Such, then, as we have seen in the last chapter, was the termination
of the conspiracy in which the name of Arabella Stuart was employed by
bad men, for their own purposes, without her own will or consent. But
what had in the meantime become of that sweet girl herself, whom we
left at the inn at St. Neot's, ill in body and in mind. Several days
passed before she recovered entirely, and the learned physicians who
had been called from Cambridge to attend upon her, asserted that she
had undoubtedly partaken of some poisonous substance.
Arabella herself was incredulous, and attributed in her own mind the
fit of sickness which had overtaken her, to the care and anxiety which
she had previously endured. But the learned doctors assured her that
perhaps it might be a fortunate event she had taken this poison, as,
under the good management with which she had been treated, it would
act as an antidote against the infection of the plague, which in all
probability she would otherwise have caught, as the case of Sir Harry
West was undoubtedly one of a pestilential character.
In the meantime, at the old Manor House at Bourne, the good knight lay
upon a bed of sickness: and in the close and heated room, watching the
death-like countenance, bathing the burning brow with the essences
used in those days, holding the refreshing cup to the parched lip, and
smoothing the rough pillow of fever, day and night, sleepless,
tearless, noiseless, sat Ida Mara, repaying with devotion unto death
the first benefit that she had received at the hands of man. And he
felt all her kindness; he would gaze in her face with almost the
tenderness of a father, and, could he have shed tears, his eyes would
often have filled, as he thought that, in a few short days, she might
be lying in the same burning agony that he then felt, or that fair
form might be blighted, and given up to the corruption of the grave,
as the consequence of her efforts to save him. It was not alone that
he saw she mingled skill with kindness--that with her own hands she
made drinks for him which tasted grateful even to his parched tongue,
that he seemed to obtain relief from many of the simples that she
prepared, and that it was evident that she had learned not a little of
the best part of the healing art while in the house of the
Druggist--it was not this alone which made him willingly take all that
she administered, and obey her lightest word, as if she were old and
he were young; but it was that he would not give her an instant's pain
or uneasiness in the course of her anxious attendance; and even in the
delirium which at length came on, her voice would soothe him, her
entreaties keep him tranquil, when no effect was produced by either
those of his old servant Lakyn, or those of the good housekeeper Dame
Cicely, who were the only persons that would venture to remain in the
house as soon as it was discovered that the disease was really the
plague.
At first, when the poor Italian girl was left behind by Arabella, the
housekeeper had shown some indignation at what she considered the
intrusion of a stranger, and had ventured upon more than one, "Marry
come up!" with the word "Minx!" muttered in a low tone, so that her
good master could not hear it.
A short conversation, however, with Matthew Lakyn a good deal
mitigated her anger, and when she witnessed the anxious care of Ida
Mara for the old knight, and saw her wipe the tears of apprehension
from her eyes, when sometimes she quitted his chamber for an instant,
she could not help saying to herself, "Well, thou art a good creature,
and a devout. There are not many like thee in thy country, I'll
warrant. Thou art almost as kind as if thou wert English bred and
born."
At length came the climax of the disease; and during a long and
fearful night, Ida Mara knelt by the bedside of her benefactor,
pouring forth low murmured prayers in her own tongue to the great
Physician who alone can cure. The old man was no longer sensible to
anything that was said, and though he talked continually, it was but
with the mutterings of delirium, while his eye ranged coldly round the
chamber, and seemed to see strange sights. Often Ida Mara held his
hand in hers, and often put her small fingers on the pulse, till at
length, towards morning, she ran down to Lakyn, who had left the room
about half an hour, and said, "He must have wine!"
"What, girl," cried the old housekeeper, "in the plague?"
"Ay," said Ida Mara, "he must have wine!--The change has come on, his
pulse is low and faint, if he have not wine now, he will be dead ere
six hours be over. Little, and that cautiously, must be given; but he
must have it, if you would save him."
Dame Cicely looked at the old servant, and the old servant at her; but
the girl spoke in a tone of authority, and Lakyn answered, "I had
better give it her; wine is a good thing at all times, and if that
wont save him I fear nothing will.--What shall it be, my dear,--sack?"
"No, no," cried the girl, "no fiery wine; neither sack nor Burgundy."
"Good soft wine of Bordeaux," replied the old man; "I will fetch it in
a minute."
"Why, where learned you all this leechcraft?" asked Dame Cicely, while
he ran down into the cellar.
"In part from the bad man from whom my benefactor delivered me,"
answered Ida Mara; "but it was of the plague my mother died; and a
good and great mediciner of my native town afterwards told me, what we
should have done to save her.--Oh, here is the wine. Now give me one
of those spoons--that one, that one."
"What matters it, girl?" said the old housekeeper, reaching the spoon
to gratify her.
"Do you not see," said Ida Mara, "this has got the image of St. Luke,
the good physician, upon it?" and while the old housekeeper called her
a poor benighted papist, the girl hastened back to the bedside of the
old knight, and from time to time moistened his lips with the wine.
