly added, "Who
is he?--what is he?--where is he from?--when came he hither?"
The man answered categorically--
"I dinna ken, my lord, wha he is; but, frae the thinness o' his chafts,
I tak him to be ane o' your French laun-loupers. He cam to the palace
about twa hours syne."
The earl's curiosity was now still further excited, and, without saying
a word more, he drew near to the door of Chatelard's apartment, and
became also an auditor of the poor poet's unguarded language; but not
such as it was in the case of the listeners who had preceded him; to him
that language was perfectly intelligible--at least to the extent of
informing him of Chatelard's ambitious love. To Murray this was a secret
worth knowing; and, in the hope that he might discover this attachment
to be reciprocal, and thus acquire an additional influence over the
queen, his sister, at the expense of her reputation, he considered it a
singularly fortunate incident. Perhaps he expected that it would do even
more for him than this: that it would eventually help him to the
accomplishment of certain daring views towards the crown itself, of
which he was not unsuspected. Whether, however, he was able to trace, in
distinct and definite lines, any consequences favourable to himself from
the fact which had just come to his knowledge, it is certain he was
pleased with the discovery, and considered it as an important
acquisition. That he viewed it in this light, indeed, was evident even
by his countenance, cautiously guarded as its expressions ever were.
On being satisfied of the fact of Chatelard's attachment to the queen,
he withdrew from the door with a look and brief expression of
satisfaction, and went directly in quest of the chamberlain. On finding
whom--
"So, Mr Chamberlain," he said, "we have got, I find, another animal
added to our herd of fawning, drivelling courtiers. Pray, who or what is
he, this person who has taken up his quarters in the northern gallery,
and by whose authority has he been installed there?"
"By the queen's, my lord," replied the chamberlain. "I have had express
and direct orders from the queen herself, to provide the gentleman with
apartments in the palace, and to see to his suitable entertainment."
"Ah, indeed," said the earl, biting his lip, and musing for a moment.
"By her own express orders!" he repeated. "It is very well." Then, after
a pause--"Know ye this favoured person's name, Mr Chamberlain?"
"Chatelard," replied the latter.
"Chatelard! Chatelard!" repeated the earl, mechanically, and again
musing; "why, I think I have heard of that gallant before. He is one of
those triflers called poets, me-thinks--a versifier, a scribbler of
jingling rhymes. Is it not so?"
"I have heard the queen say so, my lord," replied the chamberlain. "She
has spoken of him in my hearing as a poet."
"Ah! the same, the same," said the earl; "but how obtained he access to
the queen, know ye?"
"Through his own direct application, my lord. He addressed a poetical
epistle to her majesty, I understand, from Goodal's hostelry, where he
had taken up his quarters in the first place, requesting permission to
wait upon her."
"And it was granted?" interrupted the earl.
"It was, my lord; and he has already had an audience."
"Ah! so!" said the earl, without yet betraying, or having, during any
part of this conversation, betrayed, the slightest emotion or symptom of
the deep interest he took in the communications which were being made to
him. "Know ye," he went on, "if that favour is to be soon again
conferred on him? When will he again be admitted to the presence?"
"That, my lord, rests on the queen's pleasure; but I hear say that he is
to attend her again this evening in her sitting apartment."
"So, so," said the earl, nodding his head, as he uttered the words. And,
turning on his heel, he walked away without further remark.
