SNUG. Have you the lion's part written? pray, if it be, give
it me, for I am slow of study.
QUINCE. You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.
--MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM.
When the Countess of Leicester arrived at the outer gate of the Castle
of Kenilworth, she found the tower, beneath which its ample portal arch
opened, guarded in a singular manner. Upon the battlements were placed
gigantic warders, with clubs, battle-axes, and other implements of
ancient warfare, designed to represent the soldiers of King Arthur;
those primitive Britons, by whom, according to romantic tradition,
the Castle had been first tenanted, though history carried back its
antiquity only to the times of the Heptarchy.
Some of these tremendous figures were real men, dressed up with vizards
and buskins; others were mere pageants composed of pasteboard and
buckram, which, viewed from beneath, and mingled with those that
were real, formed a sufficiently striking representation of what was
intended. But the gigantic porter who waited at the gate beneath, and
actually discharged the duties of warder, owed none of his terrors to
fictitious means. He was a man whose huge stature, thews, sinews, and
bulk in proportion, would have enabled him to enact Colbrand, Ascapart,
or any other giant of romance, without raising himself nearer to heaven
even by the altitude of a chopin. The legs and knees of this son of Anak
were bare, as were his arms from a span below the shoulder; but his
feet were defended with sandals, fastened with cross straps of scarlet
leather studded with brazen knobs. A close jerkin of scarlet velvet
looped with gold, with short breeches of the same, covered his body and
a part of his limbs; and he wore on his shoulders, instead of a cloak,
the skin of a black bear. The head of this formidable person was
uncovered, except by his shaggy, black hair, which descended on either
side around features of that huge, lumpish, and heavy cast which are
often annexed to men of very uncommon size, and which, notwithstanding
some distinguished exceptions, have created a general prejudice against
giants, as being a dull and sullen kind of persons. This tremendous
warder was appropriately armed with a heavy club spiked with steel. In
fine, he represented excellently one of those giants of popular romance,
who figure in every fairy tale or legend of knight-errantry.
The demeanour of this modern Titan, when Wayland Smith bent his
attention to him, had in it something arguing much mental embarrassment
and vexation; for sometimes he sat down for an instant on a massive
stone bench, which seemed placed for his accommodation beside the
gateway, and then ever and anon he started up, scratching his huge head,
and striding to and fro on his post, like one under a fit of impatience
and anxiety. It was while the porter was pacing before the gate in this
agitated manner, that Wayland, modestly, yet as a matter of course (not,
however, without some mental misgiving), was about to pass him, and
enter the portal arch. The porter, however, stopped his progress,
bidding him, in a thundering voice, “Stand back!” and enforcing his
injunction by heaving up his steel-shod mace, and dashing it on the
ground before Wayland's horse's nose with such vehemence that the
pavement flashed fire, and the archway rang to the clamour. Wayland,
availing himself of Dickie's hints, began to state that he belonged to a
band of performers to which his presence was indispensable, that he had
been accidentally detained behind, and much to the same purpose. But
the warder was inexorable, and kept muttering and murmuring something
betwixt his teeth, which Wayland could make little of; and addressing
betwixt whiles a refusal of admittance, couched in language which was
but too intelligible. A specimen of his speech might run thus:--“What,
how now, my masters?” (to himself)--“Here's a stir--here's a
coil.”--(Then to Wayland)--“You are a loitering knave, and shall have no
entrance.”--(Again to himself)--“Here's a throng--here's a thrusting.--I
shall ne'er get through with it--Here's a--humph--ha.”--(To
Wayland)--“Back from the gate, or I'll break the pate of thee.”--(Once
more to himself)--“Here's a--no--I shall never get through it.”
“Stand still,” whispered Flibbertigibbet into Wayland's ear, “I know
where the shoe pinches, and will tame him in an instant.”
He dropped down from the horse, and skipping up to the porter, plucked
him by the tail of the bearskin, so as to induce him to decline his huge
head, and whispered something in his ear. Not at the command of the lord
of some Eastern talisman did ever Afrite change his horrid frown into
a look of smooth submission more suddenly than the gigantic porter
of Kenilworth relaxed the terrors of his looks at the instant
Flibbertigibbet's whisper reached his ears. He flung his club upon the
ground, and caught up Dickie Sludge, raising him to such a distance from
the earth as might have proved perilous had he chanced to let him slip.
“It is even so,” he said, with a thundering sound of exultation--“it is
even so, my little dandieprat. But who the devil could teach it thee?”
“Do not thou care about that,” said Flibbertigibbet--“but--” he looked
at Wayland and the lady, and then sunk what he had to say in a
whisper, which needed not be a loud one, as the giant held him for his
convenience close to his ear. The porter then gave Dickie a warm caress,
and set him on the ground with the same care which a careful housewife
uses in replacing a cracked china cup upon her mantelpiece, calling out
at the same time to Wayland and the lady, “In with you--in with you! and
take heed how you come too late another day when I chance to be porter.”
