Thy bosom hath been sear'd by pride of state,
Hard, cold, and dead to nature's sympathies;
Nor know'st thou virtue's awe--nor gentleness,
How sovereign 'tis! Nor hast thou felt
The nameless fear and humbleness of mind
'Gender'd by sight of others' misery.
_MS. Play._
When the Countess of Nithsdale quitted the Tower, she lost no time in
despatching to her lord the lawyer in whose discretion he had most
confidence, and who had previously assisted him in drawing up his
written answer to the impeachment.
She then waited on the Lady Nairne, whom she found surrounded by her
family; a quiet and sober matron, upon whose composed countenance,
and in whose well-ordered deportment, it would have been difficult to
detect the passions that might, or might not, affect the soul within.
The countess was introduced with all the form of those more ceremonious
times, and the Lady Nairne received her with due attention. It was not
till Lady Nithsdale had made many apologies for so sudden a visit to
one with whose acquaintance she had not previously been honoured, and
had begun to explain the cause of her intrusion, that the vehemence
of her emotion made her break through the trammels imposed by custom;
and she adjured her, by her own hope of saving her husband's life, by
her own hope of preserving a father to her children, to give her the
support of her company and countenance to the king's presence.
The Lady Nairne at first hesitated, for she was not, like the Duchess
of Montrose, the ardent, devoted friend, nor, like Mrs. Morgan, the
creature of impulse; but a sober and prudent lady, past the age of
enthusiasm, occupied with her own interests, and discreetly intent on
availing herself of every means calculated to preserve a father to her
numerous family.
After some moments spent in consideration, she came to the conclusion
that in all probability the king would be loth, in the very outset of
his reign, to reject at once the prayers of two disconsolate wives; and
that, of the two, there was every reason to believe that her lord was
likely to be more favourably looked upon than the Earl of Nithsdale;
and that, consequently, his countess's presence might rather advance,
than mar, her own chance of success.
Having thus reflected, she politely acquiesced in the Lady Nithsdale's
wishes; nor need we imagine she felt no sympathy for a fellow-creature
in distress so similar to her own. On the contrary, she was happy
to afford her any assistance that did not tend to injure her own
cause; but bred in courts, and accustomed to repress all outward
demonstrations of unusual feeling, she replied in so measured, though
not unkind a tone, that the glowing expressions of gratitude, which
were ready to overflow from the countess's heart, were frozen on her
lips, and her thanks were couched in terms scarcely less measured than
the Lady Nairne's consent.
Having, however, arranged that when the petitions of their lords were
ready they would again meet, and that meanwhile Lady Nithsdale should
procure the assistance of a friend who was well acquainted with the
king's person, (for his outward appearance was equally unknown to both
the Jacobite ladies,) the Lady Nairne accompanied the countess to the
head of the stairs, and, with all the courtly forms of good breeding,
dismissed her guest.
Lady Nithsdale then hastened to the warm-hearted Mrs. Morgan, and,
explaining to her the nature of the service she required, obtained her
cordial assurance that she would be in readiness to accompany Lady
Nairne and herself to St. James's on the evening of the 13th, when
she had no doubt she should be able so to place them as that they
might personally present their petitions to his majesty. The expansion
of heart, the melting sympathy of Mrs. Morgan, were a balm to Lady
Nithsdale's feelings, after the coldness and prudence of the Lady
Nairne. But deep grief is in its nature selfish.
It may be true, that unclouded prosperity sometimes hardens the
heart, or, at least, renders the impressions made by sorrows which
have never been felt, and are consequently ill understood, but slight
and transient; and it is also true, that the having once known grief
opens the heart to the full comprehension of the feelings of one's
fellows,--but then it must be a grief that is past. While writhing
under present anxiety, while smarting under present agony, the warmest,
the most capacious heart is unable to take in the sufferings of others.
Human nature, in all things limited, can feel but to a certain extent;
and when every faculty of the soul is absorbed by present, actual
evil, there is no power left to feel that which is not personal. Mrs.
Morgan, happy and prosperous herself, had leisure to give herself to
the sufferings of Lady Nithsdale; she adopted them as her own--she
entered into them heart and soul! While Lady Nairne, with all most dear
to herself at stake, could not but consider the concerns of another as
of very secondary interest, and would not have felt herself justified
in allowing compassion for a person, in no way connected with her,
to interfere in the slightest degree with her duties as a wife and a
mother. Lady Nithsdale would have been the first to admit such views
to be most just and fitting; but still the expressions of gratitude,
which had before been chilled, poured forth in eloquent profusion when
addressing Mrs. Morgan.
