The Three Crowns

by Виктория Холт

  The country was wild with joy. They could not fail. William of Orange would lead them to victory; they could put their trust in him as their ancestors had in that other William.

  The people of Holland were not disappointed in their new leader. William showed himself to be a man of single purpose; and that purpose now was to free Holland from her enemies and to keep her free. He was a man who was determined to lead them; now was his opportunity to show the world that inches are not necessary to greatness.

  After a few months of battle England was not averse to peace. Both Charles and James had come to understand that the young man who had been led to storm the apartments of the maids of honor with such determination could show the same enthusiasm for more worthy causes. William of Orange had become a man to be respected.

  In spite of the peace with England, William was still engaged with his Spanish allies in a war against France, and Charles in England, ally of Louis, sought to make a general peace. Under Orange, Holland was a formidable little country and Louis was tired of that particular war, but clearly could not make this known; therefore Charles would help him to gain what he needed.

  Charles’s idea was to offer Orange the Princess Mary as his wife. When Orange had come to England some three years previously he had clearly had such a union in mind. At that time it had not seemed politic. Now Orange was the Dutch leader; he was a Prince with more than a title who had shown himself to be astute, and he was Charles’s own nephew. But none of these was the main reason which prompted the King. Since his marriage James, Duke of York, was becoming more and more unpopular. Wherever he appeared there were continual cries of “No popery.” James was a fool, thought Charles; but he was his brother and for that reason it was necessary to protect the fool from the results of his folly.

  Now if James’s daughter married a Protestant the people’s growing resentment would be halted. They would say to themselves, Since he is prepared to give his daughter to Protestant Orange can he be such an ardent Catholic?

  James would oppose the match, of course, having set his heart on a French marriage for Mary. A French marriage! A Catholic marriage! When the people hated the French and were determined to have no Catholics on the throne of England.

  Charles, leaning toward the Catholic faith did so secretly. Secretly! That was the point. Poor James, he was half idealist, half sensualist; the one was continually getting in the way of the other.

  Orange for Mary then! Let it be done!

  William laughed aloud when he received the news that the King of England was desirous of making a match between his niece and his nephew.

  He called to his dear friend Bentinck and told him what had happened.

  “Marriage with England. My friend, when I was at my uncle’s Court I intimated that such a marriage would be acceptable to me. I saw the Princess Mary. She is comely, but without reticence; she seemed over familiar with the King and her father; and they have brought her up to speak without thinking first of the effect of her words; they have allowed her to excel at dancing and playacting.”

  “She could be Queen of England, Highness.”

  “There is that in her favor.” He gave that faint twist of the lips which could scarcely be called a smile. “As yet,” he said, “I am not ready for marriage. Nor shall I allow my uncles to think I am waiting on their words to give them back my friendship. Do not forget Bentinck that they made war on us—for I do not forget it.”

  He wrote to the King of England: “My fortunes are not in a condition for me to think of taking a wife.”

  He was inwardly exultant, guessing what effect those words would have on his uncles.

  Charles laughed. “Our little nephew plays the great man. Well, perhaps we must accept the fact that he is half as important as he thinks himself. All in good time. We’ll marry him to Mary yet.”

  The Duke of York was furious. The little upstart, to refuse his lovely daughter! To flout England, for that was what he had done since Mary could one day bring him England.

  “I hate the fellow,” said James. “I shall never forgive him for insulting my daughter.”

  Charles shrugged his shoulders. He displayed no passion but all the same he was determined that the marriage should take place at some future time.

  These were good days for William. The Dutch nation adored him. His solemnity endeared him to them; they would not have wished for a monarch like the King of England. They shouted for the Prince of Orange wherever he went, and were certain that he would lead them to victory.

  William lived for Holland; he was full of plans for defeating her enemies; he had determined to bring peace and prosperity to his people; it should be his life’s ambition. He knew that he had been born to rule. He wanted no wife; he wanted no pleasure; he wanted his people to know that another William the Silent had come to lead them.

  He was proving himself to be a leader, a brilliant soldier, a man of few words and great solemnity. He was a hero.

  Then the disturbing news was circulating throughout the land. Orange was sick of deadly malady.

  When the first sign of the sickness had come to him he had not believed it could be; but when his doctors had seen him they withdrew in horror.

  Bentinck came to his bedside.

  “My friend,” said the Prince, “you should not come near me. You know what ails me?”

  “I have been told you have the smallpox.”

  “The disease,” said the Prince, “which killed my mother.”

  He was exhausted, Bentinck saw; he had taken the disease badly, and his chances of survival would therefore be slight.

  Moreover, it was inconceivable that such a man would not have enemies. How easy to prevent his recovery!

  Bentinck knelt down by the bed.

  The Prince looked at him as though seeing him vaguely through half closed eyes.

  “Go away,” he murmured.

  “I will never leave you while you need me,” said Bentinck.

  William’s brow puckered; he was rapidly becoming too ill to understand.

  Bentinck called the doctors into an anteroom.

