A fortnight later, of a Sunday morning, the Lord Chamberlain of
England was disturbed out of his usual equanimity. As he was treading
the rushes in the presence-chamber of the royal palace at Greenwich,
his eye busy in inspection--for the Queen would soon pass on her way
to chapel--his head nodding right and left to archbishop, bishop,
councillors of state, courtiers, and officers of the crown, he heard
a rude noise at the door leading into the antechapel, where the Queen
received petitions from the people. Hurrying thither in shocked
anxiety, he found a curled gentleman of the guard, resplendent in red
velvet and gold chains, in peevish argument with a boisterous
seigneur of a bronzed, good-humored face, who urged his entrance to
the presence-chamber.
The Lord Chamberlain swept down upon the pair like a flamingo with
wings outspread. “God’s death! what means this turmoil? Her Majesty
comes hither!” he cried, and scowled upon the intruder, who now
stepped back a little, treading on the toes of a huge sailor with a
small head and bushy red hair and beard.
“Because her Majesty comes I come also,” the seigneur interposed,
grandly.
“What is your name and quality?”
“Yours first, and I shall know how to answer.”
“I am the Lord Chamberlain of England.”
“And I, my lord, am Lemprière, Seigneur of Rozel--and butler to the
Queen.”
“Where is Rozel?” asked my Lord Chamberlain.
The face of the seigneur suddenly flushed, his mouth swelled, and
then burst.
“_Where is Rozel!_” he cried, in a voice of rage. “Where is Rozel!
Have you heard of Hugh Pawlett?” he asked, with a huge contempt--“of
Governor Hugh Pawlett?” The Lord Chamberlain nodded. “Then ask his
Excellency when next you see him, Where is Rozel? But take good
counsel and keep your ignorance from the Queen,” he added. “She has
no love for stupids.”
“You say you are butler to the Queen? Whence came your commission?”
said the Lord Chamberlain, smiling now; for Lemprière’s words and
ways were of some simple world where odd folk lived, and his boyish
vanity disarmed anger.
“By royal warrant and heritage. And of all of the Jersey Isle, I only
may have dove-cotes, which is the everlasting thorn in the side of De
Carteret of St. Ouen’s. Now will you let me in, my lord?” he said,
all in a breath.
At a stir behind him the Lord Chamberlain turned, and with a
horrified exclamation hurried away, for the procession from the
Queen’s apartments had already entered the presence-chamber:
gentlemen, barons, earls, knights of the garter, in brave attire,
with bare heads and sumptuous calves. The Lord Chamberlain had
scarce got to his place when the Chancellor, bearing the seals in a
red silk purse, entered, flanked by two gorgeous folk with the royal
sceptre and the sword of state in a red scabbard, all flourished with
fleurs-de-lis. Moving in and out among them all was the Queen’s fool,
who jested and shook his bells under the noses of the highest.
It was an event of which the Seigneur of Rozel told to his dying day:
that he entered the presence-chamber of the royal palace of Greenwich
at the same instant as the Queen--“Rozel at one end, Elizabeth at the
other, and all the world at gaze,” he was wont to say, with loud
guffaws. But what he spoke of afterwards with preposterous ease and
pride was neither pride nor ease at the moment; for the Queen’s eyes
fell on him as he shoved past the gentlemen who kept the door. For an
instant she stood still, regarding him intently, then turned quickly
to the Lord Chamberlain in inquiry, and with a sharp reproof, too, in
her look. The Lord Chamberlain fell on his knee, and with low,
uncertain voice explained the incident.
Elizabeth again cast her eyes towards Lemprière, and the court,
following her example, scrutinized the seigneur in varied styles of
insolence or curiosity. Lemprière drew himself up with a slashing
attempt at composure, but ended by flaming from head to foot, his
face shining like a cock’s comb, the perspiration standing out like
beads upon his forehead, his eyes gone blind with confusion. That was
but for a moment, however, and then, Elizabeth’s look being slowly
withdrawn from him, a curious smile came to her lips, and she said to
the Lord Chamberlain, “Let the gentleman remain.”
The Queen’s fool tripped forward and tapped the Lord Chamberlain on
the shoulder. “Let the gentleman remain, gossip, and see you that
remaining he goeth not like a fly with his feet in the porridge.”
With a flippant step before the seigneur, he shook his bells at him.
