CHAPTER VITHE CRYSTAL GAZERS
When Duprès, the alchemist's crystal gazer and spirit raiser, heard that he was commanded to the lodging of the young Counts of Nassau with the object of foretelling their future, he gave one of his usual whimsical smiles, as if he despised the credulity and curiosity of those who sought him, and proceeded to pack up his magic table.
Vanderlinden, who had found his colleague's spirits more tantalizing and vexing than helpful, tried to dissuade him from putting his powers to the proof before such reckless young cavaliers "who have no respect nor taste for holy things," he said, "and mean but to mock and jest at the spirits."
But the Frenchman was a mysterious creature given to whims and impulses and secretive ways, and wholly beyond the control of the alchemist who kept him for his undoubted gifts, but found him the most trying of companions and allies.
On this occasion he made no answer to his master's protests, but continued his preparations.
"This is Count Adolphus," complained Vanderlinden. "All the while Count Louis was at Dresden he showed no wish to consult the spirits."
This was quite true. Louis of Nassau had no turn for the mystical, and the scant leisure allowed him by his brother's marriage negotiations had been employed in more full-blooded amusement than that of spirit raising.His eagerness for reckless adventure had, however, caused him to at once accede to his brother's suggestion that they should put to the test the powers of the Elector's magician (as they called him).
"I hear the Prince of Orange will be present also," said Vanderlinden, vexed, "and he is a great person and not one to be lightly brought into affairs of this kind."
Duprès gave no answer; his strange, dry, and rather impudent face was wrinkled with a smile.
"Well, you do it without my sanction," remarked Vanderlinden, who knew he could not control his unruly assistant, and, drawing his robes about him, he retired to his turret.
Before he set out for the Counts' house, Duprès, after his wont, looked up the careers of the personages who had called upon him in a great notebook which was always with him, and in which he had gathered details of all the notable people of Europe.
Of three of the brothers there was little to be said; they were too young to have had any career, and were merely great nobles, born and bred in the Reformed Faith, all unmarried, and residing in the ancestral castle at Dillenburg together with the youngest brother, Henry, and seven sisters, of whom one, Catherine, had recently married the Count of Schwartzenburg, who had been Louis's joint envoy at Dresden.
Louis himself had lived largely at Brussels under the protection of his brother, and in an official position (despite his faith) under Philip's government.
This was all there was to be said of these three, but William of Orange occupied a conspicuous and unique position, and had already had a career of exceptional brilliance.
There was much about him in Duprès' notebooks.
He seemed indeed Fortune's favourite.
Through the Nassaus he came of a family that was one of the most illustrious in Europe. One of their membershad worn the Imperial crown; others, as Dukes of Guelders, had been sovereigns in the Netherlands hundreds of years before the House of Burgundy, to whom Philip owed his throne, had ruled there; Engelbert of Nassau had been one of the councillors of Charles the Bold; his eldest son had been the confidential friend of the great Emperor Charles V, and had largely helped to place the Imperial crown on the head of his master.
He had further increased the splendour of his house by a marriage with Claude de Chalons, heiress of her brother, Philibert, Prince of Orange; his son, René de Nassau Chalons, succeeded to the united possessions of Nassau and Orange, and, dying young and childless in the Emperor's arms at the battle of St. Dizier, bequeathed all these honours to his boy cousin William, the present Prince, and eldest son of Count William, younger brother of René's father Henry, head of the branch of Nassau Dillenburg and of Juliana of Stolberg, his wife.
The price of Charles's consent to René's will was that the young heir to such power should be brought up a Papist under his own eyes, and to this, his father, though now a Protestant, had, in the interests of his son, consented, and the young Lutheran, at the age of eleven, was sent to the Imperial Court to be educated and trained.
He soon enjoyed a remarkable degree of favour with the Emperor, and at the age of seventeen was given the hand of Anne, daughter of Maximilian van Buren and the richest heiress in the Netherlands, soon afterwards being appointed, over the heads of many tried and splendid soldiers, commander-in-chief of the Imperial forces on the frontier—a post that he filled to the Emperor's satisfaction.
