BEREAVEMENT.
One week has elapsed since the events narrated in the last chapter. The
house of Clopton is shut up, empty, deserted. The good Sir Hugh is again
at liberty; but the seas flow between him and Britain. After having been
examined by Lord Hunsden, Sir Christopher Hatton, and Sir Francis
Walsingham, three members of the Privy Council, he was released from
confinement. The conspirators, all excepting the priest Eustace, who had
escaped, and through whose intrigues the good knight had become an
object of suspicion to the Council, were condemned to death and executed
in Old Palace Yard two days after. With eager haste, and tarrying at
each post but to obtain fresh horses, Sir Hugh and Walter Arderne had
(immediately on the release of the former) galloped as hard as spur and
bridle could urge on their steeds towards Clopton. Unluckily they passed
Martin in the night on the road near Oxford, as he was hastening towards
London with the intention of breaking the news of Charlotte's death to
them.
One letter had, in a measure, prepared the good knight to find his
daughter dangerously ill; but as in those days, both the inditing and
conveying a packet was a matter of considerable time and toil, letters
were by no means so sure of coming to hand, or so speedily delivered as
in latter times.
So that the unhappy knight arrived at the Hall to find desolation where
he had left plenty. His house was shut up----his daughter dead. She had
died of the plague, it was said; and with fearful haste, by order of the
authorities of the neighbouring town, had been buried.
It far exceeds the descriptive power of our pen to paint the grief,
horror, and despair of the good Sir Hugh and his nephew. For the moment
they seemed stupified with excess of misery. They then threw themselves
into each other's arms, and wept in their desolation, till the very
violence of their grief in some sort relieved them.
'Tis extraordinary how the human mind, after a time, accommodates itself
to the dispensations of Providence, however hard to bear. It was greatly
in favour of the mourners that they had in each other subjects of
anxiety. Each felt the hard lot of the other; and as each watched the
deep sorrow of his companion, the very feelings and disposition to
afford comfort, and urge patience and resignation, in some sort took
from them the poignancy of their own feelings.
The old knight, after wandering about the house in a state of
bewilderment for the first twenty-four hours after his arrival, became
calmer, and seemed inclined to force himself to take an interest in his
old occupations.
He visited, on the evening of the second day, the kennel and the
falconry, accompanied by Arderne, and made the rounds of the different
buildings and offices. Neither of them spoke much to each other, except
an occasional word as they came upon some object of deep interest in
connexion with her who was gone. "Look!" said Sir Hugh, as with
quivering lips and tears rolling down his muscular cheeks and grey
beard, he pointed to Charlotte's favourite hawk--a gallant bird, which
sat and plumed itself upon its perch, "look!" said he, in tremulous
accents----he could say no more; but in the utterance of that word what
an agony of grief was expressed. Arderne, too, felt his chest heave, and
the tears course each other down his cheeks, as he regarded the hawk.
But the sight of the brave old knight struggling to master his grief for
his sake, relieved the poignancy of his own sorrow. "Come, uncle," said
he, "we must to the stables. Tarry not here. There is much to be looked
after, and which wants your care. The attendants seem to have deserted
their charge, and the stalls are for the most part empty;" and so they
pursued their search around. When they came to the stable, if objects
were wanting to produce the sharp pang of grief, here again they were to
be found--objects peculiarly adapted to give the most intense feelings
of sorrow, as they were associated with those accomplishments in his
daughter, which the knight had held in the most estimation. There hung
the gay trappings of her favourite steed, and there stood the steed
itself, which the falconer had kept in its stall--a milk-white and
perfect courser; and in the stable beside the manger, lay Charlotte's
favourite hound--the dog, in her absence having apparently sought
consolation in the companionship of the horse he had so often
accompanied to the field.
The horse turned and neighed inquiringly, it appeared, to the old
knight; and the dog shook himself clear of the straw, and bounding out
of the stall, put his fore-legs upon Sir Hugh's breast, and seemed to
ask for his mistress, and then it stood down, as if conscious of the
fruitlessness of the query; and throwing up its great head, uttered a
long melancholy howl.
The good knight regarded the dog for a moment in silence. He stepped up
to the white steed; and as it put its nose affectionately in his face,
he kissed it again and again. He then sought for his own saddle; and
saddling and bridling the horse, he led it forth into the yard, followed
by the hound.
