Читать книгу William, by the Grace of God - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 6

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The Prince of Orange sat in the Elector's private cabinet and listened to his host speaking on the confusions and disorders that rent the nations. It was second nature in him to listen to all, to defer, to soothe, to conduct intricate intrigue secretly and use people while they thought they used him; he was still the accomplished diplomat he had been in the days of his power when the redoubtable Cardinal Granvelle had described him as "the most dangerous man in the Netherlands," and he still masked his abilities with that show of perfect good humour and tolerance that had always gained him so many adherents.

In his heart he was sick of all men; he himself saw so clearly, so straightly both the great issues that he had at heart and the means to achievement of these same issues, that it was weariness to him to have to wait always on the whims and crooked policies of others.

On every side these others baulked him; the Queen of England was a Protestant, but she would not help him, in despite of her half-promises, because it was not her policy to go to war with Spain, the Protestant Princes of Germany would not risk their all in an encounter with Alva, the French played fast and loose with Protestant and Romanist, Condé's little band with whom William and his brothers had thrown in their fortunes had been scattered like chaff; the Prince had no allies beyond his brothers, John, Louis and Henry, and no resources beyond his own apacity.

The Elector admired him and sympathized with both his cause and his situation, yet William would not even have troubled to visit Heidelberg had he not met Rénée le Meuny, so hopeless did he know it to be to ask Frederic for material.

So he listened to the good Elector's denunciation of Rome and Philip, Alva and the Inquisition, and in his heart was the great sadness and weariness of the man who has undertaken an almost impossible task and knows that he must shoulder it alone.

Frederic sat by the fireplace, his fine, rather heavy face was flushed and animated, his eyes shone under his grey hair and his mouth was firmly set between the grey moustaches and beard.

William, silent, shabby yet elegant, with his air of courteous attention, sat at the round table that occupied the centre of the room; his eyes were fixed intently on the Elector, yet when Frederic, ceasing his powerful yet vague reproaches against the supporters of the Christian faith, asked a sudden question it was with an effort that William recalled himself from his own straying thoughts to answer.

"Why do you rely on the French?" the Elector had demanded.

The Prince utterly unable and unwishful to explain his intricate policies to even such a loyal friend as Frederic, answered smoothly. "I doubt if I could tell why I try for French support," he said, "save that a desperate man clutches at straws. I do not, however, rely on them."

"'Twere wiser not to do so," remarked the Elector shrewdly. "Think you Catherine or her sons could play fair?"

"There is the Guise," replied William. "It is a country split with factions—one of their ambitious young Princes might be tempted."

"By what?"

"The kingdom of the Netherlands," said the Prince calmly.

"Ah, you would offer that?"

"My ideal would be a Republic," answered the Prince, "but I think that unattainable in these times. Therefore I would create a kingdom and offer it to the Prince who would deliver us from Philip and the Inquisition."

"A bold plan," said the Elector with admiration and a little amazement. "Your Highness really thinks it possible to completely deliver the Netherlands?"

"Yes."

"Then it is your Highness should have the throne of this new kingdom."

William appeared neither startled nor flattered; the idea was not new to him.

"A more powerful Protector than myself is needed, Highness. I am a landless man. I can neither command one chest of money nor one regiment of foot. The Netherlands require one who can liberate before he can rule."

"If there is a man in Europe can do that," declared the Elector, "it is yourself."

William slightly flushed.

"I have tried and failed. More than once. I have gathered armies to see them scattered, I have spent all I had with no results. I have lost all I ever had in this cause, all but life," he added, "for what am I now but a derision to Philip and Alva and an object of pity to the world? I undertook what I could not do. I shall try again, but it cannot be alone."

"Better alone than with treacherous help," said the Elector.

William did not answer; the vast schemes that he was meditating required the aid of nations, not only individuals; to attempt alone the task to which he had set his hand was to play a fool's part; he thought the Elector did not understand this but considered him a forlorn adventurer, and therefore he did not answer.

"Whom would you trust?" pursued Frederic. "France, Austria, England?"

"I work," replied the Prince, "with all three, with all—with any. I cannot too carefully choose my means for these ends I have in view—the liberation of the Netherlands and toleration for the Reformed Religion."

The Elector sighed; there was still that look of faint amazement in his face. It seemed quite hopeless to defy Philip, for he was sincere in his profession of the Reformed Faith and ardent in his championship of his co-religionists in the Netherlands.

For an instant the younger man's faith almost convinced him; he looked searchingly at William's steadfast face.

Supposing these golden dreams did come true, supposing the defeated Prince did snatch a nation from Philip's wrath and Alva's sword?

"You have great confidence in success, Highness?" he asked.

"I do not know," replied William slowly. "I cannot tell how long I have."

"You think that Philip pursues you?" asked Frederic gloomily.

"I know it. I was on the same list as Hoorne and Floris, Egmont and Bergen. The King will not rest till I have joined them, Highness."

"Assassination! the Spanish hound!" cried the Elector. "Death some way," said William. "They have tried several times. Once they will try and not fail."

"You think that?"

"Is it likely, Highness, that such a man as Philip would fail in such an aim?"

"This is a horrible thing for you to live with," muttered the Elector.

"I am used to it. I know that some day Philip's steel or bullet or poison will end me as it ended them. Unless the chance of battle saves me. The question is, how much I can accomplish first."

Frederic had no good answer ready; it seemed to him indeed unlikely that Philip who had set William under a ban, and resolved on his death by any means and at any cost, would allow to escape the last and most illustrious of the Netherlanders who had defied his authority.

The Prince's thoughts had travelled far from the subject; there was one question only he wished to put to the Elector. "How many men would you raise for me in the Palatinate?" talk of other matters was but waste of time, and he would consider his evening wasted if he could not obtain some promise of support from Frederic.

