AN OPEN DOOR
When the carriage reached the palace they were told that the Queen was
not yet come from Greenwich; and they were shown into a little ante-room
next the gallery where the interview was to take place. The Queen, the
Lieutenant told Anthony, was to come up that afternoon passing through
London, and that she had desired to see him on her way through to
Nonsuch; he could not tell him why he was sent for, though he conjectured
it was because of Mistress Corbet's death, and that her Grace wished to
know the details.
"However," said the Lieutenant, "you now have your opportunity to speak
for yourself, and I think you a very fortunate man, Mr. Norris. Few have
had such a privilege, though I remember that Mr. Campion had it too,
though he made poor use of it."
Anthony said nothing. His mind was throbbing with memories and
associations. The air of state and luxury in the corridors through which
he had just come, the discreet guarded doors, the servants in the royal
liveries standing here and there, the sense of expectancy that mingled
with the solemn hush of the palace--all served to bring up the figure of
Mary Corbet, whom he had seen so often in these circumstances; and the
thought of her made the peril in which he stood and the hope of escape
from it seem very secondary matters. He walked to the window presently
and looked out upon the little court below, one of the innumerable yards
of that vast palace, and stood staring down on the hound that was chained
there near one of the entrances, and that yawned and blinked in the
autumn sunshine.
Even as he looked the dog paused in the middle of his stretch and stood
expectant with his ears cocked, a servant dashed bareheaded down a couple
of steps and out through the low archway; and simultaneously Anthony
heard once more the sweet shrill trumpets that told of the Queen's
approach; then there came the roll of drums and the thunder of horses'
feet and the noise of wheels; the trumpets sang out again nearer, and the
rumbling waxed louder as the Queen's cavalcade, out of sight, passed the
entrance of the archway down upon which Anthony looked; and then stilled,
and the palace itself began to hum and stir; a door or two banged in the
distance, feet ran past the door of the ante-room, and the strain of the
trumpets sounded once in the house itself. Then all grew quiet once more,
and Anthony turned from the window and sat down again by the Lieutenant.
There was silence for a few minutes. The Lieutenant stroked his beard
gently and said a word or two under his breath now and again to Anthony;
once or twice there came the swift rustle of a dress outside as a lady
hurried past; then the sound of a door opening and shutting; then more
silence; then the sound of low talking, and at last the sound of
footsteps going slowly up and down the gallery which adjoined the
ante-room.
Still the minutes passed, but no summons came. Anthony rose and went to
the window again, for, in spite of himself, this waiting told upon him.
The dog had gone back to his kennel and was lying with his nose just
outside the opening. Anthony wondered vacantly to himself what door it
was that he was guarding, and who lived in the rooms that looked out
beside it. Then suddenly the door from the gallery opened and a page
appeared.
"The Queen's Grace will see Mr. Norris alone."
Anthony went towards him, and the page opened the door wide for him to go
through, and then closed it noiselessly behind him, and Anthony was in
the presence.
* * * *
It was with a sudden bewilderment that he recognised he was in the same
gallery as that in which he had talked and sat with Mary Corbet. There
were the long tapestries hanging opposite him, with the tall three
windows dividing them, and the suits of steel armour that he remembered.
He even recalled the pattern of the carpet across which Mary Corbet had
come forward to meet him, and that still lay before the tall window at
the end that looked on to the Tilt-yard. The sun was passing round to the
west now, and shone again across the golden haze of the yard through this
great window, with the fragments of stained glass at the top. The memory
leapt into life even as he stepped out and stood for a moment, dazed in
the sunshine, at the door that opened from the ante-room.
