be allowed to judge of the matter of his mission, I would suggest that,
in my opinion, thou hast left out the most important part of my
instructions."
"What is that?" inquired the prince.
"The dowery, to be sure," answered Ramorgny. "What are complexions and
dispositions, to golden acres? What careth the housewife, who wanteth
strong broth, for the colour of the capon's tail?"
"We will leave that to the queen," said the duke. "Her Majesty wisheth
to put me up to sale, and to knock me down to the highest bidder. We can
bring the earls up to within a few acres of each other, and of the two
pigeons, both equally fat, and brought thus equally within shot, I, to
please my fancy, may strike the fairest."
Ramorgny was satisfied, and proceeded on his mission. He first went to
the residence of March, which at that time was in a castle situated near
the town of Dunse; the castle of Dunbar having been, during the late
wars, so much shattered, that it required to be put in a state of
repair. Ramorgny's rank procured him admittance to the family of the
earl, and his intimacy with Rothsay was a sufficient recommendation to
entitle him to the greatest attention and respect. March viewed his
visit as one of examination and discovery, and took the precaution to
prepare his daughter to treat him as the friend and confidant of her
future husband. A great dinner was got up in honour of the knight, at
which Gawin, the earl's son, and Maitland, his nephew, were present, and
all endeavoured, by every means in their power, to acquire the good-will
of the prince's favourite. It was not these, however, that Ramorgny
wished to study or to please. The daughter was his subject; and his
knowledge of human nature soon enabled him to form an estimate of her
character not far wide of the truth. She was dark, but beautiful; with a
clear, burning eye, which occasionally exhibited flashes of the spirit
of her ancestor, Black Agnes. Her temper was clearly that of a demon;
her spirit, wild and untamed. When contradicted, her anger,
notwithstanding the indications of the displeasure of her parents, burst
forth with ungovernable energy. She disregarded the rules of ordinary
politeness, by applying to her brother Gawin indecorous names. She
scolded the servants; and even, on one occasion, when she had risen from
table, and thought she was unobserved, she applied her fingers to the
ears of a female, and pinched her till she screamed. The earl, who
suspected what was going forward, beckoned to her; the lady winked; the
son pulled her by the gown. Their efforts were unavailing. Ramorgny was
satisfied that Elizabeth of Dunbar was a true scion of the stock of old
Agnes.
The experience which Ramorgny had thus acquired was completely
corroborated by the common report of the Borders, where the young lady
went by the name of Black Bess of Dunbar. She was represented as an
incarnation of Mahoun--a fiend, whom all the efforts of her father and
mother, aided by their relatives, had not been able to subdue, or soften
into the ordinary flexile consistence of mortals. The excuses which were
made to the knight by the parents, that she was ill, and had a headache,
and so forth, only tended to corroborate his experience and the report
of others. His only wonder was, that the Earl of March could have
thought of recommending such a female to the arms of a civilised man--to
a prince. No one but March could have dared!
Ramorgny next directed his steps to the Castle of Douglas, to make his
survey and examination in that quarter. He was received by Earl
Archibald, who was now an old man, with much cordiality, and in a short
time introduced to Elizabeth. The contrast between this lady and the one
he had left was remarkable at first sight, and before she had opened her
mouth to reply to the elegantly-polished compliments of the most
accomplished man of his time. She was fair, with auburn hair and blue
eyes; tall, and elegantly formed; imbued with so much of the spirit of a
gentlewoman, that her whole figure, in its easy, flexile movements,
seemed to obey the slightest touch of the presiding genius of grace and
beauty. Ramorgny felt and acknowledged, with that rapidity with which
men of the world can detect the indications of an elevated soul, the
power of the mute eloquence of this exquisitely-formed complex piece of
nature's machinery. But when the spirit spoke, and the combination of so
many charms started into new life, responding in every turn and
lineament to music that seemed to have been formed to give them
additional grace, and apparently claiming the voice as their own
individual expression, the effect was completed, to the disturbance of
Ramorgny's feelings, and the flight of his peace. Her soft and gentle
tones went straight to his heart. The silken cords of love were cast
around him by every look, motion, and expression; and the prince's
deputy became, in spite of himself, his rival.