“Ay, ay, in with you,” added Flibbertigibbet; “I must stay a short space
with mine honest Philistine, my Goliath of Gath here; but I will be with
you anon, and at the bottom of all your secrets, were they as deep and
dark as the Castle dungeon.”
“I do believe thou wouldst,” said Wayland; “but I trust the secret will
be soon out of my keeping, and then I shall care the less whether thou
or any one knows it.”
They now crossed the entrance tower, which obtained the name of the
Gallery-tower, from the following circumstance: The whole bridge,
extending from the entrance to another tower on the opposite side of
the lake, called Mortimer's Tower, was so disposed as to make a spacious
tilt-yard, about one hundred and thirty yards in length, and ten in
breadth, strewed with the finest sand, and defended on either side by
strong and high palisades. The broad and fair gallery, destined for the
ladies who were to witness the feats of chivalry presented on this area,
was erected on the northern side of the outer tower, to which it gave
name. Our travellers passed slowly along the bridge or tilt-yard, and
arrived at Mortimer's Tower, at its farthest extremity, through which
the approach led into the outer or base-court of the Castle. Mortimer's
Tower bore on its front the scutcheon of the Earl of March, whose daring
ambition overthrew the throne of Edward II., and aspired to share his
power with the “She-wolf of France,” to whom the unhappy monarch was
wedded. The gate, which opened under this ominous memorial, was guarded
by many warders in rich liveries; but they offered no opposition to the
entrance of the Countess and her guide, who, having passed by license of
the principal porter at the Gallery-tower, were not, it may be supposed,
liable to interruption from his deputies. They entered accordingly, in
silence, the great outward court of the Castle, having then full before
them that vast and lordly pile, with all its stately towers, each gate
open, as if in sign of unlimited hospitality, and the apartments filled
with noble guests of every degree, besides dependants, retainers,
domestics of every description, and all the appendages and promoters of
mirth and revelry.
Amid this stately and busy scene Wayland halted his horse, and looked
upon the lady, as if waiting her commands what was next to be done,
since they had safely reached the place of destination. As she remained
silent, Wayland, after waiting a minute or two, ventured to ask her, in
direct terms, what were her next commands. She raised her hand to her
forehead, as if in the act of collecting her thoughts and resolution,
while she answered him in a low and suppressed voice, like the murmurs
of one who speaks in a dream--“Commands? I may indeed claim right to
command, but who is there will obey me!”
Then suddenly raising her head, like one who has formed a decisive
resolution, she addressed a gaily-dressed domestic, who was crossing the
court with importance and bustle in his countenance, “Stop, sir,” she
said; “I desire to speak with, the Earl of Leicester.”
“With whom, an it please you?” said the man, surprised at the demand;
and then looking upon the mean equipage of her who used towards him such
a tone of authority, he added, with insolence, “Why, what Bess of Bedlam
is this would ask to see my lord on such a day as the present?”
“Friend,” said the Countess, “be not insolent--my business with the Earl
is most urgent.”
“You must get some one else to do it, were it thrice as urgent,” said
the fellow. “I should summon my lord from the Queen's royal presence
to do YOUR business, should I?--I were like to be thanked with a
horse-whip. I marvel our old porter took not measure of such ware with
his club, instead of giving them passage; but his brain is addled with
getting his speech by heart.”
Two or three persons stopped, attracted by the fleering way in which the
serving-man expressed himself; and Wayland, alarmed both for himself and
the lady, hastily addressed himself to one who appeared the most civil,
and thrusting a piece of money into his hand, held a moment's counsel
with him on the subject of finding a place of temporary retreat for the
lady. The person to whom he spoke, being one in some authority, rebuked
the others for their incivility, and commanding one fellow to take care
of the strangers' horses, he desired them to follow him. The Countess
retained presence of mind sufficient to see that it was absolutely
necessary she should comply with his request; and leaving the rude
lackeys and grooms to crack their brutal jests about light heads,
light heels, and so forth, Wayland and she followed in silence the
deputy-usher, who undertook to be their conductor.
They entered the inner court of the Castle by the great gateway, which
extended betwixt the principal Keep, or Donjon, called Caesar's Tower,
and a stately building which passed by the name of King Henry's Lodging,
and were thus placed in the centre of the noble pile, which presented
on its different fronts magnificent specimens of every species of
castellated architecture, from the Conquest to the reign of Elizabeth,
with the appropriate style and ornaments of each.