But the figure that turned from the window and faced him was not like
Mary's. It was the figure of an old woman, who looked tall with her
towering head-dress and nodding plume; she was dressed in a great dark
red mantle thrown back on her shoulders, and beneath it was a pale yellow
dress sown all over with queer devices; on the puffed sleeve of the arm
that held the stick was embroidered a great curling snake that shone with
gold thread and jewels in the sunlight, and powdered over the skirt were
representations of human eyes and other devices, embroidered with dark
thread that showed up plainly on the pale ground. So much he saw down one
side of the figure on which the light shone; the rest was to his dazzled
eyes in dark shadow. He went down on his knees at once before this
tremendous figure, seeing the buckled feet that twinkled below the skirt
cut short in front, and remained there.
There was complete silence for a moment, while he felt the Queen looking
at him, and then the voice he remembered, only older and harsher, now
said:
"What is all this, Mr. Norris?"
Anthony looked for a moment and saw the Queen's eyes fixed on him; but he
said nothing, and looked down again.
"Stand up," said the Queen, not unkindly, "and walk with me."
Anthony stood up at once, and heard the stiff rustle of her dress and the
tap of her heels and stick on the polished boards as she came towards
him. Then he turned with her down the long gallery.
Until this moment, ever since he had heard that he was to see the Queen,
he had felt nervous and miserable; but now this had left him, and he felt
at his ease. To be received in this way, in privacy, and to accompany her
up and down the gallery as she took her afternoon exercise was less
embarrassing than the formal interview he had expected. The two walked
the whole length of the gallery without a word, and it was not until they
turned and faced the end that looked on to the Tilt-yard that the Queen
spoke; and her voice was almost tender.
"I understand that you were with Minnie Corbet when she died," she said.
"She died for me, your Grace," said Anthony.
The Queen looked at him sharply.
"Tell me the tale," she said.
And Anthony told her the whole story of the escape and the ride; speaking
too for his friend, Mr. Buxton, and of Mary's affection for him.
"Your Grace," he ended, "it sounds a poor tale of a man that a woman
should die for him so; but I can say with truth that with God's grace I
would have died a hundred deaths to save her."
The Queen was silent for a good while when the story was over, and
Anthony thought that perhaps she could not speak; but he dared not look
at her.
Then she spoke very harshly:
"And you, Mr. Norris, why did you not escape?"
"Your Grace would not have done so."
"When I saw that she was dying, I would."
"Not if you had been a priest, your Grace."
"What is that?" asked the Queen, suddenly facing him.
"I am a priest, madam, and she was a Catholic, and my duty was beside
her."
"Eh?"
"I shrived her, your Grace, before she died."
"Why! they did not tell me that."
Anthony was silent.
They walked on a few steps, and the Queen stood silent too, looking down
upon the Tilt-yard. Then she turned abruptly, and Anthony turned with
her, and they began to go up and down again.
"It was gallant of you both," she said shortly. "I love that my people
should be of that sort." Then she paused. "Tell me," she went on, "did
Mary love me?"
Anthony was silent for a moment.
"The truth, Mr. Norris," she said.
"Mistress Corbet was loyalty itself," he answered.
"Nay, nay, nay, not loyalty but love I asked you of. How did she speak of
me?"
"Well, your Grace, Mistress Corbet had a shrewd wit, and she used it
freely on friend and foe, but her very sharpness on your Grace,
sometimes, showed her love; for she hated to think you otherwise than
what she deemed the best."
The Queen stopped full in her walk.
"That is very pleasantly put," she said; "I told Minnie you were a
courtier."
Again the two walked on.
"Then she used her tongue on me?"
"Your Grace, I have never met one on whom she did not: but her heart was
true."
"I know that, I know that, Mr. Norris. Tell me something she said."
Anthony racked his brains for something not too severe.
"Mistress Corbet once said that the Queen's most disobedient subject was
herself."
"Eh?" said Elizabeth, stopping in her walk.
"'Because,' said Mistress Corbet, 'she can never command herself,'"
finished Anthony.
The Queen looked at Anthony, puzzled a moment; and then chuckled loudly
in her throat.
"The impertinent minx!" she said, "that was when I had clouted her, no
doubt."
