Notwithstanding the able manner in which the revolution had been
effected, England was still in a state of tumult. Though the army had
been seduced by the example of Edmund, and the people had been obliged
to submit, they were by no means perfectly satisfied with their new
government; and Rosabella found, too late, that though the throne
might be compared to a bed of roses, it was not without its thorns.
The discontented nobles who had aided her cause were also extremely
displeased by what they called the trifling value of the rewards
bestowed upon them; though, in fact, they rated their services so
high, that Rosabella found her whole kingdom did not possess the power
of repaying them to their satisfaction. It was also a considerable
grievance of these haughty nobles, to see Prince Ferdinand return to
the English Court immediately after the dethronement of Elvira, and
be received with open arms by Rosabella, who, with the anxiety to
conciliate the friendship of foreign powers, usually displayed by those
whose thrones feel far from secure at home, loaded him with favours,
and even gave him a post of honour in the command of her own body-guard.
Whilst the unreasonableness of her people thus embittered Rosabella's
political life, her domestic happiness seemed to rest upon a yet more
unstable foundation. She knew that though she possessed Edmund's hand,
his heart was still devoted to Elvira; and jealousy made her view all
his actions in a distorted light. If he were sad, she was sure he was
thinking of her rival; and if gay, she fancied it a masque put on only
to deceive her. She was thus completely miserable, and Edmund was as
wretched as herself. He felt that he had sacrificed himself to revenge,
and sold his peace for a bauble, which, when obtained, did not seem
worth the trouble of possessing. His father too--Sir Ambrose, his
doating father, was now entirely estranged from him, as he repeatedly
declared he would never forgive a traitor, who could forget his oath of
allegiance for his own aggrandizement.
"No!" exclaimed the old man, "I loved, I doted upon Edmund; but the
Edmund I loved is vanished. My darling son was brave and noble, not a
deceptive scoundrel. No, no, my old heart may break--nay, I hope it
will--but never whilst I live shall a deceitful traitor be pressed
against this breast."
Edmund was inconsolable; he passionately loved his father, and could
not bear his anger; besides, he felt that the reproaches of the old man
were seconded by those of his own heart. It is painful at any time to
bear the censures of the world, but they fall with double weight when
we know that they are deserved. Edmund was dissatisfied with himself,
and, consequently, disposed to quarrel with the world. He fancied it
looked coldly upon him, and, in return, he affected to despise it.
A hundred times a day he repeated that he was perfectly indifferent
to every thing that was said of him; whilst his nervous anxiety to
peruse the newspapers, and make himself perfectly acquainted with every
popular rumour, proved that he was only too sensible to every word
that was uttered. Edmund had made the mob his idol, he could not live
without its applauses, and wretched indeed are those who thus depend on
others for their hopes of happiness.
Edmund's disgust at his new rank and situation was soon still farther
increased by a visit from Lord Gustavus, who, with several other
lords, was deputed to present to his Majesty the complaints of the
Commons. They wanted to be enfranchised, they desired innumerable
rights and privileges, and in fact they wanted to be all kings; for if
half that they demanded had been granted, Edmund must have made them
more powerful than himself. He pointed this out to Lord Gustavus, and
condescended to reason with him upon the folly of their desires.
"Impossible!" cried Lord Gustavus. "Your Majesty must excuse me but I
cannot listen to such arguments; I came here to defend the liberties
of the people. Reform is necessary--without reform, nothing can go on
well. Evils must be torn up root and branch."
"Are not my subjects healthy, wealthy, and prosperous?" asked Edmund.
"Have they not been successful at home and abroad? Do not the English
peasants live as well as most foreign princes, and what more can they
require?"
"Liberty, Sire," returned Lord Gustavus. "What are all these pretended
advantages without liberty? mere toys; gaudy apples, but rotten at
the core. Of what use, indeed, are all the blessings of life, without
liberty to give them zest, and radical reform to purge them of all
impurities?"
"But listen to reason."
"Reason! Thinking as I think, and as I am sure every rational being
must think, your Majesty must forgive me if I assert, that even Reason
herself does not deserve to be attended to, when she is basely enlisted
upon the side of Tyranny."
"Nay, then," said Edmund, "it is useless to attempt to argue with
you. I thought you had made Reason your goddess; but if you worship
her only as long as it suits your own purposes, I have done. You may
retire. I shall take the petition into consideration, and give it an
answer when I may think fit."
Edmund, who, from being degraded and debased in his own opinion, no
longer possessed that confidence in himself that carried conviction
with all he said, had yet sufficient dignity in his manner to awe those
to silence who dared to dispute his commands; and Lord Gustavus and
his colleagues, not presuming to make farther remonstrance, retired
in dudgeon. This incident contributed to sicken Edmund of reigning:
he became disgusted with his Queen, his court, his kingdom, and his
country, and, secluding himself as much as possible from public life,
left the care of managing the affairs of state to Rosabella and Father
Morris, who now throwing off the disguise he so long had worn, appeared
openly as the dispenser of her favours, and the arbiter of her actions.
The spirit of poor Sir Ambrose was quite broken by these misfortunes.
