Chapter Chapter 8 · THE SPANISH-ENGLISH LADY

Among the spoils which the English carried off from the city of

Cadiz,[78] was a little girl of about seven years old. An English

gentleman, named Clotald, commander of a squadron of vessels, took her

to London without the knowledge of the Earl of Essex, and in defiance of

his general orders. The parents complained to the earl of the loss of

their child, and implored him, since he had declared that property alone

should be seized, and the persons of the inhabitants should be left

free, they should not, besides being reduced to poverty, suffer the

additional misery of being deprived of their daughter, who was the very

light of their eyes. The earl caused it to be proclaimed throughout his

whole army, that whoever had possession of the child, should restore her

on pain of death; but no threatened penalties could constrain Clotald to

obey; in spite of them, he kept the child concealed in his ship, being

fascinated, though in a Christian manner, with the incomparable beauty

of Isabella, as she was called. In fine, her inconsolable parents were

left to mourn her loss, and Clotald, rejoicing beyond measure, returned

to London, and presented the pretty child to his wife, as the richest

prize he had brought home from the war.

[78] In the year 1596, when the city was taken by Elizabeth's

commanders, Admiral Howard and the Earl of Essex.

It happened fortunately that all the members of Clotald's household were

catholics in secret, though in public they affected to follow the

religion of the state. Clotald had a son about twelve years old, named

Richard, who was brought up by his parents to love and fear God, and to

be very stedfast in the truths of the catholic faith. Catherine, the

wife of Clotald, a noble, Christian, and prudent lady, conceived such an

affection for Isabella, that she reared her as if she was her own

daughter; and the child was so well endowed by nature, that she readily

learned all they taught her. Time and the kind treatment she received,

gradually wore out from her recollection that which her parents had

bestowed upon her; not so much so, however, but that she often thought

of them with a sigh. Though she learned English, she did not forget her

native tongue, for Clotald took care to bring Spaniards secretly to his

house to converse with her, and thus it was, that without ceasing to

speak Spanish, she became as proficient in English as if she had been

born in London.

After having learned all kinds of work becoming a young lady of good

birth, she was taught to read and write more than passably well; but

what she excelled in above all, was in playing all sorts of instruments

suitable to her sex, with extraordinary perfection of musical taste and

skill, and with the accompaniment of a voice which Heaven had endowed

with such melody that when she chanted she enchanted. All these graces,

natural and acquired, gradually inflamed the heart of Richard, whom she

loved and respected as the son of her lord. At first his affection for

her was like that of a brother for a sister, but when she reached her

twelfth year, this feeling had changed into a most ardent desire to

possess her, but only in the honourable way of becoming her lawful

spouse; for Isabella's incomparable virtue made it hopeless to obtain

her in any other way, nor would he have done so even, if he could, for

his own noble disposition, and the high estimation in which he held her,

forbade any bad thought to take root in his soul.

A thousand times he determined to make known his passion to his father

and mother, and as often broke his resolution, knowing that they had

destined him to be the husband of a young Scotch lady of great wealth

and good family, who, like themselves, secretly professed the catholic

faith; and it seemed clear to him, that after having betrothed him to a

lady of rank, they would not think of bestowing him on a slave, if that

name could be applied to Isabella. Agitated by these distressing

reflections, not knowing what course to pursue or whom to consult, he

fell into a melancholy that nearly cost him his life. But thinking it

was a very cowardly thing to let himself die without making any kind of

effort for his own relief, he strove to gather up courage enough to

declare his feelings to Isabella.

Everybody in the house was grieved for Richard's illness for he was

beloved by them all, and by his parents to the utmost degree, both

because he was their only child, and because his virtues, his worth, and

good sense deserved all their affection. The physicians could not make

out the nature of his complaint, nor could he himself venture to declare

it. At last, one day when Isabella entered his room alone, to attend

upon him, he said to her, with a faltering voice and stammering tongue,

"Lovely Isabella, your worth, your great virtue, and exceeding beauty,

have brought me to the state you see; if you would not have me perish in

the worst agonies that can be imagined, say that you return the love I

feel for you, and consent to my fondest desire, which is to make you

secretly my wife; for I fear that my parents, not knowing your merits as

I do, would refuse me a blessing to me so indispensable. If you will

give me your word to be mine, I here pledge you my own, as a true

catholic Christian, to be yours; and though our union be deferred, as

deferred it shall be until it can take place with the church's sanction

and that of my parents, yet the thought that you will surely be mine,

will be enough to restore me to health, and to keep my spirits buoyant

until the happy day arrives."

Whilst Richard was speaking, Isabella stood with downcast eyes, and when

he had ceased, she replied with equal modesty and good sense, "Ever

since Heaven, in its anger or its mercy (I know not which), withdrew me

from my parents, Señor Richard, and gave me to yours, I have resolved,

in gratitude for the infinite kindness they have bestowed upon me, never

to act in opposition to their wishes; and without their consent, I

should regard the inestimable boon you desire to confer upon me, not as

a good but as an evil fortune. Should it ever be my happy destiny to be

acknowledged by them as worthy of you, be assured that my heart shall be

yours; but till that time comes, or should it never come, let it console

you to know that the dearest wish of my soul will ever be that you may

know every blessing which Heaven can bestow upon you." She said no more,

but from that moment began the convalescence of Richard, and the revival

of his parents' drooping hopes.

The youthful pair took courteous leave of each other, he with tears in

his eyes, and she wondering in her soul to see that of Richard captive

to her love. As for him, having been raised from his sick bed by a

miracle, as it seemed to his parents, he would no longer conceal from

them the state of his feelings, but disclosed it one day to his mother,

and ended a long conversation by declaring that they might as well put

him to death as refuse him Isabella, for it amounted to the same thing.

He extolled the virtues of Isabella in such terms, that he almost

brought his mother to think that in becoming her son's wife she would

have the worst of the bargain. Accordingly she gave Richard good hopes

that she would prevail on his father to assent to his wishes, as she

herself did; in this she succeeded, for by repeating to her husband all

Richard's arguments, she easily induced him to approve of the young

man's design, and to find excuses for breaking off the match with the

Scotch lady.

At this time Isabella was fourteen and Richard twenty; but even in that

early spring time of their youth, they were old in sense and judgment.

It wanted but four days of the time appointed by Richard's parents when

he should bend his neck to the holy yoke of matrimony; and wise and

fortunate did they deem themselves in choosing their prisoner to be

their daughter, esteeming her virtues to be a better dower than the

great wealth of the Scotch lady. The preparations for the wedding were

all made, the relations and friends of the family were invited, and

nothing remained but to make known the intended match to the Queen, no

marriage between persons of noble blood being lawful without her

knowledge and consent; but making no doubt of obtaining the royal

licence, they put off applying for it to the last. Things being in this

state, their joy was disturbed one evening by the appearance of one of

the Queen's servants with an order to Clotald from her Majesty,

requiring his appearance before her next morning with his Spanish

prisoner. He replied that he would cheerfully obey her Majesty's

command. The messenger retired, and left the family in great

perturbation; "Alas," said dame Catherine, "what if the Queen knows that

I have brought up this girl as a Catholic, and thence infers that we are

all of us Christians in this house! For, if her Majesty asks her what

she has learned during the eight years she has been with us, what

answer can she give with all her discretion, poor timid girl, that will

not condemn us?"

"Be under no fear on that account, dear lady," said Isabella; "for I

trust in the divine goodness and mercy of Heaven, that it will put such

words into my mouth as will not only not condemn you, but redound to

your advantage."

Richard trembled as if he foreboded some calamity. Clotald cast about

for some encouragement to allay his grievous fears, and found none but

in his great trust in God and in the prudence of Isabella, whom he

earnestly entreated to try in every possible way to avoid convicting

them of being Catholics; for, though their spirits were willing to

encounter martyrdom, yet their flesh was weak and recoiled from the

bitter trial. Isabella assured them over and over again that they might

set their minds at rest; what they apprehended should not befal them

through her instrumentality; for though she knew not then what answer

she should make to the questions that should be put to her on the

morrow, she had a lively and confident hope that she would reply in such

a manner as would be for their good.

Many were the comments and surmises they made that night on this

unwelcome incident, and especially it occurred to them that, if the

Queen knew they were Catholics, she would not have sent them so mild a

message; it seemed reasonable to infer from it, that she only desired to

see Isabella, the fame of whose incomparable beauty and accomplishments,

known to every one in the capital, must have reached her Majesty's ears.