  “It is His Highness’s wish that I remain.”

  “You have had the pox?”

  Bentinck shook his head.

  “You run grave risks.”

  “We all must run grave risks for Holland.”

  “You can do him no good, and yourself much harm.”

  “It is the Prince’s wish that I remain.”

  “He would not wish that for his worst enemy.”

  “But perhaps he would,” said Bentinck wryly, “for his best friend.”

  Hourly the Prince’s death was expected. In the streets of the cities people said: “He came like a promise that is not to be fulfilled. What will become of us? What of Holland now? We shall be under the French before we know where we are. Louis doesn’t strike now because he is waiting to hear that the Prince is dead. He wouldn’t dare while he still lived.”

  “Let us pray for him. What is Holland without Orange.”

  In the country the people ran out of their houses every time they heard the sound of travelers on the road.

  “Any news … any news of the Prince?”

  In the sickroom Bentinck sat by the Prince’s bed, determined that none but himself should look after the invalid. William lay as though dead but Bentinck believed he knew his friend was near and took comfort from the fact.

  Bentinck would talk to William even though there was no answer.

  “You must fight death, my Prince. All Holland depends on you.” That was the theme of his conversation and there were times when he believed the Prince understood him, for after sixteen days of uncertainty William showed the first signs of improvement. When the doctors expressed their astonishment that he, who had suffered such a violent attack, had a hope of recovery, Bentinck cried: “He is determined to live and when this Prince determines he succeeds.”

  Now was the time to prepare the Prince good nourishing food—food which s
hould come to him only through Bentinck’s hand.

  William looked at Bentinck.

  “You were with me all the time,” he said.

  “Yes, Highness. But you were too sick to know it.”

  “I sensed your presence here, Bentinck. It gave me great comfort. It is good to have a friend; and I believe you to be my friend, Bentinck.”

  “Your Highness has many friends.”

  “Friends to the Prince of Holland,” answered William. “Those who support him because they know he will bring good to them. Only one Bentinck. I believe one should be grateful for one such. Bentinck, I shall never forget you.”

  That was all he said, for he was always one to avoid expressing emotion. But the bond was there between them.

  Bentinck had risked his life for his Prince. It was something one never forgot as long as one lived.

  William began to recover rapidly. Bentinck prepared all his food himself; they talked together of their future, which was Holland’s.

  The people were ready to adore their Prince. Not only could he conquer their enemies but the most dreaded sickness, and they believed they could look with confidence to their deliverer.

  One morning Bentinck came to his master and told him that he was exhausted and needed a little rest; had he the Prince’s permission to retire to the country for a while? The permission was readily given.

  Within the next few days William heard that Bentinck was suffering from the smallpox.

  William was more moved when he heard of Bentinck’s sickness than he had ever been before in his life. He sent his own doctors; he genuinely deplored the fact that he could not go himself and do for his friend what Bentinck had done for him, but the nation’s affairs occupied him and he must concern himself with his duty. Continually he thought of Bentinck; he missed him; there was so much he wanted to discuss with him, and if Bentinck died, he believed it would be one of the greatest tragedies of his life.

  But Bentinck did not die. The best doctors, the greatest care in nursing, the constant messages from the Prince, and the great will to survive were on his side. And as William had, eventually he began to recover.

  It was a day of great joy when the two friends were together again.

  William looked at Bentinck and said, “It pleases me to see you well again. I have need of you.”

  That was all; but Bentinck was aware of the deep feeling beneath the words. Their friendship was sealed; it would last for the rest of their lives. William was aware of this too; but being the man he was he expressed his pleasure in a few brusque words.

  The months of anxiety followed. Holland was a small country and her enemies were strong. All the bravery in the world could not stand out against the might of arms and men many times greater than those possessed by Holland. During these months William’s natural characteristics became stronger and unshakable. He believed that he had been chosen to rule—not only Holland. He was predestined to be a King. He had never forgotten Mrs. Tanner’s vision. Always it seemed there must be on this earth a conflict between Catholic and Protestant, and he, a stern Calvinist, was ideally fitted to lead the Protestant Cause. He saw himself as the Protestant leader of Europe, perhaps the world. He must defeat Catholicism; and he believed that it did not matter how he did so as long as he was successful.

  His ability to remain calm, to give no hint of anger was one of his great gifts, he realized; he must cultivate it. He would hide his thoughts from all; so that when he said one thing he might well mean another. If necessary he would lie for the Cause.

  Mrs. Tanner had prophesied three crowns. Could these be England, Scotland, and Ireland? His eyes were on England, for neither the King nor the Duke of York seemed now to be able to beget heirs. Mary of York would very probably succeed her father if he did not have a son; and if William married Mary, because of his claim through his Stuart mother, he could become King of England.

