FRANCE MOVES AGAIN
It was mid-October; the Prince's preparations were complete, even to the
putting of the horses on board, and yet there was silence from France.
A terrible lull of suspense hushed the United Provinces, and of all the
anxious hearts there was none so anxious as that of the man who had
staked this great wager--the Stadtholder.
On this day, the nineteenth of the month, he returned from the camp at
Nymwegen, where he had been reviewing the troops long since secretly
raised and drilled by him, and now sanctioned by the States, entered The
Hague privately, and rode to the Binnenhof, where he was closeted with
M. Fagel, who gave him the last assurances that all opposition, even
from the Republican or Loeventein party, was extinct.
When he left the Grand Pensionary and came out into the still corridors
of the Binnenhof, he stood thoughtfully for a moment, at the head of the
staircase, thinking of the various threads, all so different in texture,
that he had almost succeeded in weaving into the completed pattern of
his design.
His own country, the German princes, the Empire, Spain, Sweden, England,
the Pope--all combined at last with one aim, to answer the aggressions
of France.
For ten years, ever since the Peace of Nymwegen had been forced on him,
he had been working through gloom, disappointment, discouragement, for
this end. His answer to the revocation of the Nantz edict and the
seizure of Orange had been the League of Augsburg, which was now bearing
fruit, and all Europe was directed against France.
Toil, energy, courage, patience, and genius were telling. The young
disinherited Prince, who had been treated as a mere pawn by Charles and
Louis, the general of twenty-two with a miserable army, who had been
offered humiliating terms by the French, insolently victorious, had
slowly grown to be a power that both Bourbon and Stewart feared, and
whose influence was predominant over the larger half of the Continent.
His rapid thoughts went back over the years to those black days of blood
and despair when he had been put at the head of his country's fortunes
and trusted with her sole hopes. Defeat--disappointment had often been
his in his struggle to maintain the position of the States in Europe,
but even to his own judgment, and he ranked his own achievements low, it
seemed that success had waited on all his apparent failures, for his
country was not only free but great, and he not only independent but
powerful.
Slowly he began to descend the stairs, which were full of a misty
sunlight. When he reached the first landing-place a man stepped from
one of the tall doors, and, seeing the Prince, bowed and stood very
respectfully waiting for him to pass.
William paused, came to a stop, and regarded this man with a close, keen
scrutiny.
He stood so still that the object of his gaze lifted surprised eyes, and
the two looked at each other.
The Prince stood at the bottom of the flight of stairs, one hand resting
on the polished newel post. He was in buff military attire and carried
over his right arm a heavy dark cloak; he wore a black beaver that
shaded his brow, but the rich light was full on his face, which
expressed a strong emotion sternly contained.
Behind him a blue and green tapestry hung on the dark wall; it showed a
sea fight with curious ships and curling waves, and banners rising
through smoke; the sun showed every thread in it--every crease, and the
latent gold in the heavy chestnut locks of the Prince.
"M. Heinsius," he said softly.
"Your Highness?"
The Prince did not change his position nor move his brilliant gaze.
"I think to leave the States very soon, as you know, Mynheer; you know
also under what circumstances." He paused a second, then added: "I have
your good wishes, Mynheer?"
Antoon Heinsius coloured from chin to brow. He had been of the
Loeventein party and in favour of France, but his policy had changed
lately to an adherence to the Stadtholder; he had not expected this to
be remarked by William.
"Every true heart in Holland," he answered strongly, "must pray for the
success of Your Highness."
William descended to the landing-place and laid his frail hand, half
concealed in embroidered linen ruffles, on the sleeve of M. Heinsius.
"You are the kind of man I want. M. Fagel is old and in failing
health--he needeth help," he said. "You are a patriot; you would, I
think, do anything for the States."
The words were poor compared to the fire and energy in the Stadtholder's
strained but steady voice, and the purpose in the gentle firm touch of
his hand on the other man's arm.
M. Antoon Heinsius answered instantly, with a deepening of the colour in
his fine handsome face--
"Your Highness doth me exceeding honour."
"I am never better pleased," said William, "than when I can make a man
like you my friend."
"Your friend--your servant, Highness," murmured M. Heinsius. He was
considerably moved by this kindness from one usually so stately and
reserved, and one whom he had of late, as he understood his policy
better, warmly admired.
"You know my aims, my plans of government," continued the Stadtholder;
"you will know what to do in my absence,--by serving Holland you serve
more than Holland."
M. Heinsius answered earnestly--
"Before God I will do my best."
"Your best is well worth having, Mynheer. I have noticed your career."
