Volume II Part 2 (1/2)

E. WALLER.”

Lady Sunderland had been married about three years; she and her youthful husband lived in the tenderest union, and she was already the happy mother of two fair infants, a son and a daughter,--when the civil wars broke out, and Lord Sunderland followed the King to the field. In the Sydney papers are some beautiful letters to his wife, written from the camp before Oxford. The last of these, which is in a strain of playful and affectionate gaiety, thus concludes,--”Pray bless Poppet for me![7] and tell her I would have wrote to her, but that, upon mature deliberation, I found it uncivil to return an answer to a lady in another character than her own, which I am not yet learned enough to do.--I beseech you to present his service to my Lady,[8] who is most pa.s.sionately and perfectly yours, &c.

”SUNDERLAND.”

Three days afterwards this tender and gallant heart had ceased to beat: he was killed in the battle of Newbury, at the age of three-and-twenty.

His unhappy wife, on hearing the news of his death, was prematurely taken ill, and delivered of an infant, which died almost immediately after its birth. She recovered, however, from a dangerous and protracted illness, through the affectionate and unceasing attentions of her mother, Lady Leicester, who never quitted her for several months. Her father wrote her a letter of condolence, which would serve as a model for all letters on similar occasions. ”I know,” he says, ”that it is to no purpose to advise you not to grieve; that is not my intention: for such a loss as yours, cannot be received indifferently by a nature so tender and sensible as yours,” &c. After touching lightly and delicately on the obvious sources of consolation, he reminds her, that her duty to the dead requires her to be careful of herself, and not hazard her very existence by the indulgence of grief. ”You offend him whom you loved, if you hurt that person whom he loved; remember how apprehensive he was of your danger, how grieved for any thing that troubled you! I know you lived happily together, so as n.o.body but yourself could measure the contentment of it. I rejoiced at it, and did thank G.o.d for making me one of the means to procure it for you,” &c.[9]

Those who have known deep sorrow, and felt what it is to shrink with shattered nerves and a wounded spirit from the busy hand of consolation, fretting where it cannot heal, will appreciate such a letter as this.

Lady Sunderland, on her recovery, retired from the world, and centering all her affections in her children, seemed to live only for them. She resided, after her widowhood, at Althorpe, where she occupied herself with improving the house and gardens. The fine hall and staircase of that n.o.ble seat, which are deservedly admired for their architectural beauty, were planned and erected by her. After the lapse of about thirteen years, her father, Lord Leicester, prevailed on her to choose one from among the numerous suitors who sought her hand: he dreaded, lest on his death, she should be left unprotected, with her infant children, in those evil times; and she married, in obedience to his wish, Sir Robert Smythe, of Sutton, who was her second cousin, and had long been attached to her. She lived to see her eldest son, the second Earl of Sunderland, a man of transcendant talents, but versatile principles, at the head of the government, and had the happiness to close her eyes before he had abused his admirable abilities, to the vilest purposes of party and court intrigue. The Earl was appointed princ.i.p.al Secretary of State in 1682: his mother died in 1683.

There is a fine portrait of Sacharissa at Blenheim, of which there are many engravings. It must have been painted by Vand.y.k.e, shortly after her marriage, and before the death of her husband. If the withered branch, to which she is pointing, be supposed to allude to her widowhood, it must have been added afterwards, as Vand.y.k.e died in 1641, and Lord Sunderland in 1643. In the gallery at Althorpe, there are three pictures of this celebrated woman. One represents her in a hat, and at the age of fifteen or sixteen, gay, girlish, and blooming: the second, far more interesting, was painted about the time of her first marriage: it is exceedingly sweet and lady-like. The features are delicate, with redundant light brown air, and eyes and eyebrows of a darker hue; the bust and hands very exquisite: on the whole, however, the high breeding of the face and air is more conspicuous than the beauty of the person.

These two portraits are by Vand.y.k.e; nor ought I to forget to mention that the painter himself was supposed to have indulged a respectful but ardent pa.s.sion for Lady Sunderland, and to have painted her portrait literally _con amore_.[10]

A third picture represents her about the time of her second marriage: the expression wholly changed,--cold, faded, sad, but still sweet-looking and delicate. One might fancy her contemplating with a sick heart, the portrait of Lord Sunderland, the lover and husband of her early youth, and that of her unfortunate but celebrated brother, Algernon Sydney; both which hang on the opposite side of the gallery.

The present Duke of Marlborough, and the present Earl Spencer, are the lineal descendants of Waller's Sacharissa.

One little incident, somewhat prosaic indeed, proves how little heart there was in Waller's poetical attachment to this beautiful and admirable woman. When Lady Sunderland, after a retirement of thirty years, re-appeared in the court she had once adorned, she met Waller at Lady Wharton's, and addressing him with a smiling courtesy, she reminded him of their youthful days:--”When,” said she, ”will you write such fine verses on me again?”--”Madam,” replied Waller, ”when your Ladys.h.i.+p is young and handsome again.” This was contemptible and coa.r.s.e,--the sentiment was not that of a well-bred or a feeling man, far less that of a lover or a poet,--no!

Love is not love, That alters where it alteration finds.

One would think that the sight of a woman, whom he had last seen in the full bloom of youth and glow of happiness,--who had endured, since they parted, such extremity of affliction, as far more than avenged his wounded vanity, might have awakened some tender thoughts, and called forth a gentler reply. When some one expressed surprise to Petrarch, that Laura, no longer young, had still power to charm and inspire him, he answered, ”Piaga per allentar d'arco non sana,”--”The wound is not healed though the bow be unbent.” This was in a finer spirit.

Something in the same character, as his reply to Lady Sunderland, was Waller's famous repartee, when Charles the Second told him that his lines on Oliver Cromwell were better than those written on his royal self. ”Please your Majesty, we poets succeed better in fiction than in truth.” Nothing could be more admirably _apropos_, more witty, more courtier-like: it was only _false_, and in a poor, time-serving spirit.

It showed as much meanness of soul as presence of mind. What true poet, who felt as a poet, would have said this?

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Alluding to the two heroines of Sir Philip Sydney's Arcadia; Sacharissa was the grandniece of that _preux chevalier_, and hence the frequent allusions to his name and fame.

[4] Alluding to Sir Philip Sydney.

[5] Lines on her picture.

[6] Sacharissa, the poetical name Waller himself gave her, signifies _sweetness_.

[7] His infant daughter, then about two years old, afterwards Marchioness of Halifax.

[8] The Countess's mother, Lady Leicester, who was then with her at Althorpe.

[9] Sydney's Memorials, vol. ii. p. 271.

[10] See State Poems, vol. iii. p. 396.

CHAPTER III.

BEAUTIES AND POETS.