Ramorgny felt disinclined to leave the castle. Every additional
circumstance that came under his observation increased his passion. The
prevailing character of Elizabeth's mind and feelings was extreme
gentleness, softness, and sensibility, in which could be discovered no
affectation of sentimentality. Her manner was natural and easy; and it
was impossible to behold her for a moment, without being sensible that
she was a creature formed to sacrifice herself, and her individual
thoughts, wishes, and aspirations, to the happiness of the man who
should be so fortunate as to secure her affections. This softness of
manner extended itself to the style of her speech, which was slow,
smooth, and natural, seeming to derive its sweetness from the perennial
smile that played upon her lips.
Struck with an intense passion, Ramorgny forgot the object of his
mission. The prince was only recollected as an unpleasant object that
came between him and the object of his affections. He resorted to every
means of cultivating the good opinion, if not the love, of the lady;
but, handsome and gallant as he was--invested with the powers of French
love-making, in all its details of conversation, protestation, and
badinage--he could not satisfy himself that the gentle and bewitching
manners of the lady received any accession, from any increase, in his
favour, of the regard and attention she seemed to extend to all the
visiters who frequented her father's castle. Ramorgny surveyed this
equability of enchanting manner, with the pain of one who, fired with, a
strong passion, sees ordinary companions basking in the sunshine of
favour which he wishes to be confined to himself. He felt pained, but
the pain was an increase of passion, with a diminution of hope. His
violent temper hurried him into secret cursing of the day on which he
entered in so thankless an expedition; determinations to escape from his
duty; and vows that he would secure Elizabeth's love, die, or sacrifice
his prince.
Ramorgny's threats were no empty sounds. Restrained by no religion--no
respect for laws--no terror of punishments--no fear of man--and
despising reputation and honour as gewgaws for old women and
children--he was fit for the execution of any measure, executed through
treachery and blood, to gratify his passions. Chagrined by the manner of
Elizabeth, which retained its torturing equability of gentleness and
kindness, without any exhibition of partiality, he was ill prepared for
a letter which arrived from the prince, chiding him for his delay;
hinting, in his manner, that the rooks of Dunbar and Douglas had flown
away with his heart, and requesting him to give up the chase, and return
to his friend. He added, that he understood that his mother, the queen,
had declared for the Douglas; and that he would take her, if she was as
black as the good Sir James himself.
"If thou wilt," ejaculated Ramorgny, as he perused the letter, "thou
shalt at least have the dowery of Ramorgny's sword!"
The incensed knight saw, in the midst of his passion, that little good
would result from remaining at present longer at the castle. His efforts
to produce a corresponding affection in the bosom of Elizabeth were
unavailing. He resolved, therefore, to take his departure; and, having
kissed the hand of his cruel mistress, and bid adieu to Lord Archibald,
he departed. As he journeyed to Linlithgow, where he was to meet the
duke, he occupied himself in deep meditation. His thoughts reverted
continually to Elizabeth Douglas, whom he pictured to himself the loving
and beloved wife of Rothsay, whose success with the fair he envied, but
whose openness and generosity he despised as weakness. There already
existed a rivalship between them as to the affections of a young lady
who had eloped with Ramorgny from her father's house, but who afterwards
left him for the more enchanting society of the young duke. This
Ramorgny had borne with apparent indifference; but, though he was
satisfied that the love of the damsel had not first been solicited by
Rothsay, he could not forgive him his superiority of attraction, and
imputed to him as a fault, what might, with more propriety, have been
termed a misfortune. To lose another object of his affections, and that,
too, by ministering to his own discomfiture, would ill become his
character for intrigue, and ill accord with the present state of his
love for the lady, and hatred for the rival. He must, therefore,
endeavour to prevent the union between Rothsay and Elizabeth Douglas;
and if that should fail, he was resolved that the loss of the lady would
not involve the loss of his victim. His first step was to falsify his
account of the two women; and in this he could not do better than
reverse their attributes, and substitute Bess of Dunbar for the fair
Douglas.
