We must now hurry the reader from the gay capital to a small hunting seat at Royston, in which the King took peculiar delight, on account of the woods and wild forest scenery in which that part of the country abounded at the time we speak of, and which afforded him the opportunity of enjoying at liberty his favourite pastime of the chase.
According as caprice dictated, the monarch would go either in private, accompanied by his favourite, and a few of those whom he condescended to look upon as his friends, or with the whole Court, which was then packed into very narrow compass, many of the domestics and attendants being lodged out in the cottages round about, and the whole country swept by the King's purveyors to provide for the royal household, much to the annoyance of the poor inhabitants, who saw their fowls, their butter, their eggs, and their milk, carried away against their will. Nor was this the only inconvenience they suffered. Had they received full and ready payment for the food, which was taken, as it were, from their very mouths, they might have contented themselves. But such was not the case, and it was not till after long delays, and the deduction of an enormous per centage to the greedy officers of the King, that they obtained a scanty and illiberal compensation for the actual loss they sustained.
On the present occasion, the whole Court were at Royston; and so many human beings were crowded into the palace, that it was only when the hounds were abroad, and the greater part of the courtiers following the King to the chase, that anything like quiet and tranquillity was to be found in the building.
Such, however, was the case one morning; when Arabella Stuart, who had accompanied the Queen to Royston, after wandering out for a short time, returned towards the house with a paper in her hand, followed a step behind by an honest Hertfordshire farmer, to whom she spoke from time to time.
On the terrace before the palace, she turned to the man, saying, "Well, my good friend, I cannot undertake to give it to the King himself, because he is easily offended at such matters; but I will place it in the hands of those who can venture more boldly than I can, and who, I doubt not, will see right done to you."
The man bowed and withdrew; and Arabella, entering the vestibule, inquired of one of the servants, who sat there enjoying the usual listlessness of a palace, if Lord Rochester had gone with the King. The man replied in the affirmative; and she then asked, "Is Sir Thomas Overbury in the house?"
"Yes, lady," replied the man; "I saw him a minute ago, writing letters in the cabinet on the left hand, at the top of the stairs."
Arabella immediately proceeded thither, and, opening the door, went into the cabinet, where she found a young man, of a handsome person and agreeable expression of countenance, with a high forehead, dark eyes, and a look of intense thought, not unmingled with melancholy, in his face--that calm and thoughtful gloom which is generally found in men of great ambition. He was writing with a rapid hand and eager eye, and did not look round when the door first opened. The moment after, however, the lady's step caught his ear; and, raising his face, he instantly started up when he saw her.
"Good morning, Sir Thomas Overbury," said Arabella, advancing to the table: "I have a favour to ask of you."
"To do so is to confer one, madam," replied the knight, advancing and placing a chair: "pray be seated, and let me know your will. It has but to be known to be obeyed by me."
"You are very kind, Sir Thomas," answered Arabella, taking his words as a mere matter of compliment; "but I know you are always willing to do the best in your power for those who suffer by any of the abuses which occasionally follow every Court. This paper is a petition from a poor farmer in the neighbourhood against some of the King's purveyors, who have unnecessarily, it seems, swept off the whole stock of his farm; and, because he remonstrated, have cut down the trees before his dwelling.[5]Neither have they, as yet, paid him for anything, nor even allowed his account."
"Alas, madam!" replied Overbury, with a sorrowful expression of countenance, "this is but one out of some twenty or thirty. What do you wish me to do with it?"
"Merely to ask Lord Rochester," replied Arabella, "to deliver it into the King's own hand, and, if possible, to obtain justice for the poor man."
Sir Thomas Overbury took the paper, and looked at the amount claimed. "I believe, madam," he answered, "that my Lord of Rochester would rather pay the money out of his own purse, than present this to his Majesty. The former I will undertake he shall do, at your request."
"Nay," replied the lady, "that is not what I could desire. It is the King's own debt, not Lord Rochester's. Neither could I, as you may easily understand, make any such a request to his Lordship."
Sir Thomas Overbury smiled: "You might make any request, madam, that you pleased, and be quite assured," he said, "that your request would immediately become his wish."
Arabella was somewhat surprised at the very courteous terms of Sir Thomas Overbury; for, although he had always treated her with due respect and attention, there was no intimacy subsisting between them, and even less between herself and Lord Rochester.
"You are very kind," she answered; "but all I can desire is, that his Lordship would present the petition to the King, who I feel very sure will grant it at his request."
"Ah, madam!" replied the Knight, "you know not how difficult it is to get petitions acceded to; but I hope, if my Lord Rochester succeeds in this, he may be equally successful, should he some day be a petitioner to your Ladyship."
Accustomed to flattering speeches, to praises of her beauty, and to hints of deeper attachment, which her high rank prevented those who felt it from declaring more openly, Arabella might have thought little of the pointed expressions of Sir Thomas Overbury, had there not been a seriousness in his tone and manner that alarmed her.
She rose then immediately, and again thanking him for his civility was about to retire; but he stopped her, saying, "One moment, lady: I have long wished for an opportunity of speaking a few words to you." He then paused and hesitated, while Arabella remained silent, gazing upon him with an anxious and inquiring look.
"Perhaps, madam," said the knight, at length, "you may think me very officious and impertinent, but if I be so, it is from my sincere regard to two high persons, whose fortunes much depend upon each other."
"I really do not know, sir, what you mean," replied Arabella.
"I will explain myself," continued Sir Thomas Overbury. "My Lord of Rochester, my kind master and very good friend, is noble, as you know, by birth, but has risen from a very poor estate to the highest power and authority in this realm, under the King. You are aware with what favours his Majesty has loaded him, what wealth he has bestowed upon him, and what confidence he places in him."
"I doubt not," replied Arabella, "that he is worthy of it all; and, indeed, I know him to be liberal and kind to the poor, more modest than most favourites would be in his household and demeanour, and, moreover, devoted to the King, of which we have a striking instance, as I hear, the other day, in giving five-and-twenty thousand pounds in gold to the officers of the revenue, when he found the King's treasury was empty. If you suppose, Sir Thomas, that I am one of those who envy him his good fortune, or deny him good qualities, from jealousy of the King's favour, you are quite mistaken."
"Madam, I know your noble heart too well," said Overbury, "to suspect it of harbouring such pitiful feelings; and, dealing with you simply in frankness and candour, I was about to lay before you the evils as well as the advantages of my Lord Rochester's position, trusting to your honour never to reveal that which I shall say."
"Of that you may be quite assured," replied Arabella.
