In a room of no very great dimensions in the fair town of Perth, were
collected a number of persons upon a solemn and serious occasion. A
number of the officers and magistrates of the town were present,
seated on a little sort of platform raised above the rest of the room.
On either side were drawn up the various officers of a municipal court
of justice, as they existed at that time, although I am unable to give
their designations; and towards the door were seen two or three
halbardiers, with their imposing but clumsy-looking weapons over their
shoulders, and dresses of the reign of James V. In a large arm-chair,
in the midst of the magistrates of the town, was seated the Earl of
Gowrie, as provost of Perth and heritable sheriff of the county; and
at a little distance from him, on the same raised place of honour,
appeared Sir George Ramsay, habited in the ordinary costume of the
court. Across the front of the dais was stretched a long narrow table,
at which were seated two or three men in dark garments, with pen and
ink and paper before them, and at the opposite end of the room, with a
fretted and gilt barrier of iron about three feet high in front,
appeared the prisoner, David Drummond, with a stout jailor on either
side. His strong and muscular frame appeared to have suffered little,
if at all, by the confinement he had endured; but his dull and
sinister-looking face was now as pale as ashes, for the earl had just
pronounced upon him that doom of death which he himself had twice
inflicted upon others. Sadly but calmly, after the most convincing
proofs of his guilt, Gowrie had pronounced the fatal words, with his
eye fixed firmly on the man's countenance.
Drummond gasped as if for breath to speak; but the two jailors laid
their hands upon his arm, and were about to remove him, when the earl
interposed, exclaiming, "Stay, stay; he desires to speak. Let him say
whatever he thinks fit."
"I appeal to the king!" cried the wretched man--"I appeal to the
king!"
"There is no appeal from this court," replied Gowrie; "but----"
"Ah! you fear what I could tell, Earl of Gowrie," cried the criminal.
"It would not suit you that I should have communication with the
king."
"Unhappy man," replied the earl, with perfect calmness, "you are only
now aggravating your guilt. There is no act of my whole life that I
fear to have proclaimed at the market cross to-morrow. My conscience
acquits me of offence; would that yours could do so. But to prove to
you that I fear nought that you can do or say, and that I wish not to
deprive you of one chance of life, I will fix the day of your
execution, for the crime you have committed, so far off as to afford
you opportunity of using every means to obtain that pardon which you
do not deserve. You have been fairly tried and justly condemned. There
is no appeal but to the king's mere mercy. He has the power of grace
ever in his own hands, and far be it from me to interpose between you
and it. For your execution, therefore, if you cannot obtain grace, I
name the twenty-eighth day of the next month, at noon, and may the
Almighty have mercy on your soul! In the meantime, every means will be
given to you of addressing any petitions or memorials to his majesty
which you may think fit to send; and should I not be present in the
town of Perth, I beg that the magistrate will take care that they be
forwarded by a special messenger, and without any delay. Now remove
him."
The court then rose, and Gowrie and Sir George Ramsay spoke a few
words together, in the midst of which a servant of the earl's entered
the hall, bearing a sealed packet in his hand.
"From the king's majesty, my lord," he said; and Gowrie instantly cut
the silk and opened the letter, under the impression that it might
have reference to the cause which had just been tried. Such, however,
was not the case; and folding it up again, he put it in his pocket,
saying, "Come, Ramsay, and rest yourself with me for a day or two. I
am about to make strange changes in my house, and have also to place
my pictures, just arrived from Italy, in which I would have your good
advice."
"But a few hours, my good lord, can I stay," replied Ramsay; "and I am
afraid my advice would serve you but little. However, such as it is,
command."
Taking leave of the bailies of the town, and the other officers of the
court, with whom the earl was extremely popular, Gowrie and his friend
withdrew, and walked together through the streets. Several persons
followed them out; but as soon as they were free from the crowd,
Ramsay looked at the earl's face, saying, "I hope your news from the
court, my lord, is more favourable than that which I was unfortunate
enough to bring you when last we met."
"Oh, the letter was a mere invitation to join the court and hunt at
Falkland, in the early part of June," replied the earl, "and an
acknowledgment of having received a certain law paper, which had been
examined by the king's advocate, and found full and in due form. His
majesty has been very gracious," he continued, with a smile and a
meaning glance, "for the letter is written in his own hand."
