Ah! changeful head, and fickle heart!
--PROGRESS OF DISCONTENT.
No event is more ordinary in narratives of this nature, than the
abduction of the female on whose fate the interest is supposed to turn;
but that of Alice Bridgenorth was thus far particular, that she was
spirited away by the Duke of Buckingham, more in contradiction than in
the rivalry of passion; and that, as he made his first addresses to her
at Chiffinch’s, rather in the spirit of rivalry to this Sovereign, than
from any strong impression which her beauty had made on his affections,
so he had formed the sudden plan of spiriting her away by means of his
dependents, rather to perplex Christian, the King, Chiffinch, and all
concerned, than because he had any particular desire for her society at
his own mansion. Indeed, so far was this from being the case, that
his Grace was rather surprised than delighted with the success of the
enterprise which had made her an inmate there, although it is probable
he might have thrown himself into an uncontrollable passion, had he
learned its miscarriage instead of its success.
Twenty-four hours had passed over since he had returned to his own roof,
before, notwithstanding sundry hints from Jerningham, he could even
determine on the exertion necessary to pay his fair captive a visit; and
then it was with the internal reluctance of one who can only be stirred
from indolence by novelty.
“I wonder what made me plague myself about this wench,” said he, “and
doom myself to encounter all the hysterical rhapsodies of a country
Phillis, with her head stuffed with her grandmother’s lessons about
virtue and the Bible-book, when the finest and best-bred women in town
may be had upon more easy terms. It is a pity one cannot mount the
victor’s car of triumph without having a victory to boast of; yet,
faith, it is what most of our modern gallants do, though it would not
become Buckingham.--Well, I must see her,” he concluded, “though it were
but to rid the house of her. The Portsmouth will not hear of her
being set at liberty near Charles, so much is she afraid of a new fair
seducing the old sinner from his allegiance. So how the girl is to be
disposed of--for I shall have little fancy to keep her here, and she is
too wealthy to be sent down to Cliefden as a housekeeper--is a matter to
be thought on.”
He then called for such a dress as might set off his natural good
mien--a compliment which he considered as due to his own merit; for as
to anything farther, he went to pay his respects to his fair prisoner
with almost as little zeal in the cause, as a gallant to fight a duel in
which he has no warmer interest than the maintenance of his reputation
as man of honour.
The set of apartments consecrated to the use of those favourites who
occasionally made Buckingham’s mansion their place of abode, and who
were, so far as liberty was concerned, often required to observe the
regulations of a convent, were separated from the rest of the Duke’s
extensive mansion. He lived in the age when what was called gallantry
warranted the most atrocious actions of deceit and violence; as may be
best illustrated by the catastrophe of an unfortunate actress, whose
beauty attracted the attention of the last De Vere, Earl of Oxford.
While her virtue defied his seductions, he ruined her under colour of a
mock marriage, and was rewarded for a success which occasioned the death
of his victim, by the general applause of the men of wit and gallantry
who filled the drawing-room of Charles.
Buckingham had made provision in the interior of his ducal mansion for
exploits of a similar nature; and the set of apartments which he
now visited were alternately used to confine the reluctant, and to
accommodate the willing.
Being now destined for the former purpose, the key was delivered to the
Duke by a hooded and spectacled old lady, who sat reading a devout book
in the outer hall which divided these apartments (usually called the
Nunnery) from the rest of the house. This experienced dowager acted
as mistress of the ceremonies on such occasions, and was the trusty
depositary of more intrigues than were known to any dozen of her
worshipful calling besides.
“As sweet a linnet,” she said, as she undid the outward door, “as ever
sung in a cage.”
“I was afraid she might have been more for moping than for singing,
Dowlas,” said the Duke.
“Till yesterday she was so, please your Grace,” answered Dowlas; “or, to
speak sooth, till early this morning, we heard of nothing but Lachrymæ.
But the air of your noble Grace’s house is favourable to singing-birds;
and to-day matters have been a-much mended.”
“Tis sudden, dame,” said the Duke; “and ‘tis something strange,
considering that I have never visited her, that the pretty trembler
should have been so soon reconciled to her fate.”
“Ah, your Grace has such magic, that it communicates itself to your
very walls; as wholesome Scripture says, Exodus, first and seventh, ‘It
cleaveth to the walls and the doorposts.’”
“You are too partial, Dame Dowlas,” said the Duke of Buckingham.
