It chanced upon that memorable morning, that one of the earliest of
the huntress train who appeared from her chamber in full array for the
chase was the princess for whom all these pleasures were instituted,
England's Maiden Queen. I know not if it were by chance, or out of the
befitting courtesy due to a mistress by whom he was so much honored,
that she had scarcely made one step beyond the threshold of her
chamber ere Leicester was by her side; and proposed to her, until the
preparations for the chase had been completed, to view the pleasance,
and the gardens which, it connected with the castle-yard....
Horses in the meanwhile neighed, and champed the bits with impatience
in the base-court; hounds yelled in their couples, and yeomen,
rangers, and prickers lamented the exhaling of the dew, which would
prevent the scent from lying. But Leicester had another chase in view:
or, to speak more justly toward him, had become engaged in it without
premeditation, as the high-spirited hunter which follows the cry of
the hounds that hath crost his path by accident. The Queen--an
accomplished and handsome woman, the pride of England, the hope of
France and Holland, and the dread of Spain--had probably listened with
more than usual favor to that mixture of romantic gallantry with which
she always loved to be addrest, and the earl had, in vanity, in
ambition, or in both, thrown in more and more of that delicious
ingredient, until his importunity became the language of love itself.
"No, Dudley," said Elizabeth, yet it was with broken accents,--"no, I
must be the mother of my people. Other ties, that make the lowly
maiden happy, are denied to her sovereign--No, Leicester, urge it no
more--Were I as others, free to seek my own happiness--then,
indeed--but it can not--can not be.--Delay the chase--delay it for
half an hour--and leave me, my lord."
"How--leave you, madam!" said Leicester. "Has my madness offended
you?"
"No, Leicester, not so!" answered the Queen hastily; "but it is
madness, and must not be repeated. Go--but go not far from hence; and
meantime let no one intrude on my privacy."
While she spoke thus, Dudley bowed deeply, and retired with a slow and
melancholy air. The Queen stood gazing after him, and murmured to
herself, "Were it possible--were it _but_ possible!--But
no--no--Elizabeth must be the wife and mother of England alone."
As she spoke thus, and in order to avoid some one whose step she heard
approaching, the Queen turned into the grotto in which her hapless and
yet but too successful rival lay concealed.
The mind of England's Elizabeth, if somewhat shaken by the agitating
interview to which she had just put a period, was of that firm and
decided character which soon recovers its natural tone. It was like
one of those ancient druidical monuments called rocking-stones. The
finger of Cupid, boy as he is painted, could put her feelings in
motion; but the power of Hercules could not have destroyed their
equilibrium. As she advanced with a slow pace toward the inmost
extremity of the grotto, her countenance, ere she had proceeded half
the length, had recovered its dignity of look and her mien its air of
command.
It was then the Queen became aware that a female figure was placed
beside, or rather partly behind, an alabaster column, at the foot of
which arose the pellucid fountain which occupied the inmost recess of
the twilight grotto. The classical mind of Elizabeth suggested the
story of Numa and Egeria; and she doubted not that some Italian
sculptor had here represented the Naiad whose inspirations gave laws
to Rome. As she advanced, she became doubtful whether she beheld a
statue or form of flesh and blood. The unfortunate Amy, indeed,
remained motionless betwixt the desire which she had to make her
condition known to one of her own sex, and her awe for the stately
form that approached her,--and which, tho her eyes had never before
beheld, her fears instantly suspected to be the personage she really
was. Amy had arisen from her seat with the purpose of addressing the
lady, who entered the grotto alone, and as she at first thought, so
opportunely. But when she recollected the alarm which Leicester had
exprest at the Queen's knowing aught of their union, and became more
and more satisfied that the person whom she now beheld was Elizabeth
herself, she stood with one foot advanced and one withdrawn, her arms,
head, and hands perfectly motionless, and her cheek as pallid as the
alabaster pedestal against which she leaned. Her dress was of a pale
sea-green silk, little distinguished in that imperfect light, and
somewhat resembled the drapery of a Grecian nymph,--such an antique
disguise having been thought the most secure where so many maskers and
revelers were assembled; so that the Queen's doubt of her being a
living form was justified by all contingent circumstances, as well as
by the bloodless cheek and fixt eye.
From her dress, and the casket which she instinctively held in her
hand, Elizabeth naturally conjectured that the beautiful, but mute
figure which she beheld was a performer in one of the various
theatrical pageants which had been placed in different situations to
surprize her with their homage; and that the poor player, overcome
with awe at her presence, had either forgot the part assigned her, or
lacked courage to go through it. It was natural and courteous to give
her some encouragement; and Elizabeth accordingly said, in a tone of
condescending kindness: "How now, fair nymph of this lovely
grotto--art thou spellbound and struck with dumbness by the wicked
enchanter whom men term Fear? We are his sworn enemy, maiden, and can
reverse his charm. Speak, we command thee."
