In the mean time, Sir Ambrose Montagu had been presented to the Queen,
and the evening after his arrival in town he attended her drawing-room.
The splendour of the English Court at this period defies description.
The walls of the room in which the Queen received her guest, were
literally one blaze of precious stones, and these being disposed in
the form of bouquets, wreaths, and trophies, were so contrived as to
quiver with every movement. These magnificent walls were relieved
by a colonnade of pillars of solid gold, around which, were twined
wreaths of jewels fixed also upon elastic gold wires, so as to tremble
every instant. The throne of the Queen was formed of gold filigree
beautifully wrought, richly chased and superbly ornamented, whilst
behind it was an immense plate of looking-glass, stretching the whole
length and height of the apartment, and giving the whole the effect
of a fairy palace. The carpet spread upon the floor of this sumptuous
saloon was so exact an imitation of green moss, with exquisitely
beautiful groups of flowers thrown carelessly upon it, that a heedless
spectator might have been completely deceived by the delicacy of
their shape and richness of their colouring, and have stooped to pick
them up, supposing them to be real. The suit of rooms appropriated to
dancing was equally splendid, and fitted up in the same manner, save
that the floors were painted to imitate the effect of the carpet, and
rows of trees were placed on each side, hung with lamps. This imitative
grove was so exquisitely managed, that the spectator could scarcely
believe it artificial; and the music for dancing proceeded from its
leaves, or from automaton birds placed carelessly amongst its branches.
The dresses of the Queen and her attendants were worthy of the
apartment they occupied. Brocaded silks, cloth of gold, embroidered
velvets, gold and silver tissues, and gossamer nets made of the
spider's web, were mingled with precious stones and superb plumes of
feathers in a profusion quite beyond description. The most beautiful
of the female habiliments, however, were robes made of woven asbestos,
which glittered in the brilliant light like molten silver. The ladies
were all arrayed in loose trowsers, over which hung drapery in graceful
folds; and most of them carried on their heads, streams of lighted gas
forced by capillary tubes into plumes, fleurs-de-lis, or in short any
form the wearer pleased; which _jets de feu_ had an uncommonly chaste
and elegant effect. The gentlemen were all clothed in the Spanish
style, with slashed sleeves, short cloaks, and large hats, ornamented
with immense plumes of ostrich feathers, it being considered in those
days extremely vulgar to appear with the head uncovered. It would,
perhaps, have been difficult to imagine more perfect models of male
and female beauty than those which now adorned the Court of Queen
Claudia, for the _beau ideal_ of the painter's fancy seemed realized,
nay surpassed by the noble living figures there collected. The women
were particularly lovely, and as they stood gathered round their
Queen, or lightly threaded the mazes of the graceful dance, dressed as
above described, their brows bound with circlets of precious stones,
and their glossy hair hanging in rich luxuriant ringlets upon their
ivory shoulders, they looked like a group of Houris, or the nymphs of
Circe, ready with sparkling eyes and witching voices to lure men to
destruction.
Claudia was very handsome, and though her countenance wanted
expression, her noble figure and majestic bearing well qualified her
to play her part as Queen amongst this bevy of beauties, with becoming
dignity. There is something in the habit of command, when it has been
long enjoyed, that gives an imposing majesty to the manner, which
the parvenu great strive in vain to imitate; and Claudia had this in
perfection. The consciousness of beauty, power, and high birth swelled
in her bosom; and even when she wished to be affable, she was only
condescending.
She now, however, received Sir Ambrose most graciously; she gave him
her snowy hand to kiss, and addressed a few words of compliment to
him, which sank deep into his heart. It is one of the privileges of
greatness easily to excite emotion; one word of commendation from those
above us, far outweighs all the laboured flattery of our inferiors.
Thus the words of Claudia, and the warm praise she bestowed on Edmund,
gave the purest transport to his father's heart; and affected him so
violently, that he would have fallen at her feet, had he not been
supported by a young man who stood near him.
"You seem faint, Sir," said the youth; "will you permit me to lead you
to a seat."