"Well, Ramorgny," cried the prince, as he met the knight in the
audience-chamber of the palace, "what progress hast thou made in the
south? Thy tarrying indicates enjoyment; for when did Ramorgny wait,
when there was not something to afford him pleasure and amusement?"
"Your grace is right," answered Ramorgny. "The pleasures of March's
castle are indeed intoxicating. But thou it was who didst send me in the
way of temptation; and if Elizabeth of Dunbar has, by her enchantment,
drawn largely on the time of thy commissioner, thou hast thyself to
blame. Lord Salisbury, thou knowest, said that her predecessor's
love-shafts--meaning the arrows she sent from the old castle walls--went
straight to the heart; and, as the lieutenant of this kingdom, and the
protector of its subjects, it was thy duty to guard me against a power
which seems to be hereditary in the family of March."
"Oh, then, Black Bess is fair, after all!" cried the duke. "Give me thy
hand. I am right glad on't; for I thought I had no choice--the one being
fair, the other ugly; and to have been forced to marry one woman, to
the exclusion of the darling liberty of selection, would, though she had
been as fair as Venus, have made her like the famed daughter of Phoreus,
whose face was as beautiful as that of the sister of Apollo, but whose
hair was writhing serpents."
"Thy choice, I fear, is not extended by the beauty of Elizabeth of
Dunbar," said Ramorgny; "for what she has, Elizabeth Douglas wants.
March's daughter is a dark beauty, but her colour is not derived from
the dingy hues of earth; it owes a higher origin, even the beams of the
son of Latona himself. Yet the jet eyes from which she sends her
hereditary love-shafts are the softest engines of death I have ever
witnessed. The fire she steals from heaven comes from her as it does
from her cognate thief, Phoebe, as soft as moonbeams. Her gentleness
is that of the lamb, and the tones of her voice are like the soft
strains that come from an AEolian harp, making the heart chase them as
they steal away into death-like silence."
"Bravo!" cried the prince--"a right good wench. I have ever admired
softness in a woman; and I still maintain that there is the same natural
fitness in that ordination, as existeth in the connection between heat
and fire, light and flame, mirth and life, darkness and death! What
sayest thou now to the other Bess?"
"Hast thou ever read of Omphale," replied the knight, "who took from
Hercules his club, and gave him a spindle, and when he complained,
chastised him with her slipper? It was well for the hero that he did not
live in Scotland in these days, when brogues, filled with nails, cover
the soft feet of some of our damsels. Elizabeth Douglas would certainly
imitate Omphale; but, I fear, her slipper would be a brogue; and she
farther differeth from her, in being as ugly as she was fair. She
seemeth to me to be a limb of the devil, which, in its hurry to escape
from the region of fire and brimstone, carried along with it some of
these elements of wrath, of which, I doubt not, she would make good use,
if a husband dared to say to her nay, in place of yea. Thou hast said
that thou lovest softness in woman; but I have heard thee say, in thy
mad freaks--wherein, doubtless, reason had no part--that thou wouldst
rejoice in an opportunity of taming a shrew. Truly, thy wish, at least
to the extent of making an attempt, may be gratified by marrying Bess
Douglas; but I would rede thee to consider, that she might tame _thee_.
Dost thou observe the difference there? Ha! the noble and high-spirited
Rothsay pinned, like a silken nose-cloth, to the skirt of the
linsey-woolsey tunic of a modern Xantippe!"
"Never fear, Ramorgny," cried the duke, impatiently; "thy efforts in my
behalf will save me this degradation. I am obliged to thee for thy
warning, and would repay thee, according to the measure of my gratitude
and thy desert, by recommending to thee as a wife Elizabeth Douglas,
while I will wed her of Dunbar."
The art by which Ramorgny thus sustained, apparently with good-humour,
his conversations with the duke regarding subjects which lay very near
his heart, and invested with serious import, was one of his cleverest
but most deceitful qualities. The duke himself treated everything
lightly; the unrestrainable buoyancy of his mind cast off with resilient
power everything which partook of a sombre character; but Ramorgny was
naturally dark, gloomy, and thoughtful; and his efforts at frolic,
successful as they were, were resorted to only as a means to accomplish
an end. In the present instance, he was necessitated, notwithstanding
the intensity of his passion, his vexation, and disappointment, to keep
up his old manner; for, where truth was generally arrayed in the
trappings of frivolity, deceit might have been suspected in an
appearance of sincerity.
