Now bid the steeple rock--she comes, she comes!--
Speak for us, bells--speak for us, shrill-tongued tuckets.
Stand to thy linstock, gunner; let thy cannon
Play such a peal, as if a paynim foe
Came stretch'd in turban'd ranks to storm the ramparts.
We will have pageants too--but that craves wit,
And I'm a rough-hewn soldier.--THE VIRGIN QUEEN--A TRAGI-COMEDY.
Tressilian, when Wayland had left him, as mentioned in the last chapter,
remained uncertain what he ought next to do, when Raleigh and Blount
came up to him arm in arm, yet, according to their wont, very eagerly
disputing together. Tressilian had no great desire for their society
in the present state of his feelings, but there was no possibility of
avoiding them; and indeed he felt that, bound by his promise not to
approach Amy, or take any step in her behalf, it would be his best
course at once to mix with general society, and to exhibit on his brow
as little as he could of the anguish and uncertainty which sat heavy
at his heart. He therefore made a virtue of necessity, and hailed his
comrades with, “All mirth to you, gentlemen! Whence come ye?”
“From Warwick, to be sure,” said Blount; “we must needs home to change
our habits, like poor players, who are fain to multiply their persons to
outward appearance by change of suits; and you had better do the like,
Tressilian.”
“Blount is right,” said Raleigh; “the Queen loves such marks of
deference, and notices, as wanting in respect, those who, not arriving
in her immediate attendance, may appear in their soiled and ruffled
riding-dress. But look at Blount himself, Tressilian, for the love of
laughter, and see how his villainous tailor hath apparelled him--in
blue, green, and crimson, with carnation ribbons, and yellow roses in
his shoes!”
“Why, what wouldst thou have?” said Blount. “I told the cross-legged
thief to do his best, and spare no cost; and methinks these things are
gay enough--gayer than thine own. I'll be judged by Tressilian.”
“I agree--I agree,” said Walter Raleigh. “Judge betwixt us, Tressilian,
for the love of heaven!”
Tressilian, thus appealed to, looked at them both, and was immediately
sensible at a single glance that honest Blount had taken upon the
tailor's warrant the pied garments which he had chosen to make, and
was as much embarrassed by the quantity of points and ribbons which
garnished his dress, as a clown is in his holiday clothes; while the
dress of Raleigh was a well-fancied and rich suit, which the wearer bore
as a garb too well adapted to his elegant person to attract particular
attention. Tressilian said, therefore, “That Blount's dress was finest,
but Raleigh's the best fancied.”
Blount was satisfied with his decision. “I knew mine was finest,” he
said; “if that knave Doublestitch had brought me home such a simple
doublet as that of Raleigh's, I would have beat his brains out with his
own pressing-iron. Nay, if we must be fools, ever let us be fools of the
first head, say I.”
“But why gettest thou not on thy braveries, Tressilian?” said Raleigh.
“I am excluded from my apartment by a silly mistake,” said Tressilian,
“and separated for the time from my baggage. I was about to seek thee,
to beseech a share of thy lodging.”
“And welcome,” said Raleigh; “it is a noble one. My Lord of Leicester
has done us that kindness, and lodged us in princely fashion. If his
courtesy be extorted reluctantly, it is at least extended far. I would
advise you to tell your strait to the Earl's chamberlain--you will have
instant redress.”
“Nay, it is not worth while, since you can spare me room,” replied
Tressilian--“I would not be troublesome. Has any one come hither with
you?”
“Oh, ay,” said Blount; “Varney and a whole tribe of Leicestrians,
besides about a score of us honest Sussex folk. We are all, it seems, to
receive the Queen at what they call the Gallery-tower, and witness some
fooleries there; and then we're to remain in attendance upon the Queen
in the Great Hall--God bless the mark!--while those who are now waiting
upon her Grace get rid of their slough, and doff their riding-suits.
Heaven help me, if her Grace should speak to me, I shall never know what
to answer!”
“And what has detained them so long at Warwick?” said Tressilian,
unwilling that their conversation should return to his own affairs.
“Such a succession of fooleries,” said Blount, “as were never seen at
Bartholomew-fair. We have had speeches and players, and dogs and bears,
and men making monkeys and women moppets of themselves--I marvel the
Queen could endure it. But ever and anon came in something of 'the
lovely light of her gracious countenance,' or some such trash. Ah!
vanity makes a fool of the wisest. But come, let us on to this same
Gallery-tower--though I see not what thou Tressilian, canst do with thy
riding-dress and boots.”
