THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE
Basilea de Marsac waited on Her Highness the day after her interview
with M. D'Avaux; a curious coincidence had strengthened her desire to
see the Princess, and piqued her curiosity as to the sentiments of that
lady. One of the fast packets that were constantly plying between the
States and England had brought her a letter from Lady Sunderland, who
was, to Basilea, a person who of all others must find it her interest
and duty to be intensely loyal. My lady wrote a long and involved
letter, but the sum of it seemed to be what M. D'Avaux had put much more
plainly, namely, that the King's party (among whom was, of course, Lord
Sunderland) had become alarmed at the crisis the actions of His Majesty
had brought upon the country in attempting to push forward his own
religion, and that they feared an active interference on the part of the
Prince of Orange, now his wife's claims were indefinitely postponed by
the birth of the Prince of Wales, and his hopes of an English alliance
against the French for ever shattered by the policy of King James.
Lady Sunderland concluded by asking of Basilea what M. D'Avaux had
asked--that she should discover the mind of the Princess, and draw some
promise from her for the satisfaction of Royalist and Romanist, to the
effect that Her Highness would never let her title to the English throne
be a handle for her husband's political designs.
Basilea was half roused, half amused by the double errand. She was not
very well informed about politics, but she felt in her heart an absolute
doubt of any revolution in England. All her life there had been talk of
it, but it had always ended in a few executions or fights in Scotland,
or some such vague conclusions in which she had never been very
interested; but she could understand that Lady Sunderland did not feel
lukewarm in the matter. Ever since the May of last year, when the Earl
had been converted to the Church of Rome (a step which none other of the
King's ministers had taken), he had been as detested in England as it
was possible for a man to be. The King alone protected him, and if he
fell, there was little doubt that his fall also would be swift and
terrible.
Basilea liked the Countess; she was better pleased to serve her than to
serve M. D'Avaux, and she anticipated, with pleasure, being able to
write in answer that the Princess was still a Stewart, despite ten
years' residence in Holland.
It was late afternoon when Basilea had her audience (accorded without
difficulty) at the Prince's villa beyond The Hague, called the 'huis ten
bosch' by reason of the beautiful wood and deer park in which it stood.
This house had been built by the Prince's grandmother, Amalia of Solms,
and contained the famous hall which she had decorated in honour of her
husband, the Stadtholder Frederick Henry. There was no splendour,
however, in the apartments Basilea saw; the appointments were neat and
comfortable, but neither lavish nor rich, and she had known English
ladies better served as to the quantity and appearance of servants than
was the Princess Royal of England.
In a room at the back, that overlooked a formal garden filled with roses
and box hedges, Basilea found the mistress of the quiet house and the
lady whose mind two great kingdoms were anxious to know.
It was a chamber panelled in walnut, and furnished by chairs with worked
seats and stools with fringed covers, several fine pieces of Eastern
furniture, and many shelves on which stood curious and vivid china
monsters and vases, and low pots filled with roses.
Basilea did not know which of the two young ladies seated by the window
was the Princess, so utterly had ten years worked their change.
She hesitated after her courtsey, and the taller of the two ladies came
forward and took her hand warmly.
"Are you Basilea Gage with whom I used to play at Twickenham?" she
asked. "Why did you not come to see me sooner?"
She smiled half wistfully, and turned to her companion.
"This is Mademoiselle Dyckfelt, and this is Madame de Marsac, Anne, whom
I told you was coming to-day."
She had a timid way of speaking, as if she was shy, and, to Basilea,
something of the formal in her manner, as if she was preoccupied.
The Dutch lady was like most of her countrywomen whom Basilea had
observed, very fair and pretty, with that glow and robust brightness
that gave the women of Holland their reputation for handsomeness. She
was plainly dressed in grey branched with silver, and was engaged in
working a chair-cover in cross stitch. The vivid green and blue of the
wools she used showed off her small, plump white hands--a common beauty
among her nation.
