Читать книгу God and the King - Bowen Marjorie - Страница 4

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"There is no managing an unreasonable people. By Heaven, my lord, they do not deserve my care."

The speaker was standing by an open window that looked on to one of the courts of Whitehall Palace, listening to the unusual and tumultuous noises that filled the sweet summer air—noises of bells, of shouting, the crack of fireworks, and the report of joyous mock artillery.

It was late afternoon, and the small apartment was already left by the departing daylight and obscured with a dusky shade, but no candles were lit.

There was one other person in the room, a gentleman seated opposite the window at a tall black cabinet decorated with gold lacquer Chinese figures, that showed vivid even in the twilight. He was watching his companion with a gentle expression of judgment, and twirling in his slim fingers a half-blown white rose.

An over-richness of furniture, hangings, and appointments distinguished the chamber, which was little more than a cabinet. The flush of rich hues in the Mortlake tapestries, the gold on the China bureau, the marble, gilt, and carving about the mantel, two fine and worldly Italian paintings and crystal sconces, set in silver, combined to give the place an overpowering air of lavishness; noticeable in one corner was a large ebony and enamel crucifix.

The persons of these two gentlemen were in keeping with this air of wealth, both being dressed in an opulent style, but in themselves they differed entirely from each other.

Neither was young, and both would have been conspicuous in any company for extreme handsomeness, but there was no further likeness.

He at the window was by many years the older, and past the prime of life, but the magnificence of his appearance created no impression of age.

Unusually tall, finely made and graceful, he carried himself with great dignity; his countenance, which had been of the purest type of aristocratic beauty, was now lined and marred—not so much by years, as by a certain gloom and sourness that had become his permanent expression; his eyes were large, grey, and commanding, his mouth noble, but disfigured by a sneer, his complexion blond and pale, his nose delicately formed and straight; a fair peruke shaded his face and hung on to his shoulders; he was dressed, splendidly but carelessly, in deep blue satins, a quantity of heavy Venice lace, and a great sword belt of embroidered leather.

The other gentleman was still in the prime of life, being under fifty, and looking less than his age.

Slight in build, above the medium height, and justly proportioned, handsome and refined in feature, dressed with great richness in the utmost extreme of fashion, he appeared the very type of a noble idle courtier, but in his long, straight, heavy-lidded eyes, thin sensitive mouth, and the deeply cut curve of his nostril was an expression of power and intelligence above that of a mere favourite of courts.

He wore his own fair hair frizzed and curled out on to his shoulders and brought very low on to his forehead; under his chin was a knot of black satin that accentuated the pale delicacy of his complexion; every detail of his attire showed the same regard to his appearance and the mode. Had it not been for that unconscious look of mastery in the calm face he would have seemed no more than a wealthy man of fashion. In his beautifully formed and white hands he held, as well as the rose, a handkerchief that he now and then pressed to his lips; in great contrast to the other man, who appeared self-absorbed and natural, his movements and his pose were extremely affected.

A pause of silence wore out; the man at the window beat his fingers impatiently on the high walnut back of the chair beside him, then suddenly turned a frowning face towards the darkening room.

"My lord, what doth this presage?"

He asked the question heavily and as if he had much confidence and trust in the man to whom he spoke.

My lord answered instantly, in a voice as artificial as the fastidious appointments of his dress.

"Nothing that Your Majesty's wisdom and the devotion of your servants cannot control and dispel."

James Stewart turned his eyes again to the open casement.

"Do you take it so lightly, my lord?" he asked uneasily. "All London shouting for these disloyal prelates—the city against me?"

Lord Sunderland replied, his peculiarly soothing tones lowered to a kind of caressing gentleness, while he kept his eyes fixed on the King.

"Not the city, sir. Your Majesty heareth but the mobile—the handful that will always rejoice at a set given to authority. The people love Your Majesty and applaud your measures."

"But I am not popular as my brother was," said the King, but half satisfied, and with an angry look towards London.

The Earl was ready with his softly worded reassurances.

"His late Majesty never put his popularity to the test—I think he could not have done what you have, sir—is not the true Faith "—here my lord crossed himself—"predominant in England—hath Your Majesty any Protestant left in office—have you not an Ambassador at the Vatican, is not a holy Jesuit father on the Council board, Mass heard publicly in Whitehall—the papal Nuncio openly received?—and hath not Your Majesty done these great things in three short years?"

