In the mean time, Lord Edmund's mind had been tortured by the bitterest
anguish, and his agitation, added to the pain of his wounds, had
produced a considerable degree of fever. The conduct of Elvira, and the
anxiety she had evinced respecting the prince, seemed to confirm his
worst suspicions. "O God! O God!" cried he, as he paced his prison in
agony; "I could have borne any thing but this--it is too, too much. By
Heaven! I could sell myself to everlasting perdition to be revenged."
As he spoke, he heard the key of his dungeon door grate in the lock,
and he shuddered, for he almost fancied some hideous spectre would
appear in answer to his call, and he felt indescribably relieved when
he heard the gentle, insinuating tones of Father Morris. Sweet is the
voice of friendship to the disappointed spirit, and soft falls the balm
of consolation from those we love, upon the wounded heart. Edmund's
bosom thus throbbed with transport when he saw the reverend father,
and, throwing his arms round his neck, he sobbed like a child.
"My dear Edmund," said the priest, also excessively affected, for he
really loved Edmund, "it breaks my heart to see you thus--cruel Elvira!"
"Oh, blame her not, father!" exclaimed Edmund; "I cannot bear that even
you should blame her. She is deceived--she is under the influence of
infatuation. We cannot control our hearts, you know, father."
"But that she should be capable of loving another, when your services,
your devoted affection--"
"Alas! alas! father, love is not to be bought by services. All she
could give she has given; I possess her friendship and esteem."
"And are you satisfied with those?"
"Satisfied! Oh heavens!"
"At any rate, I suppose you could bear to see her married to Prince
Ferdinand, if you thought it would contribute to her happiness."
"Married to him!" cried Edmund, gnashing his teeth in agony--"married
to him! Oh any thing but that: but I will never live to see it."
"You are not likely," calmly returned the priest; "for, as the state
requires a victim, and Elvira will certainly not resign her Endymion,
you will doubtless be sacrificed to save him."
"Hold, hold!" cried Edmund, driven to madness by the thought; "do
not dare to repeat those cursed words; I could die to serve her, but
I will not be sacrificed. What! am I to be made a tool, a child, an
idiot?--destined to labour for my rival, and denied even the poor
satisfaction of showing the extent of my devotion? But I will not
die so calmly; Elvira shall not forget me--I will see her--she shall
at least know my sentiments; and if she treats me with scorn, I will
die, it is true, but it shall be by my own hand, and at her feet. I
will not be sacrificed--I will not steal out of life like a common
criminal.--No; the world shall know my wrongs--I will be heard, I will
not fall unnoticed and unknown. Take this chain, Father Morris; give
it to her, and tell her I implore, by the recollection of the moment
when she bestowed it upon me, that she will grant me an interview. If
she refuse me--but no, no, she cannot."
Father Morris took the chain, and, promising to see the Queen,
withdrew, leaving Lord Edmund in a state of indescribable agitation.
He was not left long, however, to his solitary reflections, for, as he
paced with hasty strides his prison, and turned as he reached the wall,
the Mummy, Cheops, stood before him.
"Ah, wretch!" cried Edmund, "what brings you here? Came you to torment
your victims?"
"I came to help and comfort the unfortunate," said the Mummy.
"Begone!" cried Lord Edmund, "I do not want your pity, and your
proffered help I scorn."
"Spare your scorn, proud Lord," returned Cheops, "_it_ will not aid
you, though I might."
"I want no aid!" exclaimed Lord Edmund, "and, least of all, such help
as _you_ can give me. I despise alike your pity and your vengeance.
Come what will, I rely upon myself. Conscious of my own integrity, I do
not fear to fall, though demons should assail me. Avaunt then, fiend,
for over me thou hast no power!"
Cheops burst into one of his fiendish laughs, and exclaiming, "That
time will show," disappeared.
Edmund felt relieved by his absence, though, in spite of his boasted
firmness, and the sovereign contempt he expressed for the Mummy,
he could not prevent his mind from dwelling upon the circumstance.
The appearance of Cheops, indeed, never failed to excite a deep and
powerful interest in the minds of all who conversed with him, whilst
his appalling laugh struck terror to the firmest breast, and even those
who affected to despise his menaces could not prevent their minds from
dwelling upon his words. This irresistible power had its full effect
upon the mind of Edmund, and, though he endeavoured in vain to shake
it off and rouse his mind to think of other things, still the gigantic
Mummy seemed to stalk before him. In vain did he strive to picture to
himself his interview with the Queen; the hideous features of the Mummy
rose in his imagination instead of the lovely form of Elvira, till at
length, fatigued and exhausted, he threw himself upon his couch: yet
even in his dreams the same image haunted him, and the same words rang
in his ears.
Whilst these scenes were taking place in the prison, Elvira was
suffering all the torments of a burning fever; she was, indeed,
seriously ill: the excessive agitation of her mind, and the horror she
felt at the idea of being the murderer of Ferdinand, had overpowered
her reason; and by the time Dr. Coleman arrived, (he having been sent
for on the first alarm,) she was quite delirious. The thought that
she alone had caused the danger of Ferdinand, occupied her mind;
and, not being able to bear the idea that her folly might occasion
the destruction of a human being, she raved of him incessantly, and
repeatedly offered to sacrifice her life to preserve his.
Her ravings were heard by her domestics, and being neither exactly
understood, nor correctly repeated, their reports, aided by the artful
insinuations of Father Morris, soon produced rumours throughout the
city, that the Queen was violently in love with Prince Ferdinand, and
had gone mad because the law did not permit her to marry him. The
effect this idea produced was prodigious; it was implicitly believed,
for the lower classes are naturally fond of the marvellous, and,
when there are two sides to a question, are very seldom disposed to
err by judging too favourably; whilst the indignation it excited was
unbounded. In some cases, men are more tenacious of their prejudices
than of their rights. Thus, then, though the English, by consenting to
the marriage of their Queen, had deprived themselves of the important
right of electing their own Sovereign; they considered what they had
done as trifling, when compared with the horror they felt at the
thought of submitting to a foreign King: whilst the emissaries of
Rosabella, taking advantage of this feeling, by alternately playing
upon their fears, and magnifying their terrors, worked them up almost
to a state of desperation.
The party of Elvira, in the mean time, was quite unable to stem the
torrent opposed to it. The Queen and her father were both too ill to
leave their beds, and Lord Edmund was in prison.
"What will become of us?" whispered Emma to Dr. Coleman, one day in the
chamber of Elvira, when she fancied the Queen to be asleep. "To-morrow
Prince Ferdinand and Lord Edmund are to be tried, and, they say, not
even the Queen has power to pardon them if they are convicted."
