Buch lesen: «The Lion's Whelp», Seite 12

"It is not the business of seamen to mind state affairs. Our business is to keep foreigners from fooling us, and to find the Dutch ships, fight them, and sink them."

And yet the feeling which led to Mrs. Swaffham's little burst of temper was not particular to herself. Many women felt precisely as Martha Swaffham did, and Cromwell did not take this element into his consideration. Yet it was one that worked steadily towards its reckoning, for men do not finally withstand the ceaseless dropping fire of their own hearthstones. Mrs. Fleetwood's and Mrs. Lambert's ill-feeling about precedence was indefinitely multiplied, and Mrs. Swaffham's more intimate rejection of the Cromwell women was a stone thrown into water and circling near and far. The Lord General Cromwell, men and women alike, could accept; he had fought his way to honour, and they could give him what he had won. But the Cromwell women had done nothing, and suffered nothing beyond the ordinary lot; it was a much harder thing to render homage unto them. In these days, Mrs. Swaffham, though ignoring the late King, was distinctly royal and loyal where Queen Henrietta Maria was concerned.

But it was, after all, a grand time in old England. Adventures and victories were the news of every day. Nothing was too strange to happen; people expected romances and impossibilities; and because they expected them, they came. The big city was always astir with news; it flew from lip to lip, like wild fire, was rung out from every steeple, and flashed in bonfires from one high place to another. This formidable man in black and gray was at the helm of affairs, and England felt that she might now trade and sow and marry and be happy to her heart's desire. The shutting of the Parliament House affected nothing; the machinery of Government went on without let or hindrance. A new Parliament was quickly summoned, one hundred and forty Puritan notables "fearing God and of approved fidelity and honesty," and it was to begin its sittings on the ensuing fourth of July. Meantime, Robert Blake was wiping out of existence the Dutch navy and the Dutch commerce. In the month of June, he took eleven Dutch men-of-war and one thousand three hundred and fifty prisoners; the church bells rang joyously from one end of England to the other, and London gathered at St. Paul's to sing Te Deums for the victory.

Thus to the echoes of trumpets and cannon the business of living and loving went on. The great national events were only chorus to the dramas and tragedies of the highest and the humblest homes. While Cromwell was issuing writs for a new Parliament and holding the reins of Government tightly in his strong hands, his wife and daughters were happily busy about the marriage of young Harry Cromwell to Elizabeth Russel; and Sir Peter Lely was painting their portraits, and Lady Mary Cromwell had her first lover; and Mrs. Swaffham was making the cowslip wine; and the Fermor and Heneage girls off to Bath for trifling and bathing and idle diversions; and Jane sewing the sweetest and tenderest thoughts into the fine linen and cambric which she was fashioning into garments for her own marriage. In every family circle it was the same thing: the little comedies of life went on, whether Parliament sat or not, whether Blake brought in prizes, or lay watching in the Channel; for, after all, what the people really wanted was peace and leisure to attend to their own affairs.

One lovely morning in this jubilant English spring, Jane sat at the open window writing to Matilda de Wick. All the sweet fresh things of the earth and the air were around her, but she was the sweetest and freshest of all. There was a pleasant smile on her lips as her fingers moved across the white paper. She was telling her friend about Harry Cromwell's marriage in the old church at Kensington; about the dresses and the wedding feast, and the delightful way in which the Lord General had taken his new daughter to his heart. "And what now will Mistress Dorothy Osborne do?" she asked. "To be sure, she is said to be greatly taken with Sir William Temple, who is of her own way of thinking – which Harry Cromwell is not, though Mrs. Hutchinson has spoken of him everywhere as a 'debauched, ungodly cavalier;' but Mrs. Hutchinson has a Presbyterian hatred of the Cromwells. And I must also tell you that the Lords Chandos and Arundel have been tried before the Upper Bench for the killing of Mr. Compton in a duel. The crime was found manslaughter, and they were sentenced to be burned in the hand which was done to them both, but very favourably. And the Earl of Leicester said he was glad of it, for it argued a good stiff government to punish men of such high birth; but my father thinks Leicester to be the greatest of levelers, he would abolish all rank and titles but his own. And I must also tell you that General Monk has discovered his marriage to Ann Clarges a market-woman of low birth, no beauty whatever, and a very ill tongue. My mother is sure the General must have been bewitched; however, Mistress Monk has gone to live in Greenwich palace, which has been given to the General for a residence. And the rest of my news is in a nutshell, Matilda. I heard from Tonbert that your brother had been seen at de Wick, but this I discredit. Did he not go with you to France: Cymlin is in Ireland, and sulking at his banishment to so barbarous a country; and so I make an end of this long letter, saying in a word I am your friend entirely and sincerely, Jane Swaffham."