From the officer with whom he had just been speaking, the Earl of Murray
carefully concealed the motives which had prompted his inquiries, but
determined, henceforth, to watch with the utmost vigilance the
proceedings of the queen and Chatelard, until some circumstance should
occur that might put them both fairly within his power. Unaware of the
dangerous surveillance under which he was already placed, it was with a
delight which only he himself perhaps could feel, that Chatelard
received, in the evening, the promised invitation from the queen to
attend her and her ladies in their sitting chamber. The invitation was
conveyed in some playful verses--an art in which Mary excelled--written
on embossed paper. The enthusiastic poet read the delightful lines a
thousand times over, dwelt with rapture on each word and phrase, and
finally kissed the precious document with all the eagerness and fervour
of a highly-excited and uncontrollable passion. Having indulged in these
tender sensibilities for some time, Chatelard at length folded up the
unconscious object of his adoration, thrust it into his bosom, took up a
small _portfeuille_, covered with red morocco leather, gilt, and
embossed, the depository of his poetical effusions, and hurried to the
apartment of the queen, where he was speedily set to the task of reading
his compositions, for the entertainment of the assembled fair ones; and
it is certain that on more than one of them the tender and impassioned
manner of the bard, as he recited his really beautiful verses, added to
his highly prepossessing appearance and graceful delivery, made an
impression by no means favourable to their night's repose. It would,
however, perhaps be more tedious than interesting to the reader, were we
to detail all that passed on the night in question in the queen's
apartment; to record all the witty and pleasant things that were said
and done by the queen, her ladies, and her poet. Be it enough to say,
that the latter retired at a pretty late hour; his imprudent passion, we
cannot say increased--for of increase it would not admit--but
strengthened in its wild and ambitious hopes.
From that fatal night, poor Chatelard firmly believed that his love was
returned--that he had inspired in the bosom of Mary a passion as ardent
as his own. Into this unhappy error the poet's own heated and disturbed
imagination had betrayed him, by representing in the light of special
marks of favour, occurrences that were merely the emanations of a kind
and gentle nature--thus fatally misled by a passion which, if notorious
for occasioning groundless fears, is no less so for inspiring unfounded
hopes. Such, at any rate, was its effect in the case of Chatelard on the
night in question. On gaining his own chamber, he flung himself into a
chair, and spent nearly the whole of the remainder of the night in the
indulgence of the wildest and most extravagant dreams of future bliss;
for, in the blindness of his passion and tumult of his hopes, he saw no
dangers, and feared no difficulties.
From this time forward, Chatelard's conduct to the queen became so
marked and unguarded in various particulars, as to excite her alarm, and
even to draw down upon the offender some occasional rebukes, although
these were at first sufficiently gentle and remote. Nor did the
imprudences of the infatuated poet escape the cold, keen eye of Murray.
He saw them, and noted them; but took care to wear the semblance of
unconsciousness. It was not his business to interrupt, by hinting
suspicions, the progress of an affair which he hoped would, on some
occasion or other, lead to consequences that he might turn to account.
Feeling this, it was not for him to help Chatelard and the queen to
elude his vigilance, and defeat his views, by discovering what he
observed, and thus putting them on their guard. This was not his
business; but it was his business to lie concealed, and to spring out on
his quarry the instant that its position invited to the effort. Coldly
and sternly, therefore, he watched the motions of Chatelard and his
sister; but was little satisfied to perceive nothing in the conduct of
the latter regarding the former which at all spoke of the feelings he
secretly desired to find. As it was impossible, however, for the earl
personally to watch all the movements of Chatelard, he looked around him
for some individual of the queen's household whom he might bribe to
perform the duties of a spy; and such a one he found amongst the
attendants whom Mary had brought with her from France, of which country
he was also a native. The name of this ungrateful and despicable wretch,
who undertook to betray a kind and generous mistress, whenever he should
discover anything in her conduct to betray, was Choisseul--a man of
pleasing manners and address, but of low and vicious habits. Without any
certain knowledge of his character, or any previous information
regarding him, the Earl of Murray's singular tact and penetration at
once singled him out as a likely person for his purposes. On this
presumption, he sent for him, and, cautiously and gradually opening him
up, found that he had judged correctly of his man.
"Choisseul," he said, on that person being ushered into his presence, "I
have good reason to think that you are one in whom I may put trust; and,
in this assurance, I have selected you for an especial mark of my
confidence. Do you know anything of this Chatelard, who has lately come
to court?"
"I do, my lor'. He is countryman of my own."
"So I understand. Well, then, I'll tell you what it is, Choisseul: I
believe the fellow has come here for no good--I believe, in short, that
he has designs upon the queen. Now, my good fellow, will you undertake
to ascertain this for me? Will you watch their proceedings, watch them
narrowly, and give me instant information of anything suspicious that
may come to your knowledge--and ye shall not miss of your reward?" added
the earl, now opening a little desk which stood before him, and taking
from it a well-filled purse.
