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The Abbot

S >> Sir Walter Scott >> The Abbot




"Ah! good Melville," answered the Queen, "were I as sure of the
even-handed integrity of my judges, as of my own innocence--and
yet----"

"Oh! pause, madam," said Melville; "even innocence must sometimes
for a season stoop to injurious blame. Besides, you are here--"

He looked round, and paused.

"Speak out, Melville," said the Queen, "never one approached my person
who wished to work me evil; and even this poor page, whom I have
to-day seen for the first time in my life, I can trust safely with
your communication."

"Nay, madam," answered Melville, "in such emergence, and he being the
bearer of Lord Seyton's message, I will venture to say, before him and
these fair ladies, whose truth and fidelity I dispute not--I say I
will venture to say, that there are other modes besides that of open
trial, by which deposed sovereigns often die; and that, as Machiavel
saith, there is but one step betwixt a king's prison and his grave."

"Oh I were it but swift and easy for the body," said the unfortunate
Princess, "were it but a safe and happy change for the soul, the woman
lives not that would take the step so soon as I--But, alas! Melville,
when we think of death, a thousand sins, which we have trod as worms
beneath our feet, rise up against us as flaming serpents. Most
injuriously do they accuse me of aiding Darnley's death; yet, blessed
Lady! I afforded too open occasion for the suspicion--I espoused
Bothwell."

"Think not of that now, madam," said Melville, "think rather of the
immediate mode of saving yourself and son. Comply with the present
unreasonable demands, and trust that better times will shortly
arrive."

"Madam," said Roland Graeme, "if it pleases you that I should do so, I
will presently swim through the lake, if they refuse me other
conveyance to the shore; I will go to the courts successively of
England, France, and Spain, and will show you have subscribed these
vile instruments from no stronger impulse than the fear of death, and
I will do battle against them that say otherwise."

The Queen turned her round, and with one of those sweet smiles which,
during the era of life's romance, overpay every risk, held her hand
towards Roland, but without "speaking a word. He kneeled reverently,
and kissed it, and Melville again resumed his plea.

"Madam," he said, "time presses, and you must not let those boats,
which I see they are even now preparing, put forth on the lake. Here
are enough of witnesses--your ladies--this bold youth--myself, when it
can serve your cause effectually, for I would not hastily stand
committed in this matter--but even without me here is evidence enough
to show, that you have yielded to the demands of the Council through
force and fear, but from no sincere and unconstrained assent. Their
boats are already manned for their return--oh! permit your old servant
to recall them."

"Melville," said the Queen, "thou art an ancient courtier--when didst
thou ever know a Sovereign Prince recall to his presence subjects who
had parted from him on such terms as those on which these envoys of
the Council left us, and who yet were recalled without submission or
apology?--Let it cost me both life and crown, I will not again
command them to my presence."

"Alas! madam, that empty form should make a barrier! If I rightly
understand, you are not unwilling to listen to real and advantageous
counsel--but your scruple is saved--I hear them returning to ask your
final resolution. Oh! take the advice of the noble Seyton, and you may
once more command those who now usurp a triumph over you. But hush!
I hear them in the vestibule."

As he concluded speaking, George Douglas opened the door of the
apartment, and marshalled in the two noble envoys.

"We come, madam," said the Lord Ruthven, "to request your answer to
the proposal of the Council."

"Your final answer," said Lord Lindesay; "for with a refusal you must
couple the certainty that you have precipitated your fate, and
renounced the last opportunity of making peace with God, and ensuring
your longer abode in the world."

"My lords," said Mary, with inexpressible grace and dignity, "the
evils we cannot resist we must submit to--I will subscribe these
parchments with such liberty of choice as my condition permits me.
Were I on yonder shore, with a fleet jennet and ten good and loyal
knights around me, I would subscribe my sentence of eternal
condemnation as soon as the resignation of my throne. But here, in the
Castle of Lochleven, with deep water around me--and you, my lords,
beside me,--I have no freedom of choice.--Give me the pen, Melville,
and bear witness to what I do, and why I do it."

"It is our hope your Grace will not suppose yourself compelled by any
apprehensions from us," said the Lord Ruthven, "to execute what must
be your own voluntary deed."

