The Romance of Biography Volume I Part 18

Among the numerous poets who lamented this deep-felt loss (volumes, I believe, were filled with the tributes paid to his memory), was Spenser, whom Sydney had early patronised. His elegy, however, is too laboured, too lengthy, too artificial, to please altogether, though containing some lines of great beauty. It is singular, and a little incomprehensible to our modern ideas of _biensance_ and good taste, that in this elegy, which Spenser dedicates to Sydney's widow after her remarriage with Ess.e.x, he introduces Stella as lamenting over the body of Astrophel, tells us how she beat her fair bosom--"the treasury of joy,"--how she tore her lovely hair, wept out her eyes,--

And with sweet kisses suckt the parting breath Out of his lips.

At length, through excess of grief, or the compa.s.sion of the G.o.ds, she is changed into the flower, "by some called starlight, by others penthia." This might pa.s.s in those days; though, considering all the circ.u.mstances, it is strange that, even then, it escaped ridicule.

The tears shed for Sydney, by those nearest and dearest to him, were but too soon dried. His widow was consoled by Ess.e.x, and his Stella, by her old lover Mountjoy, who returned from Ireland, flushed with victory and honours, and cast himself again at her feet. Their secret intercourse remained, for several years, undiscovered. Lady Rich, who was tenderly attached to her brother, was guarded in her conduct, fearing equally the loss of his esteem, and the renewal of those hostile feelings which had already caused one duel between Ess.e.x and Mountjoy. She had also children; and as all, without exception, lived to be distinguished men and virtuous women, we may give her credit for some attention to their education,--some compunctious visitings of nature on their account.

During her brother's imprisonment, she made the most strenuous, the most persevering efforts to save his life: she besieged Elizabeth with the richest presents, the most eloquent letters of supplication;--she waylaid her at the door of her chamber, till commanded to remain a prisoner in her own house;--she bribed, or otherwise won, all whom she thought could plead his cause;--and when these were of no avail, and Ess.e.x perished, she seems, in her despair, to have thrown off all restraint--and at length, fled from the house of her husband.

In 1605 she was legally divorced from Lord Rich; and soon after married Mountjoy, then Earl of Devonshire. The marriage of a divorced wife in the lifetime of her first husband, was in those days a thing almost unprecedented in the English court, and caused the most violent outcry and scandal. Laud (the archbishop, then chaplain to the Earl of Devonshire,) incurred the censure of the Church for uniting the lovers, and ever after fasted on the anniversary of this fatal marriage. The Earl, one of the most admirable and distinguished men of that chivalrous age, who "felt a stain as a wound," found it impossible to endure the infamy brought on himself and the woman he loved: he died about a year after: "the griefe," says a contemporary, "of this unhappie love brought him to his end."[108]

His unfortunate Countess lingered but a short time after him, and died in a miserable obscurity.--Such is the history of Sydney's STELLA.

Three of her sons became English earls; the eldest, Earl of Warwick; the second, Earl of Holland; and the third (her son by Mountjoy) Earl of Newport. The earldoms of Warwick and Holland were held by her lineal descendants, till the death of that young Lord Warwick, whose mother married Addison.

FOOTNOTES:

[102] Sonnet 31.

[103] Sonnet 41.

[104] Sonnet 48.

[105] Sonnet 54.

[106] "All the lords that wish well to the children of the Earl of Ess.e.x, and I suppose all the best sorte of the English lords besides, doe expect what will become of the treaty between Mr. Philip and my lady Penelope. Truly, my Lord, I must say to your lordship, as I have said it to my Lord of Leicester and Mr. Philip, the breaking off this match, if the default be on your parts, will turn to more dishonour than can be repaired with any other marriage in England."--_Letter of Mr. Waterhouse to Sir Henry Sydney, in the Sydney Papers._

[107] Zouch's Life of Sir P. Sydney.

[108] Memoirs of King James's Peers, by Sir E. Brydges.

CHAPTER XVII.

COURT AND AGE OF ELIZABETH.

DRAYTON, DANIEL, DRUMMOND, &c.

The voluminous Drayton[109] has left a collection of sonnets under the fantastic t.i.tle of his IDEAS. Ideas they may be,--but they have neither poetry, nor pa.s.sion, nor even elegance:--a circ.u.mstance not very surprising, if it be true that he composed them merely to show his ingenuity in a style which was then the prevailing fashion of his time.

Drayton was never married, and little is known of his private life. He loved a lady of Coventry, to whom he promises an immortality he has not been able to confer.