"It is but too true," returned Dr. Coleman; "they must die, and the
punishment is horrid. The criminal is doomed to be burned by a slow
fire."
"Horrible!" cried Emma; "and this only for drawing a sword in the
vicinity of a royal palace."
"Alas! that is not all! Ferdinand is accused of wishing to marry the
Queen; and the laws that devote to a horrid death the man who shall
presume to address her in the language of love, yet hold good against
foreigners."
"I cannot believe Prince Ferdinand ever dared even think of the Queen,"
said Emma.
"God only can judge the heart," observed Dr. Coleman; "but, I am sorry
to say, the proofs are very strong against him: I have heard, from
undoubted authority, that persons will swear they heard him absolutely
make love to the Queen; and that she promised to marry him if she could
obtain the consent of her people."
"It is false!" cried Elvira, starting from her bed, and standing
suddenly between them--"false as hell! Prince Ferdinand never addressed
a single syllable breathing of love to me in his existence. He is the
victim of a mistake, or rather of my folly; but he shall not die--I
will save him, or perish in the attempt!"
The calm, decided tone in which Elvira spoke, and her spectral
appearance, produced an almost magical effect upon her auditors, and
they stood awestruck and aghast, whilst Elvira continued:--
"Dress me, Emma; I will see my people; I will appeal to them myself. It
is the day for receiving petitions in Blackheath Square: there will be
a multitude assembled. I will go there in person, and address them."
"It is the raving of delirium," whispered Emma to Dr. Coleman; "what
shall I do?"
"Do you dare to hesitate?" said Elvira, whose sense of hearing,
sharpened by her recent illness, enabled her to catch distinctly the
words of her favourite.
"Humour her," returned Dr. Coleman; "in her present state, opposition
would be fatal."
"It would indeed be fatal," said Elvira, seating herself in a large
arm-chair, whilst the temporary colour her previous exertion had given
her, faded from her cheeks, and she looked the image of death.
"She will faint!" cried Emma, flying for aid.
"It is impossible for her to go in this state!" said the doctor.
"Impossible!" cried Elvira, starting up wildly, and her cheeks again
glowing with the deepest crimson, whilst her eyes sparkled with
superhuman fire; "what is impossible to a determined spirit? Haste!
haste! Emma, and let me go, whilst I have yet strength; for go I will,
though death await me there. My rashness has endangered the life of
Prince Ferdinand, and I will die to save him!"
Farther opposition was useless, and the doctor retiring, Emma hastily
attired her mistress. The people were expected to assemble as usual
in the Square, though, from the illness of the Queen, a deputation of
nobles had been appointed to receive the petitions. The feelings of
Elvira were wrought up to an unnatural energy: every limb trembled with
agitation, and every nerve thrilled with impatience, whilst she was
dressing; and when she was ready, she descended the staircase, leaning
upon the arm of Emma, her cheeks flushed with a hectic glow, her lips
quivering, and her eyes shining with unusual brightness.
At the foot of the staircase they met Cheops. He stedfastly regarded
the Queen, and smiled at her agitated appearance with his usual calm
scorn.
"Oh!" cried Elvira, the moment she beheld him, "my pride is humbled. I
own I love Seymour. Aid me to save Ferdinand, and I am thy slave."
"Appeal to your people," said Cheops, his eyes flashing with proud
triumph; "your feelings will give you eloquence. But do not confine
yourself to obtaining the power to pardon Ferdinand. Demand to be free;
the people will refuse you nothing. Tell them, first, that they have
insulted you by giving you permission to marry, and then dictating whom
you shall choose. Require perfect freedom. They will comply, and bow
their necks beneath your footstool. But rest not satisfied with any
thing short of actual submission. Endure no conditions. This is the
moment to decide your future destiny. Act with energy, and you will be
happy. But if you falter, destruction is your portion."
"I will obey you to the letter," said Elvira, as she walked with a firm
step past him, and sprang into her balloon, followed by Emma.
"Oh, my dear, dear mistress!" said that faithful confidant, "do not
listen to that wretch; he is a serpent sent to wile you to destruction.
Do be advised; do return and relinquish this mad enterprize."
Elvira did not reply. Her feelings were too highly wrought to permit
her to speak, and bending eagerly forward, she watched, with an
impatient eye, the streets and houses they flitted over, scarcely able
to bear the agony of suspense during the time necessarily lost in the
transit, and seeming every instant to long to precipitate herself
forward to the goal of her wishes.
The balloon now rose unusually high, whilst masses of fleecy clouds hid
the town from their view, and looked like flocks of sheep beneath their
feet.
"We are going wrong!" cried Elvira, in agony; "we shall be too late."
"No, no," said Emma, "I feel we descend again--we are arrived."
And as she spoke, the balloon sank rapidly, whilst the clouds opening,
discovered the immense Square below them, apparently paved with human
heads.
"Thank God! we are not too late!" cried Elvira, clasping her hands
together, and sinking back upon her seat; whilst the balloon-conductor
directed the machine to the palace usually appointed for the reception
of the Queen. Elvira did not wait to arrange her dress; she did not
wait to take refreshment, or even to rest a single moment from her
fatigue, but she rushed upon the terrace the instant she quitted the
balloon, and presented herself before her astonished people, every limb
quivering from the violence of her agitation.
The crowd was immense. The extensive space looked one compact mass of
human heads; but Elvira's courage did not fail her. Though she had now
no Lord Edmund to support her, and no father or applauding friends
to listen as she spoke, yet the enthusiasm of the moment gave her
strength. She forgot every thing but the cause that brought her there;
and her mind, thrown back upon its own resources, rallied its energies,
and seemed to gather courage from the thought; whilst her sylphic
figure appeared to dilate in size, and assume an almost awful dignity
from the grandeur of the spirit that animated it, as she thus stood
before her subjects, her life or death hanging upon their will.
Her arrival had been hailed by the loudest shouts of wonder and of
joy; but when the multitude saw she wished to address them, the tumult
was hushed, and they waited in breathless silence for her speech. The
deep stillness that prevailed amongst this so lately bustling crowd
of human beings, and the thought that every ear and every eye were
turned towards her, slightly affected the nerves of Elvira, and her
lips trembled as she began to speak; but as she became warmed with
her subject, her voice gradually assumed its natural depth, melody,
and sweetness; whilst its full tones sank deep into the hearts of her
auditors, and carried conviction as she went on.