When Matilda received this letter she was in Paris. Her first resting-place had been at The Hague, where she had speedily been made known to the Princess Elizabeth Stuart, the widowed ex-Queen of Bohemia, and the mother of Prince Rupert. In her poverty-stricken Court Matilda found kindred spirits, and she became intimate with the light-hearted Queen and her clever daughters. For in spite of the constant want of money, it was a Court abounding in wit and fun, in running about The Hague in disguise; in private theatricals, singing and dancing, and other "very hilarious amusements," deeply disgusting to the English Puritans.

So, then, while Sir Thomas Jevery was busy about his ships and his merchandise, Lady Jevery and Matilda spent much time with the ex-Queen, her dogs and her monkeys, her sons and her daughters, and the crowd of Cavalier gentlemen who made the house at The Hague a gathering place. Rupert, however, had never been his mother's favourite, yet she was proud of his valour and achievements, and not generally indisposed to talk to Matilda about her "big hero." It pleased her most to describe with melodramatic thrills his baptism in the great old palace of Prague, his ivory cradle embossed with gold and gems, and his wardrobe – "the richest he ever had in his life, poor infant;" – and then she continued, "He was not a lucky child. Misfortune came with him. He was not a year old when the Austrians overran Bohemia, and we were without a Kingdom – a king and a queen without a crown. Well, I have my dogs and my monkeys."

"Which your Majesty greatly prefers to your sons and daughters," said the witty young Princess Sophie.

"They give me fewer heartaches, Sophie," was the answer. "Look, for instance, at your brother Rupert. What an incorrigible he is! What anxieties have I not suffered for him. And Maurice, who must get himself drowned all because of his adoration of Rupert! Oh, the poor Prince Rupert! he is, as I say, most unlucky. I told my august brother Charles the same thing, and he listened not, until everything was lost, and it was too late. The great God only knows what calamities there are in this world."

"But Prince Rupert has been the hope and support of his cousin's Court in the Louvre for three years," said Matilda warmly; "it is not right to make little of what he has done."

"He has done miracles, my dear Lady Matilda," answered Rupert's mother; "but the miracles never pay. We are all of us wretchedly poor. He sells his valour and his blood for nothing worth while."

"He is the greatest soldier and sailor in the world; so much even his enemies admit."

"There are no results," said the ex-Queen, with a gay laugh and a shrug of her shoulders. "And I am told he has learned magic among the Africans, and brought home blackamoors and finer monkeys than my own. I object to nothing, since he assures me of his undying love for myself and the Protestant religion. I assure you, if he did not love the Protestant religion I should find no difficulty in renouncing him."

"He was too well educated in his religion to forget it, madame," said the Princess Louise.

"I am not to blame if it were otherwise. I assure you he knows his Heidelberg Catechism as well as any Doctor of Divinity, and the History of the Reformers is at his tongue's end. I am not in health to go regularly to church, but my children go without omission, and they give me the points of the sermon in writing. I do my duty to them; and of Rupert I had once great hopes, for the first words he ever spoke were 'Praise the Lord,' in the Bohemian tongue. After that, one does not readily think evil of a Prince."

Every day Matilda adroitly induced such conversations; and once when the mother had talked herself into an enthusiasm, she said, "Come and I will show you some pictures of this Rupert. His sister Louise makes portraits quite equal to those of her master, Honthorst. I may tell you frankly, we have sold her pictures for bread often; they are said to be Honthorst's, but most often they are the work of the Princess Louise. The poor child! she paints and she paints, and forgets that she is a Palatine Princess without a thaler for her wardrobe. Look at this portrait of Rupert! Is he not a big, sturdy boy? He was only four then, but he looks eight. How full of brave wonder are those eyes, as he looks out on the unknown world! And in this picture he is fourteen. He does not appear happy. No, but rather sad and uncertain, as if he had not found the world as pleasant as he expected. In this picture he is seventeen, gallant and handsome and smiling. He has begun to hope again, – perhaps to love. And look now on this face at twenty-nine; he has carried too heavy a burden for his age, done too much, suffered too much."

