God and the King

by Marjorie Bowen

  CHAPTER XVIII

  BY THE GRACE OF GOD

  The Princess's boat, with her escort of Dutch warships, rode in theThames at last. The frost had broken, and she arrived not long afterher letter to Lord Danby had scattered that statesman's party, andfrustrated his hopes of placing her on the throne. The Prince havingsoon after declared his mind to the lords in council, that he wouldaccept no position dependent on his wife's pleasure or the life ofanother (for there had been talk of a regency, leaving the King thenominal title), made it clear that if his services were to be retained,if he was not to abandon them to the confusion, strife, and disasterfrom which his presence alone saved them, he must be King. All partiesuniting, then, on what was now proved to be the winning side, theConvention voted the offer of the crown to the Prince and Princessjointly--the sole administration to rest with him.

  The succession, after naming the direct line, was left vague to pleasethe Prince, who was free to flatter himself that he could choose his ownheir.

  This news had come to Mary before she left The Hague, and she knew thatthe day after her landing there would be a formal offering andacceptance of the crown of Great Britain. She beheld the prospect withextraordinary sensations as, passing Gravesend, and leaving her vesseland escort at Greenwich, she proceeded in a state barge to the morefamiliar reaches of the river, Rotherhithe, Wapping, and presently theTower, rising golden grey in the chill spring sunshine, by the bridgewith the deep crazy arches through which the water poured in dangerousrapids. Crowded with houses was this old bridge, and in the centre alittle chapel with a bell, now ringing joyfully.

  Mary remembered it all--the long busy wharves, now taking holiday; thebarges, boats, and compact shipping now hung with flags; Galley Key,where the slaves in chains unlade the oranges, silks, and spices fromthe East; the houses, on the side of Surrey, among which rose the spireof the great church at Southwark; the merchants' houses built down tothe water's edge, with pleasant gardens filled with poplar trees and setwith the figureheads of ships in which some adventurer had sailed hisearly travels long ago in the time of Elizabeth Tudor; and the distantprospect of the city itself shimmering now under an early haze ofsunshine.

  All was utterly strange, yet nothing was altered; it looked the same aswhen, weeping to leave England, she had come down these waters in abarge with her silent husband, ten years ago, and waited at Gravesendfor the wind.

  One difference attracted Mary's eyes. Behind and beyond the Tower amass of scaffolding rose that dominated the whole city, and through thecrossed poles, boards, and ropes, she could discern the majestic outlineof the dome of that vast church which had been slowly rising out of theashes of the old St. Paul's since she was a child.

  At the Tower Wharf she landed, laughing hysterically, and hardly knowingwhat she did. They gave her a royal salute of cannon, and she saw allthe guards drawn up in squares, with their spears in the midst, and ared way of brocade carpet laid down for her, and a coach with whitehorses and running footmen, and beyond, a press of noblemen andofficers, and the sheriffs and aldermen of the city with the Lord Mayor.

  She hesitated on the gangway, amidst her ladies, her spirit completelyoverwhelmed. She looked round desperately for some one to whom tosay--"I cannot do it--I cannot put it through. I must die, but I cannotbe Queen."

  The complete incomprehension on the excited faces of these ladies, thestrangeness of many of them, recalled her with a shock to herself; shefelt as if she had been on the point of betraying her husband. Sherecalled his last letter, in which he had asked her to show no grief orhesitation in her manner, and, biting her lips fiercely, she steppedfirmly on to English soil, and managed somehow to respond to the lowlysalutations of the crowd pressing to receive her. The Prince was by thecoach door; she noticed that he wore his George and garter, which he hadnot done perhaps twice before. There were a great many gentlemen behindhim, many of them those whom she had already met at The Hague, othersstrange to her, several of the Dutch officers, and M. Bentinck inmourning for his wife.

  Mary, still English enough to think her country the finest in the world,was thrilled with pleasure to see how respectfully all these greatnobles held themselves to the Prince. She was used to see him receivethis homage in his own country and from the magnates of the Empire, butthese Englishmen were to her more than any German princes.

  The Prince took her hand and kissed it, and said very quickly in Dutch--

  "I would that this had been in Holland."

  The English gentlemen bowed till their long perukes touched their knees,Mary entered the coach with Lady Argyll and a Dutch lady, the Princemounted his white horse, and the cavalcade started through the expectantcity with all that pomp which the people would not forgo and the Princeto-day could not avoid.

  All London was eager for a sight of the Princess. The last Queen,foreign, proud Romanist, and hard, had never been a favourite, the QueenDowager had never counted for anything, and was now a forgotten figurein Somerset House; but Mary was English, Protestant, and her image hadlong been faithfully cherished in England as that of a native Princesswho would some day restore the old faith. Therefore her greeting wassuch as made her turn pale; she had never before heard such thunders ofacclamation, popular as she was in the United Provinces.

  Every road, every housetop, all the windows, alleys, and turnings werefilled with well-dressed, orderly people, who cheered her and cheeredthe Prince till Mary felt dizzy. She saw in this their true title tothe crown; the lords were but obeying the people in setting it on theirheads, and she recalled how these same Londoners had besieged the doorsof Westminster Hall, while the Convention was sitting, and threatened touse violence if the Prince was not elected King.

