by Jean Plaidy
His mother embraced him. “When I return from England we shall have a talk. I shall tell you what it is like to live at the English Court. Now you may go. And I beg of you do not follow the manners of your cousin. Elizabeth Charlotte is a most undisciplined child.”
“I agree with Your Highness.”
The Princess smiled a little wistfully. She was thinking that if a little of Elizabeth Charlotte’s mischief could be transferred to William it might not be a bad thing.
Elizabeth Charlotte was waiting for him.
“What did the Princess want?” she demanded.
“To discuss affairs.”
Elizabeth Charlotte turned a hasty somersault and William stared at a swirl of petticoats in shocked silence. Her round saucy face, red with exertion, was mocking yet curious.
“You do give yourself airs, William,” she said. “To discuss affairs!” She imitated him. “What affairs? Come on. Tell me.”
“You would not understand.”
“Now, William, if I am going to marry you you will have to learn to treat me with respect.”
“But why?”
“Because I shall be your wife. I shall be the Princess of Orange.”
“You will never be that.”
“And why not? Why am I here as your constant companion if it is not to prepare me to accept you?”
William drew himself up to make himself as tall as possible. Mischievously Elizabeth Charlotte came to stand beside him to show that she was taller.
He knew in that moment that he would never marry her.
“Do not be too sure that I shall accept you,” he said. “You have not the qualities which I shall expect to find in my wife.”
“Oh, William, you talk like Grandmamma of Bohemia or your mother or some of her old ministers. If they say we have to marry we shall, and you’ll have to accept me as I shall you.”
“My wife,” said William, “will be very tall, very beautiful … and …” His voice was suddenly so firm that the grin on Elizabeth Charlotte’s face momentarily disappeared, “She will do exactly as I say.”
William knew that he would never forget that morning in early January and that it would stand out as one of the momentous occasions of his life. He awoke as usual in his apartments in the Palace in the Wood, rising early, doing the exercises which he never failed to perform because he believed that they would make him grow and develop his muscles. Every night and morning he prayed that he might grow tall and strong so that he would be a worthy war leader. He never forgot that his first ambition was to regain the office of Stadtholder which had been his father’s and which the de Wittes and their party had taken from him. The duty of the Stadtholder was to lead Holland against her enemies; it had been the prerogative of the Princes of Orange and he was determined to regain it. Therefore he must discipline himself every day for the task and learn to excel in the art of war. Holland was a small country which had suffered persecution because it was vulnerable and he was determined to make it great.
His zeal was beginning to show results. He could manage a horse with any man; and because of his somewhat short legs he looked bigger on a horse than when standing. That again endeared him to horses. In the saddle he forgot to be concerned with his lack of inches.
He left the Palace for the stables on that morning; his horse was waiting for him and he rode out, galloping with growing excitement. His mother was away at the Court of England making plans for his future. His Uncle Charles was on the throne of England. The de Wittes and their friends had better be wary because he, William, now had some very good and powerful friends who would not be content to see him deprived of offices which were his by right of inheritance.
When he came back to the stables the groom ran out to take his sweating horse and began to stammer words which the Prince could not understand.
William waited coldly for the man to overcome his excitement.
“Your Highness … a visitor to the Palace … They came to the stables searching for you. I told them you had gone out with your horse.”
“Well? And who wished to see me?”
“A very great personage, Your Highness. Mynheer de Witte.”
William did not show that his heart had begun to beat faster. He leaped to the ground and when the groom took his horse left the stables and without hurrying walked into the palace.
A page who was evidently on the lookout for him saw him approaching and ran out to him.
“Your Highness,” he stammered.
“I know,” said William, subconsciously measuring the height of the page—about his own, he reckoned, and the boy younger. “I have a visitor. Take me to him.”
The man who was waiting for the young Prince stood, hands behind his back looking out of the window across the gardens. He turned as William entered the room.
William caught his breath and for a few seconds his habitual calm left him. The man who stood before him was the most talked of, the most influential in Holland; John de Witte, the Grand Pensionary, who more than any had been responsible for the abolition of the Stadtholdership.
John de Witte and his brother Cornelius were names which the Prince had learned to abhor. These two men, brilliant and humane, believed that they could best serve their country by freeing it from hereditary rule; and because the Prince of Holland had died before his son was born they had seen their opportunity to abolish the Stadtholdership which set up one man, the Stadtholder, as supreme ruler. They had affected this because there was no one to defend the title.
Now John de Witte and the deprived Prince of Orange were face to face.
“Your Highness,” said de Witte, coming forward and bowing, “I have tragic news to impart to you, so I have come to do this in person and to convey my deep sympathies. There has been an outbreak of smallpox at the English Court and …”
William, who had been staring at this man, thinking of him as the great enemy, now tried to grasp the importance of what he was trying to tell him. It came to him before the Grand Pensionary could tell him. There was one reason which would bring de Witte to the Palace in the Wood. Smallpox! And his mother at the English Court.
