A Ladder of Swords: A Tale of Love, Laughter and Tears

  XI

  "I would know your story. How came you and yours to this pass? Wherewere you born? Of what degree are you? And this Michel de la Foret,when came he to your feet--or you to his arms? I would know all.Begin where life began; end where you sit here at the feet ofElizabeth. This other cushion to your knees. There--now speak. We arealone."

  Elizabeth pushed a velvet cushion towards Angele, where shehalf-knelt, half-sat on the rush-strewn floor of the great chamber.The warm light of the afternoon sun glowed through the thick-tintedglass high up, and in the gleam the heavy tapestries sent by anarchduke, once suitor for her hand, emerged with dramaticdistinctness, and peopled the room with silent watchers of the greatQueen and the nobly born but poor and fugitive Huguenot. A splendidpiece of sculpture--Eleanor, wife of Edward--given Elizabeth byanother royal suitor, who had sought to be her consort through manyyears, caught the warm bath of gold and crimson from the clerestoryand seemed alive and breathing. Against the pedestal the Queen hadplaced her visitor, the red cushions making vivid contrast to herwhite gown and black hair. In the half-kneeling, half-sittingposture, with her hands clasped before her, so to steady herself tocomposure, Angele looked a suppliant--and a saint. Her pure,straightforward gaze, her smooth, urbane forehead, the guilelessnessthat spoke in every feature, were not made worldly by theintelligence and humor reposing in the brown depths of her eyes. Nota line vexed her face or forehead. Her countenance was of a singularand almost polished smoothness, and though her gown was severelysimple by comparison with silks and velvets, furs and ruffles of agorgeous court at its most gorgeous period, yet in it here and therewere touches of exquisite fineness. The black velvet ribbon slashingher sleeves, the slight, cloudlike gathering of lace at the back ofher head, gave a distinguished softness to her appearance.

  She was in curious contrast to the Queen, who sat upon heaped-upcushions, her rich buff-and-black gown a blaze of jewels, her yellowhair, now streaked with gray, roped with pearls, her hands heavy withrings, her face past its youth, past its hopefulness, however nobleand impressive, past its vivid beauty. Her eyes wore ever adetermined look, were persistent and vigilant, with a lurkingtrouble, yet flooded, too, by a quiet melancholy, like a low,insistent note that floats through an opera of passion, romance, andtragedy; like a tone of pathos giving deep character to some splendidpageant, which praises while it commemorates, proclaiming conquestwhile the grass has not yet grown on quiet houses of the children ofthe sword who no more wield the sword. Evasive, cautious,secretive, creator of her own policy, she had sacrificed herwomanhood to the power she held and the State she served. Vain,passionate, and faithful, her heart all England and Elizabeth, thehunger for glimpses of what she had never known, and was never toknow, thrust itself into her famished life; and she was wont toindulge, as now, in fancies and follow some emotional whim with adetermination very like to eccentricity.

  "SHE WAS IN CURIOUS CONTRAST TO THE QUEEN"]

  That, at this time, when great national events were forward, whenconspiracies abounded, when Parliament was grimly gathering strengthto compel her to marry; and her council were as sternly pursuingtheir policy for the destruction of Leicester; while that very dayhad come news of a rising in the north and of fresh Popish plotshatched in France--that in such case, this day she should set asideall business, refuse ambassadors and envoys admission, and occupyherself with two Huguenot refugees seemed incredible to the youngercourtiers. To such as Cecil, however, there was clear understanding.He knew that when she seemed most inert, most impassive to turbulentoccurrences, most careless of consequences, she was but waiting till,in her own mind, her plans were grown; so that she should see her endclearly ere she spoke or moved. Now, as the great minister showedhimself at the door of the chamber and saw Elizabeth seated withAngele, he drew back instinctively, expectant of the upraised handwhich told him he must wait. And, in truth, he was nothing loath todo so, for his news he cared little to deliver, important though itwas that she should have it promptly and act upon it soon. He turnedaway with a feeling of relief, however, for this gossip with theHuguenot maid would no doubt interest her, give new direction to herwarm sympathies, which, if roused in one thing, were ever more easilyroused in others. He knew that a crisis was nearing in the royalrelations with Leicester. In a life of devotion to her service he hadseen her before in this strange mood, and he could feel that she wasready for an outburst. As he thought of De la Foret and the favorwith which she had looked at him, he smiled grimly, for, if it meantaught, it meant that it would drive Leicester to some act which wouldhasten his own doom; though, indeed, it might also make another pathmore difficult for himself, for the Parliament, for the people.