The defection of his son, and the ingratitude of his confessor, stung
him to the core. He retired again to the country, where with his
friend the duke, Clara, and Father Murphy, he contrived to exist,
though but the shadow of his former self. The duke was also grievously
changed, and it was melancholy to see these two poor old men wandering
about their splendid gardens and magnificent palaces like roaming
ghosts, permitted to revisit for a time the scenes of their departed
happiness. Clara now became the sole stay that bound these old men
to life. Her character had developed itself wonderfully in the midst
of the striking events she had witnessed. Firm, courageous, and
enterprising, though still gentle--the lively girl seemed changed into
the intelligent woman, whose active mind and comprehensive spirit
foresaw every thing and provided against every emergency. Clara was
still young; but her spirit was mature beyond her years, and her
attention to the duke and Sir Ambrose was unremitting.
"Well!" would they often say, "though we have lost much, we ought
still to be thankful that Clara is spared to us:" and then with tears
trickling down their aged cheeks, they would join in imploring Heaven
to shower down blessings upon her head. In the mean time, however,
Clara herself was far from happy. She would, it is true, exert herself
to appear cheerful, but it was evident it was an exertion; and often,
when the duke and Sir Ambrose had seated themselves at a party at
chess, she would steal out unobserved and retire to a little pavilion
in the garden, near what were formerly the apartments of Father Morris,
as being the most secluded spot she could find; this part of the
mansion having been carefully shut up and avoided by every human being,
since the departure of the priest, as infectious; the indignation the
worthy and attached servants of Sir Ambrose felt towards Father Morris
for his desertion of their master, being extended even to the rooms he
had occupied.
In this secluded spot Clara often sate for hours, lost in meditation,
her head resting upon her hand, and her eyes fixed in vacancy. Winter
had now given place to spring, and all nature seemed to revive with
that gay and joyous season. The heart of Clara, however, was still
lonely; she fancied it could enjoy no second summer; and she felt
almost disposed to quarrel with all around her for displaying a gaiety
in which she could not participate. Nothing makes a broken heart feel
more gloomy than to see all other objects look gay. It turns from them
in disgust, and feels its own misery doubled by the sight of their
happiness.
One evening as Clara was sitting absorbed in melancholy reflections,
she was startled by hearing a deep-drawn sigh heaved heavily behind
her. She turned, and fancied she could distinguish a figure in the
midst of the twilight but, magnified by the obscurity, the figure
seemed of gigantic proportions. Uttering a faint scream, she attempted
to fly--when a hand of iron grasped her arm, and arrested her progress.
An icy chill shot to her heart, whilst the well-remembered voice of
Cheops sounded in her ears.
"Clara," said he, in his deep sepulchral tone, "would you save your
Queen?"
"With the sacrifice of my life, if necessary," replied Clara firmly.
"Clara," continued the Mummy, "I have marked you attentively,--and
as I do not know any individual possessing more strength of mind
and personal courage than yourself, I have fixed upon you to be my
assistant in this enterprize. The life of Elvira is in danger; and even
my influence cannot much longer save her, if she remain in the power
of Father Morris. Besides, the lesson she has already had, has been
sufficiently severe. I will aid her to escape, and you must assist
me. You shall go to Ireland; and there, if the warlike Roderick be
not deaf to the cry of beauty in distress, through his aid Elvira may
hope redress,--at least, she must implore his help.--Rosabella is now
at a palace near this, and she has brought her rival in her train;
for, with the usual jealousy and suspicion of tyrants and usurpers,
she scarcely dares to trust her from her sight. Besides this, her
diabolical revenge is gratified in making Elvira wait humbly near her
throne, and serve in those palaces where she once commanded. Moved by
this ungenerous conduct, and the patience with which the unhappy Elvira
bears her sufferings, the nobles and people of the realm begin to pity
her: and when they are disgusted with the haughtiness and intolerance
of Rosabella, they sigh for the return of the gentle Elvira. Father
Morris perceives this, and determining to rid Rosabella of her rival,
the fair Elvira fades beneath his arts, like a flower withering on its
stem."
"She must be saved!" said Clara, with enthusiasm; "she _shall_ be
saved!--Point but out the means, and I am devoted to her service."
"You must assume these weeds, and follow me," said Cheops, pointing
to a bundle in a corner of the pavilion, which Clara had not before
noticed. "In half an hour I will return for you."
"And my sudden disappearance," rejoined Clara, "will it not excite
suspicion?"
"The river is deep and rapid," returned Cheops; "some of your clothes
left upon its banks--"
"I comprehend," cried Clara eagerly; "but the poor old duke, and Sir
Ambrose?"?
"Their anxiety and distress may be great, but cannot be lasting: the
feelings of age are blunt, and--"
"Oh, no!" exclaimed Clara, "you are deceived;--nay, I think that
age feels grief more acutely than youth. The mind has lost its
elasticity--hope is dead within it, and the old brood over their secret
sorrow till they destroy their--"
"By Osiris! thou art a most extraordinary girl," said Cheops; "the old
do brood over grief, but why say this to me? Do I not know it well--too
well?" continued he, looking at her earnestly. Clara turned pale,
and trembled--he saw her agitation; and, hastily averting his eyes,
continued in a calmer tone,--"Whatever the sufferings of the old men
may be for the moment, I suppose even you will allow the life of Elvira
more than counterbalances them;--and, by inflicting this temporary
pain, you will save them from the more lasting agony they would endure
from her death: for Father Morris is so subtle, that it would be
dangerous to give them the slightest hint of our intention, lest he
should worm it from them. Be ready then, Clara; resign thyself to my
instructions, and, above all, fear not."