Again they walked up and down in silence a little while. Anthony began to
wonder whether this was all for which the Queen had sent for him. He was
astonished at his own self-possession; all the trembling awe with which
he had faced the Queen at Greenwich was gone; he had forgotten for the
moment even his own peril; and he felt instead even something of pity for
this passionate old woman, who had aged so quickly, whose favourites one
by one were dropping off, or at the best giving her only an exaggerated
and ridiculous devotion, at the absurdity of which all the world laughed.
Here was this old creature at his side, surrounded by flatterers and
adventurers, advancing through the world in splendid and jewelled
raiment, with trumpets blowing before her, and poets singing her praises,
and crowds applauding in the streets, and sneering in their own houses at
the withered old virgin-Queen who still thought herself a Diana--and all
the while this triumphal progress was at the expense of God's Church, her
car rolled over the bodies of His servants, and her shrunken, gemmed
fingers were red in their blood;--so she advanced, thought Anthony, day
by day towards the black truth and the eternal loneliness of the darkness
that lies outside the realm where Christ only is King.
Elizabeth broke in suddenly on his thoughts.
"Now," she said, "and what of you, Mr. Norris?"
"I am your Grace's servant," he said.
"I am not so sure of that," said Elizabeth. "If you are my servant, why
are you a priest, contrary to my laws?"
"Because I am Christ's servant too, your Grace."
"But Christ's apostle said, 'Obey them that have the rule over you.'"
"In indifferent matters, madam."
The Queen frowned and made a little angry sound.
"I cannot understand you Papists," said the Queen. "What a-God's name do
you want? You have liberty of thought and faith; I desire to inquire into
no man's private opinions. You may worship Ashtaroth if it please you, in
your own hearts; and God looks to the heart, and not to the outer man.
There is a Church with bishops like your own, and ministers; there are
the old churches to worship in--nay, you may find the old ornaments still
in use. We have sacraments as you have; you may seek shrift if you will;
nay, in some manner we have the mass--though we do not call it so--but we
follow Christ's ordinance in the matter, and you can do no more. We have
the Word of God as you have, and we use the same creeds. What more can
the rankest Papist ask? Tell me that, Mr. Norris; for I am a-weary of
your folk."
The Queen turned and faced him again a moment, and her eyes were peevish
and resentful.
Presently she went on again.
"Mr. Campion told me it was the oath that troubled him. He could not take
it, he said. I told the fool that I was not Head of the Church as Christ
was, but only the supreme governor, as the Act declares, in all spiritual
and ecclesiastical things:--I forget how it runs,--but I showed it him,
and asked him whether it were not true; and I asked him too how it was
that Margaret Roper could take the oath, and so many thousands of persons
as full Christian as himself--and he could not answer me."
The Queen was silent again. Then once more she went on indignantly:
"It is yourselves that have brought all this trouble on your heads. See
what the Papists have done against me; they have excommunicated me,
deposed me--though in spite of it I still sit on the throne; they have
sent an Armada against me; they have plotted against me, I know not how
many times; and then, when I defend myself and hang a few of the wolves,
lo! they are Christ's flock at once for whom he shed His precious blood,
and His persecuted lambs, and I am Jezebel straightway and Athaliah and
Beelzebub's wife--and I know not what."
The Queen stopped, out of breath, and looked fiercely at Anthony, who
said nothing.
"Tell me how you answer that, Mr. Norris?" said the Queen.
"I dare not deal with such great matters," said Anthony, "for your Grace
knows well that I am but a poor priest that knows nought of state-craft;
but I would like to ask your Highness two questions only. The first is:
whether your Grace had aught to complain of in the conduct of your
Catholic subjects when the Armada was here; and the second, whether there
hath been one actual attempt upon your Grace's life by private persons?"
"That is not to the purpose," said the Queen peevishly.
"It was Catholics who fought against me in the Armada, and it was
Catholics who plotted against me at Court."
"Then there is a difference in Catholics, your Grace," said Anthony.