"Well then, madam," continued the knight, "you see Lord Rochester, as he now stands at the height of power and favour, courted and flattered by all men, each day advancing in wealth and distinction, and having every vacant office in the state at his disposal. Young, too, he is, and certainly most strikingly handsome, with health unimpaired by the various vices of the day--by drunkenness, or dissolute living; so that, in all probability, his life will be long preserved. But, at the same time, it must not be concealed that all this fabric of greatness stands at present on a frail foundation. I do not mean the favour of the King, for that, I believe, unless from some great fault on his Lordship's part, will only be terminated with the King's life. But, lady, I am now going to say what I would venture to no other ears than yours: the King's life itself is uncertain--his physicians do not augur that it will be a long one. The violent exercises of the chase, to which he addicts himself so passionately, daily wear down the powers of a constitution naturally feeble. A thousand accidents, too, might happen to deprive us of our sovereign; and, were he gone, the apparent enmity of the Prince would easily find means to effect my Lord's ruin, unless his friends can contrive to fix his fortunes upon a stronger foundation than at present. Now, lady, will you forgive me if, leaving the picture of this nobleman's fate, I turn to paint that of another--your own?"
"I fear," said Arabella, who felt her heart beating with apprehension of what was to come next, "I fear the Queen may require me, I have been absent long."
"I will not detain you many minutes," replied Sir Thomas Overbury; "but indeed you must hear me out: it is but justice to me after what I have said. You yourself, madam, as I know you feel, are placed in a very peculiar and painful position."
Arabella seated herself, and leaned her head upon her hand.--"Of the highest rank that subject can attain to," continued the knight, "the next heir to the Crown, failing the King and his royal children, with less wealth than your merits well deserve, and denied all power and influence, the object of vain conspiracies to every idle traitor, and of jealous apprehension to your royal cousin, you are denied the only consolation that could be afforded to such a fate, by being shut out from domestic happiness on motives of state policy."
"True!" said Arabella, with a sigh.
"You must have remarked, madam," continued Sir Thomas Overbury, "that all the many applications for your hand by sovereign princes, who could well pretend thereunto, have been rejected without consulting you; and so it will ever be. You will be condemned to pass through life without being permitted to bestow on any one in this country, or elsewhere, the greatest blessing to which man can perhaps aspire on earth--the possession of so charming and excellent a creature as yourself."
Arabella had been somewhat moved by the first part of his discourse; and she knew that there was but one way to cover her emotion, and to avoid being forced to deal seriously with a matter, which she saw might involve her in terrible difficulties if she treated it gravely. She resolved, therefore, to assume that gay and playful lightness of manner which had often been her resource under such circumstances; and though, for a moment, it cost her a great effort, she replied, laughingly, "You must not take it for granted, Sir Thomas, that I had an inclination to accept any of these mighty potentates, even if the King had wished it. The grapes, to be sure, are sour with me, as with the fox in the fable; and I will own that it is always much more agreeable to a woman to have her vanity flattered by the opportunity of saying 'No' to such tender supplications, than to have them dismissed without her interference. But, nevertheless, I can assure you, upon my honour, that if I had been left to act according to my own will and choice, not one of all these gentlemen who have asked the King for my poor hand should have obtained it. You cannot say, Sir Thomas, that you have ever seen on my part the least desire that their suit should be approved--or the least disappointment at their rejection."
"Certainly not, madam," answered the knight; "and I can easily conceive that a heart like yours, knowing that domestic happiness is rarely, if ever, obtained in a royal station, would gladly avoid such a state. But still, lady, you must be convinced that, if the King refuses you to foreign princes, he will be still more resolute in denying you to almost any of his own subjects."
"Toany, I should think," replied Arabella.
"To any but one," replied Sir Thomas Overbury, "to whom, in his present mood, he can refuse nothing. Now, lady, listen to all in one word. Your union with Lord Rochester would to him secure, first, the inestimable blessing of a wife, whom he could both love and respect--who could both make his home bright and happy, and, by her experience of courts, guide, counsel, and support him; and, secondly, would obtain for him such an alliance with those from whom he has most to fear, as would ensure him against reverse in case of the decease of the King. You would gain an affectionate, warm-hearted, and sincere husband, who would be dependent upon yourself for the stability of his position; and, instead of being condemned to see life pass by without any of those ties which form a woman's happiness, would at once----"
"Stay, stay, Sir Thomas," cried Arabella, with a gay smile, "do not make the picture too enchanting. Consider, my dear sir, you are wooing for another, who has given no sign of love or hope.--Good faith! I shall expect, if ever I am to be a wife, to be courted, and flattered, and sought, just as much as other women, or perhaps more. Besides, the king's consent is not gained.--That would be the first step before asking mine, who, poor creature, have little power over my own destiny. Not that the King would not give me every liberty to refuse, I am sure. It is of my accepting only that he is afraid; and, depend upon it, as this hand is the only boon on earth I have to give, I will make the man who obtains it know its full value. Oh, I am a true woman! You do not know me yet, Sir Thomas. I will have all my caprices, too, according to rule and precedent; and I will make my stipulations, like the heiress of an alderman. There must be my dower, and my annual stipend, and my two coaches lined with velvet, and my gentlewomen, and my gentlemen ushers, and my horses, and grooms, and squires of the hand, and my ordinary maids and footmen, and my gowns of apparel, and my common gowns; and then there must be carpets, and hangings, and couches, and glass, and my sideboard of plate, and my canopy; and, moreover, I must be a duke's wife, so that nobody may go before me at the court.--Oh! you cannot imagine all the things that I will require," she added, with a laugh; "but, some day, you shall have an inventory of them: and now, good faith! I must fly to the Queen, for indeed, Sir Thomas, if it were known that I had been talking with you so long, and all about love and matrimony, we should both run a great risk of finding our way to the Tower, Adieu, adieu, with many thanks!" and thus saying, with a light step and gay air, she quitted the room.
The moment she was in the corridor, however, her face resumed its gravity, and she murmured, "Gracious heaven! when will men cease to make me the object of their ambitious schemes?"
In the meanwhile, Sir Thomas Overbury stood by the side of the table, and gazed down upon it with vacant eyes, "Yes," he said at length, "yes, her consent is sure, and this lightness but assumed to cover deeper things. That is clear enough. The rest must be done by Rochester; for doubtless, as she says, she will require courting.--The King, too, must be managed; but that can be done; and then, with his fortunes fixed upon a basis that nothing can shake, allied to Royalty itself, and with his doting monarch's whole life before him, he may indeed do what he will. And I!--Why, is he not my creature, as the King is his? When, too, he owes the rock on which his fortune is planted to my counsels, he must surely show his gratitude.--He is young, warmhearted--yet unhardened by a Court; and, even granted that, in a few years, he be corrupted by the invariable selfishness and baseness of such scenes as these, ere then the eagle shall have soared on high, unless fate clip his wings. Give me three years--but three years; and if with the powers of mind I feel within this brain, and the resolution I know within this heart, I rule not in the council chamber and the senate--why, let them kick me forth as a scurvy cur, unfitted for high places."
