Elizabeth of Bohemia

by David Elias

  “I promised to escort your Palatine into the banquet hall,” he said, his voice sounding different, “the better to take measure of him and test his handshake, but now I fear I shall have to beg off. I hope you can forgive me.”

  To see this same brother who loved nothing better than to be all day at swords and tilting, at golf and tennis and hunting, deprived of his boundless energy in such a sudden fashion disturbed me deeply.

  “It needs no forgiveness,” I assured him. “You have a slight fever.” I held a hand to his forehead. “You should be in bed.”

  “Our daughter would be about the practice of medicine again.” My mother turned to pull back the curtain and peek out at the gathered guests.

  “The physicians have already seen to him,” my father offered.

  “I take little solace at such news.”

  “I suppose you will want a sample of his urine next,” said my mother.

  “Is that what the physicians do?” Charles looked up at her. “What do they do with it?”

  “They taste it,” said Henry. I took heart that he should still have humour enough to tease his younger brother, as he was wont to do.

  “How disgusting.” Charles made a face.

  “Henry has been excused from the evening’s proceedings,” my father announced, “but he insists on staying nevertheless. We have seen to it that Charles shall conduct the Palatine into the hall.” He placed a pale, effeminate hand upon his younger son’s shoulder, who smiled ingratiatingly up at him.

  “What an organizer your father is.” My mother raised an eyebrow. “For my part I should be more than content to let the Palatine find his own way to the banquet.”

  “For mine, he can stay aboard the ship that brought him,” I added.

  My father grew stern. “We would be assured that these preparations have not been made in vain.”

  “You would have me carted off like so much chattel, I know.”

  “This tone is unbecoming. Vos protestor nimium.” Among my father’s many annoying habits was the employment of Latin platitudes to bolster his claim of divine authority.

  “Father says you protest too much,” Charles translated needlessly.

  “Qui tacet consentire,” I answered.

  “Silence is consent.” Charles checked to see his older brother’s reaction, eager as always to impress him.

  “This borders on impertinence,” my father cautioned. “I have expressly forbidden you to be schooled in Latin.”

  “At which, naturally, she has taken pains to study it all the more,” offered my mother.

  “I had expected better from a daughter,” my father scolded.

  “And I from a father,” I spat back, my cheeks burning.

  “Sister.” Henry reached up to put a hand on my shoulder. “This prince shall find himself aptly judged.”

  “I prize your counsel above all others’.” I spoke softly. “One word from you and I shall have reason enough to refuse him.”

  “I meant not myself but you, Elizabeth.” Henry looked over at my father. “The decision must be yours.”

  “This Palatine is a fair and excellent prince, I’m told,” said my father.

  “And yet merely that.” My mother made no effort to conceal her disdain. “No more than a prince.”

  “Enough of this.” My father signalled an attendant. “We will go in.”

  The horns sounded and we prepared to make our entrance into the hall. Henry laboured to rise from his chair.

  “I would not see you suffer in this way.” I gave him a hand up. “I’d rather you went home and got straight into bed.”

  “And forgo the chance to see this Palatine and offer my greetings?”

  “The Palatine can wait. Let me see to a carriage that will take you back to St. James’s.”

  “I won’t hear of it.”

  It seemed each episode of this troublesome affliction brought a new resolve to my brother’s demeanour, an ever more rigid denial of such uncharacteristic frailty, which belonged more rightfully to the harvest of old age.

  “Let’s go in.” Henry straightened himself up with a steady determination, insisted he would walk unaided to his chair, which I allowed. Charles left to fetch the Palatine and escort him into the hall, while the lesser protocols of courtly formality ran their course. I had brought the note from Prince Frederick with me, intent on handing it back to him unopened, but now I tore it open just the same.

  September 28, 1612

  Her Royal Highness Princess Elizabeth Stuart

  Richmond Palace

  London, England

  Dear Elizabeth,

  By now you know that I have received an invitation from your father, the King, to come to London and be introduced to your person, and that I have accepted. I look forward to the day we shall meet face to face, the better to consolidate the interests of those to whom we owe our allegiance.

  I have sent along a portrait which my chamberlain, Count Schomberg, has by now placed into your delicate hand. It is a miniature of me by the Dutch painter Van Mierevelt. Do you know of him? I confess I look hardly more than a boy, but it is the most recent likeness I have on hand. I can assure you I have matured considerably since I sat for it. I have managed to get my hands on a miniature portrait of you as well, done by Nicholas Hilliard. Do you remember it? I cannot stop looking at it, especially your beautiful eyes! Your playwright, Mr. Shakespeare, has said the eyes are windows to the soul. I have seen to it that his plays are performed here in Heidelberg of late, and would be delighted to make his acquaintance when I come to London. Do you think it could be arranged?

  I depart from Heidelberg on the ninth of October and hope for an uneventful crossing. Notwithstanding undue delay we expect to arrive in London on the fifteenth or sixteenth and plan to stay for a few weeks, though if all goes well it may be longer!

