"To shew our simple skill,
That is the true beginning of our end."
_Midsummer Night's Dream,_ Act V, Sc. 1.
When they reached Dilkusha they yet had much to talk about. During their
absence Jahangir had departed with Nur Mahal, entering the palace by the
Water Gate, so the Englishmen did not encounter the royal cortege. Worn
out by fatigue, the Countess di Cabota was sound asleep, but Fra Pietro
awaited them, being anxious to learn the fate of his co-religionist. He
was devoutly thankful that Dom Geronimo was not dead, and his next
inquiry dealt with the adventures of Roger throughout the day. Then the
lively record of the fight at the gate must be imparted, and nothing
would suit the friar, late though the hour was, but he must go and see
the fallen elephant, which, guarded by a crowd of awe-stricken natives,
still cumbered the entrance to the cypress avenue.
He gazed long at the mighty brute, whose bulk, as it lay, topped a man's
height. Then said he to Sainton:--
"At what hour, friend, didst thou attack the camp of Fateh Mohammed?"
"It might be half-past eight of the clock."
"Ah! You forced your way in and out; you rode through hundreds of
King's men and rebels, who each in turn sought to bar your path; you
fought here so well that not even this monster could prevail against
you; nevertheless, our worthy Master Mowbray would scoff at the special
protection of St. James which I invoked for you in the very hour of your
first onset."
"Gad! Such a serious speech hath a deep meaning. Walter, what's to do
between you and our good friar? Hast thou been reviling an apostle?"
"Never, on my life," laughed Mowbray. "When my ears have lost the sounds
of strife, Fra Pietro, you shall lecture me most thoroughly on my
seeming lack of faith in that matter."
"By the cross of Osmotherly!" vowed Roger, "if St. James be so potent
I'll down on my marrow-bones the next time I'm 'bliged to carry Matilda
a mile. My soul! my left shoulder will ache for a week with the strain
of her exceeding shapeliness."
The Franciscan sighed. They were in no mood for a sermon. The load of
care lifted from their hearts by the witchery of the night left room for
aught save sober reflection. He must point the moral another day.
When fortune buffets a man for years she is apt, if caught in the right
vein, to shower her favors on him with prodigality. Jahangir, wholly
taken up in affairs of state and his wedding festivities, did not see
his English friends until nearly ten days later. Then he astounded
Walter with the information that King James of England had sent an
Embassy to India, that he, Jahangir, meant to march to Ajmere to meet
the Ambassador, and that he would esteem it a favor if Mowbray and
Sainton would come with him, the journey being a fair measure of the
road to Surat.
But this first surprise was sent spinning by the discovery that the
leader of the Embassy was Sir Thomas Roe.
"Does your Majesty know if the Ambassador hath brought his sister?"
asked Sainton, for Mowbray scarce knew how to account for the rush of
color which bronzed more deeply his well-tanned face.
"There is no mention of the lady in my despatches. What of her?"
inquired the Emperor.
"That is a tale for Mowbray-sahib to tell," said Roger with a wink, and,
indeed, the levity of his manner towards the monarch then, and on many
other occasions, greatly scandalized the punctilious court flunkeys.
Jahangir seemed to be greatly pleased by the fact that Walter regarded
Nellie Roe as his future wife. Being a devoted husband himself, he
naturally told Nur Mahal, and was astonished that she received the news
with indifference. Of course, Mistress Roe did not accompany her
brother, but she sent a very nicely worded acknowledgment of Walter's
letters, together with a small package, which, when opened, disclosed a
very beautiful miniature of herself by that same notable artist, Isaac
Olliver, who had painted Anna Cave.
One day, when Jahangir and the Embassy were met in durbar at Ajmere, the
conversation turned on this very art of painting on ivory, in which the
Delhi artists were highly skilled, and Sir Thomas Roe's "Journal"
contains an effective sketch of the assembly to which the pictures of
the two fair Englishwomen (Anna being then secretly married to Roe) were
brought for comparison with native products.
"When I came in I found him sitting cross legged on a little
throne, all cladd in diamondes, Pearles, and rubyes; before him
a table of gould, on yt about 50 Peeces of gould plate sett all
with stones, some very great and extreamly rich, some of lesse
valew, but all of them almost couered with small stones; his
Nobilitye about him in their best equipage, whom hee Commanded
to drinck froliquely, seuerall wynes standing by in great
flagons."