Clara bent her head in token of assent, and Cheops disappeared. Upon
examining the clothes, Clara found them to be the dress of a Greek
peasant boy, numbers of whom at this period were rambling over England
singing wild romances to their harps or lutes, and telling fortunes
in a kind of doggerel rhyme. Exposure to the air tanned most of these
wandering minstrels brown, and Clara found a bottle of liquid in the
parcel to stain her face and hands. She bound up her flaxen ringlets,
and, covering her head with curls of a jetty blackness, she found the
metamorphosis so complete that she scarcely knew herself as she saw her
figure reflected in a large mirror behind her. It was now nearly dark,
but Cheops had left the necessary implements for striking a light, and
Clara made her toilette without the least difficulty.
Anxious were the moments, however, that passed after her task was
completed, till the arrival of Cheops; and when he did come, she saw he
was attired as herself. He grasped her arm, and without speaking led
her to the banks of the river. Clara shuddered as she found herself
alone in the power of this mysterious being, and saw the river roll
deep and dark beneath her feet. Cheops felt her shudder, and cried
with one of his horrid laughs, which sounded fearfully amidst the
stillness of the night, "What! do even _you_ fear me? Is there _no_
courage in this degenerate race? None? What do you fear? If you dread
to trust yourself in my power, or think yourself unequal to the task
you have undertaken, retire: there is yet time, and I wish no unwilling
agents. Poor child!" continued he, looking at her with feeling; "thou
dost not know me, but for worlds I would not harm thee!"
"I will go with you," said Clara resolutely; "I do not shrink. Let what
will await me, I will not recede: though unheard-of torments may attend
me, I will endure them."
"By the Holy Gods of my forefathers," cried Cheops, "she is a brave
girl! Yes, Clara, I will trust thee; and though we should encounter
horrors fearful as those which menace the initiati in the dread Isian
mysteries, I will not doubt thy courage. A determined spirit, Clara,
may subdue even Fate."
As he spoke, he threw the clothes she had brought for the purpose
carelessly upon the banks of the river; and then again seizing her
arm, he dragged her forward with such rapidity, that in an incredibly
short time they approached the palace of Rosabella. The mansion looked
the region of enchantment. Brilliantly illuminated, light streamed
from every window; and through the colonnade of the great hall, groups
of elegantly dressed people were seen gaily moving to and fro, some
dancing, and others listening to harmonious music.
Clara, though terrified and exhausted, felt still irresistibly impelled
to proceed, and, still guided by her strange companion, entered,
unobserved, the outer court of the palace.
"Prince Ferdinand of Germany commands the guard to-night," whispered
Cheops, in a low, unnatural voice "it is well, he shall go with us."
"But will he?" asked Clara tremblingly.
"Will he?" returned Cheops, with his peculiar sneer: "dost thou doubt
my power, girl?"
Clara and Cheops had now reached a place from whence, unobserved, they
could survey the whole of the splendid apartment before them. They
had, in fact, entered the hall, and placed themselves in a kind of
recess shaded by projecting pillars, from whence they could see every
part of the saloon. Clara was astonished to find herself so easily in
the presence of the Queen, for she knew not how they had attained their
present situation; and she would have spoken to ask Cheops, but he laid
his finger upon his lips: and whispering--"Hippocrates was the only
son of Isis and Osiris!"--she comprehended he meant that Wisdom and
Knowledge produced Silence, and she did not dare to breathe a syllable.
Rosabella sate upon a splendid dais, gorgeously attired; her black eyes
flashing with added brilliancy from the deep rouge upon her cheeks;
whilst her raven hair was adorned with diamonds, and a splendid tiara
of the same precious stones sparkled on her forehead; a robe of crimson
velvet, bordered with ermine, fell in graceful folds over her fine
figure; whilst her swanlike neck and snowy arms, exposed perhaps more
than delicacy might strictly warrant, were also loaded with costly
jewels. Around her, stood the ladies of her court, and amongst the
rest, Elvira, plainly attired in a robe of dark grey silk. No ornaments
shone amongst her golden tresses, and her naturally fair complexion
seemed faded to a sickly and unnatural whiteness.
The indignation of Clara could scarcely be restrained at this sight;
but Cheops laying his hand upon her arm, they stood suddenly before the
Queen.
"Ah! who are these?" cried Rosabella, starting. Cheops took no notice
of her surprise; but, tuning his lute, began to sing.
"Loveliest Queen! oh deign to hear
The humblest of thy suppliants' prayer;
Blandly on a stranger smile,
Who has sought thy happy Isle,
To feast his eyes upon that face,
Where majesty combines with grace."
"What means this mummery?" asked Rosabella; "how came these minstrels
here?"
"It is doubtless a device of the King," returned some of her ladies,
"to amuse your majesty."
Rosabella smiled; attentions were now so rare upon the part of Edmund
towards her, that she felt gratified that it should even be supposed
he wished to please her, and, addressing the minstrel more graciously,
asked what brought him to England. He sung his reply:
"Full often in my native land
I've struck my lute with bolder hand;
But with the liberties of Greece,
Her minstrel's harmony must cease.
Since Iwan with a soldier's frown
Hath seized and worn th' imperial crown,
Those hearts which spurn despotic power
Must wander from their native bower,
And in far distant lands must try
The meaner arts of palmistry.
Give then your hand, fair lady! give,
And let the wandering minstrel live:
So shall he tell the varied fate
That may that lovely form await.
To other strains his voice is mute;
Broken his heart, unstrung his lute!"
"What say you, ladies," said Rosabella, again smiling, "shall we hear
our destiny?"