"Do you intend to accept the invitation?" asked Sir George Ramsay.
"I am doubtful," said the earl. "An invitation from a monarch is well
nigh a command; and I am never disposed to disobey my king where I can
obey with safety to my person and to my honour."
"Your honour is safe, my dear lord, wherever you are," replied Ramsay.
"Where a man holds life lightly, when compared with integrity, his
honour is ever in his own safe keeping, and no other hand can touch
it. But your personal safety is another question, and I would have you
look to it."
"Do you know aught, Dalhousie, of fresh designs meditated against me?"
asked the earl, straightforwardly; nor was the answer less explicit.
"No, I do not," answered Ramsay. "Of fresh designs I know none; but I
may doubt whether the old ones are abandoned; and I have often
thought it a dangerous sort of sport, my good lord, to hunt with a
half-reconciled enemy. The chase has its accidents, which occur most
frequently where many people are assembled. Methinks I would advise
you to hunt but little, and with those people alone upon whose care
and prudence you can rely."
He spoke in a very meaning tone; and Gowrie answered, "I think your
advice is good; and, moreover, I could hardly contrive to accept his
majesty's invitation consistently with the arrangements already
formed; for my dear mother has consented to come forth from the
retirement which she has long kept, and meet me at Trochrie in a few
days."
"Then I suppose we shall soon have to congratulate you on an event
which, I trust, may contribute to your happiness," said Ramsay. "The
court has been busy with the story for some time past."
"Not very soon," answered Gowrie; "at least, to a lover it seems long.
Some three months must yet elapse--and it _is_ long; for what man is
there, Dalhousie, let him read the stars skilfully as he will, let him
be learned, wise, experienced, who shall say all that may happen in
three months? How often does the shaking hand of Fortune spill the
wine out of the overflowing cup of joy even as she is handing it to
our lips!"
"But too true, my dear lord," replied Sir George; "but I trust in your
case it will not be so, for your fate is, I think, much in your own
hands. If you but avoid dangers where they are known to exist, I think
they will not come to seek you."
Gowrie mused. "What should be the cause of this enmity?" he said at
length, in a meditating tone. "What have I done to merit it? Is
it that some one is playing false both to the king and me, and
poisoning his ear with lying tales of false disloyalty? Or is it that
between his blood and mine there is a repugnance which cannot be
pacified--that the sad and terrible deed done by my grandfather in his
mother's presence, when his unborn eyes were yet waiting for the
light, has placed enmity between our races even to the present hour?
They say that there are strange mortal antipathies in the blood of
some men towards others, which can never be conquered by any effort of
the person hated; and surely such must be the case even now, for a
more loyal subject, or one who more truly wishes well to his crown,
his state, his person, does not live. What are my offences?"
"I could tell you some, my lord," replied Sir George Ramsay. "First
and foremost, you are too powerful in the land for a king's love. Your
estates are vast. Your wealth, during a long minority, has mightily
increased; you are allied to all the most powerful and noble in the
land; and you are known to be one who would oppose, without fear, or
change, or wavering, the establishment of arbitrary power in Scotland,
either in the church or state. These are motives strong enough, my
lord, and they are the real ones. What the pretences may be, I know
not; but if you keep yourself aloof from all factions and all parties,
if you abstain, as far as is consistent with your honour and your
station, from all opposition to the king, methinks that the feelings
that have risen up must die away of themselves, like weeds that have
no roots.--But here we are at your great house, my lord, and a grand
mansion is it, certainly."
"Come, see the pictures I have lately purchased," said Gowrie. "I
shall have scantily room to place them unless I build me a new
gallery. It is with such things as these, Dalhousie--with music,
pictures, books, and thought, that I have employed my mind, and not in
hatching treason or brooding over schemes of disloyalty.--But we will
talk no more of such things. This is the way.--John Christie," he
continued, speaking to the porter, "bid them serve dinner in the
little hall for myself and Sir George, and see that his servants be
well entertained. We are in the gallery when the meal is ready."
