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Thus foiled again, Murray, on the 15th of October, called a Privy Council, at which he got it declared, that unless Huntly appeared on the following day before her Majesty, “to answer to such things as are to lay to his charge,” he should be put to the horn for his contempt of her authority, and “his houses, strengths, and friends, taken from him.”⁶⁷ However willing he might have been to have ventured thus into the lion’s den, Huntly could not possibly have appeared within the time appointed. On the 17th of October, he was therefore denounced a rebel in terms of the previous proclamation, and his lands and titles declared forfeited.⁶⁸ Even yet, however, Huntly acted with forbearance. He sent his Countess to Aberdeen on the 20th, who requested admission to the Queen’s presence, that she might make manifest her husband’s innocence. So far from obtaining an audience, this lady, who was respected and loved over the whole country, was not allowed to come within two miles of the Court, and she returned home with a heavy heart. As a last proof of his fidelity, Huntly sent a messenger to Aberdeen, offering to enter into ward till his cause might be tried by the whole nobility. Even this offer was rejected; and, goaded into madness, the unfortunate Earl at length collected his followers round him, and, raising the standard of rebellion, not against the Queen, but against Murray, advanced suddenly upon Aberdeen.

This resolute proceeding excited considerable alarm at Court. Murray, however, had foreseen the probability of such a step being ultimately taken, and had been busy collecting forces sufficient to repel the attack. A number of the neighbouring nobility had joined him, who, not penetrating the prime minister’s real motives, were not displeased to see so proud and powerful an earldom as that of Huntly likely to fall to pieces. On the 28th of October, Murray marched out of Aberdeen at the head of about 2000 men. He found Huntly advantageously stationed at Corrachie, a village about fifteen miles from Aberdeen. Huntly’s force was much inferior to that of Murray, scarcely exceeding 500 men. Indeed, it seems doubtful, whether he had advanced so much for the purpose of fighting, as for the sake of giving greater weight to his demands, to be admitted into the presence of the Queen, who, he always maintained, had been misled by false council. Perceiving the approach, however, of his inveterate enemy Murray, and considering the superiority of his own position on the hill of Fare, he relinquished all idea of retreat, and determined, at any risk to accept the battle which was offered him. The contest was of short duration. The broadswords of the Highlanders, even had the numbers been more equal, would have been no match for the spears and regular discipline of Murray’s Lowland troops. Their followers fled; but the Earl of Huntly and his two sons, Sir John Gordon and Adam, a youth of seventeen, disdaining to give ground, were taken prisoners. The Earl, who was advanced in life, was no sooner set upon horseback, to be carried triumphantly into Aberdeen, than the thoughts of the ruin which was now brought upon himself and his family overwhelmed him; and, without speaking a word, or receiving a blow, he fell dead from his horse.⁶⁹

Sir John Gordon who was pronounced the author of all these troubles, having been marched into Aberdeen, was tried, condemned, and executed. He may have been an enemy of Murray’s, but so far from being a traitor to the Queen, he was one of the most devoted admirers and attached subjects she ever had. Yet Murray took care to have it reported, that Sir John, before he was beheaded, confessed, that if his father had taken Aberdeen, he was determined to have “burned the Queen, and as many as were in the house with her.”⁷⁰ So palpable a falsehood throws additional light upon the motives which instigated the prime minister throughout. With a refinement of cruelty, he insisted upon Mary giving her public countenance to his proceedings, by consenting to be present at Gordon’s death. She was placed at a window, opposite to which the scaffold had been erected. Gordon, who was one of the handsomest men of his times, observed her, and fixing his eyes upon her, “gave her to understand by his looks,” says Freebairn, “that her presence sweetened the death he was going to suffer only for loving her too well.” He then fell upon his knees, and prepared to lay his head upon the block. Mary, totally unable to stand this scene, was already suffused in tears; and when she was informed that the unskilful official, instead of striking off the head, had only mangled the neck, she fainted away, and it was some time before she could be recovered.⁷¹ Adam Gordon was indebted to his youth for saving him from his brother’s fate. He lived to be, as his father had been, one of Mary’s most faithful servants. Lord Gordon, the late Earl’s eldest son, who was with his father-in-law, the Duke of Chatelherault, at Hamilton, was soon afterwards seized and committed to prison, Murray finding it convenient to declare him implicated in the Earl’s guilt. Having remained under arrest for some months, he was tried and found guilty, but the execution of his sentence was left at the Queen’s pleasure. She sent him to Dunbar Castle; and as Murray could not prevail upon her to sign the death-warrant, he had recourse to forgery; and had the keeper of the castle not discovered the deceit, the Lord Gordon’s fate would have been sealed. Mary was content with keeping him prisoner, till a change in her administration restored him to favour, and to the forfeited estates and honours of his father.