Choisseul, with many bows and grimaces, readily undertook to play the
knave, and, with still more, took the price of his knavery, the purse
already alluded to, which the earl now handed him.
"Now, Choisseul," said Murray, just before dismissing the miscreant, "I
may depend on you?"
"Mine honneur," replied the Frenchman, placing his hand on his breast,
with a theatrical air, and bowing to the ground as he pronounced the
words--"Je suis votre serviteur till die."
"Enough," said the earl, waving his hand as a signal to him to retire;
"be vigilant and prompt in communicating with me when you have anything
of consequence to say."
Choisseul again bowed low, and left the apartment. In the meantime, the
gallant, accomplished, but imprudent Chatelard, hurried blindly along by
the impetuosity of his passion, and altogether unsettled by the
intoxicating belief that his love was returned--a belief which had now
taken so fast a hold of his understanding that nothing could loosen
it--proceeded from one impropriety to another, till he at length
committed one which all but brought matters to a crisis; and this was
avoided only by its having escaped the vigilance of Choisseul, and
having been compassionately concealed by the queen herself.
On retiring one night, early in February, 1563, to her sleeping
apartment, Mary and her attendants were suddenly alarmed by an
extraordinary movement in a small closet or wardrobe, in which was kept
the clothes the queen was in the habit of daily using. The maids would
have screamed out and fled from the apartment, but were checked in both
these feminine resorts by observing the calm and collected manner of
their mistress, in which there was not the slightest appearance of
perturbation.
"Ladies, ladies," she exclaimed, laughingly, as her attendants were
about to rush out of the room, "what a pretty pair of heroines ye are!
Shame, shame! ye surely would not leave your mistress alone, in the
midst of such a perilous adventure as this. Come hither," she added, at
the same time stepping towards her toilet, and taking up a small silver
lamp that burned on it, "and let us see who this intruder is--whether
ghost or gallant."
Saying this--her maids having returned, reassured by her
intrepidity--she proceeded, with steady step, towards the suspected
closet, seized the door by the handle, flung it boldly open, and
discovered, to the astonished eyes of her attendants, and to her own
inexpressible amazement, the poet Chatelard, armed with sword and
dagger. For some seconds the queen uttered not a syllable; but a flush
of indignation and of insulted pride suffused her exquisitely lovely
countenance.
"Chatelard," she at length said, in a tone of calm severity, and with a
dignity of manner becoming her high state and lineage, "come forth and
answer for this daring and atrocious conduct, this unheard-of insolence
and presumption." Chatelard obeyed, and was about to throw himself at
her feet, when she sternly forbade him.
"I want no apologies, presumptuous man," she said--"no craving of
forgiveness. I want explanation of this infamous proceeding, and that I
demand of you in the presence of my attendants here. Know ye not, sir,"
she went on, "that your head is forfeited by this offence, and that I
have but to give the word, and the forfeit will be exacted?"
"I know it, I know it," exclaimed Chatelard, persisting in throwing
himself on his knees; "but the threat has no terrors for me. It is your
displeasure alone--fairest, brightest of God's creatures--that I fear.
It is----"
"Peace, Chatelard," interrupted Mary, peremptorily. "What mean ye by
this language, sir? Would ye cut yourself off from all hope of pardon,
by adding offence upon offence? Rise, sir, and leave this apartment
instantly, I command you; I will now hear neither explanation nor
apology."
"Then, will you forgive me?" said Chatelard; "will you forgive a
presumption of which----"
"I will hear no more, sir," again interrupted the queen, indignantly.
"Begone, sir! Remain another instant, and I give the alarm. Your life
depends on your obedience." And Mary placed her hand on a small silver
bell, from which had she drawn the slightest sound, the poet's doom was
sealed, and she would have rung his funeral knell.