She first appealed to their gratitude; and, after alluding to all she
had done to secure peace and plenty to their domestic firesides, she
reverted to the misery of her own situation, before the laws had been
revoked that had condemned her to celibacy. She powerfully painted the
harshness of the destiny that debarred her from the blessings she had
so lavishly bestowed upon others. She alone, of all her subjects, had
been destined to the wretchedness of a solitary life, unsoothed by the
tender cares of a husband, uncheered by the affection of children. She
alone had been doomed to wither away her youth in cheerless widowhood.
Their fiat had changed her destiny; but was it the part of a noble
and generous people, whilst they conferred a benefit to encumber it
with restrictions? No; she was confident the liberal spirit of the
English would spurn the sordid thought, and shrink from such a manner
of obliging. "Make me free!" said she, "really, absolutely free, and I
promise solemnly you shall never have occasion to blush for your Queen."
As she spoke, her cheeks glowed, and her eyes sparkled with unwonted
fire; whilst the people, struck by the suddenness of her appearance,
and her enthusiasm, and carried away by the force of the sentiment
that could metamorphose the tender, gentle Elvira into the exalted
being before them, shouted applause; whilst cries rang loudly through
the air of "Long live Elvira!" "Marry whom you list, we shall still be
your slaves! Still be our Queen, and let your children and children's
children reign over us, when you shall be no more."
Delight danced in the bright eyes of Elvira, and a blush of pleasure
mantled on her cheek, as she gracefully thanked them. "And yet, my
friends," continued she, in a fainter voice, "there is another
privilege I would demand at your hands. I am called free and absolute,
yet I am chained by the laws. Unloose these bands; give me at least
the power to pardon. I know, that if I wished it, I might reverse
these laws at my will, as the power of the Queen that made them was
not greater than that which you have bestowed upon me. But I wish not
to do so: I would rather accept that from your hands as a favour which
I might exact as a right. Give me then, my people, the most blessed
attribute of royalty. Let me pardon. Can you refuse me this?"
"No, no!" shouted the people with enthusiasm; "we are your slaves! Do
with us as you list. The laws are yours; and though you change them at
your pleasure, we will obey! Long live Elvira! Elvira for ever! From
henceforth we own no law but her will!"
Elvira's rapture was unbounded; she forgot the unstable nature of
the vox populi, and triumphed in the devotion of her people; whilst
they, in return, shouted forth her praise, as she warmly expressed her
gratitude, in tumultuous transports. The air rang with acclamations;
and Elvira, looking proudly round upon her obsequious subjects, felt
herself indeed a Queen. There is perhaps no sensation in the world more
delightful than thus to feel oneself the idol of the multitude, to
see every eye beaming with admiration, to hear every voice resounding
praise, and to know every heart is devoted to one object. The human
mind cannot enjoy a higher gratification than in the consciousness of
power; whilst the man thus exalted, seems raised to the level of a
divinity, and triumphs in the worship of his fellow-creatures: but,
alas! such glory is too much for mortals, and nothing can be more
evanescent, or rather, nothing a more certain prelude to disgrace.
Elvira, however, knew not that her popularity was too great to be
lasting. She implicitly believed her people would continue to feel
what they now expressed, and, catching the spirit of the moment, she
persuaded them to sign an abolition of the laws, and a confirmation of
her absolute power. The people obeyed with rapture; the enthusiasm that
animated them had not yet abated; and even if Elvira had desired their
lives, they would have obeyed. They considered her inspired, and it
seemed sacrilege even to hesitate to comply with her commands.
So powerful was the energy of a woman's will, and so sure it is that
a determined spirit may overcome any difficulties when once roused
resolutely to exert itself. Such also is the influence of beauty and
eloquence upon the human mind, and so weak is judgment when attacked
through the medium of the senses.
In the mean time, the council of Elvira had met in their usual
apartment, and were holding a solemn consultation, previous to going to
receive the petitions, on the propriety of addressing the people whom
they might find assembled in the Square, respecting the illness and
consequent incapacity for reigning of the Queen.
"Thinking as I think, and as I am confident every one here must
think," said Lord Gustavus de Montfort, "there is no middle course to
be pursued: a regency must be appointed, or the government will be
overturned."
"Oh! there is no doubt, we cannot exist without a regency," said Lord
Noodle.
"Yes, yes! we must have a regency!" cried Lord Doodle.
"It appears to me, to say the least of it, premature," observed the
Duke of Essex, a highly respectable nobleman, who had hitherto observed
a cautious neutrality; "I think, before deciding upon so important a
question, we should at least examine her Majesty's physicians, and be
guided by their report."
"His Grace is quite right," said Lord Noodle.
"We ought to examine the physicians," said Lord Doodle.
"One of them has just entered the council-chamber," observed Lord
Gustavus; "I presume he brings the usual daily bulletin of her
Majesty's health: is it your pleasure, my lords, that he be examined?"
"By all means!" cried all the noble lords simultaneously, and Dr.
Hardman advanced.
"How is her most gracious Majesty?" asked Lord Gustavus, with his usual
solemnity.
"Alas! my lord," said Dr. Hardman, "her Majesty has slept badly, and
is much worse this morning."
"Is she still delirious?" asked the Duke of Essex.
"Quite, your Grace," returned the doctor, shaking his head.
"Then I fear there is no hope?" said the duke.
"None!" said Lord Noodle, shaking his head.
"None!" echoed Lord Doodle, shaking his.
"Thinking as I think, and as I am sure every one here must think," said
Lord Gustavus, "we must not suffer the interests of the people to be
invaded with impunity. The constitution requires watching over, and I
consider this a matter that ought to be inquired into."
"Then you think the senses of the Queen irrecoverable?" asked the Duke
of Essex, addressing Dr. Hardman.
"Not irrecoverable, I hope, my lord duke," replied the doctor; "though
I own her delirium is alarming."
"What does she rave about," asked Lord Doodle; curiosity being the
only mark he ever gave of his being a rational animal.
"It is a delicate subject," returned the doctor; "and if your lordships
will excuse me--"
"Oh, no! you must tell us," said Lord Doodle.
"Thinking as I think, and as I am sure every one else ought to think,"
said Lord Gustavus; "concealment in this case would be a crime."
"Since your lordships command me," replied the doctor, "however
reluctant I may be to betray her Majesty's secrets, it is my duty to
obey. The Queen raves incessantly of Prince Ferdinand."
"I feared as much," said the Duke of Essex.
"And do you think if she recovers she'll want to marry him?" asked Lord
Doodle.