  Little as Elizabeth could endure tales of love and news of marriage;little as she believed in any vows, save those made to herself;little as she was inclined to adjust the rough courses of true love,she was the surgeon to this particular business, and she had thesurgeon's love of laying bare even to her own cynicism the hurt ofthe poor patient under her knife. Indeed, so had Angele impressed herthat for once she thought she might hear the truth. Because she sawthe awe in the other's face, and a worshipping admiration of thegreat protectress of Protestantism, who had by large gifts of men andmoney in times past helped the cause, she looked upon her here withkindness.

  "Speak now, mistress fugitive, and I will listen," she added, asCecil withdrew; and she made a motion to musicians in a distantgallery.

  Angele's heart fluttered to her mouth, but the soft, simple musichelped her, and she began with eyes bent upon the ground, her linkedfingers clasping and unclasping slowly.

  "I was born at Rouen, your high Majesty," she said. "My mother was acousin of the Prince of Passy, the great Protestant--"

  "Of Passy--ah!" said Elizabeth, amazed. "Then you are Protestantsindeed; and your face is no invention, but cometh honestly. No, no,'tis no accident--God rest his soul, great Passy!"

  "She died--my mother--when I was a little child. I can but justremember her--so brightly quiet, so quick, so beautiful. In Rouenlife had little motion; but now and then came stir and turmoil, forwar sent its message into the old streets, and our captains and ourpeasants poured forth to fight for the King. Once came the King andQueen--Francis and Mary--"

  Elizabeth drew herself upright with an exclamation.

  "Ah, you have seen her--Mary of Scots," she said, sharply. "You haveseen her?"

  "As near as I might touch her with my hand, as near as is your highMajesty. She spoke to me--my mother's father was in her train; as yetwe had not become Huguenots, nor did we know her Majesty as now theworld knows. Then came the King and Queen, and that was thebeginning."

  She paused, and looked shyly at Elizabeth, as though she found ithard to tell her story.

  "And the beginning, it was--?" said Elizabeth, impatient and intent.

  "We went to court. The Queen called my mother into her train. But itwas in no wise for our good. At court my mother pined away--and soshe died in durance."

  "Wherefore in durance?"

  "To what she saw she would not shut her eyes; to what she heard shewould not close her soul; what was required of her she would not do."

  "She would not obey the Queen?"

  "She could not obey those whom the Queen favored. Then the tyrannythat broke her heart--"

  The Queen interrupted her.

  "In very truth, but 'tis not in France alone that Queen's favoritesgrasp the sceptre and speak the word. Hath a queen a thousandeyes--can she know truth where most dissemble?"

  "There was a man--he could not know there was one true woman there,who for her daughter's sake, for her desired advancement, and becauseshe was cousin of Passy, who urged it, lived that starved life; thisman, this prince, drew round her feet snares, set pitfalls for herwhile my father was sent upon a mission. Steadfast she kept her soulunspotted; but it wore away her life. The Queen would not permitreturn to Rouen--who can tell what tale was told her by one whom shefoiled? And so she stayed. In this slow, savage persecution, when sh
ewas like a bird that, thinking it is free, flieth against thewindow-pane and falleth back beaten, so did she stay, and none couldsave her. To cry out, to throw herself upon the spears, would havebeen ruin of herself, her husband, and her child; and for these shelived."

  Elizabeth's eyes had kindled. Perhaps never in her life had the lifeat court been so exposed to her. The simple words, meant but toconvey the story, and with no thought behind, had thrown a light onher own court, on her own position. Adept in weaving a sinuous coursein her policy, in making mazes for others to tread, the mazes whichthey in turn prepared had never before been traced beneath her eyesto the same vivid and ultimate effect.