“Thou shalt stay, Nuncio, and, staying, speak the truth. So doing,
you shall be as noted as a comet with three tails. You shall
prove that man was made in God’s image. So lift thy head and
sneeze--sneezing is the fashion here; but see that thou sneeze not
thy head off as they do in Tartary. ’Tis worth remembrance.”
Rozel’s self-importance and pride had returned. The blood came back
to his heart, and he threw out his chest grandly; he even turned to
Buonespoir, whose great figure might be seen beyond the door, and
winked at him. For a moment he had time to note the doings of the
Queen and her courtiers with wide-eyed curiosity. He saw the Earl of
Leicester, exquisite, haughty, gallant, fall upon his knee, and
Elizabeth slowly pull off her glove and with a none too gracious look
give him her hand to kiss, the only favor of the kind granted that
day. He saw Cecil, her minister, introduce a foreign noble, who
presented his letters. He heard the Queen speak in a half-dozen
different languages, to people of various lands, and was smitten with
due amazement.
But as Elizabeth came slowly down the hall, her white silk gown
fronted with great pearls flashing back the light, a marchioness
bearing the train, the crown on her head glittering as she turned
from right to left, her wonderful collar of jewels sparkling on her
uncovered bosom, suddenly the mantle of black, silver-shotted silk
upon her shoulders became to Lemprière’s heated senses a judge’s
robe, and Elizabeth the august judge of the world. His eyes blinded
again, for it was as if she were bearing down upon him. Certainly she
was looking at him now, scarce heeding the courtiers who fell to
their knees on either side as she came on. The red doublets of the
fifty Gentlemen Pensioners--all men of noble families proud to do
this humble yet distinguished service--with battle-axes, on either
side of her, seemed to Lemprière on the instant like an army with
banners threatening him. From the antechapel behind him came the cry
of the faithful subjects who, as the gentlemen-at-arms fell back from
the doorway, had but just caught a glimpse of her Majesty--“Long live
Elizabeth!”
It seemed to Lemprière that the Gentlemen Pensioners must beat him
down as they passed, yet he stood riveted to the spot. And, indeed,
it was true that he was almost in the path of her Majesty. He was
aware that two gentlemen touched him on the shoulder and bade him
retire; but the Queen motioned to them to desist. So, with the eyes
of the whole court on him again, and Elizabeth’s calm, curious gaze
fixed, as it were, on his forehead, he stood still till the flaming
Gentlemen Pensioners were within a few feet of him and the
battle-axes were almost over his head.
The great braggart was no better now than a wisp of grass in the
wind, and it was more than homage that bent him to his knees as the
Queen looked him full in the eyes. There was a moment’s absolute
silence, and then she said, with cold condescension:
“By what privilege do you seek our presence?”
“I am Raoul Lemprière, Seigneur of Rozel, your high Majesty,” said
the choking voice of the Jerseyman.
The Queen raised her eyebrows. “The man seems French. You come from
France?”
Lemprière flushed to his hair--the Queen did not know him, then!
“From Jersey Isle, your sacred Majesty.”
“Jersey Isle is dear to us. And what is your warrant here?”
“I am butler to your Majesty, by your gracious Majesty’s patent, and
I alone may have dove-cotes in the isle; and I only may have the
perquage--on your Majesty’s patent. It is not even held by De
Carteret of St. Ouen’s.”
The Queen smiled as she had not smiled since she entered the
presence-chamber. “God preserve us,” she said, “that I should not
have recognized you! It is, of course, our faithful Lemprière of
Rozel.”
The blood came back to the seigneur’s heart, but he did not dare look
up yet, and he did not see that Elizabeth was in rare mirth at his
words; and though she had no ken or memory of him, she read his
nature and was mindful to humor him. Beckoning Leicester to her side,
she said a few words in an undertone, to which he replied with a
smile more sour than sweet.
“Rise, Monsieur of Rozel,” she said.
The seigneur stood up, and met her gaze faintly.
