It was some time before I could restore myself to my countenance,
after so much moving discourse, so as to join with spirit in the
sports and the dancing which did ensue among the young people that
evening. But sober thoughts and painful themes after a while gave
place to merriment; and the sound of music, gay tattle, and cheerful
steps lured me to such enjoyment as youth is wont to take in these
kinds of pastimes. It was too much my wont to pursue with eagerness
the present humor, and drink deeply of innocent pleasure wherein no
harm should exist if enjoyed with moderation. But like in a horse on
whose neck the bridle is cast, what began in a gentle ambling ends in
wild gallopping; so lawful merriment, if unrestrained, often ends in
what is unbeseeming, and in some sort blameable. So this time, when
dancing tired, a ring was formed for conversation, and the choice of
the night's pastime yielded to my discretion; alack, rather to my
imprudence and folly, methinks I might style it. I chose that
arguments should be held by two persons of the company, turn by turn,
and that a judge should be named to allot a reward to the worthiest,
and a penance to the worst. This liked them all exceedingly, and by
one consent they appointed me to be judge, and to summon such as
should dispute. There were there two young gentlemen which
haunted our house, and Lady Ingoldby's also. One was Martin Tregony,
Lady Tregony's nephew, an ill-favored young man, with manners worse
than his face, and so apish and foppish in his dress and behavior,
that no young woman could abide him, much less would receive his
addresses, or if she did entertain him in conversation, it was to make
sport of his so great conceit. He had an ill-natured kind of wit, more
sharp than keen, more biting than sarcastic. He studied the art of
giving pain, and oftentimes did cause shamefaced merit to blush. The
other was Mr. Thomas Sherwood, who, albeit not very near in blood to
my father, was, howsoever, of the same family as ourselves. He had
been to the English College in Douay, and had brought me tidings a
short time back of my father and Edmund Genings' safe arrival thither,
and afterward came often to see us, and much frequented Lady Tregony's
house. He had exceedingly good parts, but was somewhat diffident and
bashful. Martin Tregony was wont to make him a mark, as it were, of
his ill-natured wit, and did fancy himself to be greatly his superior
in sharpness, partly because Mr. Sherwood's disposition was retiring,
and partly that he had too much goodness and sense to bandy words with
so ill-mannered a young man. I pray you who read this, could aught be
more indiscreet than, in a thoughtless manner, to have summoned these
two to dispute? which nevertheless I did, thinking some sport should
arise out of it, to see Master Martin foisted in argument by one he
despised, and also from his extravagant gestures and affected
countenances. So I said:
"Master Tregony, your task shall be to dispute with Master Sherwood;
and this the theme of your argument, 'The Art of Tormenting.' He who
shall describe the nicest instances of such skill, when exercised by a
master toward his servant, a parent to his child, a husband to his
wife, a wife to her husband, a lover to his mistress, or a friend to
his friend, shall be proclaimed victorious; and his adversary submit
to such penance as the court shall inflict."
Master Sherwood shook his head for to decline to enter these lists;
but all the young gentlemen and ladies cried, he should not be
suffered to show contempt of the court, and forced him to stand up.
Master Martin was nothing loth, and in his ill-favored countenance
there appeared a made smile, which did indicate an assurance of
victory; so he began:
"The more wit a man hath, the better able he shall be at times to
torment another; so I do premise, and at the outset of this argument
declare, that to blame a man for the exercise of a talent he doth
possess is downright impiety, and that to wound another by the
pungency of home-thrusts in conversation is as just a liberty in an
ingenious man, as the use of his sword in a battle is to a soldier."
Mr. Sherwood upon this replied, that he did allow a public
disputation, appointed by meet judges, to come under the name of a
fair battle; but even in a battle (he said) generous combatants aim
not so much at wounding their adversaries, as to the disarming of
them; and that he who in private conversation doth make a weapon of
his tongue is like unto the man who provokes another to a single
combat, which for Christians is not lawful, and pierces him easily who
has less skill in wielding the sword than himself.
"Marry, sir," quoth Master Martin, "if you do bring piety into your
discourse, methinks the rules of just debate be not observed; for it
is an unfair thing for to overrule a man with arguments he doth not
dare to reply to under pain of spiritual censures."
