by David Elias
“Whatever can you mean?”
“The need to nurture will not stand me in good stead where advancement is the measure. And I have made it my aim to advance.”
“Yes, so you have said. I had thought motherhood might dull the edge of that ambition, but it seems only to have sharpened it. Tell me, what is it you seek to gain?”
“All that stands within my grasp. Where is the accomplishment in raising a baby? Any dim-witted wife can do as much.”
Lady Anne took me by the hand, turned me to face her. “This is not the Elizabeth I know. You are changed.”
“They say treachery will have that effect on some.”
“But here is a beautiful new life for you to cherish.”
“Then let it be cherished. There are attendants and wet nurses for that. I would not see my breasts employed as dugs for a suckling.”
Lady Anne took me by the shoulders. “You cannot be so callous.”
“I must.” I tore myself away.
“You are yet ill. This speaks to as much. Soon enough the old Elizabeth shall reappear. And I for one will welcome her.”
***
As for Frederick, in all of this he never took issue with me, gave me full autonomy and remained steadfast in his devotion, so that I could hardly be otherwise but entirely civil to him. The days turned into weeks and months, and soon it was plain the fulcrum of our marriage lay nearer his end of the plank than mine, that I could tip him up or down as I saw fit. Did I take advantage? Was I dishonest? Before I answer, let me relate to you what he did for me on my nineteenth birthday. The day had hardly begun when he insisted on leading me out of the English Wing to the Thick Tower, where I was made to put on a blindfold, after which we proceeded along the West Wall through the artillery garden toward the bridge house and the entrance to the gardens behind the castle, where the Hortus Palatinus should be built in my brother’s memory. Its construction was not yet begun, but I often had occasion to take myself there to meander amongst the trees and flowers, Henry’s spirit hovering over me, thinking to see how the plan should be made to work.
Now Frederick stopped me and bade me remove the blindfold. There before me stood a magnificent gate of rose-coloured stone in the form of a triumphal arch. It was lavishly garlanded with scrolled masonry, its four pillars carved out to look like trees, with ivy winding up in a spiral along each one, and birds and animals nestled in among the leaves. Above the pillars sat two lions facing each other, also a pair of nymphs holding cornucopias, seated amid an orchard of fruits and flowers. An inscription had been chiselled along the top in Latin, dedicating the arch to me.
The lords and ladies of the court were assembled, eagerly gauging my reaction to this effusive gift my husband had fashioned for me. I had brought with me from London an entourage as inflated as I could manage, the better to give my father pause that he should have sent his daughter off with such cavalier indifference. The sprawling castle was filled to bursting with every manner of artist and musician and playwright. Even at that, many more had made their own way to Heidelberg from England in hopes of an appointment, having arranged their own lodgings down in the town, from which they made regular forays up the mountain to request an audience.
The patience of the townsfolk was growing thin, as hardly a day went by without reports of some disturbance or other in a tavern or an inn, usually precipitated by some allegation of slander and collusion against one party or another. There had been a number of outright brawls, a couple of duels, and several incidents of vandalism and robbery, all of them perched upon some point of contention regarding the royal court: sabotaged appointments, undeserved preferential treatment, proclamations of rightful entitlements, and the like. Up at the castle, the atmosphere between the English and Bohemians was tepid at best, as the two factions constantly vied for positions of power and influence, each side seeking to gain advantage over the other. The English courtiers were considered invaders of a sort, each appointment considered to have come at the cost of a Bohemian one. The division was in clear evidence out on the grounds of the castle that morning, as the spectators had separated themselves into two distinct groups, one on either side of the triumphal arch.
One of those present was the Countess Louise Juliana of Nassau, Frederick’s mother. I took note that while everyone else had chosen to stand, she was seated in a chair which two attendants had carried out for her. I knew her to be in good health and recognized it as a gesture of her general displeasure with the entire arrangement. She was always eager to sabotage any occasion at which her daughter-in-law stood to receive more attention than she. By then I had become accustomed to her obdurate demonstrations and took them in stride. At present she was making a great show of not bothering to look up at the triumphal arch even once, instead staring straight ahead with a dour expression.
Countess Juliana had held the title of Electress Palatine following the death of her husband, Frederick’s father, and had ruled in the name of her son, but now that Frederick had married, that designation had fallen to me. From the moment of my arrival at the castle it had been a source of tension between us. She considered herself better suited to make decisions on matters of state and made no secret about it, though soon enough it became obvious Frederick was more like to acquiesce to my wishes than hers, in particular where his eventual bid for the crown came under discussion. I was naturally eager for the day when his coronation, and so mine, should become a real possibility. The Countess, on the other hand, felt it would be best if her son were not so hasty in assuming the throne.
“Well, dear Elizabeth.” Frederick stood before the gate, looking eagerly at me. “What do you think of it?”
“You’ve gone to a lot of trouble,” I said. “There was no need.”
“Of course there was, but you haven’t said whether you admire it or no?”
“It is decorative in design.”
“There’s a ringing endorsement if ever I heard one,” I heard the Countess mutter to those assembled nearby.
