Philadelphia, January 1850
GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK
Philadelphia, January 1850
THE human race is ever progressive. From the time of our first parents in the garden, we have been steadily advancing in knowledge and refinement; and each succeeding age, in complacent wisdom, looks back upon the ignorance of its predecessor. In the sixteenth century, France took the precedence of all the nations of the earth in this onward march. Under the fostering care of Louis' XII. and Francis I. (who maintained, at the expense of government, "professors whose business it was to lecture to as many students as chose to bear"), the ambitious youth of all countries flocked to Paris, and France became the seminary, of the world. On the accession of the weak and pleasure-loving Henry, the beneficial results of the wisdom which preceded him lent a lustre to his court; and it continued to be the rallying-point of learning and the arts.
Beza, Seve, Pelletier, Bellay, Ronsard, and Iodelle were the sons which that age gave to science and the muse. Their lofty names, rescued from oblivion's engulfing waves, have floated down the tide to far posterity; but the legion of authors and scholars who were famous then for their bold crusade against ignorance, have been lost in intervening time; but they have left their impress on the age in its emancipation from the thrall of that barbarity against which they battled.
The statesmen of those days have filled the world with their renown, and the names of their cotemporary warriors are enshrined in immortality. The formidable brotherhood of the house of Guise, whose respective members graced the court, the camp, the church, and the council; the Bourbon brothers, Anthony, Duke of Navarre, and Louis, Prince of Conde; the family of the famous Montmorency, who had enjoyed the confidence of the three last Gallic monarchs – all lent their laurels to adorn this reign. "Fair women and brave men" are inseparable; and at Henry's court clustered the loveliest and most remarkable women of the time. His own consort, Catherine de Medicis, shone in all the lustre of transcendant talent and unfaded bloom, while the vices which afterward deformed her character lay undeveloped in her bosom. His sister, the Princess Margaret, a beautiful example of female loveliness, and the idol of the nation; his two fair daughters, just verging to womanhood, carefully reared and accomplished; and his beautiful ward, the renowned Mary Stuart, added interest to his court.
The gayety of Henry's reign was unexampled.
Summer tournaments and fetes were succeeded by winter festivals and masquerades. Sailing, fishing, and hunting; snow-balling, skating, and dancing, occupied alternately the attention of the royal votaries of pleasure; and the palaces and gardens of Paris seemed almost to embody the poet's dream of paradise.
One lovely day in July, the gardens of Fontainebleau echoed with the gayety of a fete champetre; and the noble revelers, dispensing with the stately etiquette of more ceremonious meetings, wandered as impulse prompted amid the natural and artificial adornments of this charmed spot.
A mirthful and boisterous party, consisting of a dozen persons in the very dawn of youth, stood under the trees near a fountain; and prominent amid them all was one who became the heroine of many an after tale, Her features narrowly escaped being Grecian – her nose being somewhat longer and her lips fuller than the antique model. Her bright brown eyes, chameleon-like, varied in hue with the maiden's mood; seeming' blue in her sunniest moments, but growing almost black with thought or sorrow. Her hair, a beautiful auburn, defying restraint, clustered in short, close curls around a brow, the high and fair expanse of which gave a regal character to her girlish face. The dazzling whiteness of her complexion, and the no less dazzling radiance of her wreathing smiles, imparted that sunny, seraphic expression which may be observed in pictures of the halo-encircled head of the Madonna. Oh, Mary Stuart was born to reign a queen! Four other members of this interesting group were the celebrated Scotch Marys – Mary Beaton, Nary Fleming, Mary Livingston, and Mary Seaton. These young girls were near the age of their royal mistress; and had been selected, while yet in infancy, from the Scotch nobility to share the charming exile of the baby queen. They had emulated her studies in the convent, and were now beginning to taste with her the intoxications of the court. The sixth figure in the group was the Princess Elizabeth, daughter of the reigning monarch, whose beauty, although not so conspicuous as that of her royal companion, was scarcely less enchanting. Her face was more pensive, her movements more gentle than Mary Stuart's, whose impetuous mountain blood endowed its possessor with energy and action. A younger sister of Elizabeth's, entertaining her brothers Charles and Henri with an animated narrative, completed the group,
Aloof from the rest, a pale, slender boy of sixteen stood leaning against a tree, with melancholy eyes contemplating the mirth in which he did not venture to mingle. Then, as the boisterous Charles laughed, with unrestrained hilarity, at the narrative of this lively sister, he turned away with a long-drawn, heavy breath. Was it envy that prompted the sigh of the yoking dauphin?