There was some good-humored dispute as to the ability of the Delhi
craftsmen to copy Master Olliver's work, and a bet was made, which both
Roe and Mowbray discreetly lost when the originals were returned with
the reproductions. Yet, the native artists had achieved a better result
than the Englishmen expected, whilst Jahangir was puzzled by his wife's
eagerness to see Nellie Roe's presentment, although she evinced no
curiosity concerning her when first he mentioned the projected marriage.
But the Emperor, still a wine-bibber it is clear, soon ceased to
question the why and the wherefore of Nur Mahal's actions. Each day of
his life he fell more and more under her influence. Soon he practically
made over the government of the state into her hands. At that time,
especially during Mowbray's continuance with the court, she exhibited a
restless activity which found no sedative save constant movement.
Devoted to sport, and showing much skill in using a gun which Sir
Thomas Roe gave her, she shot many tigers with her own hand, and tigers,
even at that distant date, were to be found only in secluded jungles.
A letter preserved in the Addlestone MS, from Sir Thomas Roe to Sir
Thomas Smythe, refers to the Empress's passion for roaming in remote
districts. "I am yet followeing this wandering King," he writes, "ouer
Mountaynes and through woodes, so strange and unused wayes that his owne
People, who almost know no other God, blaspheame his name and Hers that,
it is sayd, Conducts all his actions."
This same disturbing transition from place to place led to the
departure, much against her will, of the Countess di Cabota to Bombay.
Her ladyship found out, what was oft rumored in India, that the
Dowager-Empress, Mariam, mother of Jahangir, was really a Christian
woman of Portuguese birth. The Countess met her, and spoke to her in her
own language, and the incident incensed the Emperor, who feared that his
claim to be another Mahomet might be questioned by the imaums. Roe, a
politic negotiator, took advantage of the hardships and difficulties of
baggage-carrying involved by the daily breaking up of the camp, to
despatch the Countess to the nearest Portuguese port.
She took leave of Roger with copious tears, and wrote him long letters
he could not read, so that Walter was obliged to order his face as he
made known her loving messages, and heard Roger swearing under his
breath the while. Soon she sailed for Lisbon, and the big man, thinking
he would never see her again, did not know whether to be glad or sorry.
Mowbray naturally rendered the greatest service to the English mission.
The whole country was thrown open to British trade, special sites were
granted for factories, and, indeed, Roe's embassy undoubtedly planted in
India the seeds which have borne such million-fold yield. But Walter, to
his great relief, found that Nur Mahal avoided him. He seldom exchanged
a word with her, and then only by way of formal politeness. She moved
like a star, bright and remote. The sole instances of personal favor
which she showed him consisted, in the first place, of the redemption of
the box of diamonds for money, and, secondly, in urging him and Roger to
invest two thirds of their capital in indigo, which, shipped to London,
was worth five times what they paid for it in India.
During an uneventful voyage home, Roger often spoke of his Matilda, and
wondered how she fared. He was sorry a gale blew them past Lisbon,
though it hurried them to the Downs, but his regret merged with other
sentiments when he learned, by advices awaiting Walter from his mother,
that the Countess di Cabota was arrived in Wensleydale, where she had
won much popularity, and was a special favorite of old Mistress
Sainton's.
"Ecod!" roared Roger, when the full effect of this amazing intelligence
penetrated his big head, "that ends it. I am undone! Between them
they'll lead me to the kirk wi' a halter, for my owd mother ever had an
eye for t' brass, and Matilda will have filled her lug wi' sike a tale
that I'll be tethered for life."
His prediction was verified. The Countess married him a week after he
reached Yorkshire. But the only halter she used was the chain of
turquoises and gold which he himself gave her. Never did man have more
loving wife. Her chief joy was to find some wondering listener while she
poured forth the thrilling recital of her husband's prowess, and her
only anxiety was lest his fighting instincts should prove too powerful
to keep him at home during the troubled years of the next reign.
But her wealth, joined to his own very considerable store, made him a
rich man and a landed proprietor. Several little Saintons, too, promised
to be nearly as big as their father, or as pretty as their mother, so
Roger stopped at Leyburn to look after them, siding with neither King
nor Parliament, but making it widely known that he was yet able to break
heads if anyone interfered with him or his.
Of the wooing of Nellie Roe by her constant lover much might be written
of vastly greater interest than many things herein recorded. Yet, such a
history is neither new nor old, being of the order which shall endure as
long as man seeks his mate. So they were wed, in the Church of St.
