Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume IX Part 19

"Very seldom, sir," replied mine host; "for ye see she doesna fin hersel quite at hame yet amang us; but she'll come to by and by, I've nae doot."

"And she is not easy of access, you say--no chance of one being able to throw himself in her way?"

"Unco little, I should think," replied mine host, "unless she could be fa'n in wi' gaun to the chapel to ma.s.s; for she still abides by thae abominations, for a' John Knox can say till her."

A flush of resentment and indignation crossed the pale countenance of the stranger at the last expressions of the innkeeper, and he threw a glance at him strongly expressive of these feelings, but suddenly checked himself, paused for a moment, and then resumed his queries in the calm and gentle tones which seemed natural to him--

"How likes she the country, know ye?

"Indeed, I canna weel say," replied mine host; "but I rather doot, frae what I hear, she's no athegither reconciled till't yet. She thinks, I daursay, we're rather a roughspun set o' folk--a wee thing coorse i' the grain or sae."

"Ay, that ye are, that ye are," said the stranger, with more candour than courtesy, again throwing himself back in his chair, and again beginning to rhapsodise as before. "She is among ye--the beautiful, the gentle, the accomplished, the refined--as a fawn amongst a herd of bears. She is in your wild and savage land, like a lovely and tender flower growing in the cleft of a rock--a sweet and gentle thing, blooming alone in the midst of rudeness and barrenness. Oh, uncongenial soil! Oh, discordant a.s.sociation! Dearest, cruellest, loveliest of thy s.e.x!"

If mine host was amazed at the first outpouring of his guest's excited mind, it will readily be believed that it was not lessened by this second ebullition of fervour and pa.s.sion. He, in truth, now became convinced that he was distracted; and, under this impression, felt a strong desire to be quit of him as soon as possible. With this view, he took an early opportunity of stealing un.o.bserved out of the apartment--a feat which he found no difficulty in performing, as his guest seemed ultimately so wholly wrapped up in his own thoughts, as to be quite unconscious of what was either said or done in his presence. Soon after mine host had retired, the stranger ordered paper, pen, and ink to be brought him. They were placed upon his table, he himself the while walking up and down the apartment with measured stride and downcast look, as if again lost in profound and perplexing thought; and at intervals the sound of his footsteps, thus traversing his chamber, was heard throughout the whole of the night. The stranger had slept none; he had not even retired to seek repose; but those periods during the night--and they were of considerable length--in which all was silent in his apartment, were employed in writing; and when morning came, the result of his labours was exhibited in a letter, curiously, or rather fancifully, folded, tied with a green silk thread, and highly perfumed.

This letter was addressed on the back, "To the Most Ill.u.s.trious Princess, Mary, Queen of Scotland."

Having brought the proceedings of the stranger to this point, we will s.h.i.+ft the scene to the sitting apartment of the queen in Holyrood. Here, surrounded with her maids, the young and lovely princess was, at the moment of which we speak, engaged in working embroidery, and laughing and chatting with her attendants, amongst whom were two or three young French ladies, who had accompanied her from France. The queen and her maids were thus employed, then, when the gentleman-usher, who stood at the door of the apartment, entered, and, with a low obeisance, presented a letter to the queen. It was the same as that addressed to her by the stranger, and above referred to. The queen took the letter, with a gracious smile, from the person presenting it, and, contemplating it for a moment, before she opened it, with a look of pleased surprise--

"This, sure," she said, "is from none of our Scottish subjects: the fold is French." And she sighed. "It has the cut and fas.h.i.+on of the _billet doux_ of St Germains; and," she added, laughing, "the precise flavour, too, I declare. But I should know this handwriting," she went on; "I have seen it before. This, however, will solve the mystery." And she tore the letter open, and was instantly employed in reading it, blus.h.i.+ng and smiling by turns, as she proceeded with the perusal. When she had done, "Maria," she said, raising her eyes from the paper, and addressing one of her French ladies, "who, think you, is this letter from?"

"I cannot guess, madam," replied the young lady appealed to.

"Do try," rejoined Mary.

"Nay, indeed, I cannot," said the former, now pausing in her work, and looking laughingly at her mistress. "Perhaps from the Count Desmartine, or from Dufour, or Dubois."

"No, no, no," replied the queen, laughing; "neither of these, Maria; but I will have compa.s.sion on your curiosity, and tell you. Would you believe it?--it is from Chatelard, the poet."

"Chatelard!" repeated the maiden, in amazement. "What in all the earth can have brought him here?"

"Nay, I know not," said the queen, blus.h.i.+ng, for she guessed, or rather feared, the cause. "But read, and judge for yourself," she added, handing her attendant the letter, which contained a very beautiful laudatory poem, full of pa.s.sion and feeling, addressed to herself, and which the writer concluded by requesting that he might be permitted to form part of her court; declaring that it would be joy inexpressible to him to be near her person--he cared not in how mean a capacity. The having opportunities of seeing and serving her, he said, would reconcile him to any degradation of rank--to any loss, save that of honour.

