Part 11 (2/2)
”She hath advantage in little of your Majesty,” bravely answered Angele.
”Then,” answered Elizabeth, sourly, ”she is too high, for I, myself, am neither too high nor too low.... And of complexion, which is the fairer?”
”Her complexion is the fairer, but your Majesty's countenance hath truer beauty and sweeter majesty.”
Elizabeth frowned slightly, then said:
”What exercises did she take when you were at the court?”
”Sometimes she hunted, your Majesty, and sometimes she played upon the virginals.”
”Did she play to effect?”
”Reasonably, your n.o.ble Majesty.”
”You shall hear me play, and then speak truth upon us, for I have known none with so true a tongue since my father died.”
Thereon she called to a lady who waited near in a little room to bring an instrument; but at that moment Cecil appeared again at the door, and, his face seeming to show anxiety, Elizabeth, with a sign, beckoned him to enter.
”Your face, Cecil, is as long as a Lenten collect. What raven croaks in England on May Day eve?”
Cecil knelt before her, and gave into her hand a paper.
”What record runs here?” she asked, querulously.
”A prayer of your faithful Lords and Commons that your Majesty will grant speech with their chosen deputies to lay before your Majesty a cause they have at heart.”
”Touching of--?” darkly asked the Queen.
”The deputies wait even now--will not your Majesty receive them? They have come humbly, and will go hence as humbly on the instant, if the hour is ill chosen.”
Immediately Elizabeth's humor changed. A look of pa.s.sion swept across her face, but her eyes lighted and her lips smiled proudly. She avoided troubles by every means, fought off by subtleties the issues which she must meet; but when the inevitable hour came none knew so well to meet it as though it were a dearest friend, no matter what the danger, how great the stake.
”They are here at my door, these good servants of the state--shall they be kept dangling?” she said, loudly. ”Though it were time for prayers and G.o.d's mercy, yet should they speak with me, have my counsel, or my hand upon the sacred parchment of the state. Bring them hither, Cecil. Now we shall see--Now you shall see, Angele of Rouen--now you shall see how queens shall have no hearts to call their own, but be head and heart and soul and body at the will of every churl who thinks he serves the state and knows the will of Heaven. Stand here at my left hand. Mark the players and the play.”
Kneeling, the deputies presented a resolution from the Lords and Commons that the Queen should, without more delay, in keeping with her oft-expressed resolve and the promise of her council, appoint one who should succeed to the throne in case of her death ”without posterity.” Her faithful people pleaded with her gracious Majesty to forego unwillingness to marry, and seek a consort worthy of her supreme consideration, to be raised to a place beside her near that throne which she had made the greatest in the world.
Gravely, solemnly, the chief members of the Lords and Commons spoke, and with as weighty pauses and devoted protestations as though this were the first time their plea had been urged, this obvious duty had been set out before her. Long ago, in the flush and pride of her extreme youth and the full a.s.surance of the fruits of marriage, they had spoken with the same sober responsibility; and though her youth had gone and the old certainty had forever disappeared, they spoke of her marriage and its consequences as though it were still that far-off yesterday. Well for them that they did so, for though time had flown and royal suitors without number had become figures dim in the people's mind, Elizabeth, fed upon adulation, invoked, admired, besieged by young courtiers, flattered by maids who praised her beauty, had never seen the hands of the clock pa.s.s high noon, and still remained under the dearest and saddest illusion which can rest in a woman's mind. Long after the hands of life's clock had moved into afternoon, the ancient prayer was still gravely presented that she should marry and give an heir to England's crown; and she as solemnly listened and dropped her eyes, and strove to hide her virgin modesty behind a high demeanor which must needs sink self in royal duty.
”These be the dear desires of your supreme Majesty's faithful Lords and Commons and the people of the s.h.i.+res whose wills they represent.
Your Majesty's life, G.o.d grant it last beyond that of the youngest of your people so greatly blessed in your rule! But accidents of time be many; and while the world is full of guile, none can tell what peril may beset the crown, if your Majesty's wisdom sets not apart, gives not to her country, one whom the nation can surround with its care, encompa.s.s lovingly by its duty.”
The talk with Angele had had a curious influence upon the Queen. It was plain that now she was moved by real feeling, and that, though she deceived herself, or pretended so to do, shutting her eyes to sober facts and dreaming old dreams--as it were, in a world where never was a mirror nor a timepiece--yet there was working in her a fresher spirit, urging her to a fairer course than she had shaped for many a day.
”My lords and gentlemen, and my beloved subjects,” she answered presently, and for an instant set her eyes upon Angele, then turned to them again, ”I pray you stand and hear me.... Ye have spoken fair words to my face, and of my face, and of the person of this daughter of great Henry, from whom I got whatever grace or manner or favor is to me; and by all your reasoning you do flatter the heart of the Queen of England, whose mind indeed sleeps not in deed or desire for this realm. Ye have drawn a fair picture of this mortal me, and though from the grace of the picture the colors may fade by time, may give by weather, may be spoiled by chance, yet my loyal mind, nor time with her swift wings shall overtake, nor the misty clouds may darken, nor chance with her slippery foot may overthrow. It sets its course by the heart of England, and when it pa.s.seth there shall be found that one shall be left behind who shall be surety of all that hath been lying in the dim warehouse of fate for England's high future. Be sure that in this thing I have entered into the weigh-house, and I hold the balance, and ye shall be well satisfied.
Ye have been fruitful in counsel, ye have been long knitting a knot never tied, ye shall have comfort soon. But know ye beyond peradventure that I have bided my time with good reason. If our loom be framed with rotten hurdles, when our web is wellny done, our work is yet to begin. Against mischance and dark discoveries my mind, with knowledge hidden from you, hath been firmly arrayed. If it be in your thought that I am set against a marriage which shall serve the nation, purge yourselves, friends, of that sort of heresy, for the belief is awry. Though I think that to be one and always one, neither mated nor mothering, be good for a private woman, for a prince it is not meet. Therefore, say to my Lords and Commons that I am more concerned for what shall chance to England when I am gone than to linger out my living thread. I hope, my lords and gentlemen, to die with a good 'Nunc Dimittis,' which could not be if I did not give surety for the nation after my graved bones. Ye shall hear soon--ye shall hear and be satisfied, and so I give you to the care of Almighty G.o.d.”
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