The Midnight Queen [38]
with crozier, and robed in
the ecclesiastical glory of an archbishop, but the face
underneath, to the deep surprise and scandal of Sir Norman, was
that of the fastest young rou? of Charles court, after him came
another pompous dignitary, in such unheard of magnificence that
the unseen looker-on set him down for a prime minister, or a lord
high chancellor, at the very least. The somewhat gaudy-looking
gentlemen who stepped after the pious prelate and peer wore the
stars and garters of foreign courts, and were evidently
embassadors extraordinary to that of her midnight majesty. After
them came a snowy flock of fair young girls, angels all but the
wings, slender as sylphs, and robed in purest white. Each bore
on her arm a basket of flowers, roses and rosebuds of every tint,
from snowy white to darkest crimson, and as they floated in they
scattered them lightly as they went. And then after all came
another vision, "the last, the brightest, the best - "the
Midnight Queen" herself. One other figure followed her, and as
they entered, a shout arose from the whole assemblage, "Long live
Queen Miranda!" And bowing gracefully and easily to the right
end left, the queen with a queenly step, trod the long crimson
carpet and mounted the regal throne.
>From the first moment of his looking down, Sir Norman had been
staring with all the eyes in his head, undergoing one shock of
surprise after another with the equanimity of a man quite need to
it; but now a cry arose to his lips, and died there in voiceless
consternation. For he recognized the queen - well he might! - he
had seen her before, and her face was the face of Leoline!
As she mounted the stairs, she stood there for a moment crowned
and sceptred, before sitting down, and in that moment he
recognized the whole scene. That gorgeous room and its gorgeous
inmates; that regal throne and its regal owner, all became
palpable as the sun at noonday; that slender, exquisite figure,
robed in royal purple and ermine; the uncovered neck and arms,
snowy and perfect, ablaze with jewels; that lovely face, like
snow, like marble, in its whiteness end calm, with the great,
dark, earnest eyes looking out, and the waving wealth of hair
falling around it. It was the very scene, and room, and vision,
that La Masque had shown him in the caldron, and that face was
the face of Leoline, and the earl's page.
Could he be dreaming? Was he sane or mad, or were the three
really one?
While he looked, the beautiful queen bowed low, and amid the
profoundest and most respectful silence, took her seat. In her
robes of purple, wearing the glittering crown, sceptre in hand,
throned and canopied, royally beautiful she looked indeed, and a
most vivid contrast to the gentleman near her, seated very much
at his ease, on the lower throne. The contrast was not of dress
- for his outward man was resplendent to look at; but in figure
and face, or grace and dignity, he was a very mean specimen of
the lords of creation, indeed. In stature, he scarcely reached
to the queen's royal shoulder, but made up sideways what he
wanted in length - being the breadth of two common men; his head
was in proportion to his width, and was decorated with a wig of
long, flowing, flaxen hair, that scarcely harmonized with a
profusion of the article whiskers, in hue most unmitigated black;
his eyes were small, keen, bright, and piercing, and glared on
the assembled company as they had done half an hour before on Sir
Norman Kingsley, in the bar-room of the Golden Crown; for the
royal little man was no other than Caliban, the dwarf. Behind
the thrones the flock of floral angels grouped themselves;
archbishop, prime minister, and embassadors, took their stand
within the lines of the soldiery, and the music softly and
impressively died sway in the distance; dead silence reigned.
"My lord Duke," began the queen, in the very voice he had
the ecclesiastical glory of an archbishop, but the face
underneath, to the deep surprise and scandal of Sir Norman, was
that of the fastest young rou? of Charles court, after him came
another pompous dignitary, in such unheard of magnificence that
the unseen looker-on set him down for a prime minister, or a lord
high chancellor, at the very least. The somewhat gaudy-looking
gentlemen who stepped after the pious prelate and peer wore the
stars and garters of foreign courts, and were evidently
embassadors extraordinary to that of her midnight majesty. After
them came a snowy flock of fair young girls, angels all but the
wings, slender as sylphs, and robed in purest white. Each bore
on her arm a basket of flowers, roses and rosebuds of every tint,
from snowy white to darkest crimson, and as they floated in they
scattered them lightly as they went. And then after all came
another vision, "the last, the brightest, the best - "the
Midnight Queen" herself. One other figure followed her, and as
they entered, a shout arose from the whole assemblage, "Long live
Queen Miranda!" And bowing gracefully and easily to the right
end left, the queen with a queenly step, trod the long crimson
carpet and mounted the regal throne.
>From the first moment of his looking down, Sir Norman had been
staring with all the eyes in his head, undergoing one shock of
surprise after another with the equanimity of a man quite need to
it; but now a cry arose to his lips, and died there in voiceless
consternation. For he recognized the queen - well he might! - he
had seen her before, and her face was the face of Leoline!
As she mounted the stairs, she stood there for a moment crowned
and sceptred, before sitting down, and in that moment he
recognized the whole scene. That gorgeous room and its gorgeous
inmates; that regal throne and its regal owner, all became
palpable as the sun at noonday; that slender, exquisite figure,
robed in royal purple and ermine; the uncovered neck and arms,
snowy and perfect, ablaze with jewels; that lovely face, like
snow, like marble, in its whiteness end calm, with the great,
dark, earnest eyes looking out, and the waving wealth of hair
falling around it. It was the very scene, and room, and vision,
that La Masque had shown him in the caldron, and that face was
the face of Leoline, and the earl's page.
Could he be dreaming? Was he sane or mad, or were the three
really one?
While he looked, the beautiful queen bowed low, and amid the
profoundest and most respectful silence, took her seat. In her
robes of purple, wearing the glittering crown, sceptre in hand,
throned and canopied, royally beautiful she looked indeed, and a
most vivid contrast to the gentleman near her, seated very much
at his ease, on the lower throne. The contrast was not of dress
- for his outward man was resplendent to look at; but in figure
and face, or grace and dignity, he was a very mean specimen of
the lords of creation, indeed. In stature, he scarcely reached
to the queen's royal shoulder, but made up sideways what he
wanted in length - being the breadth of two common men; his head
was in proportion to his width, and was decorated with a wig of
long, flowing, flaxen hair, that scarcely harmonized with a
profusion of the article whiskers, in hue most unmitigated black;
his eyes were small, keen, bright, and piercing, and glared on
the assembled company as they had done half an hour before on Sir
Norman Kingsley, in the bar-room of the Golden Crown; for the
royal little man was no other than Caliban, the dwarf. Behind
the thrones the flock of floral angels grouped themselves;
archbishop, prime minister, and embassadors, took their stand
within the lines of the soldiery, and the music softly and
impressively died sway in the distance; dead silence reigned.
"My lord Duke," began the queen, in the very voice he had