Thus thinking, he sat himself down to write again, and did not rise till the sound of the horns warned him that the King and Court were returning.
With shouts, and jests, and laughter of no very courtly and dignified a sort, the royal party came up to the terrace; and James and his favourite, with a number of attendants, mounted the staircase, passed by the room in which Overbury had been writing, and swept on to the royal apartments.
In a minute or two after, Rochester, tall, handsome, and glowing with exercise and merriment, entered the chamber of his secretary, convulsed with laughter, and casting himself into a seat, exclaimed, "By the Lord! Overbury, here has been one of the best jests this morning I have ever seen. Did you remark, yesterday, how the King asked for Jowler, who was not with the pack?--his favourite hound, you know, whose voice, he swears, is a deal sweeter than that of the Italian music-master. Well--to-day, who should make his appearance but Jowler, with a paper tied round his neck."
"A love-letter, perhaps," said Overbury.
"Nothing half so sweet," replied Rochester; "for if cakes and gingerbread lie in a fair lady's eyes, and honey distils from her lips, as we tell the pretty creatures, sure her pen must be dipped in syrup and spice, but this was all gall and vinegar, though not without spirit too. The King, as soon as he saw the dog, must needs jump off his horse, to let the hound lick him. Maxwell and Boucher would have fain made away with the paper, misdoubting what it contained, I fancy; but the King would needs see it, and Chaloner, who loves a jest, bitter or sweet, untied the string from under the dog's ears, and humbly presented the paper on his knee to our royal master. At first the King turned red in the face, and his brow pricked up like the back of an old woman's wimple, but then he burst into a horse laugh, exclaiming, 'On my life, Master Jowler, thou art a witty dog, if this be thine own jest; but I doubt, like many another man's, it is but laid upon thy shoulders, poor fellow,' and thereupon he began kissing him again."
"But the paper, the paper," exclaimed Overbury, "what was written on it?"
"Why, faith, these words; for the King handed it about," answered Rochester,--"these words are something like them:--'Good Master Jowler, we pray you speak to the King, for he hears you every day, and he will not hear us, that it will please his Majesty to go back to London, or else the country will be undone. All our provision is spent already, and we are not able to maintain him any longer.'"
"On my life," said Overbury, holding up the petition which he had received from Arabella, "I have here got another song to the same tune."
"What is it, what is it?" asked Rochester.
"A petition from a farmer against the purveyors," replied Overbury, "which your Lordship must needs present to the King."
"Not I," answered the Viscount, bursting into a laugh, "I will present no more petitions, since that affair of the man Whitstable. You know what the King said."
"No," said Sir Thomas, "I never heard."
"Well, then, I will tell you," rejoined his companion. "He first read the petition, to please me, he said; then, when he saw it was about money, he swore five large oaths, to which I cannot do justice, for they were part Pagan philosophy, and part Christian blasphemy. Then he chuckled for a minute, and then he asked what the man hadge'enme. I told him, nothing; and then he called me afule, and said that Whitstable was no better, and so he should not have his money, because he did not know how to show himself thankful to those who asked it for him. No, no, I will present no more petitions."
"But, in good sooth, you must do so in this case," said Sir Thomas Overbury, "for it is at the request of a lady."
"Ay, indeed," cried Carr, somewhat more interested in the question. "What lady, may I ask, Tom?"
"A very sweet and beautiful one," replied the knight, "and one that it were better worth your while to please, than all the gerfalcons in the King's mew, though that's one high road to his royal graces."
"Her name, man," cried Rochester; "you keep me with my wit galloping all through the Court."
"Draw the bridle, then," replied Overbury; "it is the Lady Arabella Stuart; and if you can contrive to fall from your horse at her feet, with as much success as you did at the King's, you may so mend your fortunes, as never to risk a fall again."
"Ay, she is very pretty," answered Rochester, in an indifferent tone, "but hardly tall enough, to my mind."
"I do not know," replied Overbury, "how that can be; she could not be well higher, without being Queen or Princess Royal of England."
"Yes, she is pretty," continued Rochester, in a musing tone; "but what is that to me? There are many as handsome women in the court, not quite so stiff and stately in their virtue. Why she and my Lady Rich do not even speak; and, to my taste, Lady Rich is the prettier woman of the two."
"Ay, for a mistress," exclaimed Overbury; "but which would you like best for a wife?"
"Oh! the Lady Arabella," replied Rochester, in a decided tone, "but that can be no question with either of them; for the Lady Rich is the wife of two men already, and the Lady Arabella will never be the wife of any one."
"Except, perhaps, of Robert Carr, Viscount Rochester, Earl of Something, Duke of Something else," answered Sir Thomas Overbury; "and I do confess," he added, "that I envy the man who shall have the good fortune to put a ring upon that fair finger. Were it for nothing but herself, her beauty, her grace, her virtues, and her sweet humour, I would not barter her hand against the Indies. But when we think of her rank, and the station she will give her husband----"
"Why, Overbury, you are in love with her," cried Carr, laughing.
"I wish you were," answered Overbury; "my care for your fate would then be at an end."
"It would be of no use," rejoined Rochester; "but come, Overbury, speak out, what is it that you mean? You know my brains are not worth much, and what I have are sorely shaken with a long gallop. Speak, man, speak, I am ever ready to follow counsel; and you know Bacon says, that you are my loadstar, that ever guides me right."
"It often happens, my good Lord," replied Overbury, "that when you ask me for advice in the very difficult affairs which surround you, I have to consider long and carefully what is the best course for you to pursue, and even then I may be at times doubtful of the result. But in this case, I have not the slightest doubt. The way lies open before you; and though you must tread it with care and caution, lest you should meet with a rebuff, it will as certainly lead you to fortune, as you advance upon it perseveringly and prudently."
"Come, come, Overbury," exclaimed Lord Rochester, "do not be eloquent! A few plain facts, my good friend, and a word of explanation, are all that is required. I don't mean to say positively that I will follow your advice in this matter, though I partly see your aim; but I will be reasonable, as I always am; and, if I see good cause and good hope, I will go on."
"Well, then, my Lord," said Overbury, "I will just remind you of how you stand. Though it may be an unpleasant task to do so, yet I have never found you shrink from looking the matter in the face. The King's favour is your only stay; the King's life is your term of office and authority; for though, perhaps, some of your own countrymen would rally round to support you--which, by the way, I doubt----"
"Oh yes, they would," cried Rochester; "a Scotchman will always support a Scotchman, if his own interest don't come in the way."
