THE LETTER OF THE VALOIS.
Madame, I was true servant to thy mother,
And in her favour aye stood thankfullie,
And though that I to serve be not so able
As I was wont, because I may not see--
Yet that I hear thy people with high voice
And joyful hearts cry continuallie--
_Viva! Marie, tre noble Reyne d'Ecosse!_
_SIR RICHARD MAITLAND._
For seven consecutive days our hero traversed the streets of his
native capital, poking his nose under the velvet hood of every lady
whose figure or air resembled in any way those of his fair
_innmorata_; and in these seven days he ran at least an average of
eight-and-twenty risks of being run through the body for his
impudence; but his handsome face, his suave apologies and brave
apparel, obtained him readily the pardon of those he followed,
jostled, or accosted. One evening he was just about to leave the
city by the gloomy arch of the Pleasance Porte, above which grinned
the skulls of those who had abetted the Master of Forbes in his
wicked attempt upon the life of James V., when the booming of Mons
Meg and of forty other great culverins from the castle-wall made the
windows of the city shake; while the clanging bells in every church,
monastery, and convent, gave out a merry peal.
He asked one who passed him, "What caused these signs of honour and
acclaim?"
"The return of the Queen-Mother from Falkland," replied this person,
a burgher, who was hastening from his booth, clad in his steel bonnet
and jazarine jacket, with an arquebuse on his shoulder.
"The Queen-Mother!"
He paused, and, with an emotion of alarm; he remembered his
dispatches from Henry of Valois to Mary of Lorraine and the Regent
Arran, and resolved on the morrow to atone for his delay. As the
armed citizen left him and mingled with the gathering crowd, the tone
of his voice, and something in his air, brought to Fawside's memory
that man of the stout arm and long axe who had so suddenly befriended
him on that night, the desperate events of which seemed likely to
influence the whole of his future career. Here was a key, perhaps,
to the name and dwelling of his unknown beauty; but the chance was
scarcely thought of ere it was gone!--already the armed stranger was
lost amid the crowd that hurried up the adjacent close, to mingle, in
the High Street, with the masses who greeted Mary of Lorraine with
shouts of applause. She entered in the dusk, surrounded by
torch-bearers and guarded by a body of mounted spearmen, led by
Errol, the lord high constable of Scotland, a peer who was secretly
in league with England against her. She was preceded by a long train
of merchants, wearing fine black gowns of camlet, lined with silk and
trimmed with velvet, according to the rule for all above ten pounds
of stent; by the provost in armour, and the city officers and piper
wearing doublets of Rouen canvas, and black hats with white strings,
and all armed with swords, daggers, and partizans.
Arrived in the city on the morrow, Fawside rode at once to the
residence of the Queen-Mother. He was well mounted, carefully
accoutred, and armed to the teeth; for in those days no man knew what
manner of men or adventures he might meet if he ventured a rood from
his own gate.
His armour was a light suit of that species of puffed or ribbed mail
which was designed as an imitation of the slashed dresses of the age.
On his head was one of those steel caps known as a coursing-hat,
adorned by a white feather. The mail was as bright as the hands of
the first finisher in Paris (M. Fourbisser, Rue St. Jacques, armourer
to the Garde du Corps Ecossais) could render it; and the cuirass was
inlaid in gold, with a representation of the Crucifixion, as a charm
against danger--a style introduced by Benvenuto Cellini, and named
_damasquinée_; and Dame Alison, who, with a deep and deadly interest
in her louring but affectionate eyes, had watched her son equipping
himself and loading his petronels, sighed with anger that it was only
for the city he was departing again.
"Edinburgh," she muttered; "ever and always Edinburgh! What demon
lures thee there? Is it but to prance along the causeway, or flaunt
before the saucy kimmers at the Butter Tron and Cramers-wives, thou
goest with all this useless iron about thee?"
"Useless?" reiterated Florence with surprise.
"Yes---useless to thee, at least!" she said, almost fiercely.
"Speak not so unkindly to me, dear mother; I am going elsewhere than
to Edinburgh."
"Hah--whither?" she demanded, with some alarm.
