Royal Edinburgh: Her Saints, Kings, Prophets and PoetsOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
History
Royal Edinburgh: Her Saints, Kings, Prophets and Poets
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Edinburgh (Scotland) -- History
Naturally he did not withdraw an inch, but repeated to her the scope of
his sermon with amplifications, while the gentler Erskine of Dun who
accompanied him endeavoured to soothe the paroxysm of exasperated
impatience and pain which Mary could not subdue, and for which no doubt
she scorned herself.
"The said John stood still without any alteration of countenance,
while that the Queen gave place to her inordinate passion; and in
the end he said, 'Madam, in God's presence I speak, I never
delighted in the weeping of any of God's creatures; yea, I can
scarcely well abide the tears of my own boys whom my own hand
corrects, much less can I rejoice in your Majestie's weeping. But
seeing that I have offered you no just occasion to be offended, but
have spoken the truth as my vocation craves of me, I must sustain,
albeit unwillingly, your Majesty's tears rather than I dare hurt my
conscience or betray my Commonwealth through my silence.'"
He was ordered to withdraw after this, and retired proud and silent to
the ante-room where he had immediate proof what it was to lose the royal
favour. Hitherto he had been, it is clear, a not unwelcome visitor: to
Mary an original, something new in prickly opposition and eloquence,
holding head against all her seductions, yet haply, at Lochleven at
least, not altogether unmoved by them, and always interesting to her
quick wit and intelligence; and Maister John had many friends among the
courtiers. But now while he waited the Queen's pleasure, not knowing
perhaps if she might not send him to the Castle or the Tolbooth in her
wrath, all his fine acquaintances forsook him. He stood, "the said
John," for an hour in that bustling ante-room, "as one whom men had
never seen," only Lord Ochiltree who had come to Holyrood with him, and
whose daughter he was about to marry, giving any sign of acquaintance to
the disgraced preacher. And Knox was human: he loved the cold shade as
little as any man, and the impertinences of all those butterfly
courtiers moved him as such a man ought not to have been moved. He burst
out suddenly upon the ladies who sat and whispered and tittered among
themselves (no doubt) at his discomfiture. He would not have us think
even then that his mind was disturbed; he merely said--
"Oh fayr Ladies, how pleasant were this life of yours if it should
ever abide, and then in the end that we might pass to heaven with
all this gay gear! But fie upon that Knave Death that will come
whether we will or not. And when he has laid on his arrest the foul
worms will be busy with this flesh be it never so fayre and so
tender, and the silly soul, I fear, shall be so feeble that it can
neither carry with it gold garnissing, tarjetting, pearls, nor
precious stones!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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