"Ah! I see what you would be at."
"Yes, your Highness; I would rather say, Although they be Catholics they
do these things."
There was silence again, which Anthony did not dare to break; and the two
walked up the whole length of the gallery without speaking.
"Well, well," said Elizabeth at last, "but this was not why I sent for
you. We will speak of yourself now, Mr. Norris. I hope you are not an
obstinate fellow. Eh?"
Anthony said nothing, and the Queen went on.
"Now, as I have told you, I judge no man's private opinions. You may
believe what you will. Remember that. You may believe what you will; nay,
you may practise your religion so long as it is private and unknown to
me."
Anthony began to wonder what was coming; but he still said nothing as the
Queen paused. She stood a moment looking down into the empty Tilt-yard
again, and then turned and sat suddenly in a chair that stood beside the
window, and put up a jewelled hand to shield her face, with her elbow on
the arm, while Anthony stood before her.
"I remember you, Mr. Norris, very well at Greenwich; you spoke up sharply
enough, and you looked me in the eyes now and then as I like a man to do;
and then Minnie loved you, too. I wish to show you kindness for her
sake."
Anthony's heart began to fail him, for he guessed now what was coming and
the bitter struggle that lay before him.
"Now, I know well that the Commissioners have had you before them; they
are tiresome busybodies. Walsingham started all that and set them
a-spying and a-defending of my person and the rest of it; but they are
loyal folk, and I suppose they asked you where you had been and with whom
you had stayed, and so on?"
"They did, your Grace."
"And you would not tell them, I suppose?"
"I could not, madam; it would have been against justice and charity to do
so."
"Well, well, there is no need now, for I mean to take you out of their
hands."
A great leap of hope made itself felt in Anthony's heart; he did not know
how heavy the apprehension lay on him till this light shone through.
"They will be wrath with me, I know, and will tell me that they cannot
defend me if I will not help them; but, when all is said, I am Queen. Now
I do not ask you to be a minister of my Church, for that, I think, you
would never be; but I think you would like to be near me--is it not so?
And I wish you to have some post about the Court; I must see what it is
to be."
Anthony's heart began to sink again as he watched the Queen's face as she
sat tapping a foot softly and looking on the floor as she talked. Those
lines of self-will about the eyes and mouth surely meant something.
Then she looked up, still with her cheek on her right hand.
"You do not thank me, Mr. Norris."
Anthony made a great effort; but he heard his own voice quiver a little.
"I thank your Grace for your kindly intentions toward me, with all my
heart."
The Queen seemed satisfied, and looked down again.
"As to the oath, I will not ask you to take it formally, if you will give
me an assurance of your loyalty."
"That, your Grace, I give most gladly."
His heart was beating again in great irregular thumps in his throat; he
had the sensation of swaying to and fro on the edge of a precipice, now
towards safety and now towards death; it was the cruellest pain he had
suffered yet. But how was it possible to have some post at Court without
relinquishing the exercise of his priesthood? He must think it out; what
did the Queen mean?
"And, of course, you will not be able to say mass again; but I shall not
hinder your hearing it at the Ambassador's whenever you please."
Ah! it had come; his heart gave a leap and seemed to cease.
"Your Grace must forgive me, but I cannot consent."
There was a dead silence; when Anthony looked up, she was staring at him
with the frankest astonishment.
"Did you think, Mr. Norris, you could be at Court and say mass too
whenever you wished?" Her voice rang harsh and shrill; her anger was
rising.
"I was not sure what your Grace intended for me."
"The fellow is mad," she said, still staring at him. "Oh! take care, take
care!"
"Your Grace knows I intend no insolence."
"You mean to say, Mr. Norris, that you will not take a pardon and a post
at Court on those terms?"
Anthony bowed; he could not trust himself to speak, so bitter was the
reaction.
"But, see man, you fool; if you die as a traitor you will never say mass
again either."
"But that will not be with my consent, your Grace."