As Walter observed the knight's movements, he quietly saddled his own
steed, and they both set out together, and without a word took the road
to Stratford. There was no necessity for Walter to inquire of his uncle
their destination. He felt assured that the knight was about to visit
his daughter's grave.
Although Sir Hugh had however endeavoured to resign himself to the
decrees of Providence, and bear with fortitude the dire affliction which
had visited his house, he found it impossible to pursue the usual tenor
of his former life; the charm of existence seemed fled for ever--"life
was as tedious as a twice-told tale." It seemed to him, that in the
listless way in which he was pursuing his daily avocations, he was
beginning over again. He rode forth without purpose, and pursued his
route as chance or his steed directed.
Luckily this had been foreseen by a true industrious friend, one who,
since the return of Sir Hugh to Clopton, had been sorely missed in his
need by the good knight.
The faithful Martin, on his arrival in London, on finding that Sir Hugh
had been liberated, and had returned to Clopton, was struck with dismay,
inasmuch as he immediately surmised the shock the knight would be likely
to receive on so immediately returning to his desolate home.
Sudden and quick in all his resolves, he sought out a friend at Court,
and one who was under some little obligation to him for former services
rendered. This was no less a person than Sir Christopher Hatton, a
distinguished personal favourite of the Queen; a gentleman who owed his
rise absolutely to his exceeding good gifts in the elegant
accomplishment of dancing, and who walking into favour by a corranto,
gradually gained ground in her Majesty's further affections by his
activity in the galliard, capering higher and higher into the Royal
estimation at each subsequent demivolt, till he successively attained
the posts of Gentleman Pensioner, Captain of the Guard,
Vice-Chamberlain, and Lord Chancellor. This gentleman, who
(notwithstanding the oddness of his rise) was in reality a man of most
amiable disposition, possessed a mind less biassed by the prejudices of
his age than most of his contemporaries; and this most estimable man the
faithful Martin sought out.
"Sir Hugh Clopton," said Martin, "hath been badly used in this matter;
and inasmuch as his arrest and absence hath in some measure, by removing
him from the government of his house at a time of sickness and distress,
caused him much misery, the which his presence and management might have
possibly obviated. I think the Queen is bound to shew him some sort of
assistance in his great grief."
"Doubtless," said Sir Christopher, who was at that moment engaged in
arranging a quick measure for the viol-de-gamba, and which he meant to
adapt some exceeding curious steps to at the masque given by the
Templars to Her Majesty on that very night, "doubtless, good Martin.
Only shew me in what way I can serve the good knight Sir Hugh, and look
upon it as done."
"Why look ye," said Martin, "Sir Hugh is a man having as great
excellence is his arms as you, Sir Christopher, are so celebrated for in
the legs. Now if you could intercede for him with Her Majesty, so that
the good knight might be appointed to some command in the Low Countries,
the violence of action might do away with the poignancy of his grief,
and force him from his home."
"I fear me this is rather a delicate matter to broach unto Her Majesty,"
said Sir Christopher.
"And yet," said Martin, "consider the miserable condition of this poor
gentleman: make it your own case. Think, Sir Christopher, if you was to
be bereft of all--of favour, fortune, influence at Court."
"Sir Hugh hath lost nothing of all this," interrupted Sir Christopher.
"He hath lost no fortune and favour and influence at Court: he never had
or sought for either the one or the other."
"But he hath lost his child," said Martin, "which is all these to him."
"In my case," said Sir Christopher, "I should _not_ consider myself so
utterly miserable were I to lose all you have mentioned. As long as I am
lord of this presence," he continued, looking at the reflection of his
exceeding handsome face in the mirror, and then regarding his
well-turned leg and small foot, "I should not lack advancement. There
are other Courts besides the Court of Elizabeth--other lands besides
Britain--where a man's good gifts might be properly estimated;" and as
Sir Christopher said this, he threw out his right foot, and pointed his
toe with grace and effect.
"And there it is," said Martin; "bereft of favour and fortune, you would
still have something to fall back upon, Sir Christopher. But how if a
sudden twist were to dislocate that slim ancle, and the joint were ever
after to be like the callous hock of a foundered steed? How then would
you push your fortune?"
"Nay, then I should be utterly discomfited," said Sir Christopher,
laughing; "foundered in good earnest--toe and heel--hip and thigh."
"And such is the condition of Sir Hugh," said Martin, "unless we can
give a fresh fillip to his depressed spirits, and teach him to forget
his griefs; he will despair, and despairing, die."
