In Byways of Scottish History

Randolph's reply was not delayed. He was at Berwick when Melvill passed through it on his way to London, and learnt directly from his own lips all the particulars of the alleged libel, of the Queen's anger, and of her determination to bring down exemplary chastisement upon the offender's head. At once availing himself of the advantage which this early information afforded him, he drew up an emphatic and indignant denial of the whole indictment and a firm vindication of his conduct at the Scottish Court. He wrote with a manly frankness and dignity which are not always characteristic of his correspondence, adding considerable weight to his solemn protestations of innocence by the candid avowal of the suspicion with which he viewed the Queen's policy, and to which he had more than once given expression in his official communications to the home Government. "I coulde hardelye have beleved,"128 he said, "that anye suche reporte coulde have come owte of this towne to that Q: or that her g. wolde upon so slender information so suddaynlie agayne gyve credit to anye such report, in specaill that she wolde so hastelye wthowte farther assurance thus grevouslye accuse me to my Soveraign. The reme¯brance hereof hathe some what greved me, but beinge so well hable to purge my selfe of anye suche crime, and knowinge before whom I shal be accused and hearde, with suche indifferencie as I neade not to dowte of any partialitie, and pardoned to stond stiflye in defence of my honestie, I condene my selfe that I sholde tayke anye such care as almoste to pass what is sayde of me by suche, as throughe blamynge of me wolde culler suche Iniuries as I have knowne and daylye see done to my mestres, to my Soveraign and Countrie, to wch I am borne, wch I will serve wth boddie and lyf trewlye, and carles what becom¯ethe of me, more desierus to leave behynde me the name of a trewe servante then to possesse greate wealthe. I, therfore, in the presence of God and by my allegens to my Soveraign, affirme trewlye and advisedlye, that I never wrote booke agaynste her, or gave my consent or advise to anye that ever was wrytten, nor at this hower do knowe of anye that ever was set forthe to her defamation or dyshonour, or yet ever lyked of anye suche that ever dyd the lyke. And that this is trewe, yt shalbe mayntayned and defended as becom¯ethe one that oughte to have greater regarde of his honestie and trothe then he doth regarde what becom¯ethe of his lyf. I knowe that vnto your h: I have wrytten divers times maynie thynges straynge to be hearde of in a princesse that boore so greate a brute and fame of honour and vertu, as longe tyme she dyd. I confesse a mislykinge of her doings towards my mestres. I feared ever that wch still I stonde in dowte of, les over myche credit sholde be given whear lyttle is mente that is spoken. I wolde not that anye waye my mestres sholde be abused, wch made me wryte in greater vehemencie and more ernestlye then in matters of les consequence; but yf yt be ever provyd that I ever falcelye imagined anye thinge agaynste her, or untrewlye reported yt wch I have hearde willinglye, or dyd reveele that wch I do knowe to anye man, savinge to suche as I am bounde ether for deuties sake, or by com – andemente, I am contente to tayke this crime upon me, and to be defamed for a villayne, never to be better thought of then as mover of sedition and breeder of dyscorde betwene princes, as her g: hathe termed me. Of that wch I have wrytten to yor h: I am sure ther is nothynge come to her eares; wch was so farre from my mynde to put in a booke, that I have byne maynie tymes sorrie to wryte yt vnto yor h: from whome I knowe that I ought to keape nothynge whearby the Q. Matie myght vnderstonde this Q: state, or be assured what is her mynde towards her. Yf in this accusation I be founde giltles bothe in deade and thoughte (thoughe more be to be desyered of a gentleman that livethe onlye by the princes credit, and seekethe no other estimation then is wone by faythefull and trewe service) yet I will fynde my selfe satisfied, myche honered by the Q. Matie and bounde vnto yr h: that such triall maye be had of this matter that yt maye be knowne wch way and by whome in this towne anye suche reporte sholde come to her g: eares; wch I require more for the daynger that maye growe vnto this place to have suche persones in it, then I desyer my selfe anye revenge, or, in so falce matters do mayke greate accompte what anye man saythe or howe theis reporte of me, for that I am assured that more shame and dyshonor shalbe theirs in their falce accusations, then ther cane be blamed towards me in my well doynge."