Instead of answering her by speech, the unfortunate countess dropt on
her knee before the Queen, let her casket fall from her hand, and
clasping her palms together, looked up in the Queen's face with such a
mixt agony of fear and supplication, that Elizabeth was considerably
affected.
"What may this mean?" she said: "this is a stronger passion than
befits the occasion. Stand up, damsel: what wouldst thou have with
us?"
"Your protection, madam," faltered forth the unhappy petitioner.
"Each daughter of England has it while she is worthy of it," replied
the Queen; "but your distress seems to have a deeper root than a
forgotten task. Why, and in what, do you crave our protection?"
Amy hastily endeavored to recall what she were best to say, which
might secure herself from the imminent dangers that surrounded her,
without endangering her husband; and plunging from one thought to
another, amidst the chaos which filled her mind, she could at length,
in answer to the Queen's repeated inquiries in what she sought
protection, only falter out, "Alas! I know not."
"This is folly, maiden," said Elizabeth impatiently; for there was
something in the extreme confusion of the suppliant which irritated
her curiosity as well as interested her feelings. "The sick man must
tell his malady to the physician; nor are WE accustomed to ask
questions so oft, without receiving an answer."
"I request--I implore--" stammered forth the unfortunate countess--"I
beseech your gracious protection--against--against one Varney." She
choked well-nigh as she uttered the fatal word, which was instantly
caught up by the Queen.
"What, Varney--Sir Richard Varney--the servant of Lord Leicester!
What, damsel, are you to him, or he to you?"
"I--I--was his prisoner--and he practised on my life--and I broke
forth to--to--"
"To throw thyself on my protection, doubtless," said Elizabeth. "Thou
shalt have it--that is, if thou art worthy; for we will sift this
matter to the uttermost.--Thou art," she said, bending on the countess
an eye which seemed designed to pierce her very inmost soul,--"thou
art Amy, daughter of Sir Hugh Robsart of Lidcote Hall?"
"Forgive me--forgive me--most gracious princess!" said Amy, dropping
once more on her knee from which she had arisen.
"For what should I forgive thee, silly wench?" said Elizabeth; "for
being the daughter of thine own father? Thou art brainsick, surely.
Well, I see I must wring the story from thee by inches: Thou didst
deceive thine old and honored father,--thy look confesses it; cheated
Master Tressilian,--thy blush avouches it; and married this same
Varney."
Amy sprung on her feet, and interrupted the Queen eagerly with--"No,
madam, no: as there is a God above us, I am not the sordid wretch you
would make me! I am not the wife of that contemptible slave--of that
most deliberate villain! I am not the wife of Varney! I would rather
be the bride of Destruction!"
The Queen, overwhelmed in her turn by Amy's vehemence, stood silent
for an instant, and then replied, "Why, God ha' mercy, woman! I see
thou canst talk fast enough when the theme likes thee. Nay, tell me,
woman," she continued, for to the impulse of curiosity was now added
that of an undefined jealousy that some deception had been practised
on her--"tell me, woman,--for by God's day, I WILL know,--whose wife
or whose paramour art thou? Speak out, and be speedy: thou wert better
dally with a lioness than with Elizabeth."
Urged to this extremity, dragged as it were by irresistible force to
the verge of a precipice which she saw but could not avoid, permitted
not a moment's respite by the eager words and menacing gestures of the
offended Queen,--Amy at length uttered in despair, "The Earl of
Leicester knows it all."
"The Earl of Leicester!" said Elizabeth in utter astonishment.--"The
Earl of Leicester!" she repeated with kindling anger.--"Woman, thou
art set on to this--thou dost belie him--he takes no keep of such
things as thou art. Thou art suborned to slander the noblest lord, and
the truest-hearted gentleman, in England! But were he the right hand
of our trust, or something yet dearer to us, thou shalt have thy
hearing, and that in his presence. Come with me--come with me
instantly!"
As Amy shrunk back with terror, which the incensed Queen interpreted
as that of conscious guilt, Elizabeth rapidly advanced, seized on her
arm, and hastened with swift and long steps out of the grotto and
along the principal alley of the pleasance, dragging with her the
terrified countess, whom she still held by the arm, and with utmost
exertion could but just keep pace with those of the indignant Queen.
