HOW SPED THE MASQUERADE.
It was at this time that the company at Epsom held their masquerade,
the greatest assembly of the season, to which not only the visitors at
the Wells, but also the gentry from the country around, and many from
London, came; so that the inns and lodging-houses overflowed, and some
were fain to be content to find a bed over shops and in the mean houses
of the lower sort. Nay, there were even many who put up tents on the
Downs, and slept in them like soldiers on a campaign.
At other times my head would have been full of the coming festivity,
but the confession of my lord and the uncertainty into which it threw
my spirits, prevented my paying that attention to the subject which its
importance demanded.
"Kitty," cried Nancy, "I have talked to you for half an hour, and
you have not heard one word. Oh, how a girl is spoiled the moment
she falls in love! Don't start, my dear, nor blush, unless you like,
because there is no one here but ourselves. As for that, all the place
knows that you and Lord Chudleigh are in love with each other, though
Peggy Baker will have it that it is mostly on one side. 'My dear,'
she said at the book-shop yesterday, 'the woman shows her passion
in a manner which makes a heart of sensibility blush for her sex.'
Don't get angry, Kitty, because I was there, and set her down as she
deserved. 'Dear me!' I said, 'we have not all of us the sensibility of
Miss Peggy Baker, who, if all reports are true, has had time to get
over the passion she once exhibited for the handsome Lord Chudleigh.'
Why, my dear, how can any one help seeing that the women are monstrous
jealous, and my lord in so deep a quagmire of love, that nothing but
the marriage-ring (which cures the worst cases) can pull him out?"
I had, in verity, been thinking of my troubles, while Nancy was
thinking over her frocks. Now I roused myself and listened.
"My mother will go as the Queen of Sheba. She will wear a train over
her hoop, a paper crown, a sceptre, and have two black boys to walk
behind her. That will show who she is. I am to go as Joan of Arc, with
a sword in my hand, but not to wear it dangling at my side, lest it
cause me to fall down: Peggy Baker will be Venus, the Goddess of Love.
She will have a golden belt, and a little Cupid is to follow her with
bow and arrows, which he is to shoot, or pretend to shoot, at the
company. She will sprawl and languish in her most bewitching manner,
the dear creature; but since she has failed with Lord Eardesley there
is nobody at Epsom good enough for her. I hear she goes very shortly
to Bath, where no doubt she will catch a nabob. I hope his liver and
temper will be good. Oh! and Mr. Stallabras will go as a Greek pastoral
poet, Theo something--I forget his name--with a lyre in one hand and
a shepherd's crook in the other. Harry Temple is to go as Vulcan: you
will know him by his limp and by the hammer upon his shoulder. Sir
Miles wants to go as the God of Cards, but no one seems to know who
that Deity was. My father says he shall go as a plain English country
gentleman, because he sees so few among the company that the sight may
do them good."
I was going as the Goddess of Night, because I wanted to have an excuse
for wearing a domino all the evening, most of the ladies throwing
them aside early in the night. My dress was a long black velvet hood,
covering me from head to foot, without hoops, and my hair dressed
low, so that the hood could cover the head and be even pulled down
over the face. At first I wanted my lord to find out by himself the
_incognita_ who had resolved to address him; but he asked me to tell
him beforehand, and to be sure I could refuse him nothing.
The splendour of the lights was even greater than that at Lord
Chudleigh's entertainment, when he lit up the lawn among the trees
with coloured oil lamps. Yet the scene lacked the awful contrast of
the dark and gloomy wood behind, in which, as one retired to talk,
the music seemed out of place, and the laughter of the gay throng
impertinent. Here was there no dark wood or shade of venerable trees
to distract the thoughts from the gaiety of the moment, or sadden by
a contrast of the long-lived forest with the transitory crowd who
danced beneath the branches, as careless as a cloud of midges on the
river-bank, born to buzz away their little hour, know hope, fear, and
love, feel pain, be cut off prematurely at their twentieth minute, or
wear on to a green old age and die at the protracted term of sixty
minutes.