In the face of this unqualified disclaimer, it would have required not merely suspicion founded on the unsupported assertion of a nameless informer, but the most direct and irrefutable evidence, to substantiate the charge brought against Randolph. His letter bore its own confirmation on the face of it. It was not meant for the public, who might perhaps have been put off by high-sounding phrases and protestations; neither was it intended for the Scottish Queen, who, though better informed, had no special facilities for testing the statements which it contained. It was addressed to Cecil, to the Minister with whom Randolph had been in constant correspondence for years, to whom he had communicated the trifling events of each day – incidents of Court life and scraps of Court gossip – who knew the extent of his experience of Scottish affairs, and was as familiar with his views as with his peculiarities of style and diction in expressing them; to the last man, in short, whom it would have been possible to hoodwink as to the authorship of a work bearing traces of either the hand or the inspiration of his subordinate.

But, if Randolph had been the author of the poem bearing his name, besides being deterred from any attempt at deception by the almost certainty of failure, he would doubtless have remembered that Cecil was one of the bitterest enemies of the Queen of Scots, and that, at the pitch which party animosity had reached, even though, for the sake of appearances, some indignation might be simulated, no serious offence was likely to be taken at a work tending to vilify the rival with whom, in spite of the hollow show of friendship still maintained, an open rupture was imminent, whose difficulties, far from calling forth sympathy, were the subject of thinly-veiled exultation, whose indiscretions were distorted into faults, and whose errors were magnified into crimes. Had he been concerned in the production of the Fantasie, he possessed sufficient shrewdness to know that his wisest and safest course did not lie in a denial of which the falsehood could not escape exposure, but in a confession which, whilst attended with no real danger, might actually tend to his credit.

Cecil accepted Randolph's disclaimer without demur, and in a manner which left no doubt that he was thoroughly convinced of its absolute truth. It was deemed of sufficient importance to be answered with no further delay than was rendered necessary by the slow means of communication of the time. To his letter of the 26th of May Randolph received a reply as early as the 6th of the following month. It has, unfortunately, not been preserved; but, though it is impossible to reproduce the language in which it was couched, it is easy to judge of its purport and of the tone which pervaded it. These may be gathered from the grateful acknowledgment which it called forth from Randolph. "Yt may please yor H:," he wrote in a letter dated from Berwick on the 7th of June, "that yesterdaye I receaved yor letter of the thyrde of this instant for wch I do most humblye thanke you and have therby receaved maynie thyngs to my co¯tentation. In speciall for the wrytinge of that fantasie or dreame called by my name, that I am thought fawltles, as in deade I am, but still greeved that I am so charged, but that waye seeke no farther to please then with my deutie maye stonde. Yf Mr Melvill remayne so well satysfied that he thinke me cleare, I truste that he will performe no les then he promised, that the reporter bycawse he is in this towne shalbe knowne, at the leaste yf not to me, I wolde yr h: were warned of such."129

