CHAPTER XXX.
It was a gay sight in the town of Edinburgh, as, on the morning of the twenty-third of March, all the principal nobles of the land rode, gallantly attended, to the council for which the king's summons had gone forth, and many were the persons assembled to see them pass. No great joy or satisfaction, however, shone upon the countenances of the good citizens of Edinburgh, for the rumour already had spread through the city that a new tax was in contemplation to support the extravagance of the king, and to enrich the minions of the court. Never was a greater mistake made than that which is attributed to David Rizzio, who is said to have expressed an opinion, when warned by Sir James Melville of the peril which menaced him, that the bark of the Scotch people was worse than their bite. On the contrary, history proves that the bite, and that a sharp one, came frequently before the bark. On the present occasion, there were no loud expressions of popular feeling, except perhaps, when one of those barons in whom the people had confidence happened to pass; but a dull and menacing sort of gloom hung over the crowd, and whatever they thought, it was expressed in low tones to each other. Gowrie was one of the first on the way, and a shout greeted him when he approached the crowd assembled near the palace gates, for there the council was held; but the noise soon died away, and he was riding on, when a half-witted man ran out from amongst the rest, and laid his hand upon the earl's rein, saying, "Don't you vote for the tax, Gowrie! Don't you vote for the oppression of the people. We poor folk can hardly bear it."
Gowrie said some kind but unmeaning words to the poor man, and passed quietly on his way, arriving at the gates a few minutes before the appointed hour. At the door he was met by the king's porter, who informed him that his majesty had not yet left his apartments; and with a slow step and very thoughtful countenance, the young earl was walking across to the foot of the staircase, when young John Ramsay came hastily forward from the fireplace, by which he was standing, and accosted him, saying, "My lord the earl, I wish to speak to you."
"Ah, Ramsay!" said Gowrie, turning round, and holding out his hand, "I did not see you!"
The young man, however, drew a little back, and replied with a haughty and somewhat overbearing air, "There are some matters to be settled first, my lord, before I know whether we are friends or enemies."
"It may be just as you please, sir," answered Gowrie calmly, gazing at him with some surprise; "what is the matter?"
"I understand, my lord," replied the young man, "that one of your servants has murdered, in Perth, my brother's man, Walter Matthison--a person whom I protected."
The tone was very offensive; and the first answer that rose to Gowrie's lips was, "Your protection, it seems, proved of little avail;" but he checked the reply before it was uttered, and merely said, "I am sorry, Ramsay, that such is too truly the case."
"Then you will remember, my lord," said Ramsay, "that we will have blood for blood. No great protection shall avail here, whatever it may do in France; and serving men shall not wound or slay as good or better men than themselves, however powerful or wealthy their lord may be."
Gowrie's cheek reddened, and his heart beat quick; but he mastered the feeling of anger, and asked, though in somewhat of a stern tone, "Have you heard from your brother lately?"
"No, I have not, my lord," replied Ramsay. "What of that?"
"Simply that if you had," answered the earl, "I think he would be sorry both for your words and for your bearing. You have been deceived, Ramsay," he said, in a milder tone; "certainly, with regard to what has taken place in France, and I think with regard to what has taken place at Perth. The murderer of your brother's servant--for I can call my man, David Drummond, no less--was immediately seized by my orders, and handed over to the justice of the town. I myself shall sit as provost at his trial. I have invited your brother to be present, and let me tell you, John Ramsay, that I say--which is something more than what you say--that if all the power in Scotland, except the king's grace, were exerted to save him from justice, he should die if he be proved guilty, as I believe him to be."