A glow overspread the King's sombre face; he muttered a few words of a Latin prayer, and bent his head.

"I have done a little," he said—"a little—"

Sunderland lowered his eyes.

"Seeing this is a Protestant nation, Your Majesty hath done a deal."

The King was silent a moment, then spoke, gloomy again.

"But, save yourself, my lord, and Dover and Salisbury, no person of consequence hath come into the pale of the Church—and how hath my Declaration of Indulgence been received? Discontent, disobedience from the clergy, insolence from the Bishops, and now this,—near to rebellion!" His eyes darkened. "Could you have heard the army on Hounslow Heath, my lord—they shouted as one man to hear these traitors had been acquitted."

He began to stride up and down the room, talking sternly, half to himself, half to Sunderland, the speech of an angry, obstinate man.

"But I'll not give way. Who is this Jack Somers who defended them? Make a note of him—some Whig cur! The Dissenters too, what is the Anglican Church to them that they must stand by her? Do I not offer them also freedom of conscience? Do not they also benefit by the repeal of the Test Act?"

Sunderland made no remark; he sat with his hand over the lower part of his face. By the expression of his eyes it might seem that he was smiling; but the light was fading, and James did not look at his minister.

"I'll break the Colleges too. Let them look to it. I'll go on. Am I not strong enough? They are rebels at Oxford—I'll take no rebellion—that was my father's fault; he was not strong enough at first—it must be put down now—now, eh, my Lord Sunderland?"

He stopped abruptly before the Earl, who rose with an air of humility.

"It is my poor opinion, oft repeated, that Your Majesty must stop for nothing, but take these grumblers with a firm hand and crush them."

This counsel, though not new, seemed to please the King.

"You have ever given me good advice, my lord." He paused, then added, "Father Petre is always speaking against you, but I do not listen—no, I do not listen."

"It is my misfortune to be unpopular with the Catholics, though I have done what might be for their service."

"I do not listen," repeated the King hastily; he seated himself in the carved chair beside the bureau. "But I must tell you one thing," he added, after an instant. "M. Barillon thinketh I go too far."

Sunderland remained standing.

"He hath told me so," he answered quietly.

"What doth he mean?" asked James eagerly, and with the air of depending entirely on the other's interpretation.

"This," replied the Earl suavely—"that, good friend as His Christian Majesty is to you, it doth not suit his pride that you, sir, should grow great without his help—he would rather have Your Majesty the slave than the master of the people, rather have you dependent on him than a free ally."

"I'll not be dictated to," said the King. "My brother was too much the creature of Louis, but I will not have him meddle in my affairs."

"M. Barillon doth his duty to his master," answered the Earl. "Your Majesty need pay no attention to his warnings—"

"Warnings!" echoed the King, with sullen fire. "I take no warnings from an Ambassador of France." Then he sat forward and added in a quick, half-baffled fashion, "Yet there are dangers—"

"What dangers, sire?"

"The people are so stubborn—"

"They complain but they bow, sire; and soon they will not even complain."

"Then M. Barillon mentioned—" The King paused abruptly.

"What, sire?"

"My nephew, William."

As he spoke James glanced quickly at Sunderland, who returned the gaze calmly and mildly.

"My nephew, William—what is he plotting?"

"Plotting, Your Majesty?"

"He hath never been friendly to me," broke out the King fiercely. "Why did he refuse his consent to the Indulgence? He who hath always stood for toleration?"

"As the head of the Protestant interest in Europe he could do no less, sire."

"He hath suborned my daughter," continued the King, in the same tone. "Seduced her from her duty—but now "—he crossed himself—"God be thanked, I have an heir. I do not need to so consider these Calvinists "—he gave the word an accent of bitter dislike—"yet I doubt he meaneth mischief—"

"I do not think so, sire. His hands are so full in keeping his own country afloat he can scarce have the time to meddle—"

The King interrupted.

"He doth meddle—his design is to drag me into a war with France—I doubt he hath more intrigues afoot in England than we wot of, my lord. Did M. de Zuylestein come wholly to congratulate us on the birth of the Prince? He is over often closeted with the Whig lords—and so was Dyckfelt—a knowing man."