A few days after the receipt by Randolph of Cecil's letter, Elizabeth dispatched from Greenwich an answer to the complaints of which Melvill had been the bearer. It was a singular document in which words were skilfully used to veil the writer's meaning, and irony was disguised beneath the fairest show of sympathy. While seeming to promise complete satisfaction, it contained no expression but might be explained away, and it carefully refrained from putting forth any opinion with regard to Randolph's guilt or innocence. It began by assuring the Queen of Scots that she was not the only one who had been moved to anger on hearing of Randolphe's Fantasie, and by asserting, with feigned indignation, that even to dream treason was held to be a crime worthy of banishment from England, where subjects were required to be loyal not in their words merely, but in their very thoughts also; it bade her rest satisfied that, for the investigation of the subject complained of, such means should be used as would let the whole world know in what esteem her reputation was held; and it concluded by hinting at no less a punishment than death when the truth was found out: "Mais quant je lisois la fascherye en quoy vous estiez pour avoir ouy du songe de Randolphe" – so ran the letter – "je vous prometz que nestiez seule en cholere. Sy est ce que l'opinion que les songes de la nuit sont les denonciations des pensées iournelles fussent verefyez en luy, s'il n'en eust que songé et non point escript, je ne le penserois digne de Logis en mon Royaulme. Car non seulement veul je que mes subiectz ne disent mal des princes, mais que moins est, de n'en penser sinon honorablement. Et sois asseurée que pense tellement traicter ceste cause, que tout le monde verra en quel estyme je tiens vr~e renom¯ée, et useray de telz moyens pour en cognoistre la vérité, qu'il ne tiendra a moy sy je ne la scache. Et la trouvant, je la laisseray a vr~e jugement si la pugnition ne soyt digne pour telle faulte, combien que je croy que la vye d'aulcun n'en pourra bonnement equivaller la cryme."130

Whatever may have been Mary's opinion as to the true spirit of this reply, she saw that its language left no ground for further remonstrance. Perhaps, too, doubts may have entered her own mind as to the authenticity of the obnoxious poem. At any rate she seems to have thought it wise to urge the matter no further. It dropped and died away; no reference to it again occurs in the correspondence of the period.

It would be vain to search the literature of the sixteenth century for any trace of Maister Randolphe's Fantasie. No mention of it is to be found even in the most minute and detailed of contemporary chroniclers. In modern histories its very name is unknown. No copy of it is preserved in our great libraries, and if a stray one should have escaped the summary suppression which the angry Queen demanded of Elizabeth,131 it must be lying hidden amongst pamphlets and broadsides on the shelves of some private collection. But, by some strange chance, though the printed work has disappeared, the manuscript has survived; and we are still able to satisfy our curiosity with regard to the contents of the obnoxious satire which gave such grave offence to the Queen of Scots.132

In the manuscript copy preserved amongst the documents of the Record Office,133 Maister Randolphe's Fantasie– the sub-title of which conveys the information that it is "a breffe calgulacion of the procedinge in Scotlande from the first of Julie to the last of December" – is prefaced by an "Epistle dedicatorie" addressed "to the right worshipfull Mr Thomas Randolphe esquyre Resident for the Quenes Maties affaires in Scotlande". The author begins this quaint, diffuse, and at times obscure production by setting forth the reasons which have led him to look for "some ripe and grave patronage" for his "small travell". He pleads the precedent of "eloquent wryters", who, "albeit there excellent works learnedlie compiled, needed no patronage, not onelie appeled to others learned, but sought th'awctorytie of the gravest men, to sheld them from th'arrogant curyous and impewdent reprehendors". With much rhetorical amplification he then proceeds to enumerate the qualifications which seem more particularly to designate Randolph as a fitting patron and protector. "Well may I, knowing yor zelous nature and inclynacion to letters attempt to royst under the protexion of yor name. Who can better judge of theis whole proceedings than you? Who can so well wyttnes it as yor dailie attendaunce? Who may better defende it then yor learned experience? Who so well deserves the memorye hereof then yor long and wearye service, especiallie sithence the troblesome broiles and monstrouous eschange in this transformed and blundered comon-weale? Who may so well auctoryshe the vnlearned auctor as yor w: to whom justlie awaytinge yor succor, simplie I retyre." From this apostrophe he passes on to a justification of his poem, in which he claims to have "delt franklie" and, "as God shall bee his judge, not pertiallie", and which he has produced solely in compliance with the earnest and repeated solicitations of influential friends. "I had not compiled this tragidye, as iustlie I may terme it", he writes, "yf some my contremen, resolved of muche better then I can or ought conceyve of my selffe, by there sundrye letters and meanes entreated me to wryte what I sawe, wch chefflie by there procurement I have doen, who, havinge care of my well doinge, perswaded me howe profytable and necessarye it was to vse my terme and travell, and imploy that talent that might tend to my great comodytie and avale. Theis indenyable requestes and ffrendlie reasons did so charme me, albeit long deaffe at there enchantments, that I cold not refuse to susteane this charge, that nowe enforcethe my well meanynge to run post (I knowe) to some vnwelcome gwides, that wth twyned mynde will intercept my meanynge. Thus tranede and, as it were, bewytched wth this vnweldye charge of request, I pushe forthe this vnpolished phantasey, a breffe calgulacion of theis procedinges." Though confessedly anxious to reap any reward which his poetical venture may be thought to deserve, the author does not appear to be equally willing to monopolize the "blame and infayme, yf any there bee". On the contrary, he is careful to point out – "to make his blames more excusable for there importunytie" – that they who have urged him to write are "accessaryes yf not principalls in his unwillinge cryme", and that it would be a cruel hardship, indeed, were he doomed "to thole ignomynye" and "live a condempned byarde", for the sake of "cleringe others". It is with the evident intention of giving force to this plea that, whilst seeming to prefer a humble request that Randolph "will not refuse to surname" the offspring of his "restless Mewse", he takes the opportunity of pointing him out "as the cheffe parent thereof". With what success this questionable device was attended Mary's complaint to Elizabeth has already set forth.