John de Witte’s expression was one of compassion as he went on gently: “Your Highness, it is with sorrow that I have to tell you. Your mother died of the smallpox on the twenty-fourth day of December.”
William did not speak. He stood, a small pathetic figure, trying to realize what this would mean. His father had died before his birth, and his death was merely something that he had heard talked of. True, it meant to him the loss of the Stadtholderate, but this was different. This was the loss of his mother whom he would never see again.
A great sense of loneliness came over him in that moment. It stayed with him for a very long time.
That was indeed a turning point. William was ten years old when his mother died; he had lost his greatest ally, but he had others in his uncles across the sea, for the King of England and the Duke of York let him know that they did not forget him. The Stuarts were a united family; and although he was a Dutchman, he was also English on his mother’s side; he was half-Stuart and the Stuarts’ days of obscurity were over; they were back in favor and they would not forget their own.
He became more reserved than ever; his life seemed governed by one purpose. He was going to regain the Stadtholderate and show the world that a great spirit could burn within a meager frame. He realized quickly that those about him were uncertain of him and that this worked to his advantage. He was no ordinary boy; it was not that his tutors found him brilliant; apart from a natural aptitude for languages he did not excel in the schoolroom. His great strength was in his ability to hide what he was feeling; that almost unnatural calm which appeared to hide a deep profundity of thought. He was not interested in sports; he considered them a waste of time apart from hunting, which was, he believed, necessary to his manhood, and in this he showed that especial equestrian skill in which even he could not hide his pleasure. On a horse he was more, so his atten
dants said, like a human man than at any other time.
De Witte selected his tutors and watched his progress uneasily, realizing that the people would never forget the magic name of Orange. William the Silent would always be one of their greatest national heroes; and this young Prince bore the same name and was of the same heroic branch.
Throughout Holland the people talked of the young Prince and all they heard of him was to his advantage. When he was seen—on horseback—they cheered him, and as he passed into adolescence he became so popular that de Witte realized that sooner or later something would have to be done for him.
Meanwhile William became more and more reserved with the years, keeping his own counsel, never forgetting for a moment his intention to show the world that diminutive William of Orange was one of the greatest figures of the time.
He had his eyes on his uncles across the water! Charles, the King, who would help him one day when he was of an age to fight for his rights, and Uncle James, the great Admiral.
When William was sixteen a plot was made to restore him to the Stadtholderate. William could not be blamed for taking part in it but John de Witte, seeing the direction in which public opinion was turning, decided it was wise to admit him to the Council of State.
In his quiet manner William distinguished himself, and his popularity was growing.
William was nineteen years of age when his uncle invited him to pay a visit to the English Court.
The English Court. What a scene of vice! Sodom and Gomorrah! thought William.
The manner in which the women painted their faces and exposed their bosoms appalled him; the men he considered to be even worse. Their satins and silks, their laces and scents, their conversation, their boasting of their conquests, their descriptions of their amatory adventures, were all very shocking to a young man who drank little wine, rose early and retired early, rarely laughed, and whose only indulgence was a love of the chase.
And this was the English Court from which he hoped for so much. The King sporting with his mistresses—not one but several; the Duke of York notoriously unfaithful to his wife—she who had shocked his mother so much during that visit which had resulted in her death.
He had come to talk seriously to the King about his prospects, and although Charles greeted him kindly and did not appear to think the less of him because he was so small and his back was not quite straight, he did not appear to wish for serious conversation with his nephew. William began to believe that they had invited him merely to take a look at him; and that because he was not like them—which God forbid—they despised him.
One day Charles invited him to walk with him in the park of St. James’s. William felt a disadvantage walking beside his uncle, who was some six feet tall and in his feathered hat seemed a giant. Charles was kindly though; he seemed to understand William’s feeling for when they had walked a little distance he said, “We will sit a while, nephew. There we can talk at our ease.”
He asked William questions about life at The Hague and talked with affection and humor of the days when he had been an exile there. Occasionally he would ask a shrewd question and William realized that while Charles was discovering what he wanted to know, he, William, had little chance of asking the questions he had had in his mind.
But William was not one to be put off. When his uncle stopped speaking for a while, he began to tell him of the difficulties of his position and how he feared he would never regain his rights while the de Wittes were in power. William believed his uncle would understand the advantages to England of a Holland ruled solely by his own nephew who would be forever grateful for the help he received.
“We are a grateful family, we Stuarts,” said Charles, smiling warmly. “We stand together, which shows that as well as being a united family we are a wise one. Why look, there is Buckingham. Buckingham! Come and amuse the Prince of Orange.”
George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, came languidly to the seat on which the King and his nephew sat. The King signed to him to be seated and he placed himself on the other side of the Prince of Orange.
