“Let not the Heavens hear these tell-tale women,
Rail on the Lord's anointed.”--_RICHARD III._
“The month which followed our marriage we passed in the happy retirement
of Silsea; and there for the first time I became acquainted with the
real character of my Theresa. Her beauty had indeed been the glory of
the court, but it was only amid the privacy of domestic life that the
accomplishments of her cultivated mind, and the submissive gentleness
of her disposition became apparent. Timid almost to a fault, I sometimes
doubted whether to attribute her implicit obedience to my wishes, to the
habit of early dependence upon the caprice of those around her, or to
the resignation of a broken spirit. Still she did not appear unhappy.
The wearisome publicity and etiquette of the life she had been hitherto
compelled to lead, was most unsuitable to her taste for retirement; and
she enjoyed equally with myself the calm repose of a quiet home. When
she made it her first request to me that I would take the earliest
opportunity to retire from public life, and by settling on my
patrimonial estate release her from the slavery of a court, all my
former apprehensions vanished; and I began to flatter myself that
the love I had so fondly, so frankly, bestowed, had met with an
equal return. Prompt as we are to seize on every point which yields
confirmation to our secret wishes, and eagerly credulous, where the
entire happiness of our lives is dependent on our wilful self-deception,
is it wonderful that I mistook the calm fortitude of a well-regulated
mind for content, and the gratitude of a warm heart for affection? I
inquired not, I dared not inquire minutely into the past; I shrunk from
any question that might again disturb the serenity of my mind by jealous
fears. 'I will not speak of past storms on so bright a day,' said I
secretly while I gazed upon my gentle Theresa; 'it might break the
spell.' Alas! the spell endured not long; for however unwillingly, we
were now obliged to resume our situation at Whitehall.
“Our re-appearance at court was marked by the most flattering attentions
on the part of the King and Queen. Several brilliant fêtes were given
by their Majesties on occasion of our marriage; and I began to fear that
the homage which everywhere seemed to await my young and lovely bride,
and the promising career of royal favour which opened to her view, might
weaken her inclination for the retirement we mediated. To me however she
constantly renewed her entreaties for a furtherance of her former wishes
on the subject; in consequence of which I declined the gracious offers
of his Majesty, who was at this time particularly desirous that I should
take a more active part in public measures, and accept a situation in
the new ministry which would formerly have placed the utmost bounds to
my ambition. I was now however only waiting a favourable opportunity, to
retire altogether to the happy fire-side, where I trusted to dream away
the evening of my days in the society of my own family.
“In this position of our affairs, it chanced that we were both in
attendance on the Queen at Kew; where one evening a chosen few,
distinguished by her Majesty's favour, formed a select circle. The
conversation turned upon music, and the Queen who had been describing
with national partiality the beauty of the hymns sung by the Portuguese
mariners, suddenly addressing me, observed that since she left her
native country she had heard no vocal music which had given her pleasure
except from the lips of Miss Marchmont: 'I cannot' said she kindly
smiling, 'as you may perceive, forget the name of one whose society I
prized so highly; but if 'Lady Greville' will pardon my inadvertence,
and oblige me by singing one of those airs with which she was wont
formerly to charm me to sleep when I suffered either mental or bodily
affliction, I will in turn forgive _you_, my lord, for robbing me of the
attendance of my friend.'
“Theresa instantly obeyed, and while she hung over her instrument her
attitude was so graceful, that the Queen again observed to me, 'we must
have our Theresa seen by Lely in that costume, and thus occupied she
would make a charming study for his pencil; and I promise myself the
pleasure of possessing it as a lasting memorial of my young friend.'
The portrait to which this observation gave rise, you must have seen
yourself, my Helen, in the gallery at Silsea castle.