"To the regent, on the business of the King of France; and in the
wilds of the Torwood, or of Cadzow Forest, I may not find this
_iron_, as you stigmatize the best of Milan plate, perhaps so useless
a covering."
For the first time, the mother and son parted with coldness on her
side; for the delay he exhibited in challenging Preston to mortal
combat, or assaulting and sacking his farms, if not his tower, filled
her angry heart with doubt and with disdain; for her long-cherished
hope seemed on the eve of being dissipated.
These bitter emotions gave place to anxiety when, about nightfall,
she heard news of the enemy. Roger of the Westmains hurriedly
entered the hall, and, after paying his devoirs as usual to the
ale-barrel, announced that, while driving a few stirks home from
Gladsmuir--the fatal land of contention,--he had seen Claude Hamilton
depart at the head of an armed train of at least twenty mounted men,
by the road direct for Edinburgh.
"And my son is _there_ alone!" was her first thought; for, in his
anxiety to depart, and that he might with more freedom prosecute the
search after his unknown, he had galloped westward from Fawside,
without other friends than his sharp sword and his stout young arm.
"By this time--yea, long ere this," said Roger, looking at the
sundial on the window-corner, "he will be far on the way to the Lord
Arran's house of Cadzow, and not a horse in the barony could overtake
him."
"Pray Heaven he may be so," replied the grim mother, crossing herself
thrice; "he will be here to-morrow."
But many a morning dawned, and many a night came on, before she again
saw her son, whose adventures we will now rehearse.
He soon ascertained that her majesty the queen-mother was at her new
private residence (on the north side of the Castle-Hill Street),
which, with its little oratory and guard-house, she had erected after
the almost total destruction of Edinburgh by the English army in
1544. Holyrood Palace was burned on that occasion. Thus, at the
time of our story, many of its southern apartments were in ruin; and
hence Mary of Lorraine was compelled to find a more secure habitation
within the walls of the city, and in the vicinity of the fortress, of
which the gallant Sir James Hamilton of Stain-house was governor,
until he was slain in a bloody tumult by the French.
Several persons, apparently of good position, were loitering near
this little private palace, and to one of these--a page
apparently--Fawside addressed himself; and on receiving a somewhat
supercilious answer, he exclaimed angrily,--
"Quick, sirrah--announce me, for I must speak with the queen ere I
ride for the lord regent's."
These words were overheard by two gentlemen richly dressed and
brilliantly armed in gorgets and cuirasses of fine steel, with their
swords and daggers glittering with precious stones. They were each
attended by two pages, and jostled so rudely past Fawside, who had
now dismounted, and held his horse by the bridle, that, had he not
been amply occupied by his own thoughts, he would have called them
severely to account, as an insult was never tolerated in those days.
"Bothwell!"
"Glencairn!" were the exclamations, as these worthies recognized and
cautiously saluted each other.
"'Tis our man Fawside," whispered the latter; "doubtless he goes now
to deliver his missives. Accursed folly that spared him; but 'tis
too late now; let the queen receive hers."
"And he goeth hereafter to Arran. I heard him say so."
"He shall never pass through Cadzow Wood alive. I have a
thought--stay--get me a clerk to write. Where lodges Master Patten?"
"At the upper Bow Porte--not a pistol-shot from this."
"This way, then," said Glencairn, twitching his friend's mantle; and
they hurried away together, while the unfortunate Fawside, without
the least idea that he was watched so narrowly, approached the Guise
Palace, as it was named by the citizens.
This edifice, which was built of polished stone, was three stories in
height; the access to it was by a turnpike stair, above the carved
doorway of which were the cipher of the queen, "M.R.," and the pious
legend, _Laus et honor Deo_, to exclude evil. On the opposite side
of the narrow close was the guard-house, where a party of thirty
men-at-arms, under Livingstone of Champfleurie, an esquire, all
equipped by the queen, and brought from her own lands as private
vassals, furnished sentinels for her modest dwelling. These men were
armed with sword, dagger, and arquebuse, and bore on their
doublets--which were of the royal livery of Scotland, scarlet faced
with yellow--the arms of the queen-dowager, _or_ bendwise _gules_,
charged with the three winglets of Lorraine, and quartered with the
Scottish arms,--_sol_ a lion rampant within a double treasure, flory,
and counter-flory, _mars_.