"I cry you mercy, Master Martin," quoth the other; "you did bring in
_im_piety, and so methought piety should not be excluded." At the which
we all applauded, and Martin began to perceive his adversary to be
less contemptible than he had supposed.
"Now to the point," I cried; "for exordiums be tedious. I pray you,
gentlemen, begin, and point out some notable fashion wherewith a
master might torment his servant."
Upon which quoth Martin: "If a man hath a sick servant, and doth note
his fancy to be set on some indulgence not of strict necessity, and
should therefore deny it to him, methinks that should be a rare
opportunity to exercise his talent."
"Nay," cried Master Sherwood, "a nicer one, and ever at hand
afterward, should be to show kindness once to a dependent when sick,
and to use him ten times the worse for it when he is well, upbraiding
him for such past favors, as if one should say: 'Alack, be as kind as
you will, see what return you do meet with!'"
This last piece of ingenuity was allowed by the court to surpass the
first. "Now," I cried, "what should be the greatest torment a parent
could inflict on a child?"
Martin answered: "If it should be fond of public diversion, to confine
it in-doors. If retirement suits its temper, to compel it abroad. If
it should delight in the theatre, to take it to see a good play, and
at the moment when the plot shall wax most moving, to say it must be
tired, and procure to send it home. Or, in more weighty matters,--a
daughter's marriage, for instance,--to detect if the wench hath set her
heart on one lover, and if so, to keep from her the knowledge of this
gentleman's addresses; and when she hath accepted another, to let her
know the first had sued for her hand, and been dismissed."
Here all the young gentlewomen did exclaim that Master Sherwood could
by no means think of a more skilful torment than this should prove. He
thought for an instant, and then said:
"It should be a finer and more delicate torment to stir up in a young
gentlewoman's mind suspicions of one she loved, and so work on her
natural passions of jealousy and pride, that she should herself, in a
hasty mood, discard her lover; and ever after, when the act was not
recallable, remind her she herself had wrought her own unhappiness,
and wounded one she loved."
"Yea, that should be worse than the first torment," all but one young
lady cried out; who, for her part, could better endure, she said, to
have injured herself than to be deceived, as in the first case.
"Then do come husbands," quoth Mr. Martin; "and I vow," he cried, "I
know not how to credit there be such vile wretches in the world as
should wish to torment their wives; but if such there be, methinks the
surest method they may practise is, to loving wives to show
indifferency; to such as be jealous, secrecy; to such as be pious,
profaneness; and the like in all the points whereon their affections
are set."
"Alack!" cried Mistress Frances Bellamy, "what a study the man hath
made of this fine art! Gentlewomen should needs beware of such a one
for a husband. What doth Master Sherwood say?"
Whereupon he: "Methinks the greatest torment a husband might inflict
on a worthy wife should be to dishonor her love by his baseness; or if
he had injured her, to doubt her proneness to forgive."
"And wives," quoth Mistress Southwell,--"what of their skill therein,
gentlemen?"
"It be such," cried Martin, "as should exceed men's ability thereof to
speak. The greatest instance of talent of this sort I have witnessed
is in a young married lady, whose husband is very willing to stay in
his house or go abroad, or reside in town, or at his seat in the
country, as should most please her, so she would let him know her
wishes. But she is so artful in concealing them, that the poor man can
never learn so much as should cause him to guess what they may be; but
with a meek voice she doth reply to his asking, 'An it please you,
sir, let it be as you choose, for you very well know I never do
oppose your will.' Then if he resolve to leave town, she maketh not
much ado till they have rode twenty or thirty miles out of London.
Then she doth begin to sigh and weep, for that she should be a most
ill-used creature, and her heart almost broken for to leave her
friends, and be shut up for six months in a swamp, for such she doth
term his estate; and if she should not have left London that same day,
she should have been at the Lord Mayor's banquet, and seen the French
princes, which, above all things, she had desired. But some husbands
be so hard-hearted, if they can hunt and hawk, 'tis little count they
make of their wives' pleasures. Then when she hath almost provoked the
good man to swear, she hangeth down her head and saith, 'Content you,
sir--content you; 'tis your good fortune to have an obedient wife.'
And so mopes all the time of the journey."