“I will take my station behind thee, Blount,” said Tressilian, who
saw that his friend's unusual finery had taken a strong hold of his
imagination; “thy goodly size and gay dress will cover my defects.”
“And so thou shalt, Edmund,” said Blount. “In faith I am glad thou
thinkest my garb well-fancied, for all Mr. Wittypate here; for when one
does a foolish thing, it is right to do it handsomely.”
So saying, Blount cocked his beaver, threw out his leg, and marched
manfully forward, as if at the head of his brigade of pikemen, ever and
anon looking with complaisance on his crimson stockings, and the huge
yellow roses which blossomed on his shoes. Tressilian followed, wrapt
in his own sad thoughts, and scarce minding Raleigh, whose quick fancy,
amused by the awkward vanity of his respectable friend, vented itself in
jests, which he whispered into Tressilian's ear.
In this manner they crossed the long bridge, or tilt-yard, and took
their station, with other gentlemen of quality, before the outer gate
of the Gallery, or Entrance-tower. The whole amounted to about forty
persons, all selected as of the first rank under that of knighthood, and
were disposed in double rows on either side of the gate, like a guard of
honour, within the close hedge of pikes and partisans which was formed
by Leicester's retainers, wearing his liveries. The gentlemen carried no
arms save their swords and daggers. These gallants were as gaily dressed
as imagination could devise; and as the garb of the time permitted
a great display of expensive magnificence, nought was to be seen but
velvet and cloth of gold and silver, ribbons, feathers, gems, and golden
chains. In spite of his more serious subjects of distress, Tressilian
could not help feeling that he, with his riding-suit, however handsome
it might be, made rather an unworthy figure among these “fierce
vanities,” and the rather because he saw that his deshabille was
the subject of wonder among his own friends, and of scorn among the
partisans of Leicester.
We could not suppress this fact, though it may seem something at
variance with the gravity of Tressilian's character; but the truth is,
that a regard for personal appearance is a species of self-love,
from which the wisest are not exempt, and to which the mind clings so
instinctively that not only the soldier advancing to almost inevitable
death, but even the doomed criminal who goes to certain execution, shows
an anxiety to array his person to the best advantage. But this is a
digression.
It was the twilight of a summer night (9th July, 1575), the sun having
for some time set, and all were in anxious expectation of the Queen's
immediate approach. The multitude had remained assembled for many
hours, and their numbers were still rather on the increase. A profuse
distribution of refreshments, together with roasted oxen, and barrels of
ale set a-broach in different places of the road, had kept the populace
in perfect love and loyalty towards the Queen and her favourite, which
might have somewhat abated had fasting been added to watching. They
passed away the time, therefore, with the usual popular amusements of
whooping, hallooing, shrieking, and playing rude tricks upon each other,
forming the chorus of discordant sounds usual on such occasions. These
prevailed all through the crowded roads and fields, and especially
beyond the gate of the Chase, where the greater number of the common
sort were stationed; when, all of a sudden, a single rocket was seen to
shoot into the atmosphere, and, at the instant, far heard over flood and
field, the great bell of the Castle tolled.
Immediately there was a pause of dead silence, succeeded by a deep hum
of expectation, the united voice of many thousands, none of whom spoke
above their breath--or, to use a singular expression, the whisper of an
immense multitude.
“They come now, for certain,” said Raleigh. “Tressilian, that sound is
grand. We hear it from this distance as mariners, after a long voyage,
hear, upon their night-watch, the tide rush upon some distant and
unknown shore.”
“Mass!” answered Blount, “I hear it rather as I used to hear mine own
kine lowing from the close of Wittenswestlowe.”
“He will assuredly graze presently,” said Raleigh to Tressilian; “his
thought is all of fat oxen and fertile meadows. He grows little better
than one of his own beeves, and only becomes grand when he is provoked
to pushing and goring.”
“We shall have him at that presently,” said Tressilian, “if you spare
not your wit.”
“Tush, I care not,” answered Raleigh; “but thou too, Tressilian, hast
turned a kind of owl, that flies only by night--hast exchanged thy songs
for screechings, and good company for an ivy-tod.”
“But what manner of animal art thou thyself, Raleigh,” said Tressilian,
“that thou holdest us all so lightly?”
“Who--I?” replied Raleigh. “An eagle am I, that never will think of dull
earth while there is a heaven to soar in, and a sun to gaze upon.”
“Well bragged, by Saint Barnaby!” said Blount; “but, good Master Eagle,
beware the cage, and beware the fowler. Many birds have flown as high
that I have seen stuffed with straw and hung up to scare kites.--But
hark, what a dead silence hath fallen on them at once!”
