VI

The Queen sat in her painted gallery at Richmond, and all around her

her maids sewed and span. The gallery was long; along the panels that

faced the windows were angels painted in red and blue and gold, and in

the three centre squares St. George, whose face was the face of the

King's Highness, in one issued from a yellow city upon a green plain;

in one with a cherry-coloured lance slew a green dragon from whose

mouth issued orange-coloured flames; and in one carried away, that he

might wed her in a rose-coloured tower on a hillside, a princess in a

black gown with hair painted of real gold.

Whilst the maids sewed in silence the Queen sat still upon a stool.

Light-skinned, not very stout, with a smooth oval face, she had laid

her folded hands on the gold and pearl embroidery of her lap and gazed

away into the distance, thinking. She sat so still that not even the

lawn tips of her wide hood with its invisible, minute sewings of

white, quivered. Her gown was of cloth of gold, but since her being in

England she had learned to wear a train, and in its folds on the

ground slept a small Italian greyhound. About her neck she had a

partelet set with green jewels and with pearls. Her maids sewed; the

spinning-wheels ate away the braided flax from the spindles, and the

sunlight poured down through the high windows. She was a very fair

woman then, and many that had seen her there sit had marvelled of the

King's disfavour for her; but she was accounted wondrous still,

sitting thus by the hour with the little hounds in the folds of her

dress. Only her eyes with their half-closed lids gave to her lost

gaze the appearance of a humour and irony that she never was heard to

voice.

They turned to the opening door, a flush came into her face, spread

slowly down her white neck and was lost in the white opening of her

shoulder-pieces, and she greeted Katharine Howard, kneeling at her

feet, with an inclination of the head so tiny that you could not see

the motion. Her eyes remained motionlessly upon the girl's face; only

the lids moved suddenly when Katharine spoke to her in German.

'You speak my tongue?' the Queen asked, motionless still and speaking

very low. Katharine remained upon her knees.

'I learned to read books in German when I was a child,' Katharine

said; 'and since you came I have spoken an hour a day with a German

astronomer that I might give you pleasure if so be it chanced.'

'So it is well,' the Queen said. 'Not many have so done.'

'God has endowed me with an ease of tongues,' Katharine answered;

'many others would have ventured it for your Grace's pleasure. But

your tongue is a hard tongue.'

'I have needed to learn hard sentences in yours,' the Queen said, 'and

have had many masters many hours of the day. I will have you stand up

upon your feet.'

Katharine remained upon her knees.

'I will have you stand up upon your feet,' the Queen repeated.

'I have a prayer to make,' Katharine answered.

The Queen looked for a minute straight before her, then slowly turned

her head to one side. When her gaze rested upon her women they rose

and, with a clatter of their feet and a rustle of garments, carrying

their white sewings and their spinning-wheels stilled, went away down

the gallery. The German lord of Overstein, bearded and immense in the

then German fashion, came from behind the retreating women to stand

before the Queen signifying that he would offer his interpretership.

She dismissed him without speaking, letting her eyes rest upon him.

She was the most silent woman in the world, but all people said that

no queen had women and men servers that needed fewer words or so

discreetly did their devoirs.

The silence and the bright light of the sun swathed these two women's

figures, so that Katharine seemed to hear the flutter against the

window-glass of a brown butterfly that, having sheltered in the hall

all winter, now sought to take a part in the new brightness of the

world. Katharine kept her knees, her eyes upon the floor; the Queen,

motionless and soft, let her eyes rest upon Katharine's hood. From

time to time they travelled to her face, to the medallion that hung

from her neck, and to her dark green skirt of velvet that lay around

her upon the floor. The butterfly sought another window; the Queen

spoke at last.

'You seek my queenship'; and in her still voice there was neither

passion, nor pity, nor question, nor resignation.

Katharine raised her eyes: they saw the imprisoned butterfly, but she

found no words.

'You have more courage than I,' the Queen said.

