Elizabeth of Bohemia

by David Elias

  “His complexion is as pale as the creatures before him,” I remarked.

  “This is but make-up and lighting,” Lady Anne offered, “that make it appear so.”

  “Those bruins look real enough,” said the Count.

  “No doubt their coats were dyed.”

  “Can they be men in costume?”

  “There are such bears in the polar regions,” said the Palatine. “I myself have met a man who hunted them there.”

  “Then we are sure to see them one day baited at the Beargarden.”

  Now a band of ten musicians walked out onto the stage, all of them playing lutes, followed by ten pages attired in costumes of green and silver that proceeded to dance to the music, then yet more masquers to frolic about the stage.

  “What a fever of excess is here.”

  “Such are the follies of royalty.”

  “But look at my brother. He is in agony amidst all this nonsense.”

  When the chariot had made a full circle about the stage and come to a halt, one of the players walked up and beckoned Prince Henry to step off, in what was clearly an unscripted development, but he declined. The audience began to cheer loudly, and the applause grew thunderous. Still the Prince of Wales demurred, until another masquer appeared on the other side and together they managed to pull him from the chariot and bring him reluctantly to centre stage, at which the audience rose as one to their feet with chants of “Henry! Henry! Henry!”

  I turned to gauge my father’s reaction where he sat watching, and saw his countenance darken as he looked down at the audience, then up to the stage, then back down to the audience again.

  “The English do love spectacle,” said the Count.

  “They love this prince.” The Palatine looked at me.

  When Henry turned his eyes up to my father, the audience followed his gaze up, at which the King forced a smile and waved unconvincingly.

  “Look there how the King acknowledges his noble son,” said the Count. “He should be much pleased at this.”

  “Such a smile would drown a cat,” said Lady Anne.

  “Your brother is popular with the people,” the Count assured her. “It bodes well for his future.”

  “Though ill for his father’s, perhaps,” remarked Palatine, whose presentiment left me a little taken aback.

  “A king cannot be too popular,” Captain Hume insisted.

  “How then for a prince if his father be yet king?” the Palatine ventured.

  “Surely he can take comfort at the prospect of a son whose good graces sit so well among the people,” Captain Hume replied. “A loyal son makes a father sleep well.”

  “Mine sleeps with armed chamberlains at his bed,” I said dryly.

  Henry turned one way and then another, beckoning all the players to come out and join him, which they did from the wings until the stage was filled, but even as the applause continued the King rose to his feet, took up his heavy cloak, and allowed himself to be led out by his sentries, entourage in tow.

  When at last the curtain came down and the audience had begun to make their way out, a commotion was heard upon the stage. I knew instantly what it was and rushed to draw the curtains apart. There was my brother collapsed upon the stage in utter exhaustion, being attended to by some of the players, and this time I would not be assuaged by his assurances that it was nothing, allow no excuses that he should be fine after a few moments. I personally saw him back to St. James’s and into his bed, where I stayed until he had fallen into restless sleep.

  Chapter Four

  Upon the following morning I arrived at St. James’s Palace to a disturbing number of practitioners mulling about my brother’s outer chambers — physicians and apothecaries, surgeons and chamberlains — all of them looking very serious and wearing the garb of their various callings. Many of them were familiar to me, including Dr. William Butler, the apothecary Ralph Clayton, and members of Henry’s household, including Thomas Chaloner, his comptroller. There was an unmistakable air of gravity about their exchanges, a sense of urgency in their gestures that set my stomach to churning. There also, to my surprise, was Alfonso Ferrabosco, who had obviously found some means to insinuate himself into the situation.

  I brushed aside the bows and greetings that my arrival affected as I crossed the room, eager to make my way to Henry’s bedside, along the way catching snippets of conversations that spoke of remedies and ointments, clysters and cupping glasses. At the door to my brother’s privy chamber I was halted most rudely by two Yeomen of the Guard, one on either side, who crossed their halberds with a metallic clang and barred my entry.

  “Stand aside,” I said. When they failed to do so I added, “Princess Elizabeth Stuart would gain admittance to the Prince of Wales.” They were very tall and large of shoulder and chest, in the fashion of such beefeaters, and kept their eyes straight ahead, expressionless, without answer, as though I had not spoken.

  “Do you not see it is the King’s daughter that commands you?” I tried again: “I order you to let me pass.” Still they refused and when I made to step forward and push through into the room closed ranks and stood shoulder to shoulder. “This is an outrage. Who orders you to bar my entry? I demand to know. Henry,” I yelled past them, “are you in there? Henry? Can you hear me? It’s Elizabeth, come to see you.”

  The door opened and the Yeomen stepped aside to allow a heavy-set man dressed in black to come and stand before me. I knew him to be a physician by his long dark robe, white cuffs, and collar beneath, but he was no one I recognized. His chubby fingers were curled around a jar of swollen and writhing leeches, and he stepped toward me with such menacing authority that in spite of myself I fell back a little.

