The day was one of excitement to the Countess. Dearly she loved that brilliant Noble, and well she knew the dizzy pinnacle on which he stood. Her fears even then anticipated that ruin which was to ensue. Conversant with "the art o' the Court," and the dangerous mood of Majesty, she saw already a dark cloud in perspective. Nay, that which she was now about to do, namely, to receive her son, and entertain him beneath the towers of Kenilworth, when it came to be known, would be attended with danger. The Queen liked not interference with her pleasures or her purposes. She was at that moment seeking to beguile the tedium of the favourite's absence by visiting the seats of her different nobles; and during which her irritability was but too apparent. He, the adored, the magnificent, should on his arrival in England, have bent the knee in all haste, and asked pardon for his truant disposition. But he was haughty and rash as his queenly relative. The day had been one of excitement to the fair Countess. There is ever something to be thought of and arranged, even by the great. The Earl was to dine en route with his array at Rugby, and afterwards ride forward to Kenilworth, so as to join the select friends invited to meet him. In Elizabeth's day nothing was more thought of than dancing and playing (says Rowland White), and the invitation given by Lady Leicester might have parodied that of Capulet to his friends. There came Sir John de Astley and his wife and daughters, the noble knight of Clopton and his friends consorting, the Lord de la Warde and his beauteous sisters, the Lady widow of Lord Falconberg, good Master Murdake and his nieces, Sir Thomas Lucy and his lovely daughters, the Lady Wolvey, and the lively Throckmorton. These guests, for the most part, were in the castle, but more were expected as the evening advanced.
Mistress Bridges, the most beautiful of the Queen's maids of honour, she whom Essex loved, and of whom the Queen was so jealous that she is said to have publicly struck her; Blount, too, the lover of the Countess of Leicester, and the Lady Katharine Howard, all were expected to grace the assemblage. And, at length, as the Countess and her guests awaited the hour in the great hall, the trumpet from the gate-house announced the Earl's arrival.
It was a brilliant sight to behold;—that gallant youth amidst the associates he brought with him. The magnificent Essex, looking some paladin of romance, came forth from amidst the glittering band, and gracefully saluted his handsome mother. A something regal was in his look, which suited well with that magnificent hall.
Nay, 'twas almost the last occasion on which those buildings entertained so noble an assemblage: they seem to have afterwards fallen to decay, as though later times and fashions would be unsuited to their grandeur—as though their work was done—their hour passed away.
On this night, however, as Essex and his followers entered, there came one individual with a somewhat smaller party, whose presence was more worthy of note than oven the Plantagenet Kings who had dwelt there—one whose name would live
"Spite of cormorant devouring time,
The heir to all eternity."
He passed on with Sir Hugh Clopton and others of lesser note; and after exchanging a few words with the noble hostess, he perused the assembled company at his leisure. As he did so, he entered the building called the White Hall, and stood for a moment to gaze upon all around, for such a scene was likely to make a deep impression upon his mind. Softly the sounds of music floated through those vast rooms, and where all he beheld spoke of the past, and conjured up scenes he has himself impressed upon us all. For when, indeed, doth sweet music in lordly chambers, or in solitude, steal upon the ear, but imagination bodies forth those scenes which Shakespeare, and Shakespeare alone, is identified with. All the poetry of life is associated in those charming ideas. The man himself seems to glide around us. At such hour—assembled amidst the lovely and the high-born, amidst minstrelsy and lighted halls, there doth his glorious spirit seem to pervade.
And so Shakespeare passed on amidst the company, and quietly took his way through the gorgeous rooms.
It was evident the poet had before visited those chambers, for he appeared familiar with the various passages he passed through, till at length he reached a room at the extremity of the buildings. Here he stopped, and quietly regarded the apartment, which in its magnificent style might well have furnished forth the description he has left us in his own Cymbeline, for Shakespeare adopted in many of his descriptions the costume of the time.
Whilst he stood, a small door opened, and a figure, lovely as his own Juliet, advanced towards him. It was Clara de Mowbray! She uttered an exclamation of joy when she beheld the poet, and in an instant was at his side. The poet took her hand and led her to a seat, and the pair held converse together for some time.