Whilst Martin was speaking, I noted a young gentlewoman who did deeply
blush whilst he spoke, and tears came into her eyes. I heard afterward
she had been lately married, and that he counterfeited her voice in so
precise a manner, so that all such as knew her must needs believe her
to be the wife he spoke of; and that there was so much of truth in the
picture he had drawn, as to make it seem a likeness, albeit most
unjust toward one who, though apt to boast of her obedience, and to
utter sundry trifling complaints, was a fond wife and toward lady to
her dear husband; and that this malice in Mr. Tregony, over and above
his wonted spite, was due to her rejection of his hand some short time
before her marriage. Master Sherwood, seeing the ungracious
gentleman's ill-nature and the lady's confusion, stood up the more
speedily to reply, and so cut him short. "I will relate," he said, "a
yet more ingenious practice of tormenting, which should seem the
highest proof of skill in a wife, albeit also practised by husbands,
only not so aptly, or peradventure so often. And this is when one hath
offered to another a notable insult or affront, so to turn the tables,
even as a conjuror the cards he doth handle, that straightway the
offended party shall seem to be the offender, and be obliged to sue
forgiveness for that wherein he himself is hurt. I pray you, gentlemen
and ladies, can anything more ingenious than this practice be thought
on?"
All did admit it to be a rare example of ability in tormenting; but
some objected it was not solely exercised by wives and husbands, but
that friends, lovers, and all sorts of persons might use it. Then one
gentleman called for some special instance of the art in lovers. But
another said it was a natural instinct, and not an art, in such to
torment one another, and likewise their own selves, and proposed the
behavior of friends in that respect as a more new and admirable theme.
"Ah," quoth Master Martin, with an affected wave of his hand, "first
show me an instance of a true friendship betwixt ladies, or a sincere
affection betwixt gentlemen; and then it will be time for to describe
the arts whereby they do plague and torment each other."
Mr. Sherwood answered, "A French gentleman said, a short time since,
that it should be a piece of commendable prudence to live with your
friend as looking that he should one day be your enemy. Now we be
warranted, by Master Tregony's speech, to conclude his friendships to
be enmities in fair disguise; and the practices wherewith friends
torment each other no doubt should apply to this case also; and so his
exceptions need in no wise alter the theme of our argument. I pray
you, sir, begin, and name some notable instance in which, without any
apparent breach of friendship, the appearance of which is in both
instances supposed, one may best wound his friend, or, as Mr. Tregony
hath it, the disguised object of his hatred."
I noticed that Master Martin glanced maliciously at his
adversary, and then answered, "The highest exercise of such ability
should be, methinks, to get possession of a secret which your friend,
_or disguised enemy_, has been at great pains to conceal, and to let
him know, by such means as shall hold him in perpetual fear, but never
in full assurance of the same, that you have it in your power to
accuse him at any time of that which should procure him to be thrown
into prison, or maybe hanged on a gibbet."
A paleness spread over Master Sherwood's face, not caused, I ween, by
fear so much as by anger at the meanness of one who, from envy and
spite, even in the freedom of social hours, should hint at secrets so
weighty as would touch the liberty, yea, the life, of one he called
his friend; and standing up, he answered, whilst I, now too late
discerning mine own folly in the proposing of a dangerous pastime,
trembled in every limb.
"I know," quoth he,--"I know a yet more ingenious instance of the
skill of a malicious heart. To hang a sword over a friend's head, and
cause him to apprehend its fall, must needs be a well-practised
device; but if it be done in so skilful a manner that the weapon shall
threaten not himself alone, but make him, as it were, the instrument
of ruin to others dearer to him than his own life,--if, by the
appearance of friendship, the reality of which such a heart knoweth
not, he hath been to such confidence as shall be the means of sorrow
to those who have befriended him in another manner than this false
friend, this true foe,--the triumph is then complete. Malice and hatred
can devise naught beyond it."
Martin's eyes glared so fearfully, and his voice sounded so hoarse, as
he hesitated in answering, that, in a sort of desperation, I stood up,
and cried, "Long enough have these two gentlemen had the talk to
themselves. Verily, methinks there be no conqueror, but a drawn game
in this instance."
But a murmur rose among the company that Master Sherwood was
victorious, and Master Tregony should do penance.
