Kenilworth

by Walter Scott

  CHAPTER VI.

  The dews of summer night did fall, The moon, sweet regent of the sky, Silver'd the walls of Cumnor Hall, And many an oak that grew thereby.--MICKLE.

  [This verse is the commencement of the ballad already quoted, as what suggested the novel.]

  Four apartments; which, occupied the western side of the old quadrangleat Cumnor Place, had been fitted up with extraordinary splendour. Thishad been the work of several days prior to that on which our storyopened. Workmen sent from London, and not permitted to leave thepremises until the work was finished, had converted the apartments inthat side of the building from the dilapidated appearance of a dissolvedmonastic house into the semblance of a royal palace. A mystery wasobserved in all these arrangements: the workmen came thither andreturned by night, and all measures were taken to prevent the pryingcuriosity of the villagers from observing or speculating upon thechanges which were taking place in the mansion of their once indigentbut now wealthy neighbour, Anthony Foster. Accordingly, the secrecydesired was so far preserved, that nothing got abroad but vague anduncertain reports, which were received and repeated, but without muchcredit being attached to them.

  On the evening of which we treat, the new and highly-decorated suite ofrooms were, for the first time, illuminated, and that with a brilliancywhich might have been visible half-a-dozen miles off, had not oakenshutters, carefully secured with bolt and padlock, and mantled with longcurtains of silk and of velvet, deeply fringed with gold, prevented theslightest gleam of radiance front being seen without.

  The principal apartments, as we have seen, were four in number, eachopening into the other. Access was given to them by a large scalestaircase, as they were then called, of unusual length and height, whichhad its landing-place at the door of an antechamber, shaped somewhatlike a gallery. This apartment the abbot had used as an occasionalcouncil-room, but it was now beautifully wainscoted with dark, foreignwood of a brown colour, and bearing a high polish, said to have beenbrought from the Western Indies, and to have been wrought in London withinfinite difficulty and much damage to the tools of the workmen. Thedark colour of this finishing was relieved by the number of lightsin silver sconces which hung against the walls, and by six large andrichly-framed pictures, by the first masters of the age. A massy oakentable, placed at the lower end of the apartment, served to accommodatesuch as chose to play at the then fashionable game of shovel-board;and there was at the other end an elevated gallery for the musiciansor minstrels, who might be summoned to increase the festivity of theevening.

  From this antechamber opened a banqueting-room of moderate size, butbrilliant enough to dazzle the eyes of the spectator with the richnessof its furniture. The walls, lately so bare and ghastly, were nowclothed with hangings of sky-blue velvet and silver; the chairs were ofebony, richly carved, with cushions corresponding to the hangings; andthe place of the silver sconces which enlightened the ante-chamber wassupplied by a huge chandelier of the same precious metal. The floorwas covered with a Spanish foot-cloth, or carpet, on which flowers andfruits were represented in such glowing and natural colours, that youhesitated to place the foot on such exquisite workmanship. The table, ofold English oak, stood ready covered with the finest linen; and a largeportable court-cupboard was placed with the leaves of its embossedfolding-doors displayed, showing the shelves within, decorated with afull display of plate and porcelain. In the midst of the table stood asalt-cellar of Italian workmanship--a beautiful and splendid piece ofplate about two feet high, moulded into a representation of the giantBriareus, whose hundred hands of silver presented to the guests varioussorts of spices, or condiments, to season their food withal.

  The third apartment was called the withdrawing-room. It was hung withthe finest tapestry, representing the fall of Phaeton; for the loomsof Flanders were now much occupied on classical subjects. The principalseat of this apartment was a chair of state, raised a step or two fromthe floor, and large enough to contain two persons. It was surmountedby a canopy, which, as well as the cushions, side-curtains, and the veryfootcloth, was composed of crimson velvet, embroidered with seed-pearl.On the top of the canopy were two coronets, resembling those of an earland countess. Stools covered with velvet, and some cushions disposed inthe Moorish fashion, and ornamented with Arabesque needle-work,supplied the place of chairs in this apartment, which contained musicalinstruments, embroidery frames, and other articles for ladies' pastime.Besides lesser lights, the withdrawing-room was illuminated by fourtall torches of virgin wax, each of which was placed in the grasp ofa statue, representing an armed Moor, who held in his left arm a roundbuckler of silver, highly polished, interposed betwixt his breastand the light, which was thus brilliantly reflected as from a crystalmirror.