"I see the urgency of the matter," said Sir Christopher; "Her Majesty
may lose a good blade in the stout knight, were he to die of grief. He
hath received wrong, but he shall have speedy redress. Come to me
to-morrow, good Martin--early, good Martin--my life upon it, I will in
some sort content you."
Accordingly, a few days after Sir Hugh had returned to his desolate
home, and when he was beginning, even more than at first, to feel the
sense of his utter loneliness, and the heaviness of his irreparable
loss, Martin unexpectedly returned, and, full of apparent haste and the
urgency and importance of his business, presented a sealed commission
from Sir Christopher Hatton.
The good knight was seated in the old oak-panelled room, where we have
first introduced him to our readers. His viol-de-gamba was in his hand,
and he was listlessly executing an air which was a favourite with his
daughter.
Those who have heard the tones of this obsolete instrument will readily
remember its silver sweetness--tones which seemed peculiar to the age,
floating with a delicious softness through those old apartments, and
seeming, as they filled hall and corridor, to die away in echoing
vibration; so soothing and so melancholy; so well adapted to soften the
poignancy of the old man's grief, that, as he finished the measure, the
tears coursed one another down his cheeks. Martin (who had stopped to
listen to the strains for a moment) as the old knight laid down his bow,
immediately stepped up to him and presented his packet.
The first meeting of the friends, as Martin had surmised, caused
considerable emotion to both; but Martin concealed his own feelings
under an affectation of despatch, and dashing the tear from his eye,
bade the knight peruse the packet with which he had been entrusted,
without delay.
"From whom and whence?" said Sir Hugh. "Methinks I had rather defer
matters of business till another opportunity. There be many sealed
letters I have received the last two days now lying in the hall, and
which I have no heart to open or peruse; for what have I to do with
affairs of the world? what interest have I in life or its businesses?"
"Nevertheless," said Martin, "this commission must be read, inasmuch as
it cometh from one whose behests are to be obeyed. 'Tis from the Queen;
and if I mistake not, Her Majesty requires your instant employment in
her service. There is work to be done with spur and rapier, and you must
undertake it."
"Nay then," said the knight, whose ardour was in a moment aroused at the
prospect of military duty, "there never yet was a Clopton found wanting
when he should serve his sovereign in the field: mine eyes are somewhat
dim, good Martin, peruse the letter, and give me the substance of its
contents."
"In how long a time," said Martin, after glancing at the letter, the
contents of which he well knew, "can you be ready to set forth from
hence, good master mine?"
"As soon as steed is saddled and led forth, and weapon girded on, I am
prepared to mount," said Sir Hugh, "what other preparation doth a
soldier want, good Martin?" "Alas!" he continued, looking round, "I have
now nothing here to take leave of; nothing to care for. In the world I
am nothing, and unless Her Majesty's services require continuance of my
life, 'twere better I were gathered to my forefathers." Thus then was
Sir Hugh, through the instrumentality of Martin, dispatched forthwith to
join the expedition under the Earl of Leicester against the Spaniards.
He came up with the Earl just as he had sat down before Zutphen, where
the circumstance of war and the bustle of the camp, in a great measure
alleviated the sorrows of the good old man.
With Walter Arderne, however, Martin had a more difficult part to play.
He thought it wise to separate the uncle and nephew, because the
constant sight of each other only served to remind them of their loss.
He therefore, after the knight's departure, urged upon Walter the
necessity there was for his not wearing out his youth in shapeless
idleness. "There be many ways for a man to rise to distinction in the
world at the present moment," said Martin, "and let ambition be now your
mistress, good Walter."
"Alas!" said Arderne, "thou canst not feel for me, good friend, because
thou hast never felt the desolation I feel. Ambition and all other
passions are dead within me."
"Go to," said Martin. "Men that live _in_ the world must be _of_ the
world. The health of the mind is of far more consequence to us than the
health of the body. The Ardernes were never yet drivellers. Go forth,
man, like your forefathers. I in some sort feel anguish of mind, as well
as thou; but I give not way to it. Afflictions are sent by Providence.
Let your head contrive and your hand execute, and you will forget your
particular griefs in blows given and taken; nay, the time is coming when
we shall all have to belt on the brand--that I foresee plainly enough.
The Spaniard despises all other nations except the English; we have the
honour of his hate because he cannot despise us; and we shall shortly
feel the weight of his whole force against us. Of that you may rely."
