Walter Scott

Kenilworth
Tressilian, when Wayland had left him, as mentioned in the last chapter,
remained uncertain what he ought next to do, when Raleigh and Blount
came up to him arm in arm, yet, according to their wont, very eagerly
disputing together. Tressilian had no great desire for their society
in the present state of his feelings, but there was no possibility of
avoiding them; and indeed he felt that, bound by his promise not to
approach Amy, or take any step in her behalf, it would be his best
course at once to mix with general society, and to exhibit on his brow
as little as he could of the anguish and uncertainty which sat heavy
at his heart. He therefore made a virtue of necessity, and hailed his
comrades with, "All mirth to you, gentlemen! Whence come ye?"

"From Warwick, to be sure," said Blount; "we must needs home to change
our habits, like poor players, who are fain to multiply their persons to
outward appearance by change of suits; and you had better do the like,
Tressilian."

"Blount is right," said Raleigh; "the Queen loves such marks of
deference, and notices, as wanting in respect, those who, not arriving
in her immediate attendance, may appear in their soiled and ruffled
riding-dress. But look at Blount himself, Tressilian, for the love of
laughter, and see how his villainous tailor hath apparelled him--in
blue, green, and crimson, with carnation ribbons, and yellow roses in
his shoes!"

"Why, what wouldst thou have?" said Blount. "I told the cross-legged
thief to do his best, and spare no cost; and methinks these things are
gay enough--gayer than thine own. I'll be judged by Tressilian."

"I agree--I agree," said Walter Raleigh. "Judge betwixt us, Tressilian,
for the love of heaven!"

Tressilian, thus appealed to, looked at them both, and was immediately
sensible at a single glance that honest Blount had taken upon the
tailor's warrant the pied garments which he had chosen to make, and
was as much embarrassed by the quantity of points and ribbons which
garnished his dress, as a clown is in his holiday clothes; while the
dress of Raleigh was a well-fancied and rich suit, which the wearer bore
as a garb too well adapted to his elegant person to attract particular
attention. Tressilian said, therefore, "That Blount's dress was finest,
but Raleigh's the best fancied."

Blount was satisfied with his decision. "I knew mine was finest," he
said; "if that knave Doublestitch had brought me home such a simple
doublet as that of Raleigh's, I would have beat his brains out with his
own pressing-iron. Nay, if we must be fools, ever let us be fools of the
first head, say I."

"But why gettest thou not on thy braveries, Tressilian?" said Raleigh.

"I am excluded from my apartment by a silly mistake," said Tressilian,
"and separated for the time from my baggage. I was about to seek thee,
to beseech a share of thy lodging."

"And welcome," said Raleigh; "it is a noble one. My Lord of Leicester
has done us that kindness, and lodged us in princely fashion. If his
courtesy be extorted reluctantly, it is at least extended far. I would
advise you to tell your strait to the Earl's chamberlain--you will have
instant redress."

"Nay, it is not worth while, since you can spare me room," replied
Tressilian--"I would not be troublesome. Has any one come hither with
you?"

"Oh, ay," said Blount; "Varney and a whole tribe of Leicestrians,
besides about a score of us honest Sussex folk. We are all, it seems, to
receive the Queen at what they call the Gallery-tower, and witness some
fooleries there; and then we're to remain in attendance upon the Queen
in the Great Hall--God bless the mark!--while those who are now waiting
upon her Grace get rid of their slough, and doff their riding-suits.
Heaven help me, if her Grace should speak to me, I shall never know what
to answer!"

"And what has detained them so long at Warwick?" said Tressilian,
unwilling that their conversation should return to his own affairs.

"Such a succession of fooleries," said Blount, "as were never seen at
Bartholomew-fair. We have had speeches and players, and dogs and bears,
and men making monkeys and women moppets of themselves--I marvel the
Queen could endure it. But ever and anon came in something of 'the
lovely light of her gracious countenance,' or some such trash. Ah!
vanity makes a fool of the wisest. But come, let us on to this same
Gallery-tower--though I see not what thou Tressilian, canst do with thy
riding-dress and boots."

"I will take my station behind thee, Blount," said Tressilian, who
saw that his friend's unusual finery had taken a strong hold of his
imagination; "thy goodly size and gay dress will cover my defects."

"And so thou shalt, Edmund," said Blount. "In faith I am glad thou
thinkest my garb well-fancied, for all Mr. Wittypate here; for when one
does a foolish thing, it is right to do it handsomely."

So saying, Blount cocked his beaver, threw out his leg, and marched
manfully forward, as if at the head of his brigade of pikemen, ever and
anon looking with complaisance on his crimson stockings, and the huge
yellow roses which blossomed on his shoes. Tressilian followed, wrapt
in his own sad thoughts, and scarce minding Raleigh, whose quick fancy,
amused by the awkward vanity of his respectable friend, vented itself in
jests, which he whispered into Tressilian's ear.

In this manner they crossed the long bridge, or tilt-yard, and took
their station, with other gentlemen of quality, before the outer gate
of the Gallery, or Entrance-tower. The whole amounted to about forty
persons, all selected as of the first rank under that of knighthood, and
were disposed in double rows on either side of the gate, like a guard of
honour, within the close hedge of pikes and partisans which was formed
by Leicester's retainers, wearing his liveries. The gentlemen carried no
arms save their swords and daggers. These gallants were as gaily dressed
as imagination could devise; and as the garb of the time permitted
a great display of expensive magnificence, nought was to be seen but
velvet and cloth of gold and silver, ribbons, leathers, gems, and golden
chains. In spite of his more serious subjects of distress, Tressilian
could not help feeling that he, with his riding-suit, however handsome
it might be, made rather an unworthy figure among these "fierce
vanities," and the rather because he saw that his deshabille was
the subject of wonder among his own friends, and of scorn among the
partisans of Leicester.