  "Help me, ye saints, but things are not at such a pass in thisplace!" she said, abruptly, but with weariness in her voice. "Yetsometimes I know not. The court is a city by itself, walled andmoated, and hath a life all its own. '_If there be found ten honestmen within the city, yet will I save it_,' saith the Lord. By myfather's head, I would not risk a finger on the hazard if this city,this court of Elizabeth, were set 'twixt the fire from heaven andeternal peace. In truth, child, I would lay me down and die in blackdisgust were it not that one might come hereafter would make a verySodom or Gomorrah of this land; and out yonder--out in all mycounties, where the truth of England is among my poor burgesses, whodie for the great causes which my nobles profess but risk not theirlives--out yonder all that they have won, and for which I havestriven, would be lost.... Speak on. I have not heard so plain atongue and so little guile these twenty years."

  Angele continued, more courage in her voice: "In the midst of it allcame the wave of the new faith upon my mother. And before ill couldfall upon her from her foes, she died, and was at rest. Then wereturned to Rouen, my father and I, and there we lived in peril, butin great happiness of soul, until the day of massacre. That night inParis we were given greatly of the mercy of God."

  "You were there--you were in the massacre at Paris?"

  "In the house of the Duke of Lancon, with whom was resting, after ahazardous enterprise, Michel de la Foret."

  "And here beginneth the second lesson," said the Queen, with a smileon her lips; but there was a look of scrutiny in her eyes andsomething like irony in her tone. "And I will swear by all the starsof heaven that this Michel saved ye both. Is it not so?"

  "It is even so. By his skill and bravery we found our way to safety,and in a hiding-place near to our loved Rouen watched him return fromthe gates of death."

  "He was wounded, then?"

  "Seven times wounded, and with as little blood left in him as wouldfill a cup. But it was summer, and we were in the hills, and theybrought us, our friends of Rouen, all that we had need of; and so Godwas with us."

  "But did he save thy life, except by skill, by indirect and fortunatewisdom? Was there deadly danger upon thee? Did he beat down the swordof death?"

  "He saved my life thrice directly. The wounds he carried were got byinterposing his own sword 'twixt death and me."

  "And that hath need of recompense?"

  "My life was little worth the wounds he suffered; but I waited notuntil he saved it to owe it unto him. All that it is was his beforehe drew his sword."

  "And 'tis this ye would call love betwixt ye--sweet givings andtakings of looks, and soft sayings, and unchangeable and devouringfaith. Is't this--and is this all?"

  The girl had spoken out of an innocent heart, but the challenge inthe Queen's voice worked upon her, and, though she shrank a little,the fulness of her soul welled up and strengthened her. She spokeagain, and now in her need and in her will to save the man she loved,by making this majesty of England his protector, her words hadeloquence.

  "It is not all, noble Queen. Love is more than that. It is the wakingin the poorest minds, in the most barren souls, of something greaterthan themselves--as a chemist should find a substance that would giveall other things by touching of them a new and higher value; aslight and sun draw from the earth the tendrils of the seed that elsehad lain unproducing. 'Tis not alone soft words and touch of hand orlip. This caring wholly for one outside one's self kills that selfwhich else would make the world blind and deaf and dumb. None hathloved greatly but hath helped to love in others. Ah, most sweetMajesty, for great souls like thine, souls born great, this medicineis not needful, for already hath the love of a nation inspired andenlarged it; but for souls like mine, and of so many, none better andnone worse than me, to love one other soul deeply and abidingly liftsus higher than ourselves. Your Majesty hath been loved by a wholepeople, by princes and great men in a different sort--is it not theworld's talk that none that ever reigned hath drawn such slavery ofprinces, and of great nobles who have courted death for hopeless loveof one beyond their star? And is it not written in the world's bookalso that the Queen of England hath loved no man, but hath poured outher heart to a people; and hath served great causes in all the earthbecause of that love which hath still enlarged her soul, dowered atbirth beyond reckoning." Tears filled her eyes. "Ah, your supremeMajesty, to you whose heart is universal, the love of one poor mortalseemeth a small thing, but to those of little consequence it is thecable by which they unsteadily hold over the chasm 'twixt life andimmortality. To thee, oh greatest monarch of the world, it is a staffon which thou needest not lean, which thou hast never grasped; to meit is my all; without it I fail and fall and die."