The Princess began talking of England and the people she remembered
there; while Basilea answered she observed Mary, who seemed to her
disappointingly strange and indifferent.
Still little more than a girl, she was extremely beautiful, uniting her
father's aristocratic grace and her mother's soft charm; though
dignified and above the common height, she bore herself humbly and with
a deprecating sweetness.
Basilea was not the only one who at first sight had been impressed with
the air of simple purity which heightened and glorified Mary's beauty,
for it was impossible to find a fault in her person or manner: she was
unconscious of herself, tactful, without affectations or vanities,
watchful for others, and charming in address, though with that pretty
reserve that Basilea called formality.
Her features were not unlike those of her ancestress--another Mary
Stewart, Queen of Scotland--soft and lovely, childlike in profile, with
the gentle curve of contour; but grave and rather sad in the full look,
and with the expression of a woman, and a woman who has observed,
grieved, and pitied.
Her brown eyes were very large, misty, and continually narrowed from
weak sight, her hair, of the Stewart red-brown, hung in thick natural
curls from a simple knot in her neck.
She gained no advantage from her dress, which would not have offended a
Puritan: the straight, boned bodice and stiff falling stuff of a dull
pink colour held no line of grace, and the prim ruffles to wrist and
throat were more decorous than becoming. At the English court her
attire would have been considered ugly, if not ridiculous, and Basilea
did not find it pleasing. She was not herself of a type that can afford
to forego the advantages of adornment, and she reflected that with the
Princess's beauty and her own taste she could have made a sumptuous
appearance.
While thus inwardly admired and criticized, Mary was speaking of England
and all her one-time friends there, and Mademoiselle Dyckfelt making
comments in pretty broken English, accompanied with a little gasping
laugh which Basilea had noticed in many Dutch people.
Through all her amiable converse Mary betrayed some slight inner
agitation and expectation, as if she feared the visit might have another
meaning than mere courtesy; and Basilea guessed that she, whose position
was one of such importance in Europe, must be used to oblique attempts
to sound her views.
With a half-faint amusement she made her own essay--
"Highness, I was in good hopes that you would not seem such a stranger
to me, because I am instructed to make the venture to speak with
you----"
Mary looked at her quickly, and interrupted--
"By whom instructed?"
"Lady Sunderland, Madame, for whom your Highness was wont to have some
kindness."
The Princess flushed, and Basilea wondered why, as her sole answer was--
"I think Lady Sunderland a good woman."
Basilea smiled.
"She is also, as Your Highness knoweth, a great politic, which I never
was nor could be, and hath set me to ask Your Highness some questions
bearing on great affairs."
"Great affairs," said Mary under her breath. She rose gravely. "I
think we must not plague Mademoiselle Dyckfelt with this talk. Will
you, Madame, come into the garden?"
The Dutch maiden rose and unlatched the long window, then returned
placidly to her sewing.
Mary and Basilea descended a few steps into the formal garden, mainly
composed of box hedges and clipt rose bushes, with a square pond in the
centre bordered with little yellow yew trees in wooden tubs and precise
beds of pinks and herbs.
The tall and beautiful trees of the deer park in which the villa stood
rose up, with the elegant air of loftiness peculiar to the trees of a
perfectly flat country where they are the highest things the eye has
within range; the air also was characteristic, being of that strangely
exhilarating quality of salt freshness that in every part of the United
Provinces served as a perpetual reminder of the sea. It was warm
to-day, and the sun was golden in the foliage, and lay in scattered
flecks of light among the flowers, and on the pond where two waterlilies
were slowly closing to the evening.
"You may speak quite frankly now," said Mary, as they proceeded slowly
down the gravel path. "Have you a message from Lady Sunderland?"
"No, Madame," said Basilea, surprised that the Princess should seem to
expect it. "Only--it is difficult to express, Highness--but there are
monstrous tales abroad in France, England, and even here----"
The Princess looked at her silently.
