So Elizabeth was condemned to remain unmarried; and nevertheless she
loved; nevertheless she harbored only this one wish, to be the wife
of her beloved, and to be able to exchange the proud title of
princess for the name of Countess Seymour.
Since she loved him, a new world, a new sun had arisen on her; and
before the sweet and enchanting whispers of her love, even the proud
and alluring voices of her ambition had to be silent. She no longer
thought of it, that she would never be a queen; she was only
troubled that she could not be Seymour's wife.
She no longer wanted to rule, but she wanted to be happy. But her
happiness reposed on him alone--on Thomas Seymour.
Such were her thoughts, as she was in her chamber on the morning of
her birthday, alone and lonely; and her eyes reddened by tears, her
painfully convulsed lips, betrayed how much she had wept to-day; how
much this young girl of fourteen years had already suffered.
But she would think no more about it; she would not allow the
lurking, everywhere-prying, malicious, and wicked courtiers the
triumph of seeing the traces of her tears, and rejoicing at her
pains and her humiliation. She was a proud and resolute soul; she
would rather have died than to have accepted the sympathy and pity
of the courtiers.
"I will work," said she. "Work is the best balm for all pains."
And she took up the elaborate silk embroidery which she had begun
for her poor, unfortunate friend, Anne of Cleves, Henry's divorced
wife.
Pages:
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359