The Terrace and the New Parade were hung with festoons of coloured
lamps. There must have been thousands of them in graceful arches
from branch to branch: the doors of the Assembly Rooms had columns
and arches of coloured lamps set up beside and over them: there
were porches of coloured lamps; a temple of coloured lamps beside
the watch-house at the edge of the pond, where horns were stationed
to play while the music rested: in the Rooms was, of course, to be
dancing: and, which was the greatest attraction, there were amusements
of various kinds, almost as if one was at a country fair, without the
crowding of the rustics, the fighting with quarterstaves, the grinning
through horse-collars, the climbing of greasy poles, and the shouting.
I have always, since that evening, longed for the impossible, namely,
a country fair without the country people. Why can we not have, all to
ourselves, and away from a noisy mob of ill-bred and rough people, the
amusements of the fair, the stalls with the gingerbread, Richardson's
Theatre, with a piece addressed to eyes and ears of sensibility, a
wax-work, dancing and riding people, and clowns?
Here the presenters of the masquerade had not, it is true, provided
all these amusements; but there were some: an Italian came to exhibit
dancing puppets, called fantoccini; a conjurer promised to perform
tricks, and swallow red-hot coals, which is truly a most wonderful
feat, and makes one believe in the power of magic, else how could the
tender throat sustain the violence of the fire? a girl was to dance
upon the tight-rope: and a sorcerer or magician or astrologer was to be
seated in a grotto to tell the fortunes of all who chose to search into
the future.
Nothing could be gayer or more beautiful than the assemblage gathered
together beneath these lighted lamps or in the Assembly Rooms in the
evening. Mrs. Esther was the only lady without some disguise; Sir
Robert, whose dress has been already sufficiently indicated, gave her
his arm for the evening. All the dresses were as Nancy told me. I
knew Venus by her golden cestus and her Cupid armed (he was, indeed,
the milk-boy); and beneath the domino I could guess, without having
been told, that no other than Peggy Baker swam and languished. Surely
it is great presumption for a woman to call herself the Goddess of
Beauty. Harry Temple was fine as Vulcan, though he generally forgot
to go lame: he bore a real blacksmith's hammer on his shoulder; but I
am certain that Vulcan never wore so modish a wig with so gallant a
tie behind. And his scowls, meant for me, were not out of keeping with
his character. Nancy Levett was the sweetest Joan of Arc ever seen,
and skipped about, to the admiration of everybody, with a cuirass
and a sword, although the real Joan, who was, I believe, a village
maid, probably wore a stuff frock instead of Nancy's silk, and I dare
say hoops were not in fashion in her days. Nor would she have lace
mittens or silk shoes, but bare hands and wooden sandals. Nor would
she powder her hair and dress it up two feet high, but rather wear
it plain, blown about by the winds, washed by the rain, and curling
as nature pleased. As for Mr. Stallabras, it did one good to see him
as Theocritus, nose in air, shepherd's crook on shoulder, lyre in
hand, in a splendid purple coat and wig newly combed and tied behind,
illustrating the dignity and grandeur of genius. The Queen of Sheba's
black pages (they were a loan from a lady in London) attracted general
attention. You knew her for a queen by her crown. There were, however,
other queens, all of whom wore crowns; and it was difficult sometimes
to know which queen was designed if you failed to notice the symbol
which distinguished one from the other. Thus Queen Elizabeth of
England, who bore on a little flag the motto "_Dux fæmina facti_,"
was greatly indignant when Harry Temple mistook her for Cleopatra,
whose asp was for the moment hidden. Yet so good a scholar ought to
have known, because Cleopatra ran away at Actium, and therefore could
not carry such a motto, while Elizabeth conquered in the Channel.
