Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Windsor Castle by William Harrison Ainsworth (digital book reader txt) 📖
- Author: William Harrison Ainsworth
Book online «Windsor Castle by William Harrison Ainsworth (digital book reader txt) 📖». Author William Harrison Ainsworth
“Your royal master will as vainly seek to contend with me as he did to bury me beneath the oak-tree,” cried Herne. “If you want me further, seek me in the upper chamber.”
And with these words he darted up the ladder-like flight of steps and disappeared.
As soon as they recovered from the fright that had enchained them, Shoreditch and Paddington rushed forth into the area in front of the turret, and shouting to those on the roof told them that Herne was in the upper room—a piece of information which was altogether superfluous, as the hammering had recommenced, and continued till the clock struck twelve, when it stopped. Just then, it occurred to Mat Bee to ring the alarm-bell, and he seized the rope, and began to pull it; but the bell had scarcely sounded, when the cord, severed from above, fell upon his head.
At this juncture, the king and the Duke of Suffolk arrived. When told what had happened, though prepared for it, Henry burst into a terrible passion, and bestowed a buffet on Mat Bee, that well nigh broke his jaw, and sent him reeling to the farther side of the chamber. He had not at first understood that Herne was supposed to be in the upper room; but as soon as he was made aware of the circumstance, he cried out—“Ah, dastards! have you let him brave you thus? But I am glad of it. His capture is reserved for my own hand.”
“Do not expose yourself to this risk, my gracious liege,” said Suffolk.
“What! are you too a sharer in their womanish fears, Suffolk?” cried Henry. “I thought you had been made of stouter stuff. If there is danger, I shall be the first to encounter it. Come,” he added, snatching a torch from an arquebusier. And, drawing his dag, he hurried up the steep steps, while Suffolk followed his example, and three or four arquebusiers ventured after them.
Meanwhile Shoreditch and Paddington ran out, and informed Bouchier that the king had arrived, and was mounting in search of Herne, upon which the captain, shaking off his fears, ordered his men to follow him, and opening the little door at the top of the stairs, began cautiously to descend, feeling his way with his sword. He had got about half-way down, when Henry sprang upon the platform. The light of the torch fell upon the ghostly figure of Herne, with his arms folded upon his breast, standing near the pile of wood, lying between the two staircases. So appalling was the appearance of the demon, that Henry stood still to gaze at him, while Bouchier and his men remained irresolute on the stairs. In another moment, the Duke of Suffolk had gained the platform, and the arquebusiers were seen near the head of the stairs.
“At last, thou art in my power, accursed being!” cried Henry. “Thou art hemmed in on all sides, and canst not escape!”
“Ho! ho! ho!” laughed Herne.
“This shall prove whether thou art human or not,” cried Henry, taking deliberate aim at him with the dag.
“Ho! ho! ho!” laughed Herne. And as the report rang through the room, he sank through the floor, and disappeared from view.
“Gone!” exclaimed Henry, as the smoke cleared off; “gone! Holy Mary! then it must indeed be the fiend. I made the middle of his skull my aim, and if he had not been invulnerable, the bullet must have pierced his brain.
“I heard it rebound from his horned helmet, and drop to the floor,” said Bouchier.
“What is that chest?” cried Henry, pointing to a strange coffin-shaped box, lying, as it seemed, on the exact spot where the demon had disappeared.
No one had seen it before, though all called to mind the mysterious hammering; and they had no doubt that the coffin was the work of the demon.
“Break it open,” cried Henry; “for aught we know, Herne may be concealed within it.”
The order was reluctantly obeyed by the arquebusiers. But no force was required, for the lid was not nailed down; and when it was removed, a human body in the last stage of decay was discovered.
“Pah! close it up,” cried Henry, turning away in disgust. “How came it there?”
“It must have been brought by the powers of darkness,” said Bouchier; “no such coffin was here when I searched the chamber two hours ago. But see,” he suddenly added, stooping down, and picking up a piece of paper which had fallen from the coffin, “here is a scroll.”
“Give it me!” cried Henry; and holding it to the light, he read the words, “The body of Mark Fytton, the butcher, the victim of a tyrant's cruelty.”
Uttering a terrible imprecation, Henry flung the paper from him; and bidding the arquebusiers burn the body at the foot of the gallows without the town, he quitted the tower without further search.
XII. How Wolsey was disgraced by the King.
On the following day, a reconciliation took place between the king and Anne Boleyn. During a ride in the great park with his royal brother, Suffolk not only convinced him of the groundlessness of his jealousy, but contrived to incense him strongly against Wolsey. Thus the queen and the cardinal lost the momentary advantage they had gained, while Anne's power was raised yet higher. Yielding to her entreaties not to see Catherine again, nor to hold further conference with Wolsey until the sentence of the court should be pronounced, Henry left the castle that very day, and proceeded to his palace of Bridewell. The distress of the unhappy queen at this sudden revolution of affairs may be conceived. Distrusting Wolsey, and putting her sole reliance on Heaven and the goodness of her cause, she withdrew to Blackfriars, where she remained till the court met. As to the cardinal himself, driven desperate by his situation, and exasperated by the treatment he had experienced, he resolved, at whatever risk, to thwart Henry's schemes, and revenge himself upon Anne Boleyn.
Thus matters continued till the court met as before in the Parliament-chamber, at Blackfriars. On this occasion Henry was present, and took his place under a cloth of estate,—the queen sitting at some distance below him. Opposite them were the legates, with the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the whole of the bishops. The aspect of the assemblage was grave and anxious. Many eyes were turned on Henry, who looked gloomy and menacing, but the chief object of interest was the queen, who, though pale as death, had never in her highest days of power worn a more majestic and dignified air than on this occasion.
The proceedings of the court then commenced, and the king being called by the crier, he immediately answered to the summons. Catherine was next called, and instead of replying, she marched towards the canopy beneath which the king was seated, prostrated herself, and poured forth a most pathetic and eloquent appeal to him, at the close of which she arose, and making a profound reverence,
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