Читать книгу I Will Maintain - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 6

The three came down the room towards the secretary, the Prince a little in advance.

Florent could note his face, pale and clear complexioned, with a high-arched nose and curved lips set firmly, wonderful eyes, hazel green, large and brilliant under dark reddish brows, and a low white forehead shaded with heavy auburn curls that fell on to his linen collar,—M. de Witt’s secretary had that swift impression of the Prince and as swift an inspiration. He stooped as if to pick something up.

“Your Highness dropped this,” he said as the Prince reached him. He held out his handkerchief, concealed in it the Frenchman’s letter.

William of Orange turned his head. There was a look about his brow and mouth as if he controlled incessant pain, but neither that nor the expression of gravity that made him appear old for his years could destroy the charm of his youth. His eyes fixed on Florent.

“Thank you, Mynheer,” he said, and put out his small, aristocratic hand.

Florent thrilled as their fingers touched. The Prince slipped the handkerchief into his pocket and passed on.

Now that it was done Florent marvelled that he had had the temerity to venture it. The Prince, though he must have known that it was not his handkerchief, and have felt at once the packet inside the cambric, gave not the slightest sign of discomposure. It was perfectly done; Florent saw in it the training of one brought up amid spies and enemies—but he had risked something in taking this youth’s prudence so for granted.

The Prince did not look at the secretary again, but passed into the next chamber with M. de Witt.

As he closed the door he gave a sharp glance at the Grand Pensionary, then crossed to a little table by the window and seated himself there.

They were in a small room, lit by a fire that burnt pleasantly between the andirons on the blue-tiled hearth. The walls were hung with stamped leather; in one corner stood a globe, and beside it a desk covered with maps and plans.

M. de Witt took the chair by the fireplace and turned so that he faced the Prince. His sad, tender eyes were fixed with an almost yearning expression on the graceful figure of the young man who, half leaning against the desk, sat waiting, in an expressionless, quiet attitude.

The Grand Pensionary loosened his heavy cloak.

“We will have no lesson to-day, Highness,” he said. “I have to speak of practical politics—and am here to talk gravely with you.”

“That is as you wish, Mynheer,” answered William. He had a voice naturally changeful and musical, but, like his eyes and his movements, it was controlled to a cold expressionlessness.

“I hope that it will also be your wish,” said M. de Witt, “when I tell you that it is of the affairs of Holland I desire to speak.”

“I am always at the disposal of Their High Mightinesses,” replied William, with the slightest inflection of sarcasm.

John de Witt made an open gesture with his fine right hand as if to sweep aside all formality and convention.

“It must not be like this between us, Highness,” he said, with great gentle sweetness. “Of late you have met me somewhat coldly. Why?”

William sat up slowly, his eyes were averted.

“I have often assured you, Mynheer,” he answered, “of my duty and affection. Have Their High Mightinesses anything to complain of?”

Again there was that faint stress on the pompous title.

M. de Witt regarded him steadily.

“I spoke for myself, Highness, thinking that the services I have rendered you, the affection I have always felt for you might have kept me some place in your esteem.”

Still the Prince would not answer the appeal in the words, even by raising his eyes.

“I have always striven,” he said, “to express my gratitude to you, Mynheer, for your constant care.”

There was a look almost of wonder on the noble face of M. de Witt, as if he could hardly credit the unmoved composure of this boy.

“I have not come, Highness, to exchange with you the language of diplomacy,” he said.

William looked up now.

“It is the only language I have had the chance to learn, Mynheer.”

John de Witt gazed at him gently and sadly.

“I have never taught you anything but frankness, Highness—I have deserved both your trust and your affection. It has been my dearest wish, my most cherished hope, that I might educate you to become my friend, my ally in the government of the United Provinces.”

The Prince made the slightest movement and again averted his eyes.

“You are no child now,” continued M. de Witt; “and must fairly well understand your position … and mine.”

“I understand both, Mynheer,” answered William.

“You have been educated as a citizen of Holland, and it is to the citizen of Holland that I have come to speak to-day.” M. de Witt paused a moment. He was slightly flushed, and his voice was full of emotion. “I have striven to make you worthy of your grandfather and of that ancestor of yours who secured us our liberty, and it is my wish to obtain for you those dignities that are the heritage of your House—all that are compatible with the safety of this Republic.”

William, still looking away, spoke slowly—

“The Republic has nothing to fear from me, Mynheer. I, surely, am of but little account in the State.”

