Who has not heard of the masque at Theobalds--perhaps the most
disgraceful scene that ever took place in an English court? and yet it
is into the midst of that extraordinary spectacle of disgusting excess
that we must lead the reader for a short time, together with some of
the fairest and the best of the personages in our tale.
Not long after those conversations took place which we have in the
last chapter detailed, the King, the Queen, and the whole Court were
invited to spend a few days at the princely mansion of the Earl of
Salisbury, to revel with the King of Denmark, who was then visiting
England, and had just returned to the capital from a short tour
through some of our rural districts.
The presence of this monarch in England had tended to anything but to
improve the morality or decency of the people. A coarse-minded
barbarian, with some of the virtues, but almost all the vices of a
half-savage state, could not, indeed, be expected to aid the progress
of civilization in a court where he was courted, flattered, and looked
up to as the brother of a Queen, whose affability of manners, in
default of higher qualities, had rendered her undeservedly popular.
It must not be supposed, however, that the higher classes in Great
Britain were universally polished, or free from gross faults, at the
time he came. There were many, it is true, in England, as probably
will always be the case, who, in point of demeanour, as well as
virtue--of genius, as well as goodness, excelled any others on the
earth. But there was a great mass, as there is still and ever will be,
noble by birth, but not in heart; high by station, but not in
principle. The rude insolence which the Scottish courtiers had brought
to the English capital, filled it with feuds and bloodshed; the
example of some of the most distinguished women of the court spread
immorality abroad like a pestilence; and the Ordinary, so admirably
depicted by Sir Walter Scott, finished the education of the young
courtiers in gaming, and the excesses of the table. But it was not
alone the house of Monsieur de Beaujeu which was open for such orgies,
nor were they persons of high rank who alone frequented such abodes;
for, at the time I speak of, there were hundreds of these dens of
iniquity held in different parts of the town, where every man chose
his own scale of vice and indulgence, and ruined himself or his
neighbours, cut his own throat, or run his best friend though the
body, according as skill and inclination might combine.
It was to the King of Denmark, however, that the Court owed the gross
habit of intoxication, which now became general, and which lasted from
that time to a period not long before the present day. He first
revived the barbarous notion in the land, that excess of drinking can
be honourable; and it spread with extraordinary rapidity through all
classes, affecting not alone the men, but the women of the higher
ranks. Many lamentable scenes produced by this vice are to be found
depicted in the papers of Winwood, and other contemporaries, but
perhaps the most celebrated of all, from the disgusting excess to
which the beastly sin was carried, took place at Theobalds, on the
occasion to which we now refer.
Hospitality reigned in the mansion, even to profusion; the cellar was
free to any one who might choose to use it; the door of the buttery
stood open day and night; and the royal table actually flowed with
wine.
For the entertainments of the second day of the royal visit, a masque
had been prepared by the owner of the mansion; but it was
unfortunately appointed to succeed a grand banquet, at which all the
Court was present. As what was then considered a delicate compliment
to the King, who continued to affect, notwithstanding the bitter
sarcasm of Henry IV. of France, the title of the English Solomon, the
masque was intended to represent the visit of the Queen of Sheba to
the wise Sovereign of the Jews. The great hall, next to the
banqueting-room, was fitted up as the Temple of Jerusalem; and at the
upper end a dais and canopy were raised for the two Monarchs, the
Queen, and the principal ladies of the court.
The banquet I will not describe. Suffice it to say, it was over; and
with unsteady steps the Kings proceeded to take their seats with the
Queen, and all the principal ladies in attendance upon her. The
Princess Elizabeth was not present, and Arabella Stuart, from her
royal blood, was seated next to Anne of Denmark. Many of the followers
of the old court who had received but little encouragement from James,
had, with laudable feeling, been invited by the Earl of Salisbury; and
amongst the rest, was our good friend Sir Harry West. Though the King
took no notice of him, and many of the young courtiers thought fit to
wonder how such an antiquated specimen of the Elizabethan days had
come thither, the sweet lady whose tale we tell had stopped to speak
to him as she passed onward to her seat, giving him her hand, and
calling him cousin, from his distant relationship to the family of
Cavendish.
"I beseech you, Sir Harry," she said, in a low voice, after a few
words of courtesy, "stand behind me on the dais, and leave me not if
you can help it, It will be doing me a great service to let me
converse with you, rather than with one who, I fear, may be too near."
"I will be there," replied Sir Harry; and though there is always some
difficulty in making such arrangements in a crowded court, the old
knight, proceeding with his usual calm self-possession and firm
experience, had reached the back of Arabella's chair by the time she
was seated.