Suddenly she made a single gesture with her hands, as if she swept

something from her lap: some invisible dust--and that was all. Still

Katharine did not move nor speak; she had prepared speeches--speeches

against the Queen's being disdainful, enraged, or dissolved in tears.

She had read in books all night from Aulus Gellius to Cicero to get

wisdom. But here there were no speeches called for; no speeches could

be made. The significance of the Queen's gesture of sweeping dust from

her lap slowly overwhelmed her.

'You have more courage than I,' the Queen repeated, as though slowly

she were making a catalogue of Katharine's qualities to set

dispassionately against her own; and again her eyes moved over

Katharine. With her first swift gesture she drew from the stool-top a

pamphlet of writing, upon which she had sat. Her face grew slowly red.

'It did not need this long writing against my person,' she said. 'I

take it grievously.'

Katharine moved upon her knees as if she had been stung by an

intolerable accusation.

'Before God!----' she began to say.

'Well, I believe you had no part in the writing,' the Queen

interrupted her. 'Yet the more I say you have courage: to wed a man

that will write lies of another woman's body and powers.'

Katharine sat still; the Queen's slow anger faded slowly away.

'I do not see why this King thinks you more fair than I be,' she said

dispassionately; 'but what draweth the love of man to woman is not yet

known.'

Again she repeated:

'There was no need of this writing against me. The King has never

played the husband's part to me; I would have you tell him, if I go in

danger from him, that, for me, he may go his ways. I have no mind to

stay him, nor to be a queen in this country. Here, it is said, they

slay queens.'

'If I will be Queen, it is that God may bless this realm and King with

the old faith again,' Katharine said. Anne's eyelids narrowed.

'It is best known to yourself why you will be Queen,' she said. 'It is

best known to God what faith he will have in this your realm. I know

not what faith he liketh best, nor yet what side of a queen's

functions most commendeth itself unto you.'

She seemed to withdraw herself more and more from any struggle, as if

she were a novice that took an invisible veil--and she uttered only

requests as to the world into which she would withdraw from this one.

'I am not minded to go back to Cleves,' she stipulated; for she had

thought much and long in her stillnesses of what she would have; 'the

Duke, my brother, is to blame for having brought me to this pass.

Moreover, he is not able to defend his lands; so that if, with a

proper establishing and revenue, I go back to Cleves, the Emperor

Charles, who hath a tooth for gold, may too easily undo me. I would

have a castle here in England; for England is an island, and well

defended in all its avenues, and its King a man of honour and his word

to such as never cross him, as never will I.'

She spoke slowly, as if in her mind she were ticking off little notes

pencilled on her tablets; for since she could not read she had a

memory that she could trust to. 'I will have a castle built me not

strong enough to withstand the King's forces, since those I make no

call to withstand, but strong enough to guard me against robber bands

and the insurrections that are ordinary. Upon a slope that shall take

the sun in winter, with trees about beneath which I may sit in the

heat of summer-time. I will have a good show of servants, because I am

a princess of noble lineage; I will have most of them Germans that I

may speak easily with them, but some English, understanding German, so

that the King may be advised I work no treasons against him. From time

to time I will have the King to visit and to talk with me courteously

and fairly as well he can: this in order to counterpart and destroy

the report that I smell foul and am so ill to see that it makes a man

ill----'

Her eyes, resting upon Katharine, closed slightly again with a tiny

malice.

'I will have you not to fear that, upon such visits, I will use wiles

to entrap the King. I do not favour him. I am not content to be queen

of this country. It is as fair as my own country. In summer it is more

cool, in the winter time more temperate. Meats here are good; cooks

are better than with us. What a woman and a princess in this world

would have is here all at the best, save only its men, and the most

dangerous of all its men is the King.'

Katharine's ready anger rose at her words, though before the Queen's

speeches had flowed above her head and left her speechless and

ashamed.

'The King is known throughout Christendom,' she said, 'for the

royallest prince, the noblest speaker, the most princely horseman, the

most munificent and the most learned in the law.'