Clotald and his wife confessed to themselves, however, that they had

done wrong in not presenting her at court, and they thought the best

excuse they could make for this, was to say that ever since she had come

into their hands, they had destined her to be the wife of their son. But

even this would be acknowledging themselves culpable, since it would

appear that they arranged the marriage without the Queen's leave; but

such an offence would probably not incur any severe punishment. In this

way, they comforted themselves, and they resolved that Isabella should

not be dressed humbly like a prisoner, but in rich bridal attire, such

as became the betrothed of a gentleman of importance Ike their son.

Next day accordingly they dressed Isabella in the Spanish style, in a

robe of green satin with a long train, and slashes lined with cloth of

gold and looped with the pearls, the whole being adorned with precious

stones; a diamond necklace and girdle, with a fan such as is carried by

Spanish ladies; and for head dress her own luxuriant golden hair

entwined with diamonds and pearls.

In that sumptuous attire, with her sprightly air and marvellous beauty,

she made her appearance in London in a handsome coach, fascinating the

eyes and souls of all who beheld her. Clotald, his wife, and Richard

rode with her in the coach, and many noble relations of the family

escorted her on horseback, Clotald desiring that all these honours

should be paid to his prisoner, in order that the queen might treat her

as his son's betrothed. When they arrived at the palace, and entered the

vast hall in which her majesty was seated, Isabella's escort halted at

the lower end, and she herself advanced alone in all her inconceivable

beauty, producing an effect like that of a brilliant meteor shooting

through the sky on a calm clear night, or of a sunbeam darting at the

first dawn of day through a mountain gorge. A comet she seemed,

portending a fiery doom to the hearts of many in that presence hall.

Full of meekness and courtesy, she advanced to the foot of the throne,

knelt before the queen, and said to her in English, "May it please your

Majesty to extend your royal hands to your servant's lips, who will

henceforth esteem herself exalted, since she has been so fortunate as to

behold your grandeur."

The queen remained a good while gazing on her without saying a word,

figuring to herself, as she afterwards told her lady of the bed-chamber,

that she had before her a starry heaven, the stars of which were the

many pearls and diamonds worn by Isabella; her fair face and her eyes

its sun and moon, and her whole person a new marvel of beauty. The

queen's ladies would fain have been all eyes, that they might do nothing

but gaze on Isabella; one praised her brilliant eyes, one her

complexion, another her fine figure, another her sweet voice; and one

there was who said in pure envy, "The Spaniard is good looking, but I do

not like her dress."

At last the queen motioned to Isabella to rise, and said to her, "Speak

to me in Spanish, maiden, for I understand it well, and shall like to

hear it." Then turning to Clotald, "You have done me wrong, Clotald,"

she said, "in keeping this treasure so many years concealed from me; but

it is such a one as may well have excited you to avarice. You are bound

however to restore it to me, for by right it is mine."

"My liege," replied Clotald, "what your majesty says is quite true; I

confess my fault, if it is one, to have kept this treasure until it

arrived at the perfection suitable for appearing before your majesty's

eyes. Now that it has done so, I had it in mind to enhance it still

more, by asking your majesty's leave for Isabella to become the wife of

my son Richard."

"I like her name, too," returned the queen. "Nothing was wanting to the

fulness of her perfection but that she should be called Isabella the

Spaniard. But, mark you, Clotald, I know that, without my leave, you

have promised her to your son."

"That is true, my liege, but it was in the confident hope that the many

eminent services which my ancestors and I have rendered to the crown,

would obtain from your majesty favours still more difficult to grant

than the leave in question, the more so as my son is not yet wedded."

"Nor shall he be wedded to Isabella," said the queen, "until he has

merited it in his own person. I mean that I will not have him avail

himself to that end of your services or those of his forefathers. He

must himself prepare to serve me, and win by his own deserts this prize

which I esteem as if she were my daughter."

The queen had no sooner uttered these last words than Isabella again

fell on her knees before her, saying in Spanish, "Such thwartings as

these, most gracious sovereign, are rather to be esteemed auspicious

boons than misfortunes. Your majesty has given me the name of daughter;

after that what can I have to fear, or what may I not hope?"

Isabella uttered this with so winning a grace, that the queen conceived

an extreme affection for her, desired that she should remain in her

service, and committed her to the care of a great lady, her keeper of

the robes, who was to instruct her in the duties of her new position.

Richard, who saw himself thus, as it were, deprived of his life in

losing Isabella, was almost at his wits' end. Agitated and discomfited,

he knelt before the queen, and said, "I need no other rewards to induce

me to serve your majesty than such as my ancestors have obtained in the

service of your royal predecessors; but since it is your majesty's

pleasure that I should have new motives and incentives for my zeal, I

would crave to know in what way I may fulfil your majesty's behest?"

"There are two ships ready to set out on a cruise," said the queen, "of

which I have made the Baron de Lansac general. I appoint you captain of

one of them, being assured that the qualities you derive from those

whose blood is in your veins will supply the defect of your years. Mark

what a favour I confer upon you, since I give you an opportunity to

signalise yourself in the service of your queen, to display your

capacity and your valour, and to win the highest reward, methinks, which

you yourself could desire. I myself will be Isabella's guardian, though

she manifests that her own virtue will be her truest guardian. Go in

God's name; for since you are in love, as I imagine, I expect great

things from your prowess. Fortunate were the king who in time of war had

in his army ten thousand soldiers in love, expecting to obtain their

mistresses as the reward of their victories. Rise, Richard, and if you

have anything to say to Isabella, say it now, for to-morrow you must

sail."

Richard kissed the queen's hands, highly prizing the favour she had

conferred upon him, and went and knelt before Isabella. He tried to

speak to her, but could not, for he felt as if there was a knot in his

throat that paralysed his tongue. He strove with all his might to keep

down the tears that started into his eyes, but he could not conceal them

from the queen. "Shame not to weep, Richard," said her majesty, "nor

think less of yourself for allowing such evidence of a tender heart to

escape you, for it is one thing to fight the enemy, and another to take

leave of one who is dearly loved. Isabella, embrace Richard, and give

him your blessing: his affection well deserves it."

Isabella's heart ached to see Richard so cast down. She could not

understand what her majesty said. Conscious of nothing but her grief,

motionless, and blinded by her tears, she looked like a weeping statue

of alabaster. The anguish of the two lovers drew tears from most of the

beholders. In fine, Richard and Isabella separated without exchanging a

word; and Clotald and his friends, after saluting the queen, left the

hall full of grief and pity. Isabella felt like an orphan whose parents

have just been buried, and dreaded lest her new mistress should make her

abandon the rule of life in which she had been brought up.

Two days afterwards, Richard put to sea, distracted among many other

sources of incertitude by two reflections--one was that he had to

perform exploits by which he might merit Isabella's hand; and the other,

that he could perform none without violating his conscience as a

catholic, which forbade him to draw his sword against those of his own

faith, but unless he did so, he should be denounced as a catholic or as

a coward, to the peril of his life and his hopes. But, in fine, he

determined to postpone his inclinations as a lover to his duty as a

catholic, and in his heart he prayed heaven to send him occasions in

which he might show himself at once valiant and a true Christian,--might

satisfy his queen and merit Isabella.

For six days the two vessels sailed with a prosperous wind, shaping

their course for the Western Islands, for, in that direction they could

not fail to fall in with Portuguese East India men, or vessels returning

from the West Indies; but on the seventh day the wind became contrary

and continued that way so long that they could not make the islands, but

were forced to run for the coast of Spain. On nearing it at the entrance

of the straits of Gibraltar, they discovered three vessels, one very

large and two small. Richard steered towards his commander's ship to

know if it was his intention they should attack the three vessels just

discovered; but on nearing it, he saw them hoist a black flag, and

presently he heard a mournful sound of trumpets, indicating that either

the general or one of his chief officers was dead. When he came within

hail, which had not before been the case since they put to sea, there

was a call from the leading ship for Captain Richard to come on board,

as their general had died of apoplexy the preceding night. Sad as this

news was, Richard could not help being glad, not of his admiral's death,

but at finding himself in command of both ships, according to the

Queen's orders for the contingency which had occurred. He went on board

the flag-ship where he found some lamenting the old commander, and some

rejoicing over the new one; but all promised him obedience, yet

proclaimed him general with short ceremony, not having time for longer,

for two out of the three vessels they had discovered had quitted the

third and were bearing down upon them.