"In truth, very pretty verses," said the lady-in-waiting, returning the poem to the queen; "but, methinks, somewhat over-bold."

"Why, I do think so too, Maria," replied Mary. "Chatelard rather forgets himself; but poets, you know, have a license, and I cannot be harsh to the poor young man. It would be cruel, ungenerous, and unworthy of me."

"But what say you, madam, to his request to be attached to your court?"

"Really, as to that, I know not well what to say, indeed," rejoined the queen. "Chatelard, you know, Maria, is a gentleman, both by birth and education. He is accomplished in a very high degree, and of a graceful person and pleasing manners, and would thus do no discredit to our court; but, I fear me, he might be guilty of some indiscretions--for he is a child of pa.s.sion as well as song--that might lead himself into danger, and bring some blame on me. Still, I cannot think of rejecting altogether his humble suit, so prettily preferred; and, if he would promise to conduct himself with becoming gravity and reserve in all matters, and at all times, I should have no objection that he was attached to our court. I will, at all events, make trial of him for a short s.p.a.ce."

Having said this, the queen, now addressing the ladies present generally, went on--

"Ladies, I will shortly introduce to you a new gallant; but I pray ye take care of your hearts; for he is, I warrant ye, one especially given to purloining these little commodities. He is handsome, accomplished, and a poet; so mind ye, ladies, I have warned you--be on your guard.

Kerr," she now called out to a page in waiting, "go to the hostelry whence this letter came, and say to the gentleman by whom it has been sent, that we desire to see him forthwith. Let him accompany you, Kerr."

The page instantly departed; and we will avail ourselves of his short absence on this mission, to say briefly who Chatelard was--what was his object in coming to the Scottish court--and of what nature were the fears which the queen expressed regarding him.

Chatelard, then, was a young French gentleman of rank, of rare accomplishments, and a poet of very considerable excellence. His seeking to attach himself to Mary's court, was the result of a violent and unhappy attachment to her person; and her fears for him, proceeding from a suspicion of this attachment, were, that he would commit himself by some rash expression of his feelings. She was displeased with his presumptuous love, yet found she could not, as a woman, but look on it with pity and compa.s.sion and hence her disposition to treat with kindness and affability its unhappy victim. Prudence, indeed, would certainly have dictated another course than what Mary pursued with Chatelard, in thus admitting him to her presence; but Mary's error here was an error of the heart, and more to be regretted than blamed.

In a short while after the messenger had been despatched with the invitation to Chatelard, the door of the queen's apartment was thrown wide open, and that person entered. His bow to the queen was exceedingly graceful; and not less so, though measured with scrupulous exactness in their expression of deference, were those he directed to her ladies.

Chatelard's countenance was at this instant suffused with a blush, and it was evident he was under the excitement of highly-agitated feelings; but he lost not, for a moment, nor in the slightest degree, his presence of mind; neither did these feelings prevent him conducting himself at this interview with the most perfect propriety.

"Chatelard," said the queen, after the ceremonies of a first salutation were over, "I perceive you have lost none of your cunning in the gentle craft. These were really pretty lines you sent me--choice in expression, and melodiously arranged. I a.s.sure thee it is a very happy piece."

"How could it be otherwise, madam," replied Chatelard, bowing low, "with such a subject?"

"Nay, nay," said Mary, laughing and blus.h.i.+ng at the same time, "I am no subject, Chatelard, but an anointed queen. Thou canst not make a subject of me."

Chatelard now in turn blushed, and said, smiling, "Your wit, madam, has thrown me out; but, avoiding this play on words, my position is good, undeniable. All men acknowledge it."

"Go to--go to, Chatelard--thou wert ever a flatterer. But 'tis a poet's trade. Thou art a dangerous flatterer, however; for thou dost praise so prettily that one cannot suspect thy sincerity, nor be angry with thee, even when thou deservest that they should. But enough of this in the meantime. Thou mayst now retire; and I think the sooner the better, for the safety of these fair maidens' hearts, and your own peace of mind, which a longer stay might endanger. Our chamberlain will provide thee with suitable apartments, and see to thy wants. Mark," she added, laughingly, "we retain thee in our service in the capacity of our poet--of court poet--a high and honourable appointment; and thy reward shall be the smiles and approbation of these fair ladies--the beauty of all and each of whom I expect thou wilt forthwith embalm in immortal verse."

Chatelard, bowing, was now about to retire, when the queen, again addressing him, said, "We will send for thee again in the afternoon, to bear us company for awhile, when thou wilt please bring with thee some of thy newest and choicest madrigals."