Fortunately, however, the prince was not left altogether to the advice
of Ramorgny; but such is the fate of princes--he got counsel otherwise,
only in the suspicions he entertained of an enemy, his uncle Albany.
Having heard that he wished him to marry Elizabeth Douglas, and to
accompany him to Douglas Castle to see the lady on a certain day, the
prince, to escape the importunities of his uncle, and to gall him--a
pastime in which he took some pleasure--rode off precipitately to
March's castle, to enjoy the society of Elizabeth, in whom he expected
to find all the qualities described by his friend, who enjoyed his
absolute confidence.
When Rothsay arrived at the castle of March, the earl was on the eve of
setting out for Linlithgow, for the purpose of seeing him. The behaviour
of Elizabeth in presence of Ramorgny had filled March with solicitude as
to the issue of the projected match; and he wished to counteract, as far
as possible, the accounts which the favourite would, in all likelihood,
give of his self-willed daughter. On seeing the prince, he began to
entertain hopes that Ramorgny's account was not so unfavourable as he
suspected; but his surprise may be imagined, when, in a short
conversation he had with the prince previous to his introduction to the
ladies, he ascertained that Ramorgny's eulogistic description of
Elizabeth had filled him with an irresistible desire to see so beautiful
and gentle a creature. March looked askance at the prince, conceiving
that he was making him and his family the subject of an ill-timed
frolic; but he saw nothing in the face of the prince but the gravest
sincerity that his versatile temperament could exhibit. It is not
difficult to make doubtful facts quadrate with wishes; and March soon
became satisfied that the prince had received a favourable account, and
was deeply impressed with a sense of the beauty and merits of his
daughter. He immediately introduced him to Elizabeth, according to the
request of the prince; but it was not until he had got a gentle hint,
that he showed any inclination to leave them together--a piece of
etiquette reckoned due to a lover who had been proposed as the husband
of his daughter.
Pleased with the dark beauty, though unable to observe in her eye the
Cynthian beam so elaborately described by Ramorgny, the prince
approached the damsel, and, with that air of gallantry for which he was
so remarkable, fell at her feet, and, seizing her hand, said, in one of
his sweetest accents--
"I know not, gentle damsel, whether I have any authority thus to sue for
a slight indication of thy favour; but what may be refused by thy
goodness to a lover not yet permitted to approach thee with confidence,
may perhaps be granted to the lieutenant of the king. The triumphs of
beauty are best celebrated by favour; and condescension, which is the
prettiest foil of excellence, is exhibited to the kneeling knight, by
extending a hand to grace the act of his rising to receive it."
"Thou mayst e'en rise how and when thou wilt," replied Elizabeth,
snatching from him her hand; "or thou mayst kneel there till brown
Marion of Leghorn or Jean Lindsay of Rossie comes to help thee up. I
care no more for a general lover than I do for a general lieutenant. The
only difference I see between them is, that the one hath many female
slaves, and the other many male ones. By the soul of Black Agnes, I
shall love no man who loveth more than one woman!"
This speech soon raised the prince to his feet. He stared at the damsel,
doubtful if she was serious, or if he had his senses. Her seriousness
was clear enough; for she finished her speech by a stamp of her foot and
a clenching of the hand, suitable accompaniments of a female's oath.
"Art thou Elizabeth of Dunbar, the gentle daughter of the Earl of
March?" said the prince, hesitatingly.
"They say so," replied Elizabeth: "and it is to that reputation I owe a
prince's visit. I was born shortly after the sacking of Roxburgh by my
father; and, if I have any reputation for being gentle, as thou termest
me, it may be owing to my birth having followed so close upon that
famous occasion, on which mothers mourned the murder of their children,
and children hung at the breasts of their dying or dead mothers. There
is none of these things in our days: the world gets effeminate; and, in
place of women defending castles, and wiping the dust from the
battlements with their white handkerchiefs, as my ancestor did at
Dunbar, they teach the arts of spinning and knitting to the men, who,
with the Prince of Scotland at their head, vie with each other in the
softness of their skin and the smoothness of their speeches. How would
Black Agnes have answered to the speech thou didst now address to her
descendant, thinkest thou?"