"See," cried Mary Livingston, as her eye rested on a magnificent retinue in the distance, "yonder is the queen and all the gay gallants of the court. How they follow her footsteps and listen to her words! Oh! it must be delightful to be a queen!"
Mary Stuart is a queen," said another, "but she is as one of us; she reads with us, studies with us, dances with us, and –"
"Queen of the Barbarians," interrupted Mary Stuart, laughing; and then added, more seriously – "Oh, if you could hear my lady mother tell of her savage subjects, her rude nobles, and her joyless court, you would not envy me my poor kingdom."
"But to be Queen of France," suggested the Princess Elizabeth, archly, alluding to the betrothal of Mary to the heir of that kingdom.
Mary crimsoned, and glanced hurriedly. at the boy dauphin; but, seeing he observed them not, re plied, with merry raillery –
"Yes, or of Spain!"
The young girls, by their ready mirth, testified their appreciation of Mary's quick retort, for it was well understood that the princess was regarded with tenderness by Don Carlos of Spain.
They are belle countries," cried Mary Beaton, " but it is wearisome to be a queen! I would rather be a nun, and so would you," addressing the Queen of Sorts. "Ah, you shall be Sister Genevieve, and I will be Sister Anastatia, and our days will glide peacefully away in holy prayers to our sweet Mary Mother, and sublime anthems to the glorious heaven of which she is queen. Oh, Mary Stuart, we will be nuns!" and the enthusiast clasped the hand of her mistress between her own.
"I would like to be a nun," said Mary Stuart, gently, touched by the animated earnestness of her attendant. "You know how dearly I loved our con vent life; but my uncle, the cardinal, says it is not the will of God."
"And my uncle, the cardinal, says I was born to be a nun. I'm sure it is happiness to sit quietly in the calm cloister, where care and sorrows never come, than to marry some odious lord whom one cannot choose but hate."
Again Mary Stuart's eyes sought her boy lover, and this time encountered his gaze shed upon her, A shade of anguish crossed his countenance, and he turned sway.
Mary saw, with ready sympathy, the disquiet of the dauphin, and flew to his side, saying, "Nay, Francis, do not leave us."
He paused, and looked in the fair young face of his betrothed, with an expression of sad inquiry, mingled with reproach.
"You would be a nun, Mary!"
"Oh! Francis, I thought so once, but I do not desire it now – indeed I do not."
Mary spoke the truth; her introduction to the gayeties of the court had entirely dissipated her predilection for the cloister.
"You prefer being the wife of a husband you must hate," continued Francis, with petulant jealousy.
"Nay,-nay; those were not my words," said Mary, good-humoredly. "And, indeed, Francis, you know I love you."
This artless confession, so unlike the Mary Stuart of after years, soothed the ruffled feelings of the lover, although it failed to overcome his self-distrust.
"How can you love me, Mary? You, so peer less, so beautiful! you, around whom the gallants of my father's court cluster in adulation and homage. No marvel that I fear the gay, the handsome, and the noble will win your heart from me, a poor timid
"Nay, dearest Francis, I, know naught of them beyond the hour; but you I. have known from in fancy. And you are so good and gentle to all, so tender to me, how can I help loving you?"
The sad eyes of the dauphin lighted with triumph ant gladness. It was a proud thing to be beloved by the peerless beauty; it was a precious thing to be beloved by the object of his young heart's idolatry.
The marriage of Mary, Queen of Scots, to the Dauphin of France, was one of the most imposing spectacles of that age of wonders, and called forth all the enthusiasm of the most enthusiastic nation in the world. The ceremony was celebrated in the renowned cathedral of Notre Dame; after which, the royal cortege partook of a magnificent collation at the palace of the Archbishop of Rouen. They then returned to the palace of the Tournelles, where a banquet was prepared, the splendors of which defy description. The royal party feasted at a marble table, with "one hundred gentlemen" in attendance as musicians, and " princes of the blood" as servitors. Supper was followed by a series of magnificent pageants, at which modern royalty would stand aghast, and own itself a neophyte. In the midst of the festivities, twelve artificial horses, magnificently caparisoned, rode down the hall, each bearing the young heir of a noble house. Then followed six galleys, decked with cloth of gold and richest hangings, with a youthful cavalier on the deck of each; who, as the fairy barge sailed down the hall, advanced and bore from amid the admiring revelers the lady of his heart On one of these galleys sat an illustrious stranger, whose large eyes glistened with the lustre and blackness of kindling coal, while his olive complexion betrayed the rich dark blood of Castile, This was Don Carlos, only son of Philip II. of Spain. * As the curious mechanism moved down the hall, he leaped to the side of the Princess Elizabeth, led her to a seat on his barque, threw himself at her feet, and glided from the gaze of the applauding court.
