{26}
“I could find in my heart to disgrace my man’s apparel, and to cry
like a woman.”--_As You Like It_.
Sir Philip Gardiner, by the kind offices of Governor Winthrop, had
obtained lodgings at one Daniel Maud’s, the “first recorded
schoolmaster” in Boston. Thither he went, followed by his moody page,
after receiving his cloak from our thankless heroine.
Not one word passed between him and his attendant; and, after they
reached their apartment, the boy, instead of performing the customary
servile duties of his station, threw himself on a cushion, and,
covering his face with his hands, seemed lost in his own sorrowful
meditations.
There had been a little fire kindled on the hearth. Sir Philip laid
the fallen brands together, lighted the candles, arranged his writing
materials on the table, and, without permitting himself to be
interrupted, or in the least affected by the sobs that, at intervals,
proceeded from his companion, he indited the following epistle:
“To my good and trusty Wilton:
“‘In the name of Heaven, what sends you to New-England?’ were your
last words to me. I had not time to answer your question then, and
perhaps, when I have finished, you will say I have not ability now;
but who can explain the motives of his {27} conduct? Who can always
say, after an action is done, that he had sufficient motive? Not one
of us, Wilton, sons of whim and folly that we are! But my motives,
such as they were, are at your service; so here you have them.
“I was tired of playing a losing game; even rats, you know, have an
instinct by which they flee a falling house. I had some compunctious
visitings at leaving my king when he hath such cruel need of loyal
servants; jeer not, Wilton, I had my scruples. It was a saying of
Father Baretti, that when Lucifer fell, conscience, that once guided,
remained to torment him. My assertion thus modestly illustrated, have
I not a right to say I had scruples? I was wearied with a series of
ill luck, and, as other men are as good to fill a ditch, I have
retired till Dame Fortune shall see fit to give her wheel a turn in my
royal master’s favour. But why come hither? to submit to ‘King
Winthrop and all his inventions, his Amsterdam fantastical ordinances,
his preachings, marryings, and other abusive ceremonies?’ Patience, my
good gossip, and I will tell thee.
“You have heard of my old friend and patron, Thomas Morton, of
Furnival’s Inn; and you know he was once master of a fine domain here,
at Mount Wollaston, for which his revels obtained the name of the
‘Merry Mount.’ The ruling saintships of this ‘New-English Canaan’ were
so scandalized because, forsooth, he avowed and followed the free
tastes of a gentleman, that they ejected him from his own territory.
{28}
“He once wellnigh obtained redress from the king, and a decree in his
favour passed the Privy Seal, but the influence of his enemies finally
prevailed. He has had the consolation of sundry retaliations on his
opponents; now, as he said, ‘uncasing Medusa’s head, and raising the
old ghost of Sir F. Gorges’s patent,’ and then thrusting home the keen
point of his satiric verse. However, though this was a bitter draught
to his adversaries, it was but lean satisfaction to him; and having
become old and poor, and lost his spirit, he came hither once more,
last winter, in the hope of obtaining an act of oblivion of all past
grievances, and a restitution of his rights.
“Immediately after his arrival, he wrote to me that ‘_Joshua_ had
promised to restore to him and to his tribe their lot in the
inheritance of the faithful; that he was again to be king of the
revels on the “Merry Mount,” where he invited me to live with him, his
prime minister and heir-apparent.’ The letter came to hand at a moment
when I was wearied with a bootless service, and willing to grasp any
novelty, and, accordingly, I closed with the offer; but, lo! on my
arrival, I found that Morton, instead of being reinstated at Mount
Wollaston, is in jail, and in honest opinion is reputed crazy, as
doubtless he is! Laugh at me, Wilton, even as the foul fiends laugh
when their master is entangled in his own meshes! I defy your laugh;
for, though a dupe, I am not a victim; and Cæsar and his fortunes
shall yet survive the storm.
{29}
“I have done with Morton; no one here knows or suspects our former
alliance. My name is not like to reach his ear, and if it should, who
would take the word of a ruined man against an approved candidate for
membership with the congregation, for such even am I--a ‘brother’ in
this community of saints.
“Luckily, Morton, with that cunning incident to madness, cautioned me
against appearing in this camp without the uniform of the
church-militant, alleging that we must play the part of pilgrims till
we were quite independent of the favour of the saints. Accordingly, I
assumed the Puritan habit, bearing, and language, that so much amused
you at our last meeting. But why, you will ask, prolong this dull
masquerade? For an object, my good Wilton, that would make you or me
saint or devil, or anything else whereby we might secure it: the most
provoking, bewitching, and soul-moving creature that ever appeared in
the form of woman is my tempter. She is the daughter and sole heir of
Sir Walter Leslie, who, you may remember, was noted for his gallantry
in that mad expedition of Buckingham to the Isle of Rhée.