The Queen had already stooped towards the table, and placed the
parchment before her, with the pen between her fingers, ready for the
important act of signature. But when Lord Ruthven had done speaking,
she looked up, stopped short, and threw down the pen. "If," she said,
"I am expected to declare I give away my crown of free will, or
otherwise than because I am compelled to renounce it by the threat of
worse evils to myself and my subjects, I will not put my name to such
an untruth--not to gain full possession of England, France, and
Scotland!--all once my own, in possession, or by right."

"Beware, madam," said Lindesay, and, snatching hold of the Queen's arm
with his own gauntleted hand, he pressed it, in the rudeness of his
passion, more closely, perhaps, than he was himself aware of,--"beware
how you contend with those who are the stronger, and have the mastery
of your fate!"

He held his grasp on her arm, bending his eyes on her with a stern and
intimidating look, till both Ruthven and Melville cried shame; and
Douglas, who had hitherto remained in a state of apparent apathy, had
made a stride from the door, as if to interfere. The rude Baron then
quitted his hold, disguising the confusion which he really felt at
having indulged his passion to such extent, under a sullen and
contemptuous smile.

The Queen immediately began, with an expression of pain, to bare the
arm which he had grasped, by drawing up the sleeve of her gown, and it
appeared that his gripe had left the purple marks of his iron fingers
upon her flesh--"My lord," she said, "as a knight and gentleman, you
might have spared my frail arm so severe a proof that you have the
greater strength on your side, and are resolved to use it--But I thank
you for it--it is the most decisive token of the terms on which this
day's business is to rest.--I draw you to witness, both lords and
ladies," she said, "showing the marks of the grasp on her arm, "that I
subscribe these instruments in obedience to the sign manual of my Lord
of Lindesay, which you may see imprinted on mine arm."

[Footnote: The details of this remarkable event are, as given in the
preceding chapter, imaginary; but the outline of the events is
historical. Sir Robert Lindesay, brother to the author of the Memoirs,
was at first intrusted with the delicate commission of persuading the
imprisoned queen to resign her crown. As he flatly refused to
interfere, they determined to send the Lord Lindesay, one of the
rudest and most violent of their own faction, with instructions, first
to use fair persuasions, and if these did not succeed, to enter into
harder terms. Knox associates Lord Ruthven with Lindesay in this
alarming commission. He was the son of that Lord Ruthven who was prime
agent in the murder of Rizzio; and little mercy was to be expected
from his conjunction with Lindesay.

The employment of such rude tools argued a resolution on the part of
those who had the Queen's person in their power, to proceed to the
utmost extremities, should they find Mary obstinate. To avoid this
pressing danger, Sir Robert Melville was despatched by them to
Lochleven, carrying with him, concealed in the scabbard of his sword,
letters to the Queen from the Earl of Athole, Maitland of Lethington,
and even from Throgmorton, the English Ambassador, who was then
favourable to the unfortunate Mary, conjuring her to yield to the
necessity of the times, and to subscribe such deeds as Lindesay should
lay before her, without being startled by their tenor; and assuring
her that her doing so, in the state of captivity under which she was
placed, would neither, in law, honour, nor conscience, be binding upon
her when she should obtain her liberty. Submitting by the advice of
one part of her subjects to the menace of the others, and learning
that Lindesay was arrived in a boasting, that is, threatening humour,
the Queen, "with some reluctancy, and with tears," saith Knox,
subscribed one deed resigning her crown to her infant son, and another
establishing the Earl of Murray regent. It seems agreed by historians
that Lindesay behaved with great brutality on the occasion. The deeds
were signed 24th July, 1567.]

Lindesay would have spoken, but was restrained by his colleague
Ruthven, who said to him, "Peace, my lord. Let the Lady Mary of
Scotland ascribe her signature to what she will, it is our business to
procure it, and carry it to the Council. Should there be debate
hereafter on the manner in which it was adhibited, there will be time
enough for it."

Lindesay was silent accordingly, only muttering within his beard, "I
meant not to hurt her; but I think women's flesh be as tender as
new-fallen snow."