The moment after, the Viscount Rochester approached; and, though he
was not one to attempt to displace a gentleman of Sir Harry West's
years and reputation, he looked a little mortified, and took a
position on the other side of the lady, nearer to the Queen. Arabella
looked round to see if her old friend was there; and Rochester, who,
to his credit be it spoken, was quite sober, seized the opportunity to
bend over her, expressing in courteous terms, though somewhat
unpolished language, a hope that she did not suffer from the heat.
The lady replied with all due civility, but briefly; and, as she did
so, her eyes were brought to the opposite side of the circle, where
sat some other ladies of the court; and there, to her surprise, she
beheld the lovely countenance of the Countess of Essex gazing upon her
with an expression of fierce anger, which she could not at all
comprehend. Without much care to discover what was the cause, however,
and merely following her own plan, she turned instantly to the other
side, where Sir Harry West stood a step behind her, and said a few
words to him in a low tone. The knight answered, and Arabella
rejoined, but their conversation was speedily interrupted by the
commencement of the masque.
The gilded and painted pillars, intended for the columns of Solomon's
Temple, were suddenly illuminated by girandoles of lights round the
capitals, and a flourish of trumpets was heard without, when, followed
by numerous attendants, a masked lady, carrying a casket in her hand,
and representing the Queen of Sheba, entered the hall, and advanced
towards the two Kings. The casket was loaded with a variety of shining
things made in sugar, by the art of an Italian confectioner, which,
though assuming the form of jewels and precious stones, contained
within jellies, and syrups, and perfumes. It was remarked by those
persons in the court, who had not themselves paid their devotions too
deeply to the god of the grape, that the step of the Queen of Sheba
was quite as unsteady as that of her prototype might be supposed to
have been upon the sea of glass. She contrived, notwithstanding, to
reach the dais; but there, whether her feet failed her, or whether she
stumbled over the step does not appear, but she fell head foremost
into the lap of the King of Denmark, bespattering him with her
confectionery in a most unseemly manner. Confused and ashamed, she
started up, though not without assistance; and her mask falling off,
displayed the face of one of the first ladies of the court, with a
heightened colour, and eyes somewhat void of expression.
The Danish monarch himself, who was good-humoured in his cups,
instantly started up to console the overthrown lady; and calling
loudly to the musicians to begin an air which he named, he declared he
would dance a measure with the Queen of Sheba. Unfortunately, however,
he did not well calculate his own powers, and in the very first
effort, after reeling for a moment from side to side, he fell prone at
her feet, well nigh bringing her to the ground along with him.
A scene of confusion ensued, such as is happily seldom witnessed at a
court; in the midst of which, the Eastern Queen very wisely effected
her retreat, and his Danish Majesty was taken up by four stout ushers,
and carried into a neighbouring bed-chamber, dripping with the jellies
and syrups which his fair partner had so unceremoniously bestowed upon
his garments.
It is probable that the scene would have ended there, had not James,
who never chose to be disappointed in his amusements, insisted upon
the spectacle proceeding; and three ladies were introduced as Faith,
Hope and Charity, gorgeously dressed, though with no very light or
heavenly vestments.
The farther proceedings of the masque we shall describe in the words
of an eye-witness, in order to win the reader's belief for things
scarcely credible.
"Hope," says Sir John Harrington in his Nug[ae], "did essay to speak;
but wine rendered her endeavours so feeble, that she withdrew, and
hoped the King would excuse her brevity. Faith was then alone, for I
am certain she was not joined with Good Works, and left the Court in a
staggering condition. Charity came to the King's feet, and seemed to
cover the multitude of sins her sisters had committed. In some sort
she made obeisance and brought gifts, but said she would return home
again, as there was no gift which heaven has not already given his
Majesty. She then returned to Faith and Hope, who were both sick in
the lower hall. Next came Victory in bright armour, and, by a strange
medley of versification, did endeavour to make suit to the King; but
Victory did not triumph long, for, after much lamentable utterance,
she was led away like a silly captive, and laid to sleep in the outer
steps of the antechamber. Now Peace did make her entry, and strive to
get foremost to the King; but I grieve to tell now great wrath she did
discover unto those of her attendants, and much contrary to her
semblance, most rudely made war with her olive branch, and laid on the
pates of those who did oppose her coming."
Thus ended an exhibition, disgraceful to all concerned, and painful to
those who witnessed it. To Arabella Stuart it had, as the reader may
suppose, caused not a little grief and annoyance. She felt ashamed of
her sex, of her class, of her society; and during the last act of this
strange scene, she had turned her eyes away, suffering them to wander
over the crowd of persons who lined the hall on either side, and
occupied a considerable space at the end.