One other incident connected with these tragical events is worth recording. Means having been taken for the preservation of Huntly’s body, it was sent by sea to Leith, and lay for several months at Holyroodhouse. In the Parliament which met in May 1563, these melancholy remains were produced, to have sentence of forfeiture pronounced against them. To obviate if possible this additional calamity, the Countess of Huntly, widow of the deceased, appeared before the Parliament, and with the spirit of a Gordon requested to be heard in her late husband’s defence. The request was refused; Huntly’s castles and houses were rifled of their property, his friends and vassals fined, and many escheats granted to those who had assisted in crushing this once noble family.⁷²

Murray having now no farther occasion for the Queen’s presence at Aberdeen, the Court moved southwards on the 5th of November. On her way home, she visited Dunottar Castle, Montrose, Arbroath, Dundee, Stirling, and Linlithgow. She arrived at Edinburgh on the 22d, having been absent upwards of three months. It is much to be regretted, that she ever undertook this northern expedition. Though she had little or no share in its guilt, she had allowed herself to be made an effectual tool in the hands of Murray, who was now more powerful than any minister of Mary’s ought to have been. He had forced the Earl of Bothwell into exile; he had brought the Duke of Chatelherault and Arran into disgrace; and having accomplished the death of the courageous Huntly, he had obtained for himself and friends the greater part of that nobleman’s princely estates and titles. Besides, he was more popular among the Reformers than ever, for the destruction of the Gordon family had been long wished for by them. In short, though without the name, he was the King of Scotland, and his sister Mary was his subject.

CHAPTER X.
CHATELARD’S IMPRUDENT ATTACHMENT, AND KNOX’S PERSEVERING HATRED

Mary returned from her Northern expedition towards the conclusion of the year 1562. The two following years, 1563 and 1564, undistinguished as they were by any political events of importance, were the quietest and happiest she spent in Scotland. Her moderation and urbanity had endeared her to her people; and, in her own well regulated mind, existed a spring of pure and abiding satisfaction. Nevertheless, vexations of various sorts mingled their bitterness in her cup of sweets. An occurrence which took place early in 1563, demands our attention first.

The poet Chatelard has been already mentioned as one of those who sailed in Mary’s train, when she came from the continent. He had attached himself to the future Constable of France, the Duke Danville, and was a gentleman of good family and fortune, being by the mother’s side the grand-nephew of the celebrated Chevalier Bayard. The manly beauty of his person was not unlike that of his ancestor; and, besides being well versed in all the more active accomplishments of the day, he had softened and refined his manners by an ardent cultivation of every species of belles-lettres. It was this latter circumstance that gained for him the occasional favourable notice of Mary. A poetess herself, as much by nature as by study, her heart warmed towards those who indulged in the same delightful art. Chatelard wrote both in French and Italian; and, finding that Mary deigned to read and admire his productions, he seems thenceforth to have made her the only theme of his enamoured and too presumptuous Muse. To the Queen this was no uncommon compliment. She received it, gracefully, and sometimes even amused herself with answering Chatelard’s effusions. This condescension almost turned the young poet’s brain. He had left Scotland with the Duke Danville, and Mary’s other French friends, at the end of the year 1561; but he eagerly seized the opportunity afforded him, by the civil wars in France, to return before twelve months had elapsed. The Duke Danville sent him to Mary’s court, there is every reason to believe, to press upon her attention once more his own pretensions to her hand. But Chatelard, in the indulgence of his mad passion, forgot the duty he owed his master; and, for every word he spoke in prose for the Duke, he spoke in verse twenty for himself. Mary, long accustomed to this species of adulation, and looking upon flattery as a part of a poet’s profession, smiled at the more extravagant flights of his imagination, and forgot them as soon as heard. These smiles, however, were fatal to Chatelard. “They tempted him,” says Brantome, “to aspire, like Phaeton, at ascending the chariot of the sun.” In February 1563, he had the audacity to steal into the Queen’s bedchamber, armed with sword and dagger, and attempted to conceal himself till Mary should retire to rest. He was discovered by her maids of honour; and Mary, though much enraged at his conduct, was unwilling, for a first offence, to surrender him to that punishment which she knew would be inflicted were it known to her Privy Council. She was contented with reprimanding him severely, and ordering him from her presence.