Upon her return to her own lodgings, she perceived that Amy Evans
learned with satisfaction, that a petition was to be presented to
the king, before the attempt was made to effect her lord's evasion.
Although resolved to assist to the utmost in carrying her lady's
plan into execution, she felt that escape from the Tower must be
impracticable; while, on the contrary, it seemed to her impossible that
any being with human affections could resist the voice, the words, the
pleading looks of her dear mistress!
The 13th arrived. Lady Nithsdale attired herself in deep mourning,
considering such a habit most suitable to a person under her
circumstances; but Amy gave an involuntary shudder as she looked upon
her lady in this ominous garb. The expression of her countenance did
not escape Lady Nithsdale's observation: "Start not, dear Amy, at this
sad-coloured dress. If it betokens anything, 'tis but the failure of
my this day's business. But it is not on the result of this day that I
rest my hopes. I wait on the king, for my lord wishes me to do so, and
I cannot choose but execute his behests; but I have slender hope of
moving him by my entreaties. It is to ourselves that we must look; to
our own efforts, Amy, aided by that Divine Providence, who deserts not
the humble in their need. I feel hope, strong hope, within my bosom;
but it is not of finding favour at the court. No! it is to a higher
power I look for salvation,--on Heaven that I place my reliance!"
"Assuredly, most honoured madam. But it is right to try every means
that Providence places within our reach."
"Yes, Amy, and I will leave none untried."
Mrs. Morgan and the Lady Nairne were now announced, and the Countess of
Nithsdale entered the coach to proceed with them to St. James's.
Mrs. Morgan found no difficulty in procuring their admission to the
antechamber through which the king must necessarily pass in his
way from his own apartments to the drawing-room. The ladies placed
themselves in the recess of the middle window of the three, which
occupied one side of the apartment; and, somewhat concealed by the
curtains, they there awaited the coming of the king.
Upon the most trifling occasions expectation makes the heart beat:
the watching the opening of a door, the entrance of any particular
individual, excites a certain emotion. What must then have been
the feelings of the countess as, with her eyes riveted upon the
folding-doors through which his majesty was to enter, she fancied every
moment she saw them move! And when they unfolded, and some of the lords
of the bed-chamber passed forth, she each time turned an anxious,
inquiring glance on Mrs. Morgan, to know if this might be the king.
While she was thus in breathless expectation, the Duke of Montrose
approached to cheer her, by a few words of kindly encouragement; but
she made him a sign not to claim her acquaintance; for the Earl of
Pembroke having, at the time he promised to interest himself in her
favour, desired her not to address him in public, she deemed that any
exertion the duke might subsequently make for her, would come with the
more effect from one who did not appear in the light of a personal
friend.
Every moment seemed to Lady Nithsdale an age. Even the composed Lady
Nairne changed colour: and Mrs. Morgan looked from one to the other,
and frequently pressed Lady Nithsdale's hand, and bade her be of good
cheer and not lose courage. She assured her the king would not long
tarry; that he was usually most punctual in his habits; and, in an
agitated tone, uttered all the consoling nothings, which are poured
into the ear of those, whose highly-wrought nerves are expected to give
way at the moment it is most needful they should be collected.
At length the door again opened: there was a general stillness. Every
one who could command a view of the persons approaching, arranged his
countenance, composed his demeanour; the court gossip, which had been
buzzed around, was suddenly hushed, the lounging attitude relinquished,
the droll anecdote suspended, and the laugh silenced.
A pale man, with a good, rather than a dignified aspect, entered the
apartment. He wore a tie-wig. His dress was plain, and all of one sober
colour, with stockings of the same hue.
Lady Nithsdale read in Mrs. Morgan's glance that it was the king, and
she hastened from the recess of the window. She threw herself on her
knees before him, as he reached the middle of the room, telling him
she was the unfortunate Countess of Nithsdale, who implored mercy for
her husband. She spoke in French, as the king's knowledge of English
was very imperfect. She held up the petition with both her hands,
entreating him to read it; but the king waved her off, and attempted to
proceed.
