Part 11 (1/2)
”We went to court. The Queen called my mother into her train. But it was in no wise for our good. At court my mother pined away--and so she died in durance.”
”Wherefore in durance?”
”To what she saw she would not shut her eyes; to what she heard she would not close her soul; what was required of her she would not do.”
”She would not obey the Queen?”
”She could not obey those whom the Queen favored. Then the tyranny that broke her heart--”
The Queen interrupted her.
”In very truth, but 'tis not in France alone that Queen's favorites grasp the sceptre and speak the word. Hath a queen a thousand eyes--can she know truth where most dissemble?”
”There was a man--he could not know there was one true woman there, who for her daughter's sake, for her desired advancement, and because she was cousin of Pa.s.sy, who urged it, lived that starved life; this man, this prince, drew round her feet snares, set pitfalls for her while my father was sent upon a mission. Steadfast she kept her soul unspotted; but it wore away her life. The Queen would not permit return to Rouen--who can tell what tale was told her by one whom she foiled? And so she stayed. In this slow, savage persecution, when she was like a bird that, thinking it is free, flieth against the window-pane and falleth back beaten, so did she stay, and none could save her. To cry out, to throw herself upon the spears, would have been ruin of herself, her husband, and her child; and for these she lived.”
Elizabeth's eyes had kindled. Perhaps never in her life had the life at court been so exposed to her. The simple words, meant but to convey the story, and with no thought behind, had thrown a light on her own court, on her own position. Adept in weaving a sinuous course in her policy, in making mazes for others to tread, the mazes which they in turn prepared had never before been traced beneath her eyes to the same vivid and ultimate effect.
”Help me, ye saints, but things are not at such a pa.s.s in this place!” she said, abruptly, but with weariness in her voice. ”Yet sometimes I know not. The court is a city by itself, walled and moated, and hath a life all its own. '_If there be found ten honest men within the city, yet will I save it_,' saith the Lord. By my father's head, I would not risk a finger on the hazard if this city, this court of Elizabeth, were set 'twixt the fire from heaven and eternal peace. In truth, child, I would lay me down and die in black disgust were it not that one might come hereafter would make a very Sodom or Gomorrah of this land; and out yonder--out in all my counties, where the truth of England is among my poor burgesses, who die for the great causes which my n.o.bles profess but risk not their lives--out yonder all that they have won, and for which I have striven, would be lost.... Speak on. I have not heard so plain a tongue and so little guile these twenty years.”
Angele continued, more courage in her voice: ”In the midst of it all came the wave of the new faith upon my mother. And before ill could fall upon her from her foes, she died, and was at rest. Then we returned to Rouen, my father and I, and there we lived in peril, but in great happiness of soul, until the day of ma.s.sacre. That night in Paris we were given greatly of the mercy of G.o.d.”
”You were there--you were in the ma.s.sacre at Paris?”
”In the house of the Duke of Lancon, with whom was resting, after a hazardous enterprise, Michel de la Foret.”
”And here beginneth the second lesson,” said the Queen, with a smile on her lips; but there was a look of scrutiny in her eyes and something like irony in her tone. ”And I will swear by all the stars of heaven that this Michel saved ye both. Is it not so?”
”It is even so. By his skill and bravery we found our way to safety, and in a hiding-place near to our loved Rouen watched him return from the gates of death.”
”He was wounded, then?”
”Seven times wounded, and with as little blood left in him as would fill a cup. But it was summer, and we were in the hills, and they brought us, our friends of Rouen, all that we had need of; and so G.o.d was with us.”
”But did he save thy life, except by skill, by indirect and fortunate wisdom? Was there deadly danger upon thee? Did he beat down the sword of death?”
”He saved my life thrice directly. The wounds he carried were got by interposing his own sword 'twixt death and me.”
”And that hath need of recompense?”
”My life was little worth the wounds he suffered; but I waited not until he saved it to owe it unto him. All that it is was his before he drew his sword.”
”And 'tis this ye would call love betwixt ye--sweet givings and takings of looks, and soft sayings, and unchangeable and devouring faith. Is't this--and is this all?”
The girl had spoken out of an innocent heart, but the challenge in the Queen's voice worked upon her, and, though she shrank a little, the fulness of her soul welled up and strengthened her. She spoke again, and now in her need and in her will to save the man she loved, by making this majesty of England his protector, her words had eloquence.
”It is not all, n.o.ble Queen. Love is more than that. It is the waking in the poorest minds, in the most barren souls, of something greater than themselves--as a chemist should find a substance that would give all other things by touching of them a new and higher value; as light and sun draw from the earth the tendrils of the seed that else had lain unproducing. 'Tis not alone soft words and touch of hand or lip. This caring wholly for one outside one's self kills that self which else would make the world blind and deaf and dumb. None hath loved greatly but hath helped to love in others. Ah, most sweet Majesty, for great souls like thine, souls born great, this medicine is not needful, for already hath the love of a nation inspired and enlarged it; but for souls like mine, and of so many, none better and none worse than me, to love one other soul deeply and abidingly lifts us higher than ourselves. Your Majesty hath been loved by a whole people, by princes and great men in a different sort--is it not the world's talk that none that ever reigned hath drawn such slavery of princes, and of great n.o.bles who have courted death for hopeless love of one beyond their star? And is it not written in the world's book also that the Queen of England hath loved no man, but hath poured out her heart to a people; and hath served great causes in all the earth because of that love which hath still enlarged her soul, dowered at birth beyond reckoning.” Tears filled her eyes. ”Ah, your supreme Majesty, to you whose heart is universal, the love of one poor mortal seemeth a small thing, but to those of little consequence it is the cable by which they unsteadily hold over the chasm 'twixt life and immortality. To thee, oh greatest monarch of the world, it is a staff on which thou needest not lean, which thou hast never grasped; to me it is my all; without it I fail and fall and die.”
She had spoken as she felt, yet, because she was a woman and guessed the mind of another woman, she had touched Elizabeth where her armor was weakest. She had suggested that the Queen had been the object of adoration, but had never given her heart to any man; that hers was the virgin heart and life; and that she had never stooped to conquer.
Without realizing it, and only dimly moving with that end in view, she had whetted Elizabeth's vanity. She had, indeed, soothed a pride wounded of late beyond endurance, suspecting, as she did, that Leicester had played his long part for his own sordid purposes, that his devotion was more alloy than precious metal. No note of praise could be pitched too high for Elizabeth, and if only policy did not intervene, if but no political advantage was lost by saving De la Foret, that safety seemed now secure.
”You tell a tale and adorn it with good grace,” she said, and held out her hand. Angele kissed it. ”And you have said to Elizabeth what none else dared to say since I was Queen here. He who hath never seen the lightning hath no dread of it. I had not thought there was in the world so much artlessness, with all the power of perfect art. But we live to be wiser. Thou shalt continue in thy tale. Thou hast seen Mary, once Queen of France, now Queen of Scots--answer me fairly, without if, or though, or any sort of doubt, the questions I shall put. Which of us twain, this ruin-starred Queen or I, is of higher stature?”