"Yet depend upon it," continued Sir Thomas Overbury, "under a new King, the jealousy of the English would soon clear the Court of your countrymen, who, as you know, can scarce keep their footing in it already."
"That's very true," cried Rochester; "why there's a new satire out against us, Overbury, which made me laugh a good deal last night. It's all the folly of Murray and Sanquhar, as you will see, for the verses upon a Scotchman run--
'They beg our lands, our goods, our lives,They switch our nobles, make love to their wives,They pinch our gentry, and send for our Benchers,They stab our sergeants, and pistol our fencers.'
'They beg our lands, our goods, our lives,They switch our nobles, make love to their wives,They pinch our gentry, and send for our Benchers,They stab our sergeants, and pistol our fencers.'
Ha! ha! ha! it's not bad, on my life; but still the conduct of such men as Sanquhar, in murdering the fencing-master, and Murray, in stabbing the sergeant, can bring nothing but ruin upon themselves, and disgrace upon all their countrymen."
"Both acts were done under the influence of strong passion," replied Overbury; "and where is the man who shall say to what pitch strong passion may lead him?"
"Never to murder a man in cold blood," cried Rochester; "no passion would ever lead you or me to such deeds."
"I do not know," replied Overbury, thoughtfully; "no man can tell till he is tried;" and he fell into a fit of musing.
It was a strange conversation. There they stood, the murderer and the murdered--the one denying the possibility of acts, which, within a very few short months he himself committed; the other even doubting whether he might not be some time tempted to the deeds of which he was to be soon a victim. As if the question impressed them more strongly than any thing that had passed before, they both remained silent for several minutes, and then Overbury proceeded, returning at once to the former subject.
"Well, my good Lord," he said, "all this shows that, however firm you may be in the King's favour,--of which I believe you possess, as I have said, a lease for life,--a stumbling horse, a stag at bay, or a defluxion on the chest, might cast you from the height of power at any hour and day of the whole year, by his Majesty's death. He who fixes his fortune on the favour of another, renders himself doubly mortal. You must try to base yours, my good Lord, on something more stable."
"On what?" asked Rochester.
"On an alliance with the royal blood," replied Overbury.
His companion fell into thought, which the knight took care not to interrupt; and at length Lord Rochester raised his head, saying, "I understand you now, Overbury; but is it possible? I see two great obstacles."
"Name them, name them," exclaimed Sir Thomas, "and I will demolish them in a moment."
"The first lies with the King," answered Rochester. "'Tis but the other day, when he refused one of the Electoral Princes for the Lady Arabella, that he afterwards laughed with me in his closet, and said, that though he might like to put two doves in a cage, he would never put two eagles; meaning that he would never consent to her marriage with any one; and of that I am quite sure."
"With no sovereign Prince, most assuredly," replied Overbury; "for you may easily conceive what a handle might be made of her claims to the throne, in the hands of a foreign power. To any of his own subjects he will have nearly as much objection; for fear of breeding strife and contention in the land. But you, my dear Lord, are somewhat different from a common subject--you are his friend, his favourite, one on whom he can fully rely.--Nay, nay, do not shake your head! You do not suppose that if the Duke of York were of age sufficient, he would hesitate to extinguish the claims of the Lady Arabella, by a union with his own son? Does he consider you as less than his son? Has he not often declared that he regards you as his own child? Does he not, in fact, love you infinitely more than any of his own children?--Nay, to speak boldly and openly to one who, I know, will not betray me, you are right well assured that there is no principle of justice, no maxim of state policy, that he would not violate to give you pleasure. Happy for the country that you are not one ever to abuse such influence. No, my noble Lord, you have nothing to do but to praise the Lady Arabella to the King, to admire her eyes, to speak of her exquisite grace, the loveliness of her form, the sweetness of her smile, to sigh often, and look pale,--we can find means to make the complexion somewhat change--to affect a melancholy, and be no longer cheerful, but as it were by effort. Then, when the King inquires into your gloom, let him wring from you by slow degrees that you love the lady, but yet have never ventured to pay her the slightest court, or show her the least attention, because you know his Majesty's views, and not for the dearest object of your wishes would you cross his slightest purpose. My life to a jerkin of Cordovan, the King proposes to you the marriage himself.--Now, my Lord, what is your next difficulty?"
"That lies with the lady," answered Lord Rochester; "she has never shown the slightest sign of distinguishing me from all the crowd of the Court."
"Odds life! my Lord," interrupted Overbury, "do you expect a lady to woo you? did she do so, she were not worth your having; and the Lady Arabella is none such. Nay, more, my Lord, you will have to woo her, and zealously too; but the more difficult the attainment, the more worthy is the prize. You will have to make her love you, before you can hope for her hand. But yet, as some sort of encouragement, I will tell you that she and I have been talking about you just now, and you already stand well with her. She spoke of you generously and kindly, cited the gift you had lately made to the revenue, and praised your deportment at the Court. Person, too, with all women is no light matter; and to be married to the handsomest man in England, may flatter a woman's vanity, which is the first way to win her love."
"But all flatterers do not succeed with women," said Rochester.
"Because their flattery is too gross, or those to whom they address it too clear-sighted," replied Overbury; "the moment it is known to be flattery, it ceases to flatter; and therefore it is that indirect praise is so much more gratifying than any other. Few have such a stomach as our royal master, who has been compared to many things, but I wonder never to an ostrich, for he can digest iron, if it be well spiced."
"But," asked Carr, in a tone of doubt, "can this lady love at all, Overbury? Has she the feelings and passions of other women? I could not content me with a cold and indifferent bride; and I have remarked that, whatever proposals have been made for her hand, she has seemed right glad and well pleased when they were rejected--I speak not alone of men whom she has never seen, but when there was a question of Northumberland's son; and the King took him to task for wooing her, she seemed quite relieved when he retired from the Court, and said, I understand, that of all the favours the King had conferred upon her, that deliverance was the greatest."
Overbury smiled; "You have a right humble opinion of yourself, my Lord of Rochester," he said, "to compare yourself to Northumberland's clumsy boy, who courted the lady with large eyes and an open mouth, like the whale that swallowed Jonas in the picture. No, no, a woman's heart is like a magazine of powder, well defended and difficult to be got at, but when once reached, ready to take fire in a minute. You must work by the sap and mine, my Lord, and I can assure you the ground is not so hard and rocky as you think. No woman was ever yet insusceptible of love, and there is but one passion that I know of, which can extinguish that magic fire. The blasts of adversity cannot blow it out. It will burn beneath the cold waters of ill-treatment and neglect. In the airless caverns of despair it shines by its own light; and down to the grave it goes, blazing up, even in death. Nothing, I say, nothing can extinguish it but another fierce flame in the same lamp--that of ambition. It was this that taught Elizabeth to quench the fire that was in her heart as strong as in any on the earth. This made her hold back from Leicester, this guarded her against Essex."