He had been further distinguished by being the support of Charles on the occasion of that monarch's flamboyant public abdication, and by having been deputed to carry the Imperial Insignia to the new Emperor, Ferdinand.
Immediately on the accession of Philip he had been employed by him to negotiate the peace with France,which was soon after signed, and which he had conducted in a manner highly satisfactory to Spain, leaving the King considerably in his debt, for the peace was a triumphant one for Philip.
The Prince had been selected (with the Duke of Alva) as one of the hostages given by Spain to France, and, immediately on his return from Paris, had strenuously supported the States in their demand for the removal of Spanish troops from the Netherlands, thereby putting himself in sudden and unexpected opposition to Philip, from whom, on that King's departure from the Netherlands, he had parted with considerable coolness.
He retained, however, the Stadtholdership of three important provinces, and remained a member of the State Council who advised the Regent.
Lately, the Saxon marriage was supposed to have embittered his already strained relations with the King, who had, however, recently given his consent to the match, and even sent a sum of money to the Regent to buy a ring for the bride. He was believed to be estranged from the arbitrary and stern measures of the new Cardinal, and to favour the ancient liberties of the Netherlands and tolerance for the heretics.
For the rest he was the most magnificent grandee in the Low Countries, his splendid hospitality was famous, his table renowned in Europe, his cooks coveted by Philip—who was a greater glutton than any man in his own kingdoms—his debts were supposed to be huge, but there was never any stint in the lavish extravagance with which he kept up his princely residences, and his fortune, together with that left him by his first wife, was known to be enormous; his revenues were but one-third less than those the King drew from the Netherlands.
As Prince of Orange, he was a sovereign ruler, owing allegiance to no one; his other titles were perhaps more numerous than those any noble in Europe could boast.
As his father's heir, he was Count of Nassau and head ofthe Dillenburg branch of that ancient house; he was also Count of Catzenellenbogen, Count of Brabant, Marquis of Ter Veere, Viscount of Antwerp; as heir to the Orange, Beaux, and Chalons families, he claimed the kingdom of Arles, the dukedom of Gramine, three principalities, two margraveships, two viscountships, sixteen countships, more than fifty baronies, and three hundred lordships, and though most of these French titles were but shadowy honours, he drew a princely revenue from his estates in Franche-Comte, and his claim to the lands in Dauphine had been admitted. He also owned estates in Brabant, Luxembourg, and Flanders, and all the property of the Van Burens which his first wife had been able to leave him. He was a knight of the Golden Fleece—that sumptuous and princely order—a Grandee of Spain, Stadtholder of three provinces, a member of Margaret's Council, and had been, until their withdrawal, commander, with Lamoral Egmont, Prince of Gravern, of all the Spanish troops in the Netherlands, as he had been commander-in-chief during the late war with France.
Such was the outward history of this Prince, who, though still in his first youth, was already so unusually distinguished both by his fortunes, his position, his magnificence, his charm.
"One of the great ones of the earth," remarked Duprès, carefully locking away the notebook after having committed to memory the leading points in William's career. The spirits did not always prove tractable, and when they were dumb Duprès was always ready to satisfy the inquirer with a few judiciously vague replies of his own composition. He indeed cheated so often, so shamelessly, and so skilfully that Vanderlinden had lately lost all faith in him, and for this reason alone had been reluctant that Duprès should experiment before the young Princes.
The alchemist, whose position under the Elector was his sole revenue, was in constant fear of losing it through some trick or freakish jest on the part of his assistant.
He made, however, no further attempt to interfere (knowing well enough that it was hopeless), and towards the appointed hour Duprès, with the two apprentices—sour at having been summoned early from the tourney—behind him carrying the magic table, went forth into the sunny dusty streets filled with merry idle crowds in their best clothes, most of whom were discussing the prowess of the Elector at the jousts, His Grace having held the field against all comers, and shivered the spears of many a famous knight.
