were now immediately commenced against Mademoiselle Trompere and her alleged father, and the latter shortly found themselves before the tribunal of correctional police. The case was made out so very clearly – Julienne, Marie, and Andrè, the sole parties whom the revelations of the sibyl concerned, being arrayed against her – that she was immediately convicted of imposture, and the old man as a confederate. In the course of the trial the wig of silver hair was unceremoniously lifted from the head of the male prisoner by an officer of police. The change effected in his appearance by this simple operation was remarkable, and greatly to his disadvantage. The officer then read from his police record a list of no fewer than nine convictions for imposition and misconduct against the aged sinner. The female was truly, it appeared, his daughter. They had visited many parts of France and Belgium under different names, and the diligent inquiries of the police had been successful in establishing against them a long course of guilt – one scheme of imposture having been tried after another, and each terminated by disgrace and punishment. They were now sentenced to two years' imprisonment and a thousand francs' fine.
All has gone brightly and pleasantly at Andrè's house since this unpleasant affair, and so will continue, it is my belief. Husband and wife seem on better terms with each other than ever. Madame Margot sedulously keeps herself out of the way of the Folittons and the Colonnes, nor do I suppose she will ever take coffee with Julienne any more.
THE HOUSEHOLD OF SIR THOS. MORE. 7
Soe my fate is settled. Who knoweth at sunrise what will chance before sunsett? No; the Greeks and Romans mighte speake of chance and of fate, but we must not. Ruth's hap was to light on ye field of Boaz: but what she thought casual, ye Lord had contrived.
Firste, he gives me ye marmot. Then, the marmot dies. Then, I, having kept ye creature soe long, and being naturallie tender, must cry a little over it. Then Will must come in and find me drying mine eyes. Then he must, most unreasonablie, suppose that I cd not have loved the poor animal for its owne sake soe much as for his; and thereupon, falle a love-making in such downrighte earneste, that I, being alreadie somewhat upset, and knowing 'twoulde please father … and hating to be perverse … and thinking much better of Will since he hath studdied soe hard, and given soe largelie to ye poor, and left off broaching his heteroclite opinions… I say, I supposed it must be soe, some time or another, soe 'twas noe use hanging back for ever and ever, soe now there's an end, and I pray God give us a quiet life.
Noe one wd suppose me reckoning on a quiet life if they knew how I've cried alle this forenoon, ever since I got quit of Will, by father's carrying him off to Westminster. He'll tell father, I know, as they goe along in the barge, or else coming back, which will be soone now, though I've ta'en no heed of the hour. I wish 'twere cold weather, and that I had a sore throat or stiff neck, or somewhat that might reasonablie send me a-bed, and keep me there till to-morrow morning. But I'm quite well, and 'tis the dog-days, and cook is thumping the rolling-pin on the dresser, and dinner is being served, and here comes father.
Father hath had some words with the Cardinall. 'Twas touching the draught of some forayn treaty which ye Cardinall offered for his criticism, or rather, for his commendation, which father cd not give. This nettled his Grace, who exclaimed, – "By the mass, thou art the veriest fool of all the council." Father, smiling, rejoined, "God be thanked, the King our master hath but one fool therein."
The Cardinall may rage, but he can't rob him of the royal favour. The King was here yesterday, and walked for an hour or soe about the garden, with his arm round father's neck. Will coulde not help felicitating father upon it afterwards; to which father made answer, "I thank God I find his Grace my very good lord indeed, and I believe he doth as singularly favour me as any subject within this realm. Howbeit, son Roper, I may tell thee between ourselves, I feel no cause to be proud thereof, for if my head would win him a castle in France, it shoulde not fail to fly off."
– Father is graver than he used to be. No wonder. He hath much on his mind; the calls on his time and thoughts are beyond belief: but God is very good to him. His favour at home and abroad is immense: he hath good health, soe have we alle; and his family are established to his mind and settled alle about him, still under ye same fostering roof. Considering that I am the most ordinarie of his daughters, 'tis singular I sd have secured the best husband. Daisy lives peaceablie with Rupert Allington, and is as indifferent, me seemeth, to him as to all ye world beside. He, on his part, loves her and theire children with devotion, and woulde pass half his time in ye nurserie. Dancey always had a hot temper, and now and then plagues Bess; but she lets noe one know it but me. Sometimes she comes into my chamber and cries a little, but the next kind word brightens her up, and I verilie believe her pleasures far exceed her payns. Giles Heron lost her through his own fault, and might have regained her good opinion after all, had he taken half the pains for her sake he now takes for her younger sister: I cannot think how Cecy can favour him; yet I suspect he will win her, sooner or later. As to mine own deare Will, 'tis the kindest, purest nature, the finest soul, the … and yet how I was senselesse enow once to undervalue him.
Yes, I am a happy wife; a happy daughter; a happy mother. When my little Bill stroaked dear father's face just now, and murmured "pretty!" he burst out a-laughing, and cried, —
"You are like the young Cyrus, who exclaimed, – 'Oh! mother, how pretty is my grandfather!' And yet, according to Xenophon, the old gentleman was soe rouged and made up, as that none but a child woulde have admired him!"
"That's not the case," I observed, "with Bill's grandfather."
"He's a More all over," says father, fondly. "Make a pun, Meg, if thou canst, about Amor, Amore, or Amores. 'Twill onlie be the thousand and first on our name. Here, little knave, see these cherries: tell me who thou art, and thou shalt have one. 'More! More!' I knew it, sweet villain. Take them all."
I oft sitt for an hour or more, watching Hans Holbein at his brush. He hath a rare gift of limning; and has, besides, the advantage of deare Erasmus his recommendation, for whom he hath alreddie painted our likenesses, but I think he has made us very ugly. His portraiture of my grandfather is marvellous; ne'erthelesse. I look in vayn for ye spirituallitie which our Lucchese friend, Antonio Bonvisi, tells us is to be found in the productions of ye Italian schools.
Holbein loves to paint with the lighte coming in upon his work from above. He says a lighte from above puts objects in theire proper lighte, and shews theire just proportions; a lighte from beneath reverses alle ye naturall shadows. Surelie, this hath some truth if we spirituallize it?
Rupert's cousin, Rosamond Allington, is our guest. She is as beautiful as … not as an angel, for she lacks the look of goodness, but very beautiful indeed. She cometh hither from Hever Castle, her account of ye affairs whereof I like not. Mistress Anne is not there at present; indeed, she is now always hanging about court, and followeth somewhat too literallie the Scripturall injunction to Solomon's spouse – to forget her father's house. The King likes well enow to be compared with Solomon, but Mistress Anne is not his spouse yet, nor ever will be, I hope. Flattery and Frenchified habitts have spoilt her, I trow.
Rosamond says there is not a good chamber in the castle; even ye ball-room, which is on ye upper floor of alle, being narrow and low. On a rainy day, long ago, she and Mistress Anne were playing at shuttlecock therein, when Rosamond's foot tripped at some unevennesse in ye floor, and Mistress Anne, with a laugh, cried out, "Mind you goe not down into ye dungeon" – then pulled up a trap-door in the ball-room floor, by an iron ring, and made Rosamond look down into the unknown depth; alle in ye blacknesse of darkness. 'Tis an awfulle thing to have
Continued from the July Number.
