[94] She was the grandmother of Lady Russell.
[95] Elizabeth Vernon was first cousin to Ess.e.x. "Was it treason?" asks Ess.e.x indignantly, in one of his eloquent letters; "Was it treason in my Lord of Southampton to marry my poor kinswoman, that neither long imprisonment, nor any punishment besides that hath been usual in such cases can satisfy or appease?"
[96] Sonnets 127, 130
[97] Sonnet 128.
[98] See "Douce"s Ill.u.s.trations of Shakspeare."
[99] Sonnets 80, 83.
[100] Sonnet 172.
[101] Sonnets 110, 111.
CHAPTER XVI.
SYDNEY"S STELLA.
At the very name of Sir Philip Sydney,--the generous, gallant, all-accomplished Sydney,--the roused fancy wakes, as at the sound of a silver trumpet, to all the gay and splendid a.s.sociations of chivalry and romance. He was in the court of Elizabeth, what Surrey had been in that of her father, Henry the Eighth; and like his prototype. Sir Calidore in the Fairy Queen,--
Every look and word that he did say Was like enchantment, that through both the ears And both the eyes, did steal the heart away.
And as Surrey had his Fair Geraldine, Sydney had his STELLA.
Simplicity was not the fashion of Elizabeth"s age in any particular: the conversation and the poetry addressed by her stately romantic courtiers to her and her maids of honour, were like the dresses they wore,--stiff with jewels and standing on end with embroidery, gorgeous of hue and fantastic in form; but with many a brilliant gem of exceeding price, scattered up and down, where one would scarce think to find them; losing something of their effect by being misplaced, but none of their inherent beauty and value. The poetry of Sir Philip Sydney was extravagantly admired in his own time, and it has since been less read than it deserves. It contains much of the pedantic quaintness, the laboured ornament, the c.u.mbrous phraseology, which was the taste, the language of the day: but he had elegance of mind and tenderness of feeling; above all, he was in earnest, and accordingly, there are beautiful and brilliant things scattered through both his poetry and prose. If his "Phoenix-Stella" be less popularly celebrated than the Fair Geraldine,--her name less intimate with our fancy,--it is not because her poet lacked skill to immortalize her in superlatives: it is the recollection of the mournful fate and darkened fame of that beautiful but ill-starred woman, contrasted with the brilliant career and spotless glory of her lover, which strikes the imagination with a painful contrast, and makes us reluctant to dwell on her memory.
The Stella of Sydney"s poetry, and the Philoclea of his Arcadia, was the Lady Penelope Devereux, the elder sister of the favourite Ess.e.x. While yet in her childhood, she was the destined bride of Sydney, and for several years they were considered as almost engaged to each other: it was natural, therefore, at this time, that he should be accustomed to regard her with tenderness and unreproved admiration, and should gratify both by making her the object of his poetical raptures. She was also less openly, but even more ardently, loved by young Charles Blount, afterwards Lord Mountjoy, who seems to have disputed with Sydney the first place in her heart.
She is described as a woman of exquisite beauty, on a grand and splendid scale; dark sparkling eyes; pale brown hair; a rich vivid complexion; a regal brow and a n.o.ble figure. Sydney tells us that she was at first "most fair, most cold;"--and the beautiful sonnet,
"With how sad steps, O moon, thou climb"st the sky![102]
How silently, and with how wan a face!"
refers to his earlier feelings. He describes a tilting-match, held in presence of the Queen and Court, in which he came off victor--
Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance, Guided so well, that I obtained the prize, &c.[103]
"Stella looked on," he says, "and from her fair eyes sent forth the encouraging glance that gave him victory." These soft and brilliant eyes are often and beautifully touched upon; and it must be remarked, never without an allusion to the _modesty_ of their expression.
O eyes! that do the spheres of beauty move, Which while they make Love conquer, conquer Love.
And on some occasion, when she turned from him bashfully, he addresses her in a most impa.s.sioned strain,--
Soul"s joy! bend not those morning stars from me, Where virtue is made strong by beauty"s might, Where love is chasteness--pain doth learn delight And humbleness doth dwell with majesty: Whatever may ensue, O let me be Copartner of the riches of that sight; Let not mine eyes be h.e.l.l-driven from that light.
O look! O shine! O let me die, and see![104]
Another, "To Sleep," is among the most beautiful, and I believe more generally known.