“The procession pauses,” said Raleigh, “at the gate of the Chase, where
a sibyl, one of the FATIDICAE, meets the Queen, to tell her fortune. I
saw the verses; there is little savour in them, and her Grace has been
already crammed full with such poetical compliments. She whispered to
me, during the Recorder's speech yonder, at Ford-mill, as she entered
the liberties of Warwick, how she was 'PERTAESA BARBARAE LOQUELAE.'”
“The Queen whispered to HIM!” said Blount, in a kind of soliloquy; “Good
God, to what will this world come!”
His further meditations were interrupted by a shout of applause from the
multitude, so tremendously vociferous that the country echoed for miles
round. The guards, thickly stationed upon the road by which the Queen
was to advance, caught up the acclamation, which ran like wildfire to
the Castle, and announced to all within that Queen Elizabeth had entered
the Royal Chase of Kenilworth. The whole music of the Castle sounded
at once, and a round of artillery, with a salvo of small arms, was
discharged from the battlements; but the noise of drums and trumpets,
and even of the cannon themselves, was but faintly heard amidst the
roaring and reiterated welcomes of the multitude.
As the noise began to abate, a broad glare of light was seen to appear
from the gate of the Park, and broadening and brightening as it came
nearer, advanced along the open and fair avenue that led towards the
Gallery-tower; and which, as we have already noticed, was lined on
either hand by the retainers of the Earl of Leicester. The word was
passed along the line, “The Queen! The Queen! Silence, and stand fast!”
Onward came the cavalcade, illuminated by two hundred thick waxen
torches, in the hands of as many horsemen, which cast a light like that
of broad day all around the procession, but especially on the principal
group, of which the Queen herself, arrayed in the most splendid manner,
and blazing with jewels, formed the central figure. She was mounted on a
milk-white horse, which she reined with peculiar grace and dignity; and
in the whole of her stately and noble carriage you saw the daughter of
an hundred kings.
The ladies of the court, who rode beside her Majesty, had taken especial
care that their own external appearance should not be more glorious than
their rank and the occasion altogether demanded, so that no inferior
luminary might appear to approach the orbit of royalty. But their
personal charms, and the magnificence by which, under every prudential
restraint, they were necessarily distinguished, exhibited them as
the very flower of a realm so far famed for splendour and beauty. The
magnificence of the courtiers, free from such restraints as prudence
imposed on the ladies, was yet more unbounded.
Leicester, who glittered like a golden image with jewels and cloth of
gold, rode on her Majesty's right hand, as well in quality of her host
as of her master of the horse. The black steed which he mounted had
not a single white hair on his body, and was one of the most renowned
chargers in Europe, having been purchased by the Earl at large expense
for this royal occasion. As the noble animal chafed at the slow pace
of the procession, and, arching his stately neck, champed on the silver
bits which restrained him, the foam flew from his mouth, and speckled
his well-formed limbs as if with spots of snow. The rider well became
the high place which he held, and the proud steed which he bestrode; for
no man in England, or perhaps in Europe, was more perfect than Dudley in
horsemanship, and all other exercises belonging to his quality. He
was bareheaded as were all the courtiers in the train; and the red
torchlight shone upon his long, curled tresses of dark hair, and on his
noble features, to the beauty of which even the severest criticism
could only object the lordly fault, as it may be termed, of a forehead
somewhat too high. On that proud evening those features wore all the
grateful solicitude of a subject, to show himself sensible of the high
honour which the Queen was conferring on him, and all the pride and
satisfaction which became so glorious a moment. Yet, though neither eye
nor feature betrayed aught but feelings which suited the occasion, some
of the Earl's personal attendants remarked that he was unusually pale,
and they expressed to each other their fear that he was taking more
fatigue than consisted with his health.
Varney followed close behind his master, as the principal esquire in
waiting, and had charge of his lordship's black velvet bonnet, garnished
with a clasp of diamonds and surmounted by a white plume. He kept his
eye constantly on his master, and, for reasons with which the reader is
not unacquainted, was, among Leicester's numerous dependants, the one
who was most anxious that his lord's strength and resolution should
carry him successfully through a day so agitating. For although Varney
was one of the few, the very few moral monsters who contrive to lull
to sleep the remorse of their own bosoms, and are drugged into moral
insensibility by atheism, as men in extreme agony are lulled by opium,
yet he knew that in the breast of his patron there was already awakened
the fire that is never quenched, and that his lord felt, amid all the
pomp and magnificence we have described, the gnawing of the worm that
dieth not. Still, however, assured as Lord Leicester stood, by Varney's
own intelligence, that his Countess laboured under an indisposition
which formed an unanswerable apology to the Queen for her not appearing
at Kenilworth, there was little danger, his wily retainer thought, that
a man so ambitious would betray himself by giving way to any external
weakness.