“What I want to know is how it got here,” said someone in the crowd.
“Indeed,” Count Schomberg spoke up, “I had occasion to walk here yester evening and will attest there was naught here but lawn and shrubbery.”
“I, too,” Captain Hume offered, “came this way last night and encountered nothing of this imposing edifice.” He was dressed shabbily as usual, poorly groomed, and looked generally to be out of place among the rest of the bystanders. I had seen to it that he accompany us to Heidelberg, if for no other reason than that he had been the last one to see my brother Henry alive. I had secured a special appointment for him as musician and soldier, though it came as no surprise that his welcome was less than enthusiastic at court, where they nattered and mocked his unpolished manner. For his part the Captain remained steadfast in his coarse yet candid demeanour, and for this I prized him. He had placed himself next to the Countess Juliana, who was doing her best to ignore him.
“What think you on’t, Madam?” Captain Hume enquired of her. “Is it not a fitting tribute from a loving prince to his charming wife?”
“And not his possessing mother,” Lady Anne whispered in my ear.
“It lists a little to one side,” the Countess pronounced.
“I had the workmen up all night,” Frederick ignored her and turned to me. “Look there,” he pointed up to the top of the arch. “I have had the dedication inscribed in Latin. Fridericus.V, Elisabetae, Conjugi cariss,” he read out loud. “And here it shall stand day upon day for all to see,” he spoke louder now for all to hear, “a testament to our marriage, that all those lords and ladies upon a visit to the Hortus Palatinus cannot fail to pass through its portals.”
“One can get there as readily by way of the drawbridge,” I heard the Countess mutter.
If Frederick heard this last remark, he did not acknowledge it, and I was relieved when at last the party began to dispers
e that the occasion should come to a close. Would that it might have been otherwise, but the edifice, as imposing as it was, had left me unmoved. Whatever gift Frederick might have presented me with, however rich or elegant, the effect should have been the same. Another bride might have thrilled at such an offering from her husband, but such should have been her sentiment, if she loved him truly, even for a paltry bauble.
It was only that love will not be bribed into existence, but must arise of its own accord, and no amount of gift-giving could conjure it up in me, save in some disfigured form. Do you see what a monolith the heart is? It stands alone and will not be moved — until it is moved. In that regard it is much like that impressive and heavy gate. I wonder, does it stand there yet at the entrance to the garden? When shut, it will not be penetrated, yet once penetrated, it will not be shut! The failure was not Frederick’s but neither was it mine. For my part I should live all the years of our marriage in appreciation of his affection, but how could that hope to be enough?
As it was, I found him an adequate lover, in the sense that if he did not thrill me with his touch, neither did I shrink from it. He had a playful phrase for the entire proceeding, which he liked to refer to as “shaking the sheets.” Whenever he said those words, he did so as though it were something terribly sinful and naughty. He was always very anxious to begin, giggled and moaned as a child might at some illicit play, and finished in a hurry. He took a great deal of enjoyment from the act to be sure, but as for any indulgence in the flesh, that was another matter. I sometimes imagined what it must be like to have a lover linger over my naked body, explore it, caress it, but there was precious little of that to be had from my husband. But do not mistake me. He was considerate and kind and gentle. He neither commanded the proceedings nor suffered to be commanded. The act as decreed by God would take care of itself, and all we needed to do was that which our nature led us to. There was no mystery in it. No magic.
There were times when I questioned whether I was capable of love at all, or whether that door had somehow been closed to me. As for adoration, worship, devotion, and the like, these were the very sentiments I disdained. I was happy to forgo them as they stood only to weaken my resolve, make me more vulnerable to deceit, disappointment, betrayal. Did I not want to love Frederick? Did I not try? And as for Sir Raleigh, was it mere infatuation? He could have made me do anything, go anywhere with him. I would have given up everything. But what is the true nature of love if not passion which divides a woman from herself? It’s much the same for a man, I venture. Sir Raleigh had no reason to love me. I was hardly more than a girl. In years to come there would be men who openly expressed their love to me, who fell upon their knees before me to declare as much. And yet I should never hear it from those I cared for most.
“The Countess knows full well that you are not a good match for her son,” Lady Anne told me one morning.
“I suppose she cannot be blind to the fact that I am not in love with her son.”
“Such a matter should be of little concern to her but for the fact that Frederick is so clearly in love with you. It is that which gives her cause for worry.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Every man who takes a wife is faced with a choice, and by that choosing he sets in motion the wheels upon which much else will turn.”
“Between wife and mother, you mean.”
“Because her son’s affection for you runs so deep, by that very fact is your indifference put to advantage. His devotion to you, his eagerness to please you, robs Countess Juliana of that territory which had hitherto been her domain. If Prince Frederick sees fit to defer to your judgment before hers, her position becomes tenuous. Take this matter of accepting the Bohemian crown. If she should counsel too much against it, her influence shall be all the more diminished when he takes the throne. You see how delicate it is.”
