bertram123
Joined: 10 Oct 2011
Posts: 7
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Location: England
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Posted: Fri 14:39, 14 Oct 2011 Post subject: Someone should be |
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Someone should be here to present me; I should have a herald to announce my titles. But I feel as if I am naked before her: it is just her and just me, facing each other like enemies across the flames. I stare at her and take in every aspect of her. I just stare and stare like a schoolboy. I want to speak to her, to introduce myself as her new host and her guardian. I want to seem an urbane man of the world to this cosmopolitan princess. But I gag on words, I can find neither French nor English. I should reproach her for this wanton attempt at escape, but I am struck dumb, as if I am powerless, as if I were horrified by her. The blazing torches give her a crimson halo, as if she were a burning saint, a fiery saint of red and gold, but the sulfurous smell of the smoke is the very stink of hell. She looks like a being from unearthly regions, neither woman nor boy, a gorgon in her cold forbidding beauty, a dangerous angel. The sight of her, ringed with fire, strange and silent, fills me with wordless terror as if she were some kind of portent, a blazing comet, foretelling my death or disaster. I am most afraid, though I don’t know why, and I stand before her and I can say nothing, like an unwilling disciple terrified into adoration, though I don’t know why. 1568–9, WINTER, TUTBURY CASTLE: BESS M ary, this most troublesome queen, delays as long as she can. Someone has told her that Tutbury Castle is no fit place for a queen of the blood and now Her Grace refuses to come here and demands to be sent to her good cousin’s court, where she knows well enough that they are celebrating the twelve days of Christmas with feasts and dancing and music, and at the heart of it all will be Queen Elizabeth, with a light heart and light feet, darting around and laughing because the Scots, the greatest threat to the peace of her country, are all falling out amongst themselves, and the greatest rival to her power, the other Queen of England, their queen, is a prisoner without plans for release. Or honored guest, as I believe I am to call her, as I set about making Tutbury something more than a rapidly improvised dungeon. I must say that Mary Queen of Scots is not the only one who would rather be at Hampton Court this Christmas season and can find little joy in the prospect of a long cold winter at Tutbury. I hear from my friends who send me all the gossip that there is a new suitor for Elizabeth’s hand, the Austrian archduke who would ally us with Spain and the Hapsburgs, and Elizabeth is beside herself with the sudden surging of lust for her last chance to be a wife and a mother. I know how the court will be: [link widoczny dla zalogowanych]
[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]
[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]
[link widoczny dla zalogowanych] my friend Robert Dudley will be smiling but guarded the last thing he wants at court is a rival to his constant courtship of the queen. Elizabeth will be in a fever of vanity, every day will bring new pretty things to her rooms, and her women will rejoice in the spoil of her castoffs. Cecil will manage everything to the outcome of his choosing, whatever that may be. And I should be there, watching and gossiping with everyone else. My son Henry, at service in Robert Dudley’s household, writes me that Dudley will never allow a marriage which would displace him from Elizabeth’s side, and that he will oppose Cecil as soon as that old fox shows his hand. But I am for the marriage any marriage.
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