We could not suppress this fact, though it may seem something at
variance with the gravity of Tressilian's character; but the truth is,
that a regard for personal appearance is a species of self-love,
from which the wisest are not exempt, and to which the mind clings so
instinctively that not only the soldier advancing to almost inevitable
death, but even the doomed criminal who goes to certain execution, shows
an anxiety to array his person to the best advantage. But this is a
digression.

It was the twilight of a summer night (9th July, 1575), the sun having
for some time set, and all were in anxious expectation of the Queen's
immediate approach. The multitude had remained assembled for many
hours, and their numbers were still rather on the increase. A profuse
distribution of refreshments, together with roasted oxen, and barrels of
ale set a-broach in different places of the road, had kept the populace
in perfect love and loyalty towards the Queen and her favourite, which
might have somewhat abated had fasting been added to watching. They
passed away the time, therefore, with the usual popular amusements of
whooping, hallooing, shrieking, and playing rude tricks upon each other,
forming the chorus of discordant sounds usual on such occasions. These
prevailed all through the crowded roads and fields, and especially
beyond the gate of the Chase, where the greater number of the common
sort were stationed; when, all of a sudden, a single rocket was seen to
shoot into the atmosphere, and, at the instant, far heard over flood and
field, the great bell of the Castle tolled.

Immediately there was a pause of dead silence, succeeded by a deep hum
of expectation, the united voice of many thousands, none of whom spoke
above their breath--or, to use a singular expression, the whisper of an
immense multitude.

"They come now, for certain," said Raleigh. "Tressilian, that sound is
grand. We hear it from this distance as mariners, after a long voyage,
hear, upon their night-watch, the tide rush upon some distant and
unknown shore."

"Mass!" answered Blount, "I hear it rather as I used to hear mine own
kine lowing from the close of Wittenswestlowe."

"He will assuredly graze presently," said Raleigh to Tressilian; "his
thought is all of fat oxen and fertile meadows. He grows little better
than one of his own beeves, and only becomes grand when he is provoked
to pushing and goring."

"We shall have him at that presently," said Tressilian, "if you spare
not your wit."

"Tush, I care not," answered Raleigh; "but thou too, Tressilian, hast
turned a kind of owl, that flies only by night--hast exchanged thy songs
for screechings, and good company for an ivy-tod."

"But what manner of animal art thou thyself, Raleigh," said Tressilian,
"that thou holdest us all so lightly?"

"Who--I?" replied Raleigh. "An eagle am I, that never will think of dull
earth while there is a heaven to soar in, and a sun to gaze upon."

"Well bragged, by Saint Barnaby!" said Blount; "but, good Master Eagle,
beware the cage, and beware the fowler. Many birds have flown as high
that I have seen stuffed with straw and hung up to scare kites.--But
hark, what a dead silence hath fallen on them at once!"

"The procession pauses," said Raleigh, "at the gate of the Chase, where
a sibyl, one of the FATIDICAE, meets the Queen, to tell her fortune. I
saw the verses; there is little savour in them, and her Grace has been
already crammed full with such poetical compliments. She whispered to
me, during the Recorder's speech yonder, at Ford-mill, as she entered
the liberties of Warwick, how she was 'PERTAESA BARBARAE LOQUELAE.'"

"The Queen whispered to HIM!" said Blount, in a kind of soliloquy; "Good
God, to what will this world come!"

His further meditations were interrupted by a shout of applause from the
multitude, so tremendously vociferous that the country echoed for miles
round. The guards, thickly stationed upon the road by which the Queen
was to advance, caught up the acclamation, which ran like wildfire to
the Castle, and announced to all within that Queen Elizabeth had entered
the Royal Chase of Kenilworth. The whole music of the Castle sounded
at once, and a round of artillery, with a salvo of small arms, was
discharged from the battlements; but the noise of drums and trumpets,
and even of the cannon themselves, was but faintly heard amidst the
roaring and reiterated welcomes of the multitude.

As the noise began to abate, a broad glare of light was seen to appear
from the gate of the Park, and broadening and brightening as it came
nearer, advanced along the open and fair avenue that led towards the
Gallery-tower; and which, as we have already noticed, was lined on
either hand by the retainers of the Earl of Leicester. The word was
passed along the line, "The Queen! The Queen! Silence, and stand fast!"
Onward came the cavalcade, illuminated by two hundred thick waxen
torches, in the hands of as many horsemen, which cast a light like that
of broad day all around the procession, but especially on the principal
group, of which the Queen herself, arrayed in the most splendid manner,
and blazing with jewels, formed the central figure. She was mounted on a
milk-white horse, which she reined with peculiar grace and dignity; and
in the whole of her stately and noble carriage you saw the daughter of
an hundred kings.

The ladies of the court, who rode beside her Majesty, had taken especial
care that their own external appearance should not be more glorious than
their rank and the occasion altogether demanded, so that no inferior
luminary might appear to approach the orbit of royalty. But their
personal charms, and the magnificence by which, under every prudential
restraint, they were necessarily distinguished, exhibited them as
the very flower of a realm so far famed for splendour and beauty. The
magnificence of the courtiers, free from such restraints as prudence
imposed on the ladies, was yet more unbounded.