Lock up, fair lids! the treasure of my heart! &c.
There is also much vivacity and earnest feeling in the lines addressed to one who had lately left the presence of Stella, and of whom he inquires of her welfare. Whoever has known what it is to be separated from those beloved, to ask after them with anxious yet suppressed fondness, of some unsympathising acquaintance, to be alternately tantalised and _desesper_, by their vague and careless replies, will understand, will feel their truth and beauty. Even the quaint, petulant commencement is true to the sentiment:
Be your words made, good Sir, of Indian ware, That you allow me them at so small rate?
When I demand of Phoenix-Stella"s state, You say, forsooth, "You left her well of late."
O G.o.d! think you that satisfies _my_ care?
I would know whether she do sit or walk,-- How clothed, how waited on? sighed she, or smiled?
Whereof--with whom--how often did she talk?
With what pastime, time"s journey she beguiled?
If her lips deign"d to sweeten my poor name?
Say all! and all well said, still say the same!
At length, after the usual train of hopes, fears, complaints, and raptures, the lady begins to look with pity and favour on the "ruins of her conquest;"[105] and he exults in an acknowledged return of love, though her heart be given conditionally,--
His only, while he virtuous courses takes.
So far Stella appears in a most amiable and captivating light, worthy the romantic homage of her accomplished lover. But a dark shade steals, like a mildew, over this bright picture of beauty, poetry, and love, even while we gaze upon it. The projected union between Sydney and Lady Penelope was finally broken off by their respective families, for reasons which do not appear.[106] Sir Charles Blount offered himself, and was refused, though evidently agreeable to the lady; and she was married by her guardians to Lord Rich, a man of talents and integrity, but most disagreeable in person and manners, and her declared aversion.[107]
This inauspicious union ended, as might have been expected, in misery and disgrace. Lady Rich bore her fate with extreme impatience. Her warm affections, her high spirit, and her strength of mind, so heroically displayed in behalf of her brother, served but to render her more poignantly sensible of the tyranny which had forced her into detested bonds. She could not forget,--perhaps never wished or sought to forget--that she had received the homage of the two most accomplished men of that time,--Sydney and Blount; "and not finding that satisfaction at home she ought to have received, she looked for it abroad where she ought not to find it."
Sydney describes a secret interview which took place between himself and Lady Rich shortly after her marriage. I should have observed, that Sydney designates himself all through his poems by the name of Astrophel.
In a grove, most rich of shade, Where birds wanton music made, May, then young, his pied weeds showing, New perfumed with flowers fresh growing.
Astrophel, with Stella sweet, Did for mutual comfort meet; Both within themselves opprest, But each in the other blest; Him great harms had taught much care, _Her fair neck a foul yoke bear_; But her sight his cares did banish, In his sight her yoke did vanish, &c.
He pleads the time, the place, the season, and their divided vows; and would have pressed his suit more warmly,
But her hand, his hands repelling, Gave repulse--all grace excelling!
Then she spake! her speech was such As not ear, but heart did touch.
"Astrophel, (said she) my love, Cease in these effects to prove!
Now be still!--yet still believe me, Thy grief more than death would grieve me.
Trust me, while, I thus deny, In myself the smart I try: Tyrant honour doth thus use thee; Stella"s self might not refuse thee!
Therefore, dear! this no more move: Lest, though I leave not thy love, (Which too deep in me is framed!) _I should blush when thou art named!_"
The sentiment he has made her express in the last line is beautiful, and too feminine and appropriate not to have been taken from nature; but, unhappily, it did not always govern her conduct. How far her coquetry proceeded we do not know. Sydney, about a year afterwards, married the daughter of Secretary Walsingham, and survived his marriage but a short time. This theme of song, this darling of fame, and ornament of his age, perished at the battle of Zutphen, in the very summer of his glorious youth. "He had trod," as the author of the Effigies Poetic so beautifully expresses it, "from his cradle to his grave, amid incense and flowers--and died in a dream of glory!"
His death was not only such as became the soldier and Christian;--the natural elegance and sensibility of his mind followed him even to the verge of the tomb: in his last moments, when the mortification had commenced, and all hope was over, he called for music into his chamber, and lay listening to it with tranquil pleasure. Sydney died in his thirty-fourth year.