“While I was thus engaged by her Majesty, I observed the Duke of
Buckingham approach my wife with an air of deference bordering on irony;
he appeared to make some unpleasant request which he affected to urge
with an earnestness beyond the rules of gallantry or good breeding, and
which she refused with an appearance of haughtiness I had never before
seen her excise. He than respectfully addressed the Queen, and entreated
her intercession with Lady Greville for a favourite Italian air, one,
he said, which her Majesty had probably never enjoyed the happiness of
hearing--but before the Queen could reply, before I had time to inquire
into the cause of the agony and shame which were mingled in Lady
Greville's looks, she covered her brow with her hands, and exclaimed
with hysteric violence, 'No, never more--never again. Alas! it is too
late.'
“The queen, herself too deeply skilled in the sorrows of a wounded
heart, appeared warmly to compassionate the distress which had robbed
her favourite of all presence of mind; and rising evidently to divert
the attention of the circle, whose malignant smiles were instantly
repressed, she invited us to follow her into the adjoining gallery, at
that time occupied by Sir Peter Lely for the completion of his exquisite
series of portraits of the beauties of Charles's court. In their own
idle comments and petty jealousies arising from the resemblances before
them, Lady Greville was forgotten.
“While I was deliberating the following morning, in what manner I could
with delicacy interrogate Theresa on the extraordinary scene I had
witnessed, I was surprised by her sudden but firm declaration that
she could not, _would not_ longer remain in the royal suite, and she
concluded by imploring me on her knees, as I valued her peace of mind,
her health, her salvation, to remove her instantly to Silsea. 'I have
obtained her Majesty's private sanction,' said she, shewing me a billet
in the hand-writing of the queen, 'and it only remains for you publicly
to give in our resignation.' The letter was written in French, and
contained the following words: 'Go, my beloved Theresa--dearly as I
prize your society, I feel that our mutual happiness can only be ensured
by the retirement you so prudently meditate. May it be a consolation
to you to reflect that you must ever be remembered with respect and
gratitude by, 'Your affectionate friend.'
“The terms of this billet surprised me, and I began to request an
explanation, when Theresa interrupted me by saying hastily, 'Do not
question me, for I cannot at present open my mind to you--but satisfy
yourself that when I linked my fate to yours in the sight of God and
man, your honour and happiness became precious to me as my own; and
may He desert me in my hour of need, if in aught I fail to consult your
reputation and peace of mind. Let me pray of you to leave this place
without delay. I know that you will urge against me the benefit of
avoiding the various surmises which will arise from the apparent
precipitancy of our retreat; but trust to me, my lord, that it is a
necessary measure, and that we have nothing to fear from the opposition
of the king.
“The pretext we adopted for our hasty retirement from public life was
the delicate state of Lady Greville's health, who was within a few
months of becoming a mother; and having hastily passed through the
necessary ceremonies, we again exchanged the tumults of the capital
for the exquisite enjoyments and freedom of home. As we traversed
the venerable avenue at Silsea, amid the acclamations of my assembled
tenantry, I formed the resolution never again to desert the dwelling of
my ancestors; but having now entered into the bonds of domestic life,
to seek from them alone the future enjoyments of existence. I had in
one respect immediate reason to congratulate myself on the change of
our destiny, for Theresa, whose health had for some months gradually
declined, soon regained her former strength in the quiet of the country.
She occupied herself constantly in some active employment. The interests
of the sick, the poor, and the decrepit, led her frequently to the
village; where I doubt not you have often heard her named with gratitude
and affection; and when she returned to the castle, the self-content of
gratified benevolence spread a glow over her countenance which almost
dispelled the clouds of sorrow still lingering there. All went well with
us, and if I dared not flatter myself with being passionately beloved, I
felt assured that I should in time obtain her entire confidence.