"Thank you, thank you," cried Sir Ambrose, gratefully accepting the
proffered aid, and leaning on his youthful supporter as they left the
presence. The stranger carefully placed Sir Ambrose upon a sofa, under
the harmonious trees we have already mentioned; and as he stood before
him, asking if he should procure him some refreshments, Sir Ambrose
had full leisure to survey his face and figure: both were handsome
in the extreme. The youth seemed scarcely to have passed the age of
boyhood, and his well-proportioned form displayed all the lightness and
activity of youth; but wit and good-humour laughed in his bright blue
eyes, whilst animated features and an enchanting smile completed an
_ensemble_ which few bosoms were frozen enough to resist. Sir Ambrose
was irresistibly pleased, and longed to know to whom he was indebted
for so much kindness. But he felt too delicate to ask the question in
direct terms, and there was nothing in the youth's exterior to mark
decidedly to what rank in life he might belong.
He was handsomely dressed, and his air and manner appeared slightly
foreign; though this might be fancy, arising from Sir Ambrose's
ignorance of the manners and habits of the Court. There also seemed
something droll about him, and the air with which he submitted to Sir
Ambrose's scrutiny was excessively comic.
"Is there any thing I can do for you?" asked he at length, when he
thought the baronet's curiosity had had time to satisfy itself.
"Nothing," replied Sir Ambrose; "but--"
"But--you would like to know who I am?" said the stranger.
"I own," returned Sir Ambrose, blushing, "I would fain know to whom I
am so much obliged."
"My name is Henry Seymour," replied the youth. "I was born in Spain, of
English parents. I am an orphan and in want; and have been introduced
to the Queen, in hopes of getting a place at Court, by one of her
Majesty's physicians, Dr. Coleman."
"I am quite ashamed," said Sir Ambrose, "that my indiscreet
curiosity--that is, that you should have thought--I mean, that I should
have asked for--"
"In short," interrupted the youth, "you think, perhaps, that I meant to
call you rude by giving such a long account of myself: but I always do
so in similar cases; it saves trouble."
Sir Ambrose smiled. "You are a singular youth," said he; "I should like
to know you better."
"And I," returned the stranger, "should be proud to obtain the
friendship of Sir Ambrose Montagu, and shall always reckon the day that
introduced me to his notice, as one of the happiest of my life."
A glow of pleasure spread over the animated features of the youth as
he spoke, and Sir Ambrose fancied his accent sounded slightly Irish:
convinced, however, that he must be mistaken, he did not remark it, but
only exclaimed, "You know me, then?"
Before the stranger had time to utter a reply, the Duke of Cornwall,
and the Princesses Rosabella and Elvira approached, and prevented him
from speaking.
"How do you find yourself, my dear friend?" said the duke; "they told
us you were ill."
"I have been slightly so," returned Sir Ambrose; "and I believe I
should have fainted, and paid my respects to my Sovereign quite
orientally, if this gentleman had not saved me."
"I am sure we are very much obliged to you, Sir," said the duke,
turning to the youth.
"Indeed, we feel most grateful," said Elvira.
The stranger made a suitable reply, and after a short conversation, in
which Dr. Coleman joined, that worthy gentleman having been also drawn
to the spot by the report of Sir Ambrose's illness, he requested the
favour of Elvira's hand for the dance.
"That is a very nice young man," said the duke, when he was gone to
join the dancers: "I admire him much."
"He deserves every thing you can say in his favour," returned Dr.
Coleman: "I have known him long, and I love him as a son."
When Elvira retired to her chamber that night, she sighed so often,
and so deeply, that Emma, who assisted at her toilet, could not avoid
remarking her uneasiness. "Are you ill, my dear mistress?" asked she,
in a tone of feeling; "what else can have produced this sudden change?"
"I am quite well," said Elvira, again sighing.
"Why then do you sigh and look so thoughtful?"
"I was thinking of Lord Edmund."
"Indeed! I did not think he had the power to make you sigh. He has
reason to feel flattered."
"Oh, Emma! I wish he were like Henry Seymour!"
