Chapter 37

Chapter XXXVII:
Hampton Court.

The revelation we have witnessed, that Montalais made to La Valliere, in
a preceding chapter, very naturally makes us return to the principal hero
of this tale, a poor wandering knight, roving about at the king's
caprice. If our readers will be good enough to follow us, we will, in
his company, cross that strait, more stormy than the Euripus, which
separates Calais from Dover; we will speed across that green and fertile
country, with its numerous little streams; through Maidstone, and many
other villages and towns, each prettier than the other; and, finally,
arrive at London. From thence, like bloodhounds following a track, after
having ascertained that Raoul had made his first stay at Whitehall, his
second at St. James's, and having learned that he had been warmly
received by Monk, and introduced to the best society of Charles II.'s
court, we will follow him to one of Charles II.'s summer residences near
the lively little village of Kingston, at Hampton Court, situated on the
Thames. The river is not, at that spot, the boastful highway which bears
upon its broad bosom its thousands of travelers; nor are its waters black
and troubled as those of Cocytus, as it boastfully asserts, "I, too, am
cousin of the old ocean." No, at Hampton Court it is a soft and
murmuring stream, with moss-fringed banks, reflecting, in its broad
mirror, the willows and beeches which ornament its sides, and on which
may occasionally be seen a light bark indolently reclining among the tall
reeds, in a little creek formed of alders and forget-me-nots. The
surrounding country on all sides smiled in happiness and wealth; the
brick cottages from whose chimneys the blue smoke was slowly ascending in
wreaths, peeped forth from the belts of green holly which environed them;
children dressed in red frocks appeared and disappeared amidst the high
grass, like poppies bowed by the gentler breath of the passing breeze.
The sheep, ruminating with half-closed eyes, lay lazily about under the
shadow of the stunted aspens, while, far and near, the kingfishers,
plumed with emerald and gold, skimmed swiftly along the surface of the
water, like a magic ball heedlessly touching, as he passed, the line of
his brother angler, who sat watching in his boat the fish as they rose to
the surface of the sparkling stream. High above this paradise of dark
shadows and soft light, rose the palace of Hampton Court, built by Wolsey
- a residence the haughty cardinal had been obliged, timid courtier that
he was, to offer to his master, Henry VIII., who had glowered with envy
and cupidity at the magnificent new home. Hampton Court, with its brick
walls, its large windows, its handsome iron gates, as well as its curious
bell turrets, its