CHAPTER X
THE QUEEN
Dr. Burnet was returning from his diocese of Sarum to Kensington Palace,where he had been called by the grave reports of the Queen's sickness.
On Christmas Day she had been something better, but towards the eveningnotably worse; on Wednesday prayers were offered in all the churches,and the new primate, Dr. Tenison, was summoned to join the otherprelates in attendance at Kensington.
The Bishop of Sarum was joined in London by M. Zulestein, for whom hehad a peculiar friendship, and who came to urge haste.
The Master of the Robes hoped that the Bishop's presence might have someeffect upon the astonishing and immoderate agitation of the King; heconfessed he had been glad to escape from the atmosphere of anxiety andgrief at Kensington.
Soldier and priest made a melancholy journey in M. Zulestein's coach.The Capital was very silent and awed. There could be no doubt now thatthe Queen was beloved.
"If she goes," said M. Zulestein bluntly, "he can never hold the throne.His very title to it would be questioned. Without her where are we all?"
Dr. Burnet answered unsteadily; he was deeply attached to Mary.
"Do not speak like that, sir. She must live--even if it be smallpox, isshe not young and strong? Did not the King recover?"
"He had it but slightly," answered M. Zulestein. "He was back at thearmy in twenty days. They say it was his own resolution not to die andthe services of M. Portland that saved him, but I do not think this ladyhath any such will to live."
"God bless us," cried the Bishop, "who would have thought a man of theKing's feeble constitution would have survived the Queen!" He shook hishead sorrowfully. "She was our principal hope, our support--a prince ofan extraordinary goodness."
"If she dieth she hath the better part," answered the Dutchman. "I knownot how the King will well bear it--he hath hardly slept since herillness--for fear of his cough disturbing her he will not lie in herchamber, but hath his camp-bed in the anteroom--yet he is never onit--he hath himself nursed her--day and night with such devotion andcare as moveth the heart." He paused, and added, with great emotion,"Had you seen him as I have, in all manner of dangers and fatigues andtroubles, always master of himself, and of such an heroical courage thathe inflamed those about him, you would find it, sir, terrible to see himas he is now."
"When I last saw him he was struck beyond expression," answered Dr.Burnet. "But I never thought his temper would bear an open display ofemotion."
"You know him as well as any Englishman--yet you do not know him," saidM. Zulestein.
The pompous self-love of the Bishop was rather hit at this, but he letit pass (as he would not have done at any other time), and neither spokeagain before they reached Kensington House.
They found the household in much disorder--the courtyard filled withcarriages, the corridors with messengers waiting for the news. M.Zulestein told his companion that the Princess Anne (in open disgrace onaccount of her championship of my Lord Marlborough, who had beendiscovered in flagrant treachery) had sent a humble loving message, andthat the King had replied warmly, but requested her not to come tillthere was a turn for the better.
Dr. Burnet thought this answer of the King's looked as if the doctorsheld out hope; he shouldered his way through the crowd to the Queen'sprivate apartments, and rather breathless and without ceremony he and M.Zulestein put aside the ushers and entered the first antechamber ofMary's apartments.
It was empty save for a couple of curious, frightened servants; but thedoor into the next room was open, and the two new-comers beheld anextraordinary scene.
A little group with their faces hidden stood before the window; nearthem at the table was a florid, coarse-featured man, plainly dressed,and cast down before him a gentleman in a violet coat--on his knees withhis hands raised in a gesture of abandoned entreaty.
The back of this gentleman was towards Dr. Burnet.
"Dear God!" he muttered, seizing M. Zulestein's arm, "is it--the King?"
M. Zulestein, utterly pale, made a gesture of assent, and hastenedforward. The man before whom the King knelt stepped back in a kind ofdesperation, and cried--
"If Your Majesty were to offer me your three kingdoms I could give youno other answer!"
At this the King fell forward on his face, and he was lying so, prone,when the Bishop and M. Zulestein entered.
Dr. Radcliffe wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and looked roundhalf-defiantly.
"Gentlemen," he said hoarsely, "I take you to witness I have done myduty. His Majesty asked the truth. It is smallpox, and Her Majesty issinking rapidly. I was not called in until it was too late."
Portland had come from the window, and was raising the King.
"You have some courage, sir," he said grimly.
Dr. Radcliffe retorted in self-defence--
"I did not undertake this for pleasure, your lordship; there was no oneelse would dare tell His Majesty."
Portland got the King to his feet; the others stood awkward and still;William looked round and saw Dr. Burnet.
"Did you hear?" he asked, under his breath--"did you hear?"
He sank into the chair by the table. The Bishop approached with somefaltering words of comfort, but the King cut him short.
"They say there is no hope of the Queen!" he broke out. "No hope! I wasthe most happy creature upon earth, and now shall be the most miserable!There was no fault in her, not one--you know her as well as any, but youcould not know her as I did--there was a worth in her none could knowbut I!"
With that he burst into a passion of tears, and hid his face on thetable in an abandonment of agony which amazed those about him, who knewneither what to say nor do in face of this overthrow of the Master whomthey had always regarded as one who would preserve a decent control inthe face of any sorrow, since he was a soldier and a statesman, and hadkept his countenance in many a bitter crisis, and always shown asingular pride in controlling his passions--so much so, as to be statelyand cold even to those he loved; yet here he wept before the verystaring servants and gave no heed. Lord Portland thought there wassomething womanish and unworthy in this desperate grief; he went up tothe King and spoke with a kind of heat.