"Ay," said Lord Rochester, thoughtfully; "she is very beautiful!"
"Who?" exclaimed Sir Thomas Overbury, in surprise; "Queen Elizabeth?"
"No, no," answered Rochester, laughing; "she never was, that I know of; and heaven defend me from contemplating her beauty now--It was Lady Essex I meant."
"Yes, so she is," said Overbury; "but to the subject, my Lord. What say you to my scheme? If you win the lady, you gain security; you build up a fortress round your fortunes which not all the malice of your enemies can ever batter down. Methinks this alone were sufficient to make you strive, like an eager horse at a race, to win the golden prize, even were the lady less lovely and less charming than she is."
"Why, I say at once," replied Lord Rochester, "that I am yours to do with as you like. The prize is certainly a great one; the only question is--can I win it? You say I can, and as I never found you wrong, I am willing to believe you right. I will therefore embark in the adventure; but you must be the pilot and steer the ship, and, if you bring it safely into port, the whole honour and one half the profit shall be yours.--But first tell me how I am to deal with the lady; for I am to say to the King, it seems, when I have acted the part of a despairing lover long enough, that I have never moved her to my wishes, for fear of giving him offence."
"Nor must you, nor must you;" cried Overbury, "it will be the safest course both with him and her. You must woo as if you wooed not; never affect in the King's presence to pay her much attention; but in those moments which must often happen, and which you may make more frequent if you will,--when, by the chances of the Court, you stand or sit beside her, then ply her with soft words--breathe not the name of love; but there are ways you know right well, to speak without a tongue. Worship her beauty, descant on grace and symmetry, leaving her to take the praises to herself. Tell her the colour of the eyes you love the best, and be sure that the same hues shine under her dark lashes. Have the same tastes; and, in opinions, only differ with her to yield your own with faint resistance, and give her wit the triumph. Let her perceive, without the slightest boast, that you are sought of other lovely dames, but you seek her alone.--A thousand opportunities must occur; but, as I have said, you may make many. When the King is at the council, and during all those times at which he needs not your presence, you can seek hers without seeming to do so. Often she walks alone in the gardens or the park.--How easy to cross her solitary ramble, and for a few minutes--but for a few--seize the occasion to win regard. Even now, what prevents you from going to her at once, with this petition in your hand, which she left with me for you! Tell her that you had resolved never to present another, but that if it be seriously her wish, your resolution must be broken. Then offer her service, and express some regret that circumstances have not allowed you hitherto to show her all the devotion which you feel. Follow this line of conduct till the King's consent is gained; and leave it to me, by hints and explanations, to give the true point to all you say."
"Well," said Rochester, rising, "I will go at once. Give me the paper," and taking it from the hand of Overbury, he quitted the room.
"Heaven send," exclaimed his friend, "that, in striving to light this flame in Arabella's breast, he may gain a spark of fire himself. Such cold indifference never won a love-suit yet--I cannot believe he will fail, with every advantage of person, youth, grace and beauty--the King's favour--her only chance of marriage?--No, no, no! he cannot fail, that is impossible;" and sitting down, he leant his head upon his hand, in thought.
Two minutes after, however, Lord Rochester returned. "I cannot find her," he said; "I saw her pretty Italian girl; and, by my life! the maid's as lovely as the mistress.--I should not dislike to have such a fair lute-player myself."
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Overbury, impatiently, "can she place you on the steps of the throne? For heaven's sake, Rochester, take care," he added, almost prophetically, "that some sweet mischief, such as this, does not cast you down from where you already stand!"
"Oh, most grave and reverend youth," replied Rochester, laughing, "be not afraid of my virtue. I will be as demure as a maid; and, though I cannot promise thee to look at bright eyes without admiration, I'll strangle the naughty sighs between my teeth, so that they reach not fair Arabella's ears--I will now take the paper to the King, and leave him not till I have got a warrant for the money. Then think with what grace I will put it into her own soft hand, and say that I have brought it to her, because I know it is her delight to make her fellow-creatures happy.--I hope the hint is not too broad, companion, that I look to her to make me happy too?"
"Seriously, seriously, Rochester, I pray you," said Sir Thomas Overbury, "remember, this is no jesting matter, but one on which your future fate depends."
"Grave as a judge will I be," replied Rochester, "in all the active part of the drama; but the performers may laugh behind the scenes, good Overbury. But I will away to the King. There we shall laugh enough, I trow."
"Not with that in your hand," answered Overbury.
"Why, it may cause a storm at first," rejoined the favourite; "but if I find the dear pedagogue is very poor, I will lend his Majesty the money. Then he will call me afule, and the farmer a gowk; and the business will end in laughter, however it may begin."
Thus saying, he left his friend in the cabinet, giving him a gay nod as he went out. But Overbury could not be cheerful: there was a heaviness in his heart which he could not account for, which some might think was a presentiment of coming evil; but it was only the load of manifold cares and ever-frowning anxieties, which try the muscles of ambition in its upward course.
Who has not heard of the masque at Theobalds--perhaps the most disgraceful scene that ever took place in an English court? and yet it is into the midst of that extraordinary spectacle of disgusting excess that we must lead the reader for a short time, together with some of the fairest and the best of the personages in our tale.
Not long after those conversations took place which we have in the last chapter detailed, the King, the Queen, and the whole Court were invited to spend a few days at the princely mansion of the Earl of Salisbury, to revel with the King of Denmark, who was then visiting England, and had just returned to the capital from a short tour through some of our rural districts.
The presence of this monarch in England had tended to anything but to improve the morality or decency of the people. A coarse-minded barbarian, with some of the virtues, but almost all the vices of a half-savage state, could not, indeed, be expected to aid the progress of civilization in a court where he was courted, flattered, and looked up to as the brother of a Queen, whose affability of manners, in default of higher qualities, had rendered her undeservedly popular.
It must not be supposed, however, that the higher classes in Great Britain were universally polished, or free from gross faults, at the time he came. There were many, it is true, in England, as probably will always be the case, who, in point of demeanour, as well as virtue--of genius, as well as goodness, excelled any others on the earth. But there was a great mass, as there is still and ever will be, noble by birth, but not in heart; high by station, but not in principle. The rude insolence which the Scottish courtiers had brought to the English capital, filled it with feuds and bloodshed; the example of some of the most distinguished women of the court spread immorality abroad like a pestilence; and the Ordinary, so admirably depicted by Sir Walter Scott, finished the education of the young courtiers in gaming, and the excesses of the table. But it was not alone the house of Monsieur de Beaujeu which was open for such orgies, nor were they persons of high rank who alone frequented such abodes; for, at the time I speak of, there were hundreds of these dens of iniquity held in different parts of the town, where every man chose his own scale of vice and indulgence, and ruined himself or his neighbours, cut his own throat, or run his best friend though the body, according as skill and inclination might combine.