'That he may be,' the Queen smiled faintly, 'to them that have never

crossed him. It has been my ill-destiny so to do.'

'Madam,' Katharine cried out, 'never man was so crossed, ill-served,

evilly-led, or betrayed. Ye may not mislike him if at times he be

petulant. I do the more praise him for it.'

'Why, you do love him,' the Queen said. 'I have no cause so to do.'

Katharine caught at one of her hands.

'Your Grace,' she said, 'Queen and high potentate, this realm calleth

out that some one person do lead the King aright. Before God, I think

I do not seek powers or temporal crowns. Maybe it is sweet to sit in a

painted gallery and be a queen, but I have very little considered it;

only, here is a King that crieth for the peace of God, a people that

clamoureth aloud to be led back to the ways of God, a land parched for

rain, swept by gales of wind and pestilences, bewailing the lost

favour of God, and the Holy Church devastated that standeth between

God and the realm.' The Queen listened to her as if, having made her

stipulations, she had no more personal interest in the matter and were

listening to the tale of a journey. 'Before God!' Katharine said, 'if

you were not a virgin for the King, or if the King have coerced you to

forswearing yourself in this matter, I would not be the King's wife,

but his concubine. Only, sore is his need of me; he hath sworn it many

times, and I do believe it, that I best, if anyone may, may give him

rest with my converse and lead him to peace. He hath sworn that never

woman save I made him so clearly to see his path to goodness; and

never woman save I, at convenient seasons, have made him so forget his

many cares.'

'Why, you have still more courage than I had thought,' the Queen said,

'to take a man so dangerous upon so little assurance.' She moved the

hand that Katharine touched in her lap neither forward nor away; but

at last she said:

'I am neither of your country nor for it; neither of your faith nor

against it. But, being here, here I do sojourn. I came not here of

mine own will. Men have handled me as they would, as if I had been a

doll. But, if I may have as much of the sun as shines, and as much of

comfort as the realm affords its better sort, being a princess, and to

be treated with some reverence, I care not if ye take King, crown, and

commonalty, so ye leave me the ruling of my house and the freedom to

wash my face how I will. I had as soon see England linked again with

the Papists as the Schmalkaldners; I had as lief see the King married

to you as another; I had as lief all men do what they will so they

leave me to go my ways and feed me well.'

She looked again upon Katharine, and for the first time spoke as if

she were addressing her:

'I make out that you are a woman with an itch to meddle at the

righting of the world. There have been more men than women at the

task, but such an one was I never. The King was never man of mine, nor

should have been had I any say in the matter.' She half closed her

eyes again. 'Doubtless had it been otherwise the King would have

constrained me by threats and tortures to forswear myself. I am as I

was when I came to Dover. As the King saw me so he left me. Yet do I

maintain and avow it was rather because he feared alliance with my

brother's party than for any foulness of my person.'

Katharine passed her hands over her eyes.

'I do feel myself a thief and a cozener,' she said.

'Ye be none,' the Queen said; 'ye take no more than what I least prize

of this world. Had it not been thee it might have been a worse; for

assuredly I was not made to foot it with this King.'

'Nevertheless----' Katharine began. But the Queen was no more content

to listen to her.

'Ye are as some I have known,' she said; 'they scruple to take what

they very much crave, though it hang ready to drop into their hands;

because they much crave it, therefore they scruple.' She had a small

golden bullet beneath her clasped hands, and she cast it into a basin

of silver that stood on a tripod beside her skirts. At the silvery

clash and roll of the ball's running sound on the metal, doors opened

along the gallery, and servitors came in bearing Rhenish wine in glass

flagons and, upon great salvers, cakes in the forms of hearts or

twisted into true-love-knots of pastry.

Katharine noted these things as being worthy of imitation.

'It is no more to me,' the Queen said, 'to lose the other things to

you than to lose to you the wine that you shall drink or a pile of

cakes.' Nevertheless she left Katharine upon her knees till she had

taken her cup, for it pleased her that her servitors should see her

treated with due worship.