The gilded and painted pillars, intended for the columns of Solomon's Temple, were suddenly illuminated by girandoles of lights round the capitals, and a flourish of trumpets was heard without, when, followed by numerous attendants, a masked lady, carrying a casket in her hand, and representing the Queen of Sheba, entered the hall, and advanced towards the two Kings. The casket was loaded with a variety of shining things made in sugar, by the art of an Italian confectioner, which, though assuming the form of jewels and precious stones, contained within jellies, and syrups, and perfumes. It was remarked by those persons in the court, who had not themselves paid their devotions too deeply to the god of the grape, that the step of the Queen of Sheba was quite as unsteady as that of her prototype might be supposed to have been upon the sea of glass. She contrived, notwithstanding, to reach the dais; but there, whether her feet failed her, or whether she stumbled over the step does not appear, but she fell head foremost into the lap of the King of Denmark, bespattering him with her confectionery in a most unseemly manner. Confused and ashamed, she started up, though not without assistance; and her mask falling off, displayed the face of one of the first ladies of the court, with a heightened colour, and eyes somewhat void of expression.
The Danish monarch himself, who was good-humoured in his cups, instantly started up to console the overthrown lady; and calling loudly to the musicians to begin an air which he named, he declared he would dance a measure with the Queen of Sheba. Unfortunately, however, he did not well calculate his own powers, and in the very first effort, after reeling for a moment from side to side, he fell prone at her feet, well nigh bringing her to the ground along with him.
A scene of confusion ensued, such as is happily seldom witnessed at a court; in the midst of which, the Eastern Queen very wisely effected her retreat, and his Danish Majesty was taken up by four stout ushers, and carried into a neighbouring bed-chamber, dripping with the jellies and syrups which his fair partner had so unceremoniously bestowed upon his garments.
It is probable that the scene would have ended there, had not James, who never chose to be disappointed in his amusements, insisted upon the spectacle proceeding; and three ladies were introduced as Faith, Hope and Charity, gorgeously dressed, though with no very light or heavenly vestments.
The farther proceedings of the masque we shall describe in the words of an eye-witness, in order to win the reader's belief for things scarcely credible.
"Hope," says Sir John Harrington in his Nugæ, "did essay to speak; but wine rendered her endeavours so feeble, that she withdrew, and hoped the King would excuse her brevity. Faith was then alone, for I am certain she was not joined with Good Works, and left the Court in a staggering condition. Charity came to the King's feet, and seemed to cover the multitude of sins her sisters had committed. In some sort she made obeisance and brought gifts, but said she would return home again, as there was no gift which heaven has not already given his Majesty. She then returned to Faith and Hope, who were both sick in the lower hall. Next came Victory in bright armour, and, by a strange medley of versification, did endeavour to make suit to the King; but Victory did not triumph long, for, after much lamentable utterance, she was led away like a silly captive, and laid to sleep in the outer steps of the antechamber. Now Peace did make her entry, and strive to get foremost to the King; but I grieve to tell now great wrath she did discover unto those of her attendants, and much contrary to her semblance, most rudely made war with her olive branch, and laid on the pates of those who did oppose her coming."
Thus ended an exhibition, disgraceful to all concerned, and painful to those who witnessed it. To Arabella Stuart it had, as the reader may suppose, caused not a little grief and annoyance. She felt ashamed of her sex, of her class, of her society; and during the last act of this strange scene, she had turned her eyes away, suffering them to wander over the crowd of persons who lined the hall on either side, and occupied a considerable space at the end.
In the meanwhile, Lord Rochester, who, though not constantly maintaining his position near her, always returned to it, had endeavoured more than once to engage her in conversation, but, to say truth, without much success. At last, however, he perceived that her voice, in answering some question he addressed to her, suddenly faltered, and her reply stopped abruptly.
"Is anything the matter, lady?" asked Sir Harry West, who saw her cheek turn deadly pale.
"I am faint," replied Arabella, "--the heat, I think----"