"What shall it be?" was asked; and all with one voice did opine Master
Sherwood should name it, for he was as much beloved as Master Tregony
was misliked. He (Sherwood), albeit somewhat inwardly moved, I ween,
had restrained his indignation, and cried out merrily, "Marry, so will
I! Look me in the face, Martin, and give me thy hand. This shall be
thy penance."
The other did so; but a fiendly look of resentment was in his eyes;
and methinks Thomas Sherwood must needs have remembered the grasp of
his hand to forgive it, I doubt not, even at the foot of the scaffold.
From that day Martin Tregony conceived an implacable hatred for Master
Sherwood, whom he had feigned a great friendship for on his first
arrival in London, because he hoped, by his means and influence with
his aunt, to procure her to pay his debts. But after he had thrown off
the mask, he only waited for an opportunity to denounce him, being
privy to his having brought a priest to Lady Tregony's house, who had
also said mass in her chapel. So one day meeting him in the streets,
he cried out, "Stop the traitor! stop the traitor!" and so causing him
to be apprehended, had him before the next justice of the peace;
where, when they were come, he could allege nothing against him, but
that he suspected him to be a Papist. Upon which he was examined
concerning his religion, and, refusing to admit the queen's
church-headship, he was cast into a dungeon in the Tower. His lodgings
were plundered, and £25, which he had amassed, as I knew, who had
assisted him to procure it, for the use of his aged and sick father,
who had been lately cast into prison in Lancaster, was carried off
with the rest. He was cruelly racked, we heard, for that he would not
reveal where he had heard mass; and kept in a dark filthy hole,
where he endured very much from hunger, stench, and cold. No one being
allowed to visit him--for the Tower was not like some other prisons
where Mistress Ward and others could sometimes penetrate--or afford
him any comfort, Mr. Roper had, by means of another prisoner, conveyed
to his keeper some money for his use; but the keeper returned it the
next day, because the lieutenant of the Tower would not suffer him to
have the benefit of it. All he could be prevailed upon to do was to
lay out one poor sixpence for a little fresh straw for him to lie on.
About six months after, he was brought to trial, and condemned to die,
for denying the queen's supremacy, and was executed at Tyburn,
according to sentence, being cut down whilst he was yet alive,
dismembered, bowelled, and quartered.
Poor Lady Tregony's heart did almost break at this his end and her
kinsman's part in it; and during those six months--for she would not
leave London whilst Thomas Sherwood was yet alive--I did constantly
visit her, almost every day, and betwixt us there did exist a sort of
fellowship in our sorrow for this worthy young man's sufferings; for
that she did reproach herself for lack of prudence in not sufficient
distrust of her own nephew, whom now she refused to see, at least, she
said, until he had repented of his sin, which he, glorying in, had
told her, the only time they had met, he should serve her in the same
manner, and if he could ever find out she heard mass, should get her a
lodging in the Tower, and for himself her estate in Norfolk, whither
she was then purposing to retire, and did do so after Master
Sherwood's execution. For mine own part, as once before my father's
apprehended danger had diverted my mind from childish folly, so did
the tragical result of an entertainment, wherein I had been carried
away by thoughtless mirth, somewhat sicken me of company and sports. I
went abroad not much the next year; only was often at Mr. Wells's
house, and in Hubert's society, which had become so habitual to me
that I was almost persuaded the pleasure I took therein proceeded from
a mutual inclination, and I could observe with what jealousy he
watched any whom I did seem to speak with or allow of any civility at
their hands. Even Master Sherwood he would jalouse, if he found me
weeping over his fate; and said he was happier in prison, for whom
such tears did flow, than he at liberty, for whom I showed no like
regard. "Oh," I would answer, "he is happy because, Master Rookwood,
his sufferings are for his God and his conscience' sake, and not such
as arise from a poor human love. Envy him his faith, his patience, his
hope, which make him cry out, as I know he doth, 'O my Lord Jesu! I am
not worthy that I should suffer these things for thee;' and not the
compassionate tears of a paltry wench that in some sort was the means
to plunge him in these straits."
In the spring of the year which did follow, I heard from my father,
who had been ordained at the English College at Rheims, and was on the
watch, he advertised me, for an opportunity to return to England, for
to exercise the sacred ministry amongst his poor Catholic brethren.