After having fenced himself round, in his dedication, with all these rhetorical safeguards, the author turns to the reader with a poetical appeal to "arrest his judgement", and then addresses himself to the task of recording the "proceedings" of the eventful six months which followed Mary's ill-advised marriage with Darnley.

The first part of the Fantasie opens with a poetical sketch, in which the author represents himself as sunk in melancholy meditation, and endeavouring to find relief from the heavy burthen which the intrigues and disappointments of Court life have cast upon him: —

fforweriéd134 with cares and sorrowes source supprest, and worldlie woos of sharpe repulse that bredes vnquyet rest,confus'd with courtlie cares, a seate of slipper135 stay, that yeldes the draught of bitter swete to such as drawes that way,in silent sort I sought unwist of any wight to attempt some meane howe well I cold my heavy burden light.

Whilst he is thus revolving "what fyttest were for feble myndes", his conflicting thoughts, personified as "Desire", "Tyme", "Fansye", and "Reason", appear before him and volunteer, in turn, such advice as seems best suited to the situation. "Desire", whose opinion is naturally the first to find expression, suggests that he should seek "such rest as may revive his pensive thought, with sorrow so opprest". "Tyme", however, interposes with a reminder that "feldishe sports be now exempt", and that the season is not "mete" for the amusements that might delight his spirits. This affords "Fansye" an opportunity of making herself heard.

assay yf that thie Mevses trades may ought dissolve thie care,pervse136 some pleasunte stile that may delight the brayne and prove by practyse of the pen to file thie wyttes agayne.

But this advice does not meet with the approval of "Reason". She points out to the poet that

Devyne Camenes never cold with Mavors' rage agree,Ne yet Minerva mewse with skill was depelie scande137When as138 Bellona did decree139  with bloody sworde in hande;

and that, if he should allow himself to be hurried by his sympathies into championing every cause and "wrastling in eche wrong", the result must be as useless as though "he shold stope the streame, or sporne against the sone". Bidding him be ruled by her, she counsels him to "mesure by myrthe some meane that may his grieves disgest", to "solace the rage of hevmayne cares within a gladsome brest", and to follow the safer course of "sojourning with silence", unless, indeed, he should be able to find "a frend on whom he may repose the secretes of his mynde". But "rareness of suche one" suggests moral reflections on the dangers of flattery, with its "sewgred speech", and on the fickleness of friendship, "a flyinge birde with wings of often change". These, and a further recommendation to prudent silence, which, though it "do allay no rage of stormy thoughte", is at least preferable to the "bankroote gest" distrust, bring Reason's harangue to a close.