How many paltry, foolish, painted things That now in coaches trouble every street, Shall be forgotten, whom no poet sings, E'er they be well wrapp'd in their winding-sheet;

While I to thee eternity shall give, When nothing else remaineth of these days,

_And Queens hereafter shall be glad to live Upon the alms of thy superfluous praise;_

Virgins and matrons reading these my rhimes, Shall be so much delighted with thy story,

That they shall grieve they liv'd not in these times, To have seen thee, their s.e.x's only glory:

So thou shall fly above the vulgar throng, Still to survive in my immortal song.

There are fine nervous lines in this Sonnet: we long to hail the exalted beauty who is announced by such a flourish of trumpets, and are proportionably disappointed to find that she has neither "a local habitation nor a name." Drayton's little song,

I prythee, love! love me no more, Take back the heart you gave me!

stands unique, in point of style, among the rest of his works, and is very genuine and pa.s.sionate. Daniel,[110] who was munificently patronized by the Lord Mountjoy, mentioned in the preceding sketch, was one of the most graceful sonnetteers of that time; and he has touches of tenderness as well as fancy; for _he_ was in earnest, and the object of his attachment was real, though disguised under the name of Delia. She resided on the banks of the river Avon, and was unmoved by the poet's strains. Rank with her outweighed love and genius. Daniel says of his Sonnets--

Though the error of my youth in them appear, Suffice they show I lived, and loved thee dear.

The lines

Restore thy tresses to the golden ore, Yield Citherea's son those arcs of love,

are luxuriantly elegant, and quite Italian in the flow and imagery. Her modesty is prettily set forth in another Sonnet--

A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honour, Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love, The wonder of all eyes that look upon her, Sacred on earth, designed a Saint above!

After a long series of sonnets, elaborately plaintive, he interrupts himself with a little touch of truth and nature, which is quite refreshing;

I must not grieve my love! whose eyes should read Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile; The flowers have time before they come to seed, And she is young, and now must sport the while.

And sport, sweet maid! in season of these years, And learn to gather flow'rs before they wither; And where the sweetest blossom first appears, Let Love and Youth conduct thy pleasures thither.

If the lady could have been won by poetical flattery, she must have yielded. At length, unable to bear her obduracy, and condemned to see another preferred before him, Daniel resolved to travel; and he wrote, on this occasion, the most feeling of all his Sonnets.

And whither, poor forsaken! wilt thou go?

Daniel remained abroad several years, and returning, cured of his attachment, he married Giustina Florio, of a family of Waldenses, who had fled from the frightful persecutions carried on in the Italian Alps against that miserable people. With her, he appears to have been sufficiently happy to forget the pain of his former repulse, and enjoy, without one regretful pang, the fame it had given him as a poet.

Drummond, of Hawthornden,[111] is yet more celebrated, and with reason.

He has elegance, and sweetness, and tenderness; but not the pathos or the pa.s.sion we might have expected from the circ.u.mstances of his attachment, which was as real and deep, as it was mournful in its issue.

He loved a beautiful girl of the n.o.ble family of Cunningham, who is the Lesbia of his poetry. After a fervent courtship, he succeeded in securing her affections; but she died, "in the fresh April of her years," and when their marriage-day had been fixed. Drummond has left us a most charming picture of his mistress; of her modesty, her retiring sweetness, her accomplishments, and her tenderness for him.

O sacred blush, empurpling cheeks, pure skies With crimson wings, which spread thee like the morn; O bashful look, sent from those shining eyes; O tongue in which most luscious nectar lies, That can at once both bless and make forlorn; Dear coral lip, which beauty beautifies, That trembling stood before her words were born; And you her words--words! no, but golden chains, Which did enslave my ears, ensnare my soul; Wise image of her mind,--mind that contains A power, all power of senses to controul; So sweetly you from love dissuade do me, That I love more, if more my love can be.

The quaint iteration of the same word through this Sonnet has not an ill effect. The lady was in a more relenting mood when he wrote the Sonnet on her lips, "those fruits of Paradise,"--

I die, dear life! unless to me be given As many kisses as the Spring hath flowers, Or there be silver drops in Iris' showers, Or stars there be in all-embracing heaven; And if displeased ye of the match remain, Ye shall have leave to take them back again!

He mentions a handkerchief, which, in the days of their first tenderness, she had embroidered for him, unknowing that it was destined to be steeped in tears for her loss!--In fact, the grief of Drummond on this deprivation was so overwhelming, that he sunk at first into a total despondency and inactivity, from which he was with difficulty roused. He left the scene of his happiness, and his regrets--

Are these the flowery banks? is this the mead Where she was wont to pa.s.s the pleasant hours?

Is this the goodly elm did us o'erspread, Whose tender rind, cut forth in curious flowers By that white hand, contains those flames of ours?

Is this the murmuring spring, us music made?

Deflourish'd mead, where is your heavenly hue?