M. de Witt was observing him very closely.

“You have the name, Highness,” he said; “you must know that. And it is a power, you must know that also. You are the heir of the family that once ruled Holland, and you are used as the rallying point of all the malcontents.”

William glanced up with a curious, intense expression.

“You speak very frankly, Mynheer.”

“I have no object to serve by dissimulation,” answered John de Witt. “I come to you single-mindedly. I can claim to have always spoken openly to you, Highness, since you first were of an age to understand these matters.”

He paused, bending his eyes on the Prince. His manner and speech were weighty. His entire thought, his entire energy seemed concentrated on what he said; as if he, the great and lofty statesman, strove by sheer force of strength of character to overwhelm, rouse, and conquer the impassive youth before him.

“Openly I spoke to you once before, Highness. When Their High Mightinesses passed the Perpetual Edict I told you that we abolished the office of the Stadtholder out of regard for the liberty of the country. I assured you of my friendship—but I told you plainly that we would risk no recurrence of 1650.”

The Prince coughed slightly and lowered his eyes.

“I remember, Mynheer, very well.”

“And now, again, I have to speak of the safety of the United Provinces, Highness.”

William answered without moving—

“What have I to do, Mynheer, with the safety of the State?”

“I will make that clear to you,” said John de Witt gravely. “I cannot tell how much you know of what this party does in your name; I refuse to believe that you encourage them——”

“Could I have been more dutiful to the State, more quiet than I have been?” interrupted William. He gave no sign of any feeling or agitation save that the wild-rose colour of delicate health had deepened in his thin cheeks.

“You have been too quiet,” answered the Grand Pensionary. “I want you to act, Highness.”

He waited a second, but the Prince did not speak.

“I am greatly troubled,” continued M. de Witt, with a stately simplicity, “by these men who strive to hinder and oppose the Government. You know their names, Count Frederick William, M. Beverningh, M. Zuylestein, M. Fagel——”

“None of these are my friends save M. Zuylestein,” returned the Prince; “and you have good cause to know, Mynheer, that I see nothing of him——”

“M. Zuylestein left your service because I doubted his loyalty to the Republic,” said John de Witt sternly; “and now he works discord in Zeeland. And for the others, whether you know it or not, they traffic in your name, Highness.”

“In what manner, Mynheer?”

“In what manner?—they meddle with France and England, they sow dissension in the town councils, in the Assembly itself; they riot in the street—I think that you must know it, Highness.… Every reasonable concession hath been made, but no reasonable concession will content them. It was agreed that the question of the Captain-Generalship, of the seat in the Council of State, should be postponed until you were of age; they agitate for these honours now—you must know this also, Highness.”

The Prince glanced at him sideways, then looked very quickly down again.

“In Zeeland, where you are premier noble, your partisans make the excuse of your titles of Ter Veere and Flushing to demand your appearance in their council now they consider you of age.” And for the third time he added—“You must know this, Highness.”

He paused impressively, and his eyes were dark and ardently commanding on the Prince.

William put his hand to his brow as if he made a mechanical movement to ease a constant pain there.

“What do you wish me to do?” he asked quietly.

M. de Witt answered at once—

“I want you to disown this party—they may act without your sanction, they cannot act in face of your disapproval—I want you as an ally, as a friend——”

“I am powerless as either, Mynheer,” returned the Prince; “and,” he suddenly turned his wonderful eyes on the Grand Pensionary, “since you designate these you speak of as my friends, to what in me do you appeal to act against them?”

There was a flash of imperiousness in his tone new to M. de Witt. It was almost the manner of a king to a subject; it gave the Grand Pensionary the bewildered sense that he, with twenty years’ experience of affairs and the management of men, was not equal to this boy whom he had seen grow up, whom he had himself educated.

“I appeal to you as a citizen of the Republic,” he said. “I have not brought you up to put yourself before your country—” he hesitated a moment before continuing, “I have always thought you of too great a nature to prefer the phantom of personal aggrandisement to the good of the Commonwealth——”

It seemed as if, on an impulse, William was about to speak, but he checked himself, and M. de Witt went on—

“Will you let yourself, Highness, be used to stir up faction in the State?—will you be an instrument in the hands of ambitious place-seekers?”

“I cannot help my birth, Mynheer,” answered the Prince, “nor prevent the people from using my name.”