They at once made them out by the crescents on their flags to be Turkish

galleys, to the great delight of Richard, who believed that with the

help of Heaven he should make an important capture without prejudice to

his religion. The two galleys came up to reconnoitre the English ships,

which had not shown their national colours but those of Spain, in order

to baffle those who might overhaul them, and prevent their recognising

them as war cruisers. The Turks mistook them for trading vessels from

India, and made sure of capturing them with ease. Richard took care to

let them approach till they were well within range of his guns, which he

let fly at them so opportunely, that with a single broadside he disabled

one of the galleys, sending five balls through her middle and nearly

cutting her in two. She immediately heeled over and began to founder;

the other galley made haste to take her in tow, in order to get her

under the lee of the large ship; but Richard, whose ships manoeuvred as

rapidly as if they were impelled by oars, having reloaded his guns,

pursued the retreating galleys, pouring upon them an incessant shower of

balls. The crew of the crippled galley having clambered on board the

large ship, Richard poured such a cross fire from his two ships on her

consort, that she could neither use sails nor oars, and the Turks on

board her, following the example of their comrades, took refuge in the

large ship, not with the intention of defending her, but for the

momentary safety of their lives. The Christian galley-slaves broke their

chains, and mingling with the Turks also boarded the large ship, but as

they were in danger from the musquetry of Richard's two ships as they

were swarming up the side, he gave orders to cease firing on Turks and

Christians alike. The former, however, had already lost the great part

of their numbers, and the rest were cut to pieces with their own weapons

by the revolted slaves, who, thinking the two English ships were

Spanish, did marvels for the recovery of their freedom.

At last, when nearly all the Turks were killed, some Spaniards shouted

from the deck to their supposed countrymen to come on board and enjoy

the fruits of their victory. Richard asked them in Spanish what ship was

that? They replied that she was a Portuguese ship from the West Indies,

freighted with spices, and with such a quantity of diamonds and pearls

that she was worth a million. She had been driven into those latitudes

by a storm, much damaged, with all her guns thrown overboard, and her

crew almost perishing of hunger and thirst. In that condition, being

unable to make any resistance, she had been captured the day before by

these two galleys, which belonged to the corsair Arnaut Mami,[79] and

which not having stowage room for her great cargo, had taken her in tow

to convey her to the river Larache. Richard apprised them, in return,

that if they supposed his two vessels were Spanish, they were greatly

mistaken, for they belonged to the Queen of England. This information

astonished and alarmed them, making them fear that they had escaped from

one rock to founder on another; but Richard told them they had nothing

to fear, and that they might rely on obtaining their liberty, provided

they did not make any defence. "It would be impossible for us to do so,"

they said, "for as we have told you, we have neither cannon nor other

arms, and have no choice but to throw ourselves upon the generosity of

your general. Since he has freed us from the intolerable yoke of the

Turks, let him enhance his good work by an act which will exalt his fame

all over the world wherever the news reaches of this memorable victory

and his magnanimity."

[79] Under whom Cervantes himself was for four years in slavery at

Algiers.

Richard lent a favourable ear to this request, and immediately called a

council of his officers to consider what might be the best means of

sending all the Christians to Spain, without incurring any risk from

them, should their numbers encourage them to rise and attempt to

overpower his crews. There were some who suggested that they should be

brought on board one by one, and put to death as they entered. "No,"

said Richard; "since by God's grace we have obtained so rich a prize, I

will not betray my ingratitude by such an act of cruelty. It is never

well to have recourse to the sword, when, with a little forethought, the

end may be secured by other means. I will, therefore, not have any

Catholic Christian put to death, not that I care so much for them, but

for my own sake and for yours, for I would not have the honour of our

victory tarnished by cruelty. My orders are, then, that the crew of one

of our ships, with all her guns and arms and the greater part of her

stores, be put on board the large Portuguese vessel, which we will then

take to England, and leave the Spaniards to return home on ours."

No one ventured to contravene this proposal, which to some appeared

equally magnanimous and judicious, while others in their hearts

condemned it as showing an undue leaning towards the Catholics.

Taking with him fifty arquebusiers Richard went on hoard the Portuguese

ship, in which he found about three hundred persons, who had escaped out

of the galleys. He immediately had the vessel he intended to discharge

brought alongside, and had its guns brought on board. Then making a

short speech to the Christians, he ordered them to pass into the

discharged vessel, where they found stores enough for more than a month

and for a greater number of people; and as they embarked he gave each of

them four Spanish crowns, which he sent for to his own ship, in order

partly to relieve their wants when they reached land, which was not far

off; for the lofty mountains of Abyla and Calpe were in sight. They all

thanked him heartily for his generous behaviour, and when they were

nearly all embarked, the same person who had first spoken to him from

the deck of the ship, addressed him, "You would do me a greater service,

valorous sir, in taking me with you to England than in sending me to

Spain; for, though it is my country, and it is but six days since I left

it, I have nothing to look for there but grief and desolation.

"You must know, señor, that at the sack of Cadiz which happened about

fifteen years ago, I lost a daughter, whom the English carried away with

them to England, and with her I lost the comfort of my age and the light

of my eyes, which since she passed from their sight, have never seen

anything to gladden them. Grief for this calamity and for the loss of

my property, of which I was also despoiled, so overcame me that I was no

longer able or willing to apply myself to commerce, in which I had been

so successful that I was commonly reputed to be the richest merchant in

our whole city; and so indeed I was, for, besides my credit, which was

good for many hundred thousand dollars, my estate was worth more than

fifty thousand ducats. I lost all; yet all my losses would have been

nothing had I not lost my daughter. After the general calamity and my

own, want pressed me so hard, that not being able to bear up against it,

myself and my wife--that woe-begone creature sitting yonder--determined

to emigrate to the Indies, the common refuge of the well-born poor. We

embarked six days ago in a packet-ship, but just outside the harbour of

Cadiz we were captured by those two corsairs. This was a new addition to

our affliction; but it would have been greater had not the corsair taken

this Portuguese ship, which fortunately detained them until you came to

our rescue."

In reply to Richard's question what was his daughter's name, the

Spaniard said it was Isabella. This confirmed the suspicion which

Richard had all along entertained, that the person before him was the

father of his beloved mistress. Keeping this fact to himself, he told

the Spaniard that he would willingly take him and his wife to London,

where possibly they might obtain some intelligence about their child.

Taking them both on board his flag-ship, and having sufficiently armed

and manned the Portuguese galleon, he set sail that night, avoiding the

coast of Spain as much as possible, lest he should be intercepted in

consequence of! information given by the liberated captives. Among the

latter there were some twenty Turks, to whom also Richard granted

freedom, to show that his conduct had been the result simply of his

generous disposition, and not of any secret leaning to the Catholics:

and he asked the Spaniards to set the Turks at liberty upon the first

opportunity. The wind, which had blown fresh and fair at first, died

away into a calm, to the dismay of the English, who murmured against

Richard's unseasonable generosity, saying, that the liberated captives

might give information of what had happened, and that if there chanced

to be armed galleons in port, they might sally out and intercept them.

Richard knew that this was quite true, but strove to allay their fears

in the best way he could. But what availed with them more than all his

arguments, was that the wind sprang up again, so that they crowded all

sail, and in nine days reached London, from which they had been only a

month absent on their cruise. Richard would not enter the port with only

joyous demonstrations, on account of the death of his late commander,

but mingled signs of grief with them. At one moment bugles rang out

cheerily, at the next they were answered by melancholy trumpet notes,

and the wailing fife was heard at intervals between the lively rattle of

the drum and the clash of arms. From one mast-head hung a Turkish banner

reversed, and from another a long black streamer, the ends of which

dipped in the water. In this manner he entered the river of London in

his English ship, leaving the Portuguese ship at sea, for want of depth

of water in the river to float it.

These conflicting demonstrations puzzled the vast multitudes, who

observed them from the shore. They easily recognised the smaller vessel

as the flag-ship of Baron Lansac; but they could not make out how it was

that his second vessel had been exchanged for the large and powerful

ship which lay out at sea. But the problem was solved when they saw the

valorous Richard jump into his boat, fully equipped in rich and splendid

armour. Without waiting for any other escort than that of a vast

multitude of the people who followed him, he proceeded on foot to the

palace, where the queen was standing in a balcony, waiting for news of

the ships, and surrounded by her ladies, among whom was Isabella,

dressed in the English style, which became her as well as the Castilian.