Then it was hard at first sight to distinguish between Julius Cæsar,
Hannibal, Timour the Tartar, Luther, Alfred, and Caractacus, because
they were all dressed very much alike, save that Luther carried a
book, Alfred a sceptre, Cæsar a short sword, Timour a pike, Hannibal
a marshal's _bâton_, and Caractacus a bludgeon. The difficulties and
mistakes, however, mattered little, because, when the first excitement
of guessing a character was over, one forgot about the masquerade
and remembered the ball. Yet it was vexatious when a man had dressed
carefully for, say, Charles the First, to be mistaken for Don Quixote
or Euripides, who wore the same wigs.
I say nothing of the grotesque dresses with masks and artificial heads,
introduced by some of the young Templars. They amused as such things
do, for a while, and until one became accustomed to them. Then their
pranks ceased to amuse. It is a power peculiar to man that he can
continue to laugh at horse-play, buffoonery, and low humour for hours,
while a woman is content to laugh for five minutes if she laughs at
all. I believe that the admirers of those coarse and unfeeling books,
"Tom Jones" and "Humphrey Clinker," are entirely men.
All the ladies began by wearing masks, and a few of the men. One of
them personated a shepherd in lamentation for the loss of his mistress;
that is to say, he wore ribbons of black and crimson tied in bows
about his sleeve, and carried a pastoral hook decorated with the same
colours. In this character some of the company easily recognised Lord
Chudleigh; and when he led out for the first minuet a tall, hooded
figure, in black velvet, some thought they recognised Kitty Pleydell.
"But why is he in mourning?" asked Peggy Baker, who understood what
was meant. "She cannot have denied him. He must have another mistress
for whom he has put on the black ribbons. Poor Kitty! we are all of us
sorry for her. Yet pride still goes before a fall."
No one knew what was meant except Lord Chudleigh's partner, the figure
in black velvet.
"I suppose," continued Peggy, alluding to the absence of my hoops,
"that she wants to show how a woman would look without the aid of art.
I call it, for my part, odious!"
After the minuet we left the dancers and walked beneath the lighted
lamps on the Terrace. Presently the music ceased for a while, and the
horns outside began to play.
"Kitty," whispered my lord, "you used strange words the other night.
Were they anything but a kind hope for the impossible? Could they mean
anything beyond an attempt to console a despairing man?"
"No," I replied. "They were more than a hope. But as yet I cannot say
more. Oh, my lord! let me enjoy a brief hour of happiness, if it should
die away and come to nothing."
I have said that part of the entertainment was a magician's cave. We
found ourselves opposite the entrance of this place. People were going
in and coming out--or, more correctly, people were waiting outside for
their turn to go in; and those who came out appeared either elated
beyond measure with the prophecies they had heard, or depressed beyond
measure. Some of the girls had tears in their eyes--they were those
to whom he had denied a lover; some came out bounding and leaping
with joy--they were the maidens to whom he had promised a husband and
children dear. Some of the young men came out with head erect and
smiling lips: I suppose the wizard had told them of fortune, honour,
long life, health and love--things which every young man must greatly
desire. Some came out with angry frowns and lips set sternly, as if
resolved to meet adverse fortune with undaunted courage--which is, of
course, the only true method. But I fear the evening's happiness was
destroyed for these luckless swains and nymphs: the lamps would grow
dim, the music lose its gladness, the wine its sparkle.
"Let us, my lord," I said, little thinking of what was to happen within
the cave--"Let us, too, consult the oracle, and learn the future."
At first he refused, saying, gravely, that to inquire of wise men
or wise women was the sin of Saul with the witch of Endor; that
whatever might have happened in olden time, as in the case of the
Delphic oracles or the High Places, where they came to inquire of
Baal or Moloch, there was now no voice from the outer world nor any
communication from the stars, or from good spirits or from evil.
"Therefore," he said, "we waste our time, sweet Kitty, in idly asking
questions of this man, who knows no more than we know ourselves."
"Then," I asked, "let us go in curiosity, because I have never seen a
wizard, and I know not what he is like. You, I am sure, will keep me
safe from harm, whatever frightful creature he may be."
So, without thinking, I led the way to the Wizard's Cave.