Chatelard now slowly rose from his knees, folded his arms across his
breast, and with downcast look, but without uttering another word,
strode out of the apartment. When he had gone, the queen, no longer
supported by the excitement occasioned by the presence of the intruder,
flung herself into a chair, greatly agitated and deadly pale. Here she
sat in silence for several minutes, evidently employed in endeavouring
to obtain a view of the late singular occurrence in all its bearings,
and in determining on the course which she herself ought to pursue
regarding it.
Having seemingly satisfied herself on these points--
"Ladies," she at length said--these ladies were two of her Maries, Mary
Livingstone and Mary Fleeming--"this is a most extraordinary
circumstance. Rash, thoughtless, presumptuous man, how could he have
been so utterly lost to every sense of propriety and of his own peril,
as to think of an act of such daring insolence?"
"Poor man, I pity him," here simply, but naturally enough, perhaps,
interrupted Mary Fleeming. "Doubtless, madam, you will report the matter
instantly to the earl?"
"Nay, Mary, I know not if I will, after all," replied the queen. "I
perhaps ought to do so; but methinks it would be hardly creditable to
me, as a woman, to bring this poor thoughtless young man to the
scaffold, whither, you know, my stern brother would have him instantly
dragged, if he knew of his offence; and besides, ladies," went on the
queen, in whose gentle bosom the kindly feelings of her nature had now
completely triumphed over those of insulted dignity and pride, "I know
not how far I am myself to blame in this matter. I fear me, I ought to
have been more guarded in my conduct towards this infatuated young man.
I should have kept him at a greater distance, and been more cautious of
admitting him to familiar converse, since he has evidently misconstrued
our affability and condescension. There may have been error there, you
see, ladies."
"Yet," said Mary Livingstone, "methinks the daring insolence of the man
ought not to go altogether unpunished, madam. If he has chosen to
misconstrue, it can be no fault of yours."
"Perhaps not," replied Mary. "As a queen, I certainly ought to give him
up to the laws; but as a woman I cannot. Yet shall he not go unpunished.
He shall be forthwith banished from our court and kingdom. To-morrow I
shall cause it to be intimated to him that he leave our court instantly,
and Scotland within four-and-twenty hours thereafter, on pain of our
highest displeasure, and peril of disclosure of his crime."
Having thus spoken, and having obtained a promise of secresy regarding
Chatelard's offence from her two attendants, Mary retired for the night,
not however, quite assured that she was pursuing the right course for
her own reputation, in thus screening the guilt of the poet; but
nevertheless determined, at all risks, to save him, in this instance at
least, from the consequence of his indiscretion. On the following
morning, the queen despatched a note to Chatelard, to the purpose which
we have represented her as expressing on the preceding night, and, in
obedience to the command it contained, he instantly left the palace, but
in a state of indescribable mental agitation and distraction; for in the
determination expressed by the queen he saw at once an end to all his
wild hopes, and more unendurable still, an assurance that he had wholly
mistaken the feelings with which Mary regarded him. We have said that
Chatelard obeyed one of the injunctions of the queen--that was, to leave
the palace instantly. He did so; but whether he conformed to the other
the sequel will show.
Two days after the occurrences just related, Mary set out for St.
Andrew's; taking the route of the Queensferry, and sleeping the first
night at Dunfermline, and the second at Burntisland. On the evening of
her arrival at the latter place, the queen, fatigued by her journey,
which had been prolonged by hunting and hawking, retired early to her
apartment. Here she had not been many minutes, when the door was thrown
suddenly open, and Chatelard entered.
"What! again, Chatelard!" exclaimed Mary, with the utmost indignation
and astonishment. "What means this, sir? How have you dared to intrude
yourself again into my apartment?"
Without making any reply to this salutation, Chatelard threw himself on
his knees before the queen, and, seizing the skirt of her robe, implored
her pardon for his presumption; adding, that he had been impelled to
this second intrusion solely by a desire to explain to her the motives
of his former conduct, which, he said, had been wrongly interpreted, and
to bid her farewell before he went into the banishment to which she had
doomed him.