  The sleeping chamber belonging to this splendid suite of apartmentswas decorated in a taste less showy, but not less rich, than had beendisplayed in the others. Two silver lamps, fed with perfumed oil,diffused at once a delicious odour and a trembling twilight-seemingshimmer through the quiet apartment. It was carpeted so thick that theheaviest step could not have been heard, and the bed, richly heaped withdown, was spread with an ample coverlet of silk and gold; from underwhich peeped forth cambric sheets and blankets as white as the lambswhich yielded the fleece that made them. The curtains were of bluevelvet, lined with crimson silk, deeply festooned with gold, andembroidered with the loves of Cupid and Psyche. On the toilet was abeautiful Venetian mirror, in a frame of silver filigree, and beside itstood a gold posset-dish to contain the night-draught. A pair of pistolsand a dagger, mounted with gold, were displayed near the head of thebed, being the arms for the night, which were presented to honouredguests, rather, it may be supposed, in the way of ceremony than from anyapprehension of danger. We must not omit to mention, what was moreto the credit of the manners of the time, that in a small recess,illuminated by a taper, were disposed two hassocks of velvet and gold,corresponding with the bed furniture, before a desk of carved ebony.This recess had formerly been the private oratory of the abbot; but thecrucifix was removed, and instead there were placed on the desk, twoBooks of Common Prayer, richly bound, and embossed with silver. Withthis enviable sleeping apartment, which was so far removed from everysound save that of the wind sighing among the oaks of the park, thatMorpheus might have coveted it for his own proper repose, correspondedtwo wardrobes, or dressing-rooms as they are now termed, suitablyfurnished, and in a style of the same magnificence which we have alreadydescribed. It ought to be added, that a part of the building in theadjoining wing was occupied by the kitchen and its offices, andserved to accommodate the personal attendants of the great and wealthynobleman, for whose use these magnificent preparations had been made.

  The divinity for whose sake this temple had been decorated was wellworthy the cost and pains which had been bestowed. She was seated in thewithdrawing-room which we have described, surveying with the pleased eyeof natural and innocent vanity the splendour which had been so suddenlycreated, as it were, in her honour. For, as her own residence at CumnorPlace formed the cause of the mystery observed in all the preparationsfor opening these apartments, it was sedulously arranged that, until shetook possession of them, she should have no means of knowing what wasgoing forward in that part of the ancient building, or of exposingherself to be seen by the workmen engaged in the decorations. She hadbeen, therefore, introduced on that evening to a part of the mansionwhich she had never yet seen, so different from all the rest that itappeared, in comparison, like an enchanted palace. And when she firstexamined and occupied these splendid rooms, it was with the wild andunrestrained joy of a rustic beauty who finds herself suddenly investedwith a splendour which her most extravagant wishes had never imagined,and at the same time with the keen feeling of an affectionate heart,which knows that all the enchantment that surrounds her is the work ofthe great magician Love.

  The Countess Amy, therefore--for to that rank she was exalted by herprivate but solemn union with England's proudest Earl--had for a timeflitte
d hastily from room to room, admiring each new proof of her loverand her bridegroom's taste, and feeling that admiration enhanced asshe recollected that all she gazed upon was one continued proof of hisardent and devoted affection. "How beautiful are these hangings! Hownatural these paintings, which seem to contend with life! How richlywrought is that plate, which looks as if all the galleons of Spain hadbeen intercepted on the broad seas to furnish it forth! And oh, Janet!"she exclaimed repeatedly to the daughter of Anthony Foster, the closeattendant, who, with equal curiosity, but somewhat less ecstaticjoy, followed on her mistress's footsteps--"oh, Janet! how much moredelightful to think that all these fair things have been assembled byhis love, for the love of me! and that this evening--this very evening,which grows darker every instant, I shall thank him more for the lovethat has created such an unimaginable paradise, than for all the wondersit contains."

  "The Lord is to be thanked first," said the pretty Puritan, "who gavethee, lady, the kind and courteous husband whose love has done so muchfor thee. I, too, have done my poor share. But if you thus run wildlyfrom room to room, the toil of my crisping and my curling pins willvanish like the frost-work on the window when the sun is high."

