Part 15 (1/2)

As soon as they were gone, the Queen, giving way to grief, fear, and agitation, threw herself into the seat, wrung her hands, and seemed to abandon herself to despair. Her female attendants, weeping themselves, endeavoured yet to pray her to be composed, and Sir Robert Melville, kneeling at her feet, made the same entreaty. After giving way to a pa.s.sionate burst of sorrow, she at length said to Melville, ”Kneel not to me, Melville--mock me not with the homage of the person, when the heart is far away--Why stay you behind with the deposed, the condemned? her who has but few hours perchance to live? You have been favoured as well as the rest; why do you continue the empty show of grat.i.tude and thankfulness any longer than they?”

”Madam,” said Sir Robert Melville, ”so help me Heaven at my need, my heart is as true to you as when you were in your highest place.”

”True to me! true to me!” repeated the Queen, with some scorn; ”tush, Melville, what signifies the truth which walks hand in hand with my enemies' falsehood?--thy hand and thy sword have never been so well acquainted that I can trust thee in aught where manhood is required--Oh, Seyton, for thy bold father, who is both wise, true, and valiant!”

Roland Graeme could withstand no longer his earnest desire to offer his services to a princess so distressed and so beautiful. ”If one sword,” he said, ”madam, can do any thing to back the wisdom of this grave counsellor, or to defend your rightful cause, here is my weapon, and here is my hand ready to draw and use it.” And raising his sword with one hand, he laid the other upon the hilt.

As he thus held up the weapon, Catherine Seyton exclaimed, ”Methinks I see a token from my father, madam;” and immediately crossing the apartment, she took Roland Graeme by the skirt of the cloak, and asked him earnestly whence he had that sword.

The page answered with surprise, ”Methinks this is no presence in which to jest--Surely, damsel, you yourself best know whence and how I obtained the weapon.”

”Is this a time for folly?” said Catherine Seyton; ”unsheathe the sword instantly!”

”If the Queen commands me,” said the youth, looking towards his royal mistress.

”For shame, maiden!” said the Queen; ”wouldst thou instigate the poor boy to enter into useless strife with the two most approved soldiers in Scotland?”

”In your Grace's cause,” replied the page, ”I will venture my life upon them!” And as he spoke, he drew his weapon partly from the sheath, and a piece of parchment, rolled around the blade, fell out and dropped on the floor. Catherine Seyton caught it up with eager haste.

”It is my father's hand-writing,” she said, ”and doubtless conveys his best duteous advice to your Majesty; I know that it was prepared to be sent in this weapon, but I expected another messenger.”

”By my faith, fair one,” thought Roland, ”and if you knew not that I had such a secret missive about me, I was yet more ignorant.”

The Queen cast her eye upon the scroll, and remained a few minutes wrapped in deep thought. ”Sir Robert Melville,” she at length said, ”this scroll advises me to submit myself to necessity, and to subscribe the deeds these hard men have brought with them, as one who gives way to the natural fear inspired by the threats of rebels and murderers. You, Sir Robert, are a wise man, and Seyton is both sagacious and brave. Neither, I think, would mislead me in this matter.”

”Madam,” said Melville, ”if I have not the strength of body of the Lord Herries or Seyton, I will yield to neither in zeal for your Majesty's service. I cannot fight for you like these lords, but neither of them is more willing to die for your service.”

”I believe it, my old and faithful counsellor,” said the Queen, ”and believe me, Melville, I did thee but a moment's injustice. Read what my Lord Seyton hath written to us, and give us thy best counsel.”

He glanced over the parchment, and instantly replied,--”Oh! my dear and royal mistress, only treason itself could give you other advice than Lord Seyton has here expressed. He, Herries, Huntly, the English amba.s.sador Throgmorton, and others, your friends, are all alike of opinion, that whatever deeds or instruments you execute within these walls, must lose all force and effect, as extorted from your Grace by duresse, by sufferance of present evil, and fear of men, and harm to ensue on your refusal. Yield, therefore, to the tide, and be a.s.sured, that in subscribing what parchments they present to you, you bind yourself to nothing, since your act of signature wants that which alone can make it valid, the free will of the granter.”

”Ay, so says my Lord Seyton,” replied Mary; ”yet methinks, for the daughter of so long a line of sovereigns to resign her birthright, because rebels press upon her with threats, argues little of royalty, and will read ill for the fame of Mary in future chronicles. Tus.h.!.+ Sir Robert Melville, the traitors may use black threats and bold words, but they will not dare to put their hands forth on our person.”

”Alas! madam, they have already dared so far and incurred such peril by the lengths which they have gone, that they are but one step from the worst and uttermost.”

”Surely,” said the Queen, her fears again predominating, ”Scottish n.o.bles would not lend themselves to a.s.sa.s.sinate a helpless woman?”

”Bethink you, madam,” he replied, ”what horrid spectacles have been seen in our day; and what act is so dark, that some Scottish hand has not been found to dare it? Lord Lindesay, besides his natural sullenness and hardness of temper, is the near kinsman of Henry Darnley, and Ruthven has his own deep and dangerous plans. The Council, besides, speak of proofs by writ and word, of a casket with letters--of I know not what.”

”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 sh.o.r.e; 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 a.s.sent. 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 n.o.ble Seyton, and you may once more command those who now usurp a triumph over you. But hus.h.!.+ I hear them in the vestibule.”

As he concluded speaking, George Douglas opened the door of the apartment, and marshalled in the two n.o.ble 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 G.o.d, 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 sh.o.r.e, 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, s.n.a.t.c.hing hold of the Queen's arm with his own gauntleted hand, he pressed it, in the rudeness of his pa.s.sion, 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 pa.s.sion 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 a.s.sociates 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 Amba.s.sador, 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 a.s.suring 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 establis.h.i.+ng 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 n.o.ble creature, even though thou hast abused G.o.d'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--G.o.d 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.”