Zigzag Journeys in Europe Part 21

"By whom?"

"Mr. Richard Quyney. You have often heard of him, I suppose?"

"He was probably a literary man," said Frank.

"Probably. He asked for a _loan_ of thirty pounds."

The next day's trip was to Kenilworth Castle, an ivy-hung ruin a.s.sociated with the whole of England's history, and traditionally with the romances of King Arthur. The walls are broken, the great banqueting hall has just fallen into decay, and where the coronals flashed and astrals blazed at night, now shine only the dim light of the moon and stars. Here Queen Elizabeth was entertained by her favorite, the Earl of Leicester. The splendor of that reception has rarely been equalled. The fete, which was one long banquet, broken by a most wonderful series of dramatic representations, lasted seventeen days. There were tilts and tournaments; the park was peopled with G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses to surprise the Queen wherever she went; nymphs and mermaids rose from the pools, and there was minstrelsy on every hand.

Thirty-one barons were present. Ten oxen were slaughtered every morning, sixteen hogsheads of wine and forty hogsheads of beer were consumed daily. There were lodged in the castle four hundred servants, all of whom appeared in new liveries of velvet, and shared the unrestrained hospitality.

"All the clocks in the castle were stopped during that long festival,"

said Master Lewis, "and the hands were all left pointing at the banquet hour."

"But time went on," said Wyllys Wynn.

"Yes, time went on, and the maiden Queen grew old as all mortals must, and there came a time when her vanity could no longer be deceived.

She sought to keep from sight the white hairs and wrinkles of age by every art, but Nature did its work, as with Canute and the sea. When her form and features began to lose whatever of beauty they once possessed, she tried to banish from her mind the reality that she was past her prime by viewing herself in false and flattering mirrors.

"But the wrinkles grew deeper, and the white hairs multiplied, and her limbs lost their power, and her strength at last was gone. Her flatterers still fed her fondness for admiration with their arts, and while life offered her any prospect she still smiled upon those whom she must have suspected were deceiving her.

"'One day,' says her attendant, Lady Southwell, 'she desired to see a _true gla.s.s_, which in twenty years before she had not seen, but only such an one as on purpose was made to deceive her sight.'

"They brought it to the poor withered Queen. She raised it to her face with her bony hands, and looked. For the first time for years she saw herself.

"It was a revelation. Her old rage came back again. She pointed to her flatterers with scorn, and ordered them to quit her presence.

"Then came the Archbishop of Canterbury, disgracing his sacred office by his words. 'Madam,' said he, 'your piety, your zeal, and the admirable work of the Reformation afford great grounds of confidence for you.'

"But the wretchedly disenchanted woman could no longer be deceived.

"'My lord,' she said, 'the crown that I have borne so long has given me enough of _vanity_ in my time. I beseech you not to augment it at this hour.'

"She had seen herself, and the world also, in the true gla.s.s."

Ernest Wynn was observed by Master Lewis making a collection of ivy leaves at Kenilworth.

"Do you collect leaves at all the historic places you visit?" he asked.

[Ill.u.s.tration: PORTRAIT OF ELIZABETH.]

"I picked some heather at the birthplace of Burns, brought ivy from Melrose, and wild flowers from Newstead and from the Peak, and I purchased flowers from Shakspeare's garden."

"What do you intend to do with them?"

"I will tell you privately. George Howe is pleased with collections of interesting things,--sh.e.l.ls, stamps, autographs. He has but little money, and I am making a sc.r.a.p-book of pictures, leaves, and flowers collected at notable places, as a present for him."

"It seems to me an admirable plan," said Master Lewis. "I should be pleased with such a book myself."

The next day the party visited Warwick Castle, one of the finest and best preserved of all the ancient country seats of the English n.o.bility. To one approaching it, its rich lawns, its towering trees (of which some are from Lebanon), its picturesque windows, and harmony of design make it an ideal of castellated beauty.

The Cla.s.s was ceremoniously admitted by men in livery, and was taken charge of by a portly and pompous Englishwoman, who wore a black silk that rustled as she swept along. She carried a bunch of keys at her side, and evidently entertained a high sense of the dignity of her position.

"_This_," said the stately lady, pointing to an immense structure of armor, "this is the armor of the mighty Guy."

"The mighty Guy!" said Tommy Toby, with large eyes, "will you please tell us who _he_ was?"

The antique portress stared as though amazed at such a confession of ignorance.

"We are from America," said Tommy.

Master Lewis smiled at being included in the uninstructed "we."

"Guy was a giant."

Tommy's interest grew.

"He was the great Earl of Warwick: a valiant soldier who slew so many people that he became melancholy, and retired to Guy's Cliff, as it is now called, and there lived alone in a cave for thirty years. He was _nine_ feet high."

"And what is _that_?" said Tommy Toby, pointing to an immense pot.

"That," said the antique lady, "was the mighty Guy's _porridge pot_."

"How much does it hold?"

"It holds one hundred and twenty gallons, and weighs eight hundred pounds."

"Did the mighty Guy drink as much porridge as that at every meal?"

asked Tommy, his curiosity taking a wider circle with each new statement.

"I don't know; all of these things happened long, long before I was born.

"_That_," said the lady, "is a rib of the Dun Cow."

"What kind of a cow was that?" asked Tommy.

"It was a cow which the mighty Guy killed on Dunsmore Heath. It weighs nine pounds and a half."

"The cow?"

"No, the rib."

The lady led the party in a procession which she dramatically headed through the lower rooms of the princ.i.p.al building. She showed them the superb old baronial hall; the drawing-rooms, magnificent with tapestries and inlaid furniture; the pictures by Vand.y.k.e. Then in an awesome manner she suddenly stopped, and said in a low confidential voice,--

"The Countess herself is above stairs."

"How many feet high is the Countess? I'd give a quarter--"

Tommy's intended remark was checked by Master Lewis.