"And whither, then, would you have me go?" said Arderne. "You objected
to my accompanying my uncle; what course do you point out for me, so
poor in spirit?"
"Why, look ye," said Martin, "there is an expedition now about to set
sail for the purpose of attacking the Spaniards in the Indies. Men's
mouths were full of it when I was near the Court. Two thousand three
hundred volunteers, besides seamen, are enrolled under Sir Francis
Drake. The success of the Spaniards and Portuguese in both Indies, and
the wonders seen in these islands, have influenced the imagination of
all men of spirit; an I were you, I would join this expedition,--see
this new world and its strange inhabitants, and witness the matters said
to exist there."
"And when would you have me to depart?" inquired Arderne.
"What time is better than the present?" said Martin. "How long doth the
soldier require to get under arms, when he receives the order to fall
in?"
"Methinks," said Arderne, "I have many places to visit and take leave
of, ere I can quit them, perhaps for ever."
"Take no leave of them at all," said Martin. "When you return, they will
be fresh and fairer in your eyes."
"I have one friend, amongst the many I care not to see again, whom I
must see and take leave of," said Arderne; "one whom I would fain spend
some time with ere we part."
"Know I him?" inquired Martin.
"You have seen him often," said Arderne, "but you know him not. She who
is gone knew him and valued him. 'Tis of her I would speak with him."
"'Twere best not," said Martin; "but (sith I do know the friend you
speak of,) I cannot object. There is a kind of character in him I never
found in other men. To part with such a one without seeing again is, I
grant ye, hard. I give ye one day to spend with your friend, and then
you must promise to depart for London."
"I promise it," said Arderne, who already felt relief from being, as it
were, driven into action,----"I promise it, good friend, and the day
after to-morrow I will depart from Clopton,----depart, perhaps, never to
return."
"Good!" said Martin; "well-resolved and resolutely! I expect great
things of this expedition, and thy conduct in it. You are just the age
to adventure. In youth, we are apt to trust ourselves overmuch; and
others too little when old. At thy time of life thou art just between
the two extremes. The proper season for action; _ergo_, thou wilt
thrive."
It was evening when this conversation took place at Clopton, and gloom
and melancholy still reigned supreme there. Perhaps the feelings of
Martin and his young friend were even more depressed, inasmuch as they
had a melancholy task to perform ere they left the place.
The good old servant, who we have before seen in attendance upon
Charlotte, either from over-exertion or want of rest, had fallen sick
just before her charge died. It was supposed at the time that she had
taken the plague; such, however, was not the case, as she lingered on
for some days after the young lady's death, and died at last, apparently
of grief for the loss of her favourite mistress.
Before the death of this old domestic, she had requested of Martin that
she might be buried in the vault with her beloved young mistress: and
the request having been acceded to, this very evening was fixed on for
the funeral. Arderne paced up and down the room (after the conversation
we have just recorded) for some time in silence. He then turned to
Martin. "I have been thinking deeply of what you just now urged to me,"
he said. "The force of it is so impressed upon my mind, that I am
resolved at once to take my departure from Clopton. The place seems,
since my resolve, to be hateful to me. To-night I will go forth; for
since this matter has gone so far, I cannot bear again to sleep at
Clopton."
"'Tis well," said Martin; "just as I would advise."
"And this friend?" said Arderne, "in whom I am so much interested. Thou
likest him not, or I would bid thee tell him in how much I feel desirous
of serving him; and that I commend him to thy especial favour."
"How know you I like not that youth?" said Martin. "I never said so, did
I?"
"I surmised it from your manner," said Arderne. "You seemed to look
askance upon him, as it were."
"Perhaps I had my own reasons for such seeming," said Martin; "and if I
had so, those reasons are now naught. There is no farther cause for
them. Believe me, he you call your friend, is one who, if I mistake not,
will some day rise to great eminence. And he live to any age, the world
will hear something of him, for he hath the brains of half a score of us
common mortals, with all his modest look, and beardless cheek."
"Then to you I will intrust the task of saying farewell to him," said
Arderne, "for, methinks, on reflection, it will but aggravate my
feelings to see him again, since I am so suddenly to depart."
"Be it so," said Martin; "I accept the office."
"In one hour, then, we will say adieu, good friend," said Arderne,
wringing Martin's hand. "This night I would fain dedicate to her we both
loved; to-morrow shall find me far from Clopton."