“And so, proud seigneur, you must needs flout e’en our Lord
Chamberlain, in the name of our butler with three dove-cotes and the
perquage. In sooth thy office must not be set at naught lightly--not
when it is flanked by the perquage. By my father’s doublet, but that
frieze jerkin is well cut; it suits thy figure well--I would that my
Lord Leicester here had such a tailor. But this perquage--I doubt not
there are those here at court who are most ignorant of its force and
moment. My Lord Chamberlain, my Lord Leicester, Cecil here--confusion
sits in their faces. The perquage, which my father’s patent approved,
has served us well, I doubt not, is a comfort to our realm and a
dignity befitting the wearer of that frieze jerkin. Speak to their
better understanding, Monsieur of Rozel.”
“Speak, Nuncio, and you shall have comforts, and be given in
marriage, multiple or singular, even as I,” said the fool, and
touched him on the breast with his bells.
Lemprière had recovered his heart, and now was set full sail in the
course he had charted for himself in Jersey. In large words and
larger manner he explained most innocently the sacred privilege of
_perquage_.
“And how often have you used the right, friend?” asked Elizabeth.
“But once in ten years, your noble Majesty.”
“When last?”
“But yesterday a week, your universal Majesty.”
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows. “Who was the criminal, what the
occasion?”
“The criminal was one Buonespoir, the occasion our coming hither to
wait upon the Queen of England and our Lady of Normandy, for such is
your well-born Majesty to your loyal Jersiais.” And thereupon he
plunged into an impeachment of De Carteret of St. Ouen’s, and
stumbled through a blunt, broken story of the wrongs and the sorrows
of Michel and Angèle and the doings of Buonespoir in their behalf.
Elizabeth frowned and interrupted him. “I have heard of this
Buonespoir, monsieur, through others than the Seigneur of St.
Ouen’s. He is an unlikely squire of dames. There’s a hill in my
kingdom has long bided his coming. Where waits the rascal now?”
“In the antechapel, your Majesty.”
“By the rood!” said Elizabeth, in sudden amazement. “In my
antechapel, forsooth!”
She looked beyond the doorway and saw the great, red-topped figure of
Buonespoir, his good-natured, fearless face, his shock of hair, his
clear blue eye--he was not thirty feet away.
“He comes to crave pardon for his rank offences, your benignant
Majesty,” said Lemprière.
The humor of the thing rushed upon the Queen. Never before were two
such naïve folk at court. There was not a hair of duplicity in the
heads of the two, and she judged them well in her mind.
“I will see you stand together--you and your henchman,” she said to
Rozel, and moved on to the antechapel, the court following. Standing
still just inside the doorway, she motioned Buonespoir to come near.
The pirate, unconfused, undismayed, with his wide, blue, asking eyes,
came forward and dropped upon his knees. Elizabeth motioned Lemprière
to stand a little apart.
Thereupon she set a few questions to Buonespoir, whose replies,
truthfully given, showed that he had no real estimate of his crimes,
and was indifferent to what might be their penalties. He had no moral
sense on the one hand, on the other, no fear.
Suddenly she turned to Lemprière again. “You came, then, to speak for
this Michel de la Forêt, the exile--?”
“And for the demoiselle Angèle Aubert, who loves him, your Majesty.”
“I sent for this gentleman exile a fortnight ago--” She turned
towards Leicester inquiringly.
“I have the papers here, your Majesty,” said Leicester, and gave a
packet over.
“And where have you De la Forêt?” said Elizabeth.
“In durance, your Majesty.”
“When came he hither?”
“Three days gone,” answered Leicester, a little gloomily, for there
was acerbity in Elizabeth’s voice.
Elizabeth seemed about to speak, then dropped her eyes upon the
papers and glanced hastily at their contents.
“You will have this Michel de la Forêt brought to my presence as fast
as horse can bring him, my lord,” she said to Leicester. “This rascal
of the sea--Buonespoir--you will have safe bestowed till I recall his
existence again,” she said to a captain of men-at-arms; “and you,
Monsieur of Rozel, since you are my butler, will get you to my
diningroom and do your duty--the office is not all perquisites,” she
added, smoothly. She was about to move on when a thought seemed to
strike her, and she added, “This mademoiselle and her father whom you
brought hither--where are they?”
“They are even within the palace grounds, your imperial Majesty,”
answered Lemprière.
“You will summon them when I bid you,” she said to the seigneur; “and
you shall see that they have comforts and housing as befits their
station,” she added to the Lord Chamberlain.
So did Elizabeth, out of a whimsical humor, set the highest in the
land to attend upon unknown, unconsidered exiles.