The two men, but a little time since in opposition, looked with complete
understanding into each other's eyes. The Prince had won the fine
loyalty of M. Heinsius as he won all whom he set himself to gain, as he
won ultimately, indeed, all those who served him and came to know him
intimately.
"The States have acted to the wishes of Your Highness?" asked M.
Heinsius.
"The States have trusted me," answered the Prince. "Even the Loeventein
faction are eager for me to depart on this expedition, in the hopes,
maybe"--he smiled--"that I shall be slain or affronted. But I have
anxieties."
He paused and looked at the water of the Vyverberg that lay glinting
with autumn gold beneath the window.
"Mynheer," he added, "a country is a high stake--one's own country.
Mynheer," he looked again into the face of the older man, "you have
perhaps thought there was some wantonness in this my resolve, you have
thought that I may have dared too much in offering to take beyond seas
all the defences of the States."
"Never!" answered M. Heinsius firmly. "I understand and I applaud the
policy of Your Highness."
"It is," said the Stadtholder, "on a sure bottom and to be justified.
Yet, until I know what France doth, I am no better than a man on the
rack."
"You think--even now?"
"Even now--if they were to fall on the frontier! Nought there but the
Spaniards! But a little while will show us."
He paused again, then said, weighing his words, and with a strange
mingling of simplicity and dignity.
"I am no King in this country, Mynheer, but the servant of the Republic,
and you, who are a knowing man and one who hath the common welfare at
heart, I would have hold me justified in this I do. I have been
believed ambitious, but my ambition is one with the good of the States,
and God knoweth that I do not take this tremendous risk from any such
paltry motive, but because it is our chance, which if we do not take we
are as good as lost."
"It is no flattery to say that I agree with Your Highness, who seeth
farther and more clearly than most men."
"You will hear them," answered William, "talk of England, and what I do
to gain England, and how much store I set by that country. Be not
deceived; England is but a counter in the game I play, and, if I
succeed, will be but one of many allies which we will lead against
France. And always with me, Mynheer Heinsius, it is the
Republic--always."
He spoke with intensity and emotion that were the more moving in
contrast to his usual sternness.
"The deeds of Your Highness have proved your words," answered Antoon
Heinsius in an unsteady voice.
The Stadtholder sighed.
"I will not disguise from you that my sufferings are terrible--my
disquietude almost unbearable, for it is the Republic at stake," he
said.
He gave his hand to M. Heinsius, who kissed it very lowly, and left the
Binnenhof.
He had not so much as a footboy in attendance, and rode rapidly to the
'huis ten bosch' with little regard for the salutes and respectful
homage of those he passed. His contemplated enterprise, the very daring
of which, owing to his usual caution, was the more awe-inspiring, made
him even more than ever an object of admiration and attention at The
Hague.
Once within the bounds of his own woods he was enwrapped in the gracious
loveliness of the trees--the quiet of the frost-bound earth, and had
almost reached the house before he met anyone; then, round the turn of
the long main avenue came a lady, very gracefully riding a white horse.
The Prince gave her a quick glance, touched his beaver, and was passing
with no slacking of his pace, but she drew rein and said in a faint
voice--
"Your Highness----" with a little gesture that seemed to entreat him to
stay.
He turned his horse instantly.
"I am leaving The Hague, sir," she said, speaking English, which was
obviously her native tongue. "I have the permission of Her Highness to
go see my sister who is sadly worse."
She was young, very slender, and carried herself with a certain air of
fire and pride, a certain poise of dignity and animation charming to
behold; her features were ordinary, but vivacious and intelligent; there
was a certain set or cast in her brown eyes not unattractive, and her
hair, in a hundred gleaming hues of gold, red, and deep honey colour,
hung in thick curls on to her riding coat, cut like a man's and thickly
embroidered with gold.
"Madame Bentinck is worse?" repeated William in a quick distress.
"They did say so. I felt I should go."
"I am grieved a thousand times," he added, "and for M. Bentinck"--he
spoke with real feeling, but with that touch of constraint (unlike his
usual reserve) which marked her manner to him--"and for you, Madam."
Miss Villiers hesitated a second, then said abruptly--
"I did not think to meet you. I shall not see you again before you
sail. Take my poor wishes with you."
"I have been so bold as to feel sure of them," he answered gravely. She
was silent, but he did not ride on, but sat with slack reins looking at
her, half in the thick autumn sunlight, half in the shade of the close
tree trunks, for the sun was sinking.
