The Tower of London 56

The Tower of London 56

"There thou wilt fail again," cried Jane; "for every wise woman will shun thee."

 

"A truce to thy rejoinders, sweetheart," returned Xit. "Thy wit is as keen as my arrows, and as sure to hit the mark."

 

"My wit resembles thy godship's arrows in one particular only," retorted Jane. "It strikes deepest where it is most carelessly aimed. But, hie away ! Thou wilt find Love no match for Folly."

 

"So I perceive," replied Xit, "and shall therefore proceed to Beauty. I must have been blinder than poets feign, to have come near thee at all. In my pursuit of Folly, I have forgot the real business of Love. But thus it is ever with me and my minions !"

 

"With this, he fluttered towards the queen, and prostrating himself before her, said--"Your majesty will not banish Love from your court?"

 

"Assuredly not," replied Mary ; "or if we did banish thee, thou wouldst be sure to find some secret entrance."

 

"Your majesty is in the right," replied the mimic deity, "I

 

 

 

should. And disdain not this caution from Cupid. As long as you keep my two companions, Jealousy and Malice, at a distance, Love will appear in his own rosy hues. But the moment you admit them, he will change his colours, and become a tormentor."

 

"But if thou distributest thy shafts at random, so that lovers dote on more than one object, how am I to exclude Jealousy?" asked the queen.

 

"By cultivating self-esteem," replied Cupid. "The heart I have wounded for your highness can never feel disloyalty."

 

"That is true, thou imp," observed Courtenay; "and for that speech, I forgive thee the mischief thou hast done."

 

"And so thou assurest me against infidelity?" said Mary.

 

"Your highness may be as inconstant as you please," replied Cupid, "since the dart I aimed at you has been turned aside by Sir Henry Bedingfeld. But rest easy. He who loves you can love no other."

 

"I am well satisfied," replied Mary, with a gratified look.

 

"And since I have thy permission to love whom I please, I shall avail myself largely of it, and give all my heart to my subjects."

 

"Not _all_ your heart, my gracious mistress," said Courtenay, in a tender whisper.

 

At this juncture, Xit, watching his opportunity, drew an arrow from his quiver, and touched the queen with it near the heart.

 

"I have hit your majesty at last, as well as the Earl of Devonshire," he cried gleefully. "Shall I summon my brother Hymen to your assistance ? He is among the crowd below."

 

A half-suppressed smile among the royal attendants followed this daring remark.

 

"That knave's audacity encourages me to hope, gracious madam," whispered Courtenay, "that this moment may be the proudest--the happiest of my life."

 

"No more of this--at least not now, my lord," replied Mary, whose notions of decorum were somewhat scandalised at this public declaration. "Dismiss this imp. He draws too many eyes upon us." "I have a set of verses to recite to your majesty," interposed Xit, whose quick ears caught the remark, and who was in no hurry to leave the royal presence.

 

"Not now," rejoined Mary, rising. "Fear nothing, thou merry urchin. We will take care Love meets its desert. We thank you, my lord," she added, turning to Courtenay, "for the pleasant pastime you have afforded us."

 

As the queen arose, loud and reiterated shouts resounded from the spectators, in which all the mummers joined. Amid these acclamations she returned to the palace. Courtenay again tendered her his hand, and the slight pressure which he hazarded was sensibly returned.

 

Just as she was about to enter the window, Mary turned round to bow for the last time to the assemblage, when there arose a universal cry--"Long live Queen Mary !--Long live the Earl of Devonshire !"

 

Mary smiled. Her bosom palpitated with pleasure, and she observed to her lover--"You are the people's favourite, my lord. I should not deserve to be their queen if I did not share in their affection."

 

"May I then hope?" asked the Earl, eagerly.

 

"You may," replied Mary, softly.

 

The brilliant vision which these words raised before Courtenay's eyes, was dispersed by a look which he at that moment received from Elizabeth.

 

The festivities in the court did not terminate with the departure of the royal train. Xit was replaced in the turret, whence he aimed his darts at the prettiest damsels he could perceive, creating infinite merriment among the crowd. An immense ring was then formed by all the mummers, who danced round the three giants, the minstrels accompanying the measure with appropriate strains. Nothing more grotesque can be imagined than the figures of Gog and Magog, as engaged in the dance, in their uncouth garbs. As to Og, he flourished his clubs, and twirled himself round with great rapidity in the opposite direction to the round of dancers, until at last, becoming giddy, he lost his balance, and fell with a tremendous crash, upsetting Xit for the second time.