Giles, at Cripplegate, and, by one of those pleasant actions which
redeem his memory, King James was graciously pleased to forget the
contumacy of his long-lost subjects. On Roe's showing that Mowbray had
done such good work for England that he well deserved the royal favor,
the King bade the newly-married couple invite him to the wedding, to
which he came in great state. He asked for the Ambassador's sword,
averted his eyes, nearly clipped Walter's ear with the blade in
delivering the accolade, and duly dubbed him a knight. Here, also, the
English Solomon met Sainton. Though his majesty was far too sagacious,
in his own estimation, to credit half he was told of the giant's
performances at home and in the domains of the Great Mogul, he
nevertheless asked Roger what he considered to be his most remarkable
achievement.
"Gad!" was the grinning answer, "though I have lopped heads by the
score, and fought wi' strange beasts of monstrous size and fury, I think
the most wonderful thing I ever did was to get off scot free when your
Majesty was ill disposed towards me."
James rubbed his nose dubiously. He took thought, and found that the
retort pleased him. So Roger, too, was ordered to kneel, and arose, very
red and confused, "Sir Roger Sainton, of Cabota Hall, in the County of
York."
A great deal of water had flowed under London Bridge, and under the
bridge that spanned the Jumna at Agra as well, when Sir Roger rode up
the Vale of Ure one day to dine and sup with his friend Sir Walter. With
him, in a carriage, came Matilda, Lady Sainton, and the special purport
of the visit was to hear news lately received from India.
Fra Pietro had written, as was his yearly custom, giving them the
annals of life in far-off Agra. The Franciscan would not abandon his
people, and he remained with those who elected to settle in the capital
rather than return to Hughli. There, owing to the patronage of Jahangir
and Nur Mahal, he established a thriving colony. In course of time, by
teaching his flock to eschew politics and stick to trade, he made the
Franciscans a greater power than the Jesuits.
Divested of the quaint phraseology and varied spelling then in vogue,
some portion of his epistle is worthy of record.
"Each year it becomes more established," he said, "that the
Empress rules in Jahangir's name. Truly she is a good and wise
woman. She hath effected a beneficial change in his cruel
disposition, and put a stop to his savage outbursts of temper.
Not only does he drink less wine in the daytime, but he is
ashamed to be seen by her if his evening potations are too
indulgent. She still retains her habit of going unveiled among
all classes, and, indeed, it would be a wise reform were other
women of the country to do likewise, for the Creator never
intended one half the human race to remain invisible to the
other half. Herein, however, she has failed, though it is said,
as a quip, that were her own features less noteworthy she would
not be so free in their exhibition.
"Nevertheless, she is the most accomplished woman of her age
and clime. She rules this land with moderation and firmness,
encourages education and good living, and gives freedom to all
men to worship God as seemeth best to them. I am reminded, by
these last words, that one who sought unfairly to impose his
will upon others, Dom Geronimo to wit, died recently in the
Convent here. He had been partly demented for years, but you
will be glad to learn that his final hours were peaceful. His
soul was restored to consciousness when the weak body failed,
and he departed this life sincerely regretting the excesses to
which he was led by unmeasured zeal. Perhaps I err in judging
him thus harshly. 'Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth
take heed lest he fall.' I Cor. x. 12.
"The Emperor kept his word touching the record of my good
Roger's mighty deed in slaying the elephant. Within the Ummer
Singh Gate of the Palace he hath erected another gateway called
the Hathiya Darwaza, or 'Door of the Elephants.' It stands on
the summit of a steep slope, and bears on its two flanking
towers life-size models of two elephants, one of which has a
man's head. Fra Angelico, of the Blessed Order of St. Francis,
newly come here from Barcelona, has a gift in painting, and, at
my wish, he has made two oil drawings, which I send herewith,
one of which shows the noble design of the structure.
"The other will be equally foreign to your eyes. You will
scarce credit that the splendid marble edifice drawn by my
worthy brother in Christ is the tomb of Itimad-ud-Daula, father
of the Empress, and erected by her on the site of the house in
the Garden of Heart's Delight. Jahangir wished the place kept
as an evening retreat for the days of spring flowers, but Nur
Mahal would hear of no other end than the monument. So there
stands the mausoleum, a noble building truly, yet a grave. Who
knows what unfulfilled desires lie buried with the unheeding
bones of the old Diwan! I sometimes think the Empress, who,
with all her wisdom, remains a wayward woman, was not wholly
swayed by filial piety when she moved the remains of her
excellent father to that lovely garden. Once, by chance, I met
her there. She spoke to me, and I gave her such meager
intelligence of my English friends as I possessed. She was
pleased to hear that Roger and you were honored by the King.