The Lady Nairne also was not backward in pressing her petition, and the
king impatiently thrust them both from him, and passed on towards the
opposite door; but the Lady Nithsdale clung to the skirts of his coat.
As she pleaded, and pleaded in vain, she grew desperate,--almost
maddened. Still in vain! The king listened not to her prayers. She
would not let go her hold, and was actually dragged in her agony from
the middle of the antechamber to the door of the drawing-room, when one
of the lords in attendance forcibly wrested the king's dress from her
hands, while another took her round the waist and raised her from the
ground.
No sooner did she feel the touch of a stranger than all her dignity and
self-possession returned. Quickly disengaging herself from his grasp,
she stood for a moment looking on the door by which the monarch had
retired. Her bosom swelled with indignation--the blood of all her noble
ancestors mantled in her face. That she, the daughter of the Duke of
Powis, should thus be treated! rejected!--cast off like the scum of
the earth! when it was well-known the king received the petitions of
the meanest of his subjects!--that she should be dragged on the very
ground--that she should be spurned from his feet--that she should be
forcibly seized by rude hands!
All around seemed to swim before her eyes; and had it not been for Mrs.
Morgan's kindly help, she must have fallen on the floor. Her friend
gently assisted her to a seat, and then a flood of tears came to her
relief.
Meanwhile, the petition which she had attempted to thrust into the
king's pocket had fallen to the ground, and one of the gentlemen in
waiting brought it to her. The Lady Nairne had already succeeded in
delivering her's to one who promised it should reach the king; and the
Lady Nithsdale, when somewhat recovered from the agitation of this
strange scene, hastily wrote a few lines in pencil, addressed to the
Earl of Dorset, who was the lord of the bed-chamber then in waiting,
and entrusted it, with the petition, to Mrs. Morgan.
Her friend left the countess for a while, and entered the drawing-room;
but to one so zealous, so devoted, so warm-hearted, the brilliant
circle seemed for a moment a confused and bewildering scene. She had
just parted from a fellow-creature, whose soul was harrowed by the most
agonising emotions, her face pale and haggard, her dress disordered;
she had just been witnessing grief,--desperation in its most touching
form; and in one moment she found herself among gay and thoughtless
creatures, all intent on their own objects of vanity and amusement! The
studied attire, the conscious simper, the pretty blush, the down-cast
lid, the bewitching smile, the graceful turn of the swan-like throat,
the brilliant flash of the sparkling eye, the affected flutter of the
fan, the thousand varied attractions, were all put in requisition
to charm, to dazzle, or to subdue. She heard around her the playful
banter, the witty repartee, the implied compliment, the softened
whisper, the politely turned attack, the sharp retort; and she wondered
for the moment how such frivolities could possess so absorbing an
interest!
She was threading her way through the gay and dazzling throng, when her
progress was arrested by the circle around the king himself. She was
compelled to wait with outward composure, although she was secretly all
impatience to execute the commission entrusted to her, and to return
quickly to Lady Nithsdale. As she stood watching for an opportunity
of slipping past unperceived, she found herself within sight, though
scarcely within hearing, of the Duchess of Montrose.
Two young men were evidently paying her the sort of homage permitted
by the gallantry of the day. She was answering each with animation and
spirit. There was the passing frown, the lightening smile, the assumed
air of absence if anything was said which she wished not to hear.
The attention of one of the gentlemen being presently withdrawn by
some of his acquaintance, it appeared to Mrs. Morgan that the other
continued the conversation in a more earnest tone than before. She
fancied she saw a blush mantle on the cheek of the duchess,--for a
moment she appeared distressed. The duke, who was near, and was engaged
in deep and serious discourse with the Earl of Pembroke, had taken no
part in the playful conversation which was passing behind him. But
the duchess, making some light evasive answer, suddenly tapped her
husband's arm with her fan, and caused him to turn round. She then
seemed to be detailing to him the point in dispute, and applying to
him as umpire. Mrs. Morgan watched all these little manœuvres; for
she could not help wondering how one who professed friendship for the
Countess of Nithsdale could thus give herself up to worldly vanities
and interests. When first she caught a view of the Duke of Montrose's
countenance, it bore the traces of sadness; but as he listened to his
graceful and lively wife, it brightened into a bland expression of
amusement. Upon the duke's being thus called to join in the discourse,
the young gallant seemed discomposed but for an instant, and apparently
recovering himself, at once entered into the spirit of the duchess's
bantering; and Mrs. Morgan again thought of the countess's despair, and
mentally exclaimed, "If she could see how gaily her friend, the lively
duchess, can smile even now!" But she did not long feel thus. In a few
moments the duke, in a low voice, made some communication to his wife,
which had the effect of chasing the roses from her cheeks, and dimming
the brilliancy of her smile. The dark and laughing eyes no longer
sparkled with the gay consciousness of charming, but were fixed on her
husband's face with an expression of dismay and woe.
