It was a gay sight in the town of Edinburgh, as, on the morning of the
twenty-third of March, all the principal nobles of the land rode,
gallantly attended, to the council for which the king's summons had
gone forth, and many were the persons assembled to see them pass. No
great joy or satisfaction, however, shone upon the countenances of the
good citizens of Edinburgh, for the rumour already had spread through
the city that a new tax was in contemplation to support the
extravagance of the king, and to enrich the minions of the court.
Never was a greater mistake made than that which is attributed to
David Rizzio, who is said to have expressed an opinion, when warned by
Sir James Melville of the peril which menaced him, that the bark of
the Scotch people was worse than their bite. On the contrary, history
proves that the bite, and that a sharp one, came frequently before the
bark. On the present occasion, there were no loud expressions of
popular feeling, except perhaps, when one of those barons in whom the
people had confidence happened to pass; but a dull and menacing sort
of gloom hung over the crowd, and whatever they thought, it was
expressed in low tones to each other. Gowrie was one of the first on
the way, and a shout greeted him when he approached the crowd
assembled near the palace gates, for there the council was held; but
the noise soon died away, and he was riding on, when a half-witted man
ran out from amongst the rest, and laid his hand upon the earl's rein,
saying, "Don't you vote for the tax, Gowrie! Don't you vote for the
oppression of the people. We poor folk can hardly bear it."
Gowrie said some kind but unmeaning words to the poor man, and passed
quietly on his way, arriving at the gates a few minutes before the
appointed hour. At the door he was met by the king's porter, who
informed him that his majesty had not yet left his apartments; and
with a slow step and very thoughtful countenance, the young earl was
walking across to the foot of the staircase, when young John Ramsay
came hastily forward from the fireplace, by which he was standing, and
accosted him, saying, "My lord the earl, I wish to speak to you."
"Ah, Ramsay!" said Gowrie, turning round, and holding out his hand, "I
did not see you!"
The young man, however, drew a little back, and replied with a haughty
and somewhat overbearing air, "There are some matters to be settled
first, my lord, before I know whether we are friends or enemies."
"It may be just as you please, sir," answered Gowrie calmly, gazing at
him with some surprise; "what is the matter?"
"I understand, my lord," replied the young man, "that one of your
servants has murdered, in Perth, my brother's man, Walter Matthison--a
person whom I protected."
The tone was very offensive; and the first answer that rose to
Gowrie's lips was, "Your protection, it seems, proved of little
avail;" but he checked the reply before it was uttered, and merely
said, "I am sorry, Ramsay, that such is too truly the case."
"Then you will remember, my lord," said Ramsay, "that we will have
blood for blood. No great protection shall avail here, whatever it may
do in France; and serving men shall not wound or slay as good or
better men than themselves, however powerful or wealthy their lord may
be."
Gowrie's cheek reddened, and his heart beat quick; but he mastered the
feeling of anger, and asked, though in somewhat of a stern tone, "Have
you heard from your brother lately?"
"No, I have not, my lord," replied Ramsay. "What of that?"
"Simply that if you had," answered the earl, "I think he would be
sorry both for your words and for your bearing. You have been
deceived, Ramsay," he said, in a milder tone; "certainly, with regard
to what has taken place in France, and I think with regard to what has
taken place at Perth. The murderer of your brother's servant--for I
can call my man, David Drummond, no less--was immediately seized by my
orders, and handed over to the justice of the town. I myself shall sit
as provost at his trial. I have invited your brother to be present,
and let me tell you, John Ramsay, that I say--which is something more
than what you say--that if all the power in Scotland, except the
king's grace, were exerted to save him from justice, he should die if
he be proved guilty, as I believe him to be."