“Not a word but truth,” said the dame; “and I wish I may be an outcast
from the fold of the lambs, but I think this damsel’s very frame has
changed since she was under your Grace’s roof. Methinks she hath a
lighter form, a finer step, a more displayed ankle--I cannot tell, but
I think there is a change. But, lack-a-day, your Grace knows I am as old
as I am trusty, and that my eyes wax something uncertain.”
“Especially when you wash them with a cup of canary, Dame Dowlas,”
answered the Duke, who was aware that temperance was not amongst the
cardinal virtues which were most familiar to the old lady’s practice.
“Was it canary, your Grace said?--Was it indeed with canary, that your
Grace should have supposed me to have washed my eyes?” said the offended
matron. “I am sorry that your Grace should know me no better.”
“I crave your pardon, dame,” said the Duke, shaking aside, fastidiously,
the grasp which, in the earnestness of her exculpation, Madam Dowlas had
clutched upon his sleeve. “I crave your pardon. Your nearer approach has
convinced me of my erroneous imputation--I should have said nantz--not
canary.”
So saying, he walked forward into the inner apartments, which were
fitted up with an air of voluptuous magnificence.
“The dame said true, however,” said the proud deviser and proprietor of
the splendid mansion--“A country Phillis might well reconcile herself
to such a prison as this, even without a skilful bird-fancier to touch
a bird-call. But I wonder where she can be, this rural Phidele. Is it
possible she can have retreated, like a despairing commandant, into her
bedchamber, the very citadel of the place, without even an attempt to
defend the outworks?”
As he made this reflection, he passed through an antechamber and little
eating parlour, exquisitely furnished, and hung with excellent paintings
of the Venetian school.
Beyond these lay a withdrawing-room, fitted up in a style of still more
studied elegance. The windows were darkened with painted glass, of such
a deep and rich colour, as made the midday beams, which found their
way into the apartment, imitate the rich colours of sunset; and, in
the celebrated expression of the poet, “taught light to counterfeit a
gloom.”
Buckingham’s feelings and taste had been too much, and too often, and
too readily gratified, to permit him, in the general case, to be easily
accessible, even to those pleasures which it had been the business of
his life to pursue. The hackneyed voluptuary is like the jaded epicure,
the mere listlessness of whose appetite becomes at length a sufficient
penalty for having made it the principal object of his enjoyment and
cultivation. Yet novelty has always some charms, and uncertainty has
more.
The doubt how he was to be received--the change of mood which his
prisoner was said to have evinced--the curiosity to know how such a
creature as Alice Bridgenorth had been described, was likely to bear
herself under the circumstances in which she was so unexpectedly placed,
had upon Buckingham the effect of exciting unusual interest. On his own
part, he had none of those feelings of anxiety with which a man, even of
the most vulgar mind, comes to the presence of the female whom he
wishes to please, far less the more refined sentiments of love, respect,
desire, and awe, with which the more refined lover approaches the
beloved object. He had been, to use an expressive French phrase, too
completely _blasé_ even from his earliest youth, to permit him now
to experience the animal eagerness of the one, far less the more
sentimental pleasure of the other. It is no small aggravation of this
jaded and uncomfortable state of mind, that the voluptuary cannot
renounce the pursuits with which he is satiated, but must continue, for
his character’s sake, or from the mere force of habit, to take all the
toil, fatigue, and danger of the chase, while he has so little real
interest in the termination.
Buckingham, therefore, felt it due to his reputation as a successful
hero of intrigue, to pay his addresses to Alice Bridgenorth with
dissembled eagerness; and, as he opened the door of the inner apartment,
he paused to consider, whether the tone of gallantry, or that of
passion, was fittest to use on the occasion. This delay enabled him to
hear a few notes of a lute touched with exquisite skill, and accompanied
by the still sweeter strains of a female voice, which, without executing
any complete melody, seemed to sport itself in rivalship of the silver
sound of the instrument.
“A creature so well educated,” said the Duke, “with the sense she is
said to possess, would, rustic as she is, laugh at the assumed rants
of Oroondates. It is the vein of Dorimont--once, Buckingham, thine
own--that must here do the feat, besides that the part is easier.”
So thinking, he entered the room with that easy grace which
characterised the gay courtiers among whom he flourished, and approached
the fair tenant, whom he found seated near a table covered with books
and music, and having on her left hand the large half-open casement,
dim with stained glass, admitting only a doubtful light into this lordly
retiring-room, which, hung with the richest tapestry of the Gobelines,
and ornamented with piles if china and splendid mirrors, seemed like a
bower built for a prince to receive his bride.