Matilda knew the latter portrait well, its facsimile lay upon her heart; and though she did not say a word, it was impossible not to notice in all the painted faces that strange, haunting Stuart melancholy, which must have had its root in some sorrowful, unfathomable past.

On another evening they were talking of England, and of recent events there, chiefly of the high-handed dismissal of the Parliament, and the gay-hearted Elizabeth laughed at the affair very complacently. "I am an English Princess," she said, "but I hate Parliaments; so did his late Majesty, my brother Charles. But for the Parliament, my fate might have been different. I adored my husband, that is known, but it was the Parliament who made our marriage. My father, the great and wise King James, did not wish me to marry the Elector Palatine, – it was a poor match for the Princess Royal of England, – but the Parliament thought the Elector would make himself the leader of the Calvinistic princes of the Empire. My dear Lady Matilda, he was sixteen years old, and I was sixteen, and we two children, what could we do with those turbulent Bohemian Protestants? You make a stir about your Oliver Cromwell ordering the English Members of Parliament out of their own House, listen then: the Protestant nobles of Bohemia threw the Emperor's ministers and members out of their Council Chamber windows. It was only their way of telling the Emperor they would not have the Catholic King he supported. The English adore the Law, and will commit any crime in it and for it; the Bohemians are a law unto themselves. They then asked us to come to Prague, and we went and were crowned there, and in the midst of this glory, the Prince Rupert was born. He was a wonder for his great size, even then. And he had for his sponsors the King of Hungary and the Duke of Wurtenburg and the States of Bohemia, Silesia, and Upper and Lower Lusatia. Yet in less than a year we were all fugitives, and the poor child was thrown aside by his frightened nurse, and found lying alone on the floor by Baron d'Hona, who threw him into the last coach leaving the palace; and he fell into the boot and nearly perished. So you see how unfortunate he was from the beginning."

"But, madame, you have a large family; some of them will surely retrieve your misfortunes."

"I do not trouble myself about the day I have never seen. There is a great astrologer in Paris, and he has told me that my daughter Sophia will bear a son, who will become King of England. Sophia gives herself airs on this prediction."

Sophia, who was present, laughed heartily. "Indeed, madame," she said, "and when I am Queen Mother I shall abolish courtesies. Imagine, Lady de Wick, that I cannot eat my dinner without making nine separate courtesies, and on Sundays and Wednesdays, when we have two divines to eat with us, there are extra ones. I shall regulate my Court with the least amount of etiquette that will be decent."

"You perceive, Lady de Wick, what a trial it is to have four clever daughters – not to speak of sons. My daughter, the Princess Elizabeth, is the most learned of women; I think she knows every language under the sun. You have seen the paintings of the Princess Louise. Sophia is witty and pretty, and is to be the mother of an English King; and my fair Henrietta is a beauty, and what is remarkable, she is also amiable, and makes adorable embroideries and confections. So the mother of four such princesses must not complain."

"Especially when she has seventeen dogs and horses; not to speak of monkeys and blackamoors," cried Sophia.

"Sophia is jealous!" said the merry ex-Queen. "So is Rupert. Now, I am never jealous; I think jealousy is selfishness."

Such intimate conversations occurred daily while Matilda frequented the House at The Hague; and when Sir Thomas Jevery was ready to proceed to Paris, the ladies did not leave their pleasant entertainer without tangible, financial proof of their interest in the Palatines. The light-hearted, dependent Elizabeth took the offering with open satisfaction. "It is very welcome," she said gratefully; "and the more so, because it is so sensibly expressed. Some would have thought it best to offer me a jewel, and so put my steward to the trouble of selling it, and me to the loss. Oh!" she sighed, smiling cheerfully at the same time, "it is a sad thing to be poor for want of money; poverty is so transparent. If you have only money, it is a cloak for everything."

CHAPTER X
RUPERT AND CLUNY

 
"Beauty formed
Her face; her heart Fidelity."
 