The ladies, delighted at any thing that promised an interruption to
the general gloom which hung over Rosabella's court, gladly assented;
and, to Clara's infinite surprise, the Mummy addressed a few doggerel
verses to each. When Elvira's turn came, Clara perceived her colour
was heightened, and that she trembled excessively, yet the Mummy's
verses to her were as unmeaning as to the rest. Whilst this scene was
passing, the King and Father Morris approached. The former stood silent
and abstracted, apparently quite unconscious of the group before him;
whilst Father Morris gazed at them intently, with a satirical sneer
upon his countenance, as though in thorough contempt for such folly.
"How can you endure such mummery?" said he to Rosabella, after a short
pause.
"Any thing for a change," said she, sighing. The father's dark eye
glanced upon the King, and then upon Rosabella, as with a gloomy frown
he stalked on. The Queen coloured, and hastily waving her hand to
the minstrel, as a sign that he might depart, she turned away, and
the disappointed ladies were reluctantly obliged to follow in her
train. In a few minutes, however, a page returned with a chain and a
purse of gold, which he gave the minstrels, and retired. Clara was
upon the point of refusing her share of this bounty, but a look from
the Mummy made her sensible of her error, and she took it without
uttering a syllable. Her hesitation, however, did not pass unnoticed,
and she found, to her infinite horror, when they quitted the palace,
that two of the Queen's servants had followed them. Clara trembled
excessively, and clung tightly to the Mummy's arm for protection; but
that mysterious being still stalked on with the same indifference as
before. Clara longed to give him some intimation of the danger that
awaited him, but she could not speak; the words seemed to swell in
her throat and almost choke her, whilst she found herself dragged
along by an irresistible influence, too powerful to admit of her even
struggling against it. Inexpressible agony, however, seized her as she
found herself hurried on towards the river; and when, as they reached
the brink, she beheld Cheops stamp, with almost supernatural force,
upon the fragile bridge which stretched across the water, and saw the
slender plank sink beneath his weight, she could bear no more, and,
screaming with horror, rushed forwards to save him. A strong arm,
however, pulled her back; she felt herself whirled round, and for the
moment her senses seemed to desert her. The next instant she found she
had been dragged under some bushes, and saw their pursuers rush down to
the place where the broken bridge had been.
"They are gone, by Jupiter!" said one; "I heard them fall into the
water. It was a tremendous crash."
"I heard them," returned the other; "they fell as heavy as lead; and
how they screamed!"
"The young one screamed," said the first; "but the old one groaned."
"What does it matter," resumed the second, "whether they screamed or
groaned? They are gone to the devil a little before their time, and so
we have only to go back as we came. Between ourselves, it was nonsense
to take the trouble to watch them. They were evidently only what they
seemed to be; and even Father Morris, suspicious as he is, gave us no
orders about them."
"Thy dull head cannot see," said the first. "The father's negligence
was the very motive of my vigilance. Things are not with him as they
have been--he wants to rule the Queen with a rod of iron, and Rosabella
will not endure control. Now, it struck me when I saw the youth's
hesitation, that all was not right, and, I thought, if I could discover
what had escaped him--"
"I see," said the other; "his lifeless trunk might have had the honour
of serving as a stepping-stone to enable _you_ to rise."
"It was possible," returned the other, laughing; and they retired,
their voices gradually dying away till they became inaudible in the
distance. Clara now perceived that the Mummy stood beside her. He did
not speak, but pressed his finger upon his lips in token of silence,
and for some minutes they stood fixed to the spot:--till, as the last
faint echo of the servants' footsteps died away, he again seized the
arm of Clara, and hurried her away towards a gloomy cave.
They stopped at the entrance; and though the poor girl was still
too much terrified to speak, yet she felt somewhat relieved by the
discovery that the Mummy had evidently saved her from danger, instead
of, as she feared, precipitating her into it. She still gazed with
awe, however, at his strange unearthly figure, as he stood with his
eyes fixed earnestly upon a star, and apparently occupied in muttering
prayers addressed to it.
"Clara!" at length said he, his deep, full voice echoing solemnly
through the vaulted cave; "Clara!" again he repeated, whilst the blood
of his terrified companion seemed to curdle in her veins at the awful
sound. She, however, slowly and tremblingly advanced--he grasped her
arm--she attempted to shrink back, but seemed fixed as though by
magic;--"Hear me," continued the Mummy, in a low, hollow tone, which
appeared to rise from the tomb,--"Elvira understood my signal, and she
will soon be here; but you must do the rest. Prince Ferdinand keeps
guard to-night. Pass through this cave; the outlet will bring you to
his station. Throw yourself at his feet, and appeal to his compassion
in whatever language the feelings of the moment may inspire. He will
readily listen to you, for he has not forgotten your visit to him in
prison, and will swear to devote himself to your service. Tell him
you accept his offers, and entreat him to convey yourself and the
Queen to Ireland--where Roderick will receive and protect you. He will
immediately comply; and his being the companion of your flight, will
induce the belief that you are gone to Germany, and will consequently
prevent the least danger of pursuit."
At this moment a slight figure, wrapped in a large mantle, appeared at
the entrance of the cavern. "Elvira!" cried Cheops, and the stranger
sprang forward. "Then I am right," exclaimed she, whilst her whole
frame trembled with agitation.
"This is your guide," said Cheops, in his deep sepulchral tone; "follow
her and you will do well. Farewell! but we shall meet again." Then
bending over her, he pressed his lips to her forehead, and to that of
Clara.