In those simple times, people of rank were easily accessible; thus,
there was not much ceremony observed by royal personages. In a very
brief space of time, Fawside found himself treading the oak floors of
Mary of Lorraine's dwelling, as he was ushered by a page into a large
apartment, the sombre tapestry of which was rendered yet darker by
the narrow and ancient alley into which its three tall windows
opened. This room was furnished with regal magnificence. The arras,
which had formed a portion of the dowry of Yolande of Anjou, depicted
the career of Garin the Wild Boar, who figures in the romance of
"Gaharin de Lorraine." The chairs were covered with crimson velvet
fringed with silver, and all bore the royal crown and cipher. The
door and panelling, some of which are still preserved, were all of
dark oak exquisitely carved, and in each compartment was a device, an
armorial bearing, or a likeness of some member of the royal family;
James V., with his pointed moustache, and bonnet smartly slouched
over the right ear, being most frequently depicted. The ceiling,
which is still preserved at Edinburgh, is of wood, and very
singularly decorated. In the centre is the figure of our Saviour,
encircled by the legend,--
_Ego sum via, veritas, et vita._
In each compartment is an allegorical subject, such as the Dream of
Jacob, the Vision of Death from the Apocalyse, &c., and one
representing the Saviour asleep in the storm, with a view of
Edinburgh, its castle and St. Giles's church in the background, His
galley being afloat, _not_ in the Sea of Galilee, but, curiously
enough, in the centre of the North Loch.
Within a stone recess, canopied like a Gothic niche, and secured
thereto by a chain of steel, stood the famous old tankard known as
the _Fairy Cup_ of King William the Lion.
Delrio relates, from Gulielmus Neubrigensis, that a peasant, one
night, when passing near a rocky grotto, heard sounds of merriment;
and on peeping in, beheld a quaint-looking company of dwarfish elves
dancing and feasting. One offered him a cup to drink with them; but
he poured out the bright liquor it contained, and rode off with the
vessel, which was of unknown material and strange of fashion. It
became the property of Henry the Elder, of England, and was presented
by him to King William the Lion, of Scotland; after whom it became an
heirloom of our kings,[*] and was now in the custody of Mary of
Lorraine.
[*] "Discovrse of Miracles in the Catholic Chvrch." Antwerp, 1676.
Florence Fawside had barely time to observe all this, to unclasp his
coursing-hat, glance at his figure in a mirror, and give that last
and most satisfactory adjust to his hair, which every man and woman
infallibly do previous to an interview, when the arras at the further
end of the apartment was suddenly parted by the hands of two pages.
Two ladies in rich dresses advanced, and our hero knew that he was in
the presence of the widow of James V. He sank upon his right knee,
and bowed his head, until she desired him to rise and approach, with
a welcome, to her mansion, in a voice, the tones of which stirred his
inmost heart, by the emotions and recollections they awakened.
Mary of Lorraine was the sister of Francis, Duc de Guise, and widow
of Louis of Orleans, Duc de Longueville, before her marriage with
James V. of Scotland. She was beautiful and still young, being only
in her thirty-second year. She was fair-complexioned, with a pale
forehead and clear hazel eyes, which were expressive alike of
intelligence, sweetness, and candour. Her red and cherub-like mouth
ever wore the most charming smile; her hair was partly concealed by
her lace coif; her high ruff came close round her dimpled chin; and
on the breast of her puffed yellow satin dress, which was slashed
with black velvet, and trimmed with black lace, sparkled a diamond
cross, the farewell gift of her sister, who was prioress of the
convent of St. Peter, at Rheims, in Champagne.
"Rise, monsieur--rise, sir," said she, smiling; "it seems almost
strange when a gentleman kneels to me now."
"Alas, madam, that the widow of James V. should find it so in the
kingdom of her daughter."