"I fear it cannot be doubted, my Lord:" returned the doctor.
"Then, thinking as I think, and as every free-born Englishman ought to
think," said Lord Gustavus, "she will forfeit her crown."
A deep silence followed this daring speech, yet, though no one assented
to it, no one attempted to contradict it. In fact, every man seemed
afraid of committing himself; for, though every one thought Lord
Gustavus would not have ventured so far, had he not felt assured the
party against the Queen was strong, yet no one liked to be the first
to declare himself her opponent. This awkward pause was broken by the
entrance of Sir Ambrose and Father Morris, who came with a message from
the Duke of Cornwall, imploring them not to decide upon any measure
hastily, and informing them that on the following day his physicians
assured him he would be able to assist their deliberations in person.
"We all esteem and respect the duke," said Lord Gustavus. "But,
thinking as I think, and as I am confident every one who hears me must
think, not even our respect for him ought to induce us to consent that
the Queen should marry a foreigner! No, no, we must not let private
feelings make us risk the interests of the people."
"I dare say they will not be in any danger," murmured the soft,
insinuating voice of Father Morris--"I dare say they will run no risk.
Foreigners have sometimes been known to respect the interests of a
people, and reign as gloriously as native-born monarchs."
"Not often, I believe, father," said Sir Ambrose. "At any rate, I am
sure it would break the duke's heart to see his daughter married to
Prince Ferdinand, and I am sure it would break mine to see him King of
England. Weak, silly Elvira! I cannot account for her infatuation; and
I have no patience with her, for causing all this misery solely by her
folly."
"You use strong language, Sir Ambrose," said the Duke of Essex.
"Not stronger than the occasion requires, my lord duke," returned the
worthy baronet. "I have known the Queen from her childhood, and loved
her as a daughter; but now--"
"The matter must certainly be inquired into," said Lord Gustavus. "It
is the duty of every well-disposed patriotic Englishman not to suffer
the slightest invasion of the constitution. Our laws are our bulwarks;
we ought to die to defend our laws; and if the Queen be no longer in
a fit state to administer them, or if she even contemplate the design
of putting the administration of them into hands in which their
purity will be contaminated, then, thinking as I think, and as I feel
confident every individual who hears me must think, or, at least, ought
to think, there can remain only one course for us to pursue."
"Perhaps," said Father Morris, "we may be deceived, and the delirium of
the Queen may be transient, or, at least, her mentioning the name of
Prince Ferdinand in her ravings quite accidental. It is not well to be
too rash--"
"Oh, no, reverend father," replied Lord Gustavus; "you deceive
yourself. Your abstraction from the world, and the goodness of your
heart, lead you to judge too favourably of others. But we, who know the
world, see deeper. You, holy father, can form no idea of the folly of
human passions; you are above their weaknesses, and cannot suspect that
in another which you are incapable of feeling yourself: but, as I said
before, we, that know the world, see deeper. Elvira is in love with
Prince Ferdinand, and is quite capable of sacrificing her throne and
people to the caprices of a romantic passion."
"Impossible!" cried Father Morris, with well-acted astonishment.
"Is is very true, notwithstanding," said Lord Gustavus, shaking his
head sagaciously; whilst his attendant satellites, the Lords Noodle and
Doodle, shook theirs for sympathy.
"Impossible!" cried Sir Ambrose; "she cannot surely carry her
infatuation to such a height: she is too noble: but even if she be so
mad, will no one step forward and save her from destruction?"
"I do not see how any one can save her, if such be her intentions,"
said the Duke of Essex. "Women are proverbially self-willed; and, now
that the people have put the laws into her own hands--"
"The people were cajoled into consent," exclaimed Lord Gustavus; "but
if the Queen be so mad as to intend to marry the prince, she must lose
her throne and suffer death, for the laws against foreigners remain
inexorable."
"Yes, the laws are inexorable!" echoed the Lords Noodle and Doodle.
"Good Heaven!" cried Sir Ambrose, "is it possible I am in England, and
yet hear such barbarous sentiments openly avowed? No one has more
right to feel anger at the folly of Elvira than myself; but even I
cannot bear such cruelty. What! is a young and beautiful woman, in the
very flower of her age, to be doomed to destruction, merely for having
shown a susceptible heart? Forbid it, Heaven! And what are we that we
should dare to judge so harshly and refuse mercy to a fellow-creature?
Are we not all feeble? Do we not all err? And if we show such cruelty
in judging such a trifling offence, how shall we expect mercy for our
own more weighty ones? Have mercy, then. Let us show ourselves men! Let
us dare to exert our reason and throw off the shackles of prejudice. We
boast that the law in this case makes us free, and arms us with power
against our Sovereign. Let us use that power, then, and show that we
are really free by daring to act justly. If we do not, we are slaves!"
"It cannot be," said Lord Gustavus; "you talk well, Sir Ambrose,
but words are nothing against facts. If the Queen intend to marry
Prince Ferdinand, she must either be insane or intend to subvert
the constitution; and, in either case, thinking as I think, and as I
am sure every reasonable person in the kingdom must think, she is no
longer competent to reign, and is no longer worthy to live. Eloquence
is a fine thing, and I do not deny that the worthy baronet speaks
fluently; yet, notwithstanding all he can say, or indeed all that can
be said, upon the subject, law is law."
"Yes, law is law!" echoed the repeating lords.
"Sir Ambrose, I thank you from my soul!" cried the old Duke of
Cornwall, starting from the midst of the crowd. "You have, indeed,
proved yourself my friend; but I should blush to think that my
daughter was slandered in my presence, and that I left it to another
to undertake her defence. Yes, gentlemen, Elvira is slandered--I will
venture my life upon her innocence. Her heart is English, my lords,
thoroughly English; she will marry no German; no--no, my poor, dear
Elvira never dreamed of such a thing; she is innocent." And here the
poor old man, overpowered by his emotions, could not proceed, but,
leaning upon the shoulder of his friend Sir Ambrose, wept bitterly.
It is hard to see the tears of aged men; and every one was affected:
they had started at the sudden appearance of the duke amongst them; for
his gaunt looks and wasted form, aided by the belief of his serious
illness, gave him more the aspect of a spectre than a man: and now
his trembling voice, and grey hairs, as he attempted to vindicate his
child, came home to the hearts of his auditors.