“Is it not a shame that youth and beauty should be thrown away upon
these drivelling, canting, preaching, praying, liberty-loving,
lecture-going _Pilgrims_? Would it not be a worthy act to tear this
scion of a loyal stock from these crabs of the wilderness, and set her
in our garden of England? And would it not be a knightly feat to win
the prize {30} against a young gallant, a pink of courtesy, while the
unfledged boy is dreaming of love’s elysium?
“Marvel as you please, Wilton, goodly prospects are dawning on me;
fortune smiles, as if inclined to pay the good turn she has so long
owed me. I am in prime credit with guardians and governors--the
beau-ideal of duenna-aunts and serving-maids. Time and chance favour
me; but--but there is always some devilish cross upon my line of luck.
“Rosa came with me to this barbarous land: a fit Houri, you will say,
for a Mohammedan saint, but an odd appendage to a canting Roundhead:
even so she is; but what was to be done? She had no shelter but my
protection. I had still some lingering of love for her, and pity
(don’t scoff!); and, besides, Morton’s representations had led me to
believe that she would not be an inconvenient member of the household
at Merry Mount; so I permitted her to disguise herself, and come over
the rough seas with me. She is a fantastical, wayward child, and a
true woman withal. She loves me to distraction, and would sacrifice
any to me but the ruling passion of her sex, her vanity; but, in spite
of my entreaties and commands, she persists in wearing a velvet
Spanish hat, with a buckle and feathers, most audaciously cocked on
one side; and, indeed, her whole apparel would better suit a queen’s
page than the humble serving-boy of a self-denying Puritan.
“Luckily, she is sad and dumpish, and does not incline to go abroad;
but, whenever she does appear, I perceive she is eyed with curiosity
and suspicion; {31} and suspicion once thoroughly awakened, discovery
is inevitable, for you know her face gives the lie to her doublet and
hose.
“‘Diana’s lip is not more smooth and rubious,
Her small pipe is as the maiden’s organ, sound and shrill,
And all is semblative a woman’s part.’
“If we should be detected, I know not what punishment may be inflicted
by the Draco-laws of these saints: a public whipping of poor
Rosa--cropping of my ears--imprisonment--perhaps death, if,
peradventure, some authority therefor should be found in the statutes
of the land; that is to say, in the old Jewish records.
“But why expose myself to such peril? Ah, Wilton, you would not ask
why if you could see my enchantress; but, without seeing her, no man
knows better than you that
“‘Love is a sweet intice,
’Gainst whom the wisest wits as yet
Have never found devise.’
“If I could but persuade Rosa to be prudent till we may both cast off
these odious disguises; but she disdains all caution, and fears
nothing but being supplanted in my favour.
“She is still in the fever of love--all eye and ear--irritable,
jealous, watchful, and suspicious. One moment passionate, and the next
dissolved in tears. So intense a flame must purify or consume the
sentiment her beauty inspired; it cannot be purified, and--the
alternative--it is consumed.
“I cannot rid myself of her, I cannot control her, {32} and in this
jeopardy I stand; but I abandon all to my destiny. Even Jupiter, you
know, was ruled by fate. It is folly to attempt to shape the events of
life; as easily might we direct the course of the stars: those very
stars, perhaps, govern the accidents of our being. The
stars--destiny--Providence, what are they all but various terms for
the same invisible, irresistible agency? But Heaven forbid I should
lose myself in the bewildering mazes of these high speculations! It is
enough for me that I am a knight of the Holy Sepulchre, that I wear my
crucifix, pray to all the saints, and eat no flesh on Fridays.
By-the-way, on the very first day of my arrival here, I came nigh to
winning the crown of martyrdom by my saintly obedience to the canons
of Holy Church. The Leslie, in simplicity or mischief, remarked on my
confining myself to fish on Friday; rebel conscience, in spite of me,
tinged my cheeks; but, thanks to my garb of hypocrisy--panoply of
steel never did better service--the light thrust glanced off and left
me unharmed.
“You and I, Wilton, are too old to make, like dreaming boys, an El
Dorado of our future, and you will ask me what are my rational chances
of success in my present enterprise. I will not remind you of success
on former similar occasions, for my vanity has been abated of its
presumption this very evening by the indifference, real or affected,
of this little sprite.
“Ladies must have lovers--idols must have worshippers, or they are no
longer idols. I have but {33} one rival here, and he, I think, is
appointed by his wise guardians to another destiny; and being a right
dutiful youth, he, no doubt, with management, and good fortune on my
part, may be made to surrender his preference (which, by-the-way, is
quite obvious), and pass under the yoke of authority. Besides, the
helpmate selected by these judges in Israel for the good youth might
be, if she were a little less saint and more woman, a queen of love
and beauty. But she is not to my taste. I covet not smiles cold as a
sunbeam on Arctic snows. Nothing in life is duller than mathematical
virtue; nothing more paralyzing to the imagination than unaffected
prudery. I detest a woman like a walled city, that can never be
approached without your being reminded that it is inaccessible; a
woman whose measured, premeditated words sound always like the
sentinel-cry, ‘All is well!’