Thus saying, he led the way across the court towards the right hand,
and entering a door in a little projecting tower which stood in one
angle, he conducted his friend up a small staircase which was called
the Black Turnpike, being but scantily lighted by three small
loopholes. At the top of this staircase Gowrie opened a door which led
into a very large and handsome room, containing no furniture except
some tall straight-backed gilt chairs, covered with rich embroidered
velvet. Passing by another door on the right, the earl then took his
way across this spacious chamber to an entrance on the opposite side,
while Ramsay remarked, "This is the gallery-chamber, if I remember
rightly."
"Yes," replied the earl; "and that door behind us leads to my study,
which I have furnished well with books. I am afraid, however, that I
shall have to change my domicile, for the window looks down into the
street, and the noise often distracts my thoughts."
"You will soon have other books to read in your lady's eyes, my lord,"
replied Sir George Ramsay, with a smile; and passing on, they entered
by a small door that splendid gallery which formed the admiration of
all men who saw it in those times. The walls were hung with pictures
by the older masters of the Flemish, German, and Italian schools. Some
were of a very ancient date, almost contemporary with the revival of
the arts--more curious, perhaps, than beautiful, but yet not without
their beauty too. There were two or three Van Eycks, and one
especially, a fine picture of John of Bruges. But that which most
attracted the attention of Sir George Ramsay, even from the Titians
and the Correggios on the wall, were some large flat wooden cases,
placed upright around, and with the tops removed, showing the pictures
which the earl himself had collected in Italy. Amongst the rest was
one of very large size, on which the clear light from the north shone
strongly. It was rich and powerful in tone, and vigorous in
conception, representing Niobe weeping over her children amidst a
scene of great picturesque beauty, while the vengeful God of Day was
seen retiring in the distance with the work of death completed. Before
it Sir George Ramsay stopped for a moment or two, and gazed with
interest and admiration. When he turned round he found the young earl
standing beside him with his arms crossed upon his broad chest, and
his eyes fixed upon the female figure with a look of stern thought.
"What a beautiful picture!" exclaimed the knight; "yet it is by a hand
I do not know, and seems fresh from the easel. Who was the artist?"
"A young man of the name of Guido Reni," replied Gowrie. "It was
painted for me this last year in an incredibly short space of time,
for the artist wanted money; and I gave him his own price. But that
picture, Dalhousie, has a particular interest for me. Do you not think
the Niobe very like my mother?--younger a good deal, but still very
like."
"It is, indeed," said Ramsay, "particularly in the brow and eyes.
Strange that it should be so, for this Italian most probably never saw
her."
"Never in his life," replied Gowrie; "and I can only account for it
thus.--I passed several days with this young man in his painting room
at Bologna, and chanced, I remember, to mention my mother, and her
devoted affection for her children. Whether there is any likeness
between myself and her I do not know; but I left him to finish the
picture and send it over when it was complete, and when I opened it a
few days ago, was struck with the extraordinary resemblance.--Come,
here is a Caracci well worth your seeing."
"And that lad lying dead with his arm thrown back under his head, and
the left hand clutching the grass, is like your brother Alexander,"
said Ramsay, lingering before the picture still. But Gowrie had gone
on, and his friend soon followed. There was still much to be seen in
the gallery; but the habit of that day was to dine at a very early
hour; and shortly after, the two gentlemen were summoned to their
meal; and Sir George Ramsay mounted his horse almost as soon as dinner
was concluded.
Gowrie then retired from the court in which he had seen his friend
depart, to the study which he had spoken of in passing through the
gallery chamber. There, casting himself into a chair, he thought for a
moment or two, but in the end took up a book out of a number lying
near, and began to read. He had not perused a dozen sentences,
however, when the door opened, and, without announcement, Mr. William
Cowper, a gentle and amiable man, one of the ministers of Perth,
entered, saying, "I hope I do not interrupt your studies, my lord."
"Oh no," answered Gowrie, throwing down the volume. "It is but a
foolish book, called, 'De Conspirationibus adversus Principes,' a
collection of famous treasons, all foolishly contrived, and ending in
defeat by the conspirators having too many men in their councils."
"Dangerous studies, my lord," replied the clergyman.
"Not for me, my good friend," answered Gowrie, gravely. "But what
brings you, my dear sir?"
The conversation then took another turn; but Mr. Cowper, after he had
left the earl, mentioned more than once, though doubtless with no bad
intentions, the studies in which he had found the young lord
engaged.[5]