But at which port he should land, or whither direct his steps, if he
effected a safe landing, he dared not for to commit to paper. He said
Edmund Genings had fallen into a most dangerous consumption, partly by
the extraordinary pains he took in his studies, and partly in his
spiritual exercises, insomuch that the physicians had almost despaired
of his recovery, and that the president had in consequence resolved to
send him into England, to try change of air. That he had left Rheims
with great regret, and went on his journey, as far as Havre de Grace,
and, after a fortnight's stay in that place, having prayed to God very
heartily for the recovery of his health, so that he might return, and,
without further delay, continue his studies for the priesthood,
he felt himself very much better, almost as well as ever he was in his
life; upon which he returned to his college, and took up again, with
exceeding great fervor, his former manner of life; "and," my father
added, "his common expression, as often as talk is ministered of
England and martyrdom there, is this: _'Vivamus in spe! Vivamus in
spe!_'"
This letter did throw me into an exceeding great apprehension that my
father might fall into the hands of the queen's officers at any time
he should land, and the first news I should hear of him to be that he
was cast into prison. And as I knew no Catholic priest could dwell in
England with out he did assume a feigned name, and mostly so one of
his station, and at one time well noted as a gentleman and a recusant,
I now never heard of any priest arrested in any part of England but I
feared it should be him.
Hubert Rookwood was now more than ever at Mr. Lacy's house, and in his
library, for they did both affection the same pursuits, albeit with
very different abilities; and I was used to transcribe for them divers
passages from manuscripts and books, taking greater pleasure, so to
spend time, than to embroider in Kate's room, the compass of whose
thoughts became each day more narrow, and her manner of talk more
tasteless. Hubert seemed not well pleased when I told him my father
had been ordained abroad. I gathered this from a troubled look in his
eyes, and an increasing paleness, which betokened, to my now observant
eyes, emotions which he gave not vent to in words at all, or leastways
in any that should express strong resentment. His silence always
frighted me more than anger in others. He had acquired a great
influence over me, and, albeit I was often ill at ease in his company,
I ill brooked his absence. He was a zealous Catholic, and did adduce
arguments and proofs in behalf of his religion with rare ability. Some
of his writings which I copied at that time had a cogency and
clearness in their reasons and style, which in my poor judgment
betokened a singular sharp understanding and ingenuity of learning;
but in his conversation, and writings also, was lacking the fervency
of spirit, the warmth of devout aims, the indifferency to worldly
regards, which should belong to a truly Christian soul, or else the
nobleness and freedom of speech which some do possess from natural
temper. But his attainments were far superior to those of the young
men I used to see at Mr. Wells's, and such as gave him an
extraordinary reputation amongst the persons I was wont to associate
with, which contributed not a little to the value I did set on his
preference, of which no proofs were wanting, save an open paying of
his addresses to me, which by reason of his young age and mine, and
the poorness of his prospects, being but a younger son of a country
gentleman, was easy of account. He had a great desire for wealth and
for all kind of greatness, and used to speak of learning as a road to
it.
In the spring of that year, my Lord Surrey left Cambridge, and came to
live at Howard House with his lady. They were then both in their
eighteenth years, and a more comely pair could not be seen. The years
that had passed since she had left London had greatly matured her
beauty. She was taller of stature than the common sort, and very fair
and graceful. The earl was likewise tall, very straight, long-visaged,
but of a pleasant and noble countenance. I could not choose but admire
her perfect carriage, toward her lord, her relatives, and her
servants; the good order she established in her house; the care she
took of her sister's education, who in two years was to be married to
Lord William Howard; and her great charity to the poor, which she then
began to visit herself, and to relieve in all sorts of ways, and was
wont to say the angels of that old house where God had been served by
so many prayers and alms must needs assist her in her care for
those in trouble. My lord appeared exceedingly fond of her then. One
day when I was visiting her ladyship, he asked me if I had read the
life of that sweet holy Queen Elizabeth of Hungary; and as I said I
had not met with it, he gifted me with a copy fairly printed and well
ornamented, which Mr. Martin had left behind him when he went beyond
seas, and said:
"Mistress Sherwood, see if in this book you find not the likeness of a
lady which you mislike not any more than I do. Beshrew me, but I fear
I may find some day strange guests in mine house if she do copy the
pattern herein set down; and so I will e'en send the book out of the
house, for my lady is too good for me already, and I be no fitting
husband for a saint, which a very little more of virtue should make
her."