Sunderland answered frankly.

"His Highness must have an interest in the kingdom of which his wife was till so lately the heiress, and I doubt not that he would try to foster discontents among the opposition, since he can hardly like the present policy of Your Majesty, having all his life been under the endeavour of persuading England to join his coalition against France—but he hath not the power (nor, I think, the will) to disturb Your Majesty."

James smiled reflectively.

"I believe he hath his hands full," he admitted. "He is not so steady in the states." His smile deepened as he thought on the critical situation of his son-in-law, then vexation conquered, and he added sharply, "M. Barillon said he but waited a chance to openly interfere—he would not send the English regiments back, which looked ill, and he is very friendly with Mr. Sidney—"

The King paused.

"Mr. Sidney is your uncle, my lord," he added, after a little, "and a close friend of the Prince of Orange—I was warned of that."

"By M. de Barillon?" asked Sunderland gently.

"Yes, my lord. But I took no heed of it—yet is it true that my Lady Sunderland wrote often to Mr. Sidney when he was at The Hague, and that you were privy to it?"

"There was some little exchange of gallantries, sire, no more. My lady is close friends with Mr. Sidney, and would commission him for horses, plants, candles, and such things as can be bought with advantage at The Hague."

"And did she write to the Lady Mary?"

Sunderland smiled.

"She had that honour once—the subject was a recipe for treacle water."

"Well, well," said the King, in a relieved tone of half apology, "I am so hedged about I begin to distrust my best servants. I must be short with M. Barillon; he maketh too much of my friendship with His Majesty."

"That is the jealousy of France, sire, that ever desireth a hand in your affairs."

James answered testily.

"Let them take care. M. Barillon said my envoys abroad had sent me warning of what my nephew designed—that is not true, my lord?"

"I have received no such letters, sire, and Your Majesty's foreign correspondence toucheth no hands but mine."

The King rose and struck the bell on the black lacquer cabinet; his exceedingly ill-humour was beginning, as always, to be softened by the influence of Lord Sunderland, who had more command over him than even the Jesuit, Father Petre, who was commonly supposed to be his most intimate counsellor.

When the summons was answered the King called for candles, and went over to the window again.

The dusk was stained with the glow of a hundred bonfires, lit by good Protestants in honour of the acquittal of the seven bishops charged with treason for offering His Majesty a petition against the reading of the Declaration of Indulgence from the pulpits of the Anglican churches; the verdict and the demonstration were alike hateful to the King, and he could scarce restrain his furious chagrin as he saw the triumphant rockets leap into the deep azure sky.

He thought bitterly of the murmuring army on Hounslow Heath; had they been steadfastly loyal he would hardly have restrained from setting them on to the defiant capital which they had been gathered together to overawe.

The candles were brought, and lit the rich little chamber with a ruddy light that showed the glitter of glass and gilt, lacquer and silver, the moody face of the King, and the calm countenance of his minister.

"My nephew would never dare," muttered His Majesty at last, "nor would Mary be so forgetful of her duty—" He turned into the room again. "I think you are right, my lord; he hath too much to do at home. But I am glad I did recall Mr. Sidney—a Republican at heart—who is like his brother."

"Of what designs doth Your Majesty suspect the Prince?" asked Sunderland quietly.

The King answered hastily.

"Nothing—nothing."

"Doth M. de Barillon," asked the Earl, "think His Highness might do what Monmouth did?"

At this mention of that other unhappy nephew of his who had paid for his brief rebellion on Tower Hill, the King's face cleared of its look of doubt.

"If he tried," he answered sombrely, "he would meet with the same reception—by Heaven, he would! No gentleman joined Monmouth, none would join the Prince."

"'Tis certain," said Sunderland. "But what causeth Your Majesty to imagine His Highness would attempt so wild a design as an armed descent on England?"

"He buildeth a great navy," remarked James.

"To protect the States against France. Reason showeth that the suggestion of His Highness' conduct that M. de Barillon hath made is folly. The Prince is the servant of the States; even if he wished, he could not use their forces to further his private ends, and is not the Princess daughter to Your Majesty, and would she help in an act of rebellion against you?"