“I was beginning to look forward with the happy anxiety of affection to
the event of Lady Greville's approaching confinement, when one morning I
was surprised by the arrival of a courier with a letter from the Duke of
Buckingham. I was astonished that he should take the trouble of renewing
a correspondence with me; as a very slight degree of friendship had
originally subsisted between us; and the displeasure publicly testified
by Charles on my hasty removal from his service, had hitherto freed
me from the importunities of my courtier acquaintance. The letter was
apparently one of mere complimentary inquiry after the health of Lady
Greville, to whom there was an enclosure, addressed to Miss Marchmont,
which he begged me to deliver with his respectful services to my
much-esteemed lady. He concluded with announcing some public news of
a nature highly gratifying to every Briton, in the detail of a great
victory obtained by our fleet over the Dutch admiral, De Ruyter. It
was that, my Helen, in which your noble brother fell, a the moment of
obtaining one of the most signal successes hitherto recorded in the
naval annals of our country. You were too young to be conscious of the
public sympathy testified towards this intrepid and unfortunate man,
but I may safely affirm with the crafty Buckingham, that his loss dearly
purchased even the splendid victory he had obtained. 'What news from the
court,' said Theresa, as I entered the apartment in which she sat.
“'At once good and bad,' I replied. 'We have obtained a brilliant
victory over De Ruyter; but alas! it has cost us the lives of several of
our most distinguished officers.'
“She started from her seat, and wildly approaching me, whispered in a
tone of suppressed agony, 'Tell me--tell me truly--_is he dead_?'
“'Of whom do you speak?'
“'Of _him_--of my beloved--my bethrothed--of Percy, my own Percy,--'
said she with frantic violence.
“Helen--even then, heart-struck as I was, I could not but pity the
unfortunate being whose very apprehensions were thus agonizing. I dared
not answer her--I dared not summon assistance, lest she should betray
herself to others as she had done to her husband; for she had lost all
self-command. I attempted to pacify her by an indefinite reply to her
inquiries, but in vain. 'Do not deceive me,' said she, 'Greville, you
were ever good and generous; tell me did he know all, did he curse me,
did he seek his death?
“It occurred to me that the letter which I held in my hand might be
from--from her dead lover; and with a sensation of loathing, I gave it
to her. She tore it open, and a lock of hair dropped from the envelope.
I found afterwards that it contained a few words of farewell, dictated
by Percy in his dying moments; and this sufficiently accounted for the
state of mind into which its perusal plunged the unhappy Theresa. Before
night she was a raving maniac, and in this state she was delivered of a
dead infant.
“Need I describe my own feelings? need I tell you of the bitter
disappointment of my heart in finding myself thus cruelly deceived? I
had ventured all my hopes of earthly happiness on Theresa's affection;
and one evil hour had seen the wreck of all! The eventful moment to
which I had looked forward as that which was to confirm the blessings I
held by the most sacred of ties, had brought with it misery and despair;
for I was childless, and could scarcely still acknowledge myself a
husband, till I knew how far I had been betrayed. Yet when I looked upon
the ill-starred and suffering being before me, my angry feelings became
appeased, and the words of reviling and bitterness expired upon my lips.
“Amid the ravings of her delirium the unfortunate Theresa alternately
called upon Percy and myself, to defend her against the arts of her
enemies, to save her from the King. 'They seek my dishonour,' she would
say with the most touching expression, 'and alas! I am fatherless!'
From the vehemence of her indignation whenever she mentioned the name
of Charles, I became at length persuaded that some painful mystery
connected with my marriage remained to be unfolded; and the papers which
her estrangement of mind necessarily threw into my hands, soon made me
acquainted with her eventful history. Such was the compassion with which
it inspired me for the innocent and injured Theresa, that I have sat by
her bedside, and wept for very pity to hear her address her Percy--her
lost and beloved Percy, and at other times call down the vengeance of
heaven upon the king, for his licentious and cruel tyranny.