Thus saying, the earl turned upon his heel, and walked up the stairs,
leaving Ramsay feeling himself painfully rebuked in the presence of a
number of bystanders, who, to say truth, had the ordinary amount of
love for their rivals, the favourites of the court. There are two
things from which the mind of youth usually takes its impressions, its
own prejudices or passions, and the opinions of others. It is an after
operation of the mind, in nine cases out of ten, to seek for and to
ascertain facts, and to form our opinions upon them. Ramsay was
naturally rash, bold, and resolute; and though he afterwards, as Lord
Holdernesse, showed some signs of greater powers, at the time I speak
of they were all in abeyance, and he was ready to receive all the
opinions of others, and tincture them strongly or weakly, according to
the prejudices and passions already existing in his own mind. He
remained near the fire, then, for a full quarter of an hour longer,
gnawing the bitter lip, and angry without cause for anger. At length,
one of the ushers came down and whispered in his ear, "The king is in
at the council, sir. He's been in some time."
"Pshaw!" said Ramsay, impetuously, and turned his back to the man who
addressed him.
Another quarter of an hour passed, and various noblemen, who arrived
somewhat late, went up the stairs without Ramsay noticing them. At
length, one of them, who was acquainted with him, hurrying in,
remarked him standing by the fire, and said, "Ah, I am glad to see you
there, Ramsay. I was afraid the king would be gone in to the council,
for I was detained by----"
"So he is," answered Ramsay, abruptly; and the gentleman hurried up
the stairs without waiting to finish his sentence.
The young gentleman followed with a slow step; and when he entered the
council chamber, a scene presented itself which I must attempt to
depict. The king was seated in a large arm chair, or throne, a few
steps in advance of the private door through which Ramsay passed.
Before him stretched a long table, or council board, at which were
seated almost all the great nobles of the land. Behind the king's
chair, and nearly filling up the vacant space between it and the wall,
were a number of the gentlemen of the royal household. Amongst these
were Sir George Murray, Sir Hugh Herries, Sir Thomas Erskine, Mr.
Alexander Blair, David Moyses, and nearer to the door, Sir David
Murray of Cospetrie, afterwards created Lord Scoon, a man of more mind
and intelligence than James was usually inclined to tolerate.
It would appear that the tax which the king wished to inflict upon the
people had been proposed for the consideration of the lords; and that
the debate, if it may be so called, had proceeded some way, for it is
known that the first three or four who spoke briefly expressed their
approbation. At the moment when Ramsay entered, however, the Earl of
Gowrie was on his feet, in the act of addressing the council. But that
he had spoken for some minutes; and that the argumentative part of his
speech was over was evident, for the only words which Ramsay heard
were, "For these reasons, my lords: because the tax would be
burdensome in its nature; because it would be unequal in its pressure;
because the people in this realm have not the means of meeting so
large a claim upon their loyalty; and because the actual necessity of
so great a demand, either for the purpose of maintaining the king's
royal dignity, or for securing the peace and safety of the country,
has not been clearly shown to exist; I, for my part, would humbly
petition his majesty, according to his great wisdom, to devise some
other means more easy to his loyal subjects for meeting the
necessities of the time----and," he added, after a moment's pause, as
if hesitating whether to utter the words which rose to his lips, "and
in his gracious condescension, and in that love and affection which he
is known to bear to all his subjects, to confine his requirements to
the limit of their means, and the most pressing exigencies of the
state."
The earl sat down, and a murmur of applause ran round the lower end of
the table; but Sir David Murray turned towards Sir Thomas Erskine, and
said, fixing his eyes direct upon the Earl of Gowrie, "Yonder is an
unhappy man. They are but seeking a cause for his death; and now he
has given it."[2]
Sir Hugh Herries, who was standing near, looked over his shoulder with
a dark smile; and Murray, as if he felt that he had imprudently
committed himself, quitted the room in some haste.
A moment after, one of the ushers whispered in Ramsay's ear that his
brother was below, and wished to speak with him; and imagining that
the debate was likely to be long, the young gentleman went out, made
an appointment to meet Sir George in the evening, and returned. When
he reached the council chamber, however, he was only in time to open
the private door for the king to retire to his own apartments; but
James, who seemed in high good humour, gave him a sign to follow, as
he had previously done to Sir Hugh Herries; and when they reached the
royal closet, the monarch cast himself upon his thickly-cushioned
seat, and burst into a fit of laughter.
"Well, bairns," he said, "that's done, in the teeth of Gowrie's earl;
and we shall get the money."
"You would not have got it, sire, if he could have prevented you,"
said Herries, with the true malignity of a court.