The splendid dress of the inmate corresponded with the taste of the
apartment which she occupied and partook of the Oriental costume which
the much-admired Roxalana had the brought into fashion. A slender foot
and ankle, which escaped from the wide trowser of richly ornamented and
embroidered blue satin, was the only part of her person distinctly seen;
the rest was enveloped, from head to foot, in a long veil of silver
gauze, which, like a feathery and light mist on a beautiful landscape,
suffered you to perceive that what it concealed was rarely lovely, yet
induced the imagination even to enhance the charms it shaded. Such part
of the dress as could be discovered was, like the veil and the trowsers,
in the Oriental taste; a rich turban, and splendid caftan, were rather
indicated than distinguished through the folds of the former. The whole
attire argued at least coquetry on the part of the fair one, who must
have expected, from her situation, a visitor of some pretension; and
induced Buckingham to smile internally at Christian’s account of the
extreme simplicity and purity of his niece.
He approached the lady _en cavalier_, and addressed her with the air
of being conscious, while he acknowledged his offences, that his
condescending to do so formed a sufficient apology for them. “Fair
Mistress Alice,” he said, “I am sensible how deeply I ought to sue for
pardon for the mistaken zeal of my servants, who, seeing you deserted
and exposed without protection during an unlucky affray, took it upon
them to bring you under the roof of one who would expose his life rather
than suffer you to sustain a moment’s anxiety. Was it my fault that
those around me should have judged it necessary to interfere for your
preservation; or that, aware of the interest I must take in you, they
have detained you till I could myself, in personal attendance, receive
your commands?”
“That attendance has not been speedily rendered, my lord,” answered the
lady. “I have been a prisoner for two days--neglected, and left to the
charge of menials.”
“How say you, lady?--Neglected!” exclaimed the Duke. “By Heaven, if the
best in my household has failed in his duty, I will discard him on the
instant!”
“I complain of no lack of courtesy from your servants, my lord,” she
replied; “but methinks it had been but complaisant in the Duke himself
to explain to me earlier wherefore he has had the boldness to detain me
as a state prisoner.”
“And can the divine Alice doubt,” said Buckingham, “that, had time and
space, those cruel enemies to the flight of passion, given permission,
the instant in which you crossed your vassal’s threshold had seen its
devoted master at your feet, who hath thought, since he saw you, of
nothing but the charms which that fatal morning placed before him at
Chiffinch’s?”
“I understand, then, my lord,” said the lady, “that you have been
absent, and have had no part in the restraint which has been exercised
upon me?”
“Absent on the King’s command, lady, and employed in the discharge
of his duty,” answered Buckingham without hesitation. “What could I
do?--The moment you left Chiffinch’s, his Majesty commanded me to the
saddle in such haste, that I had no time to change my satin buskins
for riding-boots.[*] If my absence has occasioned you a moment of
inconvenience, blame the inconsiderate zeal of those who, seeing me
depart from London, half distracted at my separation from you, were
willing to contribute their unmannered, though well-meant exertions, to
preserve their master from despair, by retaining the fair Alice within
his reach. To whom, indeed, could they have restored you? He whom you
selected as your champion is in prison, or fled--your father absent from
town--your uncle in the north. To Chiffinch’s house you had expressed
your well-founded aversion; and what fitter asylum remained than that of
your devoted slave, where you must ever reign a queen?”
[*] This case is not without precedent. Among the jealousies and fears
expressed by the Long Parliament, they insisted much upon an agent
for the King departing for the continent so abruptly, that he had
not time to change his court dress--white buskins, to wit, and
black silk pantaloons--for an equipment more suitable to travel
with.
“An imprisoned one,” said the lady. “I desire not royalty.”
“Alas! how wilfully you misconstrue me!” said the Duke, kneeling on one
knee; “and what right can you have to complain of a few hours’ gentle
restraint--you, who destine so many to hopeless captivity? Be merciful
for once, and withdraw that envious veil; for the divinities are ever
most cruel when they deliver their oracles from such clouded recesses.
Suffer at least my rash hand----”
“I will save your Grace that unworthy trouble,” said the lady haughtily;
and rising up, she flung back over her shoulders the veil which shrouded
her, saying, at the same time, “Look on me, my Lord Duke, and see if
these be indeed the charms which have made on your Grace an impression
so powerful.”