He had not lowered his clear, brilliant glance, and the two pairs of eyes met across the small, firelit room. John de Witt’s met a fathomless, inscrutable look, and a horrible mistrust of this too composed youth crept into his mind—a distrust he had known before and always fought against and dismissed—

But William of Orange was the nephew of Charles of England and the cousin of Louis of France.

“I believe France meditates the destruction of the United Provinces,” De Witt said suddenly. “Colbert envies our commerce and King Louis is mad for conquest.… I do not trust England.”

The Prince, never altering his easy attitude, nor changing the level tones of his voice, nor in any way taking heed of the feeling that surged behind de Witt’s words, put his hand slowly to his breast, where, in the pocket of his black waistcoat, lay the letter wrapped in Florent Van Mander’s handkerchief.

“What has this to do with the object of your coming, Mynheer?” he asked.

The Grand Pensionary found the almost unnatural composure and control of this boy agitating him; the colour came into his face.

“France might seize any pretext,” he said. “Any pretext—if we are to stand we must be united——”

William slightly raised his fine red brows.

“So distinguished a statesman as yourself, Mynheer—will know how to meet any misfortune that threatens you.”

M. de Witt regarded him earnestly. Had he failed—had the royal breed been too powerful for all his careful training? He thought he traced in the commanding eyes and curved mouth of the Prince the arrogance, the hauteur of regal blood, not so easy to quench or overcome—had he failed?… Many had foretold he would. Had he undertaken too confidently the task of making into a staunch, loyal republican the heir of the oldest House in Europe, the son of a man who had risked all in an attempt at sovereign power and of a woman too proud to speak to a commoner.…

“You speak as if with hate of me,” he said, and there was a half sad confession of failure in the words. “But for Holland—you love Holland?”

William was leaning against the side of his chair, resting his hand on the arm of it.

“Both you and my country, Mynheer,” he replied, “have my duty and my affection; my position makes me powerless to help either.…”

M. de Witt gave him a flashing glance.

“You can serve your country, Highness, by withdrawing from all association with these noisy partisans of yours—by letting it be known that you do not desire to be regarded as the Prince of Orange, heir to an extinct office, but as a citizen of the United Provinces.”

The Prince coughed, and again put his hand to his head. The delicate colour had faded from his face, he was pale to the lips.

“You best qualify yourself for the offices that may one day be yours by quiet study and severe application,” continued M. de Witt. “Not by endeavouring to thrust yourself (upon the selfish suggestions of sordid ambition) into power for which your youth renders you unfit, and into places from which the law debars you.”

William gave one of his rare, slow smiles; it seemed to rob the Grand Pensionary’s speech of half its weight and meaning.

“My docility hath not deserved this, Mynheer,” he said. “Half the people at the Hague would not know me if they saw me, and you accuse me of endeavouring to win the suffrage of the mob——”

“No,” interrupted De Witt. “No.…”

“You accuse me,” continued William, “of selfish ambition.… I have not lifted a finger to alter my position—I have always been the humble servant of yourself, Mynheer, and Their High Mightinesses.”

“This is evasion,” said the Grand Pensionary in a mournful anger. “I came to Your Highness with an appeal—will you work with me or no?”

“I am always at your service,” answered the Prince.

It seemed that in no way could M. de Witt break through this even, immovable courtesy. His anger began to rise against a nature that could turn to him this hard reserve. He recalled his patient services, his honest attempt to win the Prince, his frankness towards the Orange party, his loyal endeavour that his young ward should not suffer for the misfortune of his House, his eagerness to establish a friendship with the Prince so that one day they might work together for the good of the land. Now it would seem all this had largely been in vain. The first time he put it to the issue he found that he dealt with intractable, unyielding, perhaps treacherous, material … treacherous—that stinging thought, not to be banished, roused him almost unbearably.

“You shut me out of your confidence, Highness,” he said. “You will neither trust me nor be frank with me.… I do not know what policy you pursue, nor whose advice you follow in refusing to treat me as what I have ever endeavoured to be—your friend.… I do not know, I say, your counsellors, but I think they advise you ill.…”

“I follow mine own counsels, Mynheer.”

John de Witt rose; the firelight cast the leaping shadow of his tall, stately figure upon the wall behind him.

“I have been very patient,”—his voice was strong, full of emotion,—“but I have the dignity of the Republic to consider … and if I thought——”

He caught himself up. The Prince raised his eyes, and their expression goaded de Witt.