"Ay, man; but we were too strong for him," said James. "He that
wrestles with a king who understands his craft had need be a stalwart
chiel."
"I hope he may get a fall some day," said Ramsay, bluffly.
James looked at him with a significant smile, "And so he will, Jock,"
he said, "such a fall as may break his neck, perhaps; but we must give
him time. It's always better to let such lads weary themselves out,
keeping a watchful eye upon them, Jock, lest they play us a scurvy
trick. Soul o' my body, man, but he made a fine speech, though; well
delivered, with just enunciation, and every sentence well put
together. Not so bad for the matter either, if it had not been against
his king and his duty. He's a sharp-witted callant, if he was not
somewhat traitorously disposed, like the whole of those Ruthvens,
every mother's son of them."
"I would soon stop their treason, if I were your majesty," said John
Ramsay; "however, you walk by wisdom and I by indignation, so your
majesty will of course walk best."
"No doubt of it," answered James; and then, mingling a coarse
familiarity with an affectation of dignity, which only rendered the
one grotesque and the other ridiculous, he proceeded to say, "And now,
Jock Ramshackle, as you have rendered us many and signal services, we
are determined to confer upon you a high honour and dignity, by giving
you a clout upon the shoulder"--or as the king pronounced it,
_shoother_--"so go your ways; tell Tammy Elliot to bring us a sword;
but bid him carry it discreetly on the cushion, with the hilt towards
our hand, and to take care that it does not pop out of itself. They
are but kittle weapons."
We must leave the learned reader, who may be so inclined, to
retranslate the king's speeches into the fine vernacular in which he
usually spoke; for we have only attempted, though somewhat more than
half a Scot ourself, to put in a word or two of the original dialect,
here and there, for vigour's sake; and, to say truth, we fear if we
had either the capability or the desire of rendering each speech of
his majesty word for word, most of our readers would be puzzled as to
the meaning, and many of them not a little shocked at expressions,
which we have omitted--for reasons which shall be fully assigned at
some future period in a dissertation which we intend to write upon the
oaths and blasphemies of Our late Sovereign Lord, King James, Sixth of
that name of Scotland and First of England, of happy memory.
Young John Ramsay hurried away with a proud and joyous step to seek
the instrument which was to bestow upon him the honours of chivalry;
and, in the meantime, the king spoke more rapidly, and in a lower
tone, to Herries than was his wont, every now and then pausing and
saying, "Ha, man." To which Herries invariably replied, "Yes, sire, I
understand your majesty. It was the wisest course;" and to this
general approbation of the king's views he added, just as Ramsay was
returning with Sir Thomas Elliot and the sword of state, "But you'll
need cold iron before you've done."
Ramsay instantly started and turned round, with a glance of keen
inquiry at the king's face, upon which James burst into a fit of
laughter, exclaiming, "Look at the young slothound, how it pricks up
its ears! I'll answer for it, put him on a trail of blood, and he'd
follow it till he pulled his man down."
The youth coloured, for there was something in the comparison he did
not altogether like; but, kneeling at the king's feet, he received the
honour of knighthood--with the sheathed sword, however, which he did
not altogether like either. The king then dismissed him, with the
directions that he might have given a child, to "go and play himself;"
and for his own part, he remained shut up with Herries for nearly an
hour. At the end of that time, James and his counsellor came forth
together, and walked towards the queen's apartments, the monarch
concluding their conversation by saying, "Bide a wee; you'll see.
We'll frame such a cunning device that the birdie shall walk into the
trap, and if ever he gets out again, it will be the fault of the
fowler's friends, and not his who set the snare. But mind, man, not a
word or a look, as you'd have our favour. We shall ourselves be all
kindness and courtesy; and you must make our looks your glass, that
you may not scare the quarry from the net."
"Don't be too civil, sire," said Herries, bluntly, stumping after the
king with his club foot. "He must feel that your majesty can't love
him: and I've known many a man put on his cloak when he saw the sun
shine too fair in the morning, because he knew it would rain before
noon."
"Hout, tout! Would ye school me, man? Faith, you are too bold," said
the king; and he walked on with an air of pique.