Between these two William felt immediately at a disadvantage. Buckingham was decidedly handsome; he was arrogant, and not inclined to hide the fact even from the King who seemed to delight in his company and to show no resentment at being treated as an equal. How could the King make a favorite of a man of such a reputation? William asked himself. The scandals concerning this man had reached Holland and William knew that the Earl of Shrewsbury had challenged him to a duel because of his guilty intrigue with his, Shrewsbury’s, wife. Shrewsbury had been wounded and two months later had died; and afterward Buckingham had lived openly with the Countess. And all this the lazy good-natured King had known and shrugged aside. Men must settle their own affairs, was his verdict.
It was no way to rule.
William’s thin lips were drawn up into an expression of disdain as Buckingham took his seat; and both the Duke and the King were aware of this. William did not see the glances which flashed between them. Buckingham’s said: Watch. We’ll have some sport with the Dutch boy.
“Ah, Your Highness,” he said, “and how is The Hague? I remember The Hague. Never shall I forget it. Surely the neatest trimmest town in the world. And the neatest trimmest people. I always felt a little more wicked in The Hague than I did anywhere else. The comparison, you see, Your Highness.”
“Comparisons are odorous,” murmured the King.
“Not in Holland, Sire. In Holland all is scrubbed free of odor. I believe that to be why there is such an abundance of canals?”
“You are mistaken,” began William.
Charles laid his hand on the young man’s arm. “Buckingham intends to joke. It’s a poor joke, my lord. You should try to do better.”
“I stand reproved in the sight of Your Majesty and Your Highness. And I fear my stupidity may spoil my chances of having a favor granted.”
“Well, let us hear what favor you ask before you lose heart,” suggested Charles.
“It was an invitation from some friends for His Highness. A little supper party—which we would try to make worthy of the Prince.”
“I do not attend supper parties …” began William.
But Charles intervened, by tightening his grasp on his nephew’s arm and smiling benignly. “Oh, come, nephew. You must not decline the hand of friendship. Join the revels. You must get to know us. We are friends, are we not? Then we must understand each other’s customs.”
It seemed to William that there was a promise in that.
He turned to Buckingham. “I thank you. I accept your invitation. And … thank you.”
Buckingham inclined his head and as he lifted it, his eyes met those of the King. Charles’s were sardonic. Some little joke was being planned. It would be a good one, since it was Buckingham’s idea. He looked forward to hearing what happened to William at the Duke’s supper party.
William entered the small chamber which seemed to be full of extravagantly clad men, laughing gaily and drinking. He looked about him anxiously and saw with relief that there were no women present. He did not know what to expect, but knowing the morals of this court greatly feared he might have been invited to an orgy for the sexes. The thought of this had filled him with terror; and yet at the same time had awakened thoughts in him of which he would not have believed himself capable. He had begun to ask himself whether if he had not such a destiny to fulfill he might not have enjoyed a little dalliance with women. And might it not be part of a great soldier’s life to indulge in amatory adventures? Women to admire him, to tell him that he was the most attractive man in the world, that men such as his uncle were tolerated for their rank while he …
But what was happening to him since he had come to the English Court? Did he not despise these men with their effeminate lacy garments, and to whom the whole meaning of life seemed to be the seduction of women?
Buckingham was greeting him with more reverence than he had shown in the garden and in the presence of the Ki
ng.
“Your Highness, our little gathering is honored indeed.”
Others were crowding round him, and he recognized them as some of the biggest rakes and libertines of his uncle’s court: Rochester, Dorset, Charles Sedley, and Henry Savile. His nose twitched in disdain as he remembered some of the almost incredible stories he had heard of their exploits. Nothing, it seemed, was too wild for them. Theirs was no company in which the Prince of Orange should find himself. He should never have accepted Buckingham’s invitation.
“We are greatly favored,” murmured Rochester.
“My lords,” replied Sedley, “we must have such sport this night as we have not had since those days when His Majesty first returned to his kingdom.”
“I am not much given to sport,” said William dourly.
“We have heard reports of Your Highness’s decorum,” Savile murmured. “A lesson to us all.”
“We shall all be better men from this night onward,” declared Buckingham, “for it is our great desire to learn from you how a gentleman can restrain his fancies.”
“I do not understand,” began William.
“Will Your Highness be seated and allow us to sit with you?”
“Certainly.”
William sat down and Buckingham cried, “Wine … wine for His Highness.”
“Not wine for me. I drink little and then only when thirsty. Perhaps a little ale?”
“Or Hollands Gin?” suggested Buckingham. “A right goodly drink, I’ll swear. Shall we drink to the future prosperity of the House of Orange in Hollands Gin?”
“His Highness must certainly drink to the friendship between our two countries,” said Sedley. “And it is the custom here that if we drink in his country’s drink, he drinks in ours.”