"Or a daughter of Lorraine; but so it is, sir--treason and heresy are
spreading like a leprosy in the land; nor need I wonder that those
decline to kneel in a palace, who refuse to do so before the altar of
their God! _Mon Dieu_, M. de Fawside; but we live in strange and
perilous times. You tremble, sir--are you unwell?"
Mary of Lorraine might well have asked this, for Florence grew pale,
and tottered, so that he was compelled to grasp a chair for support,
when, in the queen who addressed him, and in the lady her attendant,
who remained a few paces behind, holding a feather fan partly before
her face, he recognized those who had tended, nursed, and cured him
of his wounds--she of the hazel, and she of the dark-blue eyes:
To the beautiful queen, and her still more beautiful friend and _dame
d'honneur_, he was already as well known as if he had been the
brother of both. In this bewilderment he gazed from one pair of
charming eyes to the other, and played with the plume in his
coursing-hat, utterly unable to speak; till the queen laughed
merrily, and said,--
"Monsieur is most welcome to my poor house in l'Islebourg,"--for so
the French named Edinburgh, from the number of lakes which surrounded
its castle; "so our little romance is at an end--monsieur recognizes
us, Madeline--all is discovered!"
"Madeline!" whispered Florence in his heart; "that name shall ever be
a spell to me."
"Well, Laird of Fawside--so you have business with us. But first, I
pray you, be seated, sir; your wounds cannot be entirely healed. I
remember me, they were terrible!"
"Ah, madam!" said he, in a voice to which the fulness of his heart
imparted a charming earnestness and richness of tone, as he again
knelt down, "how shall I ever repay the honour you have already done
me? The services of a life--a life of faith and gratitude--were
indeed too little. But whence, came all this mystery?"
"For reasons which I disdain to acknowledge almost to myself," said
the queen, with an inexplicable smile, which, whatever it meant,
prevented the bewildered young man from saying more.
This royal lady seemed never to forget her lofty position when among
those whom she knew to be the most uncompromising of the Scottish
peers;--every graceful gesture, every proud glance of her clear and
beautiful eyes, seemed to say,--
"I am Mary of Guise--Lorraine, Queen of Scotland! I cannot forget
that I am the widow of James V., and the mother of Mary Queen of
Scots."
But a gracious condescension, with a sweet gentleness of manner, to
those whom she loved and trusted, made her wear a very different
expression at times, and imparted to her features that alluring
loveliness which, with her sorrows, became the dangerous inheritance
of her daughter.
Like that unhappy daughter, her tastes were refined and exquisite;
she was as passionately fond of music and poetry as the late king her
husband, and maintained a foreign band of musicians and vocalists.
Among the latter were five Italians, each of whom received from her
privy purse thirteen pounds yearly, with a red bonnet and livery coat
of yellow Bruges satin, trimmed and slashed with red,--the royal
colours. M. Antoine (our pretended dumb valet), a Parisian, and her
most trusted attendant, was master of this band, which included four
violers, four trumpeters, two tabourners, and several Swiss drummers.
Danger, and the desperate game of politics as played by the Scottish
noblesse, compelled this fair widow to use her beauty as a means of
strengthening herself. Thus she pretended to receive the addresses
of Lennox, Argyle, and Bothwell, luring them all to love her, while
she deceived them all with hopes of a marriage, to gain time, till
armed succour reached her court from France. She was fond of
card-playing, and frequently lost a hundred crowns of the sun at one
sitting to Bothwell, to Arran, and other peers; and now the former,
filled with rage on discovering the emptiness of his hopes, had
joined the faction of Somerset, who flattered his spirit of revenge
and cupidity to the full by offering him the hand and fortune of the
beautiful Katharine Willoughby.
His half-mad love for Mary of Lorraine was well known in Scotland,
where, after his return from Venice, it prompted him to commit a
thousand extravagances. It is yet remembered how, when sheathed in
full armour, he galloped his barbed charger down the steep face of
the Calton Hill, and made it leap, like another Pegasus, the barriers
of the tilting-ground, that he might appear to advantage before her
and the ladies of her court, when patronizing a great tournament near
the old Carmelite monastery of Greenside.