And so he laughing, and she prettily checking his wanton speech, and
such sweet loving looks and playful words passing between them as
gladdened my heart to see.
Some time after, I found one day my Lady Surrey looking somewhat grave
and thoughtful. She greeted me with an affectionate kiss, and said,
"Ah, sweet Constance, I be glad thou art come; for methinks we shall
soon leave London."
"So soon?" I answered.
"Not _too_ soon, dear Constance," she said somewhat sadly.
I did look wistfully in her sweet face. Methought there was trouble in
it, and doubt if she should further speak or not; for she rested her
head on her hand, and her dark eyes did fix themselves wistfully on
mine, as if asking somewhat of me, but what I knew not. "Constance,"
she said at last, "I have no mother, no sister of mine own age, no
brother, no ghostly father, to speak my mind to. Methinks it should
not be wrong to unbosom my cares to thee, who, albeit young, hast a
thoughtful spirit, and, as I have often observed, an aptness to give
good counsel. And then thou art of that way of thinking wherein I was
brought up, and though in outward show we now do differ, I am not
greatly changed therein, as thou well knowest."
"Alack!" I cried, "too well I do know it, dear lady; and, albeit my
tongue is silent thereon, my heart doth grieve to see you comfortless
of that which is the sole source of true comfort."
"Tis not that troubles me," she answered, a little impatiently. "Thou
art unreasonable, Constance. My duty to my lord shapes my outward
behavior; but I have weighty cares, nevertheless. Dost thou mind that
passage in the late duke our father's letter to his son and me?--that
we should live in a lower degree, and out of London and from the
court. Methinks a prophetic spirit did move him thus to write. My lord
has a great heart and a generous temper, and loves to spend money in
all sorts of ways, profitable and unprofitable, as I too well observe
since we have been in London. And the queen sent him a store of
messages by my Lord Essex, and others of his friends, that she was
surprised not to see him at court; and that it was her highness's
pleasure he should wait upon her, and she shall show him so much favor
as he deserves, and such like inducements."
"And hath my lord been to court?" I asked.
"Yea, he hath been," she answered, sighing deeply. "He hath been
forced to kiss the hand which signed his father's death-warrant.
Constance, it is this which doth so pain me, that her majesty should
think he hath in his heart no resentment of that mishap. She said to
my Lady Berkeley some days since, when she sued for some favor at her
hands, 'No, no, my Lady Berkeley; you love us not, and never will. You
cannot forgive us your brother's death.' Why should her grace think a
son hath less resentment of a father's loss than a sister?"
Willing to minister comfort to her touching that on which I did,
nevertheless, but too much consent to her thinking, I said, "In my
lord's case, he must have needs appeared to mislike the queen
and her government if he stayed away from court, and his duty to his
sovereign compelleth him to render her so much homage as is due to her
majesty."
"Yea," cried my lady, "I be of the same mind with thee, that if my
lord do live in London he is in a manner forced to swim with the tide,
and God only knoweth into what a flood of troubles he may thus be led.
But I have prevailed on him to go to Kenninghall, and there to enjoy
that retired life his father passionately wished him to be contented
with. So I do look, if it please God, to happy days when we leave this
great city, where so many and great dangers beset us."
"Have you been to court likewise, dear lady?" I asked; and she
answered,
"No; her majesty doth deny me that privilege which the wife of a
nobleman should enjoy without so much as the asking for it. My Lord
Arundel and my Lord Sussex are mad thereon, and swear 'tis the gipsy's
doing, as they do always title Lord Leicester, and a sign of his
hatred to my lord. But I be not of their mind; for methinks he doth
but aid my lord to win the queen's favor by the slights which are put
on his wife, which, if he doth take patiently, must needs secure for
him such favor as my Lord Leicester should wish, if report speaks
truly, none should enjoy but himself."
"But surely," I cried, "my lord's spirit is too noble to stomach so
mean a treatment of his lady?"