“It was during her residence on the coast of Devonshire that she formed
an acquaintance with Lord Hugh Percy, whose ship was stationed at a
neighbouring port. They became strongly attached to each other; and with
the buoyant incautiousness of youth, had already plighted their faith
before it occurred to either, that her want of birth and fortune would
render her unacceptable to his parents knowing, which he did, that they
entered very different views for his future establishment in life, he
dared not at present even make them acquainted with his engagement; and
it was therefore mutually agreed between them that she should accept the
proffered services of Lady Wriothesly for an introduction to the royal
notice, and that he in the mean while, should seek in his profession the
means of their future subsistence. Secure in their mutual good faith,
they parted, and it was on this occasion that he had given her a song,
which in her insanity she was constantly repeating. The refrain, 'Addio
Teresa, Teresa Addio,' I remembered to have heard murmured by the Duke
of Buckingham with a very significant expression, on the night when the
agitation of Lady Greville had made itself so painfully apparent in the
circle of the Queen.
“You will believe with what indignation, with what disgust, I discovered
that shortly after her appointment at court, she had been persecuted
with the licentious addresses of the king. It was nothing new to me that
Charles, in the selfish indulgence of his passions, overlooked every
barrier of honour and decency, but that the unprotected innocence of the
daughter of an old and faithful servant, whose very life-blood had been
poured forth in his defence, should not have been a safeguard in his
eyes, was indeed incredible and revolting. But it was this orphan
helplessness, this afflicting destitution which marked her for his prey.
“Encompassed by the toils of the spoiler, and friendless as she was, the
unhappy Theresa knew not to whom to apply for succour or counsel; and
in this painful exigence, she could only trust to her own discretion
and purity of intention to shield her from the advances from which she
shrunk with horror. Irritated by the opposition he encountered, and
astonished by that dignity of virtue, which, 'severe in youthful
beauty,' had power to awe even a monarch in the consciousness of guilt,
the king by the most ungenerous private scrutiny of her correspondence,
made himself acquainted with her attachment to Lord Hugh; and while she
was eagerly looking for the arrival of the ship which contained her
only protector, the authority of His Majesty prolonged its station in a
distant and unhealthy climate, where her letters did not reach him, and
whence his aid could avail her nothing.
“In this dilemma, when the death of Lady Wriothesly had deprived her of
even the semblance of a friend, I was first presented to Miss Marchmont.
The motive of the king in encouraging my attachment I can hardly guess,
unless the thought to fix her at court by her marriage, where some
future change of sentiment might throw her into his power; or possibly
he hoped to make my addresses the means of separating her from the real
object of her attachment, without contemplating a farther result, and
thus the same wanton selfishness which rendered him regardless of every
tie of moral feeling towards Theresa, led him to prepare a life of
misery and dishonour for his early friend and faithful adherent.
“Agitated by a daily and hourly exposure to the importunities of
Charles; insulted by the suspicions which the insinuations of
Buckingham had excited in the minds of her companions;
friendless--Helpless--hopeless--dreading that she might be betrayed by
her ignorance of the world into some unforeseen evil, and knowing that
even in the event of Percy's return, her engagement with him must long
remain unfulfilled, the unhappy girl naturally looked upon her union
with me as the only deliverance from the assailing misfortunes; and in
an hour of desperation she gave me her hand. That her strongest efforts
of mind had been exerted, from the moment of her marriage, to banish all
remembrance of her former lover I firmly believe. The letter acquainting
him with the breach of faith which her miserable destiny seemed to
render inevitable, had never reached him, and happily, alas! how happily
for him, his last earthly thoughts were permitted to rest on Theresa, as
his beloved and affianced wife. I am persuaded that had he returned
in safety to his native country, she would have avoided his society as
studiously as she did that of the king; and that had she been spared the
blow which deprived her of reason, her dutiful regard, and in time her
devoted affection, would have been mine as firmly, as through the vows
which gave them to my hopes and been untainted by any former passion.
As it was, we were both victims. I, to her misfortunes--she through the
brutality of the king.
“It appeared to me that on our return to court after our ill-fated
union, the king had for some time refrained from his former insulting
importunities; and had merely distressed Lady Greville by indulging in
a mockery of respectful deference, which exposed her to the ridicule
of those around her who could not fail to observe his change of manner.