In the meanwhile, Lord Rochester, who, though not constantly
maintaining his position near her, always returned to it, had
endeavoured more than once to engage her in conversation, but, to say
truth, without much success. At last, however, he perceived that her
voice, in answering some question he addressed to her, suddenly
faltered, and her reply stopped abruptly.
"Is anything the matter, lady?" asked Sir Harry West, who saw her
cheek turn deadly pale.
"I am faint," replied Arabella, "--the heat, I think----"
"Will you go out into the air?" asked the old knight; but, at the same
time, his eyes followed hers to a spot at the farther extremity of the
hall, towards which they were turned, and an involuntary exclamation
of "Ha!" broke from his lips.
It was just at this moment, however, that the group representing Peace
and Abundance entered the hall; and the noise and confusion which
prevailed drew attention in another direction.
"Would you like to retire?" again asked the old knight.
"No," replied Arabella, "no, I shall be better in a moment--this
cannot last long. Would to Heaven it had never taken place!"
"It is, indeed, a disgusting affair," replied Sir Harry West. "My
Lord, I wonder if his Majesty would object to that window being
opened, for the lady is faint with the heat, and the King himself
looks over warm."
"Oh no," exclaimed Lord Rochester, "I will open it in a minute, and
give Solomon some air. Would your Majesty be pleased to let in a
little of the breath of heaven," he continued, moving to the King's
chair, "for it seems we have too much of the breath of earth here."
"Well flavoured with sack and canary," answered the King, "but we'll
soon get out of the _hotter_. Don't you see, Peace and Plenty are
retreating in confusion? and, methinks, it will be wise to go out upon
the terrace, and refresh ourselves in the evening air. The moon is
shining, is it not? Give me your arm, Carro. I-fegs, though our head
be as strong as that of most folk, the good wine of my Lord of
Salisbury is well nigh as much as we can carry."
The King and Queen then rose; and, according to the proposal of James,
the whole party issued forth into the wide ornamented grounds--with
one exception. Arabella Stuart, whispering to Anne of Denmark that she
was somewhat faint, but would rejoin her in a few minutes, darted away
to her own room, where, casting herself on her knees beside her bed,
she hid her face upon her hands, and prayed. Her prayers were not
unmingled with tears, however; and when she rose, her eyes were red.
"They may see that I have been weeping," she said to herself, "and I
may as well put a mask upon my face as upon my heart. There will be
others in similar guise;" and taking up the rarely-used black velvet
mask which lay upon her dressing table, she hurried down by the small
staircase, which led from her apartments, to rejoin the Queen on the
terrace. At the foot of the stairs, close to the doorway by which she
was going out, stood a tall and graceful figure leaning against the
pillar. He drew a step back as she approached, with a cold and
respectful air. But Arabella suddenly stopped, exclaiming, "Seymour!
Do you not know me?" and she put up her hand to remove her mask.
"Nay, nay," he said, stopping her; "I know you right well, sweet
lady,--no mask can hide Arabella from William Seymour."
"Then what is the matter?" she asked, in surprise; "why did you not
let me know that you were returned from exile?"
"Better, perhaps, not have returned at all," replied Seymour, in a
grave tone.
"Oh, Seymour!" exclaimed Arabella. But at that moment, a door on the
other side of the passage opened, giving admission to some servants
carrying plates and dishes from the banqueting room; and Arabella,
fearful of being recognised, hurried forward, and joined the Queen
upon the terrace.
She found that almost every lady had resumed her mask, on the
pretence, common in that day, of guarding her complexion from the air.
The company had broken up into various groups, and were scattered over
the grounds in the moonlight, with the liberty which Anne of Denmark
encouraged in the court; and as soon as the Queen saw Arabella, she
exclaimed, "Away, away, my pretty cousin! Find thee a mate for the
evening. We have cast off royal restraints, and for the next hour are
as free as the wind."
Arabella looked round, but the mate whom her heart would have fondly
sought for that hour, or for the whole of life, was not near; and,
fixing hastily upon good Sir Harry West, she advanced to the place
where he stood, saying, "Come, my dear good friend, the Queen wills
that I choose a partner for the evening's gossip, and so I will
inflict myself on you."
"Alas, lady," replied the old knight, walking on by her side; "you
might have chosen a younger and a gayer heart."