Thus saying, the earl turned upon his heel, and walked up the stairs, leaving Ramsay feeling himself painfully rebuked in the presence of a number of bystanders, who, to say truth, had the ordinary amount of love for their rivals, the favourites of the court. There are two things from which the mind of youth usually takes its impressions, its own prejudices or passions, and the opinions of others. It is an after operation of the mind, in nine cases out of ten, to seek for and to ascertain facts, and to form our opinions upon them. Ramsay was naturally rash, bold, and resolute; and though he afterwards, as Lord Holdernesse, showed some signs of greater powers, at the time I speak of they were all in abeyance, and he was ready to receive all the opinions of others, and tincture them strongly or weakly, according to the prejudices and passions already existing in his own mind. He remained near the fire, then, for a full quarter of an hour longer, gnawing the bitter lip, and angry without cause for anger. At length, one of the ushers came down and whispered in his ear, "The king is in at the council, sir. He's been in some time."
"Pshaw!" said Ramsay, impetuously, and turned his back to the man who addressed him.
Another quarter of an hour passed, and various noblemen, who arrived somewhat late, went up the stairs without Ramsay noticing them. At length, one of them, who was acquainted with him, hurrying in, remarked him standing by the fire, and said, "Ah, I am glad to see you there, Ramsay. I was afraid the king would be gone in to the council, for I was detained by----"
"So he is," answered Ramsay, abruptly; and the gentleman hurried up the stairs without waiting to finish his sentence.
The young gentleman followed with a slow step; and when he entered the council chamber, a scene presented itself which I must attempt to depict. The king was seated in a large arm chair, or throne, a few steps in advance of the private door through which Ramsay passed. Before him stretched a long table, or council board, at which were seated almost all the great nobles of the land. Behind the king's chair, and nearly filling up the vacant space between it and the wall, were a number of the gentlemen of the royal household. Amongst these were Sir George Murray, Sir Hugh Herries, Sir Thomas Erskine, Mr. Alexander Blair, David Moyses, and nearer to the door, Sir David Murray of Cospetrie, afterwards created Lord Scoon, a man of more mind and intelligence than James was usually inclined to tolerate.
It would appear that the tax which the king wished to inflict upon the people had been proposed for the consideration of the lords; and that the debate, if it may be so called, had proceeded some way, for it is known that the first three or four who spoke briefly expressed their approbation. At the moment when Ramsay entered, however, the Earl of Gowrie was on his feet, in the act of addressing the council. But that he had spoken for some minutes; and that the argumentative part of his speech was over was evident, for the only words which Ramsay heard were, "For these reasons, my lords: because the tax would be burdensome in its nature; because it would be unequal in its pressure; because the people in this realm have not the means of meeting so large a claim upon their loyalty; and because the actual necessity of so great a demand, either for the purpose of maintaining the king's royal dignity, or for securing the peace and safety of the country, has not been clearly shown to exist; I, for my part, would humbly petition his majesty, according to his great wisdom, to devise some other means more easy to his loyal subjects for meeting the necessities of the time----and," he added, after a moment's pause, as if hesitating whether to utter the words which rose to his lips, "and in his gracious condescension, and in that love and affection which he is known to bear to all his subjects, to confine his requirements to the limit of their means, and the most pressing exigencies of the state."
The earl sat down, and a murmur of applause ran round the lower end of the table; but Sir David Murray turned towards Sir Thomas Erskine, and said, fixing his eyes direct upon the Earl of Gowrie, "Yonder is an unhappy man. They are but seeking a cause for his death; and now he has given it."[[2]]
Sir Hugh Herries, who was standing near, looked over his shoulder with a dark smile; and Murray, as if he felt that he had imprudently committed himself, quitted the room in some haste.
A moment after, one of the ushers whispered in Ramsay's ear that his brother was below, and wished to speak with him; and imagining that the debate was likely to be long, the young gentleman went out, made an appointment to meet Sir George in the evening, and returned. When he reached the council chamber, however, he was only in time to open the private door for the king to retire to his own apartments; but James, who seemed in high good humour, gave him a sign to follow, as he had previously done to Sir Hugh Herries; and when they reached the royal closet, the monarch cast himself upon his thickly-cushioned seat, and burst into a fit of laughter.
"Well, bairns," he said, "that's done, in the teeth of Gowrie's earl; and we shall get the money."
"You would not have got it, sire, if he could have prevented you," said Herries, with the true malignity of a court.