"My beautiful one," said the Spaniard, "look up, and smile to-night, for to-morrow I may not bask in my lady's favor."
" So soon?" sighed Elizabeth; and her cheek paled.
"Ah, yes, so soon," responded the impassioned son of Spain. "But we will give to love the moments which are left. Let me tell thee once more how long I have worshiped thee. Oh, Elizabeth, in my very boyhood thy bright image was enshrined in my gloomy heart, filling it with light and glory, like the angel in the sepulchre. And as I grew to manhood, its every pulsation has beat with a deeper, truer, stronger love for thee. I have not loved thee vainly, for thy royal father has promised thou shalt be mine; and I am filled with joyful and triumphant exultation. Speak, dearest, and say that my bride is not the victim of a father's policy; say that she brings the priceless dower of love to her affianced."
"A victim!" she exclaimed, reproachfully. " Couldst thou look into my heart, and see how its thoughts and hopes have centered in thee; couldst thou hear ma nightly thanking the Virgin for my blessed lot, and imploring her to preserve our love from blight, thou wouldst not question me."
"How eloquently am I answered! But, beloved, fear not; for our love must prosper. Have not the kind Fates favored us in all things? They prompted me to love thee; and oh! bliss, they have bidden thee love me in turn. They have instigated Henry and Philip, thy sire and mine, each to desire, most earnestly, an alliance which will secure the friend ship of his powerful neighbor. What, then, can part me from my bride?"
"I know not, Carlos; and yet a weight of fore boding oppresses me. I cannot feel joyous to-night, even with thee. Love as intense as ours is fearful, and I tremble lest our happiness may not last."
" Thou hast been consulting the astrologer, Nostradamus," said the lover. "Nay, hide it not, but tell me his prophecy."
" He told me I should be Queen of Spain," said the lady, timidly.
" Ha! said I not so ?" cried the impetuous lover. "And what next?"
"That the crown should be my cross."
"Never!" exclaimed Carlos; "never, as I am a true knight and Christian gentleman! Dost doubt me, dearest?"
"I doubt thee not," she answered, meekly; "and fear naught save losing thee."
" How soon will I teach thee to mock at that fear! I leave you to-morrow; but when next we meet, I will be here to claim my bride!"
When next they met!
THE affection subsisting between the dauphin and dauphiness was of a very different nature from that entertained by the lovers. Francis and Mary were sixteen years of age at the time of their union; but she was tall, finely developed, and womanly; he slight, delicate, and boyish in appearance. The one looked older, the other younger than was really the case. The dauphin loved most tenderly the bride which policy had assigned him; but, mingled with his admiration of her lustrous charms, was a sense. of his own inferiority and unworthiness, which occasioned him intense pain. It is hardly possible that the unfortunate dauphin could have inspired his gifted consort with the same passionate love which he entertained for her; but strong minds, like Mary's, rejoice in the appealing love of weak ones; and his amiable, affectionate nature, his timid self-distrust, were very touching to the tender heart of the play mate of his infancy, now the wife of his youth. We doubt if the depths of her nature had been stirred by the invalid boy; but she loved him with a generous affection, and devoted herself to him with assiduity.
"The couriers bring weighty news to-night," said Elizabeth to the dauphiness, who had but just arrived at the palace. "Queen Mary, of England, is dead."
" Ah!" said the merry Mary, " we must congratulate your ladyship on your deliverance from so fierce a mother-in-law."
"Poor lady!" sighed the gentle Elizabeth, "with all her faults, I cannot but pity her unhappiness. Oh! Mary, it must be a living death to be scorned and slighted, as she was, by the husband of one's love!"
We must hope that the son will prove a, better husband than the father," said the Queen of Scots, playfully.
Elizabeth raised her meek eyes to the speaker, full of anguish and reproach.
"Sweet one, forgive me!" cried the queen, winding her arm around her sister-in-law; "I did but jest. Carlos is as unlike Philip as day is unlike night, or Elizabeth of France unlike Mary of En gland. You will be happy, lady bird – happy beyond your fondest dreams – happy as I now am."