Expressing a deep sense of the honour proposed to be conferred on him, of the queen's kind condescension, and avowing his devotedness to her service, Chatelard withdrew, and was provided with the promised apartments by the express orders of Mary herself. To these apartments we shall follow the enthusiastic but audacious lover. On being left alone, Chatelard again fell into one of those reveries which we have already described, and again launched into that strain of extravagant adulation which, on another occasion, we represented him as indulging in. Again he compared Mary, in his incoherent ravings, to everything that is beautiful in earth, sea, and sky; but comparing her to these only that he might a.s.sert how far she surpa.s.sed them. There were mingled, too, with his eulogiums, on this occasion, expressions of that imprudent pa.s.sion which subsequently at once urged him to commit the most daring offences, and blinded him to their consequences. Poor Chatelard's ravings, in the instance of which we are just speaking, were unconsciously uttered; but they were unfortunately loud enough to arrest the attention of the domestics, who were pa.s.sing to and fro in the lobby into which the door of his apartment opened. These, attracted by his rapturous exclamations, listened, from time to time, at his door, and were highly amused with the rhapsodies of the imprudent poet. The latter, becoming more and more vehement, and, in proportion, more entertaining, the domestics finally gathered in a cl.u.s.ter around the door, to the number of six or eight, and, with suppressed laughter, overheard all that the excited and unguarded inmate chose to utter.

That, however, was so incoherent, or at least of so high-flown a character, that the listeners could make nothing of it; and, as they could not, they immediately concluded it to be nonsense, and the speaker a madman. But there came one to the spot, at this unfortunate moment, who, with sharper intellect and more apt comprehension, at once discovered the meaning that lurked under the florid language of the poet's ill-timed soliloquies.

While the servants were crowded around the door of Chatelard's apartment, too intent on their amus.e.m.e.nt to notice the approach of any one, another party, we say, had advanced to within a few paces of where they stood. Here, with his arms folded across his breast, he had remained observed for several seconds, gazing with a look of surprise and displeasure on the merry group a.s.sembled around the poet's door. He was, however, at length discovered, when the knot of listeners instantly broke up in the greatest hurry and alarm.

"How now," exclaimed the unexpected intruder--a person of about thirty years of age, of rather slender form, of cold and haughty demeanour, and austere countenance--"How now?" he exclaimed, in a voice whose tones were naturally severe--"what means this idling?--what do ye all here, knaves, in place of attending to your duties?"

Instead of answering this question, the terrified domestics were now endeavouring to make off in all directions; but the querist's curiosity, or perhaps suspicion, having been excited by what he had seen, he instantly arrested their progress, by calling on them, in a voice of increased severity and vehemence, to stop.

"Come hither, Johnstone," he exclaimed, addressing one of the fugitives--"I must know what you have been all about." And, without waiting for an answer, "Who occupies this apartment?" he inquired, pointing to that in which was Chatelard.

"And please ye, my lord," replied Johnstone, bowing with the most profound respect--"ane that we think's no very wise. He's been bletherin awa there to himsel, saving yer honour's presence, like a bubbly-jock, for this half-hour back, and we can neither mak tap, tail, nor mane o'

what he's sayin."

"What! a madman, Johnstone?" said the Earl of Murray, the queen's half-brother, for it was no less a personage; then hurriedly added, "Who is he?--what is he?--where is he from?--when came he hither?"

The man answered categorically--

"I dinna ken, my lord, wha he is; but, frae the thinness o' his chafts, I tak him to be ane o' your French laun-loupers. He cam to the palace about twa hours syne."

The earl's curiosity was now still further excited, and, without saying a word more, he drew near to the door of Chatelard's apartment, and became also an auditor of the poor poet's unguarded language; but not such as it was in the case of the listeners who had preceded him; to him that language was perfectly intelligible--at least to the extent of informing him of Chatelard's ambitious love. To Murray this was a secret worth knowing; and, in the hope that he might discover this attachment to be reciprocal, and thus acquire an additional influence over the queen, his sister, at the expense of her reputation, he considered it a singularly fortunate incident. Perhaps he expected that it would do even more for him than this: that it would eventually help him to the accomplishment of certain daring views towards the crown itself, of which he was not unsuspected. Whether, however, he was able to trace, in distinct and definite lines, any consequences favourable to himself from the fact which had just come to his knowledge, it is certain he was pleased with the discovery, and considered it as an important acquisition. That he viewed it in this light, indeed, was evident even by his countenance, cautiously guarded as its expressions ever were.

On being satisfied of the fact of Chatelard's attachment to the queen, he withdrew from the door with a look and brief expression of satisfaction, and went directly in quest of the chamberlain. On finding whom--

"So, Mr Chamberlain," he said, "we have got, I find, another animal added to our herd of fawning, drivelling courtiers. Pray, who or what is he, this person who has taken up his quarters in the northern gallery, and by whose authority has he been installed there?"

"By the queen's, my lord," replied the chamberlain. "I have had express and direct orders from the queen herself, to provide the gentleman with apartments in the palace, and to see to his suitable entertainment."

"Ah, indeed," said the earl, biting his lip, and musing for a moment.

"By her own express orders!" he repeated. "It is very well." Then, after a pause--"Know ye this favoured person's name, Mr Chamberlain?"

"Chatelard," replied the latter.

"Chatelard! Chatelard!" repeated the earl, mechanically, and again musing; "why, I think I have heard of that gallant before. He is one of those triflers called poets, me-thinks--a versifier, a scribbler of jingling rhymes. Is it not so?"