Leicester was at this moment the center of a splendid group of lords
and ladies assembled together under an arcade, or portico, which
closed the alley. The company had drawn together in that place, to
attend the commands of her Majesty when the hunting party should go
forward: and their astonishment may be imagined, when, instead of
seeing Elizabeth advance toward them with her usual measured dignity
of motion, they beheld her walking so rapidly that she was in the
midst of them ere they were aware; and then observed, with fear and
surprize, that her features were flushed betwixt anger and agitation,
that her hair was loosened by her haste of motion, and that her eyes
sparkled as they were wont when the spirit of Henry VIII. mounted
highest in his daughter. Nor were they less astonished at the
appearance of the pale, attenuated, half dead, yet still lovely
female, whom the Queen upheld by main strength with one hand, while
with the other she waved aside the ladies and nobles who prest toward
her under the idea that she was taken suddenly ill.--"Where is my Lord
of Leicester?" she said, in a tone, that thrilled with astonishment
all the courtiers who stood around.--"Stand forth, my Lord of
Leicester!"
If, in the midst of the most serene day of summer, when all is light
and laughing around, a thunderbolt were to fall from the clear blue
vault of heaven and rend the earth at the very feet of some careless
traveler, he could not gaze upon the smoldering chasm which so
unexpectedly yawned before him, with half the astonishment and fear
which Leicester felt at the sight that so suddenly presented itself.
He had that instant been receiving, with a political affectation of
disavowing and misunderstanding their meaning, the half uttered, half
intimated congratulations of the courtiers upon the favor of the Queen
carried apparently to its highest pitch during the interview of that
morning; from which most of them seemed to augur that he might soon
arise from their equal in rank to become their master. And now, while
the subdued yet proud smile with which he disclaimed those inferences
was yet curling his cheek, the Queen shot into the circle, her
passions excited to the uttermost; and supporting with one hand, and
apparently without an effort, the pale and sinking form of his almost
expiring wife, and pointing with the finger of the other to her
half-dead features, demanded in a voice that sounded to the ear of the
astounded statesman like the last dread trumpet-all that is to summon
body and spirit to the judgment-seat, "Knowest thou this woman?"
As, at the blast of that last trumpet, the guilty shall call upon the
mountains to cover them, Leicester's inward thoughts invoked the
stately arch which he had built in his pride, to burst its strong
conjunction and overwhelm them in its ruins. But the cemented stones,
architrave and battlement, stood fast; and it was the proud master
himself, who, as if some actual pressure had bent him to the earth,
kneeled down before Elizabeth, and prostrated his brow to the marble
flagstones on which she stood.
"Leicester," said Elizabeth, in a voice which trembled with passion,
"could I think thou hast practised on me--on me thy sovereign--on me
thy confiding, thy too partial mistress, the base and ungrateful
deception which thy present confusion surmises--by all that is holy,
false lord, that head of thine were in as great peril as ever was thy
father's!"
Leicester had not conscious innocence, but he had pride, to support
him. He raised slowly his brow and features, which were black and
swollen with contending emotions, and only replied, "My head can not
fall but by the sentence of my peers; to them I will plead, and not to
a princess who thus requites my faithful service."
"What! my lords," said Elizabeth, looking around, "we are defied, I
think--defied in the castle we have ourselves bestowed on this proud
man?[11]--My Lord Shrewsbury, you are marshal of England: attach him
for high treason."
"Whom does your Grace mean?" said Shrewsbury, much surprized,--for he
had that instant joined the astonished circle.
"Whom should I mean but that traitor Dudley, Earl of
Leicester!--Cousin of Hunsdon, order out your band of gentlemen
pensioners, and take him into custody.--I say, villain, make haste!"
Hunsdon, a rough old noble, who, from his relationship to the Boleyns,
was accustomed to use more freedom with the Queen than almost any
other dared to do, replied bluntly, "And it is like your Grace might
order me to the Tower to-morrow for making too much haste. I do
beseech you to be patient."
"Patient--God's life!" exclaimed the Queen, "name not the word to me:
thou know'st not of what he is guilty!"
Amy, who had by this time in some degree recovered herself, and who
saw her husband, as she conceived, in the utmost danger from the rage
of an offended sovereign, instantly (and alas, how many women have
done the same!) forgot her own wrongs and her own danger in her
apprehensions for him; and throwing herself before the Queen, embraced
her knees, while she exclaimed, "He is guiltless, madam, he is
guiltless--no one can lay aught to the charge of the noble Leicester."
"Why, minion," answered the Queen, "didst not thou thyself say that
the Earl of Leicester was privy to thy whole history?"