She sends her greetings. Jai Singh leader of the body-guard,
also places his turban at your feet.
"And, in this connection, I am reminded of that verse in the
XXVth Chapter of Proverbs: 'As cold waters to a thirsty soul,
so is good news from a far country.' Write to me, therefore, my
good Walter. May it please the Lord that these presents shall
find you and yours in good health and abounding in happiness!
They tell me I am growing gray, and thinner than ever, so
assure me, I pray you, that Sir Roger is adding width to his
inches and thus adjusting that proper balance between the
extremes by which nature at times leaves the common level.
"It will be of interest to his lady, best known to me as the
Countess di Cabota, to learn that recently, while on a journey
to the Nasirabad mission, I turned aside and visited the
deserted city of Fatehpur-Sikri, built, as you know, by Akbar.
In Queen Mariam's house I found wall-paintings representing the
Annunciation, and other scenes in the history of Our Lord and
His Blessed Mother, thus proving that the unhappy woman, long
since dead, was an apostate. May she have found grace and
repentance even at the foot of the throne. It would be a great
delight to me if I could win Nur Mahal to the faith. She and
Jahangir are ready enough to reason the matter, but they remain
obdurate. I trust yet to prevail."
The Franciscan then branched off into such trading information as he
thought might be useful to them or their friends in the city of London,
and concluded by expressing the hope that, if ever he returned to
Europe, they might all meet; though, said he, "I expect little more than
that my own bones shall rest in the small graveyard we have established
at no great distance from Dilkusha."
Nellie, who had heard the letter when it reached her husband, listened
to it again while he read it to Roger and Lady Sainton.
"What an influence Nur Mahal seems to exert on all who meet her!" she
said, thoughtfully, when Walter laid down the last closely written
sheet.
"Aye, a witch, and a bonny one at that!" muttered Roger.
"Was she really so beautiful?" asked Nellie, and Walter felt that her
eyes were on him though her question was addressed generally.
"She was so beautiful," he said, caressing her fair head with a loving
hand, "that once, when I wished to be complimentary, I told here there
was only one prettier woman in the world, to my thinking, and her name
was Nellie Roe."
"Gad! Was that what you said to her in the field of chick-peas?" cried
Roger.
"Some words to that effect."
"But no woman would take that as a compliment," said Nellie, dubiously.
"I could fashion no better at the time," he answered, and he picked up
Fra Angelico's sketch of the Garden of Heart's Delight. The cypresses
were there, and the smooth lawns, with the white marble pavilion shining
from the green depths, whilst the artist-friar had cunningly depicted a
gold mohur tree, in all the glory of its summer foliage, to cover one
corner of a tower where the sheer lines were too harsh.
Roger rose ponderously, having lost that ease of movement which was wont
to be so deceptive when an enemy deemed him slow because of his size. He
looked over Walter's shoulder.
"'Tis a gaudy picture," he growled, "but 'tis not the place I dream of
at times when a pasty is too rich or the beer a trifle heavy."
"I oft wish I had seen the garden as you knew it, Walter," said his
wife.
"May the Lord be thanked your wish was not granted!" he said, drawing
her nearer and kissing her with a heartiness that was unaffected. "'Twas
no fit habitation for you, Nellie, or for any Christian woman. Ask my
Lady Sainton. She knew it, only too well. The Empress is right. It was
best fitted to hold a tomb."
And, indeed, while the men went forth into an English rose-garden, to
indulge in the new fashionable habit of smoking tobacco-leaf, Matilda
assured her young friend, for the hundredth time, that, notwithstanding
the undoubted charms and barbaric elegance of the Persian princess,
Walter Mowbray treated her very cavalierly. So, for the hundredth time,
Nellie drove the wrinkles of thought from her brow, smiled delightedly
when Matilda vowed that the man's face on the stone elephant was not a
quarter as handsome as Roger himself, and thus effectually banished the
dim but lovely and ever fascinating wraith of Nur Mahal.
* * * * *
Transcriber's note:
Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise,
every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and
intent.