But amid these historical details, which, as the Scots read all
histories but their own, will no doubt be new to them, we are
forgetting the bewildered young gentleman, who has just kissed the
white jewelled hand of Mary of Lorraine, and risen to his feet by her
command.
"And now, fair sir, that you have discovered us, you are no doubt
come to proffer us your thanks for being your leeches and nurses,"
said the queen, laughing; "but we must insist upon sparing you all
that; for, be assured, sir, we were performing but an act of simple
Christian charity."
"I swear to your majesty, that until this moment I knew not who had
so honoured me with protection and hospitality. I came but to place
in your hands a paper----"
"Monsieur!"
"A paper, the possession, or supposed possession, of which, on the
night that first brought me here, so nearly cost me my life; though
by what means those ruffians guessed I was intrusted with it, I know
not."
"'Tis a notice of some conspiracy, perhaps?"
"Nay--'tis a letter from his majesty the King of France."
"A letter from the Valois!" reiterated Mary, starting, while her eyes
flashed with expectation.
"From Henry II.," replied the youth; and, drawing from his doublet
the missive of the Most Christian king, he knelt again on presenting
it to Mary of Lorraine.
"Thanks, sir, thanks. How droll, to think that I might have had this
letter weeks ago, but for our little romance," she said merrily,
while her hazel eyes seemed to dance in light, as she cut open the
ribands by the scissors which hung at her gold chatelaine. She
hastily read over the letter, the envelope of which, was spotted by
the bearer's blood.
"If it please your grace--the news?" said the young lady, her
attendant, in a soft voice.
"Countess, approach!" said the queen.
"She's a countess!" said Fawside inaudibly, and his heart sank at the
discovery.
"'Tis brave news," exclaimed the queen with a tone of triumph; "Henry
of Valois promises me succour; so my daughter shall never wed the son
of English Henry--the offspring of a wretch who lived unsated with
lust and blood, who put to death seventy-two thousand of his people,
and who died at enmity with God and man. Read, Madeline, _ma belle!
ma, bonne!_--read for yourself."
The lady read the letter, and presented it to the queen, who, ere she
could speak, turned to Florence, saying,--
"Sir, as a faithful subject and true Scottish gentleman, it is but
polite and just that you should know the contents of a letter with
which you have been intrusted, and the defence of which has cost you
so dear. But I rely on your honour--be secret and wary. Our schemes
are great, for we are opposed to powerful and subtle schemers."
"Oh, madam, who would not die for your majesty?" exclaimed Florence
in a burst of enthusiasm; for the beauty and condescension of the
queen filled his soul with joy and pride, kindling within it a
fervour which he had never known before.
The letter of Henry II. ran thus:--
"_Madame ma Soeur, la Reine d'Ecosse:_
"None in our kingdom of France can be better satisfied than we are
with the good-will you have shown in the cause of our holy faith and
common country; and knowing well the great need you have of
assistance to further the great project of uniting our dear son the
Dauphin to our kinswoman, your royal daughter the Queen of
Scotland--to crush treason within and enemies without her realm, and
ultimately to make you what you ought to be, Regent thereof, a
portion of our valiant French army, veterans of the war in Italy,
under wise and skilful captains, shall ere long land upon your
shores. We would beseech you to keep in memory our notable plan of
stirring up Ireland against the government of Edward VI., by
supplying the O'Connors with arms, and proposing your young queen as
a wife to Gerald, the youthful Earl of Kildare, to lure him to revolt
against the aggressive English; though ere long the Sieur de Brezé,
hereditary grand seneschal of Normandy, and M. le Chevalier de
Villegaignon, admiral of our galleys, will be in the Scottish seas to
convey her to France, of which--when I am borne by my faithful
Scottish archers to my fathers' tomb at St. Denis--she shall be
queen. Beseeching our Lord to give you, madame my sister, good
health, a long life, and all you desire, we remain, your good brother,
"_From St. Germain-en-Laye_, "HENRI R.
"10 _April_, 1547."