A messenger, who had anticipated Richard's arrival, had startled her by

the announcement of his coming, and she stood watching for him with

feelings that fluttered between hope and fear, not knowing whether he

had sped well or ill upon his expedition.

Richard was a young man of noble presence, tall and finely proportioned,

and he looked to great advantage in a complete suit of Milanese armour

all graven and gilded, and instead of a helmet, a wide-leafed fawn

coloured hat with Walloon plumes. Thus equipped, and with his spirited

bearing, to some he seemed like Mars the god of battles; others, struck

by the beauty of his face, compared him to Venus sportively disguised in

the armour of that god. When he came before the Queen he knelt, and gave

a brief account of his expedition.

"After the sudden death of general de Lansac," he said, "I took his

place in pursuance of your Majesty's gracious orders. Shortly afterwards

we discovered two Turkish galleys towing a large ship, which we have

brought home with us. We attacked them; your Majesty's soldiers fought

with great spirit, as they always do, and the corsair galleys went to

the bottom. I liberated in your Majesty's royal name the Christians who

had escaped out of the hands of the Turks, and sent them away in one of

our vessels; and have only brought with me one Spaniard and his wife,

who desired of their own accord to come and behold your Majesty's

greatness. The great ship we took, is one of those which come from the

Portuguese possessions in India; being damaged by a storm, it fell into

the power of the Turks, who took it without any difficulty. According to

the account given by some of the Portuguese on board the ship, her cargo

of spices, and the pearls and diamonds she carries, are worth more than

a million. All is untouched, the Turks not having had time to lay hands

on anything, and I have given orders that the whole should be presented

to your Majesty. There is one jewel alone which, if your Majesty will

bestow it upon me, will leave me your debtor for ten other ships. That

jewel your Majesty has promised me: it is my Isabella, in obtaining whom

I shall be richly rewarded, not only for this service, such as it is,

which I have rendered your Majesty, but for many others which I intend

to perform in order to repay some part of the incalculable amount which

your Majesty will bestow upon me in that jewel."

"Rise, Richard," replied the queen, "and believe me that were I to

deliver Isabella to you in the way of bargain at the price at which I

value her, you could not pay for her with all the wealth of your

prize-ship, nor with what remains in the Indies. I give her to you

because I promised to do so, and because she is worthy of you, and you

of her; your valour alone entitles you to have her. If you have kept the

jewels in the ship for me, I have kept your jewel for you; and though

it may seem to you that I do not do much for you in returning to you

what is your own, I know that I confer upon you a boon the worth of

which is beyond all human computation. Isabella is yours; there she

stands; you may claim her when you will, and I believe that it will be

with her own consent, for she has the good sense to prize your affection

as it deserves. I shall expect you again to-morrow to give me a more

detailed account of your exploits, and bring me those two Spaniards who

wish to see me, that I may gratify their desire." Richard kissed the

queen's hand, and her majesty retired.

The ladies now gathered round Richard, and one of them, the lady Tansi,

who had taken a great liking to Isabella, and who was the liveliest and

most facetious lady of the court, said to him, "What is all this, sir?

Why these arms? Did you, perchance, imagine that you were coming here to

fight your enemies? Believe me, you have none but friends here, unless

it be the lady Isabella, who, as a Spaniard, is bound to bear you no

good will."

"Let her only vouchsafe, Lady Tansi, to have me a little in her

thoughts, and I am sure she will not think of me with ill will; for

ingratitude can have no place in the heart of one so good, so wise, and

so exquisitely fair."

"Since I am to be yours, señor Richard," said Isabella, "claim from me

what you will in recompense for the praises you bestow upon me."

Whilst Isabella and the other ladies were thus conversing with Richard,

there was a little girl present who did nothing but gaze at him, lift up

his cuishes to see what was beneath them, touch his sword, and, with

childlike simplicity, peep at her own image reflected in his bright

armour. When Richard was gone away, she said, turning to the ladies,

"Now I see what a fine thing war must be, since armed men look to such

advantage even among ladies." "Look to advantage!" exclaimed Lady Tansi;

"one might take Richard for the sun, come down from Heaven, to walk the

streets in that garb." Every one laughed at the little girl's remark,

and at Lady Tansi's hyperbole; and there lacked not back-biters, who

thought his appearing in arms at the palace was an act of great

impropriety; but others excused him, saying that it was a very natural

and pardonable act of vanity on the part of a gallant young soldier.

Richard was most cordially welcomed by his parents, relations, and

friends, and that night there were general rejoicings in London. On his

return home, he found Isabella's parents already there, and told his

father and mother who they were, but begged they would give no hint of

the matter to Isabella till he should make it known to her himself. His

desire was punctually observed. That night they began with a great

number of boats and barges, and in presence of a multitude of admiring

spectators, to unload the great galleon, but eight days were consumed in

the work before they had disembowelled it of its aromatic and precious

freight. On the following day, Richard went again to the palace, taking

with him Isabella's father and mother, dressed in the English style,

telling them that the queen wished to see them. They found the queen

surrounded by her ladies, with Isabella by her side, wearing, by the

queen's desire, for Richard's special gratification, the same dress in

which she had made her first appearance at court. Isabella's parents

were filled with admiration and astonishment at such a display of

grandeur and gaiety combined. They looked at Isabella, but did not

recognise her, though their hearts, prophetic of the happiness so near

at hand, began to throb, not anxiously, but with an emotion of joy for

which they could not account.

The queen would not allow Richard to kneel before her, but made him rise

and be seated on a chair which was placed for him alone, an unusual

favour, which provoked many envious comments. "It is not on a chair he

sits," said one, "but on the pepper he has brought." "It is a true

saying," remarked another, "that gifts can soften rocks, since they have

mollified the hard heart of our queen." "He sits at his ease," said a

third, "but there are those who will make bold to push him from his

seat." In fact, that new mark of honour which the queen bestowed on

Richard gave occasion to many to regard him with envy and malice; for

there is no favour which the sovereign bestows on a subject but pierces

the heart of the envious like a lance. In obedience to the queen's

command, Richard narrated more minutely the details of his conflict with

the corsairs, attributing the victory to God, and to the arms of her

valiant soldiers. He extolled them all collectively, and made special

mention of some who had particularly distinguished themselves, in order

that the queen might reward them all and singly. When he came to speak

of his having, in her majesty's name, set the Turks and Christians at

liberty, he said, pointing to Isabella's parents, "These are the persons

of whom I spoke yesterday to your majesty, who, desiring to behold your

greatness, earnestly besought me to bring them away with me. They are

from Cadiz, and from what they have told me, and from what I have myself

observed, I am assured that they are persons of worth and quality."

The queen commanded them to approach her. Isabella raised her eyes to

look at persons who she heard were Spaniards, and, above all, from

Cadiz, longing to know if perchance they were acquainted with her

parents. Her mother first encountered her gaze, and as she looked

attentively at her, there rose on her mind some shadowy confused

reminiscences that seemed to intimate she had seen that face before. Her

father was in the same wavering state of mind, not daring to believe the

evidence of his eyes, whilst Richard watched intently the workings of

their perplexed and dubious souls. The queen too noticed the emotion of

the two strangers, and also Isabella's uneasiness, for she saw her often

raise her hand to her forehead, which was bedewed with perspiration.

Whilst Isabella was longing that the person she imagined to be her

mother would speak, thinking that the sound of her voice would resolve

her doubts, the queen commanded her to ask the strangers in Spanish what

had induced them voluntarily to forego the freedom which Richard had

offered them, since freedom was the thing most prized, not only by

reasonable creatures, but even by irrational animals. Isabella put this

question to her mother, who, without answering a word, rushed abruptly

and almost totteringly to Isabella, and forgetting all respect of place

or circumstances, put her hand to her daughter's right ear, and

discovered a dark mole behind it. Assured now beyond all doubt that

Isabella was her daughter, she cried out, "Child of my heart! treasure

of my soul!" and swooned in her arms. The father, no less tender hearted

but with more self-command, gave no other token of his feelings than the

tears that streamed down his venerable face and beard. With her lips

pressed upon her mother's, Isabella bent her eyes upon her father, with

looks that spoke the gladness of her soul.