The Queen meanwhile subscribed the rolls of parchment with a hasty
indifference, as if they had been matters of slight consequence, or of
mere formality. When she had performed this painful task, she arose,
and, having curtsied to the lords, was about to withdraw to her
chamber. Ruthven and Sir Robert Melville made, the first a formal
reverence, the second an obeisance, in which his desire to acknowledge
his sympathy was obviously checked by the fear of appearing in the
eyes of his colleagues too partial to his former mistress. But
Lindesay stood motionless, even when they were preparing to withdraw.
At length, as if moved by a sudden impulse, he walked round the table
which had hitherto been betwixt them and the Queen, kneeled on one
knee, took her hand, kissed it, let it fall, and arose--"Lady," he
said, "thou art a noble creature, even though thou hast abused God's
choicest gifts. I pay that devotion to thy manliness of spirit, which
I would not have paid to the power thou hast long undeservedly
wielded--I kneel to Mary Stewart, not to the Queen."

"The Queen and Mary Stewart pity thee alike, Lindesay," said Mary--
"alike thee pity, and they forgive thee. An honoured soldier hadst
thou been by a king's side--leagued with rebels, what art thou but a
good blade in the hands of a ruffian?--Farewell, my Lord Ruthven, the
smoother but the deeper traitor.--Farewell, Melville--Mayest thou find
masters that can understand state policy better, and have the means to
reward it more richly, than Mary Stewart.--Farewell, George of
Douglas--make your respected grand-dame comprehend that we would be
alone for the remainder of the day--God wot, we have need to collect
our thoughts."

All bowed and withdrew; but scarce had they entered the vestibule, ere
Ruthven and Lindesay were at variance. "Chide not with me, Ruthven,"
Lindesay was heard to say, in answer to something more indistinctly
urged by his colleague--"Chide not with me, for I will not brook it!
You put the hangman's office on me in this matter, and even the very
hangman hath leave to ask some pardon of those on whom he does his
office. I would I had as deep cause to be this lady's friend as I have
to be her enemy--thou shouldst see if I spared limb and life in her
quarrel."

"Thou art a sweet minion," said Ruthven, "to fight a lady's quarrel,
and all for a brent brow and a tear in the eye! Such toys have been
out of thy thoughts this many a year."

"Do me right, Ruthven," said Lindesay. "You are like a polished
corslet of steel; it shines more gaudily, but it is not a whit
softer--nay, it is five times harder than a Glasgow breastplate of
hammered iron. Enough. We know each other."

They descended the stairs, were heard to summon their boats, and the
Queen signed to Roland Graeme to retire to the vestibule, and leave
her with her female attendants.




Chapter the Twenty-Third.


Give me a morsel on the greensward rather,
Coarse as you will the cooking--Let the fresh spring
Bubble beside my napkin--and the free birds
Twittering and chirping, hop from bough to bough,
To claim the crumbs I leave for perquisites--
Your prison feasts I like not.
THE WOODSMAN, A DRAMA.

A recess in the vestibule was enlightened by a small window, at which
Roland Graeme stationed himself to mark the departure of the lords. He
could see their followers mustering on horseback under their
respective banners--the western sun glancing on their corslets and
steel-caps as they moved to and fro, mounted or dismounted, at
intervals. On the narrow space betwixt the castle and the water, the
Lords Ruthven and Lindesay were already moving slowly to their boats,
accompanied by the Lady of Lochleven, her grandson, and their
principal attendants. They took a ceremonious leave of each other, as
Roland could discern by their gestures, and the boats put oft from
their landing-place; the boatmen stretched to their oars, and they
speedily diminished upon the eye of the idle gazer, who had no better
employment than to watch their motions. Such seemed also the
occupation of the Lady Lochleven and George Douglas, who, returning
from the landing-place, looked frequently back to the boats, and at
length stopped as if to observe their progress under the window at
which Roland Graeme was stationed.--As they gazed on the lake, he
could hear the lady distinctly say, "And she has bent her mind to save
her life at the expense of her kingdom?"

"Her life, madam!" replied her son; "I know not who would dare to
attempt it in the castle of my father. Had I dreamt that it was with
such purpose that Lindesay insisted on bringing his followers hither,
neither he nor they should have passed the iron gate of Lochleven
castle."

"I speak not of private slaughter, my son, but of open trial,
condemnation, and execution; for with such she has been threatened,
and to such threats she has given way. Had she not more of the false
Gusian blood than of the royal race of Scotland in her veins, she had
bidden them defiance to their teeth--But it is all of the same
complexion, and meanness is the natural companion of profligacy.--I am
discharged, forsooth, from intruding on her gracious presence this
evening. Go thou, my son, and render the usual service of the meal to
this unqueened Queen."

"So please you, lady mother," said Douglas," I care not greatly to
approach her presence."