"And who is Henry Seymour?" asked Emma, smiling, and beginning to
suspect that she had been rather hasty in fancying Lord Edmund had
occasion to flatter himself on account of the Princess's _tristesse_.
"One of the most fascinating of human beings," returned Elvira; "so
gay, and yet so tender. He is not, perhaps, so regularly handsome as
Edmund, but he has such expressive features, and his soul gives such
animation to his countenance."
"Poor Edmund!" thought Emma: but as she was too discreet to say so,
Elvira was not aware of the interpretation that might be put on what
she was saying; and she went on, raving of the pleasures of the ball,
till she was fairly in bed.
The following day was appointed for the triumphal entry of Lord Edmund,
and the greatest part of the night preceding it, was passed by Sir
Ambrose in the greatest agitation. He could not sleep; he rose several
times from his bed, in excessive anxiety, to listen for the repetition
of noises which he fancied he heard: once he opened his window--all
was still. His room looked into the garden of Mr. Montagu, which, as
we have already mentioned, shelved down to the Thames, and the calm
moonlight slept peacefully upon the tall, thick trees, and verdant lawn
that spread before him. The evening breeze felt cool and refreshing;
but Sir Ambrose sighed, and a strange fear of something he could not
wholly define hung over him.
He again retired to bed, and at length sank into a feverish and uneasy
doze. At daybreak, however, a thundering of cannon announced the
arrival of the important day. Sir Ambrose started from his pillow at
the first discharge, and the solemn sound thrilled through every nerve
as it pealed along the sky. Scarcely had its echoes died upon the ear,
when another, and another peal succeeded; and the heart of Sir Ambrose
throbbed in his bosom almost to suffocation, as he sate, resting his
head upon his hands, and striving, though ineffectually, to stop his
ears from the solemn sound, which seemed to absorb his every faculty,
and strike almost with the force of a blow upon his nerves.
Whilst he was still in this position, Father Morris entered the
room.--"Come, come, Sir Ambrose!" cried he, "are you not ready?
The Queen has sent for us, and the procession is just ready to set
off."--Sir Ambrose started: he attempted to dress himself, but his
trembling hands refused to perform their office, and Father Morris
and Abelard were obliged to attire him, and lead him down to join his
friend, the duke, who was waiting for him impatiently.
It has often been said that the anticipation of pleasure is always
greater than the reality: this, however, was not the case in the
present instance, as the brilliancy of Lord Edmund's triumph was far
greater than even the imaginations of the spectators had before dared
to conceive. The duke and Sir Ambrose, attended by Father Morris,
found the individuals who were to compose the procession of the Queen
assembled in the extensive gardens belonging to the superb palace of
Somerset House. These fine gardens, spreading their verdant groves
along the banks of the river, adorned by all the charms of nature and
art, and enriched by some of the finest specimens of sculpture in the
world, were now crowded with all the beauty and rank of England, who,
waiting for the arrival of their Sovereign, formed an _ensemble_ no
other nation in the world could hope to imitate.
In the centre walk, appeared the superb Arabian charger of the Queen,
led by his grooms, and magnificently caparisoned. His bridle was
studded with precious stones, and his hoofs cased in gold; whilst his
blue satin saddle and housings were richly embroidered and fringed with
the same metal. The noble animal, whose flowing mane and tail swept the
ground, paced proudly along, tossing his head on high, and spurning
the ground on which he trod, as though conscious he should perform a
conspicuous part in the grand pageant about to take place. All now was
ready, but yet Queen Claudia did not appear.
"It is very strange, but lately it is always so," said Lord Maysworth
to Lord Gustavus de Montfort, who had been for some time engaged in
earnest conversation with Father Morris. Lord Gustavus started at the
sound of his friend's voice in some apparent confusion, whilst Father
Morris replied in his usual soft, insinuating tones, "Perhaps her
Majesty may be indisposed, and have slept rather longer than usual."