This leniency was thrown away upon the infatuated Chatelard. Only two nights afterwards, the Queen having, in the interval, left Edinburgh for St Andrews, he again committed the same offence. As she went to St Andrews by the circuitous route of the Queensferry, she slept the first night at Dumfermline, and the second at Burntisland. Here Chatelard insolently followed the Queen into her bedroom, without attempting any concealment, and assigned, as the motive for his conduct, his desire to clear himself from the blame she had formerly imputed to him. Mary commanded him to leave her immediately, but he refused; upon which she saw the necessity of calling for assistance. The Earl of Murray was at hand, and came instantly. The daring boldness of Chatelard’s conduct could no longer be concealed; the proper legal authorities were sent for from Edinburgh; the poet was tried at St Andrews, and was condemned to death. He was executed on the 22d of February, and conducted himself bravely, but as a confirmed enthusiast, even on the scaffold. He would not avail himself of the spiritual advice of any minister or confessor; but having read Ronsard’s Hymn on Death, he turned towards the place where he supposed the Queen was, and exclaimed in an unfaltering voice, “Farewell, loveliest and most cruel Princess whom the world contains!” He then, with the utmost composure, laid his head upon the block, and submitted, with all resignation, to his fate.⁷³

Mary remained at St Andrews till the middle of April, when she removed to Loch Leven, where she had better opportunities of enjoying her favourite amusements of hunting and hawking. She went thither in considerable grief, occasioned by the news she had lately received from France, of the death of two of her uncles, the Duke of Guise, and the Grand Prior. The former had been barbarously assassinated at the siege of Orleans, by a Protestant bigot of the name of Poltrot; and the latter had been fatally wounded at the battle of Dreux. Alluding triumphantly to the murder of the Duke of Guise, Knox expressed himself in these words, “God has stricken that bloody tyrant.” This enmity to the House of Guise, which Knox carried even beyond the grave, was now no novelty. Some months before, he had taken occasion to preach a severe sermon against Mary and her friends, in consequence of an entertainment she gave at Holyrood, upon receiving news of her uncles’ successes in the French civil wars. Mary had, in consequence, sent for Knox a second time, when he repeated to her the principal part of his sermon, in a manner which made it appear not quite so obnoxious as she had been induced to believe. She had then the magnanimity to tell him, that though his words were sharp, she would not blame him for having no good opinion of her uncles, as they and he were of a different religion. She only wished that he would not publicly misrepresent them, without sufficient evidence upon which to ground his charges. Knox left Mary, “with a reasonable merry countenance,” and some one observing it, remarked, “He is not afraid!” Knox’s answer is characteristic, and does him credit, “Why should the pleasing face of a gentlewoman affray me? I have looked in the faces of many angry men, and yet have not been afraid above measure.”

The third time that Knox was admitted into Mary’s presence was at Loch Leven. This, as indeed every interview she had with the celebrated Reformer, and she had only four, exhibits her character in a very favourable point of view. It appears, that whilst the Queen reserved for herself the right of celebrating mass in her own chapel, it was prohibited throughout the rest of the kingdom. Some instances had occurred in which this prohibition had been disregarded; and upon these occasions the over-zealous Protestants had not scrupled to take the law into their own hands. Mary wished to convince Knox of the impropriety of this interference. He thought it necessary to defend his brethren; but his answer to the Queen’s simple question, – “Will ye allow that they shall take my sword in their hands?” – though laboured, is quite inconclusive. That “the sword of justice is God’s,” may be a very good apopthegm, but would be a dangerous precept upon which to form a practical rule in the government of a state. Mary, however, knowing by experience that it was hopeless to attempt to change Knox’s sentiments, and not wishing to enter into an argument with him, passed to other matters. Though she disliked the rudeness of his manners, she had a respect for the unbending Stoicism of his principles; and having too much good sense to hold any one responsible for the peculiarities of his belief, she could not help persuading herself, that she would finally soften the asperity of those with whom she disagreed, only upon articles of faith. With this view, she conversed with Knox upon various confidential matters, and actually did succeed in winning for the moment the personal favour of her stern adversary. “This interview,” observes Dr M’Crie, “shows how far Mary was capable of dissembling, what artifice she could employ, and what condescensions she could make, when she was bent on accomplishing a favourite object.” There is something very uncharitable in the construction thus put upon the Queen’s conduct. She had, no doubt, a favourite object in view; but that object was mutual reconcilement, and the establishment, as far as in her lay, of reciprocal feelings of forbearance and good will among all classes of her subjects. The “artifice” she used, consisted merely in the urbanity of her manners, and her determination to avoid all violence, in return for the violence which had been exhibited towards herself.