It was to the King of Denmark, however, that the Court owed the gross habit of intoxication, which now became general, and which lasted from that time to a period not long before the present day. He first revived the barbarous notion in the land, that excess of drinking can be honourable; and it spread with extraordinary rapidity through all classes, affecting not alone the men, but the women of the higher ranks. Many lamentable scenes produced by this vice are to be found depicted in the papers of Winwood, and other contemporaries, but perhaps the most celebrated of all, from the disgusting excess to which the beastly sin was carried, took place at Theobalds, on the occasion to which we now refer.
Hospitality reigned in the mansion, even to profusion; the cellar was free to any one who might choose to use it; the door of the buttery stood open day and night; and the royal table actually flowed with wine.
For the entertainments of the second day of the royal visit, a masque had been prepared by the owner of the mansion; but it was unfortunately appointed to succeed a grand banquet, at which all the Court was present. As what was then considered a delicate compliment to the King, who continued to affect, notwithstanding the bitter sarcasm of Henry IV. of France, the title of the English Solomon, the masque was intended to represent the visit of the Queen of Sheba to the wise Sovereign of the Jews. The great hall, next to the banqueting-room, was fitted up as the Temple of Jerusalem; and at the upper end a dais and canopy were raised for the two Monarchs, the Queen, and the principal ladies of the court.
The banquet I will not describe. Suffice it to say, it was over; and with unsteady steps the Kings proceeded to take their seats with the Queen, and all the principal ladies in attendance upon her. The Princess Elizabeth was not present, and Arabella Stuart, from her royal blood, was seated next to Anne of Denmark. Many of the followers of the old court who had received but little encouragement from James, had, with laudable feeling, been invited by the Earl of Salisbury; and amongst the rest, was our good friend Sir Harry West. Though the King took no notice of him, and many of the young courtiers thought fit to wonder how such an antiquated specimen of the Elizabethan days had come thither, the sweet lady whose tale we tell had stopped to speak to him as she passed onward to her seat, giving him her hand, and calling him cousin, from his distant relationship to the family of Cavendish.
"I beseech you, Sir Harry," she said, in a low voice, after a few words of courtesy, "stand behind me on the dais, and leave me not if you can help it, It will be doing me a great service to let me converse with you, rather than with one who, I fear, may be too near."
"I will be there," replied Sir Harry; and though there is always some difficulty in making such arrangements in a crowded court, the old knight, proceeding with his usual calm self-possession and firm experience, had reached the back of Arabella's chair by the time she was seated.
The moment after, the Viscount Rochester approached; and, though he was not one to attempt to displace a gentleman of Sir Harry West's years and reputation, he looked a little mortified, and took a position on the other side of the lady, nearer to the Queen. Arabella looked round to see if her old friend was there; and Rochester, who, to his credit be it spoken, was quite sober, seized the opportunity to bend over her, expressing in courteous terms, though somewhat unpolished language, a hope that she did not suffer from the heat.
The lady replied with all due civility, but briefly; and, as she did so, her eyes were brought to the opposite side of the circle, where sat some other ladies of the court; and there, to her surprise, she beheld the lovely countenance of the Countess of Essex gazing upon her with an expression of fierce anger, which she could not at all comprehend. Without much care to discover what was the cause, however, and merely following her own plan, she turned instantly to the other side, where Sir Harry West stood a step behind her, and said a few words to him in a low tone. The knight answered, and Arabella rejoined, but their conversation was speedily interrupted by the commencement of the masque.
The gilded and painted pillars, intended for the columns of Solomon's Temple, were suddenly illuminated by girandoles of lights round the capitals, and a flourish of trumpets was heard without, when, followed by numerous attendants, a masked lady, carrying a casket in her hand, and representing the Queen of Sheba, entered the hall, and advanced towards the two Kings. The casket was loaded with a variety of shining things made in sugar, by the art of an Italian confectioner, which, though assuming the form of jewels and precious stones, contained within jellies, and syrups, and perfumes. It was remarked by those persons in the court, who had not themselves paid their devotions too deeply to the god of the grape, that the step of the Queen of Sheba was quite as unsteady as that of her prototype might be supposed to have been upon the sea of glass. She contrived, notwithstanding, to reach the dais; but there, whether her feet failed her, or whether she stumbled over the step does not appear, but she fell head foremost into the lap of the King of Denmark, bespattering him with her confectionery in a most unseemly manner. Confused and ashamed, she started up, though not without assistance; and her mask falling off, displayed the face of one of the first ladies of the court, with a heightened colour, and eyes somewhat void of expression.
The Danish monarch himself, who was good-humoured in his cups, instantly started up to console the overthrown lady; and calling loudly to the musicians to begin an air which he named, he declared he would dance a measure with the Queen of Sheba. Unfortunately, however, he did not well calculate his own powers, and in the very first effort, after reeling for a moment from side to side, he fell prone at her feet, well nigh bringing her to the ground along with him.
A scene of confusion ensued, such as is happily seldom witnessed at a court; in the midst of which, the Eastern Queen very wisely effected her retreat, and his Danish Majesty was taken up by four stout ushers, and carried into a neighbouring bed-chamber, dripping with the jellies and syrups which his fair partner had so unceremoniously bestowed upon his garments.
It is probable that the scene would have ended there, had not James, who never chose to be disappointed in his amusements, insisted upon the spectacle proceeding; and three ladies were introduced as Faith, Hope and Charity, gorgeously dressed, though with no very light or heavenly vestments.
The farther proceedings of the masque we shall describe in the words of an eye-witness, in order to win the reader's belief for things scarcely credible.
"Hope," says Sir John Harrington in his Nugæ, "did essay to speak; but wine rendered her endeavours so feeble, that she withdrew, and hoped the King would excuse her brevity. Faith was then alone, for I am certain she was not joined with Good Works, and left the Court in a staggering condition. Charity came to the King's feet, and seemed to cover the multitude of sins her sisters had committed. In some sort she made obeisance and brought gifts, but said she would return home again, as there was no gift which heaven has not already given his Majesty. She then returned to Faith and Hope, who were both sick in the lower hall. Next came Victory in bright armour, and, by a strange medley of versification, did endeavour to make suit to the King; but Victory did not triumph long, for, after much lamentable utterance, she was led away like a silly captive, and laid to sleep in the outer steps of the antechamber. Now Peace did make her entry, and strive to get foremost to the King; but I grieve to tell now great wrath she did discover unto those of her attendants, and much contrary to her semblance, most rudely made war with her olive branch, and laid on the pates of those who did oppose her coming."