"Most likely," returned Lord Maysworth; "yet it is strange the same
thing should happen so often.--If you remember," continued he, again
addressing Lord Gustavus, "I made the same observation the morning of
her last levee. Indeed I have frequently made it lately, and I have
observed that she looks pale and languid."
"Here she comes, at any rate! and for my part, I think I never saw
her look better," said Dr. Hardman, who had now joined them, and
who, notwithstanding his violent politics, was one of the physicians
of the Court. The indolence of Claudia, which, indeed, seemed daily
increasing, having induced her to overlook what another Sovereign would
have resented.
Claudia did indeed look well, and her dress suited well with her style
of beauty. Her trowsers and vest were of pale blue satin; whilst over
her shoulders was thrown a long flowing drapery of asbestos silk,
which hanging in graceful folds, swept the ground as she walked along,
shining in the sun like a robe of woven silver. On her head, she wore
a splendid tiara of diamonds; and in her hand, she bore the regal
sceptre, surmounted by a dove, and richly ornamented with precious
stones. Thus gorgeously attired, surrounded by the ladies of her
household, she issued from her palace; and whilst her kneeling subjects
bent in humble homage around her, she mounted her noble charger. Cannon
were now fired in rapid succession; the bells of every church rang
in merry peals, and martial music mingled in the clamour. The palace
gates were thrown open, and the procession poured from them along the
streets, where crowds of human beings bustled to and fro, eager to
catch a glimpse of the sumptuous spectacle.
First advanced a long double line of monks, arrayed in sacerdotal pomp,
and bearing immensely thick lighted tapers in their hands; chanting
thanksgiving for the victory. They were followed by chorister-boys,
flinging incense from silver vases, that hung suspended by chains in
their hands, and chanting also; their shrill trebles mingling with the
deep bass voices of the priests in rich and mellow harmony. The Queen
next appeared, her prancing charger led by grooms, whilst beautiful
girls, elegantly attired, walked, on each side of their Sovereign,
scattering flowers in her path from fancy baskets made of wrought gold.
Behind the Queen, rode the ladies of her household and the principal
nobles of her Court, the superb plumes of ostrich feathers in the large
Spanish hats of the latter, with their immense mustachios, and open
shirt collars, giving them the air of some of Vandyck's best pictures.
As they rode slowly along, their noble Arabians paced proudly, and
champed the bit, impatient of restraint.
The ladies of the Court, superbly dressed in open litters, next
appeared, borne upon the shoulders of men splendidly clad in rich
liveries. Amongst these, were Elvira and Rosabella.
These were followed by monks and boys as before, but singing a somewhat
different strain. It was now a chant of glory and triumph that swelled
upon the ear, for these preceded the duke and Sir Ambrose; who, the one
as uncle to the Queen, and the other as father of the expected hero,
occupied the post of honour. The two venerable old men sate hand in
hand in a sumptuous car drawn by two Arabian horses, and were followed
by a large body of the Queen's guards.
The costliness and variety of the dresses worn this day, were quite
beyond description. Many of the ladies had turbans of woven glass;
whilst others carried on their hats very pretty fountains made of glass
dust, which, being thrown up in little jets by a small perpetual motion
wheel, sparkled in the sun like real water, and had a very singular
effect.
In this manner the procession advanced towards Blackheath Square, said
to be the largest and finest in the world, where the meeting between
the Queen and her general was appointed to take place. Amongst the
numerous balloons that floated in the air, enjoying this magnificent
spectacle, was one containing Father Murphy, who had been prevented,
by a sprained ankle, from joining in the procession, and the family
of Mr. Montagu--and nothing could be more enthusiastic than their
delight, as they looked down upon the splendid scene below them. Few
things, indeed, could be imagined finer than the sight of this gorgeous
_cortège_, winding slowly along a magnificent street, supposed to be
five miles long, leading from Blackfriars' Bridge, through Greenwich,
to Blackheath.