"With ten thousand good French soldiers, united to the vassals of
Huntley and other loyal peers, I shall be able alike to defy the
power of England, of Arran, whom Somerset seeks to corrupt, and of
those false Scots whom we have no doubt he has already corrupted,"
said the queen. "I must write at once to Arran, though he suspects
me of aiming at the regency. A queen, a mother--I shall triumph! I
will teach those rebel peers that Mary of Lorraine will struggle
rather than stoop, and perish rather than yield!
Champfleurie!--where is M. Champfleurie?"
"He is with the guard, madam," said the countess. "Shall I send for
him?"
Now Livingstone of Champfleurie was a West-Lothian laird, who enjoyed
the reputation of being one of the handsomest, but at the same time
most dissipated men in Scotland; and on hearing him spoken of by the
beautiful young countess, Florence experienced an unaccountable
uneasiness; so he said hastily,--
"Madam, will you intrust me with your letter? I am on my way to the
lord regent at Cadzow."
"A thousand thanks, sir; you shall be its bearer. And pray accept
from me this chain in memory of your good service."
With these words, Mary of Lorraine, with an air of exquisite grace,
took from her slender neck a chain of fine gold--the same chain which
René II. of Lorraine wore in his famous battle with Charles the
Bold,--and threw it over the bowed head of Florence.
"And you were presented to King Henry?" she asked.
"In the gallery of the Louvre, madam."
"By whom?"
"The Lord James Hamilton, captain of the archers of the Scottish
Guard; and by M. le Comte d'Anguien."
"Ah! that brave old soldier, with his face of bronze and heart of
steel! He is still alive?"
"Alive, and hale and well, madam; and most likely will command the
troops destined for Scotland."
"The victor of Cerizoles, the conqueror of the Marquis del Vasto in
Piedmont. And who else is to lead the troops that succour me?"
"M. le Comte de Martigues, say some; M. d'Essé d'Epainvilliers, say
others."
"A brave soldier is d'Essé. According to the astrologer of Francis
I., Mars was the shining lord of his nativity. Thus it was his
destiny to lead the armies of France."
"Ah, madam," said the young countess, "is not this heathenish, like
the preaching of the Lollards?"
"Of course; yet it was believed at the court of the Most Christian
King. And what say they of our lord regent in France?"
"That he is true to French and Scottish interests, and hostile to the
English alliance."
"That I well believe; but truer to his own interests than either."
"But they suspect him of wishing to secure the entire power of the
kingdom, so that ere long Scotland may be governed by Hamiltons and
nothing but Hamiltons; for already they hold the archbishopric of St.
Andrew's and other sees; they govern half the royal castles, and hold
priories and abbeys innumerable."
"That I know too well," said Mary, curling her proud red lip.
"And that, while printing the Bible in the Scottish tongue, and thus
defying the bishops and disseminating heresy in Scotland, at Rome he
seeks a cardinal's hat for his brother John, the archbishop of St.
Andrew's."
"So--so; he would keep well with his Holiness there and well with the
Lollards here! Has he yet to be taught that a man cannot serve two
masters? Mon Dieu! poor M. l'Archevêque de Saint André should
consider well what he seeks. Since Kirkaldy of Grange and the
Melvilles slew David Beaton, the red barretta is a perilous cap for a
Scot to wear. But when do you ride for Cadzow Castle?"
"The moment I am honoured with the missive of your majesty."
"That you shall shortly be, sir," replied Mary, sweeping up her train
with one hand, while she joyously waved the other. "Oh, 'tis brave
news this, of succour from France! I shall crush these traitors at
last, and defy this insolent duke of Somerset. Dares he think that
Mary of Scotland and Lorraine would peril her daughter's soul for his
kingdom of England, with its lordship of Ireland to boot? Queen of
Scotland she is, and queen of France and Navarre she shall be! I
would rather don armour and die in the field by the side of d'Essé
than yield up my child to the paid traitors of Henry VIII. and his
successor, this boasting duke of Somerset. A queen, a mother, a
woman, I shall appeal to all the gentlemen of Scotland; and if they
fail me, I have still the noble chivalry of France!"
As the queen spoke, with a gesture of inimitable grace she withdrew
through the arras, leaving Florence and the young countess together.