She looked round as if wishing to make her escape; then, perceiving
Mrs. Morgan, she rushed to her:--
"Oh, Mrs. Morgan!" she exclaimed, "is this all true? You were with her,
were you not?"
"Yes, your grace; I was with the Countess of Nithsdale, even now, in
the antechamber."
"Is she still there? I must go to her; I must go instantly to my poor
cousin Winifred!"
"Stay, dearest Christian!" interposed the duke; "Lady Nithsdale
herself, this very evening, motioned me not to speak to her; and the
Earl of Pembroke says, the less we put ourselves forward unnecessarily,
the more effectually we may be able to serve her. Be not so rash and
thoughtless. That warm heart of yours carries you beyond the bounds of
prudence, dear Christian!"--but the duke looked at her with pleasure
and kindness while he checked her.
"Alas! and is it true that the king dragged her all across the room,
and would not give heed to her petition?"
"Most true, your grace!"
"Oh, my lord duke! but indeed this was not kind and right in his
majesty," said the duchess, turning once more towards her husband an
appealing glance.
"We must not speak treason, dearest Christian, here, in the royal
presence!"
"Nay! I cannot but think this was cruel:--and may I not go to her? Is
she still in the antechamber, Mrs. Morgan?"
"Yes, but she will be gone in a few moments; and your grace may rest
assured that the countess shall meet with every kindness and attention."
"You are a good, kind soul," said the duchess; "and my poor cousin has
many times told me how much she owes to your friendly sympathy."
The king had changed his position, and the passage was now free. Mrs.
Morgan, after briefly explaining her errand to the duchess, passed on
to where the Earl of Dorset was engaged at cards with the Prince. She
contrived, however, to give him the packet; and received his assurance,
that when the game was over, he would peruse and attend to its contents.
As she wound her way back, she found that the king's rejection of the
Ladies Nithsdale's and Nairne's petitions had been rapidly communicated
from mouth to mouth; and that, except in the immediate hearing of the
king, no other subject was discussed. She could scarcely make her way
through the crowd, so anxious was every one to learn from her each
detail of what had really passed. All were eager, some indignant; but
some urged, that if his majesty once received a wife's petition, it
would be most difficult then to refuse, and that unless he had made up
his mind to pardon treason--proved and acknowledged treason--he had
no other course to pursue than to avoid witnessing grief he could not
alleviate; that his sudden, though somewhat undignified flight, did
not by any means bear the character of hardness, but, on the contrary,
might lead a candid mind to believe he durst not trust himself to
witness the desperation of two disconsolate wives.
It was with difficulty that Mrs. Morgan regained the door, and hastened
back to the friend who stood so much in need of her consoling sympathy.
Slowly and drearily did they retrace their steps.
The Lady Nairne, who had secret information that her application
was likely to be successful, was comparatively composed, and bore
what should have seemed an equal disappointment with equanimity and
resignation.
The Countess of Nithsdale, exhausted, humbled, indignant, mortified,
grieved, was for the time more thoroughly subdued than she had ever
been before.
And yet she had not been sanguine as to the result of this petition;
those means on which she most relied were still available; but to her
lofty spirit, the contempt with which she had been treated, in sight of
all the court, gave her a painful sensation of degradation. It was some
slight consolation to her to learn from Mrs. Morgan, what the Duchess
of Montrose the next day confirmed still more strongly, that when the
circumstances which had occurred without became generally whispered
through the drawing-room, the harshness of the king had been the topic
of conversation the whole evening.
With her gentleness there was blended a certain degree of pride, a
consciousness of being the scion of an ancient stock, which would
have rendered it impossible for a mean thought even to pass through
her mind, and which ever enabled her to entrench herself in dignified
reserve, should others neglect to pay that respect due to noble birth,
which, unless forgotten by them, would never be remembered by herself.