 
"For he was of that noble trade,
That demigods and heroes made;
Slaughter, and knocking on the head,
The trade to which they all were bred."
 

When the Jeverys arrived in Paris, they went immediately to the beautiful Hotel de Fransac, which Sir Thomas had rented for their residence while in the city. It was situated in La Place Royale, almost within sight of the palaces of the King and the Cardinal. But Sir Thomas considered it necessary to the success of his business with Mazarin to wear the outside show of great wealth, and it was quite as necessary to Matilda's hopes and desires. If she would keep in enthralment a prince, she must, at least, be the princess of his imagination. In reality, she was now much more so than ever before. Years and sorrow and manifold experiences had imparted to the mere loveliness of the flesh the captivating charm of the spirit. She was now a woman, not only to be adored for her beauty, but still more so for the qualities that would be in their perfection when beauty of face and form had faded away.

And with this rarer loveliness there had come a kind of necessity to express it in clothing marvelously splendid and effective. The palace in which she was abiding also demanded it: the enormous spaces given to stairways and apartments, the magnificent furniture, the gorgeously liveried servants, were only the natural accessories of some personage whose nobility or authority or wealth found in such splendour a fitting expression.

One afternoon Matilda stood at a window watching the crowds passing incessantly from palace to palace. Silk and velvet and lace fluttered in the bright sunshine; jewels flashed from the soft hats, and the gleaming vests and the ready weapons. They were kissing hands, drawing swords, falling on one knee before some beauty or dignitary; they were laughing and swearing, and wooing and fighting, and riding and driving, as if life was only a grand Court pageant.

To the right was the palace of the great King Louis, and not far away the palace of his Eminence, the great Cardinal Mazarin; and between them, the crowd amused itself, conscious all the time of that other palace for the Unfortunates, called the Bastile. Its shadow was always over Place Royale; dark, inexorable, mysterious; and every soul of them knew that either road, or any road, might lead them to that silent, living sepulchre. How different was all this from the cool, gray, busy streets of London, with their steady movement of purposeful men and women!

Matilda appeared to be watching the brilliant scene in La Place Royale, but she was taking no special notice of it. She had just received a letter from Jane, and was pondering the news it brought her and waiting. She was wonderfully dressed, and wonderfully lovely, the delicate brightness of her complexion admirably enhanced by the darkness of her hair, and the robe of ruby-coloured Lyons velvet in which she was dressed. It fell away in billows of lace from her white throat and shoulders; and its large sleeves were lifted above the elbows with bands of Oriental pearls. There were pearls round her throat and round her arms, and the golden combs that held back her hair were ornamented with them.

She was dressed for her lover, and awaiting his arrival, her soul flashing from her watching eyes, her whole sweet body at attention. When to ordinary ears there would have been nothing to give notice, Matilda heard a step. She let Jane's letter drop to her feet, and stood facing the door with hands dropped and tightly clasped. She was very tall and her long velvet gown gave emphasis to her stature. Unconsciously she had advanced her right foot – indeed, her whole body had the eager look of one whose soul was outreaching it.

A moment later the footsteps were very distinct; they were ascending the stairway quickly, peremptorily – the tread of impatience where all obstacles have been removed. A perfectly ravishing light spread itself over Matilda's face. A moment was an hour. Then the door flew open and Prince Rupert entered; "entered," however, being too small a word, for with the opening of the door he was on his knees at Matilda's feet, his arms were round her waist, she had bent her face to his, they were both near to weeping and knew it not; for love must weep when it snatches from some hard Fate's control the hours that years have sighed for.

"Adorable Mata! O lovely and beloved! O my love," he sighed. "O Mata, my flower! my wine! my music! my sacred secret!"

She kissed him, and made him rise. And he told her again, all the waste, weary remembrance of his life apart from her, and showed her the long tress of hair which had kept for him the kisses and vows of long ago. And with what sweet sighs she answered him! Her tender eyes, her happy mouth, her soft tones, her gentle touch, were all tokens from her heart's immediate sanctuary. Amid the sins and sorrows and shows of Paris, there was paradise for two hearts in the Hotel de Fransac.