Buckingham did look; and the effect produced on him by surprise was
so strong, that he rose hastily from his knee, and remained for a few
seconds as if he had been petrified. The figure that stood before him
had neither the height nor the rich shape of Alice Bridgenorth; and,
though perfectly well made, was so slightly formed, as to seem almost
infantine. Her dress was three or four short vests of embroidered satin,
disposed one over the other, of different colours, or rather different
shades of similar colours; for strong contrast was carefully avoided.
These opened in front, so as to show part of the throat and neck,
partially obscured by an inner covering of the finest lace; over the
uppermost vest was worn a sort of mantle, or coat of rich fur. A small
but magnificent turban was carelessly placed on her head, from under
which flowed a profusion of coal-black tresses, which Cleopatra might
have envied. The taste and splendour of the Eastern dress corresponded
with the complexion of the lady’s face, which was brunette, of a shade
so dark as might almost have served an Indian.
Amidst a set of features, in which rapid and keen expression made amends
for the want of regular beauty, the essential points of eyes as bright
as diamonds, and teeth as white as pearls, did not escape the Duke of
Buckingham, a professed connoisseur in female charms. In a word, the
fanciful and singular female who thus unexpectedly produced herself
before him, had one of those faces which are never seen without making
an impression; which, when removed, are long after remembered; and for
which, in our idleness, we are tempted to invent a hundred histories,
that we may please our fancy by supposing the features under the
influence of different kinds of emotion. Every one must have in
recollection countenances of this kind, which, from a captivating and
stimulating originality of expression, abide longer in the memory, and
are more seductive to the imagination, than ever regular beauty.
“My Lord Duke,” said the lady, “it seems the lifting of my veil has done
the work of magic upon your Grace. Alas, for the captive princess, whose
nod was to command a vassal so costly as your Grace! She runs, methinks,
no slight chance of being turned out of doors, like a second Cinderella,
to seek her fortune among lackeys and lightermen.”
“I am astonished!” said the Duke. “That villain, Jerningham--I will have
the scoundrel’s blood!”
“Nay, never abuse Jerningham for the matter,” said the Unknown; “but
lament your own unhappy engagements. While you, my Lord Duke, were
posting northward, in white satin buskins, to toil in the King’s
affairs, the right and lawful princess sat weeping in sables in the
uncheered solitude to which your absence condemned her. Two days she was
disconsolate in vain; on the third came an African enchantress to change
the scene for her, and the person for your Grace. Methinks, my lord,
this adventure will tell but ill, when some faithful squire shall
recount or record the gallant adventures of the second Duke of
Buckingham.”
“Fairly bit and bantered to boot,” said the Duke--“the monkey has a turn
for satire, too, by all that is _piquante_.--Hark ye, fair Princess, how
dared you adventure on such a trick as you have been accomplice to?”
“Dare, my lord,” answered the stranger; “put the question to others, not
to one who fears nothing.”
“By my faith, I believe so; for thy front is bronzed by nature.--Hark
ye, once more, mistress--What is your name and condition?”
“My condition I have told you--I am a Mauritanian sorceress by
profession, and my name is Zarah,” replied the Eastern maiden.
“But methinks that face, shape, and eyes”--said the Duke--“when didst
thou pass for a dancing fairy?--Some such imp thou wert not many days
since.”
“My sister you may have seen--my twin sister; but not me, my lord,”
answered Zarah.
“Indeed,” said the Duke, “that duplicate of thine, if it was not thy
very self, was possessed with a dumb spirit, as thou with a talking one.
I am still in the mind that you are the same; and that Satan, always so
powerful with your sex, had art enough on our former meeting, to make
thee hold thy tongue.”
“Believe what you will of it, my lord,” replied Zarah, “it cannot change
the truth.--And now, my lord, I bid you farewell. Have you any commands
to Mauritania?”
“Tarry a little, my Princess,” said the Duke; “and remember, that you
have voluntarily entered yourself as pledge for another; and are justly
subjected to any penalty which it is my pleasure to exact. None must
brave Buckingham with impunity.”
“I am in no hurry to depart, if your Grace hath any commands for me.”
“What! are you neither afraid of my resentment, nor of my love, fair
Zarah?” said the Duke.
“Of neither, by this glove,” answered the lady. “Your resentment must be
a pretty passion indeed, if it could stoop to such a helpless object as
I am; and for your love--good lack! good lack!”