The two young creatures, with arms entwined, stood looking from the window in silence. Elizabeth was musing of the future and her lover, while Mary's thoughts were busy with the fate of queens.
"Mary, of England, in experiencing domestic unhappiness, has but shared the common lot of queens," said the youthful moralist. "The hand of a princess must be bestowed for the welfare of her kingdom, though sorrow and blight be her portion. This martyrdom of the heart is the penalty of royalty. But we, sweet sister, you and I, are favored by Heaven. When I think of my union to one who from childhood has been dear to me, and all the happy moments of my unclouded life; when I think of the fond devotion of your affianced to the bright lady of his choice, arid her unutterable tenderness in return, I almost think that Providence has forgotten our royalty."
Elizabeth's eyes sparkled, and her cheek glowed while the queen spoke; and she ejaculated, "Oh! we are indeed blessed!"
Could Mary, of Scotland, from the pinnacle on which she stood, have looked down the dim aisles of futurity, and marked the sorrows gathered in her path – the outraged love; the humbled pride; the thwarted ambition; the crushing, in turn, of every passion of her noble nature – could she have marked, in this hour of triumphant happiness, her faltering footsteps, winding downward through a life of woe and weariness to a death of degradation, her mighty spirit would have burst its bonds and folded its wings in heaven. Could Elizabeth, of France, have realized the horrors which beset her shorter pathway to the tomb, her gentle heart would have broken then instead of a few years later, and thus escaped the anguish through which it was destined to win its way to rest.
Even while these fated ones reveled in the security of present bliss, the cloud was rising, "no bigger than a man's hand," which was soon to shroud their heaven.
The death of Queen Mary, of England, was an event which gave unmingled satisfaction to her husband, Philip, King of Spain; and he lost no time in searching among the daughters of royalty for a more pleasing successor. The beauty of Elizabeth was alike a theme for gossip and minstrelsy in the Spanish court, and awakened in the king a determination to make the fiancee of his son his own.
France and Spain were at this time engaged in a war, which had been attended with such successes to the Gallic arms, as (in the language of a French historian) "secured to that country an advantageous peace." But Henry, who was neither warrior nor statesman, neglected to avail himself of the advantage which these triumphs gave him, and submitted to his enemy's terms. By the treaty of Cambray, styled among his people the "paix maudite et malheureuse," he relinquished all which had been gained by the bravery of his arms, and promised in marriage his daughter Elizabeth to Philip, and his sister Margaret to the Duke of Savoy.
The news of this .new disposition of her hand fell on the heart of Elizabeth with overwhelming horror. In the flushing of youth, love, hope, and happiness, a summons to the tomb would have been more welcome. There, at least, she would find repose; here, naught but lingering, hopeless disquiet of' the heart. Resistance she felt would be vain; for those were days when youth and loveliness were the. legitimate traffic of power. We turn shuddering from the unnatural Circassian, who sells one daughter to buy bread for the rest, forgetting the long list of illustrious examples afforded by history, of men who have sacrificed their own blood for the less excusable purpose of self-aggrandizement.
The marriage was celebrated with the usual rejoicing; the Duke of Alva acting as proxy for the kingly bridegroom. There was a relief in this: he, at least, was not tied to her for life; his presence excited no loathing, his language no disgust. He was nothing to her. Banquet, masquerade, tilt, and tournament followed; and the unhappy bride moved amid them all an automaton, impelled by the eternal springs of habit, scarcely feeling the bitterness of their mockery. Excessive grief had stupefied her brain, paralyzed her soul, and, in mercy, prevented her from realizing the extent of her despair.
On the other hand, the marriage of his daughter, and the consequent rejoicings, filled Henry with delight He mingled in the sports with boyish avidity, and himself pressed the Count Montgomery to meet him in the lists. The count's spear being broken in the encounter, he attacked his adversary with the stump, and a splinter from the shivered weapon pierced the eye of the king. The wound was considered trivial at the time, but in eight days Henry the Second was no more.