“Now the Leslie has a generous rashness, a thoughtless impetuosity, a
fearlessness of the sanctimonious dictators that surround her, and a
noble contempt of danger, that stimulate me, at least, to love and
enterprise.
“My hope is bold, Wilton; my ambition is to win her heart; my
_determination_ to possess her hand, by fair means if I can; but if
fortune is adverse--if, as I sometimes fear, when I shrink from the
falcon glance of her bright eye as if the spear of Ithuriel touched
me--if she has already penetrated my disguise, and persists in
disregarding my suit, why, then, Necessity! parent of all witty
inventions, come thou to my aid.
{34}
“Our old acquaintance, Chaddock, is riding in the harbour here, owner
and commander of a good pinnace. I have heard him spoken of in the
godly companies I frequent as a ‘notorious contemner of ordinances,’
from which I infer he is the same bold desperado we knew him. My word
for it, it does not require more courage to march up to the cannon’s
mouth than to claim the independence of a gentleman in this Pharisaic
land. Now I think, if I should have occasion to smuggle any precious
freight, and convey it over the deep waters, convenient opportunity
and fit agents will not be wanting. Time will ripen or blast my
budding hopes: if ripen, why, then, I will cast my slough here, and
present my beautiful bride to my royal master; or if, perchance,
royalty should be in eclipse in England, there are, thank Heaven,
other asylums for beauty and fortune.
“Farewell, Wilton; yours in good faith,
“Gardiner.”
As Sir Philip signed his name to this epistle, he felt Rosa’s head
drop upon his shoulder; an action that indicated, too truly, that she
had been looking over the last paragraphs, at least, of his letter.
Fury flashed from his eyes, and he raised his hand to strike her; but,
before he had executed the unmanly act, she burst into a wild hysteric
laugh, that changed his resentment to fear. “Rosa, Rosa,” he said, in
a soothing tone, “for Heaven’s sake be quiet; you will be
overheard--you will betray all.”
She seemed not to hear him, but wringing her {35} hands, she repeated
again and again, “I wish I were dead! I wish I were dead!”
“Hush! foolish, mad child, or you will be discovered, and may indeed
bring death upon yourself.”
“Death! I care not; death would be heaven’s mercy to what I suffer.
What is death to shame! to guilt! to the bitterness of disappointment!
to the rage of jealousy! Why should not I die!” she continued,
overpowering Sir Philip’s vain attempts to calm her; “why should not I
die? there is nobody to care for me if I live, and there is nobody to
weep for me if I die.”
“Patience--patience, Rosa.”
“Patience! my patience is worn out; I am tired of this dreary world. O
that Lady Lunford had left me in my convent; I should have been happy
there. She did not love me. Nobody has loved me since I left the good
nuns--nobody but my little Canary-bird, Mignonne; and she always loved
me, and would always sing to me, and sing sweetest when my lady was
cruellest. Cruel as my lady was, her cruelty was kindness to thine,
Sir Philip. O that you had left me with her!”
“You came to me with your own good-will, Rosa.”
“Ay, Sir Philip; and will not the innocent babe stretch its arms to
the assassin if he does but smile on it? You told me you loved me, and
I believed you. You promised always to love me, and I believed that
too; and there was nobody else that loved me but Mignonne; and, now I
am all alone in the {36} wide world, I do wish I were dead.” She sunk
down at Sir Philip’s feet, laid her head on his knee, and sobbed as if
her heart were breaking. “Oh! what shall I do,” she said; “where shall
I go? If I go to the good, they will frown on me and despise me; and I
cannot go to the wicked--they have no pity.”
Sir Philip’s heart, depraved as it was, felt some emotions of
compassion as he looked on this young and beautiful creature, bowed to
the earth with remediless anguish; some touches of remorse and pity,
such as Milton’s fallen angel felt when he contemplated those
“millions of spirits for his fault amerced of Heaven.” “Poor child!”
he said, laying his hand on her smooth brow, “would to God you had
never left your convent!”
Rosa felt the blistering tears, that flowed from the relics of his
better nature, drop on her cheek. She raised her heavy lids, and a ray
of pleasure shot from her kindling eye. “Then you do love me,” she
said; “you would not weep only for pity; you do love me still?”
Sir Philip perceived the eagerness with which she caught at the first
glimmering of returning tenderness, and well knew how to draw his
advantage from it. He soothed her with caresses and professions, and,
when he had restored her to composure, he endeavoured to impress her
with the necessity, for both their sakes, of more prudent conduct. He
convinced her that their happiness, their safety, and perhaps their
lives, depended on their escaping detection; {37} and, after
explaining the defeat of his hopes in relation to Morton, he averred
that the part of his letter relating to Miss Leslie was mere badinage,
written for his friend’s amusement; and he concluded with reiterated
promises that he would return with her in the first ship bound to
England.
Rosa was credulous--at least she wished to believe; she was grateful
for restored tenderness; and, without daring to confess how nearly she
had already betrayed him to Miss Leslie, she promised all the
circumspection that Sir Philip required.