The Heart
Page 25Madam Rosamond Cavendish was, I suppose, a beauty, though after a
strange and curious fashion, being seemingly dependent upon those
around her for it, as a chameleon is dependent for his colour upon
his surroundings. I have seen Madam Cavendish, when praised by one
she loved, or approached by the little maid, her daughter, with an
outstretch of fair little arms and a coercion of dimples toward
kisses, flash into such radiance of loveliness that, boy as I was, I
was dazzled by her. Then, on the other hand, I have seen her as
dully opaque of any meaning of beauty as one could well be. But she
loved Captain Cavendish well, and I wot he never saw her but with
that wondrous charm, since whenever he cast his eyes upon her it
must have been to awaken both reflection and true life of joy in her
face. She was so small and exceeding slim that she seemed no more
than a child, and she was not strong, having a quick cough ready at
every breath of wind, and she rode nor walked like our English
women, but lay about on cushions in the sun. Still, when she moved,
I suspect, knew how frail she was until she sickened and died the
second year of my stay in Cambridge. When I returned home I found in
her stead Madam Judith Cavendish, the mother of Captain Cavendish,
who had come from Huntingdonshire. She was at that time well turned
of threescore, but a woman who was, as she had always been, a power
over those about her. She looked her age, too, except for her
figure, for her hair was snowy white, and the lines of her face
fixed beyond influence of further smiles or tears. My imagination
has always been a mighty factor in my estimation of the characters
of others, and I have often wondered how true to facts I might be,
but verily it seemed to me that after Madam Cavendish arrived at
Cavendish Court the influence of that great strength of character,
which, when it exists in a woman, intimidates every man, no matter
who he may be, made itself evident in the very king's highway
approaching Cavendish Court, and increased as the distance
There were in her no change and shifting to new lights of beauty or
otherwise at the estimation of those around her; she rather
controlled, as it were, all the domestic winds. Captain Cavendish
bowed before his superior on his own deck, though I believe there
was much love betwixt them, and, as for the little maid, she
tempered the wilfulness which was then growing with her growth by
outward meekness at least. I used to think her somewhat afraid of
her grandmother, and disposed to cling for protection and
mother-love to her elder sister Catherine. Catherine, in those two
years, had blossomed out her beauty; her sallowness and green pallor
had become bloom, though not rosy, rather an ineffable clear white
like a lily. Her eyes, at once shy and antagonistic, had become as
steady as stars in their estimation of self and others, and all her
slender height was as well in her power of graceful guidance as the
height of a young oak tree. Catherine, in those days, paid very
threefold to both of us, except as she was jealously watchful that I
win not too much of the love of her little sister. I have never seen
such love from elder to younger as there was from Catherine
Cavendish to her half-sister Mary after the little one had lost her
mother. And all that the little maid did, whether of work or play,
was with an eye toward the other's approbation, especially after the
advent of her grandmother. Catherine had lovers, but she would have
none of them. It seemed as if the maternal love of which most maids
feel the unknown and unspelled yearning, and which, perchance, may
draw them all unwittingly to wedlock, had seized upon Catherine
Cavendish, and she had, as it were, fulfilled it by proxy by this
love of her young sister, and so had her heart made cold toward all
lovers. Be that as it may, though she was much sought after by more
than one of high degree, she remained as she was.