"Alas! why is not Edmund here?" sighed Sir Ambrose; "he would not have
left the cause of Elvira to such feeble hands. But he is gone, and,
wretched father that I am! I may soon no longer possess my darling
boy. Six months ago, two brave sons were the pride of my heart, and
the admiration of every eye. Where are they now? the one wandering in
foreign climes, exposed to every misery of want, and the other confined
in a prison and doomed to suffer an ignominious death. Alas! alas! why
has my life been spared to endure such misery?"
Whilst the old man thus lamented, a bustle was heard amongst the
crowd, and the noble lords of whom it was composed, dividing, made way
for Elvira! With glowing cheeks and sparkling eyes, the Queen walked
proudly along the lane made for her, having a roll of parchment in her
hand, and with dignity took her seat upon the vacant throne. A solemn
silence prevailed: the conspirators were awed by the sudden appearance
of their Sovereign; and those who had hitherto remained neutral,
surprised, stood hesitating, unknowing how to act. Elvira paused a few
seconds, sternly surveying the crowd, and finding that no one attempted
to speak, she exclaimed, "How now, my Lords? what means this silence? I
came to assist your councils, not to interrupt them. Go on, I pray you;
for surely such enlightened senators can have no sentiments they fear
to breathe before their Queen."
"We were surprised at the sudden appearance of your Majesty," said the
Duke of Essex, "as, from the report of your Majesty's physicians, we
had feared your Majesty's illness--"
"My illness was of the mind, my Lord Duke!" said Elvira, "and this
is the medicine that has cured it. Look, my lords," continued she,
unrolling the parchment she carried, and suddenly flashing it before
their eyes--"behold my panaçea! Now I am, indeed, a Queen; for my
people have made me absolute, and, abolishing all laws, have placed
their lives and fortunes at my feet."
Lord Gustavus and his adherents stood aghast, gazing upon the Queen and
the parchment she held so triumphantly, without the power of uttering a
word.
"Ere this," continued the Queen, "the purport of this parchment has
received some thousand signatures; yet I do not wish to abuse my power.
Go, my lords; I have no longer occasion for your counsels; when I have,
I will summon you."
The dignified manner in which Elvira waved her hand as she said this,
prevented reply; and the lords of the council dispersed, without daring
to utter a single syllable. The duke and Sir Ambrose alone remained.
"My dear father," cried Elvira, throwing her arms round his neck,
whilst the overstrained feelings that had so long supported her gave
way, and she sobbed in agony upon his shoulder.
"Remove her to her chamber," said Dr. Coleman, who now appeared; "this
agitation will destroy her--her exhausted frame is not able to endure
it."
In fact, the Queen was now completely overpowered, and was carried off
by Emma and her attendants in violent hysterics.
Lord Maysworth had not been present at this scene, for his time had
been otherwise engaged; and, to explain what occupied him, it will
be necessary to go back to the prison of Prince Ferdinand. It may be
recollected, when Cheops removed Clara, he had informed the prince that
Lord Maysworth and Father Murphy would be with him in a few hours. The
Mummy's information was correct, for at the appointed time they came.
"Och!" said Father Murphy, "and where's Clara? So they've let me in
after all, ye see; for, knowing Lord Maysworth was your friend, I went
to consult him, and he talked to them and tould them how barbarous it
was to deny a poor fellow that was just going to be burnt alive, the
consolations of religion;--they hadn't the heart to refuse me."
"Oh!" groaned Prince Ferdinand; "is there no hope of escape?"
"I fear not," said Lord Maysworth; "for, notwithstanding the enormous
expense attending public executions, the people are so fond of them,
that it is necessary to indulge them now and then; and they are so
devoted to Lord Edmund that his adversary has no chance. Besides, they
say there are plenty of witnesses to prove that you have addressed the
most impassioned language to the Queen; your enthusiasm one night at
her singing--"
"I remember," cried Prince Ferdinand; "idiot that I was--oh! curses on
my folly."
"Ah, that's right," exclaimed Father Murphy; "indulge yerself a little,
my honey, and it will do ye good. I don't know a prettier amusement
than cursing and swearing, and finding fault when one's in trouble; and
I'd be far from denying ye a little harmless indulgence; for, as ye're
to die so soon, it would be cruel, ye know, not to let ye have all the
consolation ye can get hold of."
"Oh!" exclaimed Prince Ferdinand, "I am the most wretched of human
beings."
"And ye may say that, for I don't see any great hope ye have, in
respect that the people must have a victim, and they'd like you better
than Lord Edmund. But never mind that, for the worst that can happen at
all, is that ye'll be roasted alive!"
"Oh!" groaned Prince Ferdinand, not much consoled by this encouraging
speech.
"Wehe mir!" exclaimed Hans; "and can nothing be done?--for though
roasting alive may be the worst that can happen, I don't think my
master such an amateur in cookery as to wish to try the experiment."
"Och!" cried Father Murphy, "and I'm quite of your opinion; and so, if
the prince would just try, and get ready a word or two of defence--or
if some clever person that knows the world like yere lordship, for
instance, would just give him a word or two of advice--the thing would
be entirely done, and all right."
"Oh!" cried the prince, clasping his hands together, "save me! I
implore you to save me!"
"I will do all I can," said Lord Maysworth, smiling most graciously;
"rely upon me, prince; the suggestion of the holy father shall be
attended to. The gratitude I owe your father, demands my greatest
exertions--and I am most happy to have an opportunity of serving his
son. This worthy father's plan is excellent: I wonder it did not strike
me before. Confide securely in me, prince; a proper defence shall be
prepared, and I think by it you may escape."
So saying he retired, leaving Prince Ferdinand somewhat consoled by his
assurances, but by no means reconciled even to the possibility of being
roasted alive. The intermediate time between this conversation and the
day fixed for the trial of the prince, was spent by Lord Maysworth in
preparing, with the assistance of those "learned in the law," this
defence: and when it was finished, his rapture was beyond description.
Three times did he read it over with still increasing satisfaction,
for, as he considered it as his own production, he regarded it with
all the true, yet indescribable rapture of a doting parent. We are
all so fond of our own children, whether of the mind or of the body,
regarding them as emanations from ourselves, upon which we may indulge
our self-love without the grossness of undisguised vanity, that the
transport of Lord Maysworth is not surprising; though he actually
carried it so far, that, notwithstanding his professed attachment and
gratitude to the German Emperor, I believe if the means of procuring
the prince's escape had been offered to him, he would rather have let
him stay at the risk of being burned alive, than have lost the pleasure
he anticipated on hearing the delivery of his speech.
The important day arrived, and the prince, accompanied by his faithful
Hans and Lord Maysworth, proceeded to the court; the latter carrying
his beloved brief in his own pocket, rightly considering it far too
estimable to be entrusted into any other hands than his.
