A heart-wringing farewell was added by the Marchioness. It was
blotted with her tears; for she, who knew the vindictive personal
arrogance of the Queen, had no hope of her being appeased; and there
were expressions of a wild and mysterious regret in this affecting
postscript, that puzzled Louis to understand; while, once or twice, he
unconsciously sighed when he read the name of Marcella, coupled with
words of maternal lamentation. She was ill, and urging her father to
place her in the convent she had so long resisted.
A letter from Ferdinand seemed to explain this change in her
resolution. "He regretted that his own selfish wishes had ever given
her an idea, that such an immolation could purchase his happiness. He
acknowledged that he now saw his father would not be bribed, even by
her compliance, to grant what he had once refused to the same plea.
Persuasion was the only engine that could be used with any hope; "and,"
he added, "were you to second Marcella's entreaties for me, with your
persuasions I should not fear a refusal. My father holds you in such
esteem, I think he could deny you nothing.
"It was only yesterday, he was nearly drawn into a quarrel on your
account; and, that it did not come to a more serious argument than
dialogue, is, I believe, more owing to his principle against duelling,
than to any deference to his antagonist.
"The affair took place in the Queen's cabinet; where, it seems, a
little junto sits every morning, previous to the council in the King's
presence. About half a dozen old grandees, your father's mortal
enemies,--and, consequently, no friends to his son,--followed up their
observations on the late business in Africa, with certain insinuations
against all of his race. The Queen was already provoked at your
declining the King's conditional re-investiture; and, instigated by the
sly hints of these men, she, in her turn, let drop a few animadversions
on your conduct. This was unleashing the hounds; the cry was up; and,
in five seconds, the poor Marquis de Montemar was torn limb from limb.
He was to be publicly branded as a heretic; deprived of his fortunes
and his name; and the memory of his ancestors erased from the archives
of the Escurial!
"If your Majesty gives but the word to our gracious Sovereign,"
exclaimed the old Duke d'Almeida, "in another hour, the last of that
rebellious race will be reduced to the condition of its long demerits,
and be numbered with the dregs of the people!"
"We have a petition here to the King, to that purpose," hastily
rejoined the Count de Paz. "If Your Majesty would sanction it with your
royal signature!"
Isabella took the pen. Duke Wharton, who was present, but who had
remained all this time in silence, turned haughtily towards de Paz:
"And who are _we_?" cried he; then, with his usual effrontery, laying
his hand on the paper before the Queen, exclaimed: "This is all
short of the mark! These venerable Lords, in the compassion of their
natures, have refrained from noting to your Majesty, the true offence
of this daring Anglo-Spaniard. They know, that the favour with which
half the princesses of Europe have treated this audacious young man,
has turned his head with vanity. Nothing will now satisfy him, but to
assume a particular deference to the Queen of Spain's commands alone.
He rejects the King's conditions, not because he prefers heresy and
rebellion, but he is ambitious to pay all his duty to his country,
rather as a personal devotion to the royal Isabella, than as a
peremptory obligation to his Sovereign. This wild arrogance must arm
all our hearts against him; I, therefore, petition your Majesty not
to mock your own dignity, by a beggarly stripping him of lands and
parchments, but give him Phaeton's fate at once! Strike him where he
is vulnerable, by banishing him your presence for ever."
The Queen's colour heightened during this speech. She rose proudly
from her chair: "My Lords," said she, "what the Duke of Wharton has
intimated shall have its weight with me. Meanwhile, I will reconsider
the sentence you are to propose to the King, and give you my directions
accordingly."
On my father arriving at the palace, (which was immediately after the
breaking up of the consultation,) the Queen's secretary told him all
that had passed. He was justly irritated at the false representation
Duke Wharton had so malignantly made, of the motives of your conduct;
and accidentally meeting him in his return through the gallery, he
accosted him without ceremony, and with a severe reproof. Wharton
listened to him with a provoking kind of respect; and when my father,
with some heat, had finished his reproaches, the Duke coolly replied:
"I am sorry your Lordship and I should differ on any subject; but
you are too good a Catholic to wish any man to speak against his
conscience!"
"I am too much a man of honour, Duke Wharton, to sanction any man in
speaking otherwise than what is fact. I know the Marquis de Montemar;
and you have no authority for what you said this morning to the Queen."
"Did the Marquis Santa Cruz wear a cowl instead of a helmet," answered
the Duke, "I might possibly make him master of my cabala; but, as it
is, we may part friends, since I am determined not to confess myself
his enemy."
"My father turned indignantly from the gay bow of the Duke, and so they
separated.
"These are bad symptoms for you, dearest Louis," continued the letter
of Ferdinand; "but if any thing can be done to protect your paternal
rights in this country, my father will do it. And, as to my mother, I
believe she thinks of you more than she does of me; but that is because
you deserve it better. Write to me from Gibraltar; and say that you
will gladly welcome to England your friend,