Just as the day dawned fully in the sky, Sir Harry West closed his
eyes, and fell into a gentle sleep, and when the housekeeper stole in,
about an hour after, she found him still in the same, while Ida Mara,
kneeling by his bedside, and utterly exhausted by long watching, had
suffered her fair head to droop forward on the bed clothes, and was
buried in slumber also.
She withdrew without waking them, and till nearly noon the knight
remained asleep. When he woke, all delirium was gone, and, though
reduced to infant weakness, he was evidently better. His amendment was
steady though slow, but would probably have been more rapid had it not
been for the apprehensions he felt for his tender nurse, on whose
cheek the rose had become somewhat pale, and whose eye had grown dim
and heavy. These, however, were only the natural effects of anxiety
and watching; and as soon as she could leave him, to enjoy the breath
of the free air, her colour and her health returned.
It is a curious fact, indeed, but one not by any means rare in cases
of pestilential disease, that none of those who remained with the old
knight during his sickness, and saw him continually during the whole
course of the malady, were infected by it; while three of the
servants, who fled from the house after seeing their master only for a
few minutes, were stricken with the plague, and died in the
neighbouring hamlets, carrying the disease with them to the cottages
of their relations. A firm and steadfast mind is one of the best
preservatives against pestilence, as well as against many another
evil.
For some months the house was shunned; and it was not till the plague
began to disappear from England, that Ida Mara ventured to return to
her fair mistress. She did not do so, however, without being rendered
by the act of Harry West independent of human caprice. He could,
indeed, have found it in his heart never to part with her; but
evil-tongues were as prevalent in those days as in our own, and even
age and respectability cannot hope for impunity from the malice or
folly of men. He thought, too, that it would be better for the devoted
girl herself to be about the person of one so kind and good as
Arabella Stuart; and by settling upon her, with all legal form, a
hundred crowns a year--then a considerable sum--he secured her against
any change in the favour or fortunes of her mistress.
Arabella welcomed her back with great satisfaction, and never from
that moment ceased to regard her with affection and esteem. The deep
and fearless devotion which she had displayed, was of a character to
touch most powerfully the heart of one, who knew how much such sincere
attachment is needed by persons in high stations, and how seldom it is
found. She was no longer considered as her servant; but more as her
companion and her friend, in all those circumstances in which her
inferior rank suffered her to take a part; and great was the
consolation and comfort to Arabella herself, in all the pains, and
cares, and anxieties of a Court, to have one always near her, on whose
truth, sincerity, and regard she could fully rely.
The reader, learned in the history of those times, will know that, to
a high-toned mind and feeling heart, the Court of England, under the
reign of James I., was a place of constant trial, anxiety, and grief.
Even had not the sickening selfishness, vulgarity, and wickedness of
the King himself, affected greatly the comfort of all around him, the
lightness of the Queen's manners, though perhaps not running to
criminality, and the encouragement given to vice of every kind,
rendered the palace a painful as well as disgusting abode, for any one
of a pure spirit.[3] The freedom, indeed, from all those formal
restraints which are, in fact, the shackles that vice imposes upon
virtue, might prove not disagreeable, even to a noble mind like that
of Arabella Stuart. To go whithersoever she would, unwatched and
uncensured; to see whomsoever she would, without care or without fear;
to be as free in her actions as her own principles would admit, could
never be productive of any harm in one who sought not to abuse such
liberty. But it was remarked of her, that unless when obliged to do
so, as one of the Queen's train, she rarely, if ever, adopted the much
misused habit of the day, in wearing a mask when travelling, or
walking abroad. She wished her actions to be as free as the sunshine,
but as open also.
----------
[Footnote 3: I need only cite the instance of Lady Rich, who was one
of the public and favourite companions of Anne of Denmark, while
undergoing the ordeal of the ecclesiastical courts on the charge of
notorious adultery, fully established against her.]
----------
In the meantime, a number of important events occurred, which require
but brief notice here.
The quarrels of the King with his Parliament, his efforts to tread
under foot the right of his people, his persecution of the Puritans,
his bad faith with the Roman Catholics, the rise and discovery of the
famous gunpowder plot, and the well merited execution of the
diabolical conspirators, are all matters irrelevant to this history.
Not so, however, the advance in favour of one of the first minions
whom the King thought fit to honour in England, Robert Carr,
afterwards Earl of Rochester, one of the most despicable of those who
were proud to fill the infamous place of king's favourite. This man,
by birth a Scotchman, had passed some time in France, and had added
the advantages of a graceful carriage, and good taste and skill in
dress, to that of a remarkably handsome person. He was first
introduced to the court of England by the Lord Dingwall, who selected
him as his esquire at one of the tilting matches of the day. Some have
supposed that he was purposely brought into such a situation, in order
to attract the attention of the king, whose fondness for handsome and
well-dressed minions was notorious. However that may be, Carr, in
presenting to the king, according to custom, the shield and device of
his knight, was thrown, in descending from his horse, at the monarch's
feet, and broke his leg by the fall. James had previously noticed with
great admiration the handsome squire of the Lord Dingwall, and showed
the utmost concern for his accident. The young Scotchman was removed
to the palace, attended by the King's own surgeon, visited daily by
James himself, and during the long hours of his convalescence won
every hour upon the weak monarch's regard, till he rose from the bed
of sickness in the full glow of royal favour.