Leicester, who glittered like a golden image with jewels and cloth of
gold, rode on her Majesty's right hand, as well in quality of her host
as of her master of the horse. The black steed which he mounted had
not a single white hair on his body, and was one of the most renowned
chargers in Europe, having been purchased by the Earl at large expense
for this royal occasion. As the noble animal chafed at the slow pace
of the procession, and, arching his stately neck, champed on the silver
bits which restrained him, the foam flew from his mouth, and speckled
his well-formed limbs as if with spots of snow. The rider well became
the high place which he held, and the proud steed which he bestrode; for
no man in England, or perhaps in Europe, was more perfect than Dudley in
horsemanship, and all other exercises belonging to his quality. He
was bareheaded as were all the courtiers in the train; and the red
torchlight shone upon his long, curled tresses of dark hair, and on his
noble features, to the beauty of which even the severest criticism
could only object the lordly fault, as it may be termed, of a forehead
somewhat too high. On that proud evening those features wore all the
grateful solicitude of a subject, to show himself sensible of the high
honour which the Queen was conferring on him, and all the pride and
satisfaction which became so glorious a moment. Yet, though neither eye
nor feature betrayed aught but feelings which suited the occasion, some
of the Earl's personal attendants remarked that he was unusually pale,
and they expressed to each other their fear that he was taking more
fatigue than consisted with his health.

Varney followed close behind his master, as the principal esquire in
waiting, and had charge of his lordship's black velvet bonnet, garnished
with a clasp of diamonds and surmounted by a white plume. He kept his
eye constantly on his master, and, for reasons with which the reader is
not unacquainted, was, among Leicester's numerous dependants, the one
who was most anxious that his lord's strength and resolution should
carry him successfully through a day so agitating. For although Varney
was one of the few, the very few moral monsters who contrive to lull
to sleep the remorse of their own bosoms, and are drugged into moral
insensibility by atheism, as men in extreme agony are lulled by opium,
yet he knew that in the breast of his patron there was already awakened
the fire that is never quenched, and that his lord felt, amid all the
pomp and magnificence we have described, the gnawing of the worm that
dieth not. Still, however, assured as Lord Leicester stood, by Varney's
own intelligence, that his Countess laboured under an indisposition
which formed an unanswerable apology to the Queen for her not appearing
at Kenilworth, there was little danger, his wily retainer thought, that
a man so ambitious would betray himself by giving way to any external
weakness.

The train, male and female, who attended immediately upon the Queen's
person, were, of course, of the bravest and the fairest--the highest
born nobles, and the wisest counsellors, of that distinguished reign,
to repeat whose names were but to weary the reader. Behind came a
long crowd of knights and gentlemen, whose rank and birth, however
distinguished, were thrown into shade, as their persons into the rear of
a procession whose front was of such august majesty.

Thus marshalled, the cavalcade approached the Gallery-tower, which
formed, as we have often observed, the extreme barrier of the Castle.

It was now the part of the huge porter to step forward; but the lubbard
was so overwhelmed with confusion of spirit--the contents of one immense
black jack of double ale, which he had just drunk to quicken his memory,
having treacherously confused the brain it was intended to clear--that
he only groaned piteously, and remained sitting on his stone seat; and
the Queen would have passed on without greeting, had not the gigantic
warder's secret ally, Flibbertigibbet, who lay perdue behind him, thrust
a pin into the rear of the short femoral garment which we elsewhere
described.

The porter uttered a sort of yell, which came not amiss into his part,
started up with his club, and dealt a sound douse or two on each side
of him; and then, like a coach-horse pricked by the spur, started off
at once into the full career of his address, and by dint of active
prompting on the part of Dickie Sludge, delivered, in sounds of gigantic
intonation, a speech which may be thus abridged--the reader being to
suppose that the first lines were addressed to the throng who approached
the gateway; the conclusion, at the approach of the Queen, upon sight of
whom, as struck by some heavenly vision, the gigantic warder dropped his
club, resigned his keys, and gave open way to the Goddess of the night,
and all her magnificent train.

     "What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones?
     Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones!
     Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw,
     My voice keeps order, and my club gives law.

     Yet soft--nay, stay--what vision have we here?
     What dainty darling's this--what peerless peer?
     What loveliest face, that loving ranks unfold,
     Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold?
     Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake,
     My club, my key, my knee, my homage take.
     Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss;--
     Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight as this!"

     [This is an imitation of Gascoigne's verses spoken by the
     Herculean porter, as mentioned in the text.  The original may be
     found in the republication of the Princely Pleasures of
     Kenilworth, by the same author, in the History of Kenilworth
     already quoted.  Chiswick, 1821.]

Elizabeth received most graciously the homage of the Herculean porter,
and, bending her head to him in requital, passed through his guarded
tower, from the top of which was poured a clamorous blast of warlike
music, which was replied to by other bands of minstrelsy placed at
different points on the Castle walls, and by others again stationed
in the Chase; while the tones of the one, as they yet vibrated on
the echoes, were caught up and answered by new harmony from different
quarters.

Amidst these bursts of music, which, as if the work of enchantment,
seemed now close at hand, now softened by distant space, now wailing so
low and sweet as if that distance were gradually prolonged until only
the last lingering strains could reach the ear, Queen Elizabeth crossed
the Gallery-tower, and came upon the long bridge, which extended from
thence to Mortimer's Tower, and which was already as light as day, so
many torches had been fastened to the palisades on either side. Most
of the nobles here alighted, and sent their horses to the neighbouring
village of Kenilworth, following the Queen on foot, as did the gentlemen
who had stood in array to receive her at the Gallery-tower.

On this occasion, as at different times during the evening, Raleigh
addressed himself to Tressilian, and was not a little surprised at
his vague and unsatisfactory answers; which, joined to his leaving his
apartment without any assigned reason, appearing in an undress when
it was likely to be offensive to the Queen, and some other symptoms of
irregularity which he thought he discovered, led him to doubt whether
his friend did not labour under some temporary derangement.

Meanwhile, the Queen had no sooner stepped on the bridge than a new
spectacle was provided; for as soon as the music gave signal that she
was so far advanced, a raft, so disposed as to resemble a small floating
island, illuminated by a great variety of torches, and surrounded by
floating pageants formed to represent sea-horses, on which sat Tritons,
Nereids, and other fabulous deities of the seas and rivers, made its
appearance upon the lake, and issuing from behind a small heronry where
it had been concealed, floated gently towards the farther end of the
bridge.