Soon after this conference, Mary went to Edinburgh, to open in person the first Parliament which had been held since her return to Scotland. Its session continued only from the 26th of May, to the 24th of June 1563; but during that short period, business of some importance was transacted. The Queen on the first day rode to the Parliament House in her robes of state, – the Duke of Chatelherault carrying the crown, the Earl of Argyle the sceptre, and the Earl of Murray the sword.⁷⁴ She was present on three or four occasions afterwards; but on the first day she made a speech to the representatives of her people, which was received with enthusiastic applause. This applause was wormwood to Knox, who, with even more than his usual discourtesy towards a sex whom he seems to have despised, says, – “Such stinking pride of women as was seen at that Parliament, was never before seen in Scotland.” He was heartily borne out in his vituperations by the rest of the preachers. The rich attire which Mary and the ladies of her court chose to wear, were abominations in their eyes. They held forth to their respective flocks against the “superfluity of their clothes,” the “targeting of their tails,” and “the rest of their vanity.” It was enough, they said, “to draw down God’s wrath not only upon these foolish women, but upon the whole realm.” At this Parliament the Earldoms of Huntly and Sutherland were declared forfeited; an act was passed for preventing any one from summoning the lieges together without the Queen’s consent; some judicious legislative measures of a domestic nature were established; and an act of oblivion for all acts done from the 6th of March 1558, to the first of September 1561, was unanimously carried. This act of oblivion was declared to have no reference whatever to a similar act sanctioned by the Treaty of Edinburgh, the ratification of which was expressly avoided by the Queen. Its object, how – was precisely the same, – namely, to secure the Reformers against any disagreeable consequences which might arise out of the violences they committed during the first heat of the Reformation.

An act of oblivion thus obtained as a free gift from Mary, and not as a consequence of his favourite Treaty of Edinburgh, was by no means agreeable to Knox. He assembled some of the leading Members of Parliament, and urged upon them the necessity of forcing from the Queen a ratification of this treaty. Even the Protestant Lords, however, felt how unjust such a demand would be. The Earl of Murray himself, one of Knox’s oldest and staunchest friends, refused to ask Mary to take this step. Knox, in consequence, solemnly renounced Murray’s friendship, and a coldness subsisted between them for nearly two years. Foiled in his object, the Reformer had recourse to his usual mode of revenge. He preached another “thundering sermon.” The object of this sermon was to convince the people, that as soon as a Parliament was assembled, they had the Queen in their power to make her do what they chose. “And is this the thankfulness that ye render unto your God,” said he, “to betray his cause, when ye have it in your hands to establish it as you please?” Before concluding, he adverted to the report that her Majesty would soon be married, and called upon the nobility, if they regarded the safety of their country, to prevent her from forming an alliance with a Papist.