It stood in the Parade, beneath the trees; at the door were assembled a
crowd of the masqueraders, either waiting their turn or discussing the
reply of the oracle; the entrance, before which was a heavy curtain,
double, was guarded by a negro, armed with an immense cutlass, which he
ever and anon whirled round his head, the light falling on the bright
steel, so that it seemed like a ring of fire, behind which gleamed his
two eyes, as bright as a panther's eyes, and his teeth, as white as
polished ivory. The sight of him made some of the women retreat, and
refuse to go in at all.
The wise man received only one couple at a time: but when the pair then
with him emerged, the negro stepped forward and beckoned to us, though
it was not our turn to enter the cave. I observed that the last pair
came out with downcast eyes. I think I am as free from superstition as
any woman, yet I needs must remark, in spite of my lord's disbelief
in magic or astrology, that the unhappy young man whose fortune this
wizard told (an evil fortune, as was apparent from his face) ran away
with the girl who was with him (an honest city merchant's daughter),
and having got through his whole stock, took to the road, and was
presently caught, tried, sentenced, and hanged in chains on Bagshot
Heath, where those who please may go and see him. With such examples
before one it is hard not to believe in the conjurer and the wise
woman, just as a thousand instances might be alleged from any woman's
experience to prove that it is unlucky to spill salt (without throwing
some over your left shoulder), or to dream of crying children, or to
cross two knives upon a plate--with many other things which are better
not learned, would one wish to live a tranquil life.
What they called the Wizard's Cave was a little building constructed
specially for the occasion, of rude trunks of trees, laid one upon the
other, the interstices filled up with moss, to imitate a hermitage or
monkish cell; a gloomy abode, consecrated to superstition and horrid
rites. The roof seemed to be made of thatch, but I think that was only
an illusion produced by the red light of an oil-lamp, which hung in the
middle, and gave a soft and flickering, yet lurid light, around the
hut. There also hung up beside the lamp, and on the right hand, the
skin of a grisly crocodile, stuffed, the sight of which filled me with
a dreadful apprehension, and made me, ever after, reflect on the signal
advantages possessed by those who dwell in a land where such monsters
are unknown. A table stood in the middle, on which, to my horror, were
three grinning skulls in a row; and in each they had placed a lamp of
different colours, so that through the eye-holes of one there came a
green, of another a red, and of the third a blue light, very horrible
and diabolical to behold.
There was also a great book--doubtless the book of Fate--upon the
table. Behind it sat the Sage himself. He was a man with a big head
covered with grey hair, which hung down upon his shoulders long
and unkempt, and with a tall mitre, which had mysterious characters
engraved over it, and between the letters what seemed in the dim light
to be flames and devils--the fit occupant of this abominable place. He
wore spectacles and a great Turkish beard, frightful and Saracenic of
aspect.
I thought of the witch of Endor, of those who practised divinations,
and of the idolatrous practices on High Places and in groves, and I
trembled lest the fate of the Prophets of Baal might also be that of
the profane inquirers. Outside, the music played and the couples were
dancing.
The Wizard looked up as we stood before him. Behind the blue spectacles
and the great beard, even in the enormous head, I recognised nothing
and suspected nothing; but when he spoke, and in deep sonorous tones
called my companion by his name----
"Lord Chudleigh, what wilt thou inquire of the oracle?"----
Then indeed I turned giddy and faint, and should have fallen, but my
lord caught me by the waist.
"Be soothed, Kitty," he whispered. "Here is nothing to fright us but
the mummery of a foolish masquerade or the roguery of a rascal quack.
Calm yourself."
Alas! I feared no more the crocodile, nor the horrid death's heads,
nor the Turkish beard, nor the mitre painted with devils--if they were
devils. They disquieted me at first sight, it is true: but now was I in
deadly terror, for I knew and feared the voice. It was no other than
the voice of the Doctor, the Chaplain of the Fleet. For what trouble,
what mischief, was he here?