Both shuddered at the touch of those cold marble lips, and an icy chill
ran through their veins, as the fearful conviction that their companion
was no earthly being thrilled in their bosoms. Even the strongest minds
dread supernatural horrors, and our fair fugitives turned involuntarily
away. When they looked again, the Mummy was gone, and the darkness
appeared so profound that they were obliged to grope their way
cautiously along. Fearing alike to remain or to advance, they proceeded
with trembling steps slowly along a narrow passage; their minds filled
with that vague sense of danger that generally attends the want of
light, when Imagination pictures terrors which do not really exist, and
Fancy lends her aid to magnify those which do.
By degrees, however, the Queen and her companion became accustomed
to the darkness; and as the pupils of their eyes dilated, they were
enabled to discern the objects around them. Innumerable fantastic
shapes, however, now appeared to flit before them, and grim giants
to frown awfully from every corner of the gloomy vault they were
traversing. The dim and indistinct light threw a misty veil round the
projecting corners of the rocks that gave them a fearful and unnatural
grandeur; whilst the fair friends, overpowered with terror, gazed
timidly around, and stood a few moments not daring to advance into the
darker abysses of the caverns, and yet dreading alike to remain where
they were, or to return.
"We must go on," said Elvira at length, her voice echoing through the
cave, till she started at the sound.
"Oh God!" cried Clara; "hark! a thousand mocking demons seem to repeat
from every rock--Go on!--"
"Go on!" again rang in a thousand varied tones through the cavern.
"Let us proceed," whispered Elvira, shuddering; "this is a fearful
place!"
And they hurried on as fast as their trembling limbs could carry them,
along a dark and gloomy passage, leading in the direction pointed out
by the Mummy. In a few minutes, however, a bright though glimmering
light appeared afar off, like a star, which, gleaming through the
darkness, seemed a beacon of hope to guide them on to happiness. A
slight current of air, too, now blew freshly in their faces, and their
spirits rose, as with quickened steps they hastened onward in the
direction from whence it appeared to proceed.
The light now seemed rapidly to enlarge, and the wind blew more
freshly, whilst the Queen and her companion distinctly heard the heavy
stamping of horses, which vibrated fearfully on the hollow ground, and
grew louder and louder every moment as they advanced.
"Ah! what is that?" cried Elvira trembling, clinging closer to her
companion.
"It is the bivouack of Prince Ferdinand," replied Clara; "the Mummy
told me we should find him here, and that he would aid us."
"Ah, that fearful Mummy," murmured Elvira softly; "if he should deceive
us, and this should be only a plan to betray us to our enemies?"
"Fear not," said Clara; "come what may, we must dare the worst."
They had now reached the outlet of the cavern, and found an opening
large enough to admit of a single person. Cautiously advancing towards
it, they paused for a few moments ere they descended, to gaze upon
the scene below. A troop of soldiers were scattered round, in various
attitudes of repose, under a small grove of trees, whilst their horses
grazed at a little distance. The prince alone seemed awake, and he
lay apart from his companions, stretched upon a grassy bank, a thick
tree spreading above him, his head resting upon his hand, and his
eyes fixed upon the ground. The moon shone brightly, and played upon
the prince's polished armour, like summer lightning dancing on a lake.
His helmet was thrown aside, and his countenance looked pale and sad,
whilst his frequent sighs betrayed the uneasiness of his mind.
"Let us advance," said Clara, "and try to move him to compassion."
Elvira complied; and with light and timid steps, fearing almost to
breathe, lest they should break the slumbers of their enemies, they
approached the prince. All was still, save the hard breathing of the
sleeping soldiers, and the measured champing of the horses; their
stately figures strongly relieved by the dark grey sky beyond, and
their long manes and tails sweeping the ground. The prince was now
listlessly tracing figures in the grass with the scabbard of his sword:
he started as they approached, and hastily demanded the cause of their
intrusion.
"Mercy!" cried Elvira, sinking upon her knees before him; "mercy!" She
could say no more, but gasping for breath, she stretched out her arms
imploringly, whilst every thing around seemed to swim before her eyes,
and the figures of the prince, the trees, the horses, and the sleeping
soldiers, appeared all dilated to gigantic magnitude. She entirely
forgot the pathetic appeal she had intended making to the prince's
feelings, and every faculty seemed suspended in the intenseness of her
anxiety.
"For Heaven's sake, good youth," exclaimed the prince, addressing
Clara, "explain the meaning of this scene! Why does this lovely female
kneel to me, and why does she implore my mercy?"
"Because she has no other hope, save in that and Heaven," said Clara
solemnly; "it is the Queen."
"Elvira!" cried the prince: then raising her eagerly, he
continued--"Your Majesty may command my services; only tell me how I
can assist you."
A few words from Clara explained the urgency of their situation; and
the prince, promising to meet them with horses in an hour, persuaded
them to return to the cavern till he should join them. Heavily rolled
the minutes of this tedious hour, which seemed destined never to have
an end, till the nerves of Elvira and Clara were wrought up to such a
pitch of agony, that death would have appeared a blessing. At length,
the prince came, bringing with him only his faithful Hans.
The sight of him was sufficient to rouse the almost fainting spirits of
the Queen; and, without speaking a single word, she and Clara hurried
after their conductors, to the wood where the horses were waiting for
them.