  Her appearance of beautiful youth, her sparkling excitement, hergracious smiles made a favourable impression, and further roused theenthusiasm which the very stiff demeanour of the Prince, to whom thisdisplay was hateful, was apt to damp.

  By the time they reached Whitehall she was more popular than he, and thenobles who rode in the procession thought to themselves that the Englishwife would serve to keep the foreign husband in the affections of thepeople.

  Whitehall was filled with English, Dutch, and Scotch waiting to kiss herhand: Mr. Sidney was there, Mr. Herbert, Mr. Russell, Lord Shrewsbury,Lord Devonshire, Lord Halifax, Lord Godolphin, Lord Danby, and otherswhom she did not know or had forgotten; their background was thatsplendid palace, seeming vast and magnificent indeed after her houses inHolland, which she had left so sadly ten years ago. Then she had wept,now she laughed and was very gracious, but in her heart she was asreluctant to enter Whitehall as she had ever been to leave it; thememories the place aroused were poignant, not sweet.

  It was three hours before she found herself alone with the Prince inthat gorgeous little chamber that had once been her father's, and stillcontained his pictures, statues, his monogram and arms on chairs andcarvings.

  The instant he had closed the door the Prince kissed her in silence, andshe burst into speech.

  "Are you satisfied? Are you pleased? Is this another step in yourtask--they--these people--will they help? How long the time hathseemed!"

  "To me also," said the Prince unsteadily.

  She stepped back to look at him anxiously: he was extravagantly vesturedin embroidered scarlet, lace, jewels, the George and garter conspicuous,and a great star of diamonds on his breast. A close scrutiny showedthat he looked more ill and weary than she had ever known him.

  "You are changed," she said quickly. "Oh, my dear, the climate doth notsuit you----"

  He smiled languidly.

  "I would we had met in Holland," he answered. "I am sick for Holland,Marie."

  "Already?"

  He seated himself in the deep window-seat that overlooked the privygarden and she took the low stool beside, studying him wistfully for onehint of that enthusiasm and elation which she hoped would be calledforth by his splendid success.


  "We could not have asked God for a more happy ending," she said in atrembling voice.

  "They--the English--will declare against France," he answered, butwithout spirit, and as if it was an effort to speak at all. "If I couldget them into the field this spring----" He was interrupted by hiscough, which was violent and frequent, and he flung the window openimpatiently. "There is no air in this place," he continued, in agasping voice; "their smoky chimneys and their smells are killing me; Icannot endure London."

  "We need not live here," said Mary quickly.

  "They think so," he returned; "'tis our post, where we are paid tobe----"

  The scarcely concealed bitterness with which he spoke of England was amatter of amaze and terror to Mary, in whose ears still rang theenthusiastic shouts of the people and the flatteries of the courtiers.

  "But you are popular----" she began.

  "Hosanna to-day, and to-morrow crucify!" he answered. "I shall not longbe popular--the great lords have not loved me from the first. Theyoffer me the throne because there is no other to serve their turn, and Itake it because it is the only way to secure them against France. But Iundertake hard service, Marie."

  "You mean--the difficulties?"

  "The difficulties! I confess I am overwhelmed by them; everything isconfusion--everything! To get the bare Government on a business footingwould take a year's hard work, saying every one was honest--and everyone is corrupt. I can trust none of them. There is Ireland in aferment and the Scottish affairs in a tangle; there are a hundreddifferent parties, with indecipherable politics, waiting to fly at eachother's throats; the Church is hydra-headed with factions--and a cowmight as well be set to catch a hare as I set to put this straight, andI have had the business of Europe to conduct already."

  Mary's pride and pleasure were utterly dashed. Troubles anddifficulties she had been prepared for, but they had been vague anddistant; she had not thought to find the Prince already whelmed in them.She reflected swiftly on the anxiety, labour, and anguish that had goneto this expedition, the odium they had both incurred, the violence shehad done her own feelings, and she wondered desperately if it had beenworth the price.

  The Prince took her hand, having noticed the paling of her face and thedistress in her eyes.

  "We will talk of other things," he said, with an effort over his tiredvoice. "I am weak to burden you at once with this; you at least will bebeloved here----"

  Mary broke in passionately--

  "I do not love England--nor want to be Queen. I doubt I can do it--Iwas made for little things and peace--I hate this palace," she glanceddesperately round her father's splendour; "our own homes--where we wereso happy--are they not better?"

  The Prince went very pale.

  "I should not have repined," he said; "it is my task, which I must putthrough ... the part you have been made to take is the worst for me--thepart you may have to take----"

  "If it serveth you I am very content," she answered; "if I can doanything to help I shall be happy----"

  The tears sprang into the Prince's eyes. He looked away out of thewindow.

  "Marie--about His late Majesty--I could not help--that he was stopped inKent ... I would not have had it happen----"

  "Do not fear," she answered wildly, "that I do not in everything holdyou justified?"

  Her voice broke, and she began to weep.

  The Prince rose and helped her to her feet.

  "We must not show tears here," he said gently, "for we are not athome--but among many enemies----"

  She dried her eyes and smiled bravely.

  "Do we feel constraint so soon?"

  "We pay something," he said sadly, "that we are, by the grace of God,Monarchs of England."