This new calamity roused Elizabeth from her mental stupor, and she shed tears; blessed, refreshing tears of unaffected grief. In the first gush of sorrow, subdued into tenderness toward a parent who was no more, and awed by the presence of the mighty conqueror who says to the wild waves of passion "be still," the memory of her rebellious grief filled her with remorse. But, as her mind grew familiar with these new emotions, the old agony returned; and from the midst of sorrow and darkness, hope arose like a star. A fond, wild hope – a hope that first faintly cheered her drooping heart – then kindled into certainty. She could yet be saved! The will she had obeyed was powerless to trammel her; the father who had urged her fate was no more, and she would be free. True, she was already wedded; but she had not seen her lord. She was in France, Philip in Spain; and the mock espousal with his proxy could not be of sufficient strength to bind her while the rites between herself and Philip were unperformed. The chains were forged; but they had not yet received their final rivet. She would be free!
FRANCIS and Mary, together with the royal household, were awaiting the carriage which was to convey them to the Louvre, where the young king was to make his first appearance as sovereign. The timid Francis paced the gallery in nervous excitement, while his sympathizing queen walked at his side. His rapid strides soon separated them from their attendants, when Mary laid her hand on his arm, saying –
"Re composed, Francis; you will meet no strangers."
"No," said the new king, perceiving he was alone with his consort, "No, my Mary; I think could face strangers bravely. It is meeting my own people and my own nobles that I fear – my people, to whom I owe solemn duties which I feel incompetent to discharge; and my nobles, who know and note any incapacity. Think you it is a light thing, Mary, for an inexperienced youth, like your poor husband, to mount the throne, and essay to govern minds superior to his own'! Will Francis of Guise, will Charles of Lorraine, will Navarre, or D'Aumale, or all the host of nobles whose stalwart frames surround the throne; whose restless, active minds outplot my own – will they not scorn their puerile king, even while they bend the knee? Will they long submit to a rule they despise?"
"Hush, Francis! I will not listen to such mournful tales. These men are grayer then my young liege, and can boast the wisdom which experience brings; but where can be found more kingly qualities than your goodness of heart, your kindly benevolence, your love of justice, your sense of right, your – your –"
"Stop," my Mary, said the King, impressing a kiss on the lovely lips so eloquent with his praises; "you are inventing as many virtues for Francis II. as adorned the character of his illustrious namesake. I will soon hear those sweet lips pronounce an eulogy on my valor and prowess in arms."
"Not so; I am done with praises," laughed Mary. "And now I shall entertain your majesty with a catalogue of faults. First, you are too humble."
"Now look," cried he, " how my only virtue plays deserter, and swells the frightful array against me!"
" Then, you are too submissive, which is childish; and too timid and shrinking, which is womanly; and too fond of solitude, which befits a hermit rather than a king; and –"
Mary paused in her raillery, as she observed a tear glisten in the eye of her husband; and throwing her arms around him, she added, with. playful fondness –
"And all these faults resolve themselves into one, which is, non-appreciation of your own noble nature. In the breast of Francis beats the only traitorous heart in France; and I must detect and punish it now, lost it betray him hereafter. I say to you now, my beloved, have confidence in yourself:"
While the young sovereigns conversed thus, Catherine de Medicis walked the adjoining gallery, with her wild passions writhing like a nest of vipers in her heart. She, proud, ambitious, and aspiring, had gloried in her position as queen during the reign of Henry; and at his death, she grieved less for the husband of her bosom than the pomp and power which he had conferred upon her, and which passed away with him. It was a galling reaction that her successor was one who had grown from childhood under her eye and authority; one who had sat at her feet and reverenced her behests up to the moment when the sceptre passed from her grasp, and the fair protege assumed the seat of the dethroned queen. Could she, she asked herself, submit to the rule of one from whom she was accustomed to exact obedience, in the very court where she had ruled supreme '? Could she endure to shine a star of lesser magnitude in the galaxy which had gloried most in her beams ? These bitter thoughts tormented the brain of the dethroned, engendering for her rival a deadly hate – a hate which, like a simoom, withered and shriveled the kindlier feelings of her heart like summer flowers; a hate which called aloud for sacrifice, which overcame a mother's love for her first-born, and bade her thirst for his immolation – a hate which was not destined to be for ever impotent.
The carriage was announced, and the royal party proceeded as far as the staircase before the absence of the Queen Dowager was observed. A gentleman in waiting returned in search of Catherine, whom he found so lost in her own reflections as to be unconscious of the departure of her party. Francis and Mary drew back." as she approached, to accord to the queen mother the precedence which had hitherto been her right, and Catherine swept onward to the first stair. Suddenly she started as though a serpent lay in her path; then raised her malignant eyes to Mary, saying –
"Pass on, madam; it is your turn now."