"Ay, man; but we were too strong for him," said James. "He that wrestles with a king who understands his craft had need be a stalwart chiel."
"I hope he may get a fall some day," said Ramsay, bluffly.
James looked at him with a significant smile, "And so he will, Jock," he said, "such a fall as may break his neck, perhaps; but we must give him time. It's always better to let such lads weary themselves out, keeping a watchful eye upon them, Jock, lest they play us a scurvy trick. Soul o' my body, man, but he made a fine speech, though; well delivered, with just enunciation, and every sentence well put together. Not so bad for the matter either, if it had not been against his king and his duty. He's a sharp-witted callant, if he was not somewhat traitorously disposed, like the whole of those Ruthvens, every mother's son of them."
"I would soon stop their treason, if I were your majesty," said John Ramsay; "however, you walk by wisdom and I by indignation, so your majesty will of course walk best."
"No doubt of it," answered James; and then, mingling a coarse familiarity with an affectation of dignity, which only rendered the one grotesque and the other ridiculous, he proceeded to say, "And now, Jock Ramshackle, as you have rendered us many and signal services, we are determined to confer upon you a high honour and dignity, by giving you a clout upon the shoulder"--or as the king pronounced it, shoother--"so go your ways; tell Tammy Elliot to bring us a sword; but bid him carry it discreetly on the cushion, with the hilt towards our hand, and to take care that it does not pop out of itself. They are but kittle weapons."
We must leave the learned reader, who may be so inclined, to retranslate the king's speeches into the fine vernacular in which he usually spoke; for we have only attempted, though somewhat more than half a Scot ourself, to put in a word or two of the original dialect, here and there, for vigour's sake; and, to say truth, we fear if we had either the capability or the desire of rendering each speech of his majesty word for word, most of our readers would be puzzled as to the meaning, and many of them not a little shocked at expressions, which we have omitted--for reasons which shall be fully assigned at some future period in a dissertation which we intend to write upon the oaths and blasphemies of Our late Sovereign Lord, King James, Sixth of that name of Scotland and First of England, of happy memory.
Young John Ramsay hurried away with a proud and joyous step to seek the instrument which was to bestow upon him the honours of chivalry; and, in the meantime, the king spoke more rapidly, and in a lower tone, to Herries than was his wont, every now and then pausing and saying, "Ha, man." To which Herries invariably replied, "Yes, sire, I understand your majesty. It was the wisest course;" and to this general approbation of the king's views he added, just as Ramsay was returning with Sir Thomas Elliot and the sword of state, "But you'll need cold iron before you've done."
Ramsay instantly started and turned round, with a glance of keen inquiry at the king's face, upon which James burst into a fit of laughter, exclaiming, "Look at the young slothound, how it pricks up its ears! I'll answer for it, put him on a trail of blood, and he'd follow it till he pulled his man down."
The youth coloured, for there was something in the comparison he did not altogether like; but, kneeling at the king's feet, he received the honour of knighthood--with the sheathed sword, however, which he did not altogether like either. The king then dismissed him, with the directions that he might have given a child, to "go and play himself;" and for his own part, he remained shut up with Herries for nearly an hour. At the end of that time, James and his counsellor came forth together, and walked towards the queen's apartments, the monarch concluding their conversation by saying, "Bide a wee; you'll see. We'll frame such a cunning device that the birdie shall walk into the trap, and if ever he gets out again, it will be the fault of the fowler's friends, and not his who set the snare. But mind, man, not a word or a look, as you'd have our favour. We shall ourselves be all kindness and courtesy; and you must make our looks your glass, that you may not scare the quarry from the net."
"Don't be too civil, sire," said Herries, bluntly, stumping after the king with his club foot. "He must feel that your majesty can't love him: and I've known many a man put on his cloak when he saw the sun shine too fair in the morning, because he knew it would rain before noon."
"Hout, tout! Would ye school me, man? Faith, you are too bold," said the king; and he walked on with an air of pique.