  "Thou sayest true, Janet," said the young and beautiful Countess,stopping suddenly from her tripping race of enraptured delight, andlooking at herself from head to foot in a large mirror, such as she hadnever before seen, and which, indeed, had few to match it even in theQueen's palace--"thou sayest true, Janet!" she answered, as she saw,with pardonable self-applause, the noble mirror reflect such charms aswere seldom presented to its fair and polished surface; "I have more ofthe milk-maid than the countess, with these cheeks flushed with haste,and all these brown curls, which you laboured to bring to order,straying as wild as the tendrils of an unpruned vine. My falling ruff ischafed too, and shows the neck and bosom more than is modest and seemly.Come, Janet; we will practise state--we will go to the withdrawing-room,my good girl, and thou shalt put these rebel locks in order, andimprison within lace and cambric the bosom that beats too high."

  They went to the withdrawing apartment accordingly, where the Countessplayfully stretched herself upon the pile of Moorish cushions, halfsitting, half reclining, half wrapt in her own thoughts, half listeningto the prattle of her attendant.

  While she was in this attitude, and with a corresponding expressionbetwixt listlessness and expectation on her fine and intelligentfeatures, you might have searched sea and land without finding anythinghalf so expressive or half so lovely. The wreath of brilliants whichmixed with her dark-brown hair did not match in lustre the hazel eyewhich a light-brown eyebrow, pencilled with exquisite delicacy, and longeyelashes of the same colour, relieved and shaded. The exercise she hadjust taken, her excited expectation and gratified vanity, spread a glowover her fine features, which had been sometimes censured (as beautyas well as art has her minute critics) for being rather too pale. Themilk-white pearls of the necklace which she wore, the same which she hadjust received as a true-love token from her husband, were excelled inpurity by her teeth, and by the colour of her skin, saving where theblush of pleasure and self-satisfaction had somewhat stained the neckwith a shade of light crimson.--"Now, have done with these busy fingers,Janet," she said to her handmaiden, who was still officiously employedin bringing her hair and her dress into order--"have done, I say. I mustsee your father ere my lord arrives, and also Master Richard Varney,whom my lord has highly in his esteem--but I could tell that of himwould lose him favour."

  "Oh, do not do so, good my lady!" replied Janet; "leave him to God, whopunishes the wicked in His own time; but do not you cross Varney's path,for so thoroughly hath he my lord's ear, that few have thriven who havethwarted his courses."

  "And from whom had you this, my most righteous Janet?" said theCountess; "or why should I keep terms with so mean a gentleman asVarney, being as I am, wife to his master and patron?"

  "Nay, madam," replied Janet Foster, "your ladyship knows better than I;but I have heard my father say he would rather cross a hungry wolf thanthwart Richard Varney in his projects. And he has often charged me tohave a care of holding commerce with him."

  "Thy father said well, girl, for thee," replied the lady, "and I dareswear meant well. It is a pity, though, his face and manner do littlematch his true purpose--for I think his purpose may be true."

  "Doubt it not, my lady," answered Janet--"doubt not that my fatherpurposes well, though he is a plain man, and his blunt looks may beliehis heart."

  "I will not doubt it, girl, were it only for thy sake; and yet he hasone of those faces which men tremble when they look on. I think even thymother, Janet--nay, have done with that poking-iron--could hardly lookupon him without quaking."

  "If it were so, madam," answered Janet Foster, "my mother had those whocould keep her in honourable countenance. Why, even you, my lady, bothtrembled and blushed when Varney brought the letter from my lord."

  "You are bold, damsel," said the Countess, rising from the cushions onwhich she sat half reclined in the arms of her attendant. "Know thatthere are causes of trembling which have nothing to do with fear.--But,Janet," she added, immediately relapsing into the good-natured andfamiliar tone which was natural to her, "believe me, I will do whatcredit I can to your father, and the rather that you, sweetheart, arehis child. Alas! alas!" she added, a sudden sadness passing over herfine features, and her eyes filling with tears, "I ought the rather tohold sympathy with thy kind heart, that my own poor father is uncertainof my fate, and they say lies sick and sorrowful for my worthless sake!But I will soon cheer him--the news of my happiness and advancement willmake him young again. And that I may cheer him the sooner"--she wipedher eyes as she spoke--"I must be cheerful myself. My lord must not findme insensible to his kindness, or sorrowful, when he snatches a visit tohis recluse, after so long an absence. Be merry, Janet; the night wearson, and my lord must soon arrive. Call thy father hither, and callVarney also. I cherish resentment against neither; and though I may havesome room to be displeased with both, it shall be their own fault ifever a complaint against them reaches the Earl through my means. Callthem hither, Janet."