"A younger, but not a gayer," replied Arabella, in a cheerful tone;
"for we will be as merry as skylarks together. What is there in the
world worth being sad about?--When one has found out that love sooner
or later waxes cold; that hope goes out at last like an exhausted
lamp; that courtesy has its changes, like every other fashion; that
temperance and soberness can give up their place among the virtues to
drunkenness and excess--what is there in the world sufficiently
valuable to make us give it a sigh when we see it passing away?"
"Right gloomy merriment, dear lady!" answered the knight, with a shake
of the head; "but yet not of the sort that falls upon old age. The
shade upon you, is but that cast by some passing cloud, not the grey
twilight of declining day.--What has happened? Has your bird got out
of the cage, and flown away?
"No," replied Arabella, quickly, "he has come back again and pecked my
hand.--But here hurries Lord Rochester.--In pity leave me not.--Ha!
who is that sweet lady joins him now, and hangs upon his arm?" she
continued, speaking to herself "Many thanks, fair dame!--many thanks
for keeping him from me.--I pray thee hold him fast--and she does too!
Who can that be, Sir Harry?"
"The Countess of Essex, I think," answered the knight.
"Oh no," replied Arabella, "she had on a robe of amber and
silver--that is dark blue or green, I think."
"She has had time to change it," said the knight, "and she it
certainly is. That queenly, yet impetuous step is not to be mistaken,
nor that glorious form, harbouring--what?"
"I know not," replied Arabella; "we are but little acquainted."
"Ay, who shall say?" rejoined Sir Harry West, "at eighteen, who shall
say, whether it be angel or devil? for the fallen Morning Star shone
once as bright as the best in heaven."
"Fie, fie, Sir Harry!" cried Arabella. "I thought that beauty
now-a-days was the great good, the pledge and warrant of celestial
excellence--who ever speaks of aught but beauty? If a lover would
please me, he fixes on my fine points, as a jockey describing his
horse. My eyes are certain to put out the stars. It is my lip that
makes the roses blush with envy. Pearls have quite lost their price,
since my teeth came to court; and sculptors are quite ruined in
alabaster, trying to imitate my skin. Fie, fie, Sir Harry! If she be
beautiful, she must be an angel."
"She has not made her husband think so," replied Sir Harry West. "But
here comes another to join us--my young friend, William Seymour. Will
you fly from him, too, lady? or shall I leave you to his care?"
"Nay, stay," cried Arabella, eagerly--too eagerly; "stay, I beseech
you."
Was it her heart spoke? Yes, reader; or rather the agitation that was
in it. She feared herself at that moment--she feared to be left alone
with him she loved the best, at a time when her thoughts were all in
confusion--when her bosom was full of emotion, lest she should say or
do something rashly that could never be recalled. In another instant,
however, Seymour was by her side; but he, too, was agitated; and
though she had hidden, under her gay speeches to Sir Harry West, the
struggling sensation within her, she could do so no longer, with her
lover by her side. Thus, the few sentences first spoken on both parts
were incoherent--almost unintelligible.
The old knight came to their aid, however, asking his young friend, in
a quiet, conversational tone, when he had returned.
"But yesterday," replied William Seymour. "One fortnight ago, I
received the King's permission to come back; and, setting off next
morning, I have since ridden post through France and part of Italy,
taking not much time, as you may suppose, to admire the beauties of
the road."
"No, good faith, my young friend," replied Sir Harry West, "nor to
give yourself much repose either."
"True," answered Seymour, with a sigh; "I sought no repose. I was
winged with hope and expectation--going back to my native land, to all
I loved the best, in the full confidence of finding hearts unchanged,
and affections the same. But it was a boy-like error, Sir Harry. The
first rumour that met me showed that time, as well as fortune, changes
favour; and all that I have seen this night, makes me think that
everything on earth is, as the Jewish King has said, lighter than
vanity."
"Something like your own complaint, sweet lady," said Sir Harry West;
"a moment ago you were painting the world in the same gloomy colours."
"I said," replied Arabella, "that there is nothing on earth worth
sighing for--and, in truth, I think so still; for the events we long
for most eagerly, generally end in disappointment or anguish."
"Well, then, you are both agreed, it seems," said Sir Harry West.
"'Tis strange that you should come to the same conclusion on the same
night."
"Sir Harry, Sir Harry!" cried a voice from the terrace above; "his
Majesty wishes to speak with you. You must give judgment between him
and the Ambassador from Florence, on a passage in Dante, which his
Excellency pretends he can translate into English better than his
Majesty."
"Now, heaven defend me!" exclaimed the old knight. "Would that the
moon had not lighted them to look for me. But I must leave the lady
under your charge, Seymour," and away he sped, while Arabella stood
hesitating for a moment, whether to accompany him or not.