A burning blush spread over the countess's face, and she answered,
"Constance, nobility of soul is shaped into action by divers motives
and influences. And, I pray thee, since his father's death and the
loss of his first tutor, who hath my lord had to fashion the aims of
his eager spirit to a worthy ambition, and teach him virtuous
contentment with a meaner rank and lower fortunes than his birth do
entitle him to? He chafes to be degraded, and would fain rise to the
heights his ancestors occupied; and, alas! the ladder which those who
beset him--for that they would climb after him--do ever set before his
eyes is the queen's majesty's favor. 'Tis the breath of their
nostrils, the perpetual theme of their discourse. Mine ears sometimes
ache with the sound of their oft-repeated words."
Then she broke off her speech for an instant, but soon asked me if to
consult fortune-tellers was not a sin.
"Yea," I answered, "the Church doth hold it to be unlawful."
"Ah!" she replied, "I would to God my lord had never resorted to a
person of that sort, which hath filled his mind with an apprehension
which will work us great evil, if I do mistake not."
"Alas!" I said, "hath my lord been so deluded?"
"Thou hast heard, I ween," my lady continued, "of one Dr. Dee, whom
the queen doth greatly favor, and often charge him to cast her
horoscope. Some time ago my lord was riding with her majesty and the
most part of her court near unto this learned gentleman's house at
Mortlake, which her highness, taking notice of, she must needs propose
to visit him with all her retinue, in order, she said, to examine his
library and hold conference with him. But learning that his wife had
been buried only four hours, her majesty would not enter, but desired
my Lord Leicester to take her down from her horse at the church-wall
at Mortlake and to fetch the doctor unto her, who did bring out for
her grace's inspection his magic-glass, of which she and all those
with her did see some of the properties. Several of the noblemen
thereunto present were greatly contented and delighted with this
cunning witchery, and did agree to visit again, in a private manner,
this learned man, for to have their nativities calculated; and my
lord, I grieve to say, went with them. And this cheat or wizard, for
methinks one or other of those names must needs belong to him,
predicted to my lord that he should be in great danger to be
overthrown by a woman. And, I ween, good Constance, there was a
craft in this most deep and deceptive, for doth it not tend, whichever
way it be understood, to draw and urge onward my lord to a careful
seeking to avoid this danger by a diligent serving and waiting on her
majesty, if she be the woman like to undo him, or else to move him to
the thought that his marriage--as I doubt not many endeavor to
insinuate into his mind--should be an obstacle to her favor such as
must needs mar his fortunes? Not that my lord hath breathed so much as
one such painful word in my hearing, or abated in his kind behavior;
but there are others who be not slow to hint so much to myself; and, I
pray you, shall they not then deal with him in the same manner, albeit
he is too noble and gentle to let me hear of it? But since that day he
is often thoughtful when we are alone, and his mind ever running on
means to propitiate her majesty, and doth send her many presents, the
value of which should rather mark them as gifts from one royal person
to another than from a subject to his prince. O Constance, I would
Kenninghall were a thousand miles from London, and a wild sea to run
between it and the court, such as could with difficulty be crossed;
but 'tis vain wishing; and I thank God my lord should be willing to
remove there, and so we shall be in quiet."
"God send it!" I answered; "and that you, my sweet lady, may find
there all manner of contentment." Then I asked her ladyship if she had
tidings of my Lady l'Estrange.
"Yea," she answered; "excellent good tidings, for that she was a
contented wife to a loving husband. Sir Hammond," she said, "hath a
most imperious temper, and, as I hear, doth not brook the least
contradiction; so that a woman less mild and affectionate than
Milicent should not, I ween, live at peace with him. But her sweet
temper doth move her to such strict condescension to his humors, that
she doth style herself most fortunate in marriage and a singular happy
wife. Dost mind Master Chaucer's tale of the patient Grizzel, which
Phil read to me some years back, soon after our first marriage, for to
give me a lesson on wifely duty, and which I did then write to thee
the story of?"
"Yea, well," I cried; "and that I was so angered at her patience,
which methought was foolish, yea, wicked in its excess, that it did
throw me into a passion."