Sumptuous rows of houses, or rather palaces, lined the sides of
this superb street; the terraces and balconies before which, were
crowded with persons of all ages, beautifully attired, waving flags
of different colours, richly embroidered and fringed with gold,
whilst festoons of the choicest flowers hung from house to house. We
have already said the air was thronged with balloons, and the crowd
increased every moment. These aërial machines, loaded with spectators
till they were in danger of breaking down, glittered in the sun, and
presented every possible variety of shape and colour. In fact, every
balloon in London or the vicinity had been put in requisition, and
enormous sums paid, in some cases, merely for the privilege of hanging
to the cords that attached the cars, whilst the innumerable multitudes
that thus loaded the air, amused themselves by scattering flowers upon
the heads of those who rode beneath.
Besides balloons, however, a variety of other modes of conveyance
fluttered in the sky. Some dandies bestrode aërial horses, inflated
with inflammable gas; whilst others floated upon wings, or glided
gently along, reclining gracefully upon aërial sledges, the last being
contrived so as to cover a sufficient column of air for their support.
As the procession approached the river, the scene became still more
animated; innumerable barges of every kind and description shot swiftly
along, or glided smoothly over the sparkling water. Some floated
with the tide in large boat-like shoes; whilst others, reclining on
couch-shaped cars, formed of mother of pearl, were drawn forward by
inflated figures representing the deities or monsters of the deep.
When the Queen reached a spot near Greenwich, where, through a spacious
opening, the river, in all its glorious majesty, burst upon her, she
paused, and commanded her trumpeters to advance and sound a flourish.
They obeyed, and after a short pause were answered by those of Lord
Edmund; the sound, mellowed by the distances, pealing along the water
in dulcet harmony. Delighted with this response, which announced the
arrival of Lord Edmund and his troops at the appointed place, the
procession of the Queen was again set in motion, and in a short time
arrived at Blackheath.
The noble square in which the meeting was to take place, was already
thronged with soldiers; whilst every house that surrounded it was
covered with spectators. No trees or fantastical ornaments spoiled
the simple grandeur of this immense space; the houses that surrounded
it, built in exact uniformity, each having a peristyle supported by
Corinthian pillars, and a highly decorated façade, looked like so many
Athenian temples. As the _cortège_ of the Queen entered the square, the
soldiers formed an opening to receive it, and reverentially knelt on
each side, with reversed arms, and bending banners as she passed. In
the centre was Lord Edmund, surrounded by his staff, all in polished
armour; for since an invention had been discovered of rendering steel
perfectly flexible, it had been generally used in war. Lord Edmund's
helmet, however, was thrown off, and his fine countenance was displayed
to the greatest advantage, as he and his officers threw themselves from
their war steeds to kneel before the Queen. Claudia, also, descended
from her charger, and as she stood in her glittering robes, surrounded
on all sides by her kneeling subjects, she looked, indeed, their
Sovereign. With becoming dignity, she addressed a few words of thanks
and commendation to Lord Edmund, as he knelt before her, his thick,
dark, brown hair falling in clustering curls over his noble forehead.
His graceful figure was shown to the utmost advantage, by his closely
fitting armour, over which, however, upon the present occasion was
thrown a short cloak of fine scarlet cloth, richly embroidered with
gold, and fastened in front by a cord and superb tassels, made entirely
of the same metal. He looked a living personification of the God of War.
The Queen raised him from the ground in the most gracious manner; and
then turning to the still kneeling soldiers, she made a short speech
to them, of the same nature as that which she had addressed to Lord
Edmund: after which, again mounting her palfrey, she made Lord Edmund
ride by her side, and prepared to return to town. Edmund's quick eye
had discovered, and exchanged looks of affection with his father and
friends, though the etiquette of his present situation did not permit
him to do more; and he now rode proudly by the side of the Queen,
gracefully bowing to the assembled crowd as he passed along, his heart
beating with pleasure at the thought that his triumph was witnessed by
those most dear to him; whilst his noble Arabian tossed his head and
champed his bit as he pranced forward, as though he also knew the part
he was performing in the splendid ceremony.
