In the broad, open space before the palace, the elaborate fountain, with its floriated pinnacles, figures, &c., will attract attention, although it ill accords with the old buildings. The most interesting apartments in the palace are those of Mary, Queen of Scots.
Passing in at the entrance gate, and buying tickets at a little office very much like a theatrical ticket office, we visited the more ancient part of the palace, and entered first Lord Darnley's rooms. These were hung with fine specimens of ancient tapestry, upon which Cupids are represented plucking fruit, and throwing it down to others; oak trees and leaves, Cupids plucking grapes, &c. Another scene was a lake and castle, with fruit trees and Cupids; also figures of nude youngsters, turning somersaults and performing different antics. Another room contains two pieces of tapestry, telling the story of the flaming cross that appeared to Constantine the Great, the motto, In hoc signo vinces, embroidered on the corner of the hangings; Darnley's elegant armor, &c. Other fine pieces of tapestry are in Darnley's bed-room and dressing-room. Portraits of Scottish kings also adorn the walls.
We were then shown Queen Mary's private staircase, that by which Darnley admitted the conspirators up from a little turret room to assassinate Rizzio. Mary's audience chamber is a room about twenty feet square, the ceiling divided into panelled compartments, adorned with initials and armorial bearings, and the walls hung with tapestry, upon which were wrought various scenes, now sadly faded by the withering breath of time. These tapestry hangings the curious traveller soon becomes accustomed to, and the more, I think, one sees of them, the more he admires them—the scenes of ancient mythology or allegorical design so beautifully wrought as to rival even oil paintings in beauty of color and design, and exciting a wonder at the skill and labor that were expended in producing with many colored threads these wondrous loom mosaics. In the audience chamber stands the bed of Charles I., and upon this couch Prince Charles, the unfortunate descendant of the former occupant, slept in September, 1745, and the Duke of Cumberland, his conqueror, rested upon the same couch. Cumberland, yes, we recollect him; he figured in Lochiel's Warning, Campbell's beautiful poem—
"Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain."
Some rich old chairs of the same period, and other furniture, are also in this room, which was the scene of Mary's altercation with Knox.
Looking upon the antique bed, one can see how, despite care, the hand of time leaves its indelible impress upon all that is of man's creation. You can scarcely imagine how time affects an old state bed. No matter what be the care or exclusion from sunlight, the breath of time leaves its mark; the canopy and hangings gradually fade and deaden, the very life seems to be extracted, and they look like an old piece of husk or dried toast, light, porous, and moulding; the wood-work, however, grows dark, and apparently as solid as iron; the quaint carving stands out in jetty polish, rich and luxuriant—a study and a wonder of curious and fantastic art and sculpture in wood.
Queen Mary's room is hung with a beautiful piece of tapestry, representing the fall of Phaeton; half hidden by this tapestry is the door opening upon the secret stair by which Rizzio's murderers entered; upon the wall hang portraits of Mary at the age of eighteen, portraits of Queen Elizabeth and King Henry VIII., presented her by Elizabeth; here also was furniture used by the queen, and the baby linen basket sent her by Elizabeth.
From here we enter that oft-described apartment so celebrated in Scottish history—the queen's supper room, where Rizzio was murdered. Its small size generally excites astonishment. Here, into this little room, which half a dozen persons would fill, rushed the armed conspirators, overturning the table and dragging their shrieking victim from the very feet of the queen, as he clung to her dress for protection, stabbing him as they went beneath her very eyes, forcing him out into the audience chamber, and left him with over fifty ghastly wounds, from which his life ebbed in a crimson torrent, leaving its ineffaceable stain, the indelible mark upon the oaken floor, not more indelible than the blackened stain which rests upon the names of the perpetrators of this brutal murder.
Adown the little staircase which the conspirators passed, we go through a low door into the court-yard. Over the top of this little door, a few years ago, in a crevice of the masonry, an antique dagger-blade was discovered by some workmen; and as the murderers escaped through this door, it was surmised that this was one of the very daggers used in the assassination.
But we leave the place behind, and enter the romantic ruins of the old abbey. How interesting are these picturesque ruined remains of the former glory and power of the church of Rome in England! Their magnificent proportions, beauty of architecture, and exquisite decoration bespeak the wealth of the church and the wondrous taste of those who reared these piles, which, in their very ruin, command our admiration. The abbey is immediately adjoining the palace,—its front a beautiful style of early English architecture, and the noble, high-arched door, with cluster pillars, elaborately sculptured with fret-work figures of angels, flowers, vines, &c.,—one of those specimens of stone carving that excite wonder at the amount of patient work, labor, and skill that must have been required in their production.