"Rise, sir, rise," said Mary; "I will listen to no explanations forced
on me in this extraordinary manner. I desire that you instantly quit
this apartment. This repetition of your offence, sir, I will neither
bear with nor overlook. Rise, I command you, and begone!"
Instead of obeying, the infatuated poet not only persisted in remaining
in the position he was in, but, still keeping hold of the queen's robe,
began to speak the language of passion and love. The queen endeavoured
to release herself from his hold, and was in the act of attempting to do
so, when the door of the apartment, which Chatelard had closed behind
him, was violently thrown open, and the Earl of Murray entered. Having
advanced two or three steps, he stood still, and, folding his arms
across his breast, looked sternly, but in silence, first at the queen,
and then at Chatelard; keeping, at the same time, sufficiently near the
door to prevent the escape of the latter, in case he should make such an
attempt. Having gazed on them for some time without opening his lips,
but with an ominous expression of countenance--
"Well, Sir Poet," he at length said, addressing Chatelard, with cold
deliberation, "pray do me the favour to enlighten me as to the meaning
of your having thus intruded yourself into the queen's apartment. Why do
I find you here, sir, and wherefore have I found you in the position
from which you have just now risen? Pray, sir, explain."
"I came here, my lord," replied Chatelard, with firmness and dignity,
"to take leave of Her Majesty before returning to France, for which I
set out to-morrow."
An ironical and incredulous smile played on the stern countenance of
Murray. "A strange place this, methinks, and a strange season, for
leave-taking; and yet stranger than all the language in which I just now
heard you speak. You are aware, I presume, sir," he added, "that you are
just now in the queen's sleeping apartment, where none dare intrude but
on the peril of their lives. But probably, madam," he said, now turning
to the queen, without waiting any reply to his last remark, "you can
explain the meaning of this extraordinary scene."
"You had better, my lord," replied Mary, evasively--for she was still
reluctant to commit the unfortunate poet--"obtain what explanations you
desire from Chatelard himself. He surely is the fittest person to
explain his own conduct."
"True, madam," said Murray, sneeringly, "but I thought it not by any
means improbable that you might be as well informed on the point in
question as the gentleman himself."
"Your insinuation is rude, my lord," replied the queen, haughtily; and,
without vouchsafing any other remark, walked away to the further end of
the apartment, leaving the earl and Chatelard together.
Murray now saw, from the perfectly composed and independent manner of
the queen, that he could make out nothing to her prejudice from the case
before him, nor elicit the slightest evidence of anything like
connivance, on the part of Mary, at Chatelard's intrusion. Seeing this,
he determined on proceeding against the unfortunate poet with the utmost
rigour to which his imprudence had exposed him, in the hope that
severity would wring from him such confessions as would implicate the
queen.
Having come to this resolution--"Sir," he said, addressing Chatelard,
"prepare to abide the consequences of your presumption." And he
proceeded to the door, called an attendant, and desired him to send the
captain of the guard and a party to him instantly.
In a few minutes, they appeared, when the earl, addressing the officer
just named, and pointing to Chatelard, desired him to put that gentleman
in ward; and the latter was immediately hurried out of the apartment.
When the guard, with their prisoner, had left the queen's chamber, the
earl walked up to Mary, who, with her head leaning pensively on her
hand, had been silently contemplating the proceedings that were going
forward in her apartment.
"Madam," said Murray, on approaching her, "I think you may consider
yourself in safety for this night, at any rate, from any further
intrusion from this itinerant versifier; and it shall be my fault if he
ever again annoys you or any one else."
"What, brother!" exclaimed Mary, in evident alarm at this ambiguous, but
ominous hint--"you will not surely proceed to extremities against the
unfortunate young man?"
"By St Bride, but I will though," replied Murray, angrily. "Why, madam,
has not your reputation as a woman, and your dignity as a queen, both
been assailed by this insolent foreigner, in the daring act he has
done?"
"Nay, my lord," replied the queen, haughtily, "methinks it will take
much more than this to affect my reputation. I indeed marvel much to
hear you speak thus, my lord. My dignity, again, can be debased only by
mine own acts, and cannot be affected by the act of another."