On the islet appeared a beautiful woman, clad in a watchet-coloured
silken mantle, bound with a broad girdle inscribed with characters like
the phylacteries of the Hebrews. Her feet and arms were bare, but her
wrists and ankles were adorned with gold bracelets of uncommon size.
Amidst her long, silky black hair she wore a crown or chaplet of
artificial mistletoe, and bore in her hand a rod of ebony tipped with
silver. Two Nymphs attended on her, dressed in the same antique and
mystical guise.

The pageant was so well managed that this Lady of the Floating Island,
having performed her voyage with much picturesque effect, landed at
Mortimer's Tower with her two attendants just as Elizabeth presented
herself before that outwork. The stranger then, in a well-penned speech,
announced herself as that famous Lady of the Lake renowned in the
stories of King Arthur, who had nursed the youth of the redoubted Sir
Lancelot, and whose beauty 'had proved too powerful both for the wisdom
and the spells of the mighty Merlin. Since that early period she had
remained possessed of her crystal dominions, she said, despite the
various men of fame and might by whom Kenilworth had been successively
tenanted. 'The Saxons, the Danes, the Normans, the Saintlowes, the
Clintons, the Montforts, the Mortimers, the Plantagenets, great though
they were in arms and magnificence, had never, she said, caused her
to raise her head from the waters which hid her crystal palace. But a
greater than all these great names had now appeared, and she came in
homage and duty to welcome the peerless Elizabeth to all sport which the
Castle and its environs, which lake or land, could afford.

The Queen received this address also with great courtesy, and made
answer in raillery, "We thought this lake had belonged to our own
dominions, fair dame; but since so famed a lady claims it for hers,
we will be glad at some other time to have further communing with you
touching our joint interests."

With this gracious answer the Lady of the Lake vanished, and Arion,
who was amongst the maritime deities, appeared upon his dolphin. But
Lambourne, who had taken upon him the part in the absence of Wayland,
being chilled with remaining immersed in an element to which he was not
friendly, having never got his speech by heart, and not having, like the
porter, the advantage of a prompter, paid it off with impudence, tearing
off his vizard, and swearing, "Cogs bones! he was none of Arion or Orion
either, but honest Mike Lambourne, that had been drinking her Majesty's
health from morning till midnight, and was come to bid her heartily
welcome to Kenilworth Castle."

This unpremeditated buffoonery answered the purpose probably better than
the set speech would have done. The Queen laughed heartily, and swore
(in her turn) that he had made the best speech she had heard that day.
Lambourne, who instantly saw his jest had saved his bones, jumped on
shore, gave his dolphin a kick, and declared he would never meddle with
fish again, except at dinner.

At the same time that the Queen was about to enter the Castle, that
memorable discharge of fireworks by water and land took place, which
Master Laneham, formerly introduced to the reader, has strained all his
eloquence to describe.

"Such," says the Clerk of the Council-chamber door "was the blaze of
burning darts, the gleams of stars coruscant, the streams and hail of
fiery sparks, lightnings of wildfire, and flight-shot of thunderbolts,
with continuance, terror, and vehemency, that the heavens thundered, the
waters surged, and the earth shook; and for my part, hardy as I am, it
made me very vengeably afraid."

[See Laneham's Account of the Queen's Entertainment at Killingworth
Castle, in 1575, a very diverting tract, written by as great a coxcomb
as ever blotted paper. [See Note 6] The original is extremely rare,
but it has been twice reprinted; once in Mr. Nichols's very curious and
interesting collection of the Progresses and Public Processions of
Queen Elizabeth, vol.i. and more lately in a beautiful antiquarian
publication, termed KENILWORTH ILLUSTRATED, printed at Chiswick, for
Meridew of Coventry and Radcliffe of Birmingham. It contains reprints
of Laneham's Letter, Gascoigne's Princely Progress, and other scarce
pieces, annotated with accuracy and ability. The author takes the
liberty to refer to this work as his authority for the account of the
festivities.

I am indebted for a curious ground-plan of the Castle of Kenilworth,
as it existed in Queen Elizabeth's time, to the voluntary kindness of
Richard Badnall Esq. of Olivebank, near Liverpool. From his obliging
communication, I learn that the original sketch was found among the
manuscripts of the celebrated J. J. Rousseau, when he left England.
These were entrusted by the philosopher to the care of his friend
Mr. Davenport, and passed from his legatee into the possession of Mr.
Badnall.]



CHAPTER XXXI.

     Nay, this is matter for the month of March,
     When hares are maddest.  Either speak in reason,
     Giving cold argument the wall of passion,
     Or I break up the court.      --BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

It is by no means our purpose to detail minutely all the princely
festivities of Kenilworth, after the fashion of Master Robert Laneham,
whom we quoted in the conclusion of the last chapter. It is sufficient
to say that under discharge of the splendid fireworks, which we
have borrowed Laneham's eloquence to describe, the Queen entered the
base-court of Kenilworth, through Mortimer's Tower, and moving on
through pageants of heathen gods and heroes of antiquity, who offered
gifts and compliments on the bended knee, at length found her way to
the Great Hall of the Castle, gorgeously hung for her reception with the
richest silken tapestry, misty with perfumes, and sounding to strains
of soft and delicious music. From the highly-carved oaken roof hung
a superb chandelier of gilt bronze, formed like a spread eagle, whose
outstretched wings supported three male and three female figures,
grasping a pair of branches in each hand. The Hall was thus illuminated
by twenty-four torches of wax. At the upper end of the splendid
apartment was a state canopy, overshadowing a royal throne, and beside
it was a door, which opened to a long suite of apartments, decorated
with the utmost magnificence for the Queen and her ladies, whenever it
should be her pleasure to be private.