Reaching the Counts' lodging Duprès dismissed the two young men, and himself proceeded to unpack his table.
The cavaliers had not yet returned from the tourney, but Duprès was served very civilly with wine and comfits.
The room into which he had been admitted was a fairly small cabinet, panelled in dark oak, and looking on the garden. It could be lit by a lamp depending by a copper chain from the centre of the ceiling; there was neither fireplace nor candle sconces. The furniture was composed merely of a few black chairs, a table, and an armoir.
The spirit raiser declared himself satisfied with this chamber as the right setting for his experiment, as he modestly called it, but he desired the servants to remove the armoir, less he should be accused of having an accomplice within (it was large enough to hold a man), and also the table, as he wished to set up his own in place of it. When this was done he asked them to take away all the chairs but five, one for himself and the others for the four princes. He also requested that the shutters should be closed, the lamp lit, and silence kept without during the experience, lest some unusual noise should fright or vex the spirits.
His preparations being now complete, he set himself to nicely adjust the magic table in the interval of waiting.
This table was a curious and precious object, and Duprès had carried it with him through many adventures and over the greater part of Europe. It was of sweet wood, threefeet high, and set on four legs, each of which was set on a seal of pure wax engraved with a mystical sign and the seven names of God, the whole put on a thick square of red and gold changeable silk; in the centre of the table was another of the seals, larger and more deeply imprinted, and over this was a red silk cover with knots of gold at the four corners; in the centre of this cloth was a large crystal ball, egg-shaped, and of a most special brightness.
Duprès now wrote certain characters with sacred oil on the legs of the table, and all was complete. The spirit raiser—or skryer, as he had been called in England—was himself attired in a plain black coat and breeches with velvet half-socks of a purple colour, a plain band and a black skull cap, an attire which he affected to give him an air of greater gravity.
Soon after the appointed hour, laughter, the jingle of spurs, the clink of armour sounded without, and the young Counts impetuously entered the apartment.
William of Orange, to Duprès' secret satisfaction, was with his brothers, but Count John was missing; in his place was a youth still in dusty armour with a face fresh as a rose. Duprès knew him for Duke Christopher, son of the Elector Palatine, and as this substitution upset his calculations he demanded why Count John had not come?
"He was afraid of the Devil, Dominus," replied the young Duke, as they all seated themselves, laughing, on the five chairs placed in a row ready for them.
"As to that," replied Duprès coldly, "I would have Your Grace know that I keep no such company. I associate with neither imps nor hell-hounds, being no conjurer nor magician, as the vulgar may suppose, but a good mathematician, alchemist, and astrologer, which are noble sciences and have accomplished great marvels, as, notably, the brazen head of Albertus Magnus—which could speak—the sphere of Archimedes, the dove of Archytas, and the wheel of Vulcan. And for myself I have seen clay birds that fly and iron insects that crawl."
With that he seated himself before the magic table, and the young Princes, who had but a little while to spare before the evening festivities called them, besought him to hasten.
The skryer looked at them over the crystal ball; they were pleasant to see in their youth, their splendour, their comeliness and gaiety, as princely and as fair a company as could well be brought together.
All were in their light armour with silk scarves and jewelled chains and ladies' favours tied to their arms, save only William, who wore a suit of green cloth of gold with pearl embroidery on the sleeves, a scarf of violet, and a mantle of black velvet. He leaned forward, his elbow on his knee, his dark face in his fine hand, looking at the skryer; at his breast was a cluster of roses, and their perfume filled the small chamber.
"Oh, ye great ones," thought Duprès, "what is before you but idleness, luxury, and pomp? Wherefore should ye seek to know the future—your ways are very clear set before you."
He asked one to lower the lamp, and Adolphus rose and pulled the string; a dim, but clear, light now filled the chamber.