  Janet Foster obeyed her mistress; and in a few minutes after, Varneyentered the withdrawing-room with the graceful ease and uncloudedfront of an accomplished courtier, skilled, under the veil of externalpoliteness, to disguise his own feelings and to penetrate those ofothers. Anthony Foster plodded into the apartment after him, his naturalgloomy vulgarity of aspect seeming to become yet more remarkable, fromhis clumsy attempt to conceal the mixture of anxiety and dislike withwhich he looked on her, over whom he had hitherto exercised so severe acontrol, now so splendidly attired, and decked with so many pledgesof the interest which she possessed in her husband's affections. Theblundering reverence which he made, rather AT than TO the Countess, hadconfession in it. It was like the reverence which the criminal makes tothe judge, when he at once owns his guilt and implores mercy--whichis at the same time an impudent and embarrassed attempt at defence orextenuation, a confession of a fault, and an entreaty for lenity.

  Varney, who, in right of his gentle blood, had pressed into the roombefore Anthony Foster, knew better what to say than he, and said it withmore assurance and a better grace.

  The Countess greeted him indeed with an appearance of cordiality, whichseemed a complete amnesty for whatever she might have to complain of.She rose from her seat, and advanced two steps towards him, holdingforth her hand as she said, "Master Richard Varney, you brought methis morning such welcome tidings, that I fear surprise and joy made meneglect my lord and husband's charge to receive you with distinction. Weoffer you our hand, sir, in reconciliation."

  "I am unworthy to touch it," said Varney, dropping on one knee, "save asa subject honours that of a prince."

  He touched with his lips those fair and slender fingers, so richlyloaded with rings and jewels; then rising, with graceful gallantry, wasabout to hand her to the chair of state, when she said, "No, good MasterRichard Varney, I take not
my place there until my lord himself conductsme. I am for the present but a disguised Countess, and will not takedignity on me until authorized by him whom I derive it from."

  "I trust, my lady," said Foster, "that in doing the commands of my lordyour husband, in your restraint and so forth, I have not incurred yourdispleasure, seeing that I did but my duty towards your lord and mine;for Heaven, as holy writ saith, hath given the husband supremacy anddominion over the wife--I think it runs so, or something like it."

  "I receive at this moment so pleasant a surprise, Master Foster,"answered the Countess, "that I cannot but excuse the rigid fidelitywhich secluded me from these apartments, until they had assumed anappearance so new and so splendid."

  "Ay lady," said Foster, "it hath cost many a fair crown; and that moreneed not be wasted than is absolutely necessary, I leave you till mylord's arrival with good Master Richard Varney, who, as I think, hathsomewhat to say to you from your most noble lord and husband.--Janet,follow me, to see that all be in order."

  "No, Master Foster," said the Countess, "we will your daughter remainshere in our apartment--out of ear-shot, however, in case Varney bathought to say to me from my lord."

  Foster made his clumsy reverence, and departed, with an aspect whichseemed to grudge the profuse expense which had been wasted upon changinghis house from a bare and ruinous grange to an Asiastic palace. When hewas gone, his daughter took her embroidery frame, and went to establishherself at the bottom of the apartment; while Richard Varney, with aprofoundly humble courtesy, took the lowest stool he could find, andplacing it by the side of the pile of cushions on which the Countesshad now again seated herself, sat with his eyes for a time fixed on theground, and in pro-found silence.

  "I thought, Master Varney," said the Countess, when she saw he was notlikely to open the conversation, "that you had something to communicatefrom my lord and husband; so at least I understood Master Foster, andtherefore I removed my waiting-maid. If I am mistaken, I will recallher to my side; for her needle is not so absolutely perfect in tent andcross-stitch, but that my superintendence is advisable."

  "Lady," said Varney, "Foster was partly mistaken in my purpose. Itwas not FROM but OF your noble husband, and my approved and most noblepatron, that I am led, and indeed bound, to speak."

