CHAPTER XXV. THE QUEEN’S ROSETTE.
The golden gallery, in which the tourney of the poets was to take place, presented to-day a truly enchanting and fairy-like aspect. Mirrors of gigantic size, set in broad gilt frames, ornamented with the moat perfect carved work, covered the walls, and threw back, a thousand times reflected, the enormous chandeliers which, with their hundreds and hundreds of candles, shed the light of day in the vast hall. Here and there were seen, arranged in front of the mirrors, clusters of the rarest and choicest flowers, which poured through the hall their fragrance, stupefying and yet so enchanting, and outshone in brilliancy of colors even the Turkish carpet, which stretched through the whole room and changed the floor into one immense flower-bed. Between the clumps of flowers were seen tables with golden vases, in which were refreshing beverages; while at the other end of the enormous gallery stood a gigantic sideboard, which contained the choicest and rarest dishes. At present the doors of the sideboard, which, when open, formed a room of itself, were closed.
They had not yet come to the material enjoyments; they were still occupied in absorbing the spiritual. The brilliant and select company that filled the hall was still for some time condemned to be silent, and to shut up within them their laughter and gossip, their backbiting and slander, their flattery and hypocrisy.
Just now a pause ensued. The king, with Croke, had recited to his court a scene from “Antigone”; and they were just taking breath from the wonderful and exalted enjoyment of having just heard a language of which they understood not a word, but which they found to be very beautiful, since the king admired it.
Henry the Eighth had again leaned back on his golden throne, and, panting, rested from his prodigious exertion; and while he rested and dreamed, an invisible band played a piece of music composed by the king himself, and which, with its serious and solemn movement, strangely contrasted with this room so brilliant and cheerful—with this splendid, laughing and jesting assembly.
For the king had bidden them amuse themselves and be gay; to give themselves up to unrestrained chit-chat. It was, therefore, natural for them to laugh, and to appear not to notice the king’s exhaustion and repose.
Besides, they had not for a long time seen Henry so cheerful, so full of youthful life, so sparkling with wit and humor, as on this evening. His mouth was overflowing with jests that made the gentlemen laugh, and the beautiful, brilliant women blush, and, above all, the young queen, who sat by him on the rich and splendid throne, and now and then threw stolen and longing glances at her lover, for whom she would willingly and gladly have given her royal crown and her throne.
When the king saw how Catharine blushed, he turned to her, and in his tenderest tone begged her pardon for his jest, which, however, in its sauciness, served only to make his queen still more beautiful, still more bewitching. His words were then so tender and heartfelt, his looks so full of love and admiration, that nobody could doubt but that the queen was in highest favor with her husband, and that he loved her most tenderly.
Only the few who knew the secret of this tenderness of the king, so open and so unreservedly displayed, comprehended fully the danger which threatened the queen; for the king was never more to be dreaded than when he flattered; and on no one did his wrath fall more crushingly than on him whom he had just kissed and assured of his favor.
This was what Earl Douglas said to himself, when he saw with what a cordial look Henry the Eighth chatted with his consort.