“What did Buat die for?” he asked.

William answered calmly—

“For selling the secrets of Holland to France.”

“For betraying his country, Highness; and he was of the Orange party. Madame Buat is one of their most active agents now. But I have had enough of it … if you dare——”

The Prince sprang lightly to his feet.

“—If you dare, Highness,” repeated De Witt sternly, “the Republic will know how to act.”

“Mynheer de Witt,” said William in a stifled voice, “what do you mean?”

“Have you dealings with your uncle Charles Stewart? Are you secretly tampering with the agents of France?” demanded the Grand Pensionary. “There is my meaning.”

He paused. The Prince did not alter the hard quiet of his manner, though his great eyes showed a tumult of feeling.

“What right have you to ask that of me?” he demanded.

The words were a challenge, as such M. de Witt answered them.

“Your father sought foreign aid when he attempted the liberties of Holland——”

Like a sword swiftly unsheathed the Prince’s passion slipped his control—

“I will not hear of my father from you, Mynheer,” he cried. “For what he did I have paid … and for your insults——” His words were checked in a fit of coughing that shook his frail frame, he had to support himself against the back of the chair. This evidence of the ill health that decided many doctors in declaring he could not live long instantly softened the noble heart of John de Witt, touched also by the Prince’s quick anger.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I had no right—I ask your pardon, Highness.”

William sank into his chair, pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it to his lips; he still coughed a little.

“Forgive me,” he answered, quiet again, but breathing with difficulty. “I forgot myself.… I have taken so much,” he added, “I might well have taken that. But it is not often, Mynheer, that I fail to recognise your position and … mine.”

The words hurt M. de Witt.

“I would not be your master but your friend,” he said eagerly. “Trust me and I will do more for you than these ill-judged factions.…”

William looked round; his face was colourless, and he held himself as if exhausted.

“Mynheer,” he said, speaking with something of an effort, “I do not know why you think I am occupied in stirring up sedition in the State. You know how I spend every moment of my time; I have no opportunity nor—desire. I am your very good friend and the servant of Their Noble Mightinesses.… I have, obviously, no influence with the party that you speak of. As for my uncle and my cousin of France, they do not make me their confidant … not counting me, doubtless, of sufficient importance.”

John de Witt looked him in the eyes with a deep, questioning glance.

“Have I satisfied you, Mynheer?” asked the Prince courteously.

The Grand Pensionary could press no further. He was half baffled, half angered; yet he found himself remembering that this Prince, who was behaving so like a veteran diplomat, was in fact only a boy, often ill and lonely.

“I came with no suspicions,” he said. “Only to put before you, Highness, something of the state of the Republic and to ask your help——”

“If I can ever be of service I shall be glad,” answered William. He looked up, and added abruptly, “Mynheer de Witt, might Mynheer Cornelius Triglandt come back?—I would rather have him for my chaplain than any man I know.”

M. de Witt was taken by surprise, but he had his reply ready.

“M. Triglandt was removed from your person for the same reason as M. Zuylestein,” he said gently. “He hath an unruly tongue and a heart disloyal to the Republic. Their High Mightinesses could not allow his return. If you esteemed him, I am sorry.”

William was silent.

The Grand Pensionary glanced at the bronze clock on the mantelshelf.

“I have outstayed my time—I am due, Highness, at the Binnenhof.”

The Prince rose.

“Next time,” continued M. de Witt, “I will examine you in your studies. Till then I commend what I have said to your consideration.… Think of them always, Highness, as the words of a sincere friend.”

“I am grateful, Mynheer.”

The Grand Pensionary went to the door, and there hesitated.

“Believe me,” he said, looking back, “in the matter of Mynheer Triglandt I would gladly pleasure you … it is the will of the States.”

William bent his head.

John de Witt opened the door in silence and was gone.

The Prince remained by the table; a long breath escaped him and a bright look shone under his heavy lids. He cried to himself in the words used by the great Philip to his ancestor—

“Not the States, but you! you!”

Then he sank into the chair again, resting his elbow on the table and his head in his hand, while he drew from his pocket the letter given him by Florent Van Mander. He looked at the writing and the seals, then replaced it in his waistcoat.

He coughed slightly and glanced towards the door which had closed on the Grand Pensionary.

“Not the States,” he repeated, “but you, Mynheer de Witt, you!”