In a passage of some merit, but so singularly out of place that it suggests an error of transcription, the poet proceeds to describe the dreary season to which Fancy has already made reference: —

It was when Awtum had fild full the barnes with corne,And he that eats and emtyes all away had Awtum worne,And wynter windes approcht that doth ibayre the trene,And Saturne's frosts, that steanes the earth had perst the tender grene,And dampishe mystes discendes when tempests work much harme,And force of stormes do make all cold that somer had made warme,whose lustie hewe dispoiled cold not possess the place,ne yet abide Boreas' blasts that althings dothe deface.

After this digression Reason's advice is taken into consideration. Recognizing its wisdom, the poet at first "seeks by solitarye meanes to recreate his minde". The attempt is not, however, crowned with success. He experiences that, "as the sowthfast sayen", "solytarynes" is but "hewe of dispaire, ffoo to his weale, and frendlie to ech payne", and that slender indeed "are the greves that silence do unlade". In his solitude the evils of his own position crowd up before him, he "beats his branes with bitter bale and woos of worldlie force", he recalls the "painful years" which he has "lingered forth" in Scotland, with the sole reward of seeing "his credyt crak the string with those with whome in faythfull league he long before had bene", and himself "rolled out of Fortune's lappe". By a natural transition he passes from his own grievances to a consideration of the political events which have produced them; his "bewsye heade" calls up the "sowre change", the "sodaine fall" of the realme "from weale to woo, from welthe to wast, and worce if ought might be".

The cue for it being thus given, there follows a recapitulation of the "proceedings" which are the real subject of the Fantasie. "I saw", the poet says:

I saw the Quene whose will occurant with her yeres was wone140 to worke oft that she wold by counsaile of her peres.It was the winged boy had perst141 her tender thought, and Venus' joyes so tickled her that force avaled nought;on Darlie did she dote who equall in this mase142 sought to assalt the forte of fame defenst with yeas and nayes,which for a while repulst and had no passage in: but still porsewt did rase the seige143  that might the fortresse wyne,who, stronglie thus beseiged with battry rounde aboute, at last was forst to yeld the keis, she cold not holde hym owte,but rendered sacke and spoile unto the victor's grace, so ritch a pray did not the Greks by Helen's meanes possesse.To regall charge of rule she did advaunce his state, and gave the sworde into his hand that bred civill debate.This was affection force that blewe this gale of winde; this regestreth the found pretence144  within a woman's myndethis calls us to reporte145  and proves the proverbe trewe, that wemens wills are sonest wone in that they after rewe.This brede a brutyshe broile and causéd cankred spight to move the myndes of such as did envy a stranger's might;vnder wch shade was shrowde an other fyrme intente, and so, by color of that change to doe what he was bente,wch made much myserye and wrought this realme to wracke,and sturde146 a stiveling sture147  amongst the muffled contre-packe148that mustréd eche where149  in forme and force of warre, and clapt on armor for the feld as the comannded warre.

Here the poet, who seems anxious to lose no opportunity of pointing a moral, interrupts for a while his sombre description of the state of Scotland under this "reckles rule", to introduce his own reflections upon "the slipper state of worldlie wealth that heare on earth we finde". Resuming his lamentation, he records the undeserved disgrace of "those whose grave advice in judgement semed vpright", and the unwise promotion to offices of trust of those "which grated150 but for gayne and gropt for private pray", who presumptuously attempted to "gwide a shipe against the storme", though they "had not the skill in calm to stire a barge".

Lest the application of the general statement should remain doubtful, it is illustrated by reference to the leading men of the Queen's party. To each of them a couplet is dedicated, the symmetry being broken in favour of Maxwell alone, who is thought worthy of a double share of satire. Unfortunately, however, the allusions are so vague and the language in many cases so obscure, that it is difficult to catch more than the drift of what is intended to characterize the conduct and unveil the motives of each individual: —