  "The theme is most welcome, sir," said the Countess, "whether it beof or from my noble husband. But be brief, for I expect his hastyapproach."

  "Briefly then, madam," replied Varney, "and boldly, for my argumentrequires both haste and courage--you have this day seen Tressilian?"

  "I have, sir and what of that?" answered the lady somewhat sharply.

  "Nothing that concerns me, lady," Varney replied with humility. "But,think you, honoured madam, that your lord will hear it with equalequanimity?"

  "And wherefore should he not? To me alone was Tressilian's visitembarrassing and painful, for he brought news of my good father'sillness."

  "Of your father's illness, madam!" answered Varney. "It must have beensudden then--very sudden; for the messenger whom I dispatched, at mylord's instance, found the good knight on the hunting field, cheeringhis beagles with his wonted jovial field-cry. I trust Tressilian hasbut forged this news. He hath his reasons, madam, as you well know, fordisquieting your present happiness."

  "You do him injustice, Master Varney," replied the Countess, withanimation--"you do him much injustice. He is the freest, the most open,the most gentle heart that breathes. My honourable lord ever excepted, Iknow not one to whom falsehood is more odious than to Tressilian."

  "I crave your pardon, madam," said Varney, "I meant the gentleman noinjustice--I knew not how nearly his cause affected you. A man may, insome circumstances, disguise the truth for fair and honest purpose; forwere it to be always spoken, and upon all occasions, this were no worldto live in."

  "You have a courtly conscience, Master Varney," said the Countess, "andyour veracity will not, I think, interrupt your preferment in the world,such as it is. But touching Tressilian--I must do him justice, forI have done him wrong, as none knows better than thou. Tressilian'sconscience is of other mould--the world thou speakest of has not thatwhich could bribe him from the way of truth and honour; and for livingin it with a soiled fame, the ermine would as soon seek to lodge in theden of the foul polecat. For this my father loved him; for this I wouldhave loved him--if I could. And yet in this case he had what seemedto him, unknowing alike of my marriage and to whom I was united, suchpowerful reasons to withdraw me from this place, that I well trust heexaggerated much of my father's indisposition, and that thy better newsmay be the truer."

  "Believe me they are, madam," answered Varney. "I pretend not to be achampion of that same naked virtue called truth, to the very outrance.I can consent that her charms be hidden with a veil, were it but fordecency's sake. But you must think lower of my head and heart than isdue to one whom my noble lord deigns to call his friend, if you supposeI could wilfully and unnecessarily palm upon your ladyship a falsehood,so soon to be detected, in a matter which concerns your happiness."

  "Master Varney," said the Countess, "I know that my lord esteems you,and holds you a faithful and a good pilot in those seas in which he hasspread so high and so venturous a sail. Do not suppose, therefore, Imeant hardly by you, when I spoke the truth in Tressilian's vindication.I am as you well know, country-bred, and like plain rustic truth betterthan courtly compliment; but I must change my fashions with my sphere, Ipresume."

  "True, madam," said Varney, smiling; "and though you speak now injest, it will not be amiss that in earnest your present speech had someconnection with your real purpose. A court-dame--take the most noble,the most virtuous, the most unimpeachable that stands around our Queen'sthrone--would, for example, have shunned to speak the truth, or what shethought such, in praise of a discarded suitor, before the dependant andconfidant of her noble husband."

  "And wherefore," said the Countess, colouring impatiently, "should I notdo justice to Tressilian's worth, before my husband's friend--before myhusband himself--before the whole world?"

  "And with the same openness," said Varney, "your ladyship will thisnight tell my noble lord your husband that Tressilian has discoveredyour place of residence, so anxiously concealed from the world, and thathe has had an interview with you?"

  "Unquestionably," said the Countess. "It will be the first thing I tellhim, together with every word that Tressilian said and that I answered.I shall speak my own shame in this, for Tressilian's reproaches, lessjust than he esteemed them, were not altogether unmerited. I will speak,therefore, with pain, but I will speak, and speak all."

  "Your ladyship will do your pleasure," answered Varney; "but methinksit were as well, since nothing calls for so frank a disclosure, tospare yourself this pain, and my noble lord the disquiet, and MasterTressilian, since belike he must be thought of in the matter, the dangerwhich is like to ensue."