The Earl of Leicester having handed the Queen up to her throne, and
seated her there, knelt down before her, and kissing the hand which she
held out, with an air in which romantic and respectful gallantry was
happily mingled with the air of loyal devotion, he thanked her, in terms
of the deepest gratitude, for the highest honour which a sovereign could
render to a subject. So handsome did he look when kneeling before her,
that Elizabeth was tempted to prolong the scene a little longer than
there was, strictly speaking, necessity for; and ere she raised him,
she passed her hand over his head, so near as almost to touch his long,
curled, and perfumed hair, and with a movement of fondness that seemed
to intimate she would, if she dared, have made the motion a slight
caress.

[To justify what may be considered as a high-coloured picture, the
author quotes the original of the courtly and shrewd Sir James Melville,
being then Queen Mary's envoy at the court of London.

"I was required," says Sir James, "to stay till I had seen him made
Earle of Leicester, and Baron of Denbigh, with great solemnity; herself
(Elizabeth) helping to put on his ceremonial, he sitting on his knees
before her, keeping a great gravity and a discreet behaviour; but she
could not refrain from putting her hand to his neck to kittle (i.e.,
tickle) him, smilingly, the French Ambassador and I standing beside
her."--MELVILLE'S MEMOIRS, BANNATYNE EDITION, p. 120.]

She at length raised him, and standing beside the throne, he explained
to her the various preparations which had been made for her amusement
and accommodation, all of which received her prompt and gracious
approbation. The Earl then prayed her Majesty for permission that he
himself, and the nobles who had been in attendance upon her during the
journey, might retire for a few minutes, and put themselves into a guise
more fitting for dutiful attendance, during which space those gentlemen
of worship (pointing to Varney, Blount, Tressilian, and others), who
had already put themselves into fresh attire, would have the honour of
keeping her presence-chamber.

"Be it so, my lord," answered the Queen; "you could manage a theatre
well, who can thus command a double set of actors. For ourselves, we
will receive your courtesies this evening but clownishly, since it is
not our purpose to change our riding attire, being in effect something
fatigued with a journey which the concourse of our good people hath
rendered slow, though the love they have shown our person hath, at the
same time, made it delightful."

Leicester, having received this permission, retired accordingly, and
was followed by those nobles who had attended the Queen to Kenilworth
in person. The gentlemen who had preceded them, and were, of course,
dressed for the solemnity, remained in attendance. But being most of
them of rather inferior rank, they remained at an awful distance
from the throne which Elizabeth occupied. The Queen's sharp eye soon
distinguished Raleigh amongst them, with one or two others who were
personally known to her, and she instantly made them a sign to approach,
and accosted them very graciously. Raleigh, in particular, the adventure
of whose cloak, as well as the incident of the verses, remained on
her mind, was very graciously received; and to him she most frequently
applied for information concerning the names and rank of those who
were in presence. These he communicated concisely, and not without some
traits of humorous satire, by which Elizabeth seemed much amused. "And
who is yonder clownish fellow?" she said, looking at Tressilian, whose
soiled dress on this occasion greatly obscured his good mien.

"A poet, if it please your Grace," replied Raleigh.

"I might have guessed that from his careless garb," said Elizabeth.
"I have known some poets so thoughtless as to throw their cloaks into
gutters."

"It must have been when the sun dazzled both their eyes and their
judgment," answered Raleigh.

Elizabeth smiled, and proceeded, "I asked that slovenly fellow's name,
and you only told me his profession."

"Tressilian is his name," said Raleigh, with internal reluctance, for
he foresaw nothing favourable to his friend from the manner in which she
took notice of him.

"Tressilian!" answered Elizabeth. "Oh, the Menelaus of our romance. Why,
he has dressed himself in a guise that will go far to exculpate his fair
and false Helen. And where is Farnham, or whatever his name is--my Lord
of Leicester's man, I mean--the Paris of this Devonshire tale?"

With still greater reluctance Raleigh named and pointed out to her
Varney, for whom the tailor had done all that art could perform in
making his exterior agreeable; and who, if he had not grace, had a sort
of tact and habitual knowledge of breeding, which came in place of it.

The Queen turned her eyes from the one to the other. "I doubt," she
said, "this same poetical Master Tressilian, who is too learned, I
warrant me, to remember whose presence he was to appear in, may be one
of those of whom Geoffrey Chaucer says wittily, the wisest clerks are
not the wisest men. I remember that Varney is a smooth-tongued varlet. I
doubt this fair runaway hath had reasons for breaking her faith."

To this Raleigh durst make no answer, aware how little he should benefit
Tressilian by contradicting the Queen's sentiments, and not at all
certain, on the whole, whether the best thing that could befall him
would not be that she should put an end at once by her authority to this
affair, upon which it seemed to him Tressilian's thoughts were fixed
with unavailing and distressing pertinacity. As these reflections
passed through his active brain, the lower door of the hall opened, and
Leicester, accompanied by several of his kinsmen, and of the nobles who
had embraced his faction, re-entered the Castle Hall.

The favourite Earl was now apparelled all in white, his shoes being of
white velvet; his under-stocks (or stockings) of knit silk; his upper
stocks of white velvet, lined with cloth of silver, which was shown at
the slashed part of the middle thigh; his doublet of cloth of
silver, the close jerkin of white velvet, embroidered with silver and
seed-pearl, his girdle and the scabbard of his sword of white velvet
with golden buckles; his poniard and sword hilted and mounted with gold;
and over all a rich, loose robe of white satin, with a border of golden
embroidery a foot in breadth. The collar of the Garter, and the azure
garter itself around his knee, completed the appointments of the Earl
of Leicester; which were so well matched by his fair stature, graceful
gesture, fine proportion of body, and handsome countenance, that at that
moment he was admitted by all who saw him as the goodliest person whom
they had ever looked upon. Sussex and the other nobles were also richly
attired, but in point of splendour and gracefulness of mien Leicester
far exceeded them all.