But woman's heart is always willing to leave a door open for
reconciliation, and though she said, "I think we had better follow to
the terrace," she took no step that way.
"As you please, lady," replied Seymour, without moving in that
direction.
Arabella turned round to go; but love conquered, and pausing suddenly,
she said, "No! The opportunity may never come again, and it shall not
be said, that I resented the first unkindness of a rash man. We will
go the other way."
"Unkindness, Arabella!" cried Seymour. "'Tis not I am unkind."
"Then you would say, it is I?" exclaimed Arabella.
"Nay," replied Seymour, in a sad tone, "I do not say so. I have no
title to charge you with unkindness. What right have I to expect that
you should remember me through several long years; that you should
neglect happier men with fairer fortunes, for the sake of one whom you
once condescended--may I say it now-a-days?--to love."
"What right?" said Arabella. "Oh, Seymour, do you ask me what right? I
might as well inquire of my own heart what right I have to feel this
anguish, when I see him to whom all my thoughts have been given for
years--for whose return I have looked with anxious hope and longing,
till delay did, indeed, make the heart sick, come back at length cold
and indifferent as if we had scarcely ever met. But I make no such
foolish inquiries. I have a right, the right of true affection, the
right of pledged and plighted faith, the right, if you will, of sorrow
and suffering--and by that right, I ask you, William Seymour, what is
it that has changed you thus?"
"Nay, Arabella," he replied, "'tis not I am changed--'tis you."
"Hush," she said, "here are people coming near;" but the other group
passed without noticing them; and she then added, "I will be coarse
with you, Seymour, and speak boldly, what no man, I think, would dare
to say, that you tell a falsehood. I am not changed."
"Oh, prove it to me!" cried Seymour, "and I will say it is the
sweetest insult ever I received. Is it not true, then, that you
encourage this minion of the King, this raw untutored Scot, whose
woman face and glittering apparel has turned all heads, it seems, and
perverted all hearts.
"I!" exclaimed Arabella, "I encourage him! Is it possible that that
mad-headed passion, jealousy, should so far take possession of a
sober-minded man, as to make him forget everything he has known of
one, whose heart he once pretended to think the most valuable thing he
could possess on earth? Oh, if that heart could be so hollow and so
false, what an empty, valueless gewgaw it would be! Come, I forgive
thee, Seymour; if the yellow fiend has got thee in his hands, he has
tormented thee too much already for me to add one punishment more. But
I will have full confession by whom, by what, where, and how, came
this outrageous fancy in thy head, my friend."
"That is told at once," exclaimed her lover. "I heard it last night in
London, from my brother. I saw the man this night beside you with my
eyes."
"Ay," replied the lady, "and might have seen, too, if you had used
them well, poor Arabella nearly fainting, when she caught the face of
an ungrateful man gazing at her from the far end of the hall. I will
not tell you it was with joy--it might be with fear, you know. Your
wife, your pledged and plighted wife, might well tremble and turn
pale, and nearly sink upon the ground, when you detected her listening
to sweet words from the king's fluttering favourite. Think so,
Seymour--think so, if you can! But hark! here are steps coming--Sir
Harry West--we must break off."
"But how--tell me how," cried Seymour, "I can see you again--how write
to you?"
"See me?" replied Arabella, hastily; "I know not; chance and fortune
must favour us. But as to writing, you may trust Ida Mara with
anything."
"Ida Mara!--who is she?" asked her lover.
"One of my gentlewomen," replied Arabella, in a gay tone; "the only
one, indeed, except two little maids that wait on her and me. But here
is Sir Harry West," she continued, turning towards the old knight as
he approached, "he will tell you more about her, for on my truth I
think the girl is in love with him, and he with her. Is it not so, Sir
Harry?--we speak of Ida Mara."
Good Sir Harry West made no denial of the fact, but told the lady that
the Queen was about to retire; and Arabella followed him towards the
terrace; but, as she went, she took care that Seymour should have so
full a description of the fair Italian, that he could find no
difficulty in distinguishing her from the other attendants at the
Court. Walking by her side, he crossed the terrace with her towards
the Queen, but took his leave before she joined the royal circle, and
was soon lost to her sight amongst the various groups that were
scattered over the ground.
The Court and the courtiers still, for several hours, prolonged their
revels in the halls of Theobalds; and cups of wine were drunk, and
scenes of folly enacted, which I will not pause to enumerate or
describe. Laughter, and song, and gaming, and many a vice, and many an
absurdity, had there to take place before morning; but for Arabella
Stuart, the day ended with the walk in the gardens.