The train, male and female, who attended immediately upon the Queen's
person, were, of course, of the bravest and the fairest--the highest
born nobles, and the wisest counsellors, of that distinguished reign,
to repeat whose names were but to weary the reader. Behind came a
long crowd of knights and gentlemen, whose rank and birth, however
distinguished, were thrown into shade, as their persons into the rear of
a procession whose front was of such august majesty.
Thus marshalled, the cavalcade approached the Gallery-tower, which
formed, as we have often observed, the extreme barrier of the Castle.
It was now the part of the huge porter to step forward; but the lubbard
was so overwhelmed with confusion of spirit--the contents of one immense
black jack of double ale, which he had just drunk to quicken his memory,
having treacherously confused the brain it was intended to clear--that
he only groaned piteously, and remained sitting on his stone seat; and
the Queen would have passed on without greeting, had not the gigantic
warder's secret ally, Flibbertigibbet, who lay perdue behind him, thrust
a pin into the rear of the short femoral garment which we elsewhere
described.
The porter uttered a sort of yell, which came not amiss into his part,
started up with his club, and dealt a sound douse or two on each side
of him; and then, like a coach-horse pricked by the spur, started off
at once into the full career of his address, and by dint of active
prompting on the part of Dickie Sludge, delivered, in sounds of gigantic
intonation, a speech which may be thus abridged--the reader being to
suppose that the first lines were addressed to the throng who approached
the gateway; the conclusion, at the approach of the Queen, upon sight of
whom, as struck by some heavenly vision, the gigantic warder dropped his
club, resigned his keys, and gave open way to the Goddess of the night,
and all her magnificent train.
“What stir, what turmoil, have we for the nones?
Stand back, my masters, or beware your bones!
Sirs, I'm a warder, and no man of straw,
My voice keeps order, and my club gives law.
Yet soft--nay, stay--what vision have we here?
What dainty darling's this--what peerless peer?
What loveliest face, that loving ranks unfold,
Like brightest diamond chased in purest gold?
Dazzled and blind, mine office I forsake,
My club, my key, my knee, my homage take.
Bright paragon, pass on in joy and bliss;--
Beshrew the gate that opes not wide at such a sight as this!”
[This is an imitation of Gascoigne's verses spoken by the
Herculean porter, as mentioned in the text. The original may be
found in the republication of the Princely Pleasures of
Kenilworth, by the same author, in the History of Kenilworth
already quoted. Chiswick, 1821.]
Elizabeth received most graciously the homage of the Herculean porter,
and, bending her head to him in requital, passed through his guarded
tower, from the top of which was poured a clamorous blast of warlike
music, which was replied to by other bands of minstrelsy placed at
different points on the Castle walls, and by others again stationed
in the Chase; while the tones of the one, as they yet vibrated on
the echoes, were caught up and answered by new harmony from different
quarters.
Amidst these bursts of music, which, as if the work of enchantment,
seemed now close at hand, now softened by distant space, now wailing so
low and sweet as if that distance were gradually prolonged until only
the last lingering strains could reach the ear, Queen Elizabeth crossed
the Gallery-tower, and came upon the long bridge, which extended from
thence to Mortimer's Tower, and which was already as light as day, so
many torches had been fastened to the palisades on either side. Most
of the nobles here alighted, and sent their horses to the neighbouring
village of Kenilworth, following the Queen on foot, as did the gentlemen
who had stood in array to receive her at the Gallery-tower.
On this occasion, as at different times during the evening, Raleigh
addressed himself to Tressilian, and was not a little surprised at
his vague and unsatisfactory answers; which, joined to his leaving his
apartment without any assigned reason, appearing in an undress when
it was likely to be offensive to the Queen, and some other symptoms of
irregularity which he thought he discovered, led him to doubt whether
his friend did not labour under some temporary derangement.
Meanwhile, the Queen had no sooner stepped on the bridge than a new
spectacle was provided; for as soon as the music gave signal that she
was so far advanced, a raft, so disposed as to resemble a small floating
island, illuminated by a great variety of torches, and surrounded by
floating pageants formed to represent sea-horses, on which sat Tritons,
Nereids, and other fabulous deities of the seas and rivers, made its
appearance upon the lake, and issuing from behind a small heronry where
it had been concealed, floated gently towards the farther end of the
bridge.