Acclamations rent the sky as the procession advanced, and showers
of roses were rained down upon the Queen and her general from the
balloons above; from which, also, flags waved in graceful folds, and
flapped in the wind, as the balloons floated along the sky. Every
one seemed delighted with the grandeur of this splendid pageant; but
no one experienced more pleasure than the occupiers of the balloon
of Mr. Montagu. Even that oblivious gentleman himself was moved to
exclaim, that he never was more enchanted in his life; whilst the
raptures of his spouse were so excessive, that, like the spectators of
the stag-hunt on the lake of Killarney, she was in imminent danger of
throwing herself overboard in her ecstasy: and Clara clasped her hands
together, in all the transports of childish delight, her sparkling eyes
and animated looks bearing ample witness to her gratification.
"What shouting! what a noise!" exclaimed Mr. Montagu; "I declare it
puts me in mind of the acclamations in the time of Nero, when the
Romans shouted in concert, and birds fell from the skies with the
noise!"
"La! papa, is that true?" asked Clara.
"Och, and that's a strange kind of a question," said Father Murphy,
"and one I wouldn't like a child of mine to be putting."
"And why not?" asked Mr. Montagu, somewhat indignantly.
"Because a child ought always to belave what his father says, before he
hears him open his mouth."
"How well the Queen looks!" observed Mrs. Montagu, to whom the reverend
father's remark was far from agreeable. "It was said a short time
since, that she had lost her appetite and could get no rest; but I
think she doesn't seem to have much the matter with her now."
"My nurse says she's being poisoned," cried Clara, "and that it would
be no great matter if she was, for then the people would have to choose
a Queen for themselves, and they might make what terms they pleased
with her."
"And is this the kind of servant you suffer to attend on my daughter,
Mrs. Montagu?" demanded the indignant father, roused from his usual
lethargy by the importance of the occasion; "Clara shall go to a
boarding-school to-morrow, and her nurse shall be dismissed. My child
shall not be taught to utter treason."
"Dear me! Mr. Montagu," replied the wife, "what a serious matter you
make of a little harmless gossip!"
"Gossip do you call it?" repeated her husband; "it is such gossip
as might cost me my head, and you your fortune, if it were to reach
unfriendly ears."
An awkward pause followed this speech, which no one seemed inclined to
break, till Clara exclaimed, "Dear me! what a pretty horse my cousin
Edmund rides!"
"I think that's a prettier that comes after him," said Father Murphy.
"What, that one with his head hanging down and his mane sweeping the
ground?" asked Mrs. Montagu.
"Yes.--And it's a very handsome young man also, that walks by the side
of him," replied Father Murphy.
"His hands are chained as if he were a prisoner; and he looks like a
foreigner," observed Mr. Montagu, who had relapsed into one of his fits
of abstraction: "I wonder what can bring him there!"
"La! Mr. Montagu, how you talk!" exclaimed his wife, "you know my
nephew Lord Edmund, has just gained a battle, and what can be more
natural than that he should have taken prisoners?"
"True," rejoined Mr. Montagu with the utmost naïveté, "I never thought
of that!"
"Och, and it's a barbarous custom that of putting chains about the
hands of the prisoners," said Father Murphy, "as if it was not bad
enough to be a prisoner without looking, like one."
"Poor fellow!" cried Clara, "I should like to go and let him loose. He
looks very melancholy!"
"How great my nephew Lord Edmund looks!" continued Mrs. Montagu: "I
declare it he were a real king he couldn't have a grander appearance.
And then to see the poor old gentleman his father, my brother-in-law,
Sir Ambrose, sitting there hand-in-hand with the Duke of Cornwall
himself--I declare it does my heart good to look at them!"
Whilst Mrs. Montagu was thus exulting in the reflected grandeur
that shone upon her, from being sister-in-law to the person who sat
hand-in-hand with the duke, the joy and delight of that exalted
personage had been almost as great as her own.
His impatience during the whole procession from London had been
excessive; and the moment he saw Edmund, he rubbed his hands in
ecstasy, and jumping up in his seat almost overturned Sir Ambrose, who
was also bending forward eagerly gazing upon his son. "There! there
he is!" cried the duke. "Look how handsome he is! Oh the young rogue!
there'll be many a heart lost to-day, I warrant me! Look at him, how
the colour comes into his cheeks as the Queen speaks to him! Look! Now
he helps her on her horse--and now see, he's looking round for us!