Elizabeth received him with great complacency. "We have one piece of
royal justice," she said, "to attend to. It is a piece of justice, too,
which interests us as a woman, as well as in the character of mother and
guardian of the English people."

An involuntary shudder came over Leicester as he bowed low, expressive
of his readiness to receive her royal commands; and a similar cold fit
came over Varney, whose eyes (seldom during that evening removed from
his patron) instantly perceived from the change in his looks, slight as
that was, of what the Queen was speaking. But Leicester had wrought
his resolution up to the point which, in his crooked policy, he judged
necessary; and when Elizabeth added, "it is of the matter of Varney
and Tressilian we speak--is the lady here, my lord?" his answer was
ready--"Gracious madam, she is not."

Elizabeth bent her brews and compressed her lips. "Our orders were
strict and positive, my lord," was her answer--

"And should have been obeyed, good my liege," replied Leicester, "had
they been expressed in the form of the lightest wish. But--Varney, step
forward--this gentleman will inform your Grace of the cause why the
lady" (he could not force his rebellious tongue to utter the words--HIS
WIFE) "cannot attend on your royal presence."

Varney advanced, and pleaded with readiness, what indeed he firmly
believed, the absolute incapacity of the party (for neither did he dare,
in Leicester's presence, term her his wife) to wait on her Grace.

"Here," said he, "are attestations from a most learned physician, whose
skill and honour are well known to my good Lord of Leicester, and from
an honest and devout Protestant, a man of credit and substance, one
Anthony Foster, the gentleman in whose house she is at present bestowed,
that she now labours under an illness which altogether unfits her for
such a journey as betwixt this Castle and the neighbourhood of Oxford."

"This alters the matter," said the Queen, taking the certificates in
her hand, and glancing at their contents.--"Let Tressilian come
forward.--Master Tressilian, we have much sympathy for your situation,
the rather that you seem to have set your heart deeply on this Amy
Robsart, or Varney. Our power, thanks to God, and the willing obedience
of a loving people, is worth much, but there are some things which it
cannot compass. We cannot, for example, command the affections of a
giddy young girl, or make her love sense and learning better than a
courtier's fine doublet; and we cannot control sickness, with which it
seems this lady is afflicted, who may not, by reason of such infirmity,
attend our court here, as we had required her to do. Here are the
testimonials of the physician who hath her under his charge, and the
gentleman in whose house she resides, so setting forth."

"Under your Majesty's favour," said Tressilian hastily, and in his alarm
for the consequence of the imposition practised on the Queen forgetting
in part at least his own promise to Amy, "these certificates speak not
the truth."

"How, sir!" said the Queen--"impeach my Lord of Leicester's veracity!
But you shall have a fair hearing. In our presence the meanest of
our subjects shall be heard against the proudest, and the least known
against the most favoured; therefore you shall be heard fairly, but
beware you speak not without a warrant! Take these certificates in your
own hand, look at them carefully, and say manfully if you impugn the
truth of them, and upon what evidence."

As the Queen spoke, his promise and all its consequences rushed on the
mind of the unfortunate Tressilian, and while it controlled his natural
inclination to pronounce that a falsehood which he knew from the
evidence of his senses to be untrue, gave an indecision and irresolution
to his appearance and utterance which made strongly against him in
the mind of Elizabeth, as well as of all who beheld him. He turned
the papers over and over, as if he had been an idiot, incapable of
comprehending their contents. The Queen's impatience began to become
visible. "You are a scholar, sir," she said, "and of some note, as I
have heard; yet you seem wondrous slow in reading text hand. How say
you, are these certificates true or no?"

"Madam," said Tressilian, with obvious embarrassment and hesitation,
anxious to avoid admitting evidence which he might afterwards have
reason to confute, yet equally desirous to keep his word to Amy, and to
give her, as he had promised, space to plead her own cause in her own
way--"Madam--Madam, your Grace calls on me to admit evidence which ought
to be proved valid by those who found their defence upon them."

"Why, Tressilian, thou art critical as well as poetical," said the
Queen, bending on him a brow of displeasure; "methinks these writings,
being produced in the presence of the noble Earl to whom this Castle
pertains, and his honour being appealed to as the guarantee of their
authenticity, might be evidence enough for thee. But since thou listest
to be so formal--Varney, or rather my Lord of Leicester, for the affair
becomes yours" (these words, though spoken at random, thrilled through
the Earl's marrow and bones), "what evidence have you as touching these
certificates?"

Varney hastened to reply, preventing Leicester--"So please your Majesty,
my young Lord of Oxford, who is here in presence, knows Master Anthony
Foster's hand and his character."

The Earl of Oxford, a young unthrift, whom Foster had more than once
accommodated with loans on usurious interest, acknowledged, on this
appeal, that he knew him as a wealthy and independent franklin, supposed
to be worth much money, and verified the certificate produced to be his
handwriting.

"And who speaks to the Doctor's certificate?" said the Queen. "Alasco,
methinks, is his name."

Masters, her Majesty's physician (not the less willingly that he
remembered his repulse from Sayes Court, and thought that his present
testimony might gratify Leicester, and mortify the Earl of Sussex and
his faction), acknowledged he had more than once consulted with Doctor
Alasco, and spoke of him as a man of extraordinary learning and hidden
acquirements, though not altogether in the regular course of practice.
The Earl of Huntingdon, Lord Leicester's brother-in-law, and the old
Countess of Rutland, next sang his praises, and both remembered the
thin, beautiful Italian hand in which he was wont to write his receipts,
and which corresponded to the certificate produced as his.