“And why good lack with such a tone of contempt, lady?” said the Duke,
piqued in spite of himself. “Think you Buckingham cannot love, or has
never been beloved in return?”
“He may have thought himself beloved,” said the maiden; “but by what
slight creatures!--things whose heads could be rendered giddy by a
playhouse rant--whose brains were only filled with red-heeled shoes and
satin buskins--and who run altogether mad on the argument of a George
and a star.”
“And are there no such frail fair ones in your climate, most scornful
Princess?” said the Duke.
“There are,” said the lady; “but men rate them as parrots and
monkeys--things without either sense or soul, head or heart. The
nearness we bear to the sun has purified, while it strengthens, our
passions. The icicles of your frozen climate shall as soon hammer hot
bars into ploughshares, as shall the foppery and folly of your pretended
gallantry make an instant’s impression on a breast like mine.”
“You speak like one who knows what passion is,” said the Duke. “Sit
down, fair lady, and grieve not that I detain you. Who can consent
to part with a tongue of so much melody, or an eye of such expressive
eloquence!--You have known then what it is to love?”
“I know--no matter if by experience, or through the report of
others--but I do know, that to love, as I would love, would be to yield
not an iota to avarice, not one inch to vanity, not to sacrifice the
slightest feeling to interest or to ambition; but to give up all to
fidelity of heart and reciprocal affection.”
“And how many women, think you, are capable of feeling such
disinterested passion?”
“More, by thousands, than there are men who merit it,” answered
Zarah. “Alas! how often do you see the female, pale, and wretched, and
degraded, still following with patient constancy the footsteps of some
predominating tyrant, and submitting to all his injustice with the
endurance of a faithful and misused spaniel, which prizes a look from
his master, though the surliest groom that ever disgraced humanity, more
than all the pleasure which the world besides can furnish him? Think
what such would be to one who merited and repaid her devotion.”
“Perhaps the very reverse,” said the Duke; “and for your simile, I can
see little resemblance. I cannot charge my spaniel with any perfidy; but
for my mistresses--to confess truth, I must always be in a cursed hurry
if I would have the credit of changing them before they leave me.”
“And they serve you but rightly, my lord,” answered the lady; “for what
are you?--Nay, frown not; for you must hear the truth for once. Nature
has done its part, and made a fair outside, and courtly education hath
added its share. You are noble, it is the accident of birth--handsome,
it is the caprice of Nature--generous, because to give is more easy
than to refuse--well-apparelled, it is to the credit of your
tailor--well-natured in the main, because you have youth and
health--brave, because to be otherwise were to be degraded--and witty,
because you cannot help it.”
The Duke darted a glance on one of the large mirrors. “Noble, and
handsome, and court-like, generous, well-attired, good-humoured,
brave, and witty!--You allow me more, madam, than I have the slightest
pretension to, and surely enough to make my way, at some point at least,
to female favour.”
“I have neither allowed you a heart nor a head,” said Zarah
calmly.--“Nay, never redden as if you would fly at me. I say not but
nature may have given you both; but folly has confounded the one, and
selfishness perverted the other. The man whom I call deserving the
name is one whose thoughts and exertions are for others, rather than
himself,--whose high purpose is adopted on just principles, and never
abandoned while heaven or earth affords means of accomplishing it. He is
one who will neither seek an indirect advantage by a specious road, nor
take an evil path to gain a real good purpose. Such a man were one for
whom a woman’s heart should beat constant while he breathes, and break
when he dies.”
She spoke with so much energy that the water sparkled in her eyes, and
her cheek coloured with the vehemence of her feelings.
“You speak,” said the Duke, “as if you had yourself a heart which could
pay the full tribute to the merit which you describe so warmly.”
“And have I not?” said she, laying her hand on her bosom. “Here beats
one that would bear me out in what I have said, whether in life or in
death.”
“Were it in my power,” said the Duke, who began to get farther
interested in his visitor than he could at first have thought
possible--“Were it in my power to deserve such faithful attachment,
methinks it should be my care to requite it.”
“Your wealth, your titles, your reputation as a gallant--all you
possess, were too little to merit such sincere affection.”
“Come, fair lady,” said the Duke, a good deal piqued, “do not be quite
so disdainful. Bethink you, that if your love be as pure as coined
gold, still a poor fellow like myself may offer you an equivalent in
silver--The quantity of my affection must make up for its quality.”