"And you refuse the pardon?"
"On those terms, your Grace, I must."
"Well----" and she was silent a moment, "you are a fool, sir."
Anthony bowed again.
"But I like courage.--Well, then, you will not be my servant?"
"I have ever been that, your Grace; and ever will be."
"Well, well,--but not at Court?"
"Ah! your Grace knows I cannot," cried Anthony, and his voice rang
sorrowfully.
Again there was silence.
"You must have your way, sir, for poor Minnie's sake; but it passes my
understanding what you mean by it. And let me tell you that not many have
their way with me, rather than mine."
Again hope leapt up in his heart. The Queen then was not so ungracious.
He looked up and smiled--and down again.
"Why, the man's lips are all a-quiver. What ails him?"
"It is your Grace's kindness."
"I must say I marvel at it myself," observed Elizabeth. "You near angered
me just now; take care you do not so quite."
"I would not willingly, as your Grace knows."
"Then we will end this matter. You give me your assurance of loyalty to
my person."
"With all my heart, madam," said Anthony eagerly.
"Then you must get to France within the week. The other too--Buxton--he
loses his estate, but has his life. I am doing much for Minnie's sake."
"How can I thank your Grace?"
"And I will cause Sir Richard to give it out that you have taken the
oath. Call him in."
There was a quick gasp from the priest; and then he cried with agony in
his voice:
"I cannot, your Grace, I cannot."
"Cannot call Sir Richard! Why, you are mad, sir!"
"Cannot consent; I have taken no oath."
"I know you have not. I do not ask it."
Elizabeth's voice came short and harsh; her patience was vanishing, and
Anthony knew it and looked at her. She had dropped her hand, and it was
clenching and unclenching on her knee. Her stick slipped on the polished
boards and fell; but she paid it no attention. She was looking straight
at the priest; her high eyebrows were coming down; her mouth was
beginning to mumble a little; he could see in the clear sunlight that
fell on her sideways through the tall window a thousand little wrinkles,
and all seemed alive; the lines at the corners of her eyes and mouth
deepened as he watched.
"What a-Christ's name do you want, sir?"
It was like the first mutter of a storm on the horizon; but Anthony knew
it must break. He did not answer.
"Tell me, sir; what is it now?"
Anthony drew a long breath and braced his will, but even as he spoke he
knew he was pronouncing his own sentence.
"I cannot consent to leave the country and let it be given out that I had
taken the oath, your Grace. It would be an apostasy from my faith."
Elizabeth sprang to her feet without her stick, took one step forward,
and gave Anthony a fierce blow on the cheek with her ringed hand. He
recoiled a step at the shock of it, and stood waiting with his eyes on
the ground. Then the Queen's anger poured out in words. Her eyes burned
with passion out of an ivory-coloured face, and her voice rang high and
harsh, and her hands continually clenched and unclenched as she screamed
at him.
"God's Body! you are the ungratefullest hound that ever drew breath. I
send for you to my presence, and talk and walk with you like a friend. I
offer you a pardon and you fling it in my face. I offer you a post at
Court and you mock it; you flaunt you in your treasonable livery in my
very face, and laugh at my clemency. You think I am no Queen, but a weak
woman whom you can turn and rule at your will. God's Son! I will show you
which is sovereign. Call Sir Richard in, sir; I will have him in this
instant. Sir Richard, Sir Richard!" she screamed, stamping with fury.
The door into the ante-room behind opened, and Sir Richard Barkley
appeared, with a face full of apprehension. He knelt at once.
"Stand up, Sir Richard," she cried, "and look at this man. You know him,
do you not? and I know him now, the insolent dog! But his own mother
shall not in a week. Look at him shaking there, the knave; he will shake
more before I have done with him. Take him back with you, Sir Richard,
and let them have their will of him. His damned pride and insolence shall
be broken. S' Body, I have never been so treated! Take him out, Sir
Richard, take him out, I tell you!"