The young queen felt the covert bitterness of her mother-in-law's words; but, bowing her acquiescence, she and her royal consort led the way to the carriage. At its steps she paused; and, turning to Catherine, who ill deserved such gentle amiability, said –
"After you, dear madam, it you please."
Touched by the respectful tenderness of her manner, Catherine accepted her courtesy; the carriage rolled away to the Louvre, and in a short time Mary Stuart made her debut as Queen of France.
And now the destiny of Mary Stuart had reached its culminating glory. Queen of France and Scotland – the one the land of her birth and ancestry, the other of her love and adoption – heir-presumptive to the crown of England, then, as now, one of the most powerful kingdoms of Europe; fate seemed delighting to invest the fair young girl with the might and majesty of unexampled power. No less a favorite of Nature than of Fortune, the triumphs of the woman equaled those of the queen. Her varied intellectual gifts, her carefully cultivated accomplishments, commanded more than the respect or admiration of men; while her queenly grace and . wondrous loveliness elicited from all the rapturous homage which valor was wont to pay to beauty in those chivalric days.
But the meridian once passed, the sun must descend; and the day that dawns with brightest promise too often ends in clouds and storm.
The virtues which Mary attributed to her husband, and which she fondly hoped a manlier confidence in himself might make apparent, Were destined to be undeveloped. A short reign of a year and a half was all that was permitted the young sovereign; and Francis II, sank into the tomb, leaving no memento on the minds of men save having been the husband of the most remarkable woman of the age.
We do no injustice to the monstrous heart of Catherine de Medicis to say that she was elated by the death of her first-born. The only obstacle in the way of her ambition was removed; and the widowed Mary descended from the throne, while Catherine (as regent during the minority of her next son) regained the position of which she had been deprived for a season.
Mary mourned the loss of a husband to whom she was tenderly attached, with all the abandonment of a young heart to its first grief; but the sorrow of the wife provoked the malice of the mother. She who rejoiced in the death of her son could not endure the tears which were shed to his memory. They seemed not merely a tribute to the dead, but a reproach to the living. So many methods did the Queen Regent pursue to annoy the royal mourner, that Mary felt that France, the beloved home of her childhood, could be no more an asylum for her. She turned her weeping eyes to the cold hills of Scotland, and resolved to seek the land which still acknowledged her a queen. But the rude spirits of her native land frowned uninvitingly upon her; her recent bereavement still filled her heart with woe; and the memories of pleasures for ever passed were lights which served more clearly to reveal her present desolation. Sadly, and with prophetic fearfulness, she bade adieu to France; and commenced that troubled pilgrimage which found no rest this side of heaven.
The history of Mary Stuart has become a fireside tale. Her joyless after life, beset by vexations and misfortunes, without one point on which the mind can repose, saying "here she found peace" – the faults or follies which those trials engendered – are familiar to all. And we may well imagine that the block seemed to her a fitting as well as welcome termination of a career so sadly disastrous.
"And now our hopes, like morning stars, Have one by one died out." – Anon.
THUS, the hopes which glimmered through the despair of Elizabeth vanished. The ministry of France was too well aware of the advantages resulting from her projected union to permit it to be abandoned. Even had the marriage been as distasteful to her country as it was to herself, matters had proceeded too far for either party to retract with safety or honor; and the unwilling bride was borne to Toledo to meet her lord.
Philip, anxious to make a favorable impression on his bride, adorned himself with more than ordinary care. His short mantle, falling from the left shoulder, was gathered in graceful folds under the right arm, and displayed to the best advantage his small but prepossessing person. The various orders which he wore were partially concealed by this becoming vesture; but the collar and upper part of his doublet blazed with their broidery of jewels. His long beard end curling mustache were combed and perfumed with choicest extracts; and on his head he wore a hat peculiar to the times, from which drooped a single white plume. The haughty severity of his countenance filled the timid princess with terror; and she gazed on him with the shrinking aspect of' a frightened child.
"Ha!" said Philip after a moment's pause, during which the young girl's aversion for her bridegroom was apparent, "so you already see my gray hairs?"
She did not hazard a reply; and Philip, with a vanity which belongs to age as well as youth, was piqued to find that a girl of sixteen would not at first sight fall in love with his yellow face.
The royal marriage was celebrated with the usual ceremonies; and Elizabeth performed her painful part with the air of one in a dream – one whose spirit was leading another life in some far-off realm of fancy, away from the poor frame it still endowed with sentience.