  With assurance that I am a man of honour and a fondness for your good graces, I am,

  Frederick

  Count Palatine of the Rhine

  Post Script: I have heard of some other suitors who seek your hand, among them Louis XIII of France. I am no king but hold prospects to become one, much as your brother Henry. I very much look forward to meeting him and hope you can arrange for us to spend some time together.

  Post Post Script: By the way, you should know that Louis XIII has a speech impediment. And a double set of teeth. Also a habit of holding his tongue out of his mouth for long periods of time before he speaks. And he never blows his nose. And he sweats a lot!

  If I thought there was some charm in his attempts at flattery, the reference to matters concerning the consolidation of interests gave me pause. It was obvious that my father wanted to use me as little more than a pawn, a means to advance the Protestant cause in Europe. My marriage to the Palatine would form an alliance better able to resist the Catholic interests of the Hapsburgs which dominated so much of the continent. Time and again I had seen my father impose his will upon his family for selfish and petty reasons, but this time I was determined not to make it so easy for him.

  At last the honoured guest and his party made their entrance, and I recognized Count Schomberg at once, a handsome and distinguished-looking gentleman with a generous dark moustache and broad shoulders, but it seemed to me the young man walking alongside Charles could hardly be the foreign prince, for far from being clothed in royal garbs, he was wearing but a simple doublet with wings and tabs, gathered breeches, and plain leather shoes upon his feet. He was presented first to the King, where he removed a close-fitting, brimless felt cap from his head and bowed. My father offered his hand, which the Palatine took and bent to kiss. The Queen was next but suffered herself merely to be bowed to and hardly bothered to return the visitor’s gaze. The Prince seemed not perturbed at this obvious slight and moved on to Henry, who rose stiffly to shake the Palatine’s hand. And here was the first sig
n that things might not be so easily resolved, for I saw that same air of dignified civility I’d always admired in my brother now reflected in this visitor. As they chatted, their expressions softened to warm smiles and each put a hand upon the shoulder of the other.

  “It’s plain they’ve taken an instant like to each other,” said Lady Anne.

  “They do but greet each other in proper fashion.”

  “There’s more than politeness there. If not first affection,” she proclaimed, “then first friendship is here given birth to.”

  I had to admit the exchange was more like one between long-lost friends than strangers, and for a moment I thought they might embrace, but Count Schomberg seized the Palatine by the arm and urged him along. It disturbed me greatly to see that no sooner had they turned away than Henry slumped back into his chair, eyes dull with pain and fatigue. Lady Anne gave me a nudge as the Palatine now stood before me, waiting to be introduced.

  “Allow me,” Count Schomberg announced formally, “to introduce His Highness Prince Frederick V, Elector Palatine of the Rhine.” He turned to the Palatine. “Your Highness, may I present Her Royal Highness Princess Elizabeth Stuart of England.”

  The Palatine bowed deeply. “Madam, I am honoured to make your acquaintance.” His voice was a pleasant baritone and not so boyish as I had expected, and his dark moustache and goatee testified that he was indeed of greater maturity than the portrait had offered. I grant he was not dashing, had not the wide shoulders and piercing blue eyes of Sir Raleigh, but I found him not altogether unhandsome. His dark brown eyes and unassuming smile spoke neither of pretense nor vanity, and his demeanour gave little cause to dismiss him outright. Still, I was determined to discomfit my father, and so when the Palatine straightened and waited for my hand to bring to his lips as was customary, I made a great show of failing to offer it, at which the Palatine went down on one knee to take up the hem of my Farthingale. I promptly snatched it away. He rose stiffly and we stood facing each other for some moments.

  “I beg your forgiveness,” he said.

  “For what? You’ve only just arrived.”

  He lowered his eyes and brought his hands to his side. “I’m afraid my attire leaves a great deal to be desired.”

  “I took notice of as much, and thought perhaps such modest apparel the custom in Bohemia.”

  “Those royal garments I had hoped to wear upon our first meeting are nowhere to be found, so that I am forced to present myself to you in these, my travelling clothes.”

  “You’ve lost your luggage, then.”

  “Just so.” He could not hide his embarrassment. “I humbly beg your pardon.”

  “It is hardly my pardon you need seek, nor my favour. Carry on.”

  The Palatine turned to Count Schomberg, who stepped forward and held out a small case with both his hands.

  “His Majesty humbly offers a token of his regard,” the Count announced.

  I had not counted on such an offering, and turned to glance at Lady Anne.

  “It is the protocol,” she assured me.

  “Why wasn’t I told?” I whispered.

  “I thought you knew.”

  I took it from him, a purple velvet jewellery case, filigreed with gold and perfectly lovely.

  Lady Anne’s eyes were merry with sport. “You hadn’t counted on being enchanted.”

  “You place us at a disadvantage,” I said to the Prince. “We have nothing for you.”

  “None needed.” The Palatine looked uncertain and turned to the Count, who whispered in his ear, after which he added, “Save for the gift of your good graces and beauteous company.”

  Lady Anne, sombre once again, turned to Count Schomberg. “If the Palatine seeks to soften, be assured this princess is no gull to flattery.”