"They do say," continued Basilea, "that His Highness meddleth in the
affairs of England, and these rumours give disquietude to His
Majesty----"
Mary broke in, rather breathless--
"I know nothing of business--my husband heareth so much of it abroad
that he is glad to talk of other matters at home. What doth Lady
Sunderland want of me?"
Basilea answered directness with directness.
"She wisheth to know--that the Earl may put it privately before His
Majesty--your mind on the matter between His Highness and the King."
"What matter is that?" asked Mary.
Basilea was at a loss.
"Your Highness must know better than I: as for these horrible
rumours----"
Mary paused by a rose bush and asked steadily--
"What rumours?"
"I think it would be unseemly to name them!"
"I will hold you excused," said the Princess, still gravely.
"Then, Madame, 'tis said that His Highness is so exasperate with the
policy of His Majesty and postponement of your claim by the birth of the
Prince, that he might attempt to do what my Lord Monmouth did----"
Mary's fine fingers pulled delicately at the rose leaves.
"My husband and that poor unhappy gentleman are such different
characters and in such different situations," she said, "that there can
be no comparison. I think the Prince would never do as the Duke did."
Basilea looked at her keenly.
"'Tis asserted, Lady Sunderland saith, that the Prince is in league with
all the discontents of England, that he sheltereth many at The
Hague----"
"This country," answered the Princess quietly, "hath always been a
refuge for the unfortunate, and it is reasonable that the near
connection of my husband to the throne should give him an interest in
English business."
Basilea was older than the Princess, whose air of extreme gentleness
further emboldened her to take, half unconsciously, a masterful tone.
"I can assure Lady Sunderland that His Highness is innocent of the
designs imputed to him."
Mary glanced up from the rose bush; she smiled very slightly.
"Why, you must go to the Prince for that assurance; I know nothing about
it."
Basilea stirred the gravel with her square-toed red shoe.
"You must know, Madame," she said slowly, "whether you would hinder or
further the Prince his projects?"
Mary flushed, and the full brown eyes narrowed.
"Neither you nor I," she answered, "can discuss His Highness his
projects, which ever have been and will be for the good of Europe."
Basilea looked at her curiously.
"I fear Your Highness will think me impertinent, but," she thought of
the grave words of M. D'Avaux, and the memory urged her not to be put
off by the evasiveness of the Princess--"but there are strange things
said in Paris and London----"
"Madame de Marsac," interrupted Mary gently, "if my father hath cause to
complain of me, he must send a direct messenger."
Basilea felt herself rebuked.
"I do not carry His Majesty's complaints, Highness," she answered
humbly. "I am but the poor engine of the fears of my Lady Sunderland,
who saith that in London the Prince his name is on the lips of all the
discontents, and it is feared that they might set him up as a pretender;
and since that could not be if you refused your consent, it would be a
great comfort to His Majesty and his faithful ministers if you would
give that assurance."
The Princess took a step forward, then stopped as if by an effort of
self-control.
"I cannot deal with these secret and underground counsels," she said
firmly; "and my poor brains are not fit for business."
"This is not business, Highness," urged Basilea.
"Whatever you call it," demanded the Princess, "why did you undertake
it?"
"Because M. D'Avaux----" began Basilea, then stopped vexed; she had not
meant to mention that name.
"M. D'Avaux," repeated Mary, with a heightened colour; "so he hath a
mind to know what I shall do if a certain crisis cometh?"
Both the tone and the words seemed to betray more interest and knowledge
than she had yet disclosed, and Basilea was encouraged.
"M. D'Avaux is an acquaintance of mine," she said frankly.
"Ah yes," replied Mary; "you are a Papist, and your husband was a
Frenchman. I think that meaneth," she added courteously, "that we
cannot see things the same."
"Your Highness doth not desire to behold Europe embroiled in another
war!"