"Thou art right, my son; and therefore I trust thy prudence, even
because I have noted thy caution. She is like an isle on the ocean,
surrounded with shelves and quicksands; its verdure fair and inviting
to the eye, but the wreck of many a goodly vessel which hath
approached it too rashly. But for thee, my son, I fear nought; and we
may not, with our honour, suffer her to eat without the attendance of
one of us. She may die by the judgment of Heaven, or the fiend may
have power over her in her despair; and then we would be touched in
honour to show that in our house, and at our table, she had had all
fair play and fitting usage."

Here Roland was interrupted by a smart tap on the shoulders, reminding
him sharply of Adam Woodcock's adventure of the preceding evening. He
turned round, almost expecting to see the page of Saint Michael's
hostelry. He saw, indeed, Catherine Seyton; but she was in female
attire, differing, no doubt, a great deal in shape and materials from
that which she had worn when they first met, and becoming her birth as
the daughter of a great baron, and her rank as the attendant on a
princess. "So, fair page," said she, "eaves-dropping is one of your
page-like qualities, I presume."

"Fair sister," answered Roland, in the same tone, "if some friends of
mine be as well acquainted with the rest of our mystery as they are
with the arts of swearing, swaggering, and switching, they need ask no
page in Christendom for farther insight into his vocation."

"Unless that pretty speech infer that you have yourself had the
discipline of the switch since we last met, the probability whereof I
nothing doubt, I profess, fair page, I am at a loss to conjecture your
meaning. But there is no time to debate it now--they come with the
evening meal. Be pleased, Sir Page, to do your duty."

Four servants entered bearing dishes, preceded by the same stern old
steward whom Roland had already seen, and followed by George Douglas,
already mentioned as the grandson of the Lady of Lochleven, and who,
acting as seneschal, represented, upon this occasion, his father, the
Lord of the Castle. He entered with his arms folded on his bosom, and
his looks bent on the ground. With the assistance of Roland Graeme, a
table was suitably covered in the next or middle apartment, on which
the domestics placed their burdens with great reverence, the steward
and Douglas bending low when they had seen the table properly adorned,
as if their royal prisoner had sat at the board in question. The door
opened, and Douglas, raising his eyes hastily, cast them again on the
earth, when he perceived it was only the Lady Mary Fleming who
entered.

"Her Grace," she said, "will not eat to-night."

"Let us hope she may be otherwise persuaded," said Douglas; "meanwhile,
madam, please to see our duty performed."

A servant presented bread and salt on a silver plate, and the old
steward carved for Douglas a small morsel in succession from each of
the dishes presented, which he tasted, as was then the custom at the
tables of princes, to which death was often suspected to find its way
in the disguise of food.

"The Queen will not then come forth to-night?" said Douglas.

"She has so determined," replied the lady.

"Our farther attendance then is unnecessary--we leave you to your
supper, fair ladies, and wish you good even."

He retired slowly as he came, and with the same air of deep dejection,
and was followed by the attendants belonging to the castle. The two
ladies sate down to their meal, and Roland Graeme, with ready
alacrity, prepared to wait upon them. Catherine Seyton whispered to
her companion, who replied with the question spoken in a low tone, but
looking at the page--"Is he of gentle blood and well nurtured?"

The answer which she received seemed satisfactory, for she said to
Roland, "Sit down, young gentleman, and eat with your sisters in
captivity."

"Permit me rather to perform my duty in attending them," said Roland,
anxious to show he was possessed of the high tone of deference
prescribed by the rules of chivalry towards the fair sex, and
especially to dames and maidens of quality.

"You will find, Sir Page," said Catherine, "you will have little time
allowed you for your meal; waste it not in ceremony, or you may rue
your politeness ere to-morrow morning."

"Your speech is too free, maiden," said the elder lady; "the modesty
of the youth may teach you more fitting fashions towards one whom
to-day you have seen for the first time."

Catherine Seyton cast down her eyes, but not till she had given a
single glance of inexpressible archness towards Roland, whom her more
grave companion now addressed in a tone of protection.

"Regard her not, young gentleman--she knows little of the world, save
the forms of a country nunnery--take thy place at the board-end, and
refresh thyself after thy journey."

