God and the King

by Marjorie Bowen

  CHAPTER XII

  APATHY

  Matthew Prior, secretary to the English Embassy at The Hague, walked inthe wonderful gardens at Loo, where the King Stadtholder lived inretreat.

  It was early summer of the first year of the new century; there waspeace in Europe, prosperity in England and the United Provinces; thework of William of Orange seemed finished indeed; he had dismissed theParliament that had so insulted and humiliated him without a word, andas soon as it was up had gone into retirement at Loo; he had lost, itseemed, all interest in England, and even in the affairs of Europe.When the death of the infant Electoral Prince had reduced the firstPartition Treaty to wastepaper, William had framed another with theArchduke Charles as claimant; the discovery of this had provoked greatwrath in England.

  Portland, Somers, and Montague had been threatened with impeachment; M.Canales, the Spanish Ambassador, had delivered an impertinent memorialto William, who was now regarded as a powerless cipher in aParliament-ruled country, and the King had ordered him to be dismissed,and recalled his ambassador from Madrid. As long as Louis kept to thesecond Partition Treaty--and William could not doubt but that he wouldkeep so grave an undertaking--he cared nothing for what they did inEngland; he left the government in the hands of a feeble Tory ministry,of which the late Queen's uncle, Lord Rochester, was the head, and,heedless of the complaints and murmurs, remained in retirement atGuelders.

  Matthew Prior thought this a sorry end for his hero. This flinging ofeverything to chance, this cynical indifference, this apathetic calm,seemed a poor conclusion for all that high hope, that serene courage,that long, splendid, patient endeavour, that continuous, gloriousaction.

  He thought sorrowfully that it was now too late. The King was no longera power in Europe he had been crossed and humbled before all the world,his army had been taken from him, his private grants revoked, his publicpolicy abused, his friends, his ministers, attacked, that Spanishgovernment that in the days of his greatness had humbly offered him theSpanish Netherlands, now dared to insult him; and he was a dying man.

  Matthew Prior sighed gloomily as he walked through the formal groundswith their exact parterres, flower-beds, groves, and alleys, their twinfountains and regular groups of trees.

  The King had been at dinner when he arrived, and he was waiting hisaudience with some sinking of the heart; he had not seen William sincethe peace was proclaimed, three years ago.

  It was about three of the clock when he was sent for, and conducted intothe large dining-room where the King was still at table.

  The Palace, which was one of the most admired in Europe, had been builtby William with lavish magnificence on the site of his favouritehunting-box. Mr. Prior, who had seen Versailles, was impressed by thecommodious nobility of the apartments through which he passed.

  The dining-room was large, lofty, and cool, though filled with thereflected sunlight that shone in the thick trees that shaded the terraceon to which the four tall windows opened. The walls were hung withpictures of the Princes of the House of Orange, wearing armour andholding the baton of authority; above the deep fireplace was a portraitof Queen Mary in red and ermine, clasped with emeralds and pearls.

  The whole room was full of the sense of afternoon sun, but was in shadeby reason of the trees without; yet here and there the gold lightpenetrated and lay in glowing patches on walls, floor, and the whitelace cloth that covered the long table that occupied the centre of thechamber.

  A number of gentlemen sat round this table on velvet-covered stools; thedishes had been removed; the wineglasses and bottles showed pleasantlyon the white linen.

  At the head of the table sat the King, in a low arm-chair; beside himwas a huge white boar-hound, who rested his long head on his master'sknee. William's right arm was round this animal, whom he caressed withaffectionate movements of his fingers.

  Mr. Prior glanced round the company; he knew them all by sight: therewas M. Albemarle, seated nearest to the King, N. Ginckel, my LordRomney, my Lord Wharton, my Lord Pembroke, M. Zulestein, and M.Auverquerque; they were all laughing at something that featherbrain LordRomney was relating, and most of them were in hunting attire and leantcarelessly on the table.

  Matthew Prior looked at the King with searching interest.

  William was leaning back in a languid attitude, with his black plumedhat pulled over his eyes; he wore a full coat of velvet brocade in adark purple, with the huge embroidered elbow-cuffs, now fashionable, andunder-sleeves of gold tissue; a great quantity of heavy lace fell overhis scarlet waistcoat and at his wrists; the long, thick, dark curls ofhis peruke half concealed the flash of his star.

  This extravagant vesture increased the extreme delicacy of hisappearance; he seemed sunk and fainting under the weight of velvet,silk, and lace. His face was pale and hollow, his eyes heavy-lidded anddeeply shadowed beneath; constant pain had drawn his mobile mouth intoan expression of endurance; his cleft chin, usually carried slightlyraised, was sunk on his bosom.

  Mr. Prior, as he came up to make his bow, noticed that His Majesty'shands were so thin that the diamond ring that he wore on the thirdfinger of the hand that caressed the dog had slipped round till the rosewas towards the palm.

  He looked at the young secretary without interest.

  "From The Hague?" he asked, and his voice was broken to a whisper withhis unceasing asthma.

  Mr. Prior went on one knee and handed the letter with which he had beencharged. William motioned him to put it on the table by thewineglasses.

  "Nothing of importance, eh?" he said.

  "I think not, sire; it was merely to ask instructions as to how matterswere to be arranged with Monsieur Heinsius with regard to the Spanishquestions----"

  "Let that wait," returned the King indifferently. He leant forward andtook up his wineglass. "How do you like our house of Loo, Mr. Prior?"

  "I think it worthy of Your Majesty."

  "The gardens are at their finest," remarked William languidly.

  Mr. Prior rose and awaited commands; but the King seemed to quicklyforget his presence, and the other gentlemen took no notice of him atall; most of them were far gone in wine, and William was drinkingheavily--a new thing, for he had ever been the most moderate of men andintolerant of excess in others.

