Constance Sherwood: An Autobiography of the Sixteenth CenturyFullerton, Georgiana
History
Constance Sherwood: An Autobiography of the Sixteenth Century
Fullerton, Georgiana
Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Fiction
When we reached Seething Lane, Polly bade me be of good heart, for
that Lady Sydney was a very affable and debonnaire lady, and Sir
Francis a person of toward and gentle manners, and exceedingly polite
to women. We were conducted to a neat parlor, where my Lady Sydney was
awaiting us. A more fair and accomplished lady is not, I ween, to be
found in England or any other country, than this daughter of a great
statesman, and wife at that time of Sir Philip Sydney, as she hath
since been of my Lords Essex and St. Albans. Methinks the matchless
gentleman, noble knight, and sweet writer, her first husband, who did
marry her portionless, not like as is the fashion with so many in our
days carrying his love in his purse, must have needs drawn from the
fair model in his own house the lovely pictures of beauteous women he
did portray in his "Arcadia." She greeted us with so much heartfelt
politeness, and so tempered gay discoursing with sundry marks of
delicate feeling, indicative, albeit not expressive, of a sense of my
then trouble, that, albeit a stranger, methinks her reserved
compassion and ingenious encouragements served to tranquillize my
discomposed mind more than Polly's efforts toward the same end. She
told us Lord Arundel had died that morning; which tidings turned my
thoughts awhile to Lady Surrey, with many cogitations as to the issue
of this event in her regard.
After a short space of time, a step neared the door, and Lady Sydney
smiled and said, "Here is my father." I had two or three times seen
Sir Francis Walsingham in public assemblies, but his features were
nevertheless not familiar to me. Now, after he had saluted Polly and
me, and made inquiry touching our relatives, while he conversed with
her on indifferent topics, I scanned his face with such careful
industry as if in it I should read the issue of my dear father's fate.
Methinks I never beheld so unreadable a countenance, or one which bore
the impress of so refined a penetration, so piercing an
inquisitiveness, so keen a research into others' thoughts, with so
close a concealment of his own. I have since heard what his son-in-law
did write of him, that he impoverished himself by the purchase of dear
intelligence; that, as if master of some invisible spring, all the
secrets of Christendom met in his closet, and he had even a key to
unlock the Pope's cabinet. His mottoes are said to be _video et
taceo_, and that knowledge can never be bought at too high a price.
And verily methinks they were writ in his face, in his quick-turning
eyes, his thin, compressed lips, and his soft but resolved accents,
minding one of steel cased in velvet. 'Tis reported he can read any
letter without breaking the seal. For mine own part, I am of opinion
he can see through parchment, yea, peradventure, through stone walls,
when bent on some discovery. After a few minutes he turned to me with
a gracious smile, and said he was very glad to hear that I was a young
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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