The court was crowded to an excess--for strange tales of the passion
and illness of the Queen had gone forth into the world, each edition
more wonderful than that which went before it, and the people now
thronged to see the prince with that extraordinary feeling, so common
amongst the English, which makes them stare at a great man in much the
same way as they would at a wild beast.
An automaton judge sat with great dignity upon a magnificent throne,
looking, though a little heavy, quite as wise and sagacious as judges
are wont to look. A real jury (that is, a jury of flesh and blood,) was
ranged upon one side of him, and some automaton counsel sate in front,
their briefs lying upon the table before them, and having behind each a
clerk ready to wind him up when he should be wanted to speak; it being
found that the profession of the law gives such an amazing volubility
of words, that it was dangerous to wind up the counsel too soon, lest
they should go off in the wrong place, and so disturb the silence of
the court. In different parts of these counsel were holes, into which
briefs being put they were gradually ground to pieces as the counsel
were being wound up, till they came forth in words at the mouth: whilst
the language in which the counsel pleaded, depended entirely upon the
hole into which the brief was put, there being a different one for
every possible tongue.
All now was ready; the prisoner with his friends placed themselves
at the bar, and the judge and jury prepared to hear and decide with
all due decorum. The signal to begin was given, and the brief for the
crown being put into the English department of the counsel appointed
to conduct the prosecution, the clerk began to wind away, and in a few
minutes the counsel burst forth in the following impassioned strain of
eloquence:--
"My Lord, and Gentlemen of the Jury,
"It is with feelings of the most unfeigned regret that I now rise to
address you. Sensible--oh! how deeply sensible, of my insufficiency!
and of the much greater competency of any one of my learned brethren
at the bar; how willingly would I resign the task to any one of those
eloquent gentlemen, feeling so indisputably convinced as I do, of their
eminent talents and of their merit; and of their great, oh! how much
greater fitness for an undertaking of this magnitude than myself!"
"Ach! Es ist aus mit uns! wir sind verlohren!" cried Hans; "if thou art
so unfit for the task, I wonder why the deuce they employed thee!"
"Peace, fool!" said the prince; "do you not see that this is only the
exordium--these are words of course."
The orator had paused for an instant from some error of his machinery;
but his clerk setting him in motion again, he went on as follows:--
"But having being deputed to act, I will not shrink from the arduous
duty imposed upon me; I will, therefore, state the principal points
of the case; prove my facts by witnesses; and then leave the decision
to the well-known judgment and penetration of the enlightened and
intelligent tribunal before me!"
It was here intended the counsel should bow to the court, but, owing
to his defective machinery, he only gave a kind of jerk, and then
continued:--
"My Lord, and Gentlemen,
"It sometimes falls to the lot of members of my profession to relate
astounding circumstances and soul-harrowing facts!--facts that pierce
into the inmost souls of their auditors, and rend their tortured
spirits by their iron fangs! as the teeth of the tangible harrow
pierce into and rend asunder the clods of inanimate earth over which
it is dragged! But what I shall have to tell you, gentlemen, will make
even facts like these hide their diminished heads, and run skulking
into corners like owls trembling, and flying hooting away on being
exposed to the scorching glare of the noon-day sun.
"Do you not tremble, gentlemen?--do not your hearts pant in breathless
expectation of what is coming? Indulge your anticipations--bid fancy
take her wildest flight, and let imagination conjure up all the
horrors of the infernal regions. Paint the angel of death hovering
upon leathern wings over a devoted city--and shrieking mothers
imploring mercy in vain for their murdered children! Paint all the
multiplied horrors of famine, fire, and carnage!--paint miserable
starving wretches screaming wildly for food, and, in the agonies of
despair gnawing the flesh from their own withering bones!--Paint flames
surrounding with their pointed arms an helpless family crying in bitter
anguish for the aid that cannot be afforded them!--paint witches
celebrating their detested sabaoth! Imagine demons indulging in their
infernal revels! Yes, paint and picture to yourself all these, and ten
thousand other horrors, each more frightful than the last;--dwell upon
them--let them haunt your imaginations; but whatever you may fancy,
picture, or paint, nothing can ever equal the horror you will feel when
you learn the crime of which the prisoner at the bar stands accused.
Know then--my tongue falters as I speak, and my quivering lips almost
refuse to give utterance to the appalling sounds--know that he has
dared, impiously and presumptuously dared, to fall in love with the
Queen!
"I see your indignation at such baseness--I feel the virtuous
shame that burns upon every cheek--yes, yes, my friends, I too am
an Englishman, and I, like you, spurn with disdain the thought of
submitting to a stranger. What do we want with a King? Has not the
country been happy, prosperous, flourishing--respected at home, and
honoured abroad, under the dominion of a Queen?--Yes, yes, my friends,
it has, and, under her gentle sway, the murderous weapon of war has
been converted into a ploughshare; the nodding helmet and ponderous
corslet into the peaceful wig and graceful gown; and the grim aspect
of frowning ruin and grinning desolation into the gentle smiles of
benignant peace and overwhelming plenty. Long, long may gentle peace
continue to shed her benignant smiles upon us.--Long, long may we sit
beneath the grateful shade of her olive branches; and long, long may
their feathery foliage hang in graceful festoons above our heads, and
their pale green wreaths encircle our brows; for in the arms of peace
lie joy, ease, and happiness--her smile gives health and contentment,
and her blessing wealth.
"And what threatens to affright this bewitching deity from our shores?
'Tis this audacious stranger, who deserves the bitterest punishment for
his unparalleled atrocity. But this is not all;--not satisfied with
endeavouring to destroy the happiness of the Queendom, and overturn
the laws enacted by the wisdom of our ancestors, he has done more:
yes, intolerable as his crimes have been, there is still one more
deadly behind. Shudder, my friends, and turn away your eyes as the
fear-inspiring words drop from my tongue.--He has dared to draw arms
within the precincts of the reginal palace.
"Insufferable audacity! Hear this, ye shades of former royalty, and
tremble in your Elysian groves, at the profane hand that has dared thus
to invade your august privileges. Can it be believed? Will after-ages
credit the report? Oh no, no! the fact will appear too monstrous for
even credulity itself to swallow!
"When the crime, the fatal crime was committed, earth trembled beneath
his feet: the winds hushed their murmurs, and all nature stood aghast.