But turning from the altar, the air grew rare around her – filled with an indescribable something fraught with sweet associations and happy memories; those mysterious sympathies which, quicker than the sluggish senses, announce to the spirit the presence of its beloved. Then the wandering mind of the lady returned; and the downcast eyes, glancing rapidly and eagerly around, rested for a moment on the form they sought.
Leaning against a column, with his mantle folded on his bosom, and his whole attitude eloquent of sorrow, stood the lover. His fine eyes were bent on hers with the melancholy of despairing passion and, as she encountered their thrilling gaze, her head reeled and her footsteps faltered.
"Tremble not, lady mine," said the royal bridegroom. On, on – to the door; the queen needs air!"
Queen! Yes, her fate was sealed, and she was now a Queen!
And thus they met who had parted in happiness and hope, believing that their next meeting would unite their loving hearts for ever – thus they met with an impassable gulf between.
Impassable, Elizabeth well knew it to be; and she roused her broken spirit, endowing it with womanly fortitude to grapple with her fate. She felt that she was now the wife of Philip – the Queen of Spain. She felt, too, that she was the daughter of a kingly line; and, animated by the heroic blood of her race, she resolved that neither her ancient lineage, her exalted station, nor her womanly pride should be dishonored.
Don Carlos still frequented his father's court, 'and, for a season, hung upon the footsteps of his father's queen; but lip, cheek, and eye had grown obedient to her purpose, and Carlos watched vainly for a token that he was still beloved. In all the trying positions in which the queen was placed, she bore herself with a gentle dignity that won the respect and love of all beholders.
When the sweet images of happiness and love which woman cherishes are stricken from her heart, she mourns, indeed, in anguish o'er her broken idols; but bows in sad submission to the great Iconoclast. But, when the projects which the plotting brain of man has nurtured are overthrown by a mightier Disposer of events, his spirit rises in fierce though impotent rebellion against the hand which swept across his path in desolation. Thus was it with Carlos. His restless mind was filled with projects to amend or avenge his lot. He would strive against obstacles, struggle with impossibilities, and baffle fate itself.
The queen of Spain sat by her open window, gazing in vacant listlessness upon the gorgeous evening sky. Her bloom had waned in Spain; but her beauty was more witching than ever – as the soft beaming of the moon in meridian surpasses in loveliness the flush of her red rising. The pale, pure face, the ethereal figure, were such as might have raced a vision; and the gazer almost feared to see such fragile loveliness dissolve in air.
A rustling amid the arras caused her to turn her head; but the apartment, with the exception of herself, seemed tenantless,
Again the hangings stirred, parted; and Carlos was at her feet.
" You forget yourself, Don Carlos," said the queen. "I pray you leave me!"
" Not until I have told you all my love – no; that I have told you long ago – but not until I teach you a portion of my suffering. Oh, Elizabeth, to see my bride torn from my arms and worn upon the bosom of another, and that other her and my oppressor! 'tis more than man can bear, and I will not bear it!"
"Hush! hush.!" said the affrighted queen.
"To be thwarted in the love of my youth, the only pure and holy passion of my heart," continued Carlos; "to feel my wrongs closing around me, in a line of fire, until the elements of bitterness and hatred seethe within my bosom like the accursed lake; to bear all this in smiling silence, as though I cared not – is not for me. I will speak, though half the kingdom listen – ay, and I will strike, though half the kingdom bleed."'
"Don Carlos, listen to me."
She laid her hand upon his arm to command attention, and bent her gaze down into the depths of his fierce eyes. Like an enraged lion tamed by a fearless human glance, he arose and stood in silence. "Listen," .he repeated, "for a moment, and then this subject must be dismissed for ever. Whatever my sufferings may have been, I have striven to bear them. My duties are clear to me, and I am resolved to fulfill them. The wife I would have been to you, had Heaven so willed it, I shall endeavor to be to your father. In the mean time" – here her voice faltered –" if you ever loved me, throw no obstacles in a path already somewhat rugged. Learn to endure; and remember that, whatever the Princess of France may have been to you, the Queen of Spain is naught. Leave me now, and seek me not again."
The fiery Spaniard gazed upon her with surprise. She stood so calm, so mild, so passionless, he marveled at the spell in the few words she had spoken. Whatever it might be, the strong man was powerless to resist it; and lifting his plumed hat from the floor, he turned away. When he reached the door, he turned again to look upon the treasure he had lost. Her soft eyes met his, full of peaceful light. lie groaned aloud "Oh! Elizabeth!" and was gone.