Then I recovered, saying to myself: "Kitty, be firm. Resolve by neither
act nor word to do harm to thy lover. Consent not to any snare. Be
resolute and alert."
Lord Chudleigh, seeing me thus composed, stepped forward to the table
and said--
"Sir Magician, Wizard, Conjurer, or whatever name best befits you, for
you and your pretended science I care not one jot, nor do I believe
but that it is imposture and falsehood. Perhaps, however, you are but
acting a part in the masquerade. But the young lady hath a desire to
see what you do, and to ask you a question or two."
"Your lordship must own that I know your name, in spite of your domino."
"Tut, tut! everybody here knows my name, whether I wear a domino or
take it off. That is nothing. You are probably one of the company in
disguise."
"You doubt my power? Then, without your leave, my lord, permit me to
tell you a secret known to me, yourself, and one or two others only. It
is a secret which no one has yet whispered about; none of the company
at the Wells know it; it is a great secret: an important secret"--all
this time his voice kept growing deeper and deeper. "It is a secret of
the darkest. Stay--this young lady, I think, knows it."
"For Heaven's sake----" I cried, but was interrupted by my lord.
"Tell me your secret," he said calmly. "Let us know this wonderful
secret."
The Doctor leaned forward over the table and whispered in his ear a few
words. Lord Chudleigh started back and gazed at him with dismay.
"So!" he cried; "it is already becoming town talk, is it?"
The Magician shook his head.
"Not so, my lord. No one knows it yet except the persons concerned in
it. No one will ever know it if your lordship so pleases. I told you
but to show the power of the Black Art."
"I wonder, then, how you know."
"The Wizard, by his Art, learns as much of the past as he desires to
know; he reads the present around him, still by aid of this great
Art; he can foretell the future, not by the gift of prophecy, but by
studying the stars."
"Tell me, then," said Lord Chudleigh, as if in desperation, "the
future. Yet this is idle folly and imposture."
"That which is done"--the Sage opened the book and turned over the
pages, speaking in low, deep tones--"cannot be undone, whatever your
lordship might ignorantly wish. That which is loved may still be loved.
That which is hoped may yet come to pass."
"Is that all you have to say to me?"
"Is it not enough, my lord? Would any king's counsel or learned
serjeant give you greater comfort? Good-night. Leave, now, this young
lady with me, alone."
"First read me the oracle of her future, as you have told me mine;
though still, I say, this is folly and imposture."
The Magician gravely turned over his pages, without resenting this
imputation, and read, or seemed to read--
"Love shall arise from ashes of buried scorn:
Joy from a hate in a summer morning born;
When heart with heart and pulse with pulse shall beat,
Farewell to the pain of the storm and the fear of the Fleet."
"Good heavens!" cried Lord Chudleigh, pressing his hand to his
forehead. "Am I dreaming? Are we mad?"
"Now, my lord," said the pretended Wizard, "go to the door; leave this
young lady with me. I have more to tell her for her own ears. She is
quite safe. She is not the least afraid. At the smallest fright she
will cry aloud for your help. You will remain without the door, within
earshot."
"Yes," I murmured, terrified, yet resolute. "Leave me a few moments
alone. Let me hear what he has to say to me."
Then my lord left me alone with the Doctor.
When the heavy curtain fell before the door, the Wizard took off the
great mitre and laughed silently and long, though I felt no cause for
merriment.
"Confess, child," he said, "that I am an oracle of Dodona, a sacred
oak. Lord Chudleigh is well and properly deceived. But we have little
time for speech. I came here, Kitty, to see you, and no one else. By
special messengers and information gained from letters, I learned,
as I wrote to you (to my great joy), that this young lord is deeply
enamoured. You are already, it is true, in some sort--nay, in reality,
his bride, though he knows it not. Yet I might waive my own dignity in
the matter, for the sake of thy happiness; and, if you like to wed
him, why, nothing is easier than to let him know that his Fleet wife is
dead. They die of drink daily. Roger, my man, will swear what I tell
him to swear. This I have the less compunction in persuading him to do,
because, in consequence of his horrid thieving, robbing, fighting, and
blaspheming, his soul is already irretrievably lost, his conscience
seared with a hot iron, and his heart impenitent as the nether
millstone. Also the evidence of the marriage, the register, is in my
hands, and may be kept or destroyed, as I please. Therefore it matters
nothing what this rogue may swear. I think, child, the best thing would
be to accept my lord's proposals; to let him know, through me, that
his former wife, whose name he knows not, is dead; he may be told, so
that he may remain ashamed of himself, and anxious to bury the thing in
silence, that she died of gin. He would then be free to marry you; and,
should he not redeem his promise and give you honourable marriage, it
will be time to reduce him to submission--with the register."