  “And whom,” the Count said with a smile, “have I the pleasure of addressing?”

  “This is Lady Anne Dudley, my Maid of Honour,” I answered.

  The Count took up her hand and bent to kiss it. It was the first time I had ever seen Lady Anne blush.

  “I meant not to give offence.” The Palatine looked at me pleadingly.

  I opened the box impatiently and lifted out a pair of magnificent drop pearl earrings.

  “From the Medici collection,” announced the Count.

  Lady Anne and I looked at each other knowingly. “If you were looking for your chance,” she said, “you’ve found it.”

  I tossed the earrings unceremoniously back into the box and gave it to Lady Anne to hand back to the Count.

  “Your Highness?”

  I indicated the string of pearls around my neck. “These were handed down to me from my grandmother, Queen Mary. They are part of the very collection you speak of, which consists of six pieces, all of which I have in my possession.”

  The court buzzed in hushed and sombre tones while Count Schomberg whispered intently into the Palatine’s ear.

  “But the Count assures me there must be some mistake.”

  My father beckoned Lady Anne over and spoke quietly while the court waited in expectant stillness. Having returned to my side, she seemed somewhat embarrassed to announce, “The King assures us there were in fact seven sets of pearls in his mother’s possession, and that a set of earrings was lost.”

  The Count held the box out once again.

  Lady Anne took it from him.

  My father had found a way to undermine me yet again, and I was determined not to let him win so easily. I had to do something outrageous, and so I straightened myself up to my tallest, stepped forward to clasp both of the Palatine’s shoulders in my hands, and brought him closer so that he had to tilt his head up slightly in order to meet my gaze.

  “What say we measure the prospect of consolidating our mutual interests with something more than feeble formality?” I pulled him closer still and pressed my lips upon his. Gasps rose up from the crowd, and here and there utterances of shock and amazement. When I released him, he stood before me, eyes on mine, while I tried to gauge his reaction. I had expected him to shrink back in embarrassment or scowl at me in contempt, but he did neither.

  “Well,” I spoke for all to hear, “what say you?”

  “Madam?”

  “We would know your judgment, Sir,” I said with exaggerated interest.

  “I can hardly say,” the Palatine’s voice was unsure, “but that you have caught me unawares.”

  “Still, we would know the verdict.” I was eager to disdain whatever his answer might be.

  “You press for my opinion as to . . .”

  “. . . the merits of this kiss, yes, yes, go on . . .” I urged.

  “I would venture to say . . .”

  “I wish you would.” I played to the audible snickers in the crowd. “Be unequivocal in your judgment. We will hear it.”

  “Madam, I am nothing if not honest . . .”

  The court held its collective breath.

  “. . . and can only . . .”

  Not a sound could be heard in the banquet hall.

  “. . . praise it to heaven.”

  No sooner had the crowd breathed a collective sigh of relief than a commotion at the far end of the table brought more gasps and murmurings. I turned to see that my brother Henry had slipped from his chair down to the floor. The Palatine ran to his side, knelt to lift him gently up and cradle his head. Then I was there, cursing the dreadful Farthingale skirts that would not let me kneel properly. Henry opened his eyes as though waking from a sleep and before I could make further enquiry insisted we help him to his feet.

  “I hope you can forgive this affront to decorum,” he said to the Palatine, who steadied him on one side while I did the same on the other, and we helped him back into his chair.

  “We shall summon a physician,” said Count Schomberg, who had come to stand nearby.

&nbs
p; “No.” Henry put up his hand. “It needs none. I suffered but a moment’s dizziness.”

  “You will take to your bed at once.” I called for an attendant.

  “But the banquet is hardly begun,” Henry protested.

  “The banquet can go hang,” I said. “I’ll not hear otherwise.”

  “Your sister is right,” said the Palatine. “You were better to see to your rest.”

  “I’ll come with you and see to your comfort,” I said.

  “I won’t hear of it,” said Henry.

  “For my part it gives not offence,” the Palatine assured me, “if you should choose to see to your brother. I am content.”

  “Nonsense,” said Henry. He rose from his chair, waved off any attempts to steady him. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself.” He took my hand. “Sister, it would give me great comfort that you not abandon this prince and these festive proceedings for my sake.”

  “Very well,” I said, “but straight to bed with you.”

  “I promise.” He turned and walked from the room unassisted, but it clearly took all of his willpower to do so.

  I watched him take his leave while Count Schomberg led the Palatine away to join the rest of his party and continue with the introductions. The banquet proceeded with all manner of dining and entertainments, but even as I was forced to witness my parents cavorting about, taking food and drink as though nothing had happened, my eyes kept coming back to Henry’s empty chair. I stayed only as long as courtesy required before making my apologies and heading back to Richmond, much to the disappointment of the Palatine and the annoyance of my father.

  Later, in the privacy of my bedchamber, seen to slumber by Lady Anne as always, my thoughts harkened one moment to a possible future with a stranger I had only just met, and the next to concern for a brother I loved more than anyone in the world . . .