Thus ended an exhibition, disgraceful to all concerned, and painful to those who witnessed it. To Arabella Stuart it had, as the reader may suppose, caused not a little grief and annoyance. She felt ashamed of her sex, of her class, of her society; and during the last act of this strange scene, she had turned her eyes away, suffering them to wander over the crowd of persons who lined the hall on either side, and occupied a considerable space at the end.
In the meanwhile, Lord Rochester, who, though not constantly maintaining his position near her, always returned to it, had endeavoured more than once to engage her in conversation, but, to say truth, without much success. At last, however, he perceived that her voice, in answering some question he addressed to her, suddenly faltered, and her reply stopped abruptly.
"Is anything the matter, lady?" asked Sir Harry West, who saw her cheek turn deadly pale.
"I am faint," replied Arabella, "--the heat, I think----"
"Will you go out into the air?" asked the old knight; but, at the same time, his eyes followed hers to a spot at the farther extremity of the hall, towards which they were turned, and an involuntary exclamation of "Ha!" broke from his lips.
It was just at this moment, however, that the group representing Peace and Abundance entered the hall; and the noise and confusion which prevailed drew attention in another direction.
"Would you like to retire?" again asked the old knight.
"No," replied Arabella, "no, I shall be better in a moment--this cannot last long. Would to Heaven it had never taken place!"
"It is, indeed, a disgusting affair," replied Sir Harry West. "My Lord, I wonder if his Majesty would object to that window being opened, for the lady is faint with the heat, and the King himself looks over warm."
"Oh no," exclaimed Lord Rochester, "I will open it in a minute, and give Solomon some air. Would your Majesty be pleased to let in a little of the breath of heaven," he continued, moving to the King's chair, "for it seems we have too much of the breath of earth here."
"Well flavoured with sack and canary," answered the King, "but we'll soon get out of thehotter. Don't you see, Peace and Plenty are retreating in confusion? and, methinks, it will be wise to go out upon the terrace, and refresh ourselves in the evening air. The moon is shining, is it not? Give me your arm, Carro. I-fegs, though our head be as strong as that of most folk, the good wine of my Lord of Salisbury is well nigh as much as we can carry."
The King and Queen then rose; and, according to the proposal of James, the whole party issued forth into the wide ornamented grounds--with one exception. Arabella Stuart, whispering to Anne of Denmark that she was somewhat faint, but would rejoin her in a few minutes, darted away to her own room, where, casting herself on her knees beside her bed, she hid her face upon her hands, and prayed. Her prayers were not unmingled with tears, however; and when she rose, her eyes were red.
"They may see that I have been weeping," she said to herself, "and I may as well put a mask upon my face as upon my heart. There will be others in similar guise;" and taking up the rarely-used black velvet mask which lay upon her dressing table, she hurried down by the small staircase, which led from her apartments, to rejoin the Queen on the terrace. At the foot of the stairs, close to the doorway by which she was going out, stood a tall and graceful figure leaning against the pillar. He drew a step back as she approached, with a cold and respectful air. But Arabella suddenly stopped, exclaiming, "Seymour! Do you not know me?" and she put up her hand to remove her mask.
"Nay, nay," he said, stopping her; "I know you right well, sweet lady,--no mask can hide Arabella from William Seymour."
"Then what is the matter?" she asked, in surprise; "why did you not let me know that you were returned from exile?"
"Better, perhaps, not have returned at all," replied Seymour, in a grave tone.
"Oh, Seymour!" exclaimed Arabella. But at that moment, a door on the other side of the passage opened, giving admission to some servants carrying plates and dishes from the banqueting room; and Arabella, fearful of being recognised, hurried forward, and joined the Queen upon the terrace.
She found that almost every lady had resumed her mask, on the pretence, common in that day, of guarding her complexion from the air. The company had broken up into various groups, and were scattered over the grounds in the moonlight, with the liberty which Anne of Denmark encouraged in the court; and as soon as the Queen saw Arabella, she exclaimed, "Away, away, my pretty cousin! Find thee a mate for the evening. We have cast off royal restraints, and for the next hour are as free as the wind."
Arabella looked round, but the mate whom her heart would have fondly sought for that hour, or for the whole of life, was not near; and, fixing hastily upon good Sir Harry West, she advanced to the place where he stood, saying, "Come, my dear good friend, the Queen wills that I choose a partner for the evening's gossip, and so I will inflict myself on you."
"Alas, lady," replied the old knight, walking on by her side; "you might have chosen a younger and a gayer heart."
"A younger, but not a gayer," replied Arabella, in a cheerful tone; "for we will be as merry as skylarks together. What is there in the world worth being sad about?--When one has found out that love sooner or later waxes cold; that hope goes out at last like an exhausted lamp; that courtesy has its changes, like every other fashion; that temperance and soberness can give up their place among the virtues to drunkenness and excess--what is there in the world sufficiently valuable to make us give it a sigh when we see it passing away?"
"Right gloomy merriment, dear lady!" answered the knight, with a shake of the head; "but yet not of the sort that falls upon old age. The shade upon you, is but that cast by some passing cloud, not the grey twilight of declining day.--What has happened? Has your bird got out of the cage, and flown away?
"No," replied Arabella, quickly, "he has come back again and pecked my hand.--But here hurries Lord Rochester.--In pity leave me not.--Ha! who is that sweet lady joins him now, and hangs upon his arm?" she continued, speaking to herself "Many thanks, fair dame!--many thanks for keeping him from me.--I pray thee hold him fast--and she does too! Who can that be, Sir Harry?"
"The Countess of Essex, I think," answered the knight.
"Oh no," replied Arabella, "she had on a robe of amber and silver--that is dark blue or green, I think."
"She has had time to change it," said the knight, "and she it certainly is. That queenly, yet impetuous step is not to be mistaken, nor that glorious form, harbouring--what?"
"I know not," replied Arabella; "we are but little acquainted."
"Ay, who shall say?" rejoined Sir Harry West, "at eighteen, who shall say, whether it be angel or devil? for the fallen Morning Star shone once as bright as the best in heaven."
"Fie, fie, Sir Harry!" cried Arabella. "I thought that beauty now-a-days was the great good, the pledge and warrant of celestial excellence--who ever speaks of aught but beauty? If a lover would please me, he fixes on my fine points, as a jockey describing his horse. My eyes are certain to put out the stars. It is my lip that makes the roses blush with envy. Pearls have quite lost their price, since my teeth came to court; and sculptors are quite ruined in alabaster, trying to imitate my skin. Fie, fie, Sir Harry! If she be beautiful, she must be an angel."