There I caught his eye--see, Sir Ambrose! don't you see him?--Surely
you ar'n't crying, my old friend? Why you'll make me as great a fool as
yourself--God bless him! I am sure I don't know any thing we have to
cry at; but we are two old simpletons."
Father Morris, who had joined the procession of monks, was almost as
much affected as his patron. Indeed his affection for Edmund seemed
the only human passion remaining in his ascetic breast. Cold even to
frigidity in his exterior, Father Morris seemed to regard the scenes
passing around him but as the moving figures of a magic lantern, which
glittered for a moment in glowing colours, and then vanished into
darkness, leaving no trace behind:--whilst he, unmoved as the wall over
which the gaudy but shadowy pageant had passed, saw them alternately
vanish and re-appear without the slightest emotion being excited in
his mind. Under this statue-like appearance, however, Father Morris
concealed passions as terrific as those which might be supposed to
throb in the breast of a demon: though never did his self-command
seem relaxed for a moment, but when the interests of Edmund were in
question. On the present occasion, however, joy swelled in his bosom
almost to suffocation, as he raised his eyes to Heaven, and, wringing
his hands together, exclaimed, "Oh! it is too--too much!"
There is something indescribably affecting in seeing strong emotion
expressed by those who are generally calm and unimpassioned; and Sir
Ambrose, by whom this burst of feeling from his confessor was quite
unexpected, gazed at him with the utmost surprise, and, strange to
tell, though the monk had now lived nearly twenty years under his
roof, it was the first time he had seen his head completely uncovered.
Father Morris's cowl had now, however, fallen off entirely, and
displayed the head of a man between forty and fifty, whose fine
features bore the traces of what he had endured. His noble expressive
brow seemed wrinkled more by care than age, and his sable locks had
evidently become "grizzled here and there," prematurely. Sir Ambrose
gazed upon him intently, for the peculiar expression of his features
seemed to recall some half-forgotten circumstance to his mind, dimly
obscured, however, by the mist of time. The earnestness with which he
consequently regarded the monk, seemed at length to recall the latter
to himself. He started, and, whilst a deep crimson flushed his usually
sallow countenance, he hastily resumed his cowl, and appeared again to
the eyes of the spectators, the same cold, unimpassioned, abstracted
being as before.
The ovation had now nearly reached Blackfriars' bridge, at the entrance
to which, a triumphal arch had been erected. The moment the Queen
and her heroic general passed under it, a small figure of Fame was
contrived to descend from its entablature, and, hovering over the hero,
to drop a laurel crown upon his head. Shouts of applause followed this
well-executed device; and the passengers in the balloons, wondering
at the noise, all pressed forward at the same moment to ascertain the
cause of such continued acclamations. The throng of balloons became
thus every instant more dense. Some young city apprentices having hired
each a pair of wings for the day, and not exactly knowing how to manage
them, a dreadful tumult ensued; and the balloons became entangled with
the winged heroes and each other in inextricable confusion.
The noise now became tremendous; the conductors of the balloons
swearing at each other the most refined oaths, and the ladies screaming
in concert. Several balloons were rent in the scuffle and fell with
tremendous force upon the earth; whilst some cars were torn from their
supporting ropes, and others roughly overset. Luckily, however, the
whole of England was at this time so completely excavated, that falling
upon the surface of the earth was like tumbling upon the parchment of
an immense drum, and consequently only a deep hollow sound was returned
as cargo after cargo of the demolished balloons struck upon it; some of
them, indeed, rebounded several yards with the violence of the shock.
Amongst those who fell from the greatest height, and of course
rebounded most violently, were the unfortunate individuals who composed
the party of Mr. Montagu, an unlucky apprentice having poked his right
wing through the silk of their balloon, in endeavouring to avoid the
charge of an aërial horseman, who found his Æolian steed too difficult
to manage in the confusion. The car containing our friends was in
consequence precipitated to earth so rapidly, as for the moment to
deprive them of breath.