  She had spoken as she felt, yet, because she was a woman and guessedthe mind of another woman, she had touched Elizabeth where her armorwas weakest. She had suggested that the Queen had been the object ofadoration, but had never given her heart to any man; that hers wasthe virgin heart and life; and that she had never stooped to conquer.Without realizing it, and only dimly moving with that end in view,she had whetted Elizabeth's vanity. She had, indeed, soothed a pridewounded of late beyond endurance, suspecting, as she did, thatLeicester had played his long part for his own sordid purposes, thathis devotion was more alloy than precious metal. No note of praisecould be pitched too high for Elizabeth, and if only policy did notintervene, if but no political advantage was lost by saving De laForet, that safety seemed now secure.

  "You tell a tale and adorn it with good grace," she said, and heldout her hand. Angele kissed it. "And you have said to Elizabeth whatnone else dared to say since I was Queen here. He who hath never seenthe lightning hath no dread of it. I had not thought there was in theworld so much artlessness, with all the power of perfect art. But welive to be wiser. Thou shalt continue in thy tale. Thou hast seenMary, once Queen of France, now Queen of Scots--answer me fairly,without if, or though, or any sort of doubt, the questions I shallput. Which of us twain, this ruin-starred Queen or I, is of higherstature?"

  "She hath advantage in little of your Majesty," bravely answeredAngele.

  "Then," answered Elizabeth, sourly, "she is too high, for I, myself,am neither too high nor too low.... And of complexion, which is thefairer?"

  "Her complexion is the fairer, but your Majesty's countenance hathtruer beauty and sweeter majesty."

  Elizabeth frowned slightly, then said:

  "What exercises did she take when you were at the court?"

  "Sometimes she hunted, your Majesty, and sometimes she played uponthe virginals."

  "Did she play to effect?"

  "Reasonably, your noble Majesty."

  "You shall hear me play, and then speak truth upon us, for I haveknown none with so true a tongue since my father died."

  Thereon she called to a lady who waited near in a little room tobring an instrument; but at that moment Cecil appeared again at thedoor, and, his face seeming to show anxiety, Elizabeth, with a sign,beckoned him to enter.

  "Your face, Cecil, is as long as a Lenten collect. What raven croaksin England on May Day eve?"

  Cecil knelt before her, and gave into her hand a paper.

  "What record runs here?" she asked, querulously.

  "A prayer of your faithful Lords and Commons that your Majesty willgrant speech with their chosen deputies to lay before your Majesty acause they ha
ve at heart."

  "Touching of--?" darkly asked the Queen.

  "The deputies wait even now--will not your Majesty receive them? Theyhave come humbly, and will go hence as humbly on the instant, if thehour is ill chosen."

  Immediately Elizabeth's humor changed. A look of passion swept acrossher face, but her eyes lighted and her lips smiled proudly. Sheavoided troubles by every means, fought off by subtleties the issueswhich she must meet; but when the inevitable hour came none knew sowell to meet it as though it were a dearest friend, no matter whatthe danger, how great the stake.

  "They are here at my door, these good servants of the state--shallthey be kept dangling?" she said, loudly. "Though it were time forprayers and God's mercy, yet should they speak with me, have mycounsel, or my hand upon the sacred parchment of the state. Bringthem hither, Cecil. Now we shall see--Now you shall see, Angele ofRouen--now you shall see how queens shall have no hearts to calltheir own, but be head and heart and soul and body at the will ofevery churl who thinks he serves the state and knows the will ofHeaven. Stand here at my left hand. Mark the players and the play."

  Kneeling, the deputies presented a resolution from the Lords andCommons that the Queen should, without more delay, in keeping withher oft-expressed resolve and the promise of her council, appoint onewho should succeed to the throne in case of her death "withoutposterity." Her faithful people pleaded with her gracious Majesty toforego unwillingness to marry, and seek a consort worthy of hersupreme consideration, to be raised to a place beside her near thatthrone which she had made the greatest in the world.