"And now, I trust, Master Tressilian, this matter is ended," said the
Queen. "We will do something ere the night is older to reconcile old Sir
Hugh Robsart to the match. You have done your duty something more than
boldly; but we were no woman had we not compassion for the wounds which
true love deals, so we forgive your audacity, and your uncleansed
boots withal, which have well-nigh overpowered my Lord of Leicester's
perfumes."

So spoke Elizabeth, whose nicety of scent was one of the characteristics
of her organization, as appeared long afterwards when she expelled Essex
from her presence, on a charge against his boots similar to that which
she now expressed against those of Tressilian.

But Tressilian had by this time collected himself, astonished as he had
at first been by the audacity of the falsehood so feasibly supported,
and placed in array against the evidence of his own eyes. He rushed
forward, kneeled down, and caught the Queen by the skirt of her robe.
"As you are Christian woman," he said, "madam, as you are crowned Queen,
to do equal justice among your subjects--as you hope yourself to have
fair hearing (which God grant you) at that last bar at which we must all
plead, grant me one small request! Decide not this matter so hastily.
Give me but twenty-four hours' interval, and I will, at the end of that
brief space, produce evidence which will show to demonstration that
these certificates, which state this unhappy lady to be now ill at ease
in Oxfordshire, are false as hell!"

"Let go my train, sir!" said Elizabeth, who was startled at his
vehemence, though she had too much of the lion in her to fear; "the
fellow must be distraught. That witty knave, my godson Harrington, must
have him into his rhymes of Orlando Furioso! And yet, by this light,
there is something strange in the vehemence of his demand.--Speak,
Tressilian, what wilt thou do if, at the end of these four-and-twenty
hours, thou canst not confute a fact so solemnly proved as this lady's
illness?"

"I will lay down my head on the block," answered Tressilian.

"Pshaw!" replied the Queen, "God's light! thou speakest like a fool.
What head falls in England but by just sentence of English law? I ask
thee, man--if thou hast sense to understand me--wilt thou, if thou
shalt fail in this improbable attempt of thine, render me a good and
sufficient reason why thou dost undertake it?"

Tressilian paused, and again hesitated; because he felt convinced that
if, within the interval demanded, Amy should become reconciled to her
husband, he would in that case do her the worst of offices by again
ripping up the whole circumstances before Elizabeth, and showing
how that wise and jealous princess had been imposed upon by false
testimonials. The consciousness of this dilemma renewed his extreme
embarrassment of look, voice, and manner; he hesitated, looked down, and
on the Queen repeating her question with a stern voice and flashing
eye, he admitted with faltering words, "That it might be--he could not
positively--that is, in certain events--explain the reasons and grounds
on which he acted."

"Now, by the soul of King Henry," said the Queen, "this is either
moonstruck madness or very knavery!--Seest thou, Raleigh, thy friend is
far too Pindaric for this presence. Have him away, and make us quit of
him, or it shall be the worse for him; for his flights are too unbridled
for any place but Parnassus, or Saint Luke's Hospital. But come back
instantly thyself, when he is placed under fitting restraint.--We wish
we had seen the beauty which could make such havoc in a wise man's
brain."

Tressilian was again endeavouring to address the Queen, when Raleigh, in
obedience to the orders he had received, interfered, and with Blount's
assistance, half led, half forced him out of the presence-chamber, where
he himself indeed began to think his appearance did his cause more harm
than good.

When they had attained the antechamber, Raleigh entreated Blount to see
Tressilian safely conducted into the apartments allotted to the Earl of
Sussex's followers, and, if necessary, recommended that a guard should
be mounted on him.

"This extravagant passion," he said, "and, as it would seem, the news of
the lady's illness, has utterly wrecked his excellent judgment. But it
will pass away if he be kept quiet. Only let him break forth again at
no rate; for he is already far in her Highness's displeasure, and
should she be again provoked, she will find for him a worse place of
confinement, and sterner keepers."

"I judged as much as that he was mad," said Nicholas Blount, looking
down upon his own crimson stockings and yellow roses, "whenever I saw
him wearing yonder damned boots, which stunk so in her nostrils. I will
but see him stowed, and be back with you presently. But, Walter, did the
Queen ask who I was?--methought she glanced an eye at me."

"Twenty--twenty eye-glances she sent! and I told her all--how thou wert
a brave soldier, and a--But for God's sake, get off Tressilian!"

"I will--I will," said Blount; "but methinks this court-haunting is no
such bad pastime, after all. We shall rise by it, Walter, my brave lad.
Thou saidst I was a good soldier, and a--what besides, dearest Walter?"

"An all unutterable-codshead. For God's sake, begone!"

Tressilian, without further resistance or expostulation followed, or
rather suffered himself to be conducted by Blount to Raleigh's lodging,
where he was formally installed into a small truckle-bed placed in a
wardrobe, and designed for a domestic. He saw but too plainly that
no remonstrances would avail to procure the help or sympathy of his
friends, until the lapse of the time for which he had pledged himself
to remain inactive should enable him either to explain the whole
circumstances to them, or remove from him every pretext or desire of
further interference with the fortunes of Amy, by her having found means
to place herself in a state of reconciliation with her husband.

With great difficulty, and only by the most patient and mild
remonstrances with Blount, he escaped the disgrace and mortification of
having two of Sussex's stoutest yeomen quartered in his apartment.
At last, however, when Nicholas had seen him fairly deposited in his
truckle-bed, and had bestowed one or two hearty kicks, and as hearty
curses, on the boots, which, in his lately acquired spirit of foppery,
he considered as a strong symptom, if not the cause, of his friend's
malady, he contented himself with the modified measure of locking the
door on the unfortunate Tressilian, whose gallant and disinterested
efforts to save a female who had treated him with ingratitude thus
terminated for the present in the displeasure of his Sovereign and the
conviction of his friends that he was little better than a madman.



CHAPTER XXXII.