Now here stood poor Frederick with me on one side and his mother on the other, the gate before us, everyone watching, and I thought he seemed in need of some reassurance. I went to embrace him, kissed him gently upon the cheek, and when he smiled at me with deep appreciation it was both comforting and unsettling to think I had so much power to make him happy or no. I hardly knew what was demanded of me. Still, I thought him not undeserving of love, even if it could not be mine, and it should cost me little to offer such affection as served to content him. And so there upon the palace grounds that day, I made a silent and simple pledge by which to steer the course of our marriage henceforth.
Chapter Nine
Hardly more than a fortnight had passed before the court was abuzz with new rumours regarding matters of the heart, this time concerning the budding romance between Lady Anne Dudley and Count Schomberg, who of late were hardly be seen out of each other’s company.
“I vouchsafe the gossip is as thick as nectar,” said Frederick to me one morning. We had decided to take our breakfast out on the terrace of the English Wing.
“More like molasses if you ask me,” I said. It was a beautiful spring day and we sat at the wrought iron table, looking down at the river Neckar flowing between the houses of the town below.
“You don’t think the courtiers are happy for them?” Frederick asked.
“So long as they find themselves neither increased nor diminished by the matter, I doubt they have a preference either way.”
“That fact that one is English and the other Bohemian makes for added intrigue.”
“What is the latest rumour?”
“That the Count has asked Lady Anne to marry him.”
“Of course there’s nothing to it, I take.”
“Just the opposite, I’m afraid.” Fredrick put down his cutlery and pushed back his chair. “The Count has asked for an audience with both of us, and I have granted it. They wait even now to be admitted here, as soon as we have finished our breakfast.”
“I must say this is rather sudden.”
“Oh, come now, don’t tell me you haven’t seen it coming.” Frederick waved to an attendant that the guests should be shown in.
“I hadn’t thought Lady Anne to be seriously considering marriage.”
“Who said anything about marriage?”
“Why else should they seek to meet with us?”
“Your Majesties.” Count Schomberg, Lady Anne at his side, appeared on the terrace.
Frederick indicated a set of benches along the wall that sat across from each other, and I rose from my chair to join them. When we had seated ourselves the Count took up Lady Anne’s hand in his before addressing us with great formality: “Your Majesties, we come before you with great hopes to humbly enquire whether I might be allowed to ask Lady Anne for her hand in marriage.”
“Well. This comes as a bit of a shock.” I feigned surprise.
“I hardly think it can be so.” Lady Anne seemed a little ruffled.
“What has my Maid of Honour to say?” I asked matter-of-factly.
“Indeed the Count has made certain overtures.” Lady Anne was blushing like a school girl.
“And you find them agreeable, no doubt.” Frederick smiled over at me. “Or I mistake the sparkle in your eye.”
“Well, it seems the matter has already been settled.” I made to rise from the bench.
“We have agreed,” Lady Anne put out her hand to stop me, “that the matter may not be decided until we have your sanction.”
“Just so.” The Count collected himself. “And to that end, we pray you will deign to offer it.”
“What have you to say, Elizabeth?” Frederick turned to me. “Do we accept his proposal?”
I couldn’t help prolonging the suspense. “They are in our service and their first duty is to us.”
“For my part,” said Frederick, “I put no chattels on my chamberlain in this. He may do as he pleases.”
“Madam, what say you?” Lady Anne looked at me with
such apprehension I could torture her no more.
“I say . . . there shall be a wedding.”
“Then we have your blessing.” The Count rose.
“Without reservation.” Frederick stood to shake his hand.
“This is happy news indeed.” Lady Anne was visibly relieved.
“I would caution,” I teased, “that the Count is a great deal older than you are.”
“I seem to remember a young princess completely infatuated with a man twice her age.”
“Indeed I warned of just such a one in my first letter to your mistress,” said Frederick.
“I dare say there were many rivals for her Highness’s affection,” said Count Schomberg.
“But she would have none of them,” said Lady Anne.
“And so was she forced to settle for me.” Frederick looked at me playfully, but around the edges of his smile a tightness crept in, and my heart ached a little to think I could not love him. What he longed for was neither mine to give nor to withhold. It seemed unfair to both of us. He deserved better. But then, so did I.
Count Schomberg became very serious. “We would be most grateful to remain in your service.”
“Though perhaps not with the same degree of devotion,” offered Frederick wryly.
“No doubt their duties would be curtailed,” I played along.
“Somewhat,” the Count admitted.
“In this there is nothing to fear,” Fredrick reassured them, “for your value to us has ever been less of duty and more of good counsel and companionship.”
“And I will say as much for my part,” I conceded, and took Lady Anne’s hands in mine. I felt suddenly quite sentimental and thought to embrace her, but held back.
“You may be sure these shall continue,” said the Count.
“Then let the wedding preparations begin,” said Frederick. “You shall have use of the chapel here, or if need be, down in the town at the cathedral.”
“We had thought,” the Count seemed a little unsure of himself as he glanced over at Lady Anne, “to travel to England, that the ceremony might be held there.”