Across this inner court also they were conducted by their guide to a
small but strong tower, occupying the north-east angle of the building,
adjacent to the great hall, and filling up a space betwixt the immense
range of kitchens and the end of the great hall itself. The lower
part of this tower was occupied by some of the household officers of
Leicester, owing to its convenient vicinity to the places where their
duty lay; but in the upper story, which was reached by a narrow, winding
stair, was a small octangular chamber, which, in the great demand for
lodgings, had been on the present occasion fitted up for the reception
of guests, though generally said to have been used as a place of
confinement for some unhappy person who had been there murdered.
Tradition called this prisoner Mervyn, and transferred his name to the
tower. That it had been used as a prison was not improbable; for the
floor of each story was arched, the walls of tremendous thickness, while
the space of the chamber did not exceed fifteen feet in diameter. The
window, however, was pleasant, though narrow, and commanded a delightful
view of what was called the Pleasance; a space of ground enclosed
and decorated with arches, trophies, statues, fountains, and other
architectural monuments, which formed one access from the Castle
itself into the garden. There was a bed in the apartment, and other
preparations for the reception of a guest, to which the Countess paid
but slight attention, her notice being instantly arrested by the sight
of writing materials placed on the table (not very commonly to be found
in the bedrooms of those days), which instantly suggested the idea of
writing to Leicester, and remaining private until she had received his
answer.
The deputy-usher having introduced them into this commodious apartment,
courteously asked Wayland, whose generosity he had experienced, whether
he could do anything further for his service. Upon receiving a gentle
hint that some refreshment would not be unacceptable, he presently
conveyed the smith to the buttery-hatch, where dressed provisions of all
sorts were distributed, with hospitable profusion, to all who asked for
them. Wayland was readily supplied with some light provisions, such as
he thought would best suit the faded appetite of the lady, and did not
omit the opportunity of himself making a hasty but hearty meal on more
substantial fare. He then returned to the apartment in the turret, where
he found the Countess, who had finished her letter to Leicester, and in
lieu of a seal and silken thread, had secured it with a braid of her own
beautiful tresses, fastened by what is called a true-love knot.
“Good friend,” said she to Wayland, “whom God hath sent to aid me at my
utmost need, I do beseech thee, as the last trouble you shall take
for an unfortunate lady, to deliver this letter to the noble Earl of
Leicester. Be it received as it may,” she said, with features agitated
betwixt hope and fear, “thou, good fellow, shalt have no more cumber
with me. But I hope the best; and if ever lady made a poor man rich,
thou hast surely deserved it at my hand, should my happy days ever come
round again. Give it, I pray you, into Lord Leicester's own hand, and
mark how he looks on receiving it.”
Wayland, on his part, readily undertook the commission, but anxiously
prayed the lady, in his turn, to partake of some refreshment; in which
he at length prevailed, more through importunity and her desire to see
him begone on his errand than from any inclination the Countess felt to
comply with his request. He then left her, advising her to lock her door
on the inside, and not to stir from her little apartment; and went to
seek an opportunity of discharging her errand, as well as of carrying
into effect a purpose of his own, which circumstances had induced him to
form.
In fact, from the conduct of the lady during the journey--her long fits
of profound silence, the irresolution and uncertainty which seemed to
pervade all her movements, and the obvious incapacity of thinking and
acting for herself under which she seemed to labour--Wayland had formed
the not improbable opinion that the difficulties of her situation had in
some degree affected her understanding.
When she had escaped from the seclusion of Cumnor Place, and the dangers
to which she was there exposed, it would have seemed her most rational
course to retire to her father's, or elsewhere at a distance from the
power of those by whom these dangers had been created. When, instead of
doing so, she demanded to be conveyed to Kenilworth, Wayland had been
only able to account for her conduct by supposing that she meant to
put herself under the tutelage of Tressilian, and to appeal to the
protection of the Queen. But now, instead of following this natural
course, she entrusted him with a letter to Leicester, the patron of
Varney, and within whose jurisdiction at least, if not under his express
authority, all the evils she had already suffered were inflicted upon
her. This seemed an unsafe and even a desperate measure, and Wayland
felt anxiety for his own safety, as well as that of the lady, should he
execute her commission before he had secured the advice and countenance
of a protector.
He therefore resolved, before delivering the letter to Leicester, that
he would seek out Tressilian, and communicate to him the arrival of
the lady at Kenilworth, and thus at once rid himself of all further
responsibility, and devolve the task of guiding and protecting this
unfortunate lady upon the patron who had at first employed him in her
service.
“He will be a better judge than I am,” said Wayland, “whether she is
to be gratified in this humour of appeal to my Lord of Leicester, which
seems like an act of insanity; and, therefore, I will turn the matter
over on his hands, deliver him the letter, receive what they list to
give me by way of guerdon, and then show the Castle of Kenilworth a pair
of light heels; for, after the work I have been engaged in, it will be,
I fear, neither a safe nor wholesome place of residence, and I would
rather shoe colts an the coldest common in England than share in their
gayest revels.”