The frightened ocean receded from its rocky bed. Pluto rushed shivering
from his nether throne, and Neptune waved in vain his tranquillizing
trident. The elements were convulsed; lightning streamed from the
swords of the combatants, and thunder rolled above their heads as they
stood like two heroes of Arabian fiction wielding the elements in their
wrath!
"But I have done, my lord and gentlemen. I say no more; for I scorn
to prejudice your minds against the prisoner, or make the slightest
appeal to your feelings to condemn him. However, this I must say, that
if ever a case could rouse every nerve of a true-born Englishman
against it, it is this. Does any man dread to be torn from the calm
delights of his comfortable fireside, where he was surrounded by his
adoring wife and attentive children, and doomed to incur all the
wretchedness of misery and want?--let him condemn the prisoner. Does
any man dread being dragged across burning sands, or forced to wade
up to the knees in water through marshy deserts?--let him condemn the
prisoner. Would any man shudder to be obliged to sleep upon the hard
cold ground, his limbs racked with rheumatism, and his body exposed
to all the vicissitudes of hunger, thirst, and inclement seasons,
whilst his life is endangered every instant?--let him condemn the
prisoner;--but if he prefer these horrors to the comforts of a warm
down bed, or if he enjoy the prospect of having his substance devoured
by tax gatherers, to support the expenses of a foreign war, then let
the prisoner be acquitted. But--unless--he--can--make--up--his--mind
to--undergo--privations--like--these--let--him--aid--by--his--vote--to
condemn--the--wretch--who--"
And here the orator stopt abruptly, being quite gone down. He had
indeed uttered the last words gradually slower and slower, and at
lengthened intervals, because the attendant clerk had unfortunately
given him a turn too little, and had not screwed him up quite
tight enough. The witnesses were now called. Several spoke to the
circumstance of the extravagant admiration expressed by the prince of
Elvira's singing; others deposed to the fact of the combat, and others
mentioned the Queen's sighing and abstraction; but the principal one
distinctly stated, that he had heard the prince make the Queen an offer
of his hand in the gardens of the Somerset House, and that she had
consented to marry him if she could obtain the consent of her people. A
general thrill of indignation ran through the Court at this evidence,
and it was with difficulty that silence was obtained for the pleading
of the defendant. At last all was still, and the attendant clerk began
to wind up the counsel for the prince. Lord Maysworth watched the
moment; but being afraid to trust his beloved brief into any hands but
his own, unfortunately in his agitation, he popt it into the wrong
hole, and when the counsel began to speak, he burst forth in French!
Words are wanting to express Lord Maysworth's unutterable consternation
at this unfortunate accident.
"Stop! stop!" cried he, "Hush! hush! Can nobody stop him?" but the
inexorable counsel would not stop:--for once wound up, and properly set
in motion, not all the powers of Heaven and earth combined could stop
him till he had fairly run down.
"What shall I do?" cried Lord Maysworth, in an agony of despair; "for,
if the judge and jury don't understand French, my fine oration will be
utterly lost."
"Oh, if that be all," said the clerk, "your lordship need not distress
yourself, for as soon as I found what was going on, I ran up to the
judge and pulled out his lordship's French stop!"
"And the gentlemen of the jury?"
"O, they all understand French."
"It is well," said Lord Maysworth, "though I am still sorry the hole
happened to be French, as I am afraid the verbosity of the language may
deteriorate the strength of my expressions."
Thus muttered the noble lord, not sorry, however, I believe, if the
whole truth were to be openly declared, that he had an excuse in the
change of languages for the failure of his speech, if it should not
happen to meet with that brilliant success that he felt so perfectly
confident it deserved.
The counsel, in the mean time, went on. The following is a translation
of his speech:--
"My lord, and gentlemen of the jury.
"It is with feelings of considerable diffidence and hesitation, that I
rise to address you, after the flood of eloquence that has poured from
my learned brother. I, gentlemen, am not gifted with such an enviable
facility of speech; nor is my imagination endowed with that creative
power he has so forcibly displayed. I cannot, gentlemen, like him
Uprear the club of Hercules--For what?
To crush a butterfly, or brain a gnat.
Nor have I the least intention of drawing either Neptune or Pluto from
the quiet nap they have been taking for so many centuries--to assist in
our debate. I assure you, also, gentlemen, that I shall neither disturb
the ocean from its rocky bed, nor make Nature stand aghast.--No, my
lord and gentlemen, my intentions are perfectly pacific, and your
harassed imaginations may repose tranquilly upon my speech, after the
tumultuous one of my learned brother, as the way-worn traveller rests
peaceably upon the soft green turf, after having been tossed about upon
the heaving billows of the tempestuous ocean.
'Tis sweet to rest from dread of danger free,
And mark the billows of the foaming sea;
'Tis sweet, a little skiff to safely urge
Through the tempestuous ocean's boiling surge;
To hear the pattering rains against the roof,
And feel your hospitable mansion proof.
But sweeter far the troubled mind's repose
When of a speech like this, it hears the close.
When I listened to the powerful exordium of my learned friend--and
I did listen to him with the most profound attention--I confess my
imagination was too highly excited to be satisfied with so lame and
impotent a conclusion.--'What!' cried I, 'have the laws of nature been
reversed--have demons been disturbed in their infernal revels, and
witches called from their dusky caverns, merely because a beautiful
woman has excited a tender passion in the breast of a youthful
stranger? Is this so extraordinary an occurrence that it should create
such excessive wonder? Are our hearts so dead to beauty that such a
catastrophe should occasion surprise? Forbid it, Heaven! No! whilst our
hearts still throb in our bosoms, may they ever beat responsive to the
attractions of the fair! May we never become insensible to the charms
of the loveliest objects of creation! May we ever own their witchery,
and bend beneath their magic sway! Or man, degraded man! would soon
sink below the level of the brutes. View man as he degenerates when
secluded from the influence of female society;--is he not rough,
brutal, and unpolished? Does he not want all those winning graces and
those delicate attentions that form so undeniably the charm and solace
of life? In proportion as our sensibility, as our goodness, and all
the best feelings of our nature are awakened, we become susceptible of
love. It is indeed, excessive sensibility, and a kindly feeling to our
fellow-creatures, that creates it. Does there exist a generous or noble
mind that has not felt this passion? No, not one! there is, indeed,
something generous and ennobling in it. We cannot prefer the welfare of
another to our own, nor be completely absorbed in another's being, with
the devotedness of true love, without becoming purified in our ideas,
and raised from that disgusting selfishness which is ever the inspirer
of base and mean actions.