  “I must insist that you withdraw at once,” he rasped, “as we have need of quiet hereabouts.” His scraggly beard, parsed into two uneven white tufts, showed traces of red here and there and gave him a mildly oriental look. He was portly of frame and bloated about the face, hair thinning and eyes set close over a prominent nose. “We have matters of the utmost urgency to attend to in the care of this prince, and you, Madam, are making quite a scene.”

  “As I am well entitled to do, Sir.” I felt a heat rising in my cheeks. “Inasmuch as this Prince you speak of is none but my own brother.”

  “Ah.” His demeanour became at once deferential and yet condescending. “Then you would be Princess Elizabeth, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Those others about the room had quieted down, listening to the exchange. “And who might you be?” I asked.

  Alfonso Ferrabosco had been hovering nearby, listening intently, and now he wheedled himself into to our exchange. “Doctor, if I may be allowed?”

  “By all means.”

  “Your Highness, allow me present Sir Theodore Mayerne, physician. Doctor, allow me to introduce Her Royal Highness Princess Elizabeth Stuart.”

  “Your Highness.” Dr. Mayerne nodded ever so slightly, never lowering his eyes. “We are honoured to make your acquaintance.”

  “Theodore Turquet de Mayerne?” I enquired.

  “Indeed, Highness.”

  “Late of Paris?”

  “You have heard of him, then?” Alfonso Ferrabosco smiled ingratiatingly at the Doctor.

  “I have read some of his work.”

  “Have you indeed.” The Doctor let slip a smirk.

  “Remedia Chemice Praeparata. Do I remember the title correctly?”

  “You do.” The Doctor seemed a little unsettled, looked awkwardly at Ferrabosco, then at me. “We are flattered.”

  “It is not for blandishment I recall that volume.”

  At this the doctor’s ruddy complexion paled somewhat and his eyes grew narrow under furrowed brows. I had for some time been engaged in the study of medical practice, reading such texts on the subject as I could manage to get my hands on. I had come across the volume in
question in my brother’s study, where he went out of his way to make such books available to me. He thought my studies worthy, and notwithstanding my father’s disapproval, encouraged me to pursue them nevertheless. As it turned out, my father had nothing to fear, for beyond the rudimentary elements of basic anatomy I found in my readings precious little advancement in the field of medicine. It seemed to me the practice was founded upon little else but the tenuous ruminations of an ancient philosopher.

  “If I’m not mistaken, it endorses the use of such chemical preparations as met with your expulsion from the College of Physicians in Paris. You look brought up short, Doctor,” I continued. “Is something amiss? Tell me, how is it you come to minister to my brother?”

  “Your father, the King, has engaged my services, Highness, and I have offered them most humbly in hopes that, along with these other physicians and practitioners you see here, we may in all haste restore the Prince to his former good health.”

  “All well and good, but I would for the present dispense with further formality. Now if you will excuse me, I shall attend to my brother’s bedside.”

  “As it is, Highness, I’m afraid the Prince may not have visitors but for those under my service and direction.”

  I looked beyond the doctors into the room, where I could make out a man in dark robes leaning over Henry’s bed. “If you are in the midst of some treatment” — I indicated the jar of leeches he held yet in his hands — “I suppose I am content to wait out here until you have finished.”

  Alfonso Ferrabosco interceded once again. “Forgive me, your Highness, but I must ask that you wait in the antechamber, where after some short interval I may send one or more of these physicians to give account of your brother’s condition.”

  “I will do no such thing. And who are you to order me about? And what exactly are you doing here?”

  “Your father, the King,” Alphonso gave me a penetrating stare, “has only this morning appointed me Groom-in-Extraordinary to the Prince of Wales’s bedchamber.”

  “What?” I turned to Dr. Butler, who gave a barely discernible nod. “But this is preposterous.” I felt my blood rising, unprepared for my irritation with these men. “You would be among the last my brother would choose for such a position.”

  “Nevertheless.”

  “Sir.” I summoned Dr. Butler closer. “Surely this impertinence cannot be allowed to continue.”

  “You haven’t spoken to your father, then?” he asked awkwardly.

  “Can you not order these men to let me pass?”

  “This is most unfortunate.” Alfonso smiled condescendingly.

  “They have no right keep me out,” I said to Dr. Butler.

  “Your father, the King, has ordered it so,” he seemed embarrassed to admit.

  “He suspects the plague. Is that what’s going on here, Dr. Mayerne?”

  “There may be a miasma in the room, Highness.”

  I turned to Dr. Butler. “Tell me, does my brother have swelling under the arms?”

  “I have not seen any.”

  “Nor any sign of rash?”

  “None to speak of, but where the leeches have been applied.”

  “Then he has not the plague.” I stared at Dr. Mayerne. “You will agree, Doctor?”

  “You would be about practice of medicine then, Highness?” Dr. Mayerne’s lips curled derisively as he glanced at those others about the room.

  “As well and better than you, it would seem, for though I am no physician I know he has not the signs for the plague.”

  “We must take all due precautions, Highness, as surely you can understand.”

  “If you are concerned for the plague, answer me this: Why are you then not attired in the appropriate garments? Where is your beak? Where are your goggles?” I was familiar with the practice of physicians who attended those infected with the plague to be clothed in an elaborate wardrobe for protection. A long overcoat and cane were requisite, as was a mask resembling the head of a bird, stuffed full with all manner of strong smelling ingredients.