"Will you give way thus? Where is your trust in God?"
He was speaking not to the King of England, but to William of Nassau, atwhose side he had faced so many years of danger, his companion in arms,his truest friend.
"She will go to everlasting peace," he said, with energy. "You, who havefaced so much, can face the loss of her--for her sake, for her eternalgood."
If the King heard these words they did not touch him; he raised his heada little, and broke into incoherent lamentation in a misery of tears.
Portland spoke to Dr. Radcliffe.
"How long," he asked, "will it be?"
"She may," answered the doctor, in a lowered voice, "live another day,my lord, no more; the smallpox are now so sunk there is no hope ofraising them."
"Should she not be warned of her danger?"
"That is as the King wishes."
"The King!" echoed Portland, in a tone of despair. He turned again tohis master. "Sire," he said gently, "will you have the Queen told?"
William looked up; the tears were streaming down his face for any one tosee; he continually shuddered violently, and spoke so hoarsely Portlandcould with difficulty catch the words.
"I'll not believe it yet--I cannot--these doctors--must save her----"
"Dr. Tenison," answered Portland, "is with her now--it were best that heshould tell her of her condition----"
The King broke out into ejaculations of anguish.
"There was none like her in all the world--none! No one could know hergreat goodness. O God, my God, this is more than I can bear!"
Portland turned his eyes away, broken himself.
"I am amazed," whispered Dr. Burnet; "for surely I never thought himcapable of such emotion."
Dr. Radcliffe touched Portland on the arm.
"Look to His Majesty," he said. "I think this will prove beyond hisendurance--I will to the Queen."
He took his leave softly. The King lifted his head and looked afterhim.
"He said there was no hope!" he cried. "No hope!"
"God is your hope," answered Portland strongly.
"Talk not of God, for this is death and damnation to me--if she leavesme nothing matters on earth or in heaven--what have I done--what have Idone that the Devil is let loose on me?" He cast his eyes round wildly,and staggered to his feet. "She was all I had--all--I should have diedfirst--I might have died happy--I have not lived so wickedly I should bepunished thus--but they mistake, these doctors--she cannot die--no, itis not possible."
They were all silent. The scene was painful almost past bearing. TheKing's agonies went beyond all bounds. None of them, though they wereall men who had known him most of his life, had believed that his temperwas capable of such passion. Dr. Burnet's fluent self-assurance waschecked--he stood dumb and staring; the Dutch nobles gazed in horror anddismay at this spectacle of a proud man's utter overthrow. Portlandremained beside him, and the King supported himself by holding heavilyon to his arm.
"Doctors mistake, do they not?" he cried, between the long shudders thatshook him. "How often have they not said--I should die--but I lived."
"Alas," answered Portland unsteadily, "I would not have you deceiveyourself--Radcliffe was very certain. But you will commandyourself----"
"I--I have no strength," gasped the King; "my soul is broken within me.O God!" he sobbed, "save her or let me go!"
He turned about and threw out his hand like a blind man feeling his way,then fell back into Portland's arms.
"Fainted," said my lord laconically. With the help of M. Zulestein helaid him on the stiff couch between the windows. One of the servantshurried for a doctor, and in the moment's confusion my Lord Leedsentered unnoticed.
Portland, as he moved from the King's couch, was the first to see him.
"Ah, my lord," he said sorrowfully, "what is to become of us all?"
"The King," murmured Portland, much moved, "is incapable of anything--doyou take the direction of affairs."
"Nay, you, my lord," answered Leeds. "You are His Majesty's nearerfriend."
"And your Grace is English--it will be more politic should you take thisoffice--what of the Queen?"
"I have just come from her antechamber--even the pages and serving-maidsare in tears--this is a heavy business." He himself seemed like a manutterly overcome. "She is certainly sinking--she is in privatediscourse now with the Archbishop."
"Doth she know?"
Leeds shook his head.
"Dr. Tenison waiteth the King's commands to tell her--but I think shehath an inner knowledge."
M. Auverqueverque came from the group by the window and whisperedPortland that the King was conscious.
At this Leeds, ever warm-hearted and impulsive, went on his knees besidethe couch and pressed the King's cold hand affectionately to his lips.
William sat up with his head drooping; his back was to the light, andhis thick curls almost concealed his face; he held his handkerchief tohis lips and shivered continually.
"The Queen," said Leeds, very low, "hath asked for Your Majesty."
The King murmured something incoherent.
"And the Archbishop," continued Leeds, with a grave gentleness,"thinketh she should be told of her danger."
"I would not have her deceived--in so important a matter," whispered theKing--"tell him so." He leant forward and took Leeds by the shoulders."Is it not an awful thing that she should die--she--to die--you everloved her--God bless you for that, my lord--she had a sad life"--hisvoice became very indistinct--"she will not be sorry--but as for me----"
His hands loosened on the Duke's shoulders, and with a little moan hefell into another fainting fit, so long and deathlike that they fearedfor his reason or his life; it seemed, indeed, as if he would scarcelysurvive her whose danger caused his despair.
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