They had not spoken to each other alone for years; but when she had
first come to The Hague with his wife there had been a swift attraction
between them, which, for all her discretion and his reserve, had not
failed to be seized upon by the English agents to work discords in the
Court of The Hague. It was not so long ago that the Princess's
Chaplain, Dr. Covell, and Miss Trelawney, had been dismissed by Mary for
inventing and spreading this kind of gossip for the benefit of those
spies of the English Court who were ever endeavouring to estrange the
Prince from his wife.
The Stadtholder was sensitive to these malicious scandals. He rather
avoided Miss Villiers, who, on her part, was utterly indifferent to
report and, secure in the position the marriage of her sister to M.
Bentinck gave her, troubled herself not in the least either about Mary's
gentle dislike or her own unpopularity in The Hague. She had great
gifts--wit and courage and understanding, enthusiasm and self-control;
she was very reserved, no one knew her well, not the Prince now, though
once he had had her inspiring friendship, her brilliant advice, her
ardent attention; she was still of service to him, but always through
the medium of her sister and M. Bentinck. It was strange to both of
them to come face to face like this in those woods in which, near ten
years ago, they had walked together, and he had told her of his hopes
and fears previous, and just after the Peace of Nymwegen.
He smiled and she frowned; each wondered how much that friendship had
been worth to the other; Miss Villiers thought that she had long been
balanced with his wife in his affections; he, that she had never
considered him as more than the embodiment of a policy that she
admired--both were wrong.
"Tell me," she said suddenly, "are you still in fears of the French?"
"The greatest fears. Until I know how they are going to move I consider
the whole plan in jeopardy. If they should march on the frontiers----"
"God forbid!" she exclaimed fervently. "When will you know?"
"I am utterly in the dark."
"I shall not sleep until you have safely sailed," she said. "For what is
to become of England if this faileth?"
"It must not fail," he answered quietly.
Miss Villiers looked at him strangely.
"No," she remarked; "I do not think you will fail--in the end."
She lowered her eyes, patted the strong arched neck of her horse, and
added--
"I have seen my Lord Shrewsbury and my Lord Manchester, and laboured to
strengthen them in your cause." She smiled. "They are discontented
already."
"Does it matter?" asked William.
"A vast deal. You must, sir, try to please the English more; they do
not love you."
"Then I cannot make them."
She raised her eyes again.
"Perhaps you do not quite understand us--the English--though you have
known a many by now----"
"I do not even understand you, Madam," he answered, "save that you have
done great services to the cause I stand for, and for that," he added
earnestly, "you must not think me ungrateful. Some day I may be able to
share prosperity with my friends."
He said the last sentence with a warmth yet a simplicity wholly
charming. Miss Villiers paled and averted her eyes.
"What use is my advice!" she exclaimed bitterly. "What use am I!"
He looked in surprise at this sudden alteration in her even demeanour.
"It hath been of use to us," he said gravely. "And what you say now is
just, and I will remember it----"
Miss Villiers suddenly laughed.
"Yes; you must be very civil, sir, to the English, and--you must never
trust them!"
She touched up her horse.
"Sure I will not detain Your Highness----"
He took off his hat.
"I have writ to M. Bentinck," he said earnestly; "but tell him yourself
what a great concern I am under as to your sister her health--and that
he must send a messenger with news."
Elizabeth Villiers bent her head, smiled rather sadly, and they parted;
he towards the house at the end of the long avenue, and she through
gold-red glittering woods into the hazy autumn distance.
When he reached the steps of his villa he saw another woman awaiting
him--the Princess, standing in the full last light, with a light cloak
about her. As soon as she beheld his approach she came forward, and was
at his stirrup before he had dismounted.
"There is a galloper from Flanders with news," she said; her voice was
strained, and she clasped her hands tightly together to steady them.
A broken exclamation escaped the Prince.
"If the French are marching on the frontiers I cannot go!"
The grooms came forward and took his great horse; he sprang from the
saddle and went with the Princess up the shallow sun-flooded steps.
"Oh, my dear!" cried Mary under her breath, "if there are ill
advices----"
He pressed her hand fiercely.
"I cannot leave the country if they are invading Flanders----"
In the simple vestibule was the impatient messenger--a young Spanish
officer, who went, very courtly, on one knee when the Prince entered,
and handed a packet from M. de Castagnana.
"News of the French?" demanded William swiftly.
"I do believe so, Highness."
The Stadtholder broke open the dispatch, glanced down the close lines of
Spanish, and turned instantly to his pale wife, whose eyes were fixed on
him with a piteous intensity.
"The French have abandoned Flanders!" he cried; "their troops are
pouring into Germany--the States are safe, thank God! thank God----"