The queen was greatly affected by this touching scene, and said to

Richard, "I know not whether you have done wisely in contriving this

meeting, for sudden joy, it is known, can kill as well as grief." Then,

turning to Isabella, she withdrew her from her mother, who, after her

face had been sprinkled with water, came to her senses, and recollecting

herself a little better, fell on her knees before the queen, entreating

her majesty's pardon. Elizabeth graciously replied, and commanded that

the two strangers should take up their abode in the palace, that they

might have the more opportunity of rejoicing in their daughter's

society. Richard then renewed his request that the queen would fulfil

her promise, and bestow Isabella upon him, if so it were that he had

deserved her, but if not, he begged to be sent where he might find

opportunities of doing so.

The queen was well aware that Richard was well satisfied with himself,

and that there was no need of putting him to further proof; she told

him, therefore, that in four days he should obtain the object of his

desires, and that she would honour their union with her royal

countenance. Richard then took his leave of her majesty, his heart

swelling with joy at the near prospect of Isabella becoming his own for

ever. Time sped, but not with the nimbleness he desired; for those who

live on the hopes of pleasure to come, always imagine that time does not

fly, but hobbles on the feet of sloth itself. At last the day came on

which Richard expected, not to end his desires, but to find in Isabella

new graces which should make him love her more, if more was possible.

But in that brief space of time, in which he thought the bark of his

fortunes was running with a prosperous gale towards the desired haven,

it encountered such a fearful tempest, as a thousand times threatened it

with wreck.

The queen's keeper of the robes, who had charge of Isabella, had a son

aged two-and-twenty, named Count Ernest, whom his great wealth, his high

blood, and his mother's great favour with the queen, made too arrogant

and overbearing. He fell most violently in love with Isabella, and,

during Richard's absence, he had made some overtures to her which she

had coldly disregarded. Although repugnance and disdain manifested at

the outset usually make the enamoured desist from their suit, yet

Isabella's notorious disdain had the contrary effect on Ernest, for it

fired his passion, and consumed his sense of honour. He was almost

distracted when he found that the queen had adjudged Isabella to

Richard, and that she was so soon to become his; but before he committed

himself to the infamous and dastardly course which he ultimately

adopted, he first besought his mother to use her influence with the

queen on his behalf, declaring that his death was at hand unless he

obtained Isabella for his wife.

The countess, well knowing her son's violent and arrogant disposition,

and the obstinacy with which he pursued his desires, had reason to fear

that his passion would lead to some unhappy result. With a mother's

natural anxiety to gratify her son's wishes, she promised to speak to

the queen, not with the hope of succeeding in the impossible attempt to

make her majesty break her word, but in order not to sit down in

despair, while any remedy remained to be tried. That morning Isabella

was dressed by the queen's orders with a magnificence which defies

description. With her own hands her majesty put on her neck a string of

the largest pearls found in the galleon, valued at twenty thousand

ducats, and a diamond ring on her finger worth six thousand crowns. But

whilst the ladies were in great glee anticipating the glad time so near

at hand, the keeper of the robes presented herself before the queen, and

implored her on her knees to postpone Isabella's wedding for two days

longer, declaring that if her majesty would only do so, it would more

than reward her for all her past services. The queen desired to know, in

the first instance, why she made that request, so directly at variance

with the royal promise given to Richard; but the countess would not

explain until the queen, urged by curiosity to discover the cause of

this strange request, promised that she would grant it. Having thus

succeeded in her immediate object, the lady keeper made the queen

acquainted with her son's passion, and how, fearing that unless he

obtained Isabella he would commit some desperate deed against himself or

others, she had asked for that delay of two days in order that her

majesty might devise the best means of saving the life of her son. The

queen replied that had she not pledged her royal word, she would have

found a way to smooth over that difficulty, but that, for no

consideration, could she retract her promise or defraud Richard of the

hope she had given him.

The lady keeper reported the queen's answer to her son, but nothing

could overcome his headstrong presumption. Arming himself at all points

he mounted a powerful charger, and presented himself before Clotald's

house, and shouted for Richard to come to the window. Richard was

dressed as a bridegroom, and was on the point of setting out for the

palace with his friends, but hearing himself thus summoned, he went with

some surprise and showed himself at an open window. "Hark you, Richard;

I have something to say to you," said Count Ernest. "Our lady the queen

ordered you to go forth on her service and perform exploits that should

render you worthy of the peerless Isabella. You set out, and returned

with ships laden with wealth, with which you think you have bought your

title to Isabella. But though our lady the queen promised her to you, it

was under the belief that there was no one at her court who could serve

her better than you, or more justly aspire to the fair Spaniard's hand;

but in this it may be that her majesty was mistaken. Being of that

opinion, and holding it for very truth, I say that you have done no such

deeds as can make you worthy of Isabella, nor can you ever perform any

to raise you to that honour; and if you dare to maintain the contrary, I

defy you to the death."

"I am in no wise called upon to take up your defial," replied Richard;

"because I confess not only that I do not merit Isabella, but that no

man living does so. Confessing, therefore, the truth of what you allege,

I say again, that your defial touches not me; nevertheless, I accept it

in order to chastise your insolence." So saying, he left the window and

called for his arms.

Richard's family and the friends who had assembled to escort him to the

palace were thrown into confusion by this untoward incident. The

challenge having been so publicly given, it could not be but that some

one should report it to the queen. This was done accordingly, and her

majesty ordered the captain of her guard to arrest Count Ernest. The

captain made such good speed that he arrived just as Richard was riding

out from his father's house, mounted on a handsome steed, and equipped

with the magnificent arms in which he had gone to pay his respects to

the queen on his return from his expedition. The moment the count saw

the captain of the queen's guard, he guessed his purpose, and resolving

not to let himself be caught, he shouted out, "You see, Richard, how we

are interrupted. If you are bent upon chastising me, you will look for

me as I will look for you. Two people surely meet when they have a

mind." "The sooner the better," said Richard. Meanwhile, the captain of

the guards came up and, in the queen's name, arrested the count, who

surrendered, requesting to be taken into the queen's presence. The

captain complied, and carried Ernest before the queen, who, without

entering into any discourse with him, ordered that he should surrender

his sword and be committed to the Tower.

All these things were torture to the heart of Isabella and to her

parents, who saw their new-found happiness so soon disturbed. The lady

keeper advised the queen that to prevent the mischief which might break

out between her own family and Richard's, the possible cause of it

should be withdrawn, by sending Isabella to Spain. In support of this

suggestion she added that Isabella was a Catholic, and so rooted in that

faith, that all the arguments and persuasions she had used to withdraw

her from it, and they were many, were of no avail. The queen replied

that she esteemed her the more, since she was steadfast to the law

taught her by her parents; and that as for sending her to Spain, it was

not to be thought of, for she was charmed with her lovely presence and

her many graces and virtues. In fine, the queen was resolved that

Isabella should become Richard's wife, if not that day, on another,

without fail. The lady keeper was so mortified by this reply that she

withdrew without saying a word; and having already made up her mind that

unless Isabella was removed there could be no hope of relief for her son

or of peace between him and Richard, she determined to commit one of the

most atrocious acts that could enter the mind of a lady of her exalted

station.

Women being, for the most part, rash and sudden in the execution of

their resolves, the lady keeper that evening gave Isabella poison in a

conserve which she pressed her to take, under the pretence that it was

good for the sinking and oppression of the heart which she complained

of. A short while after Isabella had swallowed it her throat and tongue

began to swell, her lips turned black, her voice became hoarse, her eyes

fixed and glassy, and her breathing laboured and stertorous: in short,

she exhibited all the symptoms of having been poisoned. The queen's

ladies hastened to inform her majesty, assuring her that the lady keeper

had been the author of the nefarious deed.

The queen had no great difficulty in coming to the same conclusion, and

went at once to see Isabella, who seemed to be almost at the last gasp.

Sending with all speed for her physicians, she, meanwhile, ordered that

the sufferer should be given a quantity of powdered unicorn's horn and

several other antidotes, with which great princes are usually provided

against such casualties. The physicians arrived and begged the queen to

make the lady keeper declare what kind of poison she had used (for no

one doubted that she was the poisoner). This information having been

obtained from the criminal, the physician applied the proper remedies

with such good effect that, with God's help, Isabella's life was saved,

or at least there was a hope that it would be so.