"Very likely," replied the prince, "in the way in which she answered the
English who attacked her castle, or perhaps in the gentle way in which
thou hast done."
"Would that all men-spinsters were answered in the same way!" rejoined
Elizabeth. "But I would make a distinction: to men who have the boldness
to court women as they would attack a castle, I would speak softly; but
to the white-lipped simperers of smooth sayings, who attack the heart
with a tempest of sighs, and sap its foundations with floods of tears, I
would open the sally-port of my indignation, and kill them with a look."
"Then, I suppose," said the prince, "I owe my life to thy ladyship's
mercy, extended by way of tender exception to my individual case?"
"Say rather that thou owest it to my contempt," replied Elizabeth. "Thou
hast not yet experienced one of my looks. I have treated thee tenderly
because of the love I bear to Queen Arabella, thy mother, to whom I
would beg leave to commit thee for a farther supply of that
milk-and-breadberry, of which, as thy sallow cheeks indicate, thou hast
been cheated in thy infancy. Do not object that thou art too old; for
thy present condition is but an extension of childhood--even now I have
heard thy rattle."
"Women are privileged," replied the prince, losing temper.
"So are children," rejoined Elizabeth, smartly; "when thou hast arrived
at manhood, thou mayest then claim my indignation; meantime I recommend
thee to the queen."
And, saying this, she left the astonished prince standing in the chamber
like a statue. Recovering himself, he left the castle precipitately,
without seeing the earl, biting his lips, and muttering curses against
Ramorgny, who had deceived him, and Elizabeth, who had insulted him. As
he proceeded on his way homewards, he bethought himself of the different
characters Ramorgny gave the two ladies; and wishing to give him credit
for having confounded the attributes applicable to each, he resolved to
see Elizabeth Douglas; and, changing his course, proceeded in the
direction of Castle Douglas.
His arrival at the residence of the old earl, who had contributed to
place his family on the throne, brought into the mind of the prince some
recollections which evolved feelings which were deeply planted in his
nature, and only prevented from producing useful and amiable effects, by
lawless habits borrowed from dissolute companions. With his mind
elevated by noble aspirations, and high hopes of being one day an
ornament to his country, which he sincerely loved, he was in an
excellent mood for appreciating the virtues and beauty of a woman who
could, as a consort, make him a better and a happier man, and, by a
necessary consequence, a better governor, and subsequently a good king.
He met Elizabeth Douglas at a distance from the castle, and introducing
himself in the easy and elegant manner of which no man of his time was
more capable, was delighted with her conversation, and inspired by her
personal charms. Proceeding together to the castle, they were met at the
gate by the old earl, who complimented Rothsay, as well as his daughter,
by saying that all he had sighed for was that they should meet and be
able to appreciate each other's qualities; for he was assured that one
hour's conversation between persons so accomplished, actuated by such
motives, and inspired with such sentiments, would do more to procure an
attachment than a year's diplomacy and court intrigue.
Rothsay willingly remained for some time at the castle, and had frequent
opportunities of conversing with Elizabeth alone, and of appreciating
her noble qualities.
"I had got thee misrepresented to me," said the prince; "but I believe
unintentionally, and by a transposition of names. What would Elizabeth
Douglas think, if she were informed that she was likened to the wife of
Socrates, and the slipper-castigator of Hercules?"
"I should conceive that the reporter did not know me," answered
Elizabeth, "or wished to deceive. I am not an admirer of either of these
ladies, of whom I have before heard; but I plume not myself upon any
other quality than a wish to use my wealth and station for the benefit
of those who, though better and holier than I am, have, by the force of
dire necessity, been obliged to bow their necks under the yoke of
poverty and misfortune. Yet I fear all I can take credit for is a wish
to do good. My actions and my aspirations have not that accordance I
could wish; but, by the blessing of God, I hope to improve in my
self-discipline; and, in the meantime, I trust no one will be able to
accuse me of injuring the humblest of God's creatures."