  When he had been offered Mary he had said that his fortunes were not such as to enable him to think of a wife, but times had changed. Without support it might well be that Holland would become a protectorate of France; but if he married Mary, England would be obliged to stand by Holland. Had he been rash to make such a reply when Mary had been offered him? He did not think so. His reply while it had angered James had made others respect him. It was as well for them to believe themselves to be more anxious for the match than he was. But when Mary was offered again … and it was certain that she would be, his reply would be lukewarm instead of cold.

  William was brave; he had proved himself to be a shrewd and subtle leader, but the forces against him were too strong, and his ministers suggested that the peace terms which were being offered from France should be accepted.

  Now he showed himself in all his strength. He had declared he would fight to the last dyke, he told them, and he meant it. If Holland were not to fall under the French domination she must not give way.

  “There is not a man in Holland who does not desire peace,” he was told.

  “There is one,” he retorted. “I know him well, for he is the Prince of Orange.”

  They admired him; they respected him; they looked up to him, and remembered his noble ancestor. And when he stood before them, his expression cold and stern, they could believe that if there was one man who could achieve the impossible, that man was William of Orange.

  “I saw an old man this morning,” he told his ministers. “He was rowing his little boat against the eddy of a sluice on the canal. Every time he was about to reach his destination the eddy carried him back. I watched him repeat this four times. Every time it happened he took up his oars again. Do you see what I mean, my friends? I am like that old man in the boat and I shall never be beaten as long as I can return to my oars.”

  So in spite of efforts for peace, the war continued.

  There were victories and defeats; neither side was the victor. Louis was tired of the conflict and Charles attempted to negotiate a peace.

  William received Louis’s envoys, prepared, he said, at least to listen to what terms he had to offer.

  When he heard that Louis wanted to suggest a French marriage for the Prince, William considered this.

  Who was the lady? he asked.

  Louis’s own daughter, was the reply. She was very beautiful and her mother was Louise de la Vallière. The King delighted in her and it showed the extent of his esteem for the Prince that he should offer him this favorite girl.

  William was furious. “She is a bastard,” he said coldly. “You should return to the King of France without delay and tell him that the Princes of Orange do not wed kings’ bastards.”

  This refusal and the terms in which it was made, infuriated Louis when he heard it. He vowed that it was an insult he could never forget and consequently would never forgive the insolent Orange.

  William was now more than ever eager for the English marriage. He could not forget the insult Louis had given him by suggesting that he might accept his illegitimate daughter, and only marriage with a Princess of very high rank and with dazzling prospects could give balm to his wounded vanity. He was thinking more frequently of the Princess Mary, eldest daughter of the Duke of York. He was as eager for that marriage as he had been several years before when he had gone to England and been involved in the disgraceful scene outside the chambers of the maids of honor.

  He decided to send for Sir William Temple who was in Holland at this time for the Congress of Nimeguen. Sir William had shown himself a friend to Holland and it seemed to William that he was the man to be trusted with this matter.

  Sir William was a cautious man who rarely took any action without making sure that it was absolutely safe to do so, and although he was a reliable ally he was an unimaginative one. William felt a bond between them and it was for this reason that he decided to call him at this stage.

  Sir William was known to favor Dutch interests, an attitude in which he persisted even though it resulted in a loss of popularity in England, so the Prince was certain t
hat he would be in favor of a marriage between him and Mary.

  When Sir William arrived at the Palace of Hounslaerdyck whither the Prince had summoned him, William came straight to the point.

  “Marriage,” began the Prince, “is a state which a man in my position must consider at some time, and it would seem to me that time has come. I have had proposals from various sources. One from the King of France.” He paused and glanced sideways at Sir William. Would he have discovered that Louis had offered him a bastard? Sir William gave no sign and the Prince enlightened him no further. “In spite of this,” he went on, “if I decided to marry it would be to England that I should look.”

  “I am glad to hear it, Your Highness.”

  “Oh, I have not brought you here as a diplomat. I wish to speak to you of this matter as one friend to another.”

  Sir William intimated that he was very willing to be a friend to the Prince of Orange.

  “I should want a wife who did not give me trouble at home, for I shall be much engaged abroad. Before I married there are certain facts I should want to know about my wife’s character and education. My wife must be a woman who would live well with me and I might not be easy to live with. In fact, certainly those women who live at the various courts today might find it difficult to live with me; the tendencies which displease me are prevalent in the Court of the King of England and that gives me pause for thought.”

  “I believe, Your Highness, that the best marriage you could make would be with England.”

  “Such a union would please me, but I should need to know those facts I mentioned about my wife.”

  “My own wife is a great friend of Lady Frances Villiers who is in charge of the Princess’s household.”

  “Then I would ask you as a friend to command her to give me an account of the Princess Mary. If it pleases me well then I should not be averse to this match.”

  Sir William said he would dispatch a message to his wife without delay; and he doubted not that she would do her utmost to give the Prince of Orange a true picture of the Princess Mary.

  Lady Temple sent glowing accounts of the Princess Mary. She was a charming girl, more beautiful than her sister, skilled in dancing, of good temper, and would almost certainly prove a docile wife; moreover she was young for her fifteen years and could doubtless be molded.