The queen ordered that the lady keeper should be arrested and confined

in a chamber of the palace, intending to punish her as her crime

deserved; whilst the guilty woman thought to excuse herself by saying

that in killing Isabella she offered an acceptable sacrifice to heaven

by ridding the world of a Catholic, and removing with her the cause of

affliction to her son. Finally, Isabella did not die; but she escaped

only with the loss of her hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes, her face

swollen, her bloom gone, her skin blotched and blistered, and her eyes

red and humid. In a word, she was now become an object as loathsome to

look at as she had before been surpassingly beautiful. The change was so

frightful that those who knew her thought it would have been better had

the poison killed her. But notwithstanding all this, Richard supplicated

the queen to let him take her home with him, for the great love he bore

her comprehended not only her body but her soul, and if Isabella had

lost her beauty, she could not have lost her infinite virtues. "Be it

so," said the queen. "Take her, Richard, and reckon that you take in her

a most precious jewel, in a rough wooden casket. God knows how gladly I

would give her to you as I received her; but since that is impossible,

perhaps the punishment I will inflict on the perpetrator of the crime

will be some satisfaction to your feelings."

Richard spoke earnestly in the culprit's behalf, and besought her

majesty to pardon her. Finally, Isabella and her parents were consigned

to his care, and he took them home to his father's house, the queen

having added to the fine pearls and the diamonds she had bestowed on

Isabella other jewels and rich dresses, such as manifested the great

affection she felt for her. Isabella remained for two months in the same

state, without the least sign appearing that her beauty would ever

return; but at the end of that time her skin began to peel off, and she

gradually recovered the natural bloom of her lovely complexion.

Meanwhile, Richard's parents, thinking it impossible that Isabella

should ever again be what she had been, determined to send for the

Scotch lady, to whom they had at first intended to unite him. They did

not doubt that the actual beauty of the new bride would make their son

forget the lost beauty of her rival, whom they intended to send to Spain

with her parents, giving them so much wealth as would compensate them

for their past losses. All this was settled between them without

Richard's knowledge, and soon after the new bride entered their doors,

duly accompanied, and so beautiful that none could compare with her in

London, now that Isabella's charms were gone.

Richard was astounded at this unexpected arrival, and fearing that it

would have a fatal effect upon Isabella, he went to her bedside, and

said to her, in presence of her parents, "Beloved of my soul, my

parents, in their great love for me, but ill conceiving how great is

mine for you, have brought hither a Scotch lady, to whom they arranged

to marry me before I knew your worth. They have done so, I believe, upon

the supposition that her great beauty will efface from my soul the image

of yours, which is deeply impressed upon it. But from the moment I first

loved you, Isabella, it was with a different love from that which finds

its end attained in the gratification of the sensual appetite: for

though your great beauty captivated my senses, your infinite virtues

enthralled my soul, so that if I loved you in your beauty, I adore you

in your plainness. That I may confirm that truth, put your hand in

mine."

She held out her right hand; he took it in his, and continued:

"By the Catholic faith which my Christian parents have taught me; or, if

that is not as pure and perfect as it ought, then, by that held by the

Roman pontiff, and which in my heart I confess, believe, and hold, do I

swear, and by the true God who hears us, I promise you, Isabella, soul

of my soul! to be your husband; and your husband I am from this moment,

if you will raise me up so high."

Isabella could only kiss Richard's hand again and again, and tell him in

a voice broken by her tears, that she accepted him as hers, and gave

herself to him as his slave. Richard kissed her disfigured face, which

he had never ventured to kiss in its beauty; and her parents, with tears

of affection, ratified their solemn betrothal. Richard told them that he

would find a way to postpone his marriage with the Scotch lady, and that

when his father proposed to send them to Spain they were not to refuse,

but were to go to Cadiz and wait for him there or in Seville for two

years, within which time he gave them his word he would be with them, if

God spared his life. Should he not appear within that time, they might

be assured that he was prevented by some insuperable impediment, and

most probably by death. Isabella replied that she would wait for him not

only two years, but all the years of her life, until she knew that he

was no longer alive; for the moment that brought her that news would be

her last.

Richard having at length quitted Isabella, went and told his parents

that on no account would he marry the Scotch lady until he had first

been to Rome for the satisfaction of his conscience; and he represented

the matter in such a light to them and to the relations of Clesterna

(that was the name of the Scotch lady), that as they were all Catholics,

they easily assented, and Clesterna was content to remain in her

father-in-law's house until the return of Richard, who proposed to be

away a year. This being settled, Clotald told his son of his intention

to send Isabella and her parents to Spain, if the queen gave them leave;

perhaps her native air would confirm and expedite her incipient

recovery. Richard, to avoid betraying his secret intentions, desired

his father, with seeming indifference, to do as he thought best; only he

begged him not to take away from Isabella any of the presents which the

queen had given her. Clotald promised this, and the same day he went and

asked the queen's leave both to marry his son to Clesterna, and to send

Isabella and her parents to Spain. The queen granted both requests, and

without having recourse to lawyers or judges, she forthwith passed

sentence on the lady keeper, condemning her to lose her office, and to

pay down ten thousand crowns for Isabella. As for Count Ernest, she

banished him from England for six years.

Four days afterwards Richard set out on his exile, and the money had

been already paid. The queen, sending for a rich merchant, resident in

London, who was a Frenchman, and had correspondents in France, Italy,

and Spain, put the ten thousand crowns into his hands, and desired him

to let Isabella's father have bills for the amount on Seville or some

other place in Spain. The merchant having deducted his profit, told the

queen he would give good and safe bills on another French merchant, his

correspondent in Seville, in the following manner:--He would write to

Paris that the bills might be drawn there by another correspondent of

his, in order that they should be dated from France and not from

England, because of the interdicted communication between that country

and Spain. It would only be necessary to have a letter of advice from

him, with his signature and without date, in sight of which the merchant

of Seville would immediately pay the money, according to previous advice

from the merchant of Paris.

In fine, the queen took such securities from the merchant as made the

payment certain; and not content with this, she sent for the master of a

Flemish vessel who was about to sail for France, only to obtain a

manifest from some French port, in order to be allowed to land in Spain;

and she begged him to take Isabella and her parents, treat them well,

and land them safely at the first Spanish port he reached. The master,

who desired to please the queen, said he would do so, and would land

them at Lisbon, Cadiz, or Seville. After this the queen sent word to

Clotald not to take from Isabella any of the presents she had given her,

whether jewels or clothes.

The next day Isabella and her parents came to take leave of the queen,

who received them with great affection. The queen gave them the

merchant's bills, besides many other presents, both in money and in

things suitable for their voyage. Isabella expressed her gratitude in

such terms as to increase the queen's gracious disposition towards her.

She took leave of the ladies of the court, who, now that she had become

plain, would rather have had her remain among them, having no longer

reason to envy her beauty, and being willing to enjoy her society for

the sake of her good qualities of mind and disposition. The queen

embraced the three, and took leave of them, commending them to good

fortune and to the master of the vessel, and asking Isabella to inform

her of her arrival in Spain, and of her health at all times through the

French merchant. That evening they embarked, not without tears on the

part of Clotald, his wife, and his whole household, by whom Isabella was

exceedingly beloved. Richard was not present at the departure, for, in

order to avoid betraying his feelings, he had gone with some of his

friends to the chase.

Many were the dainties which the lady Catherine gave. Isabella for use

on the voyage; endless were her embraces, her tears, and her injunctions

that she should write to her; for all which Isabella and her parents

returned suitable thanks. That night the vessel set sail, and having

reached France with a fair wind, and obtained the necessary papers to

enable them to enter Spain, they crossed the bar of Cadiz thirty days

afterwards, and there Isabella and her parents disembarked. Being known

to the whole city, they were joyfully welcomed, and warmly congratulated

on their recovery of Isabella, and on their liberation, from their

Turkish captors (for that fact had been made known by the captives whom

Richard generously released), and also from detention in England. By

this time Isabella began to give great hopes that she would quite

recover her original beauty.

For more than a month they remained in Cadiz, recruiting themselves

after the toils of their voyage; and then they went to Seville, to see

if they should obtain payment of the ten thousand crowns upon the French

merchant's bill. Two days after their arrival they called upon the

person on whom it was drawn. He acknowledged it, but said that, until

the arrival of advices from Paris, he could not pay the money.