Then came her hour of pain and passion. The heart her strong will had curbed so well in his presence throbbed fearfully now. She clasped her small hands to her side, and breathed in short, quick gasps, as though body and soul were parting. But her hour had not yet come.
There are glorious records of holy men beset by dangers and temptations, who have held fast and firm their faith mid fiery tortures, and gone to their reward. The strong resolves of mind, unshaken by the weal
Having examined the lock of curious construction attached to his door, he closed and secured it; then examining his pistols, he placed them, with a small dagger, beneath his pillow, and retired to rest.
The precautions of the prince were by no means unnecessary, for Philip was aware of Carlos's angry feelings toward himself. He also Knew that Don Carlos had been intriguing with the most disaffected of his subjects for the purpose of dethroning him; and the king was not a man who would allow even his only son to escape unpunished.
About midnight, Don Carlos was awakened by feeling both arms grasped tightly. He opened his eyes; but all was dark. He essayed to rise, but found himself held firmly down. Suddenly, a stream of light fell through the apartment, revealing to the unfortunate prince the nature and number of his assailants. Around his head, he recognized the officers of the Inquisition; behind them were the Prince D'Eboli and Ruis de Gomez, favorites of his father, and foes to himself; and in their midst stood the king himself. At the command of his father, Carlos arose; and, looking for his clothes, perceived they had been removed, and a suit of mourning substituted.
"What!" he cried, "am I condemned already?"
He was with difficulty arrayed in the obnoxious garments; but resistance to superior numbers was unavailing; and, in this sombre dress, he was borne to the prison of the Inquisition.
To the tender mercies of this tribunal did King Philip abandon his only child; bidding "the fathers" forget "the dignity of his birth, the splendor of his rank, the authority he bore in the monarchy," and deal with him as with the meanest of his subjects. The prince had been so unfortunate as to c excite the wrath of "the fathers" by pronouncing an eulogium upon Calvin and Luther, of which they had complained to the king; it is, therefore, probable that this exhortation of Philip was not requisite to insure severity.
IN the apartment which had witnessed the intrusion of Don Carlos, Elizabeth lay upon her couch; while near her sat a tall, fine-looking woman, with her embroidery in her hand. The lady suspended her work, and leaned upon the frame, as though her mind was filled with other images, to the exclusion of fruits and flowers; and ever and anon her eyes grew moist and dim. She quietly wiped the tears away, and continued musing until her dark eyes filled again.
"Aunt," said Elizabeth – for it was the Duchess of Savoy she addressed –" what new grief is in store for me ? I well know the old sorrows cannot move you thus."
"I was thinking of the King of Spain."
"What of him?" questioned the queen.
"He is childless."
"What!" gasped Elizabeth. "Don Carlos – have they murdered him '!"
"I know not, dearest," said the duchess, kissing tenderly the brow of her niece; "but be calm, and I will tell you the rumors which are abroad. Some men say he was basely murdered by the emissaries of the king; others accuse him boldly of conspiring against the crown, and legalize the deed under the name of ' execution.' "
"But Philip – what says he?"
"The king asserts that he was the victim of disease; and professes to be in the deepest affliction on account of the loss of his heir."
"False hypocrite!"
The duchess was silent for several minutes, that Elizabeth might regain her self-control. Finding her calm and silent, she besought her to rise.
" No, aunt," she answered, faintly, covering her face as she spoke; "I cannot rise now."
"The king may expect to see you, under the circumstances," suggested the duchess; for she desired that the feelings of her niece, so sedulously mastered and concealed, should not be betrayed now.
"Excuse me to him. I cannot see him."
Her shuddering frame and pallid features convinced the duchess that the appearance of Elizabeth would betray rather than conceal her secret, and she urged her no further.
"Poor child," murmured the sympathizing Margaret; "she has struggled with a great grief and endured long; no marvel her strength fails her in this terrible catastrophe."
Thank Heaven, humanity cannot endure for ever! The heroic spirit of Elizabeth had wrestled bravely with its woes, but the fragile frame was exhausted by the contest. In two months more, another heir was born to Spain; and the grave closed kindly over the broken heart of Elizabeth.
Godey's Lady's Book is brought to you by
Your Comments Welcomed! Copyright © 1995 EHP