"No," replied the King, "no—I do not think it. If the Dutch do choose to build a few ships am I to be stopped? My Lord Halifax," he added, with eagerness, "advised the giving back of the city charters and the reinstatement of the Fellows of Magdalen—but I will not—I'll break 'em, all the disloyal lot of 'em."

A slight smile curved my lord's fine lips.

"Halifax is ever for timorous counsels."

"A moderate man!" cried James. "I dislike your moderate men—they've damned many a cause and never made one. I'll have none of their sober politics."

"The best Your Majesty can do," said Sunderland, "is to gain the Dissenters, call a packed parliament of them and the Catholics in the autumn, pass the repeal of the Test Act, treat French interference firmly, strengthen the army, and bring the Irish to overawe London. There will be no murmurs against your authority this time a year hence."

James gave my lord a pleased glance.

"Your views suit with mine," he replied. "I'll officer the army with Catholics—and look to those two judges who favoured these bishops. We will remove them from the bench."

He was still alternating between ill-humour at the open display of feeling on the occasion of the public cross he had received in the matter of the bishops and the satisfaction my lord's wholly congenial counsel gave his obstinate self-confidence.

A certain faith in himself and in the office he held, a still greater trust in the religion to which he was so blindly devoted, a tyrannical belief in firm measures and in the innate loyalty of church and people made this son of Charles I, sitting in the very palace from which his father had stepped on to the scaffold at the command of a plain gentleman from Hampshire, revolve schemes for the subjugation of England more daring than Plantagenet, Tudor, and Stewart had ventured on yet; he desired openly and violently to put England into the somewhat reluctant hands of the Pope, and beside this desire every other consideration was as nothing to His Majesty.

"Let 'em shout," he said. "I can afford it." And he thought of his young heir, whose birth secured the Romish succession in England; an event that took the sting even from the acquittal of the stubborn bishops.

"Your Majesty is indeed a great and happy Prince," remarked my lord, with that softness that gave his compliments the value of sincere meaning.

The King went up to him, smiled at him in his heavy way, and touched him affectionately on the shoulder.

"Well, well," he answered, "you give good advice, and I thank you, my lord."

He fell into silence again, and the Earl took graceful leave, left the cabinet gently, and gently closed the door.

When outside in the corridor he paused like one considering, then went lightly down the wide stairs.

In the gallery to which he came at the end of the first flight was a group of splendid gentlemen talking together; my lord would have passed them, but one came forward and stopped him; he raised his eyes; it was M. Barillon.

"You have come from His Majesty?"

"Yes, sir," answered the Earl.

"I do hope you did impress on him the need for a great caution," said M. Barillon quickly, and in a lowered voice, "The temper of the people hath been very clearly shown to-day."

"I did my utmost," said my lord ardently. "Advised him to make concessions, warned him that the Prince was dangerous, but his obstinate temper would have none of it—"

M. Barillon frowned.

"I hope you were earnest with him, my lord; there is no man hath your influence—"

My lord's long eyes looked steadily into the Frenchman's face.

"Sir," he said, "you must be aware that I have every reason to urge His Majesty caution, since there is none as deep in his most disliked measures than myself, and if the Whigs were to get the upper hand "—he shrugged gracefully—"you know that there would be no mercy for me."

The French Ambassador answered hastily—

"Not for an instant do I doubt your lordship. Faith, I know His Christian Majesty hath no such friend as yourself in England—but I would impress on you the danger—things reach a crisis, my lord."

He bowed and returned to his companions, while the Earl passed through the galleries of Whitehall, filled with courtiers, newsmongers, place seekers, and politicians, and came out into the courtyard where his chair waited.

While his servant was fetching the sedan my lord put on his laced hat and lingered on the step.

A tall soldier was keeping the guard; my lord regarded him, smiled, and spoke.

"Fellow, who is your master?"

The man flushed, saluted, and stared awkwardly.

"Come," smiled the Earl whimsically. "Whom do you serve?"

The startled soldier answered stupidly—

"God and the King, your honour."

"Ah, very well," answered the Earl slowly; he descended the steps and took a pinch of snuff. "So do we all—it is merely a question of which God and which King."