Isabella's father hired a large house facing St. Paul's, because there

was in that holy convent a nun who was remarkable for rare musical

talents, and who was his own niece. They chose the house to be near her

for that reason, and because Isabella had told Richard that if he came

to look for her he would find her in Seville, and her cousin, the nun of

St. Paula's, would tell him where: he had only to ask for the nun who

had the best voice in the convent; every one would know her by that

description.

It was forty days more before the advices came from Paris, and two days

after their arrival the French merchant paid Isabella the ten thousand

crowns, which she handed over to her parents. With that sum, and

something more made by the sale of part of Isabella's numerous jewels,

her father again began business as a merchant, to the surprise of those

who were cognisant of his great losses. After a few months his lost

credit began to return; so, too, did his daughter's good looks, so that,

whenever female beauty was the subject of discourse, the palm was

universally conceded to the Spanish-English lady; for by that name, as

well as for her great beauty, she was known throughout the city. Through

the French merchant of Seville, Isabella and her parents wrote to the

queen of England, announcing their arrival in such grateful and dutiful

terms as the many favours received at her Majesty's hands required. They

also wrote to Clotald and Catherine, whom Isabella addressed as her

revered parents.

Their letters to the queen remained unanswered, but from Clotald and his

wife they received a reply, congratulating them on their safe arrival,

and informing them that their son Richard had set out from France the

day after their departure, and thence to other countries, which it

behoved him to visit for the tranquillity of his conscience. Isabella

immediately concluded that Richard had left England for no other purpose

than to seek her; and cheered by this hope, she was as happy as she

could be, and strove to live in such a manner that, when Richard arrived

in Seville, the fame of her virtues should reach his ears before he

learned where she lived.

She seldom or never quitted the house, except to go to the convent, and

attended no other church services than those performed there. She never

went near the river, or to Triana, or witnessed the general rejoicings

at the Campo de Tablada, or the Puerta de Xeres on Sari Sebastian's day,

celebrated by an almost innumerable multitude; in short, she never went

abroad for any kind of amusement in Seville; her whole time was spent in

her devotions, and in praying and hoping for Richard's arrival. The

consequence of this strict retirement was a great increase of the

general interest about her; thence came serenades in her street by

night, and promenades by day. The desire which so many felt to see her,

and the difficulty of accomplishing it, was a great source of gain to

the professional go-betweens, who severally professed that they alone

had the ear of Isabella, and some there were who had recourse to what

are called charms, which are nothing but deceits and follies; but in

spite of all this, Isabella was like a rock in the ocean, which the

winds and waves assail in vain. A year and a half had now passed, and

her heart began to yearn more and more as the end of the period assigned

by Richard drew near. Already, in imagination, she looked upon him as

arrived; he stood before her eyes; she asked him what had caused his

long delay; she heard his excuses; she forgave him, embraced and

welcomed him as the half of her soul; and then there was put into her

hands a letter from the lady Catherine, dated from London fifty days

before. It was as follows:--

"Daughter of my heart,--You doubtless recollect Richard's page,

Guillart. He accompanied Richard on his journey the day after you

sailed, to France and other parts, whereof I informed you in a former

letter. This said Guillart, after we had been sixteen months without

hearing news of my son, yesterday entered our house with news that Count

Ernest had basely murdered Richard in France. Imagine, my daughter, the

effect upon his father, myself, and his intended wife, of such news as

this, coming to us in such wise as left no doubt of our misfortune. What

Clotald and myself beg of you once more, daughter of my soul, is that

you will pray heartily to God for the soul of Richard, for well he

deserves this service at your hands, he who loved you so much as you

know. Pray also to our Lord to grant us patience, and that we may make a

good end; as we will pray for long life for you and your parents."

This letter and the signature left no doubt in Isabella's mind of the

death of her husband. She knew the page Guillart very well, and knew

that he was a person of veracity, and that he could have had no motive

for publishing false news in such a matter; still less could the lady

Catharine have had any interest in deceiving her so painfully. In fine,

in whatever way she considered the subject, the conclusion at which she

invariably arrived was, that this dismal intelligence was unquestionably

true. When she had finished reading the letter, without shedding tears

or showing any outward tokens of grief, with a composed face and

apparently tranquil breast, she rose from her seat, entered an oratory,

and kneeling before a crucifix, made a vow to become a nun, thinking

herself free to do so, as she was no longer a betrothed maiden, but a

widow. Her parents studiously concealed the grief which this affecting

news caused them, in order that they might the better console their

bereaved daughter; whilst she, as if mistress over her sorrow, having

subdued it by the holy Christian resolution she had made, became their

comforter. She made her intention known to them, and they advised her to

postpone its execution, until the two years were elapsed which Richard

had assigned as the duration of his absence. That delay would suffice

for confirming the news of his death, and then she might with more

security change her condition. Isabella followed their advice; and the

six months and a half which remained to complete the term of two years

were spent by her in devotional exercises, and in arranging for her

entrance into the convent of Santa Paula, in which her cousin was a nun.

The remainder of the two years elapsed, and the day arrived when she was

to take the veil. The news having spread through the city, the convent,

and the space between it and Isabella's abode, was thronged by those who

knew her by sight, or by report only; and her father having invited her

friends, and these having invited others, Isabella had for her escort

one of the most imposing retinues ever seen in Seville on such

occasions. It included the chief justice of Seville, the vicar-general,

and all the titled personages of both sexes in the city, so great was

the desire of all to behold the sun of Isabella's beauty, which had been

for so many months eclipsed. And as it is customary for maidens about to

take the veil to dress themselves in their very gayest attire on the day

when they are to renounce for ever the pomps and vanities of the world,

Isabella wore the same splendid dress in which she was presented to the

queen of England, with her necklace and girdle of lustrous pearls, her

diamond ring, and all her other sumptuous jewels. Thus gorgeously

attired, Isabella set out from home on foot, for the short distance to

the convent seemed to render carriages superfluous; but the concourse

was so great that the procession could hardly advance, and its members

regretted too late that they had not chosen to ride instead of walking.

Some of the spectators blessed the father and mother of that lovely

creature; others praised Heaven that had endowed her with so much

beauty. Some strained forward to see her; others, having seen her once,

ran forward to have a second view of her. Among those who were most

eager to behold her, was a man who attracted the notice of many by his

extraordinary efforts. He was dressed in the garb of a slave lately

ransomed, and wore on his breast the emblem of the Holy Trinity, by

which it was known that he had been redeemed by the charity of the

Redemptorist fathers.

Already Isabella had set one foot on the threshold of the convent gate,

where the prioress and the nuns stood ready to receive her with the

cross, when this ransomed captive cried out, "Stop, Isabella, stop!"

Isabella and her parents turned at this cry, and saw the man cleaving

his way towards them through the crowd by main strength. The blue hat he

wore having fallen oft through the violence of his exertions, disclosed

a profusion of flaxen hair, and a clear red and white complexion, which

showed him at once to be a foreigner.

Struggling, stumbling, and rising again, he at last reached the spot

where Isabella stood, caught her hand in his, and said, "Do you know me,

Isabella? I am Richard, your betrothed." "Well do I know you," said

Isabella, "if indeed you are not a phantom come to trouble my repose."

Her parents also examined his features attentively, and saw that this

captive was indeed Richard. As for him, weeping at Isabella's feet, he

implored her not to let the strange garb he wore prevent her recognising

him, nor his low fortune impede the fulfilment of the pledges exchanged

between them. In spite of the impression which the letter from Richard's

mother had made on her memory, Isabella chose rather to believe the

living evidence before her eyes; and embracing the captive, she said,

"Without doubt, my lord and master, you are he who alone could hinder

the fulfilment of my Christian determination; you are without doubt the

half of my soul; my own betrothed! your image is stamped upon my memory,

and treasured in my heart. The news of your death, sent me by your lady

mother, not having killed me on the spot, I resolved to dedicate myself

to religion, and I was just about to enter this convent for the rest of

my days; but since God has shown us by so just an impediment that he

wills otherwise, it is not for me to refuse obedience. Come, señor, to

the house of my parents, which is yours, and there I will give myself to

you in the way which our holy catholic faith prescribes."

This dialogue, overheard by the spectators, struck them all with

amazement. The chief justice and the vicar-general immediately demanded

what was all this ado, who was this stranger, and what marriage was this

they talked about. Isabella's father replied, that what they had seen

was the sequel of a story which required a different place for the

telling of it; therefore, he begged that all who desired to hear it

should turn back to his house, which was close by, and there he would

fully satisfy their curiosity, and fill them with wonder at the strange

things he should relate.