Roland Graeme obeyed willingly, as it was the first food he had that
day tasted; for Lindesay and his followers seemed regardless of human
wants. Yet, notwithstanding the sharpness of his appetite, a natural
gallantry of disposition, the desire of showing himself a
well-nurtured gentleman, in all courtesies towards the fair sex, and,
for aught I know, the pleasure of assisting Catherine Seyton, kept his
attention awake, during the meal, to all those nameless acts of duty
and service which gallants of that age were accustomed to render. He
carved with neatness and decorum, and selected duly whatever was most
delicate to place before the ladies. Ere they could form a wish, he
sprung from the table, ready to comply with it--poured wine--tempered
it with water--removed the exchanged trenchers, and performed the
whole honours of the table, with an air at once of cheerful diligence,
profound respect, and graceful promptitude.

When he observed that they had finished eating, he hastened to offer
to the elder lady the silver ewer, basin, and napkin, with the
ceremony and gravity which he would have used towards Mary herself. He
next, with the same decorum, having supplied the basin with fair
water, presented it to Catherine Seyton. Apparently, she was
determined to disturb his self-possession, if possible; for, while in
the act of bathing her hands, she contrived, as it were by accident,
to flirt some drops of water upon the face of the assiduous assistant.
But if such was her mischievous purpose she was completely
disappointed; for Roland Graeme, internally piquing himself on his
self-command, neither laughed nor was discomposed; and all that the
maiden gained by her frolic was a severe rebuke from her companion,
taxing her with mal-address and indecorum. Catherine replied not, but
sat pouting, something in the humour of a spoilt child, who watches
the opportunity of wreaking upon some one or other its resentment for
a deserved reprimand.

The Lady Mary Fleming, in the mean-while, was naturally well pleased
with the exact and reverent observance of the page, and said to
Catherine, after a favourable glance at Roland Graeme,--"You might
well say, Catherine, our companion in captivity was well born and
gentle nurtured. I would not make him vain by my praise, but his
services enable us to dispense with those which George Douglas
condescends not to afford us, save when the Queen is herself in
presence."

"Umph! I think hardly," answered Catherine. "George Douglas is one of
the most handsome gallants in Scotland, and 'tis pleasure to see him
even still, when the gloom of Lochleven Castle has shed the same
melancholy over him, that it has done over every thing else. When he
was at Holyrood who would have said the young sprightly George Douglas
would have been contented to play the locksman here in Lochleven, with
no gayer amusement than that of turning the key on two or three
helpless women?--a strange office for a Knight of the Bleeding
Heart--why does he not leave it to his father or his brothers?"

"Perhaps, like us, he has no choice," answered the Lady Fleming. "But,
Catherine, thou hast used thy brief space at court well, to remember
what George Douglas was then."

"I used mine eyes, which I suppose was what I was designed to do, and
they were worth using there. When I was at the nunnery, they were very
useless appurtenances; and now I am at Lochleven, they are good for
nothing, save to look over that eternal work of embroidery."

"You speak thus, when you have been but a few brief hours amongst us
--was this the maiden who would live and die in a dungeon, might she
but have permission to wait on her gracious Queen?"

"Nay, if you chide in earnest, my jest is ended," said Catherine
Seyton. "I would not yield in attachment to my poor god-mother, to
the gravest dame that ever had wise saws upon her tongue, and a
double-starched ruff around her throat--you know I would not, Dame
Mary Fleming, and it is putting shame on me to say otherwise."

"She will challenge the other court lady," thought Roland Graeme; "she
will to a certainty fling down her glove, and if Dame Mary Fleming
hath but the soul to lift it, we may have a combat in the lists!"--but
the answer of Lady Mary Fleming was such as turns away wrath.

"Thou art a good child," she said, "my Catherine, and a faithful; but
Heaven pity him who shall have one day a creature so beautiful to
delight him, and a thing so mischievous to torment him--thou art fit
to drive twenty husbands stark mad."

"Nay," said Catherine, resuming the full career of her careless
good-humour, "he must be half-witted beforehand, that gives me such an
opportunity. But I am glad you are not angry with me in sincerity,"
casting herself as she spoke into the arms of her friend, and
continuing, with a tone of apologetic fondness, while she kissed her
on either side of the face; "you know, my dear Fleming, that I have to
contend with both my father's lofty pride, and with my mother's high
spirit--God bless them! they have left me these good qualities, having
small portion to give besides, as times go--and so I am wilful and
saucy; but let me remain only a week in this castle, and oh, my dear
Fleming, my spirit will be as chastised and humble as thine own."

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