Mary answered earnestly--
"There is nothing further from my wishes, and no ambition of mine," she
added half wistfully, "would disturb anybody's peace. I bless my God
that I know the life I am suited to, and I thank Him that He hath given
me the grace to know when I am happy."
She put her hand gently on Basilea's sleeve.
"It is getting too dark to remain here, and you have not even looked at
my roses!"
Basilea admitted herself defeated. She was a little chagrined at the
thought of the lame report she would have to give M. D'Avaux, but she
could press no more, especially as she had an uneasy feeling that the
Princess thought the less of her for the errand she had come upon.
She left talk of politics, and Mary accompanied her with easy courtesy
to the front of the villa, where her hired chariot waited with her maid
yawning herself to death over an old-fashioned romance by Mademoiselle
de Scudery, which she had found in the inn parlour.
The sky was paling and flushing behind the great avenue of trees rich in
their full leafage, and the rooks were noisy in the branches.
"This is a pretty spot, Highness," said Basilea, on the impulse of the
moment.
Mary smiled.
Two men were mounting the few wide entrance steps. Basilea noticed
them, because one was the red-breeched sailor whom she had seen
yesterday beneath her window, the other was a slight gentleman in a
circular mantle turned up over one shoulder, wearing riding boats and
carrying a whip; Basilea saw his horse being led off by a bareheaded
groom.
She could not restrain her curiosity at seeing the seaman entering the
Prince's villa.
"Doth Your Highness know that man?" she asked.
Mary glanced at the two as she closed the gate in the garden wall.
"Which?" she asked, smiling.
"The English sailor----"
"No; but he hath good credentials, for that is the Prince with him,"
said Mary quietly.
Basilea was further surprised; she endeavoured to gain a closer view of
the Stadtholder and his companion, but they had entered the house; she
was satisfied, however, that she had something to tell M. D'Avaux.
"You must not marvel at the companion of His Highness," continued the
Princess; "there are many come here who are glad to wear disguises,
owing to the rancour of the persecution of the Protestants in France."
Basilea courtsied her leave. She was quite convinced that the seaman
was not French nor on any message from France, and she was beginning to
be convinced, too, that the Princess was marvellously changed and
different, and that it would be well for neither Lady Sunderland nor M.
D'Avaux to be too sure of her compliance.
Mary allowed her to depart without that demonstration of kindness with
which she had received her, and Basilea stepped into her chariot feeling
disappointed and dissatisfied.
Mary, still standing by the garden wall at the side of the house,
watched the little coach swing out of sight down the long darkening
drive, and when it was lost in the shadows ran lightly up the steps and
in through the tall doors: there, in the light painted vestibule, she
found the Prince and the English seaman conversing.
She paused, flushed, and breathing in pants. The Prince took off his
hat, and said--
"This is the Princess, sir."
The sailor turned quickly, and gave her a sharp look as he bowed.
"This is Admiral Herbert, Madame," continued the Prince, "who is new
come from England."
The colour receded from Mary's face. She glanced in a half frightened
way at her husband.
"Oh," she murmured, "I wished to speak to you--but it can wait--for I
suppose Admiral Herbert his business is ... important."
There was a tenseness of containment among the three of them, as if they
were all aware of great events and would not speak of them.
"If the Princess is informed----" began Arthur Herbert.
The Stadtholder interrupted.
"The Princess knoweth everything, Mr. Herbert."
Arthur Herbert betrayed the slightest surprise, covered instantly by a
ready turn of speech.
"Her Highness will understand, then, the importance of my business."
He bowed again, very courteous, to Mary, who answered instantly--
"I will not hinder you, Mr. Herbert, not for an instant."
The Prince looked at her.
"Send for me when I am free, Madame."
With that they both saluted her, and turned into the room at the right
of the vestibule.
Mary stood motionless in the twilight, staring at the spot where the
English messenger had stood, peered at the closed door that concealed
him, then went softly and, it seemed, fearfully away.