In these days men and women did really live and die for love, and a lover who did not fall at his mistress' feet was held graceless and joyless, and without natural fervour. And Rupert could do everything in excess and yet be natural, for all his being was abnormally developed; his gigantic stature, his passionate soul, his unreasoning love, his reckless bravery, his magnificent generosity, his bitter enmities, were all points in which he offended against the usual standard – though it was a large standard, if measured by the conventions of the present day. He had been dangerously ill after his arrival in Paris, and he was not the Rupert who had invaded the high seas three years previously. In these three years he had endured every evil that tempests, bad climates, war, fever, want of food and "strange hardnesses" of all kinds could bring him; and above all he had practically failed in everything. He had lost most of the treasure so hardly won; his ships and his men and his idolised brother, Maurice; and all these losses had taken with them some of the finer parts of his nature. He had come home a disappointed and cynical man, his youth melted away in the fiery crucible of constant strife with human and elemental forces.

Yet he was the most picturesque figure in Paris. The young King Louis delighted in his society. Mazarin was his friend, and not only the English Court in exile, but also the French Court paid him the most extraordinary attentions. His striking personality, his barbaric retinue of black servants, his supposed wealth, the whispers of his skill in necromancy, were added to a military and naval reputation every one seemed desirous to embellish. Many great ladies were deeply in love with him, but their perfumed billet-doux touched neither his heart nor his vanity.

He loved Matilda. All the glory and the sorrow of his youth were in that love, and as he knelt at her feet in his princely, soldierly splendour, there was nothing lacking in the picture of romantic devotion. "Adorable, ravishing Mata!" he cried, "at your feet I am paid for my life's misery." And Matilda leaned towards him till their handsome faces touched, and Rupert could look love into her eyes, soft and languishing with an equal affection.

"How tall you have grown. You have the stature of a goddess," he cried with rapture; and then in a tone full of seriousness he added,

"You are my mate. You are the only woman I can ever love. I vow that you shall be my princess, or I will die unmarried for your sake."

For a little while their conversation was purely personal, but their own interests were so blent with public affairs that it was not possible to separate them for any length of time.

"We have sold all our cargoes," he said triumphantly, "in spite of old Cromwell's remonstrances. Mazarin helped us, and the money is distributed. What can Cromwell do? Will he go to war with France for a merchant's bill of lading? The King and the Cardinal laugh at his demands. He is an insolent fellow. Does he think he can match his Eminence? But, this or that, the money is scattered to the four quarters of the world. Let him recover it."

"I will tell you something, Rupert. I had a letter to-day from my friend, Mistress Jane Swaffham. She says her lover, Lord Cluny Neville, must be in Paris about this time, and that he will call on me. He is on Cromwell's business; there is no doubt of it."

"Do you wish to see the man?"

"No. He has stolen my brother's mistress. He has done Stephen a great wrong; and he is also full of perfections. A very sufficient youth in his own opinion, and much honoured and trusted by his Excellency, the Lord General Cromwell."

She spoke with evident scorn, and Rupert said, "I shall have to reckon with him. Stephen's wrongs are my wrongs. Is the lady fair and rich?"

"'Tis thought so. I once loved her."

"And now, you love her not; eh, sweetheart?"

"There is Cromwell between us – and Neville."

"What is the appearance of Neville? I think I saw him this morning."

Then Matilda described the young lord, and the particularity of her knowledge regarding his eyes and hair and voice and manner did not please Prince Rupert. At least, he affected to be jealous of such intimate observation, and for a few minutes the affairs of Cromwell and Mazarin were forgotten in one of those whiffs of displeasure with which lovers season their affections. But during it, Matilda had felt obliged to speak disparagingly and disagreeably of Neville, and she was only too sensible afterwards of all the ill-will she had expressed. In putting the dormant dislike into words, she had brought it into actual existence.

"A very haughty youth," said Rupert when the conversation was resumed. "He was with the Cardinal this morning, and bore himself as if he carried the honour of England on his shoulders. And now I begin to remember his business was such as in a manner concerns us. 'Twas about a merchant ship which that old farmer on King Charles' throne wants payment for. My men took it in fair fight, and 'tis against all usage to give back spoils. The demands of Cromwell are beyond measure insolent, and the goods are gone and the ship is sold and the money scattered, and what can old Ironsides do in the matter?"