My lady laughed and said, indeed she thought so too; but Milicent, in
her behavior and the style of her letters, did mind her so much of
that singular obedient wife, that she did sometimes call her Grizzel
to her face. "She is now gone to reside with her husband," she said,
"at a seat of his not very far from Lynn. 'Tis a poor and wild
district; and the people, I hear, do resort to her in great numbers
for assistance in the way of medicine and surgery, and for much help
of various sorts. She is greatly contented that her husband doth in
nowise impede her in these charitable duties, but rather the contrary.
She is a creature of such natural good impulses and compassionate
spirit that must needs show kindness to all who do come in her way."
Then my lady questioned me touching Muriel and Mistress Ward, and Kate
and Polly, who were now both married; and I told her Kate had a fair
son and Polly a little daughter, like to prove as sharp as her mother
if her infant vivacity did not belie her. As to Muriel and her guide
and friend, I told her ladyship that few were like to have speech with
them, save such as were in so destitute a condition that nothing could
exceed it. Now that my two elder cousins had left home, mine uncle's
house was become a sort of refuge for the poor, and an hospital for
distressed Catholics.
"And thou, Constance," my lady said, "dost thou not think on
marriage?"
I smiled and answered I did sometimes; but had not yet met with any
one altogether conformable to my liking.
"Not Mr. Hubert Rookwood?" she said smiling; "I have been told he
haunts Mrs. Lacy's house, and would fain be admitted as Mistress
Sherwood's suitor."
"I will not deny," I answered, "but that he doth testify a vast regard
for me, or that he is a gentleman of such great parts and exceedingly
winning speech that a gentlewoman should be flattered to be addressed
by him; but, dear lady," I continued, opening my heart to her, "albeit
I relish greatly his society, mine heart doth not altogether incline
to his suit; and Mr. Congleton hath lately warned me to be less free
in allowing of his attentions than hath hitherto been my wont; for, he
said, his means be so scanty, that it behoveth him not to think of
marriage until his fortunes do improve; and that his father would not
be competent to make such settlements as should be needful in such a
case, or without which he should suffer us to marry. As Hubert had
never opened to me himself thereon in so pointed a fashion as to
demand an answer from me, I was somewhat surprised at mine uncle's
speech; but I found he had often ministered talk of his passion for
me--for so he termed it--to Kate and her husband."
"And did it work in thee, sweet one, no regrets," my lady asked, "that
the course of this poor gentleman's true love should be marred by his
lack of wealth?"
"In truth no, dear lady," I replied; "except that I did notice, with
so much of pain as a good heart must needs feel in the sufferings of
another, that he was both sad and wroth at the change in my manner.
And indeed I had always seen--and methinks this was the reason that my
heart inclined not warmly toward his suit--that his affection was of
that sort that doth readily breed anger; and that if he had occasion
to misdoubt a return from me of such-like regard as he professed, his
looks of love sometimes changed into a scowl, or something nearly
resembling one. Yet I had a kindness toward him, yea, more than a
kindness, an attachment, which methinks should have led me to
correspond to his affection so far as to be willing to marry him, if
mine uncle had not forbade me to think on it; but since he hath laid
his commands upon me on that point, methinks I have experienced a
freedom of soul and a greater peace than I had known for some time
past."
"'Tis well then as it is," my lady said; and after some further
discourse we parted that day.
It had been with me even as I had said to her. My mind had been more
at ease since the contending would and would not, the desire to please
Hubert and the fear to be false in so doing, had been stayed,--and
mostly since he had urged me to entertain him as a friend, albeit
defended to receive him as a lover. And that peace lasted until a
day--ay, a day which began like other days with no perceptible
presentiment of joy or sorrow, the sun shining as brightly, and no
more, at its rise than on any other morning in June; and the
thunder-clouds toward noon overshadowing its glory not more darkly
than a storm is wont to do the clear sky it doth invade; nor yet
evening smiling again more brightly and peacefully than is usually
seen when nature's commotion is hushed, and the brilliant orb of day
doth sink to rest in a bed of purple glory; and yet that day did
herald the greatest joys, presage the greatest anguish, mark the most
mighty beginnings of most varied endings that can be thought of in the
life of a creature not altogether untried by sorrow, but on the brink
of deeper waters than she had yet sounded, on the verge of such
passages as to have looked forward to had caused her to tremble with a
two-fold resentment of hope and of fear, and to look back to doth
constrain her to lay down her pen awhile for to crave strength to
recount the same.