CHAPTER VI
THREE FRIENDS
"To lose good days that might be better spent, To waste long nights in pensive discontent, To speed to-day--to be put back to-morrow-- To feed on hope--and pine with fear and sorrow."
SPENSER.
The gentlewomen in attendance on the Queen had a sorry time of it during Philip Sidney"s absence from the Court.
She was irritable and dissatisfied with herself and everyone besides.
Fearing lest the French Amba.s.sador should not be received with due pomp in London, and sending for Lord Burleigh and the Earl of Leicester again and again to amend the marriage contract which was to be discussed with the Duke of Anjou"s delegates.
Secret misgivings were doubtless the reason of the Queen"s uneasy mood, and she vented her ill-humour upon her tire-women, boxing their ears if they failed to please her in the erection of her head-gear, or did not arrange the stiff folds of her gold-embroidered brocade over the hoop, to her entire satisfaction.
Messengers were despatched several times during the process of the Queen"s toilette on this May morning to inquire if Mr Philip Sidney had returned from Penshurst.
"Not returned yet!" she exclaimed, "nor Fulke Greville with him. What keeps them against my will? I will make "em both rue their conduct."
"Methinks, Madam," one of the ladies ventured to say, "Mr Philip Sidney is wholly given up to the effort he is making that the coming tourney may be as brilliant as the occasion demands, and that keeps him away from Court."
"A likely matter! You are a little fool, and had best hold your tongue if you can say nought more to the purpose."
"I know Mr Sidney spares no pains to the end he has in view, Madam, and he desires to get finer horses for his retinue."
"You think you are in his confidence, then," the Queen said, angrily. "You are a greater fool than I thought you. I warrant you think Philip Sidney is in love with you--you are in love with him, as the whole pack of you are, I doubt not, and so much the worse for you."
Then the Queen having, by this sally, brought the hot tears to the lady"s eyes, recovered her composure and her temper, and proceeded to take her morning draught of spiced wine, with sweet biscuits, and then resorted to the Council chamber, where all matters of the State were brought before her by her ministers. Here Elizabeth was the really wise and able monarch, who earnestly desired the good of her people; here her counsellors were often fairly amazed at her far-seeing intelligence and her wide culture. No contrast could be greater than between the middle-aged Maiden Queen pluming her feathers to win the hearts of her courtiers, and listening with satisfaction to the broadest flattery with which they could approach her, and the sovereign of a nation in times which must ever stand out in the history of England as the most remarkable the country has ever known, gravely deliberating with such men as Lord Burleigh and Sir Francis Walsingham on the affairs of State at home and abroad.
Elizabeth had scarcely seated herself in her chair, and was about to summon Sir Francis Walsingham, when one of the pages-in-waiting came in, and, bending his knee, said,--
"Mr Philip Sidney craves an audience with your Highness."
Philip was only waiting in the ante-chamber to be announced, and, being secure of his welcome, had followed the page into the Queen"s presence, and, before Elizabeth had time to speak, he was on his knees before her, kissing the hand she held out to him.
"Nay, Philip, I scarce know whether I will receive you--a truant should be whipped as a punishment--but, mayhap, this will do as well for the nonce,"
and the Queen stroked Philip Sidney on both cheeks, saying, "The gem of my Court, how has it fared with him?"
"As well as with any man while absent from you, fair Queen. Gems," he added playfully, "do not shine in the dark, they need the sun to call forth their brightness, and you are my sun; apart from you, how can I shine?"
"A pretty conceit," Elizabeth said. "But tell me, Philip, are things put in train for the due observance of such an event as the coming of the delegates from France? It is a momentous occasion to all concerned."
"It is, indeed, Madam," Philip Sidney said, "and I pray it may result in happiness for you and this kingdom."
"Nay, now, Philip, are you going back to what you dared to say of disapproval of this marriage three years ago? I would fain hope not, for your own sake."
"Madam, I then, in all humility, delivered to you my sentiments. You were not pleased to hear them, and I was so miserable as to offend you."
"Yes, and," using her favourite oath "you will again offend me if you revive the old protest, so have a care. We exercise our royal prerogative in the matter of marriage, and I purpose to wed with the Duke of Anjou, come what may."
"I know it, Madam, and, as your faithful subject, I am doing my utmost to make the coming jousts worthy of your approval and worthy of the occasion.
The Fortress of Beauty is erected, and the mound raised, and I would fain hope that you will be pleased to honour the victors with a smile."
"And with something more valuable; but tell me, Philip, how does it fare with my Lady Rich? Rumour is busy, and there are tale-bearers, who have neither clean hearts nor clean tongues. Sure you can pick and choose amongst many ladies dying for your favour; sure your Queen may lay claim to your devotion. Why waste your sighs on the wife of Lord Rich?"
Immediately Philip Sidney"s manner changed. Not even from the Queen could he bear to have this sore wound touched. He rose from his half-kneeling, half-sitting position at the Queen"s feet, and said in a grave voice,--
"I await your commands, Madam, which I shall hold sacred to my latest breath, but pardon me if I beseech your Highness to refrain from the mention of one whom I have lost by my own blind folly, and so made shipwreck."