The dignity of knighthood was almost immediately profaned to do honour
to this deedless and unworthy person; revenues were assigned to him;
the king's ear was completely in his power; and many an hour was spent
by the monarch every day in teaching him the Latin language, of which
he had no knowledge, though, as Lord Thomas Howard justly observed,
"it would have been better to teach him English, as he was sadly
deficient in that tongue."
Leaning on his arm, pinching his cheek, smoothing his ruffled
garments, James displayed himself to his court, with his new
favourite, in a most painful and degrading point of view. But,
fortunately for Carr himself, he was enabled to escape for some time
the enmity which his unenviable position, and his own worthlessness,
must have much sooner called upon him, had not a piece of real
good-fortune happened to him, in the rise of a friendship between
himself, and one whose experience, moderation, talents, and
discrimination, supplied all that was wanting in the mind of the
favourite.
It would appear that Sir Thomas Overbury, the person of whom we speak,
had first been greatly noticed by Cecil, (now become Earl of
Salisbury,) an unquestionable proof that he possessed real talents for
business. After a time, however, either because he saw in the favour
of Robert Carr the more speedy means of his own advancement, or from
some other cause that we do not know, Overbury sincerely attached
himself to the favourite; and, gaining a great ascendancy over his
mind, he guided him in all his proceedings with a remarkable degree of
wisdom and sagacity.
By degrees, the minion rose from the condition of a poor Scotch
gentleman, unknown and unheard of, to the station of Viscount
Rochester, and the ruler of the court of England. He affected to
behave himself with good moderation and modesty, and suffered all the
power and authority which was poured into his hands, to proceed
apparently more from the monarch's spontaneous act than from his
solicitation. The office of Lord Treasurer of Scotland was bestowed
upon him, and a number of other inferior posts; but still Carr
laboured assiduously to divert the envious jealousy of the English
courtiers from himself; and, as the best means of satisfying them, he
excluded from his household all persons of his own nation, except one
who was attached to him by the ties of blood.
At length, however, an event occurred which changed his views, his
conduct, and his destiny. There appeared at the court a lady, who,
though yet in her extreme youth, had been for some years married to
the son of the unfortunate Earl of Essex. She was second daughter of
Thomas Howard, Earl of Suffolk. Her elder sister having married the
son of the famous Robert Cecil, the alliance between the families of
Suffolk and Essex was brought about by Lord Salisbury, with a view of
healing the breach between himself and the house of Devereux, to the
memory of whose late chief he knew the King, his master, to be
devotedly attached. But as the son of the unfortunate Essex was but
fifteen years of age at the time the marriage was proposed, and the
Lady Frances Howard, the bride, had not yet completed her thirteenth
year, the young Earl was sent abroad to travel for some time,
immediately after the ceremony, leaving his childish bride to be
educated in her paternal house.
The Countess of Essex was not yet sixteen when she was introduced to
the court of James; and, possessed of youth, extraordinary beauty, and
some talent, she soon attracted universal admiration, to which she
showed herself not at all indifferent. According to the libertine
manners of the day, the object of admiration became immediately an
object of pursuit, whatever obstacles morality might interpose; and
Prince Henry himself, the eldest son of the King, appeared as one the
suitors of the fair Countess. She, on her part, showed herself cold
and indifferent to the solicitations of the prince; not, indeed, that
her bosom was the abode of any pure feelings or high principles, but
because she had already conceived a passion for another, to which she
was ready not only to sacrifice every moral obligation, but to violate
common decency, which is sometimes powerful over minds that do not
scruple to cast off every other restraint.
Rochester, however, the object of her criminal love, courted and
flattered for his power, either did not see the views of the Countess
in endeavouring to attract his attention, or was really indifferent
towards her, and for some time escaped her wiles; but ere long she
found a disgraceful means of making him acquainted with the passion he
had inspired, and it soon not only became reciprocal, but rose to a
height in the bosoms of both, which led them to the commission of some
of the most terrible crimes with which the soul of man can be stained.
It was about the time at which the preference of the Countess of Essex
for the King's favourite first began to master every consideration of
virtue and propriety in her bosom, that those events occurred in the
history of Arabella Stuart which recall us to the narration of
adventures more immediately connected with this tale; and, merely
begging the reader to remember that several years had passed since
William Seymour sailed from England, without his obtaining permission
to return from the honourable banishment to which he had been
condemned, we shall here end this brief sketch of the intervening
period.