He rose and crossed to the hearth with the intention of asking the Elector for a levy of men; though he would very willingly have been silent on this matter to the Elector; but his policy had been too long that of ceaseless endeavour in every direction for him to leave unused this chance that had come his way.

He was about to speak when the door opened and two women entered the apartment.

The foremost was the Electress, she who had been the wife of the wild Beggar leader, Count Brederode, and her companion was Mademoiselle de Montpensier.

"Highness," said the Electress, addressing the Prince of Orange, "since you would not come to wait on us we are here to wait on you," she held out her hand frankly and smiled. "We used to know each other in Brussels, Monseigneur, will you ignore old friends?"

"I was in no trim to speak to ladies," answered William. "I go darkly, shadowed with misfortune, and would not offend gentle eyes nor sadden hearts."

As he spoke he looked at her wistfully, for in truth she reminded him of those old Brussels days—the days of youth and pleasure.

"I knew they would bring you their homage, Prince," smiled the Elector. "Your name is ever on their tongues—this," he drew forward his young guest, "this is Mademoiselle Charlotte de Bourbon, the Duc de Montpensier's daughter, lately of that faith, Highness, for which you fight."

The Prince glanced at her quickly; the Elector had drawn her into the golden circle of the lamplight.

In that moment Charlotte looked beautiful, her face was flushed and soft above the fine gauze ruff, the fair hair loosened about the low placid brow and the eyes shining with an eager light.

"We met before, twice," said William.

"Twice?"

"Once at the Louvre—you were a very little maid, you stood in an alcove and watched the Queen of Scotland dance. It was a little while before King Henry died."

She smiled.

"You saw me? A funny little child! Soon after that they made me a nun."

"And now you have taken your freedom. With great courage."

The Princess impulsively caught the Elector's hand, while her eyes turned affectionately towards his wife.

"These saved me. I am homeless but for them. My father disowns me. I am exile as yourself, Highness; closed to me is France—but I am very happy here," she added instantly; despite her dignity there was a certain childishness about her as she spoke infinitely touching.

"She is not happy," said the Electress gently. "Who could be in such times as these? Who could be, cast from their home and their country? But we will find an establishment for her."

Frederic smiled kindly at the little refugee.

"She deserves good fortune, this fair heretic," he said.

Charlotte looked at the Prince, who was gazing at her very intently; he was recalling that morning, early in the year, soon after he had entered France, and how she had ridden by, an abbess with her train of nuns...and how she, even then, had wished him "God speed" on his perilous adventure.

Seeing his eyes on her she flushed, but her gaze was steady.

"What great talk have we interrupted with our coming?" she asked seriously.

The Elector shook his head.

"The Prince has said nothing. You must use your persuasions to make him talk, Mademoiselle."

"What of?" smiled William. "I have long since become rusty in subjects interesting to a lady's ears."

Charlotte looked at him gravely; he was impressed now, as he had been when he had seen her last, by a certain nobility in her face.

"Your Highness must not dismiss us as trifles now," she said. "Women can be of use, even in these times. We have changed as the men have changed—is it not so, Madame?" She turned to the Electress.

"At least we understand," was the gentle answer.

"Your Highness would never realize how we have followed your exploits, waited for news, hoped, prayed—and blessed you, Prince, you and Count Louis and Count John and all who fight."

William, looking at these two earnest and intelligent women, thought of the wife who still bore his name, the woman who had insulted him and his cause, who had deserted him and his faith and stooped to a low intrigue with one scarce a gentleman.

The pain of this thought caused him to turn away abruptly; he walked to the wide hearth, then turned again, facing the three.

None of them could have guessed his secret disease, but all saw the sudden cloud on his face and a little silence fell.

It was the Princess Charlotte who broke it; she did what was to William an amazing thing. She turned quietly to Frederic.

"How many men can you raise for his Highness?" she said.

William started to hear the question that had been so insistently in his own mind, started to hear her ask so quietly the question he, a Prince, had not cared to ask.

The Elector looked at her straightly, almost with a challenge.

"Who told you, Mademoiselle," he asked, "that I proposed to raise a levy for the Prince of Orange?" She answered simply:

"I was sure you would help to your utmost, Highness." She smiled as she added, "The Duke Christopher is eager to go."

"Ah, he has no secrets from you, eh?" smiled the Elector.

"I do not know his secrets, Highness, only this, that he is eager to volunteer under the Prince of Orange."

"Well, better that than to spend his life in sloth," he answered.

"And how many men can the Palatinate raise?" asked Charlotte.

"She has a courage," remarked the Electress with a smile.

"What courage?" asked Charlotte; she too was smiling. "Is it not true that the Elector is a Protestant Prince—and is it not true," she turned shyly to William, "that His Highness requires men for his campaign against Alva in the Netherlands?"

William had been watching this little scene with an intent curiosity.

"It is very true," he answered at once. "How can I thank my gracious advocate?"

"Thank the Elector," said Charlotte, "when he has given you the levy—and now a good night, for I have had my say. Before your going I shall see your Highness."

She took the arm of the Electress and the two were gone as quickly and unceremoniously as they had entered. Frederic turned to William.

"I will help you to the best of my power," he said, and held out his hand.

Charlotte left the Electress and ran up to her own chamber, where Rénée le Meuny sat by the fire.

"I have seen him," said Charlotte.

"The Prince?" Rénée looked up.

"Yes."

"I thought that he was here secretly and would see no one but the Elector," said Rénée slowly.

"What did you think of him?" she asked with reluctance.

Charlotte answered gravely.

"He is such as I should wish to marry, to serve and be with always."