  Gravely, solemnly, the chief members of the Lords and Commons spoke,and with as weighty pauses and devoted protestations as though thiswere the first time their plea had been urged, this obvious duty hadbeen set out before her. Long ago, in the flush and pride of herextreme youth and the full assurance of the fruits of marriage, theyhad spoken with the same sober responsibility; and though her youthhad gone and the old certainty had forever disappeared, they spoke ofher marriage and its consequences as though it were still thatfar-off yesterday. Well for them that they did so, for though timehad flown and royal suitors without number had become figures dim inthe people's mind, Elizabeth, fed upon adulation, invoked, admired,besieged by young courtiers, flattered by maids who praised herbeauty, had never seen the hands of the clock pass high noon, andstill remained under the dearest and saddest illusion which can restin a woman's mind. Long after the hands of life's clock had movedinto afternoon, the ancient prayer was still gravely presented thatshe should marry and give an heir to England's crown; and she assolemnly listened and dropped her eyes, and strove to hide her virginmodesty behind a high demeanor which must needs sink self in royalduty.

  "These be the dear desires of your supreme Majesty's faithful Lordsand Commons and the people of the shires whose wills they represent.Your Majesty's life, God grant it last beyond that of the youngest ofyour people so greatly blessed in your rule! But accidents of time bemany; and while the world is full of guile, none can tell what perilmay beset the crown, if your Majesty's wisdom sets not apart, givesnot to her country, one whom the nation can surround with its care,encompass lovingly by its duty."

  The talk with Angele had had a curious influence upon the Queen. Itwas plain that now she was moved by real feeling, and that, thoughshe deceived herself, or pretended so to do, shutting her eyes tosober facts and dreaming old dreams--as it were, in a world wherenever was a mirror nor a timepiece--yet there was working in her afresher spirit, urging her to a fairer course than she had shaped formany a day.

  "My lords and gentlemen, and my beloved subjects," she answeredpresently, and for an instant set her eyes upon Angele, then turnedto them again, "I pray you stand and hear me.... Ye have spoken fairwords to my face, and of my face, and of the person of this daughterof great Henry, from whom I got whatever grace or manner or favor isto me; and by all your reasoning you do flatter the heart of theQueen of England, whose mind indeed sleeps not in deed or desire forthis realm. Ye have drawn a fair picture of this mortal me, andthough from the grace of the picture the colors may fade by time, maygive by weather, may be spoiled by chance, yet my loyal mind, nortime with her swift wings shall overtake, nor the misty clouds maydarken, nor chance with her slippery foot may overthrow. It sets itscourse by the heart of England, and when it passeth there shall befound that one shall be left behind who shall be surety of all thathath been lying in the dim warehouse of fate for England's highfuture. Be sure that in this thing I have entered into theweigh-house, and I hold the balance, and ye shall be well satisfied.Ye have been fruitful in counsel, ye have been long knitting a knotnever tied, ye shall have comfort soon. But know ye beyondperadventure that I have bided my time with good reason. If our loombe framed with rotten hurdles, when our web is wellny done, our workis yet to begin. Against mischance and dark discoveries my mind, withknowledge hidden from you, hath been firmly arrayed. If it be in yourthought that I am set against a marriage which shall serve thenation, purge yourselves, friends, of that sort of heresy, for thebelief is awry. Though I think that to be one and always one, neithermated nor mothering, be good for a private woman, for a prince it isnot meet. Therefore, say to my Lords and Commons that I am moreconcerned for what shall chance to England when I am gone than tolinger out my living thread. I hope, my lords and gentlemen, to diewith a good 'Nunc Dimittis,' which could not be if I did not givesurety for the nation after my graved bones. Ye shall hear soon--yeshall hear and be satisfied, and so I give you to the care ofAlmighty God."

  Once more they knelt, and then slowly withdrew, with faces downcastand troubled. They had secret knowledge which she did not yetpossess, but which at any moment she must know, and her ambiguousspeech carried no conviction to their minds. Yet their conferencewith her was most opportune, for the news she must presently receive,brought by a messenger from Scotland who had outstripped all others,would no doubt move her to action which should set the minds of thepeople at rest, and go far to stem the tide of conspiracy flowingthrough the kingdom.

  Elizabeth stood watching them, and remained gazing after they haddisappeared; then, rousing herself, she turned to leave the room, andbeckoned to Angele to follow.