They mounted, still in perfect silence, and hurried through the most
intricate paths they could find; for, as morning dawned, they feared
inevitable destruction. Before it became quite light, however, they
had reached a thick wood, near the centre of which, they found a half
ruined hut; and here did the ci-devant Queen of England and her suite
try to obtain a few hours' repose. But, alas! sleep fled from Elvira's
eyes; she could not forget she was a fugitive in her own kingdom,
flying with terror from those very people who, but a few months before,
had almost worshipped her as a goddess; and not even the exhaustion of
her body could overcome the hurry of her spirits, whilst every time
she closed her eyes, and felt a soft doze creeping over her troubled
senses, she started up again in horror, fancying her pursuers had
overtaken her.
Consternation reigned in the palace when the flight of Elvira, and the
defection of Prince Ferdinand were made known there. "She is gone to
Germany!" was the universal cry, and troops were directly dispatched
to all the sea-ports, whilst a whole fleet of balloons were ordered
to scour the air in all directions, and arrest every aërial vehicle
they should meet with, whose passengers could not give a perfectly
satisfactory account of themselves. These commissions were executed
to the letter, as the guards now sought by extra diligence to excuse
the negligence with which they had suffered the Queen to escape; and
numerous were the wandering lovers, absconding clerks, and unfaithful
wives, who were brought before the Council instead of Elvira and the
German Prince, of whom, however, nothing could be heard, their measures
having been taken too well to expose them to detection.
In the mean time, the hat and mantle of Clara having been found upon
the banks of the river, the duke and Sir Ambrose were inconsolable; and
dispatched emissaries every where in search of her. Amongst the rest,
Father Murphy and Abelard were sent to the summer palace of the Queen,
to inquire if she had there been heard of. Rosabella and her Court,
however, had removed to London immediately upon the flight of Elvira
being discovered, and the disconsolate searchers having inquired of
every one they met in vain, wandered through the gardens, restless and
forlorn, till at last they found the mysterious cavern. The aspect of
the place was dreary in the extreme: a few stunted shrubs grew upon the
banks of a dark, dull rivulet; and Father Murphy shivered and crossed
himself as he looked around.
"Och, murther! and this is an awful place, Mr. Abelard," said he; "and
I'm after thinking the sooner we get out of it the better."
"Ah, what is that?" cried the butler, springing forward eagerly, and
snatching at something in the bushes that looked white.
"It is Clara's pocket-handkerchief, poor darling!" said the friar;
"see, here is her name worked upon it by her own pretty fingers:" and
as he turned to examine it, his foot slipped, and he rolled into the
water, floundering about like a huge porpoise.
"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried Abelard, "he will certainly be drowned.
Submersion in an aqueous fluid is almost always destructive of animal
life, and I see little chance that he has of escape."
"Och! and will ye let me drown while ye're talking?" asked the
indignant priest. "Before it's the good-natured thing ye'd be doing in
pulling me out, will ye let me be suffocated?"
"No, no, certainly not!" returned Abelard; "my agony is unspeakable at
your distress. I only doubt how I shall be able to raise you without a
lever or pulley. The application of the mechanical powers--"
"May go to the devil," cried Father Murphy, as he crawled out without
assistance; "and so you would have let me drown, whilst you were
talking of the mechanical powers?"
"Excuse me, father," returned Abelard; "friendship is a powerful
affection of the human mind; it invigorates, it warms."
"Does it," said the priest, shaking himself like a water-spaniel; "then
I should be very glad to have a little of it at present, for I am
shivering with cold; to say nothing of being so hungry that I could eat
my fingers."
"I am surprised to hear you talk of being hungry, father," said
Abelard; "you are surely too fat to feel any craving for food. Fat,
you know, is a kind of intermedium through which the nutritive matter
extracted from the food, must pass before it is assimilated to repair
the loss of the individual. It thus forms a kind of magazine to supply
his wants; and a fat man may abstain from food much longer than
another, because, during this abstinence, the collected fat is rapidly
re-absorbed."
Father Murphy did not speak, but his look was sufficient, and his teeth
clattering in his head afforded an ample commentary upon the text.
"You seem cold also," said the pedantic butler; "but that must be a
mistake, for animal oil is universally allowed to be a bad conductor of
caloric."
"The devil take your caloric," cried Father Murphy, again forgetting
his holy office in his anger; "I suppose you'll want to persuade me
that I have no feeling next."
"That is far from impossible," replied Abelard, with the most provoking
gravity; "for fat, by surrounding the extremities of the nerves, always
obviates inordinate sensibility. At the same time, pray do not let me
be misunderstood:--I do not say that fat people can do entirely without
eating, for the indivisibility and individuality of the living body can
only be maintained by an incessant change of the particles which enter
into its composition; though merely part--"
"Hold, hold, for Heaven's sake!" groaned Father Murphy.
"--Part of the animal food is reduced into chyle," resumed Abelard;
"and, as you doubtless know, another part becomes bones; in fact, the
bones are merely secretory organs encrusted with phosphate of lime. The
lymphatic vessels remove this salt--"
"Oh!" groaned Father Murphy, "all this is very fine, but it does not
make me one whit less hungry. O that I had a broiled rump-steak at
this moment, smoking hot and swimming in gravy, with a lump of fresh
butter!"
"Hark!" cried Abelard, "the vibration of the air that strikes upon the
tympanum of my ears, gives intimation of the approach of some tangible
object."
"Alas! alas!" cried the priest, "it is certainly the spirits returned,
that carried away poor Clara. Poor dear girl! that was certainly her
pocket-handkerchief."
"I despair of finding her," said the butler.