“Protestants as well as Papists,” says Knox’s biographer, “were offended with the freedom of this sermon, and some who had been most familiar with the preacher, now shunned his company.” There must have been something more than usually bitter and unjust in a discourse which produced such results. It was the occasion of the last and most memorable interview which the Reformer had with Mary. As soon as she was made acquainted with the manner in which he had attacked her, she summoned him to her presence. He was accompanied to the palace by Lord Ochiltree, and some other gentlemen; but John Erskine of Dun, a man of a mild and gentle temper, was the only one allowed to enter Mary’s apartment along with Knox. The Reformer found his Queen in considerable agitation. She told him she did not believe any prince had ever submitted to the usage she had experienced from him. “I have borne with you,” she said, “in all your rigorous manner of speaking, both against myself, and against my uncles; yea, I have sought your favour by all possible means; I offered unto ye presence and audience whensoever it pleased ye to admonish me; and yet I cannot be quit of you.” She then passionately burst into tears, so that, as Knox says with apparent satisfaction, they could scarce “get handkerchiefs to hold her eyes dry; for the tears and the howling, besides womanly weeping, stayed her speech.” The preacher, when he was allowed to speak, complacently assured her Majesty that when it pleased God to deliver her from that bondage of darkness and error wherein she had been nourished, she would not find the liberty of his tongue offensive. He added, that in the pulpit he was not his own master, but the servant of Him who commanded that he should speak plain, and flatter no flesh upon the face of the earth. Mary told him that she did not wish for his flattery, but begged to know what rank he held in the kingdom to entitle him to interfere with her marriage. Knox, whose self-esteem seldom forsook him, replied, that though neither an Earl, Lord, nor Baron, he was a profitable and useful member of the commonwealth, and that it became him to teach her nobility, who were too partial towards her, their duty. “Therefore, Madam,” he continued, “to yourself I say that which I spake in public: whensoever the nobility of this realm shall be content, and consent that you be subject to an unlawful husband, they do as much as in them lies to remove Christ, to banish the truth, to betray the freedom of this realm, and perchance shall in the end do small comfort to yourself.” Language so unwarranted and uncalled for again drew tears from Mary, and Erskine, affected by her grief, attempted to soften down its harshness. Knox looked on with an unaltered countenance, and comparing his Sovereign to his own children, when he saw occasion to chastise them, 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 mine own boys, when mine own hands correct them. Much less can I rejoice in your Majesty’s weeping; but, seeing I have offered unto ye no just occasion to be offended, but have spoken the truth as my vocation craves of me, I must sustain your Majesty’s tears, rather than dare hurt my conscience, or betray the commonwealth by silence.” That he might not be longer under the necessity of sustaining tears he could so ill abide, Mary commanded him to leave her presence, and wait her pleasure in the adjoining room.

Here his friends who were expecting him, and who had overheard some of the conversation which had just taken place, perceiving how much he had excited the Queen’s just indignation, would hardly acknowledge him. In his own words, “he stood as one whom men had never seen.” His confidence, however, did not forsake him. Observing Mary’s maids of honour seated together, and richly dressed, he took the opportunity, that he might not lose his time, of giving them also some gratuitous advice. “Fair ladies,” he said with a smile, “how pleasant were this life of yours, if it should ever abide, and then in the end that we might pass to heaven with this gear: but fy upon that knave, Death, that will come whether we will or not; and when he has laid on the arrest, then foul worms will be busy with this flesh, be it never so fair and so tender; and the silly soul I fear shall be so feeble, that it can neither carry with it gold, garnishing, targeting, pearl, nor precious stones.” Shortly afterwards Erskine, who had somewhat pacified the Queen, came to inform him that he was allowed to go home.⁷⁵

As the Queen and Knox came just once more into public contact, and that only a few weeks after the date of the above interview, it may be as well to terminate our interference with the affairs of the Reformer in this place. The Queen having gone to Stirling, a disturbance took place one Sunday during her absence at the Chapel of Holyrood. Some of her domestics and Catholic retainers, had assembled for the celebration of worship, after the form of the Romish Church. The Presbyterians were at the time dispensing in Edinburgh the Sacrament of the Supper, and were consequently more zealous than usual in support of their own cause. Hearing of the Catholic practices carried on at Holyrood, they proceeded thither in a body, burst into the Chapel, and drove the priests from the altar. To quell the riot, the Comptroller of the Household was obliged to obtain the assistance of the Magistrates, and even then it was not without difficulty that the godly were prevailed upon to disperse. Two of their number, who had been more violent than the rest, had indictments served upon them for “forethought felony, hamesucken, and invasion of the Palace.” Knox and his friends determined to save these two men from punishment, at whatever risk. The means they adopted to effect their purpose were of the most seditious kind. It was determined to overawe the judges by displaying the power of the accused; and with this view, Knox wrote circular letters to all the principal persons of his persuasion, requesting them to crowd to Edinburgh on the day of trial. He thus assumed to himself the prerogative of calling Mary’s subjects together, in direct opposition to one of the acts of the late Parliament. When those letters were shown to the Queen, and her Privy Council, at Stirling, they were unanimously pronounced treasonable, and Knox was summoned to appear before a convention of nobles, to be held in Edinburgh a few weeks afterwards, for the purpose of trying him. It was, however, intimated to him, that as the Queen wished to be lenient, if he would acknowledge his fault, and throw himself upon her mercy, little or no punishment would be awarded. He obstinately refused to make the slightest concession, and in consequence nearly lost the friendship of Lord Herries, with whom he had been long intimate.

