a woman of letters. But she never forgot her sex; and it was only in carrying the graces of that sex to their height, that during the whole winter she was considered the queen of refinement, and that ornament of the Court, and of the world, which all who had known her (De Vere among them) had prognosticated she would be. "But though she be, and deserve to be, all this," said De Vere," is her life the life she loves? Is it her choice? Is she happy? If she is, then all my dreams farewell!"" CHAPTER IV. THE MASQUERADE. What have I done, that thou darest wag thy tongue SHAKSPEARE. THE decided character of De Vere, bore him up under the bitterest disappointment his young life had yet experienced. His love for his cousin had been. by far the strongest passion hitherto of his heart; far stronger, as we have seen, than such ambition as had been kindled in it more by sympathy and persuasion than by nature. That love had been opposed by honour; efficaciously opposed, as to any outward manifestation of it, but vainly as to the feeling itself. Indeed, as long as he retired before rivals of higher consequence, he thought he had performed his duty; and had acquired the right, if he pleased, of nursing in secret those feelings, which nothing, or at least no thought of their imprudence, can deprive of their sweetness, and on which the soul sometimes loves to dwell, spite of hopelessness itself. But hope, as we may remember, was De Vere's mistress; and, as in his enthusiasm he asserted, she gave him more happiness unenjoyed, than success itself.* But this was before he had seen Constance. His creed, therefore, was now put to the test; for not only had he the pretensions of a still more powerful rival than Cleveland to fear, in the person of the Duke of Bellamont, but he had his own reflections upon the changed disposition, as he thought it, of Constance herself, to silence, ere he could continue to nourish his heart with that sweet food ever so grateful to it. "I have watched her," said he, "anxiously, painfully, in this her new sphere; and I can detect no change of character, not even a lurking vanity, which once admitted, the mine of ruin is sprung, and she is the charming Constance no more. But no! it is impossi ble this life can be her choice!" In a moment like this, he was once greeted by Clayton, who, perceiving the state of his feelings, did not fail to express his own astonishment also at the seeming power of the world over so unsophisticated a being. "Refinement, luxury, and a Duke, however," said Clayton, "may work strange metamorphoses."" De Vere changed colour at this coincidence of their thoughts; and Clayton, not without observing this effect, told him to watch the truth of his observation that night at a masquerade given by the Duke, at Bellamont-House; expressly, as asserted by all the town, for the Lady Constance. 'Twas a magnificent entertainment, furnished forth with all that could be supplied by the resources of England, or the taste of France. But I will not busy myself with golden descriptions of the grandeur of a Ducal house, or the glittering dazzle of ducal company; for amid the glare of costly furniture, the blazing of diamonds, and the gaiety of dresses, which seemed to have been dipped in the colours of the rainbow, nothing struck or interested more than the most simple, and least costly of all the objects that challenged observation. This was the compartments of a chalked floor in the ball room, full of elegant emblems, but round every one of which, in large letters, was the motto of "Pour Elle." * See Vol. I. his Letter to Herbert. The superiority of mental curiosity over the mere dazzling of sense, was never more exemplified than by this; for while gold, crystal, and tortoise-shell, bronze and china, painting and enamel, courted the eye in vain, all eyes were fixed, and all minds at work, in discussing the meaning, and the person meant, by this portentous motto. The heart of De Vere was at no loss to discover it; but his curiosity was outstretched to observe its effect upon her, for whom he thought it designed. Lord Cleveland indeed, pronounced that it was for another great lady of the Court, and so ushered it to the notice of Constance, who, though masked, and humbled into a Tyrolese peasant, could not deceive his practised penetration. De Vere, concealed by his dress, watched the effect of the intimation, which in truth was only important from its being believed in all simplicity, by the unpretending Constance; and this gave him some comfort. But to this there was an end, when Lady Clanellan, Constance's chaperon, who had left her for a moment, coming up, observed with seeming satisfaction, "The whole world say it is you." The eye of De Vere was fixed upon Constance, and he was by no means relieved by observing from her manner, that she seemed greatly agitated by the intimation. But the maskers now thronged the enchanted palace, (for so, while masking went on, it seemed,) and a variety of interests were excited by the various characters that courted observation. Among these a smooth tongued Comus was conspicuous for his wand, his cup, and his pleasing enunciation. Constance, whom he singled out, seemed the sole object of his pursuit. He noticed pointedly, but not coarsely, her pre-eminence in beauty, her former seclusion, and the hopes of the world that she would now continue among them, and never again think of the rusticity of her former life. He noticed too the still preserved simplicity of her dress, and advised her to change it for one like that of a beautiful sultana, who was glittering near her, and whom an ancient hermit had called in her hearing, one of "the gay motes that people the sun-beams." Constance would have retired, uncomfortable at being made the object of so much attention, but he pursued her, and after advising her to bestow herself on some prince of the Court, in appropriate strain addressed her thus: "List, lady, be not coy. Beauty is Nature's coin-must not be hoarded; It withers on the stock with languished head." Here Constance sought to ecape; but she could not make her way through the crowd, and the pitiless enchanter went on What need a vermeil tinctured lip for that? Here he presented his cup, and all within hearing of his address, were so pleased with the grace of his action, and the emphasis with which he had spoken, that their pleasure showed itself in a burst of applause. But it was an applause distressing to the object who had prompted his exertion, and who with some difficulty and evident displeasure, at length broke, as she hoped, from his spells. But it was only for a moment; for, encountering her again, he snatched one of the roses from the chaplet which crowned her temples, and scattering its leaves at her feet, changed his lay, and thus went on "So passeth, in the passing of a day, Of mortal life, the leaf, the bud, the flower; That erst was sought to deck both bed and bower; The enchanter then unbound his chaplet, which he presented to her; but it was instantly seized by the ancient hermit we before mentioned, who had eyed the whole scene, and exclaimed “Avaunt, seducer! foul son of guilt and pleasure!" but, to Constance's annoyance, she was not released by her deliverer from the notice of the by-standers, who seemed only more interested by the address of the hermit himself. He too told Constance he would present her with roses; and selecting first a modest opening bud, and then a flaunting full-blown flower from the chaplet, he addressed her in the same stanza as the enchanter "Ah! see who such fair thing doth fain to see, Great stress was laid by the hermit on this last line; when dropping the bud, and presenting the blown-rose, he went on "Lo! see soon after, how more bold and free, Her bared bosome she doth broad display; Lo! see soon after, how she fades, and falls away!" At this conclusion, the rose fell from his hand, and was trodden under foot. With all her self-possession, the delicate Constance felt this address, and the innuendo it seemed to convey, even more than the direct persuasions of Comus. She experienced, indeed, no little indignation at being thus accosted; but she also felt something very like shame, which, as she reflected on it, amounted even to grief. She perceived she was the gaze of the public eye, and feared she might be the theme of the public scrutiny. She was frightened, and displeased, both with herself and others; and, at any rate, thought unwarrantable liberties had been taken with her by whoever represented Comus, and even still more by the hermit. As Lord Cleveland, who had been in a domino, had |