  The King turned his indifferent gaze on Romney and Wharton, who werearguing together.

  "Discussing a Republic for England, my lords?" he asked.

  "Something of the kind, sir," said Wharton.

  "Well, I will disappoint you yet," answered William. "I will bring KingJames's son over on you and give you another Stewart king----"

  "Why, that is as Your Majesty pleaseth," replied Wharton impudently.

  "Or there is Tom of Pembroke," continued William; "there is a good blockof wood out of which to chip a king!"

  Pembroke raised a heated face at this mention of his name.

  "Sir," he cried, leaning down the table towards the King, "my LordAlbemarle telleth me that I was insolent last night."

  "So you were--damned insolent," said the King, in his quiet, tired,unmoved voice.

  "I could not have been in my senses," said Pembroke, in a slightlymaudlin tone.

  "Oh, silly," cried the King, "you were drunk as any trooper; but I nevermind what a man saith after his tenth bottle."

  Romney laughed.

  "You'll get more wisdom out of Tom then than when he is sober, sir!"

  "And even more folly out of you, Harry," said His Majesty dryly.

  He filled his tall glass, and was raising it when he glanced atAlbemarle, who was looking at him steadily.

  William laughed.

  "Are you thinking of the doctors?" he asked.

  "Your Majesty will ever disregard their advice," replied the young man,in a moved voice.

  The King laughed again, not at all pleasantly or graciously.

  "Do you think I would forego even the gratification this affordeth"--hetouched th
e bottle contemptuously--"for years of life?"

  He drank the wine, using all the while his left hand, for his right armwas round the boar-hound.

  "Dr. Ratcliffe aspired to wit this morning," he said. "'I would nothave you cough for your three kingdoms,' he remarked. 'Doctor,' I toldhim, ''tis the three kingdoms killing me, not the cough.'" He lookedround and saw Mr. Prior still standing between the table and thegreen-gold light of the window.

  "Why, Mr. Prior, I play the indifferent host," he murmured. "Joinus--take your place----"

  Romney and Wharton good-humouredly made way for the young poet, who drewanother stool modestly to the table. He was surprised at the easy airof familiarity that reigned; the way these men spoke to the King, andthe way in which he accepted it. The three older Dutchmen, Mr. Priornoticed, Mr. Zulestein, M. Auverquerque, and my Lord Athlone, were thegravest of the company; he fancied they were there only out of loyaltyto the King.

  Albemarle began talking to Wharton; they entered into a livelydiscussion of their separate racing-stables. The King leant backagainst the crimson cushions of his chair and turned his head so that helooked out of the window.

  Mr. Prior gazed at him; he seemed absorbed in thought. Mr. Prior knewthat it was the face of a dying man and a heart-broken man; there wasnot a line of hope, of peace, or pride in that wan countenance; only theserenity of grief, the apathy of utter weariness--a man worn out, donefor, awaiting scornfully an inglorious end. And he had done greatthings; he had been a light to encourage half the world--a name to rallynations.

  "He should have died outside Namur," thought Mr. Prior, and felt thetears smarting against his lids.

  He was not deceived by the boon companions, the drinking, the carelesstalk. He knew that the King cared for none of it, save as a means tohasten death; indeed, the little poet wondered, what had he to livefor?--the Queen had gone, then Portland, then the army--his task wasfinished.

  It might have been an hour or more that the King lay back in his chairlooking out on the slow-waving, full-leaved boughs, through which thechanging sunlight moved; while the noisy talk of the others filled theshadowy spaces of the mellow, lofty room.

  Albemarle looked at him often and anxiously, but did not speak.

  At last William moved, rousing the sleeping dog.

  "I will go into the garden," he said, "before the sun leaves it. Iwould see those Turkey pears."

  Joost van Keppel rose instantly. The King took his arm and got upslowly, coughing with the effort of movement. Mr. Prior was shocked tosee that he could not stand alone, but must support himself onAlbemarle's young strength.

  The others rose, save my Lord Pembroke, who had been asleep thishalf-hour across the table. The King saw him--an unpleasing spectacleof a stout gentleman with peruke awry and a coarsely red face, breathingheavily through his open mouth, with a wet stain of wine under his cheekand over his cravat.

  Mr. Prior expected a burst of anger from the King; but, instead, HisMajesty, still holding on to my Lord Albemarle's arm, broke into a longfit of laughter, in which the others joined for no reason at all savetheir vacant humours.

  The poet could not force even a smile. William's unusual and immoderateamusement had a sad sound to him.

  Romney and Wharton went to drag Pembroke to his feet, and the Kingcontinued laughing.

  He was still laughing when an usher and a courier entered the room.

  "From England, sire," said the latter, dropping to one knee.

  Albemarle sobered instantly. The King ceased laughing and let go mylord's arm, holding himself upright by aid of the table edge.

  "Well, what of England?" he muttered. "We have no great interest inEngland."

  "Grave news, Your Majesty," answered the exhausted courier, who hadridden fast from the Hague.

  The King took the dispatch and broke it open; it was from LordRochester, and contained a few lines written in haste: "His Highness theDuke of Gloucester died suddenly last night of a chill. He desired tobe remembered to Your Majesty."

  William's hands trembled; the news was serious in so far as it meantthat the English succession was now absolutely unsettled. But he was notthinking of that, but of the white, anxious child's face framed in thoseauburn curls, and the gallant spirit looking out of troubled eyes thathad faced the miseries of royalty so bravely.

  "My Lord of Gloucester is dead," he said briefly, flinging down thedispatch. "They might have spared their Greek and Latin--poor sweetwretch!" His voice shook a little. "I am glad he had his troop ofHorse." Then, during the little pause of consternation that held themall mute, he spoke again: "And I am glad he did not live to be a King."