On the day of trial, public curiosity was much excited to know the result. The Lords assembled in the Council Chamber at Holyrood; the Queen took her seat at the head of the table, and Knox stood uncovered at the foot. The proceedings were opened by Secretary Maitland, who stated the grounds of the accusation, and explained in what manner the law had been infringed. Knox made a declamatory and very unsatisfactory reply. The substance of his defence was, that there were lawful and unlawful convocations of the people, and that, as the Act of Parliament could not apply to the assembling of his congregation every Sunday, neither could he be held to have transgressed it by writing letters to the heads of his church, calling them together upon a matter of vital importance to their religion. The sophistry of this reasoning was easily seen through. It was answered for the Queen, that his sermons were sanctioned by Government, and that their tendency was supposed to be peaceable; but that the direct purpose of the letters in question was to exasperate the minds of the lieges. One passage, in particular was read, in which Knox said, alluding to the two persons who were indicted, – “This fearful summons is directed against them, to make, no doubt, a preparative on a few, that a door may be opened to execute cruelty upon a greater multitude.” “Is it not treason, my Lords,” said Mary, “to accuse a Prince of cruelty? I think there be acts of Parliament against such whisperers.” Knox endeavoured to evade the force of this remark by a very evident quibble. “Madam,” he said, “cast up when you list the acts of your Parliament, I have offended nothing against them; for I accuse not in my letter your Grace, nor yet your nature, of cruelty. But I affirm yet again, that the pestilent Papists who have inflamed your Grace against those poor men at this present, are the sons of the Devil, and therefore must obey the desires of their father, who has been a liar and a man-slayer from the beginning.” More words were spoken on both sides, but nothing further was advanced that bore directly upon the subject in hand. It is worthy of notice, however, that Knox, in the course of his defence, actually forgot himself so far as to institute a comparison between Mary and the Roman Nero. At length, having been fully heard, he was ordered to retire, and after some discussion, the vote of guilty or not guilty was put to the nobles. There being a considerable preponderance of Protestant lords at the meeting, it was carried that Knox had not committed any breach of the laws. He evinces his triumph on this occasion by remarking spitefully in his History, – “That night was neither dancing nor fiddling in the Court; for Madam was disappointed of her purpose, whilk was to have had John Knox in her will by vote of her nobility.” His acquittal certainly disappointed Mary; but it only served to convince her more and more, that bigotry and justice were incompatible.

Before concluding this chapter, one of the peculiarities of the Scottish Reformer’s mind deserves to be noticed. That he was a strong thinker and a bold man, cannot be denied; yet, as has been before remarked, he himself confesses that he was much addicted to superstition. This weakness, if real, lowers him considerably in the scale of intellect; and, if affected, proves that, amidst all the pretensions of his new doctrines, he still retained a taint of priestly craft. Alluding to the year of which we speak, (1563), he has incorporated into his History the following remarkable passage. “God from Heaven, and upon the face of the earth, gave declaration that he was offended at the iniquity that was committed even within this realm; for upon the 20th day of January, there fell wet in great abundance, which in the falling freezed so vehemently, that the earth was but one sheet of ice. The fowls both great and small freezed, and could not fly; many died, and some were taken and laid before the fire, that their feathers might resolve; and in that same month the sea stood still, as was clearly observed, and neither ebbed nor flowed the space of twenty-four hours. In the month of February, the fifteenth and eighteenth days thereof, were seen in the firmament battles arrayed, spears and other weapons, and as it had been the joining of two armies. These things were not only observed, but also spoken and constantly affirmed by men of judgement and credit. But the Queen and our Court made merry.”⁷⁶ It would thus appear, that Knox’s mind was either a strange compound of strength and imbecility, courage and fear, sound sense and superstition, or that duplicity was more a part of his character than is generally supposed.