Just then one of the crowd cried out, "Señors, this young man is the

great English corsair. It is not much more than two years since he took

from the Algerine corsairs the great Portuguese galleon from the Indies.

There is not the least doubt that he is the very man; I know him,

because he set me at liberty, and gave me money to carry me to Spain,

and not me only, but three hundred other captives likewise." These words

increased the general excitement and the desire to see all these

intricate matters cleared up. Finally, the principal persons of the

city, with the chief justice and the vicar-general, went back with

Isabella to her father's house, leaving the nuns sorely discomfited, and

crying with vexation at the loss they had sustained in not having the

beautiful Isabella to grace their nunnery. The company being arrived at

the house of Isabella's father, she made them be seated in a long hall,

and though Richard would willingly have taken it upon himself to tell

his story, yet he thought it better to trust it to Isabella's tongue

than to his own, which was not very expert in speaking Spanish.

Accordingly she began her narration in the midst of profound silence and

attention.

She related all that happened to her from the day when Clotald carried

her off from Cadiz until her return thither; also Richard's engagement

with the Turks; his liberality to the Christians; the promise they had

given each other to be husband and wife; the two years' delay agreed on,

and the news she had received of his death, which seemed to her so

certain, as to have nearly occasioned her taking the veil! She extolled

the liberality of the queen of England, the Christian faith of Richard

and his parents, and she concluded by saying, that Richard would relate

what had happened to him since he left London until that moment, when he

stood before them in the dress of a captive, and with the mark of having

been ransomed by charity. "I will do so," said Richard, "and briefly

relate the hardships I have undergone.

"I quitted London to avoid marrying Clisterna, the Scottish Catholic

lady, to whom Isabella has told you that my parents wished to unite me,

and I took with me Guillart, my page, the same who carried the news of

my death to London, as my mother stated in her letter. Passing through

France, I arrived in Rome, where my soul was gladdened, and my faith

fortified. I kissed the feet of the supreme pontiff, confessed my sins

to the grand penitentiary, obtained absolution, and received the

necessary certificates of my confession and penance, and of the

submission I had paid to our holy mother, the church. This done, I

visited the numberless holy places in that sacred city, and out of two

thousand crowns I had with me in gold, I deposited one thousand six

hundred with a money-changer, who gave me a letter of credit for them on

one Roqui, a Florentine, in this city. With the four hundred that

remained, I set out for Spain, by way of Genoa, where I had heard that

there were two galleys of that signory bound for this country. I arrived

with Guillart at a place called Aquapendente, which is the last town in

the pope's dominions on the road to Florence, and in an inn at which I

alighted, I met Count Ernest, my mortal enemy. He had four servants with

him, he was disguised, and was going, as I understood, to Rome, not

because he was a Catholic, but from motives of curiosity. I thought he

had not recognised me, and shut myself up in a room with my servant

Guillart, where I remained on my guard, intending to shift my quarters

at nightfall. I did not do so, however, for the perfect indifference

shown by the count and his servants made me confident that they had not

recognised me. I supped in my room, locked the door, looked to my sword,

commended myself to God, but would not lie down.

"My servant lay asleep, and I sat on a chair between asleep and awake;

but a little after midnight, I was near put to sleep for eternity by

four pistol shots fired at me, as I afterwards learned, by the count and

his servants. They left me for dead, and their horses being in

readiness, they rode off, telling the innkeeper to bury me suitably, for

I was a man of quality. My servant, awaking in terror at the noise,

leaped out of a window, and ran away in such mortal fear, that it seems

he never stopped till he got to London, for it was he brought the news

of my death.

"The people of the inn came up and found I had been struck by four balls

and several slugs, but none of the wounds in any vital part. Calling for

a confessor, I received all the sacraments as became a Catholic

Christian; but I gradually recovered, though it was two months before I

was able to continue my journey. I then proceeded to Genoa, but found no

other means of passage than two feluccas, which were hired by myself and

two Spanish gentlemen. One of them we employed to go before and pilot

the way, and in the other we ourselves embarked. In this way we pursued

our voyage, closely hugging the shore; but when we came to a spot on the

coast of France, called the Three Marias, two Turkish galleys suddenly

came out upon us from a creek, and one keeping to seaward of us, the

other more in shore, they cut off our escape to the land and captured

us. The corsairs stripped us to the skin, plundered the feluccas, and

having completely emptied them, let them drift ashore, instead of

sinking them, saying that they might serve to bring them more pickings

another time.

"You may well believe how bitterly I felt my captivity, and above all,

the loss of the certificates from Rome, which I carried in a tin case,

with the bill for the sixteen hundred ducats; but, by good fortune, they

fell into the hands of a Christian slave, a Spaniard, who kept them, for

if the Turks had got hold of them, they would have required for my

ransom at least the amount of the bill. They carried us to Algiers,

where I found that the fathers of the Most Holy Trinity were redeeming

Christian slaves. I spoke to them, told them who I was, and they, moved

by charity, ransomed me, though I was a foreigner. The price set upon me

was three hundred ducats; they paid down one hundred on the spot, and

engaged to pay the remaining two hundred as soon as the ship should

return with the contributions for the release of the Redemptorist father

who remained in Algiers in pledge for four thousand ducats, which he had

spent over and above the amount he had brought in hand; for so extreme

is the charity of these compassionate fathers, that they give their

liberty for another's, and remain in captivity that others may go free.

In addition to the happiness of obtaining my liberty, I recovered the

case with the certificates and the bill. I showed its contents to the

good father, and promised him five hundred ducats, in addition to the

amount of my ransom, as a contribution towards the payment of the sum

for which he was a hostage.

"It was nearly a year before the ship returned with the redemption

money. What befel me in that year would, of itself, furnish matter for

another history too long to relate at present. I will only say, that I

was recognised by one of the twenty Turks whom I liberated with the

Christians on the occasion already mentioned; but he was so grateful and

so honest, that he would not betray me, for had the Turks known me to be

the person who had sunk two of their galleys, and despoiled them of the

great Indian galleon, they would either have put me to death, or

presented me to the Grand Turk, in which case I should never have

recovered my liberty. Finally, the Redemptorist father came to Spain

with me, and fifty other ransomed Christians. We made a general

procession in Valentia, and from that place we dispersed and took each

his own several way, wearing this garb in token of the means by which we

had been released. For myself, I arrived to-day in this city, burning

with desire to see Isabella, my betrothed, and asked my way at once to

the convent, where I was to hear of her. What happened there you all

know. It now only remains for me to exhibit these certificates to

satisfy you of the truth of my strange story."

So saying, he produced the documents from a tin case, and placed them in

the hands of the vicar-general, who examined them along with the chief

justice, and found nothing in them to make him doubt the truth of what

Richard had stated. Moreover, for the fuller confirmation of his story,

Heaven ordained that among the persons present should be that very

Florentine merchant on whom the bill for sixteen hundred ducats was

drawn. He asked to see it, found it genuine, and accepted it on the

spot, for he had received advice of it several months before. Thereupon

Richard confirmed the promise he had made of contributing five hundred

ducats to the funds of the Redemptorist fathers. The chief justice

embraced him, Isabella, and her parents, and complimented them all in

the most courteous terms. So, too, did the vicar-general, who requested

Isabella to commit this whole story to writing, that he might lay it

before his superior, the archbishop, and this she promised to do.

The deep silence in which the audience had listened to this

extraordinary narrative was broken by thanksgivings to God for his great

marvels; and all present, from the highest to the lowest, congratulated

Isabella, Richard, and their parents, and prayed for their happiness as

they took leave of them. Eight days afterwards, Richard and Isabella

were united before the altar, their marriage being honoured by the

presence of the chief justice, and all the persons of distinction in

Seville. Thus, after so many vicissitudes, Isabella's parents recovered

their daughter, and re-established their fortune; and she, favoured by

heaven, and aided by her many virtues, in spite of so many crosses and

troubles, obtained for her husband a man so deserving as Richard, with

whom it is believed that she lives to this day, in the house facing

Santa Paula, which her father had hired, and which they subsequently

bought of the heirs of a gentleman of Burgos, named Hernando Cifuentes.

This tale may teach us what virtue and what beauty can effect, since

they are sufficient together, or either singly, to win the love even of

enemies; and how Heaven is able to bring forth our greatest happiness

even out of our heaviest misfortunes.

Story 9.