Yes, love indeed is light from Heaven,
A spark of that immortal fire,
With angels shared, by Alla given,
To lift from earth our low desire.
Devotion wafts the mind above,
But Heaven itself descends in love.
And from this heavenly, this inspiring feeling, shall my unfortunate
client be debarred? Hear me, ye shades of heroic lovers, who, though
dying for the hopeless object of your passion, have still exclaimed,
with the enthusiastic devotion of a modern poet--
Lead on, lead on, though horrors wait
In awful fury round thy gate!
And danger, death, and grim despair,
Forbid my hopeless passage there!
If love, still smiling, beckon on,
The path is passed, the gate is won!
And ye poets and philosophers, who have painted love as the oasis of
the Desert, the green spot in memory's waste, where affection still
lingers even when hope decays; have you no compassion for my unhappy
client, whose only fault was 'that she was beautiful, and he not
blind?' And is this an offence for which a man deserves to be burnt
alive? Forbid it, humanity! forbid it, mercy! No, no! such inhuman
cruelty exists not in the breasts of Englishmen. I know, I feel that
you must acquit my client on this head. But this is not the only charge
brought against him; he is accused of having violated the sanctity of
a royal palace, by drawing his sword within its precincts. To describe
the enormity of this crime, my learned friend has brought forward
such an overwhelming torrent of eloquence, that unhappily his meaning
was swept away in the current of his words. At least I suppose so,
as, with all my industry, I have been totally unable to find it. As,
however, I cannot imagine my learned friend could have harangued so
long without having some meaning in what he said, I suppose it has
slipped undiscovered into some sly corner, where it lies, poor thing!
quite concealed, and almost crushed to death by the ponderous weight of
metaphors heaped upon it. Gentlemen, my client drew his sword in the
Royal Garden. This is the plain statement of the fact, when stripped
of the load of ornaments with which my learned friend has encumbered
it. My client, a stranger to the English laws and customs, chanced to
be walking in the public garden belonging to a Royal palace. He there
met a noblemen of the court; from causes irrelevant to the question
before us, high words took place between them. My client was grossly
insulted in a manner impossible to be borne by a man calling himself a
gentleman, or making the least pretensions to honour. He drew his sword
to defend himself. Can any thing be more simple? And yet for this,
all created nature is thrown into confusion, and Neptune and Pluto
called shivering from their beds. Gentlemen, my learned friend's brain
was teeming with a monstrous conception, and longing to be delivered;
he dragged it into the speech with which we have just been favoured.
Not satisfied with piercing us through with the fangs of a mental
arrow; plunging us into all the disasters of war, and distracting our
imaginations by exhibiting the combined effects of plague, pestilence,
and famine--he has entangled, in his snares, these unfortunate deities,
whom he has forced to upper earth to bear witness on his behalf, I am
afraid, very much against their wills. Nothing, indeed, can be more
distressing than to see an unfortunate thought thus hunted through
the meandering of a sentence; a crowd of unmeaning words, like a pack
of hungry dogs pressing close at its back, till at last worn out and
completely exhausted, it sinks feebly away, and gives up the ghost so
quietly, that no one can reasonably imagine what can possibly have
become of it.
"Thus it was with the argument of my learned friend, it has vanished
amidst the bustle he created around it. One thing more, my Lord and
Gentlemen, and I have done; for I shall not, like my learned friend,
after disclaiming all intentions of appealing to your feelings,
endeavour by an artful peroration to come home to your inmost souls. It
is simply this, that my client is a stranger, the son of a powerful
foreign monarch, and, of course, as he has never taken any oath of
allegiance to the English government, he is not amenable to the English
laws. After stating this fact, I sit down, confidently assured that
your verdict will be in my favour, and that, by it, you will again
vindicate that proud right you have so long and gloriously maintained
of acting always as enlightened and free-born Englishmen."
As the orator sat down, a tumult of applause rang through the hall,
and the delight of Lord Maysworth can be only justly appreciated by
an author who recollects what he felt when he first heard of the
success of a favourite work. But he had little time for exultation, as
the Judge, having been wound up in his turn, now began to sum up the
evidence. Slowly and heavily did he go on, the machinery that composed
him wanting oil, and creaking ominously as it moved, whilst, ere he had
half finished, a cry was heard through the outer court, and instantly a
rush of people announced the arrival of the Queen.
After the exertions made by Elvira the previous day, her fever
returned, and she lay insensible to every thing that passed till she
was restored to recollection by the tolling of a deep-toned bell,
which was always set in motion the moment a prisoner was put upon
his defence. She heard the solemn sound distinctly; the court where
state criminals were tried, adjoined the palace, in order that the
Queen might have an opportunity of hearing appeals, or deciding on any
difficult case that might arise; though as offences against the state
had been very rare in the female dynasty, (whether from the goodness of
the people or the severity of the punishment, I leave it for my readers
to determine,) the privilege had been seldom called in action, and the
bell now grated harshly as it tolled. Elvira, however, had heard of the
custom, and its cause flashed instantly upon her mind, as she started
from her bed, and listened to the solemn sound as it fell slowly and
heavily upon her ear, every knell seeming to strike upon the naked
nerve.
"Emma!" cried she, "let me go--quick, let me save him, or I shall be
too late." Emma obeyed; but whilst she was attiring her mistress every
moment seemed an age, and Elvira listened to the heavy tolling bell
till the sense of hearing became agony; and, unable to endure any more,
she pressed her hands firmly against her ears to shut out the dreaded
sound. At length she was ready, and hurrying to the court, arrived just
at the critical moment I have mentioned.
"Stop!" cried she, "I command you to stop proceedings. The prisoner is
free. My people have given me a right to pardon all offences, and I
thus first exercise it. Set him free!"
The guards obeyed; and it not being possible to stop the automaton
judge till he had run down, he was carried out of court, repeating,
(for it happened he was summing up the evidence at that moment,) "And
the Queen said she loved him, and would sacrifice even her life for his
sake."
"You are free, Sir," said Elvira to the prince. "I only blush that
a stranger should have been so inhospitably treated in my court. My
illness, however, must plead my excuse; and I can only now show my
sorrow by releasing you from the parole of honour you have given. You
are absolutely free, prince, not only from these chains, but also to
leave the kingdom whenever you shall think fit."
The prince, in a transport of gratitude, knelt and kissed her hand; and
then retired with his friends to the house of Lord Maysworth; whilst
Elvira, satisfied with herself, and hoping she had disarmed scandal by
desiring the prince to quit the kingdom, returned to her palace more
happy than she had before felt since the fatal combat in the garden.