  “I wear none at my discretion, Highness.”

  “And what of these other doctors? What say you, gentlemen? I smell nothing upon your persons of suet or vinegar.”

  “We have been patient, Highness.” Dr. Mayerne exchanged glances with Ferrabosco. “But now we must be about our business, and so I will say good day to you.” He stepped around me and walked across the room.

  “And I must see to my duties, as well, if you will excuse me.” Ferrabosco passed between the Yeomen into my brother’s room and closed the door behind him.

  I turned to Dr. Butler. “How be if you command these Yeomen to let me pass?”

  “They will not, Your Highness; but for Dr. Mayerne’s permission or that of Monsieur Ferrabosco, none of us may enter.”

  “We shall see about this. I’ll to the King and have it set right. Will you come with me and give account for my sake?”

  “Your Highness.” Dr. Butler’s eyes pleaded with me. “I would gladly speak on your behalf but am bound to remain here, should the Doctor have need of my services.”

  “Are you powerless, then? Is there nothing to be done?”

  Dr. Butler took me aside and spoke in little more than a whisper. “This physician would seem to have such endorsement from your father as none of us can mitigate. It were as though he had come down to us from Heaven itself and not across the channel from Paris.”

  “I have always thought of you as a kind and honest man, Doctor. Tell me, do you trust this physician?”

  “It hardly matters whether I do or no. It is out of my hands.”

  “I would know what remedies he employs.”

  “Those very same, for the most part, as would I, such as bloodletting, dry cupping, enemas.”

  “Nothing more?” I saw him hesitate to answer. “Speak. I command you.”

  “I have witnessed the administration of calomel.”

  “I know of it. It is a compound of quicksilver and acts as a powerful purgative.”

  “I can attest to that. The Prince’s body expels it some few moments after ingestion, with great violence.”

  “Like to a toxin which serves merely to weaken him the more. And you allow him to proceed with this so-called remedy?”

  “Dr. Mayerne will not be moved in such matters.”

  “But tell me yet one more thing, Doctor.” I placed a hand on his arm. “In all honesty, how is my brother?”

  The Doctor hesitated.

  “I would know the truth.”

  “He fights with all of his strength, Madam, but the affliction will not yield.” He looked around the room, took a folded paper out of his breast pocket, and handed it to me.

  “Your brother asked that I give this to you.”

  “From Henry?” I took it from him.

  “My best wishes go with you, Madam. I pray you may yet make some headway where I have failed.”

  It was not until I was on my way to Whitehall, riding in the carriage through the streets of London, that I opened the note and read it.

  Dearest Sister,

  That your presence at my bedside should be a great comfort to me goes without saying, though I understand you are not absent by choice. I hardly know the need for all this secrecy, except to say that there is some concern for a miasma in the room, which they would not have you exposed to, and so I am content to exchange correspondence with you for the time being.

  I am under the care of a new physician and suffered to ingest all manner of purgatives the better to discharge those noxious humours from my body as give rise to this infirmity, though I fear these violent expulsions serve only to make me weaker. More than anything I would vanquish this affliction and send these meddlesome physicians packing.

  Until that time comes give me leave to make a request of you. Will you
to allow Prince Frederick into your company? I would never presume to speak for your feelings nor question your keen insight, but I tell you the young man is entirely smitten with you, and if you cannot love him you must tell him so in all honesty and let that be an end of it. By all means follow your heart’s instruction, but for my part I will venture he may yet prove himself honourable and worthy of your affection. Will you give him a chance?

  I tire greatly of a sudden and will end here, that this note shall find its way to you with all haste.

  My best wishes for you, dear sister, from your loving brother,

  Henry

  I looked out to Hyde Park and the Thames beyond, the people about their business, the day unfolding as though everything were the same. The world seemed cruelly indifferent to my plight. I was alone in this, as was my brother there upon his sickbed, suffering the custom of feeble physic to dictate that his skin be sliced open, his flesh burned, and not to have the hand to hold nor face to gaze upon that loved him more than any other in the world.

  Upon reaching Whitehall I enquired immediately after my father’s whereabouts, brushed aside any attempt at escort by the Master of the House, and made my way through the halls of the palace until I found him in the great room, bent over a large ornate table, a set of drawings laid out over the polished oak surface. Inigo Jones was there with him, and the two of them looked up when they saw me rush in. Mr. Jones was no doubt foisting some construction plan upon my father that would see him paid a handsome stipend and drain the exchequer even further.

  My father straightened up from the table. “Daughter, I had no word you were coming.”

  “I sent none.”

  Inigo stepped away from the table and bowed. “Your Highness.”

  I ignored him and turned to my father. “I would speak to you on a matter of some urgency.”

  “Have you seen these?” My father used the magnifying glass he held to indicate the drawings on the table. “They are designs for the construction of an English wing at the castle in Heidelberg, where you shall reside after the wedding. Mr. Jones is setting his best skills to the task, and you shall not want for elegance or comfort. Come and see how generous are the dimensions he has set out.”