"Despair is sinful, my son," replied the friar; "misfortunes are sent
to try us, and we ought to bear them with resignation, and without
uttering a single murmur."
"But I thought you were even now complaining of being hungry, father?"
said Abelard with the utmost simplicity.
"True, true!" replied the priest, a little disconcerted by this remark;
"but--but--"
"It is one thing to preach, and another to practise," resumed the
butler, smiling; "is it not, father? However, I certainly heard a
noise; and if any one finds us here, we shall be ruined."
"Och! never mind that," said Father Murphy; "for that we are already,
ye know."
"Who have we here?" cried some soldiers, who now descended into
the cave; and who as before-mentioned, were particularly alert in
performing their duty in examining all strangers.
"And is it me ye are asking that?" demanded Father Murphy--"for if it
is, it's of no manner of use; for if I were to set about telling you,
it's a hundred to one if ever ye got to the bottom of it."
"Is it possible?" cried one of the soldiers; "surely my ears deceive
me, or that is the voice of Father Murphy!"
"Sure and it is!" said the reverend father; "and whose should it be but
my own? D'ye think I'd use that of another person?"
"No, no!" returned the soldier, laughing; "but my astonishment was, to
find the owner of the voice so near me. Though, now I think of it, it
is not at all surprising, as the Duke of Cornwall is at the palace hard
by, and you of course are with him."
"And how can I be with him," asked the literal Father Murphy, "when I
am here? Now if an Irishman had said such a thing, they'd have called
it a bull."
"Well, well, my good friend," said the soldier, "we will not quarrel
for words. I suppose you came down with the duke?"
"And if you do, you never were more mistaken in your whole life!"
"I cannot in the least comprehend you."
"I don't know how ye should, for I hav'n't begun to explain myself yet:
nor should I finish if I were to work at it all day; and so, as the
duke is here, we'll just go to him, if ye plase."
The duke, already miserable at the loss of Clara, had no sooner heard
of the escape of his daughter, than he had determined to visit the
place where she had been, principally from that restless desire of
change which generally haunts the unhappy; and he was now as much
surprised as the soldier to see Father Murphy there. He felt grateful,
however, to the priest for his assiduous search for Clara; but as
the adventure of the handkerchief rested entirely upon the father's
conviction of its identity--the handkerchief itself having been lost
in the holy father's unfortunate tumble into the water--the duke
considered the whole adventure as rather apocryphal. He felt, however,
consoled by it, though he scarcely knew why; and returned to his friend
Sir Ambrose in much better spirits than he had left him.
In the mean time, the party of Elvira did not dare to leave the hut
in which they had remained pent up the whole day; their horses being
crowded within its walls, as well as themselves, to prevent the
possibility of discovery. At length, the shades of evening began to
fall, and they again set forward at a rapid pace. The agony they had
suffered all day from fear of detection--the narrow space in which
they had been cooped up, together with want of food, had exhausted the
Queen so much, that the morning found her unable to proceed without
refreshment, and about daybreak they were obliged to approach a cottage
to implore assistance.
The cottager and his son were out at work; but the woman of the house
agreed to give the fugitives the shelter they requested. The prince,
delighted at receiving this permission, flew back to the Queen to lift
her from her horse; but, alas! Elvira was not in a state to enjoy even
the most welcome tidings. Pale and livid as a corpse, her head hung
upon the prince's shoulder as he bore her into the house, and her
terrified friends thought she had expired. A little warm milk, however,
revived her, and she opened her eyes.
"I am ready--quite ready--to go on," said she, gasping for utterance,
and again sinking back in a fainting fit.
"It is impossible she can proceed in this state," said the prince to
Clara, in a whisper; "what will become of us?"
"We must remain here quietly, till she is better," said Clara.
"But if we should be pursued and taken?"
"We cannot die better than in such a cause," said the heroic girl.
"It is strange," said the prince, looking at her earnestly, "that the
Queen has been able to inspire such enthusiastic devotion in such a
mere boy."
Clara blushed, and cast her eyes upon the ground, whilst the prince
gazed upon her blushing cheeks still more earnestly, till she turned
away from him abashed. He took her hand; "I cannot be mistaken," said
he, "it is, it is Miss Montagu!"
Clara's agitation betrayed her. "I must attend the Queen," said she,
breaking from him; and the prince, respecting the awkwardness of her
situation, forbore to urge her farther: he felt, however, completely
happy. Clara was too artless to conceal the interest he had excited
in her breast, and it was not in the nature of man to be indifferent
to the devotion of so young and lovely a creature. His eyes, however,
alone expressed his happiness; and Clara, who felt his delicacy in
refraining from making any farther observations on her disguise, found
her love for him increased tenfold by his forbearance.
A few hours' repose restored Elvira so much, that she wished to pursue
her journey immediately, and it was with the greatest difficulty that
the prince persuaded her to wait till nightfall. "You must recruit your
strength," said he, "or you will never be able to plead your cause
with Roderick. He is too stern a hero to be won as I was."
"Oh, it is impossible to describe how I dread to meet him," cried
Elvira; "I tremble at his name. A being so fierce and stern as he is,
will perhaps not even condescend to listen to a woman's prayer, and he
will spurn me from him."
"Impossible!" cried the prince; "though, I own, I wish we could do
without him."
Whilst the principals were thus employed, the cottager's wife was
endeavouring to learn from Hans who and what they were. "That poor lady
seemed dreadfully tired," said she. "When she came, she looked just
like a drooping daffadowndilly; when the gentleman lifted her from her
horse--oh! it was quite moving to see her!"