On the islet appeared a beautiful woman, clad in a watchet-coloured
silken mantle, bound with a broad girdle inscribed with characters like
the phylacteries of the Hebrews. Her feet and arms were bare, but her
wrists and ankles were adorned with gold bracelets of uncommon size.
Amidst her long, silky black hair she wore a crown or chaplet of
artificial mistletoe, and bore in her hand a rod of ebony tipped with
silver. Two Nymphs attended on her, dressed in the same antique and
mystical guise.
The pageant was so well managed that this Lady of the Floating Island,
having performed her voyage with much picturesque effect, landed at
Mortimer's Tower with her two attendants just as Elizabeth presented
herself before that outwork. The stranger then, in a well-penned speech,
announced herself as that famous Lady of the Lake renowned in the
stories of King Arthur, who had nursed the youth of the redoubted Sir
Lancelot, and whose beauty 'had proved too powerful both for the wisdom
and the spells of the mighty Merlin. Since that early period she had
remained possessed of her crystal dominions, she said, despite the
various men of fame and might by whom Kenilworth had been successively
tenanted. 'The Saxons, the Danes, the Normans, the Saintlowes, the
Clintons, the Montforts, the Mortimers, the Plantagenets, great though
they were in arms and magnificence, had never, she said, caused her
to raise her head from the waters which hid her crystal palace. But a
greater than all these great names had now appeared, and she came in
homage and duty to welcome the peerless Elizabeth to all sport which the
Castle and its environs, which lake or land, could afford.
The Queen received this address also with great courtesy, and made
answer in raillery, “We thought this lake had belonged to our own
dominions, fair dame; but since so famed a lady claims it for hers,
we will be glad at some other time to have further communing with you
touching our joint interests.”
With this gracious answer the Lady of the Lake vanished, and Arion,
who was amongst the maritime deities, appeared upon his dolphin. But
Lambourne, who had taken upon him the part in the absence of Wayland,
being chilled with remaining immersed in an element to which he was not
friendly, having never got his speech by heart, and not having, like the
porter, the advantage of a prompter, paid it off with impudence, tearing
off his vizard, and swearing, “Cogs bones! he was none of Arion or Orion
either, but honest Mike Lambourne, that had been drinking her Majesty's
health from morning till midnight, and was come to bid her heartily
welcome to Kenilworth Castle.”
This unpremeditated buffoonery answered the purpose probably better than
the set speech would have done. The Queen laughed heartily, and swore
(in her turn) that he had made the best speech she had heard that day.
Lambourne, who instantly saw his jest had saved his bones, jumped on
shore, gave his dolphin a kick, and declared he would never meddle with
fish again, except at dinner.
At the same time that the Queen was about to enter the Castle, that
memorable discharge of fireworks by water and land took place, which
Master Laneham, formerly introduced to the reader, has strained all his
eloquence to describe.
“Such,” says the Clerk of the Council-chamber door “was the blaze of
burning darts, the gleams of stars coruscant, the streams and hail of
fiery sparks, lightnings of wildfire, and flight-shot of thunderbolts,
with continuance, terror, and vehemency, that the heavens thundered, the
waters surged, and the earth shook; and for my part, hardy as I am, it
made me very vengeably afraid.”
[See Laneham's Account of the Queen's Entertainment at Killingworth
Castle, in 1575, a very diverting tract, written by as great a coxcomb
as ever blotted paper. [See Note 6] The original is extremely rare,
but it has been twice reprinted; once in Mr. Nichols's very curious and
interesting collection of the Progresses and Public Processions of
Queen Elizabeth, vol.i. and more lately in a beautiful antiquarian
publication, termed KENILWORTH ILLUSTRATED, printed at Chiswick, for
Meridew of Coventry and Radcliffe of Birmingham. It contains reprints
of Laneham's Letter, Gascoigne's Princely Progress, and other scarce
pieces, annotated with accuracy and ability. The author takes the
liberty to refer to this work as his authority for the account of the
festivities.
I am indebted for a curious ground-plan of the Castle of Kenilworth,
as it existed in Queen Elizabeth's time, to the voluntary kindness of
Richard Badnall Esq. of Olivebank, near Liverpool. From his obliging
communication, I learn that the original sketch was found among the
manuscripts of the celebrated J. J. Rousseau, when he left England.
These were entrusted by the philosopher to the care of his friend
Mr. Davenport, and passed from his legatee into the possession of Mr.
Badnall.]