Perceiving by my unconstrained expressions of grateful acknowledgment
for his furtherance of my marriage with Theresa that she had kept
his secret, and incapable of appreciating that purity of mind, which
rendered such an avowal difficult, even to her husband; and that
prudence which foresaw the evils resulting to both from such a
disclosure, he drew false inferences from her discretion, and gradually
resumed his former levities. Nor was this the only evil with which she
had now to contend. Some malicious enemy had profited by her absences to
poison the mind of the queen, with jealous suspicions of her favourite,
and to inspire her with belief, that Miss Marchmont's propriety
of demeanour in public, had only been a successful mask of private
indiscretion; and that Charles had not been an unsuccessful lover.
“Unwilling to confide to me the difficulties by which she was assailed,
unable alone to steer among the rocks that impeded her course, Theresa
at length adopted the bold measure of confiding her whole tale to her
royal mistress; whose knowledge of the king's infidelities was already
too accurate to admit of an increase of affliction from this new proof;
and on receiving a letter from the avowed friend of her husband--the
grateful patron of her dead father--the august Father of his people,
containing the most insolent declarations of passion, she vindicated
her innocence by placing it in the hands of the Queen; at the same time
entreating permission that her further services might be dispersed
with. Her Majesty's reply, equally gratifying and affectionate, you have
already seen; and it was in savage and unmanly revenge towards Theresa,
for the frankness and decision of her conduct, that the king had
directed his favorite to enclose me that letter whose sudden perusal
had wrought the destruction of my unhappy wife. You will easily conceive
that the terms of my answer to the Duke of Buckingham were those of
unmeasured indignation--yet he, the parasite, the ready instrument of
royal vice, and the malignant associate of Charles in his last act of
premeditated cruelty, suffered the accusations of the injured husband to
pass unnoticed and unrepelled; and I am persuaded that nothing but the
dread of exposure prevented me from feeling the full abuse of the
power of the crown by the master I had served with so much fidelity
and affection. I have never since that period held direct or indirect
communication with a court where the basest treachery had been my only
reward.
“For many months the paroxysms of Lady Greville's distemper were so
violent as to require the strictest confinement; and the medical man
who attended her assured me that when this state of irritation should
subside, she would either be restored entirely to the full exercise of
her mental faculties, or be plunged into a state of apathy, of tranquil
but confirmed dejection, from which, although it might not affect her
bodily health, she would never recover. How anxiously did I watch for
this crisis of her disorder! and yet at times I scarcely wished her
to awake to a keener sense of her afflictions; for being incapable of
recognising my person in my frequent visits to her chamber, I have
heard her address me in her wanderings for pardon and pity. 'Forgive me,
Greville, forgive me,' she would say. 'Remember how forlorn a wretch I
shall become, when thou too, like the rest, shalt abandon and persecute
me. Am I not thy wedded wife, and as faithful as I am miserable! am I
not the mother of thy child? and yet I know not;--for I seek my poor
infant, and they will not, will not, give it to me--tell me,' she
whispered with a ghastly smile, 'have they buried it in the raging sea
with him whom I must not name?'
“The decisive moment arrived; and Lady Greville's insanity was, in
the opinion of her physicians and attendants, confirmed for life. She
relapsed into that state of composed but decided aberration of mind, in
which she still remains. I soon observed that my presence alone appeared
to retain the power of irritating her feelings; and she seemed to shrink
instinctively from every person with whom she had been in habits of
intercourse previous to her misfortune. I therefore consigned this
helpless sufferer to the charge of the nurse of my own infancy, Alice
Wishart; whom, from her constant residence at the Cross, Lady Greville
had never seen.
“This trustworthy woman, and her husband, who was also an hereditary
retainer of our house, willingly devoted themselves to the melancholy
service required; and hateful as Silsea had now become to my feelings,
I broke up in part my establishment and became a restless and unhappy
wanderer, seeking, in vain, oblivion of the past, or hope for the
future. Would to God I had possessed sufficient fortitude to remain
chained to the isolation of my miserable home! for then had we never
met; and thou, my Helen, wouldst have escaped this hour of shame and
sorrow.”