I sawe Adthole abridge with craft to conquere cost, and forge that fact by forraigne foos that his discent might bost;I sawe what Merton ment by shufflinge for his share, imbrasinge those that shrowdes the shame of his possessed care;I sawe howe Cassells crowcht affirmynge yea and na, as redyest when chaunce brings chang to drive and drawe that way;I sawe Crawforde encroche on slipperie renowne, that curre favell151  in the court might retche to higher rowme;152I sawe howe Lyddington did powder it153 with pen, and fyled so his sewgred speche as wone the wills of men;I sawe howe Lyndsey lurkt vnconstant of his trade154 alludinge155 by his duble meanes that might his lust unlade;156I sawe howe Hume in hope did hoist the sale aloft, and howe he anker weighed with those that most for credyt sought;I sawe howe Ruthven reigned as one of Gnator's kinde, and howe he first preffer'd his ple respondent to his mynde.I sawe what Maxwell mente in kindlinge the flame, and after howe he sought new meanes to choke the smoke agayne;whose dowble dealinge did argewe vnconstant fayth, and shamefull wayes blowes forthe the brute157  that may record his death;with feble force I sawe howe Leonox did entende, as thriftie of a princelie rewle to regestre his ende;I sawe the weake advise that Darlie did aforde, as yonge in wytt as fewe of yeres to weld the regall sworde;and sodainelie I saw howe Bulforde credyt sought, and howe from nought he start aloft to bear the freey in court.158

The political correspondence and historical records of the period allow us to remove, in some slight degree, the obscurity which veils this passage, and supply concerning the conduct of some of the characters alluded to in it such particulars as may help us to understand, if not the special point of the poet's satire, at least the general reasons which aroused his indignation and drew forth his censure.

It would have been difficult for the most bitter opponent of the royal cause to find in Athole's conduct during the period here referred to anything to justify an attack on his personal character. There is consequently no matter for astonishment in the fact that the satirist – if our interpretation of the couplet be the correct one – has no more heinous offence to reproach him with than fidelity to his trust and loyalty to his Queen. These, it is true, he manifested on more than one critical occasion. It was to Athole's house in Dunkeld that Mary, knowing herself to be surrounded with spies in Perth, determined to retire after the memorable convention at which the intended marriage with Darnley was made known. When, a few days later, intelligence was brought by Lindsay of Dowhill of a plot formed by the confederate Lords to seize the Queen's person at Parenwell, to tear her intended husband and his father from her side, and to slay all who offered resistance to the deed of violence, it was with Athole that Mary concerted measures to frustrate the lawless attempt, and it was by his exertions that a body of two hundred gentlemen was raised to serve as an escort for her. At the public solemnization of the Queen's marriage it was Athole who, in recognition of his faithful service, led both bride and bridegroom to the altar, and who, at the banquet which followed, acted as her carver. That these marks of favour were not the only rewards bestowed upon his loyal attachment is shown by Randolph in a letter which he wrote to Cecil a few months later,159 and in which he states the Earl of Athole's influence to be paramount, greater even than Bothwell's. If we be right in interpreting the charge of "abridging with craft to conquer cost" to mean that Athole endeavoured to husband the resources of the kingdom, it was a course which the state of the Queen's finances more than justified. The pecuniary difficulties in which she was involved are repeatedly alluded to in Randolph's despatches. On the 4th of July we find him informing Cecil of the arrival of a chest supposed to contain supplies of money, and significantly adding that "if that way the Queen and Darnley have either means or credit, it is so much the worse".160 A fortnight later161 he refers more plainly still to the desperate condition of the royal exchequer, and states that Mary "is so poor at present that ready money she hath very little and credit none at all". In August162 he announces that "she hath borrowed money of divers, and yet hath not wherewith to pay so many soldiers as are levied for two months". If, under these circumstances, Athole set himself the arduous and thankless task of narrowly watching over the expenditure of funds which it was so difficult to raise, and even if the allusion contained in the enigmatical accusation of "forging that fact by forrayne foos" should point to any part taken by him in obtaining "about fifteen hundred francs which had been sent out of France", no impartial judge can behold in this a proof of anything but loyalty to his kinswoman and Queen.