"Tut, tut, Philip; this is vain talking for my fine scholar and statesman.
Shipwreck, forsooth! Nay, your craft shall sail with flying colours yet.
But I hear the voices of Burleigh and Leicester in the ante-chamber! Your good uncle is like to die of jealousy; if he finds I am closeted with you he will come to the Council in an ill temper, and rouse the lion in me. So, farewell till the evening, when I command your presence at the banquet."
"Madam, there is yet one word I would say. It is upon my good father"s affairs."
"What now? Henry Sidney is always complaining--no money, no favour! As to the money, he has spent a goodly sum in Ireland, and yet cries out for more, and would fain go thither again, and take you with him, to squander more coin."
"I have no desire, Madam, either for him to go to Ireland or for myself to accompany him. But I pray you to consider how small a pittance he receives as Lord President of Wales. It is ever a struggle for my mother to maintain the dignity of your representative there. She is wearing out her life in a vain effort, and you, Madam, surely know that her nature is n.o.ble, and that she seeks only to promote the welfare of others."
"Ay! Mary Sidney is well enough. We will think over the matter. Command her to come to Court for this Whitsuntide, there is a chamber at her service.
Now, I must to business. Stay if it suits you; you have more wits than all the rest of us put together. Yes, that is Leicester"s step and voice."
Philip knew better than to remain without express invitation to do so from his uncle, the Earl of Leicester. It was, perhaps, only natural that the elder man should be jealous of the younger, who had, when scarcely four-and-twenty, already gained a reputation for statesmanship at home and abroad. Brilliant as Leicester was, he was secretly conscious that there were heights which he had failed to reach, and that his nephew, Philip Sidney, had won a place in the favour of his sovereign, which even the honest protest he had made against this marriage with the Duke of Anjou had failed to destroy; a high place also in the esteem of the world by the purity of his life and the n.o.bleness of a nature which commended itself alike to gentle and simple; while he had the reputation of a true knight and brave soldier, pure, and without reproach, as well as a scholar versed in the literature of other countries, and foremost himself amongst the scholars and poets of the day.
Philip Sidney left the presence-chamber by another door as his uncle and Lord Burleigh entered it, and went to his own apartments, where he expected to meet some friends, and discuss with them topics more interesting and profitable than the intrigues of the Court and the Queen"s matrimonial projects.
Edmund Spenser"s dedication to the _Shepherd"s Calendar_ is well known, and there can be no doubt that he owed much to Sidney"s discriminating patronage.
That dedication was no empty compliment to win favour, and the friendship between Edmund Spenser and Philip Sidney gathered strength with time. They had often walked together under the trees at Penshurst, and a sort of club had been established, of which the members were Gabriel Harvey, Edward Dyer, Fulke Greville and others, intended for the formation of a new school of poetry. Philip Sidney was the president, and Spenser, the youngest and most enthusiastic member, while Gabriel Harvey, who was the oldest, was most strict in enforcing the rules laid down, and ready with counsel and encouragement.
The result of all the deliberations of this club were very curious, and the attempt made to force the English tongue into hexameters and iambics signally failed.
Philip Sidney and Spenser were the first to discover that the hexameter could never take its place in English verse, and they had to endure some opposition and even raillery from Gabriel Harvey, who was especially annoyed at Edmund Spenser"s desertion; and had bid him farewell till G.o.d or some good angel put him in a better mind.
This literary club had broken up three years before this time, but Edmund Spenser and Sir Fulke Greville still corresponded or met at intervals with Sidney to compare their literary efforts and criticise them freely, Spenser"s always being p.r.o.nounced, as doubtless they were, far above the others in beauty of style and poetical conception.
By Philip Sidney"s influence Spenser had been sent to Ireland as secretary to Lord Grey of Wilton, whose recall was now considered certain. Sir Henry Sidney would have been willing to return as Deputy with his son under him; but, having been badly supported in the past, he stipulated that the Queen should reward his long service by a peerage and a grant of money or lands as a public mark of her confidence.
Philip found Sir Fulke Greville in his room, and with him Edward Dyer, who had come to discuss a letter from Edmund Spenser, which he wished his friends to hear.
"He fears he shall lose his place if Lord Grey be recalled, and beseeches me," Philip said, "to do my best that he should remain secretary to whomsoever the Queen may appoint."
"And that will be an easy matter, methinks," Dyer said, "if the rumour is true that your good father is again to be appointed Deputy of Ireland, with you for his helper."
"Contradict that rumour, good Ned," Philip said. "There is but the barest chance of the Queen"s reinstating my father, and if, indeed, it happened so, I should not accept the post under him. I will write to our friend Spenser and bid him take courage. His friends will not desert him. But I have here a stanza or two of the _Fairie Queene_, for which Edmund begs me to seek your approval or condemnation."
"It will be the first," Fulke Greville said, "as he very well knows, and it will not surprise me to find our good friend Harvey at last giving him his meed of praise, albeit he was so rash as to say that hexameters in English are either like a lame gosling that draweth one leg after, or like a lame dog that holdeth one leg up."
Fulke Greville laughed, saying,--