“But I am not carrying my affection to market, my lord; and therefore I
need none of the base coin you offer in change for it.”
“How do I know that, my fairest?” said the Duke. “This is the realm
of Paphos--You have invaded it, with what purpose you best know; but
I think with none consistent with your present assumption of cruelty.
Come, come--eyes that are so intelligent can laugh with delight, as well
as gleam with scorn and anger. You are here a waif on Cupid’s manor, and
I must seize on you in name of the deity.”
“Do not think of touching me, my lord,” said the lady. “Approach me not,
if you would hope to learn the purpose of my being here. Your Grace
may suppose yourself a Solomon if you please, but I am no travelling
princess, come from distant climes, either to flatter your pride, or
wonder at your glory.”
“A defiance, by Jupiter!” said the Duke.
“You mistake the signal,” said the ‘dark ladye’; “I came not here
without taking sufficient precautions for my retreat.”
“You mouth it bravely,” said the Duke; “but never fortress so boasted
its resources but the garrison had some thoughts of surrender. Thus I
open the first parallel.”
They had been hitherto divided from each other by a long narrow table,
which, placed in the recess of the large casement we have mentioned,
had formed a sort of barrier on the lady’s side, against the adventurous
gallant. The Duke went hastily to remove it as he spoke; but, attentive
to all his motions, his visitor instantly darted through the half-open
window. Buckingham uttered a cry of horror and surprise, having no
doubt, at first, that she had precipitated herself from a height of at
least fourteen feet; for so far the window was distant from the ground.
But when he sprung to the spot, he perceived, to his astonishment, that
she had effected her descent with equal agility and safety.
The outside of this stately mansion was decorated with a quantity of
carving, in the mixed state, betwixt the Gothic and Grecian styles,
which marks the age of Elizabeth and her successor; and though the
feat seemed a surprising one, the projections of these ornaments were
sufficient to afford footing to a creature so light and active, even in
her hasty descent.
Inflamed alike by mortification and curiosity, Buckingham at first
entertained some thought of following her by the same dangerous route,
and had actually got upon the sill of the window for that purpose; and
was contemplating what might be his next safe movement, when, from
a neighbouring thicket of shrubs, amongst which his visitor had
disappeared, he heard her chant a verse of a comic song, then much in
fashion, concerning a despairing lover who had recourse to a precipice--
“But when he came near,
Beholding how steep
The sides did appear,
And the bottom how deep;
Though his suit was rejected,
He sadly reflected,
That a lover forsaken
A new love may get;
But a neck that’s once broken
Can never be set.”
The Duke could not help laughing, though much against his will, at the
resemblance which the verses bore to his own absurd situation, and,
stepping back into the apartment, desisted from an attempt which might
have proved dangerous as well as ridiculous. He called his attendants,
and contented himself with watching the little thicket, unwilling to
think that a female, who had thrown herself in a great measure into his
way, meant absolutely to mortify him by a retreat.
That question was determined in an instant. A form, wrapped in a mantle,
with a slouched hat and shadowy plume, issued from the bushes, and was
lost in a moment amongst the ruins of ancient and of modern buildings,
with which, as we have already stated, the demesne formerly termed York
House, was now encumbered in all directions.
The Duke’s servants, who had obeyed his impatient summons, were hastily
directed to search for this tantalising siren in every direction. Their
master, in the meantime, eager and vehement in every new pursuit, but
especially when his vanity was piqued, encouraged their diligence by
bribes, and threats, and commands. All was in vain. They found nothing
of the Mauritanian Princess, as she called herself, but the turban and
the veil; both of which she had left in the thicket, together with her
satin slippers; which articles, doubtless, she had thrown aside as she
exchanged them for others less remarkable.
Finding all his search in vain, the Duke of Buckingham, after the
example of spoiled children of all ages and stations, gave a loose to
the frantic vehemence of passion; and fiercely he swore vengeance on
his late visitor, whom he termed by a thousand opprobrious epithets, of
which the elegant phrase “Jilt” was most frequently repeated.
Even Jerningham, who knew the depths and the shallows of his master’s
mood, and was bold to fathom them at almost every state of his passions,
kept out of his way on the present occasion; and, cabineted with the
pious old housekeeper, declared to her, over a bottle of ratafia, that,
in his apprehension, if his Grace did not learn to put some control on
his temper, chains, darkness, straw, and Bedlam, would be the final doom
of the gifted and admired Duke of Buckingham.