"Och, and I'm killed entirely!" cried Father Murphy.
"Oh, my bonnet! my beautiful bonnet!" sobbed Mrs. Montagu; whilst
Clara, dreadfully frightened, began to cry; and Mr. Montagu, whose
ideas were generally a long time travelling to his brain, particularly
upon occasions of sudden alarm, stood completely silent, stupidly
gazing about him, as though he had not the least notion what could
possibly have happened. Indeed, it was not till a full hour afterwards,
that he found himself sufficiently recovered to exclaim, "Dear me! I do
think we were very near being killed!"
In the mean time, the confusion in the air still continued; piercing
screams that demons were in the air, mingled horribly with the crashing
of balloons, the cries of the sufferers, and the successive falling
of heavy weights. The situation of the crowd below, however, was
infinitely worse than that of those above. The momentum of the falling
bodies being fearfully increased by the distance they had to descend,
those below had no chance of escape, and were inevitably crushed to
death by their weight, whilst the agonizing shrieks of the unfortunate
wretches who saw their danger coming from a distance, yet were so
jammed together in the crowd that they could not fly, rang shrilly upon
the ear, and pierced through every heart.
At this moment a dreadful scream ran through the crowd, and the horse
of Queen Claudia, his bridle broken, his housings torn, his nostrils
distended, and his sides streaming with gore, rushed past--"Oh God! the
Queen! the Queen!" burst from every voice, and one general rush took
place towards the spot from whence the cry had proceeded.
Beneath the triumphal arch, and partially sheltered by its shade, lay
the bleeding body of Claudia, supported by Edmund. By her side, knelt
Rosabella, who, assisted by Father Morris, was applying restoratives;
whilst Henry Seymour was endeavouring to restore Elvira, who had
fainted in the arms of her father, and Sir Ambrose, his face streaming
with blood, stood at a little distance amongst a group of courtiers,
several of whom had also experienced severe injuries. The tumult in
the air still continued; groans and shrieks and exclamations, that the
atmosphere was supernaturally haunted, were heard in many places; and
some persons declared the accident to be the work of demons. A current
of wind had blown those balloons that had become unmanageable across
the city, while the others, terrified almost to madness, appeared still
contending with some fearful monster in the sky.
The courtiers, however, heeded not this disturbance; for all their
attention was occupied by the apparently expiring Queen, whose
long-drawn sighs, and convulsed bosom, seemed to threaten her instant
dissolution.
"She's gone!" cried Lord Gustavus de Montfort, as her bosom heaved with
a deep, heavy sigh, and then all was still.
"Yes, she's dead!" repeated Lord Noodle.
"She is certainly dead!" reiterated Lord Doodle.
And then these sapient counsellors of the apparently departed Queen
shook their wise heads in sympathy.
"Hush! she breathes!" cried Lord Edmund.
For some moments, the courtiers stood in breathless anxiety watching
the body, and fearing to move lest they should break the awful silence
that prevailed, though their hearts throbbed till the pulsations were
almost audible.
Fearful was the pause that now ensued! All were suffering from the
torments of hope or fear; for all knew that the interests of the whole
community hung upon her breath. Most of the courtiers also either
hoped to gain places, or feared to lose them, whilst all trembled at
the uncertainty that seemed to rest upon their future destiny, and
the prospect of the anarchy which the purposed mode of electing their
future Sovereign might create. The interest which the fate of the Queen
excited was thus intense, and the courtiers hung over her body with
streaming eyes and motionless limbs to watch the result.
At this instant, a fearful and tremendous yell ran through the air; and
the car containing the Mummy, which had been for some time entangled
with the other balloons, fell to the ground with tremendous force,
close to the expiring Queen. The gigantic figure of Cheops started from
it as it fell--his ghastly eyes glaring with unnatural lustre upon the
terrified courtiers, who ran screaming in agony in all directions,
forgetting every thing but the horrid vision before them.
END OF VOL. I.