Shall I confess that, at the first blush, this proposal was welcome
to me? It seemed so easy a relief from all our troubles. The supposed
death of his wife, the destruction of the register--what could be
better?
"Be under no fear," continued the Doctor, "of my fellow Roger. He dares
not speak. By Heaven! I have plenty to hang him with a dozen times
over, if I wished. He would murder me, if he dared, and would carry me
up to Holborn Bridge, where I could be safely dropped into the Fleet
Ditch; but he dares not try. Why, if he proclaimed this marriage on
Fleet Bridge (but that he dares not do), no one would believe it on
his word, such a reputation has he, while I have the register safely
locked up. Whereas, did they come forward to give evidence for me, at
my bidding, so clear is my case, and so abundant my proofs, that no
counsel could shake them."
This speech afforded me a little space wherein to collect my thoughts.
Love makes a woman strong. Time was when I should have trembled before
the Doctor's eyes, and obeyed him in the least particular. But now I
had to consider another beside myself.
What I thought was this. Suppose the plot carried out, and myself
married to my lord again. There would be this dreadful story on my
mind. I should not dare to own my relationship with this famous Doctor;
I should be afraid lest my husband should find it out. I should be
afraid of his getting on the scent, as children say; therefore I should
be obliged to hide all that part of my life which was spent in the
Fleet. Yet there were many persons--Mrs. Esther, Sir Miles, Solomon
Stallabras, beside my uncle--who knew all of it, except that one
story. Why, any day, any moment, a chance word, an idle recollection,
might make my husband suspicious and jealous. Then farewell to all my
happiness! Better none at all than to have it snatched from me in that
way.
"There is a second plan," he went on. "We may tell him exactly who and
what you are."
"Oh, sir!" I cried, "do nothing yet. Leave it all with me for a
little--I beg, I implore you! I love him, and he loves me. Should I
harm him, therefore, by deceiving him and marrying him, while I hid
the shameful story of the past? You cannot ask me to do that. I will
not do it. And should you, against my will, acquaint him with what has
happened, I swear that, out of the love I bear him, I will refuse and
deny all your allegations--yea, the very fact itself, with the register
and the evidence of those two rogues. Sir, which would the court
believe? the daughter of the Rev. Lawrence Pleydell, or the rascal
runner of a--of yourself?"
He said nothing. He looked surprised.
"No," I went on; "I will have no more deception. Every day I suffer
remorse from my sin. There shall be no more. My mind, sir, is made up.
I will confess to him everything. Not to-night; I cannot, to-night. And
then, if he sends me away with hatred, I will never--never--stand in
his way; I will be as one dead."
"This," said the Doctor, "it is to be young and to be in love. I was
once like that myself. Go, child; thou shalt hear from me again."
He put on his mitre and beckoned me to the door. I went out without
another word. Without stood a crowd, including Peggy Baker.
"Oh!" she cried. "She looks frightened, yet exulting. Dear Miss
Pleydell, I hope he prophesied great things for you! A title perhaps,
an estate in the country, a young and handsome lover, as generous as he
is constant. But we know the course of true love never----"
Here my lord took my hand and led me away from the throng. Another pair
went in, and the great negro before the door began again to flash his
cutlass in the lights, to show his white teeth, and to turn those white
eyes about which looked so fierce and terrible.