The Wide, Wide World

"What would you like to see in Edinburgh?"

"I don't know, sir; anything you please."

"Then I will show you a little of the city, in the first place."

They drove through the streets of Edinburgh, both the Old and the New town, in various directions; Mr. Lindsay extremely pleased to see that Ellen was so, and much amused at the curiosity shown in her questions, which, however, were by no means as free and frequent as they might have been had John Humphreys filled her uncle's place.

"What large building is that over there?" said Ellen.

"That? that is Holyrood House."

"Holyrood! I have heard of that before; isn't that where Queen Mary's rooms are? Where Rizzio was killed?"

"Yes; would you like to see them?"

"Oh very much!"

"Drive to the Abbey. So you have read Scottish history as well as American, Ellen?"

"Not very much, sir; only the 'Tales of a Grandfather' yet. But what made me say that, I have read an account of Holyrood House somewhere, Uncle – "

"Ellen!"

"I beg your pardon, sir; I forgot; it seems strange to me," said Ellen, looking distressed.

"It must not seem strange to you, my daughter; what were you going to say?"

"I don't know, sir. Oh, I was going to ask if the silver cross is here now, to be seen?"

"What silver cross?"

"That one from which the Abbey was named, the silver rood that was given, they pretended, to – I forget now what king."

"David First, the founder of the Abbey? No, it is not here, Ellen; David the Second lost it to the English. But why do you say pretended, Ellen? It was a very real affair; kept in England for a long time with great veneration."

"Oh yes, sir; I know the cross was real; I mean it was pretended that an angel gave it to King David when he was hunting here."

"Well, how can you tell but that was so? King David was made a saint, you know."

"Oh, sir," said Ellen, laughing, "I know better than that; I know it was only a monkish trick."

"Monkish trick! which do you mean? the giving of the cross, or making the king a saint?"

"Both, sir," said Ellen, still smiling.

"At that rate," said Mr. Lindsay, much amused, "if you are such a sceptic, you will take no comfort in anything at the Abbey, you will not believe anything is genuine."

"I will believe what you tell me, sir."

"Will you? I must be careful what I say to you then, or I may run the risk of losing my own credit."

Mr. Lindsay spoke this half jestingly, half in earnest. They went over the palace.

"Is this very old, sir?" asked Ellen.

"Not very; it has been burnt and demolished and rebuilt, till nothing is left of the old Abbey of King David but the ruins of the chapel, which you shall see presently. The oldest part of the House is that we are going to see now, built by James Fifth, Mary's father, where her rooms are."

At these rooms Ellen looked with intense interest. She pored over the old furniture, the needlework of which she was told was at least in part the work of the beautiful Queen's own fingers; gazed at the stains in the floor of the bed-chamber, said to be those of Rizzio's blood; meditated over the trap-door in the passage, by which the conspirators had come up; and finally sat down in the room and tried to realise the scene which had once been acted there. She tried to imagine the poor Queen and her attendant and her favourite Rizzio sitting there at supper, and how that door, that very door, had opened, and Ruthven's ghastly figure, pale and weak from illness, presented itself, and then others; the alarm of the moment; how Rizzio knew they were come for him and fled to the Queen for protection; how she was withheld from giving it, and the unhappy man pulled away from her and stabbed with a great many wounds before her face; and there, there! no doubt, his blood fell!

"You are tired; this doesn't please you much," said Mr. Lindsay, noticing her grave look.

"Oh, it pleases me very much!" said Ellen, starting up; "I do not wonder she swore vengeance."

"Who?" said Mr. Lindsay.

"Queen Mary, sir."

"Were you thinking of her all this while? I am glad of it. I spoke to you once without getting a word. I was afraid this was not amusing enough to detain your thoughts."

"Oh yes, it was," said Ellen; "I have been trying to think all about that. I like to look at old things very much."

"Perhaps you would like to see the regalia."

"The what, sir?"

"The Royal things – the old diadem and sceptre, &c., of the Scottish kings. Well, come," said he, as he read the answer in Ellen's face, "we will go; but first let us see the old chapel."

With this Ellen was wonderfully pleased. This was much older still than Queen Mary's rooms. Ellen admired the wild melancholy look of the gothic pillars and arches springing from the green turf, the large carved window empty of glass, the broken walls; and looking up to the blue sky, she tried to imagine the time when the gothic roof closed overhead, and music sounded through the arches, and trains of stoled monks paced through them, where now the very pavement was not. Strange it seemed, and hard, to go back and realise it; but in the midst of this, the familiar face of the sky set Ellen's thoughts off upon a new track, and suddenly they were at home– on the lawn before the parsonage. The monks and the abbey were forgotten; she silently gave her hand to her uncle, and walked with him to the carriage.

Arrived at the Crown room, Ellen fell into another fit of grave attention; but Mr. Lindsay, taught better, did not this time mistake rapt interest for absence of mind. He answered questions and gave her several pieces of information, and let her take her own time to gaze and meditate.

"This beautiful sword," said he, "was a present from Pope Julius Second to James Fourth."

"I don't know anything about the Popes," said Ellen. "James Fourth? – I forget what kind of a king he was."

"He was a very good king. He was the one that died at Flodden."

"Oh, and wore an iron girdle because he had fought against his father, poor man!"

"Why 'poor man,' Ellen? He was a very royal prince. Why do you say 'poor man'?"

"Because he didn't know any better, sir."

"Didn't know any better than what?"

"Than to think an iron girdle would do him any good."

"But why wouldn't it do him any good?"