     The wisest Sovereigns err like private men,
     And royal hand has sometimes laid the sword
     Of chivalry upon a worthless shoulder,
     Which better had been branded by the hangman.
     What then?--Kings do their best; and they and we
     Must answer for the intent, and not the event.--OLD PLAY.

"It is a melancholy matter," said the Queen, when Tressilian was
withdrawn, "to see a wise and learned man's wit thus pitifully
unsettled. Yet this public display of his imperfection of brain plainly
shows us that his supposed injury and accusation were fruitless; and
therefore, my Lord of Leicester, we remember your suit formerly made
to us in behalf of your faithful servant Varney, whose good gifts and
fidelity, as they are useful to you, ought to have due reward from us,
knowing well that your lordship, and all you have, are so earnestly
devoted to our service. And we render Varney the honour more especially
that we are a guest, and, we fear, a chargeable and troublesome one,
under your lordship's roof; and also for the satisfaction of the good
old Knight of Devon, Sir Hugh Robsart, whose daughter he hath married,
and we trust the especial mark of grace which we are about to confer may
reconcile him to his son-in-law.--Your sword, my Lord of Leicester."

The Earl unbuckled his sword, and taking it by the point, presented on
bended knee the hilt to Elizabeth.

She took it slowly drew it from the scabbard, and while the ladies who
stood around turned away their eyes with real or affected shuddering,
she noted with a curious eye the high polish and rich, damasked
ornaments upon the glittering blade.

"Had I been a man," she said, "methinks none of my ancestors would have
loved a good sword better. As it is with me, I like to look on one, and
could, like the Fairy of whom I have read in some Italian rhymes--were
my godson Harrington here, he could tell me the passage--even trim
my hair, and arrange my head-gear, in such a steel mirror as this
is.--Richard Varney, come forth, and kneel down. In the name of God and
Saint George, we dub thee knight! Be Faithful, Brave, and Fortunate.
Arise, Sir Richard Varney."

     [The incident alluded to occurs in the poem of Orlando Innamorato
     of Boiardo, libro ii. canto 4, stanza 25.

     "Non era per ventura," etc.

It may be rendered thus:--

     As then, perchance, unguarded was the tower,
     So enter'd free Anglante's dauntless knight.
     No monster and no giant guard the bower
     In whose recess reclined the fairy light,
     Robed in a loose cymar of lily white,
     And on her lap a sword of breadth and might,
     In whose broad blade, as in a mirror bright,
     Like maid that trims her for a festal night,
     The fairy deck'd her hair, and placed her coronet aright.

Elizabeth's attachment to the Italian school of poetry was singularly
manifested on a well-known occasion. Her godson, Sir John Harrington,
having offended her delicacy by translating some of the licentious
passages of the Orlando Furioso, she imposed on him, as a penance, the
task of rendering the WHOLE poem into English.]

Varney arose and retired, making a deep obeisance to the Sovereign who
had done him so much honour.

"The buckling of the spur, and what other rites remain," said the Queen,
"may be finished to-morrow in the chapel; for we intend Sir Richard
Varney a companion in his honours. And as we must not be partial in
conferring such distinction, we mean on this matter to confer with our
cousin of Sussex."

That noble Earl, who since his arrival at Kenilworth, and indeed since
the commencement of this Progress, had found himself in a subordinate
situation to Leicester, was now wearing a heavy cloud on his brow; a
circumstance which had not escaped the Queen, who hoped to appease his
discontent, and to follow out her system of balancing policy by a mark
of peculiar favour, the more gratifying as it was tendered at a moment
when his rival's triumph appeared to be complete.

At the summons of Queen Elizabeth, Sussex hastily approached her person;
and being asked on which of his followers, being a gentleman and of
merit, he would wish the honour of knighthood to be conferred, he
answered, with more sincerity than policy, that he would have ventured
to speak for Tressilian, to whom he conceived he owed his own life, and
who was a distinguished soldier and scholar, besides a man of unstained
lineage, "only," he said, "he feared the events of that night--" And
then he stopped.

"I am glad your lordship is thus considerate," said Elizabeth. "The
events of this night would make us, in the eyes of our subjects, as mad
as this poor brain-sick gentleman himself--for we ascribe his conduct to
no malice--should we choose this moment to do him grace."

"In that case," said the Earl of Sussex, somewhat discountenanced, "your
Majesty will allow me to name my master of the horse, Master Nicholas
Blount, a gentleman of fair estate and ancient name, who has served your
Majesty both in Scotland and Ireland, and brought away bloody marks on
his person, all honourably taken and requited."

The Queen could not help shrugging her shoulders slightly even at this
second suggestion; and the Duchess of Rutland, who read in the Queen's
manner that she had expected that Sussex would have named Raleigh, and
thus would have enabled her to gratify her own wish while she honoured
his recommendation, only waited the Queen's assent to what he had
proposed, and then said that she hoped, since these two high nobles had
been each permitted to suggest a candidate for the honours of chivalry,
she, in behalf of the ladies in presence, might have a similar
indulgence.

"I were no woman to refuse you such a boon," said the Queen, smiling.

"Then," pursued the Duchess, "in the name of these fair ladies present,
I request your Majesty to confer the rank of knighthood on Walter
Raleigh, whose birth, deeds of arms, and promptitude to serve our sex
with sword or pen, deserve such distinction from us all."

"Gramercy, fair ladies," said Elizabeth, smiling, "your boon is
granted, and the gentle squire Lack-Cloak shall become the good knight
Lack-Cloak, at your desire. Let the two aspirants for the honour of
chivalry step forward."

Blount was not as yet returned from seeing Tressilian, as he conceived,
safely disposed of; but Raleigh came forth, and kneeling down, received
at the hand of the Virgin Queen that title of honour, which was never
conferred on a more distinguished or more illustrious object.
                
 
 
Хостинг от uCoz