"Ja!" said Hans.
"However, though her illness should occasion a little delay," continued
the cottager; "I opine that you must be unreasonable to grumble, when
you consider the delightful occasion it affords you of refreshing
your olfactory nerves by partaking of a little of this odoriferous
atmosphere."
"My what nerves?" asked Hans.
"Your olfactory nerves," replied the learned cottager, with a look of
the greatest possible contempt: "that is, the nerves that line the
membrane of the nasal organ. Every child knows that the nasal fossæ are
formed to receive sensations, as by their depth and extent a larger
surface is given to the pituitary membrane, and these soft sinuses,
or cavities, are enabled to retain a greater mass of air loaded with
odoriferous matter."
Poor Hans stood aghast at this explanation, which he found something
like that said to be given by Dr. Johnson, when he called network a
complicated concatenation of rectangular angles; and afraid to speak,
lest he should draw upon himself a new volley of words as astounding as
the last, he remained silent, staring at his companions with much the
same kind of feeling as that with which a wild man of the woods just
caught, might be supposed to gaze upon enlightened Europeans.
"Can you give me some more warm milk?" asked Clara, who now descended
in search of refreshments for the Queen.
"Do you think so much of the tepid lacteous fluid good for the lady?"
asked the cottager, as she put some milk into a saucepan.
"She can take nothing else," returned Clara. "How delightfully that
girl sings!" continued she, listening with rapture to a milk-maid, who
was chanting an Italian bravura as she was milking her cow.
"Yes," replied the cottager; "Angelica sings well. The parieties of
her larynx are in a very tense condition, and her trachea is quite
cartilaginous. But here comes my good man," continued she; "he has been
hard at work all day in the roads, and I am sure he must want some
refreshment."
"I do indeed feel excessive lassitude, missis," said the cottager, as
he came in; "and I want something to eat. What have ye got? Do see,
will you, for it's dreadful hard work breaking stones; most we had
to-day were primitive limestone, but I found a few fine specimens of
quartz. The crystals were quite rhomboidal, and I stopped at least half
an hour admiring them."
"Rock crystals are often found amongst quartz," said his wife; "so I
don't think you had any occasion to lose your time in admiring them,
when, you know, you break stones by measure, and your wife and children
are starving for want of bread."
"Do not distress yourself upon that head, my good woman," said Clara;
"we have money, and our gratitude will not permit you to want any thing
that we can give you."
"Thank you, thank you," cried the woman; "it's a pleasure to serve a
generous gentleman like your honour."
"What a charming voice you have!" said Clara, turning away to avoid the
woman's praises, and addressing herself to the milk-maid; who, having
finished her task, now stepped over the stile that divided the field
from the garden of the cottage, with a pail of milk upon her head, and
advanced gracefully in measured steps towards them.
"I am very happy to have pleased you, Sir," replied the girl, dropping
her foot into the fourth position, as she made an elegant curtsy, and
then glided gracefully on.
"Stay, stay!" cried Clara; "won't you give us another song before you
go?"
"You must excuse me, Sir," said the girl, again gracefully curtsying;
"I am exceedingly sorry to be obliged to refuse a gentleman of
your appearance; but singing requires an alternate enlargement and
contraction of the glottis, an elevation and depression of the larynx,
and an elongation and shortening of the neck, very difficult to be
performed with a pail of milk upon one's head."
"Set down the pail, then," said Clara.
"Indeed I can't, Sir; for I have not a moment to spare. I just met some
gentlemen of my acquaintance on the hill, and as I expect them here
every moment, I must snatch an instant or two to arrange my toilette."
"Gentlemen of your acquaintance!" cried the mother; "what gentlemen can
you have met with here, child, that know you?"
"My cousin John that went for a soldier some time since, and a party of
his companions."
"And what brings them in these parts? No good, I fear; for John was
always a wild good-for-nothing lad."
"It is no evil, I assure you, mother," said Angelica pertly; "but you
are always fancying the worst. John is become a man of consequence now,
and he is at the head of a party of soldiers, searching for some state
prisoners. He'll be made a captain if he finds them: and I hope he
will, with all my heart."
"Where are they now?" asked the mother.
"In the wood," replied the girl; "and my brother is gone to help
them to search, as he'll get a share of the reward if they find the
fugitives whilst he is with them."
"And you'd go too, if you'd any wit," said the wife to her husband,
who had now seated himself comfortably before the fire, and seemed
very unwilling to be disturbed. Inspired, however, by his wife's
remonstrances, he roused himself, and, stretching his heavy limbs,
rolled rather than walked away. Angelica had also retired, and Clara
was left alone with the woman. It has already been mentioned, that
presence of mind was one of Clara's distinguishing characteristics;
and, perceiving the danger of the Queen, she was aware not a moment was
to be lost. The observations of the woman to her husband, and, in fact,
her whole manner, showed that avarice was her master passion, and upon
this hint Clara spoke. She offered her abundance of gold; she enlarged
upon the greediness of the soldiers, who, if she waited for their
approach, would perhaps cheat her of her share in the promised reward,
or, at least, give her such a trifle as would not to be worth having;
and at last drew forth the glittering metal and spread it before her
eyes. Gold softens the hardest heart, and the cottager's wife could
resist no longer, but promised to connive at their escape.
Clara instantly ordered Hans to prepare the horses; and, informing the
prince and Elvira of what had passed, the whole party again set forward
on their eventful journey.