"She has not made her husband think so," replied Sir Harry West. "But here comes another to join us--my young friend, William Seymour. Will you fly from him, too, lady? or shall I leave you to his care?"
"Nay, stay," cried Arabella, eagerly--too eagerly; "stay, I beseech you."
Was it her heart spoke? Yes, reader; or rather the agitation that was in it. She feared herself at that moment--she feared to be left alone with him she loved the best, at a time when her thoughts were all in confusion--when her bosom was full of emotion, lest she should say or do something rashly that could never be recalled. In another instant, however, Seymour was by her side; but he, too, was agitated; and though she had hidden, under her gay speeches to Sir Harry West, the struggling sensation within her, she could do so no longer, with her lover by her side. Thus, the few sentences first spoken on both parts were incoherent--almost unintelligible.
The old knight came to their aid, however, asking his young friend, in a quiet, conversational tone, when he had returned.
"But yesterday," replied William Seymour. "One fortnight ago, I received the King's permission to come back; and, setting off next morning, I have since ridden post through France and part of Italy, taking not much time, as you may suppose, to admire the beauties of the road."
"No, good faith, my young friend," replied Sir Harry West, "nor to give yourself much repose either."
"True," answered Seymour, with a sigh; "I sought no repose. I was winged with hope and expectation--going back to my native land, to all I loved the best, in the full confidence of finding hearts unchanged, and affections the same. But it was a boy-like error, Sir Harry. The first rumour that met me showed that time, as well as fortune, changes favour; and all that I have seen this night, makes me think that everything on earth is, as the Jewish King has said, lighter than vanity."
"Something like your own complaint, sweet lady," said Sir Harry West; "a moment ago you were painting the world in the same gloomy colours."
"I said," replied Arabella, "that there is nothing on earth worth sighing for--and, in truth, I think so still; for the events we long for most eagerly, generally end in disappointment or anguish."
"Well, then, you are both agreed, it seems," said Sir Harry West. "'Tis strange that you should come to the same conclusion on the same night."
"Sir Harry, Sir Harry!" cried a voice from the terrace above; "his Majesty wishes to speak with you. You must give judgment between him and the Ambassador from Florence, on a passage in Dante, which his Excellency pretends he can translate into English better than his Majesty."
"Now, heaven defend me!" exclaimed the old knight. "Would that the moon had not lighted them to look for me. But I must leave the lady under your charge, Seymour," and away he sped, while Arabella stood hesitating for a moment, whether to accompany him or not.
But woman's heart is always willing to leave a door open for reconciliation, and though she said, "I think we had better follow to the terrace," she took no step that way.
"As you please, lady," replied Seymour, without moving in that direction.
Arabella turned round to go; but love conquered, and pausing suddenly, she said, "No! The opportunity may never come again, and it shall not be said, that I resented the first unkindness of a rash man. We will go the other way."
"Unkindness, Arabella!" cried Seymour. "'Tis not I am unkind."
"Then you would say, it is I?" exclaimed Arabella.
"Nay," replied Seymour, in a sad tone, "I do not say so. I have no title to charge you with unkindness. What right have I to expect that you should remember me through several long years; that you should neglect happier men with fairer fortunes, for the sake of one whom you once condescended--may I say it now-a-days?--to love."
"What right?" said Arabella. "Oh, Seymour, do you ask me what right? I might as well inquire of my own heart what right I have to feel this anguish, when I see him to whom all my thoughts have been given for years--for whose return I have looked with anxious hope and longing, till delay did, indeed, make the heart sick, come back at length cold and indifferent as if we had scarcely ever met. But I make no such foolish inquiries. I have a right, the right of true affection, the right of pledged and plighted faith, the right, if you will, of sorrow and suffering--and by that right, I ask you, William Seymour, what is it that has changed you thus?"
"Nay, Arabella," he replied, "'tis not I am changed--'tis you."
"Hush," she said, "here are people coming near;" but the other group passed without noticing them; and she then added, "I will be coarse with you, Seymour, and speak boldly, what no man, I think, would dare to say, that you tell a falsehood. I am not changed."
"Oh, prove it to me!" cried Seymour, "and I will say it is the sweetest insult ever I received. Is it not true, then, that you encourage this minion of the King, this raw untutored Scot, whose woman face and glittering apparel has turned all heads, it seems, and perverted all hearts.
"I!" exclaimed Arabella, "I encourage him! Is it possible that that mad-headed passion, jealousy, should so far take possession of a sober-minded man, as to make him forget everything he has known of one, whose heart he once pretended to think the most valuable thing he could possess on earth? Oh, if that heart could be so hollow and so false, what an empty, valueless gewgaw it would be! Come, I forgive thee, Seymour; if the yellow fiend has got thee in his hands, he has tormented thee too much already for me to add one punishment more. But I will have full confession by whom, by what, where, and how, came this outrageous fancy in thy head, my friend."
"That is told at once," exclaimed her lover. "I heard it last night in London, from my brother. I saw the man this night beside you with my eyes."
"Ay," replied the lady, "and might have seen, too, if you had used them well, poor Arabella nearly fainting, when she caught the face of an ungrateful man gazing at her from the far end of the hall. I will not tell you it was with joy--it might be with fear, you know. Your wife, your pledged and plighted wife, might well tremble and turn pale, and nearly sink upon the ground, when you detected her listening to sweet words from the king's fluttering favourite. Think so, Seymour--think so, if you can! But hark! here are steps coming--Sir Harry West--we must break off."
"But how--tell me how," cried Seymour, "I can see you again--how write to you?"
"See me?" replied Arabella, hastily; "I know not; chance and fortune must favour us. But as to writing, you may trust Ida Mara with anything."
"Ida Mara!--who is she?" asked her lover.
"One of my gentlewomen," replied Arabella, in a gay tone; "the only one, indeed, except two little maids that wait on her and me. But here is Sir Harry West," she continued, turning towards the old knight as he approached, "he will tell you more about her, for on my truth I think the girl is in love with him, and he with her. Is it not so, Sir Harry?--we speak of Ida Mara."
Good Sir Harry West made no denial of the fact, but told the lady that the Queen was about to retire; and Arabella followed him towards the terrace; but, as she went, she took care that Seymour should have so full a description of the fair Italian, that he could find no difficulty in distinguishing her from the other attendants at the Court. Walking by her side, he crossed the terrace with her towards the Queen, but took his leave before she joined the royal circle, and was soon lost to her sight amongst the various groups that were scattered over the ground.
The Court and the courtiers still, for several hours, prolonged their revels in the halls of Theobalds; and cups of wine were drunk, and scenes of folly enacted, which I will not pause to enumerate or describe. Laughter, and song, and gaming, and many a vice, and many an absurdity, had there to take place before morning; but for Arabella Stuart, the day ended with the walk in the gardens.