  "I can see nought of all these terrible consequences," said the ladycomposedly, "unless by imputing to my noble lord unworthy thoughts,which I am sure never harboured in his generous heart."

  "Far be it from me to do so," said Varney. And then, after a moment'ssilence, he added, with a real or affected plainness of manner, verydifferent from his usual smooth courtesy, "Come, madam, I will show youthat a courtier dare speak truth as well as another, when it concernsthe weal of those whom he honours and regards, ay, and although it mayinfer his own danger." He waited as if to receive commands, or at leastpermission, to go on; but as the lady remained silent, he proceeded,but obviously with caution. "Look around you," he said, "noble lady, andobserve the barriers with which this place is surrounded, the studiousmystery with which the brightest jewel that England possesses issecluded from the admiring gaze. See with what rigour your walks arecircumscribed, and your movement restrained at the beck of yonderchurlish Foster. Consider all this, and judge for yourself what can bethe cause.

  "My lord's pleasure," answered the Countess; "and I am bound to seek noother motive."

  "
His pleasure it is indeed," said Varney; "and his pleasure arises outof a love worthy of the object which inspires it. But he who possesses atreasure, and who values it, is oft anxious, in proportion to the valuehe puts upon it, to secure it from the depredations of others."

  "What needs all this talk, Master Varney?" said the lady, in reply. "Youwould have me believe that my noble lord is jealous. Suppose it true, Iknow a cure for jealousy."

  "Indeed, madam?" said Varney.

  "It is," replied the lady, "to speak the truth to my lord at alltimes--to hold up my mind and my thoughts before him as pure as thatpolished mirror--so that when he looks into my heart, he shall only seehis own features reflected there."

  "I am mute, madam," answered Varney; "and as I have no reason to grievefor Tressilian, who would have my heart's blood were he able, I shallreconcile myself easily to what may befall the gentleman in consequenceof your frank disclosure of his having presumed to intrude upon yoursolitude. You, who know my lord so much better than I, will judge if hebe likely to bear the insult unavenged."

  "Nay, if I could think myself the cause of Tressilian's ruin," said theCountess, "I who have already occasioned him so much distress, I mightbe brought to be silent. And yet what will it avail, since he was seenby Foster, and I think by some one else? No, no, Varney, urge it nomore. I will tell the whole matter to my lord; and with such pleadingfor Tressilian's folly, as shall dispose my lord's generous heart ratherto serve than to punish him."

  "Your judgment, madam," said Varney, "is far superior to mine,especially as you may, if you will, prove the ice before you step on it,by mentioning Tressilian's name to my lord, and observing how he enduresit. For Foster and his attendant, they know not Tressilian by sight, andI can easily give them some reasonable excuse for the appearance of anunknown stranger."

  The lady paused for an instant, and then replied, "If, Varney, itbe indeed true that Foster knows not as yet that the man he saw wasTressilian, I own I were unwilling he should learn what nowise concernshim. He bears himself already with austerity enough, and I wish him notto be judge or privy-councillor in my affairs."

  "Tush," said Varney, "what has the surly groom to do with yourladyship's concerns?--no more, surely, than the ban-dog which watcheshis courtyard. If he is in aught distasteful to your ladyship, I haveinterest enough to have him exchanged for a seneschal that shall be moreagreeable to you."

  "Master Varney," said the Countess, "let us drop this theme. When Icomplain of the attendants whom my lord has placed around me, it must beto my lord himself.--Hark! I hear the trampling of horse. He comes! hecomes!" she exclaimed, jumping up in ecstasy.

  "I cannot think it is he," said Varney; "or that you can hear the treadof his horse through the closely-mantled casements."

  "Stop me not, Varney--my ears are keener than thine. It is he!"

  "But, madam!--but, madam!" exclaimed Varney anxiously, and still placinghimself in her way, "I trust that what I have spoken in humble duty andservice will not be turned to my ruin? I hope that my faithful advicewill not be bewrayed to my prejudice? I implore that--"

  "Content thee, man--content thee!" said the Countess, "and quit myskirt--you are too bold to detain me. Content thyself, I think not ofthee."

  At this moment the folding-doors flew wide open, and a man of majesticmien, muffled in the folds of a long dark riding-cloak, entered theapartment.