They talked of these things until Rupert's engagements called him away, then they rose, and leaning towards each other, walked slowly down the long splendid room together. Large mirrors repeated the moving picture they made, and before one of them Rupert stood, and bid Matilda survey her own beauty. It was very great and bewitching, and its effect was certainly heightened by the handsome, picturesque figure at her side. There he kissed her with the fondest love and pride, promising an early visit on the following day.

She went then to find her uncle and aunt, for she knew that she owed to their love and generosity her present opportunities, and though her gratitude had in it, very likely, a certain sense of favours to come, she was really pleased and thankful for the happiness present and within her reach. But she quickly noticed in them an air of anxiety and gloom, and it annoyed her. "Could she never be happy and find all her surroundings in key with her? It was too bad!" Such thoughts gave a tone of injury to her inquiry, "Is anything particularly wrong, aunt? Have I been making some trouble again?"

"Sir Thomas is very unhappy, niece. He has heard news that frightens him, and we are longing to be in the peace and safety of our own home."

Then Matilda began to complain. "As soon as a joy is at my hand, it is taken away," she said. "And what a lovely city is Paris! How can any one want to leave it and go to London? It is cruel. It is beyond bearing!"

"Niece, dear niece," said Sir Thomas, "you have had many happy meetings now with your lover. You said 'one' would make you happy. While he was so ill, consider to what trouble and expense I gladly went, in order that you might have the satisfaction of knowing his constant condition. Be reasonable, Matilda. I have already done far more than I promised, and now affairs are in such a state that I feel it best to go home. I do long for my home and my garden. I have missed all my roses this summer. And the business I came to settle has been suddenly settled for me."

"You are going to lose a little gold, and so you are wretched, and must go to the City-of-the-Miserable."

"I am not going to lose a penny."

"Well, then?"

"There may be trouble because of this very thing, and I do not want to be in Paris with the two women I love better than myself, if Cromwell and Mazarin come to blows. I might be taken from you. I should very likely be sent to the Bastile; you would not wish that, Matilda?"

"That is nonsense! But will you tell me what is this last outrage of Cromwell's?"

"Blake, by his orders, has taken a French merchantman. It was brought to London and sold with the cargo, and the money received from this sale was used to cancel the debt owing me by the French Government. All the papers relating to the transaction, with the balance of the money, were turned over to Mazarin this morning. The Cardinal was furious. He called me into his Presence Chamber, and though his words were smooth as oil, he pointed out the wrong of such high-handed management of debit and credit between two nations. Also, he was much chagrined at the seal on the papers, the design of which represents England's navy as filling the seas. He said scornfully, 'I perceive his Excellency has very merchant-like ways of business, and has not yet learned king-craft;' then he was silent a moment, and smiled, – my dear wife and niece, try and fancy a serpent smiling, – after which he handed me the seals again, and still smiling, continued, ''Tis in the mercy of the Almighty that He has been kind enough to make the seas so wide as to permit poor French sailormen a little pathway through His great waters. His Excellency, Oliver Cromwell, would have no ships but English ships – very patriotic, but perhaps patriotism is a smaller virtue than people think; justice may be greater. As for me,' he added, casting his eyes to heaven, 'as for me, 'tis in my vows to love all men.' Much more was said, but these are the particulars as I remember them."

"He is a great hypocrite," said Lady Jevery. "He loves very few men, and no one loves him."

"Is that all, uncle?"

"He turned sharply to Lord Neville, asked to look at his credentials again, and called for an accountant. He seemed to forget my existence, and I asked permission to retire. I am very uneasy in my mind. Mazarin's good words are not to be trusted; his silence is to be feared. I must leave France as soon as possible. My affairs have been taken out of Mazarin's hands by Cromwell; he will visit the offense on me. Every moment is full of uncertainty and danger."

"Prince Rupert will not see us injured."

"I cannot take Prince Rupert for our surety. He has not yet spoken to me about your marriage. He is at the mercy of so many minds."

"That detestable Lord Neville! Ever and always, he brings me trouble and sorrow. There are half-a-dozen of my lovers who would run him through for a look. I would do it myself. You need not smile, sir, I am as ready with the sword as any man, and have matched both Stephen and Cymlin Swaffam. I hate Neville. I would most willingly make an end of him."