"Did I say so?" repeated the unhappy Amy, laying aside every
consideration of consistency and of self-interest: "oh, if I did, I
foully belied him. May God so judge me, as I believe he was never
privy to a thought that would harm me!"
"Woman!" said Elizabeth, "I will know who has moved thee to this; or
my wrath--and the wrath of kings is a flaming fire--shall wither and
consume thee like a weed in the furnace."
As the Queen uttered this threat, Leicester's better angel called his
pride to his aid, and reproached him with the utter extremity of
meanness which would overwhelm him forever, if he stooped to take
shelter under the generous interposition of his wife, and abandon her,
in return for her kindness, to the resentment of the Queen. He had
already raised his head, with the dignity of a man of honor, to avow
his marriage and proclaim himself the protector of his countess, when
Varney--born, as it appeared, to be his master's evil genius--rushed
into the presence, with every mark of disorder on his face and
apparel.
"What means this saucy intrusion?" said Elizabeth.
Varney, with the air of a man overwhelmed with grief and confusion,
prostrated himself before her feet, exclaiming, "Pardon, my Liege,
pardon! or at least let your justice avenge itself on me, where it is
due; but spare my noble, my generous, my innocent patron and master!"
Amy, who was yet kneeling, started up as she saw the man whom she
deemed most odious place himself so near her; and was about to fly
toward Leicester, when checked at once by the uncertainty and even
timidity which his looks had reassumed as soon as the appearance of
his confidant seemed to open a new scene, she hung back, and uttering
a faint scream, besought of her Majesty to cause her to be imprisoned
in the lowest dungeon of the castle--to deal with her as the worst of
criminals--"But spare," she exclaimed, "my sight and hearing what will
destroy the little judgment I have left--the sight of that unutterable
and most shameless villain!"
"And why, sweetheart?" said the Queen, moved by a new impulse: "what
hath he, this false knight, since such thou accountest him, done to
thee?"
"Oh, worse than sorrow, madam, and worse than injury--he has sown
dissension where most there should be peace. I shall go mad if I look
longer on him."
"Beshrew me, but I think thou are distraught already," answered the
Queen. "My Lord Hunsdon, look to this poor distrest young woman, and
let her be safely bestowed and in honest keeping, till we require her
to be forthcoming."
Two or three of the ladies in attendance, either moved by compassion
for a creature so interesting, or by some other motive, offered their
service to look after her; but the Queen briefly answered, "Ladies,
under favor, no. You have all (give God thanks) sharp ears and nimble
tongues: our kinsman Hunsdon has ears of the dullest, and a tongue
somewhat rough, but yet of the slowest. Hunsdon, look to it that none
have speech of her."
"By our Lady!" said Hunsdon, taking in his strong sinewy arms the
fading and almost swooning form of Amy, "she is a lovely child; and
tho a rough nurse, your Grace hath given her a kind one. She is safe
with me as one of my own lady-birds of daughters."
So saying, he carried her off, unresistingly and almost unconsciously;
his war-worn locks and long gray beard mingling with her light-brown
tresses, as her head reclined on his strong square shoulder. The Queen
followed him with her eye. She had already, with that self-command
which forms so necessary a part of a sovereign's accomplishments,
supprest every appearance of agitation, and seemed as if she desired
to banish all traces of her burst of passion from the recollection of
those who had witnessed it. "My Lord of Hunsdon says well," she
observed: "he is indeed but a rough nurse for so tender a babe."...
Leicester partly started; but making a strong effort, he subdued his
emotion, while Elizabeth answered sharply, "You are something too
hasty, Master Varney: we will have first a report of the lady's health
and state of mind from Masters, our own physician, and then determine
what shall be thought just. You shall have license, however, to see
her, that if there be any matrimonial quarrel betwixt you--such things
we have heard do occur, even betwixt a loving couple--you may make it
up, without further scandal to our court or trouble to ourselves."
Varney bowed low, and made no other answer.
Elizabeth again looked toward Leicester, and said, with a degree of
condescension which could only arise out of the most heartfelt
interest, "Discord, as the Italian poet says, will find her way into
peaceful convents, as well as into the privacy of families; and we
fear our own guards and ushers will hardly exclude her from courts. My
Lord of Leicester, you are offended with us, and we have right to be
offended with you. We will take the lion's part upon us, and be the
first to forgive."
Leicester smoothed his brow, as if by an effort; but the trouble was
too deep-seated that its placidity should at once return. He said,
however, that which fitted the occasion, that "he could not have the
happiness of forgiving, because she who commanded him to do so could
commit no injury toward him."
V