 

Ever destined to accidents, the dwarf, from his diminutive stature, seldom sustained any injury, and upon this occasion, though a good deal terrified, he escaped unhurt. Og was speedily uncased, and, glad to be set at liberty, joined the ring of dancers, and footed it with as much glee as the merriest of them.

 

As the evening advanced, fire-works were discharged, and a daring rope-dancer, called Peter the Dutchman, ascended the cupola of the south-east turret of the White Tower, and got upon the vane, where he lighted a couple of torches. After standing for some time, now upon one foot--now on the other, he kindled a firework placed in a sort of helmet on his head, and descended amid a shower of sparks by a rope, one end of which was fastened in the court where the masquers were assembled. A substantial supper, of which the mummers and their friends partook, concluded the diversions of the evening, and all departed well satisfied with their entertainment.

 

XV.---BY WHOSE INSTRUMENTALITY QUEEN MARY BECAME CONVINCED

 

of courtenay's inconstancy ; and how she affianced herself

 

TO PHILIP OF SPAIN.

 

 

 

|While the festivities above described occurred without the palace, within, all was confusion and alarm. The look, which Elizabeth had given Courtenay, sank into his very soul. All his future greatness appeared valueless in his eyes,

 

and his only

 

 

 

desire was to break off the alliance with Mary, and reinstate himself in the affections of her sister. For the queen, it is almost needless to say, he felt no real love. But he was passionately enamoured of Elizabeth, whose charms had completely captivated him.

 

As soon as she could consistently do so, after her return to the palace, the princess retired to her own apartments, and though her departure afforded some relief to the earl, he still continued in a state of great perturbation. Noticing his altered manner, the queen inquired the cause with great solicitude. Courtenay answered her evasively. And putting her own construction upon it, she said in a tone of encouragement--"It was a strange remark made by the little urchin who enacted Cupid. Was he tutored in his speech?"

 

"Not by me, gracious madam," replied Courtenay, distractedly.

 

"Then the knave hath a ready wit," returned the queen. "He has put thoughts into my head which I cannot banish thence."

 

"Indeed !" exclaimed the earl. "I trust his boldness has not offended you."

 

"Do I look so?" rejoined Mary, smiling. "If I do, my countenance belies my feelings. No, Courtenay, I have been thinking that no woman can govern a great kingdom, like mine, unaided. She must have some one, to whom she can ever apply for guidance and protection,--some one to whom she can open her whole heart,--to whom she can look for counsel, consolation, love. In whom could she find all this?"

 

"In no one but a husband, gracious madam," replied Courtenay, who felt he could no longer affect to misunderstand her.

 

"You are right, my lord," she replied playfully. "Can you not assist our choice?"

 

"If I dared"--said Courtenay, who felt he was standing upon the verge of a precipice.

 

"Pshaw7 !" exclaimed Mary. "A queen must ever play the wooer. It is part of her prerogative. Our choice is already made--so we need not consult you on the subject."

 

"May I not ask whom your majesty has so far distinguished ?" demanded the earl, trembling.

 

"You shall learn anon, my lord," replied the queen. "We choose to keep you a short time in suspense, for here comes Simon Renard, and we do not intend to admit him to our confidence."

 

"That man is ever in my path," muttered the earl, returning the ambassador s stern glance with one equally menacing. "I am half reconciled to this hateful alliance by the thought of the mortification it will inflict upon him."

 

It would almost seem from Renard's looks, that he could read what was passing in the other's breast ; for his brow grew each instant more lowering.

 

"I must quit your majesty for a moment,'' observed Courtenay, "to see to the masquers. Besides, my presence might be a restraint to your councillor. He shall not want an opportunity to utter his calumnies behind my back."

 

Renard smiled bitterly.

 

"Farewell, my lord," said the queen, giving him her hand to kiss. "When you return, you shall have your answer."

 

"It is the last time his lips shall touch that hand," muttered Renard, as the earl departed.

 

On quitting the royal presence, Courtenay wandered in a state of the utmost disquietude to the terrace. He gazed vacantly at the masquers, and tried to divert his thoughts with their sports ; but in vain. He could not free himself from the idea of Elizabeth. He had now reached the utmost height of his ambition. He was all but affianced to the queen, and he doubted not that a few hours--perhaps moments--would decide his fate. His bosom was torn with conflicting emotions. On one side stood power, with all its temptations--on the other passion, fierce, irrepressible passion. The struggle was almost intolerable.

 

After debating with himself for some time, he determined to seek one last interview with Elizabeth, before he finally committed himself to the queen, vainly imagining it would calm his agitation. But, like most men under the influence of desperate emotion, he acted from impulse, rather than reflection. The resolution was no sooner formed, than acted upon. Learning that the Princess was in her chamber, he proceeded thither, and found her alone