"I would have you notice, princely seigneurs," said Duprès, "that I am not in communication with any but good angels; from the seven names of God proceed seven angels, and from each letter of their names proceed seven more angels—from the male letters, male angels; from the female letters, female angels. And they are unable to speak anything but the truth, coming as they do from God's footstool. They are to be regarded with awe, humility, and reverence. Which of them will come, I know not, but whoever it be, I beseech your friendly Graces to observe a decent silence and a discreet behaviour."
He then set his elbows on the table, clasped his hands about his brow, and gazed into the crystal. At first he beheld nothing but the gold curtain which usually at firstconcealed the spirit world from his view, and this remained for a while until he was beginning to fear that the spirits would not come to-day, and that to satisfy these young men he must resort to trickery, which was dangerous, difficult, and fatiguing.
Presently, however, the gold curtain was caught together and hurled into the centre of the globe which changed to a luminous colour, like amber with a light behind it, and began to throb and pulse with radiance, so that Duprès looked into an immense distance of pure gold like the strongest sunshine, troubled by changing, moving forms which seemed to turn together, mingle, and then again separate.
The globe itself gave forth a strong glow, which illuminated the head and face of the skryer as if he sat in front of a lamp, and rendered pale by contrast the light hanging above him.
Adolphus pointed out this mysterious light to the others, and they leant forward in a tense silence.
"I see," said Duprès, "two of the spirits, Volvangel and Kendrick—they are walking together hand in hand."
"What is their appearance?" asked Duke Christopher.
"Volvangel wears a black suit of tabinet," replied the skryer, "a little sword, and his hair falling down long, also slippers of a red colour; the other angel is more fantastical and has a doublet of white satin cut into points below the belt, and yellow hose."
"Methinks they lack dignity," said Count Louis, who had expected something more strange and awe-inspiring; "surely these are bad spirits or imps."
"They are good angels," returned Duprès coldly; "the ill angels have but three letters in their names; but if Your Graces are not silent these will not speak."
At this the young knights forbore, and the skryer continued to gaze into the crystal which now appeared a ball of fire.
"They speak," he said; "they reprove the princelyCounts for playing with eternal mysteries in a spirit of lightness. Kendrick says, 'Is life so long that you can be so careless of time? Be careful in your comings and in your goings, lest you waste precious moments, and death come upon you unawares, and snatch you away in your prime.' Volvangel says, 'Why would you know the future? It is better not to draw the curtain.' And now they fall to pieces as if they were of ashes, and there is no more of them."
The globe was now radiating such intense light that though it was motionless it appeared to spin in its place. Duke Christopher rose and put out the lamp, but the chamber remained lit with a delicate, soft, and flickering glow.
The skryer now appeared of an ashy paleness, drops of sweat stood on his brow, his lips trembled. He spoke again in a hoarse and unnatural voice—
"Liliana has arisen; it is a female angel, very witty and wise—she is coming into the room."
A broad beam of golden light projected from the globe and fell, like the vast blade of a sword, against the dimmer light of the chamber.
"It is Liliana," repeated the skryer. "She runs about the room."
There was a moment's utter silence, then Adolphus unexpectedly cried out—
"I see her! She wears a gown of flowered tabinet and yellow hair rolled up in front and hanging long behind!"
"That is she," said Duprès. "She is standing now by the knee of His Highness, and she bids him remember that the angels of God are more to be believed than any priest or Pope."
"She fades!" cried Adolphus. "She changes into a wheel of fire—she breaks—she goes!"
"She has returned to the crystal," said the skryer. "She asks what you want of her?"
"Let us know the future," said Count Louis. "Let usknow the fate of the four who sit here—not from wanton curiosity or irreverent meddling in matters beyond us—but that, with God's help, we may know how to shape our lives as becomes men and Princes."
"She says," replied Duprès, in the same tense tone, "that it is best you should not know, but she can answer your questions—one question to each knight."
Adolphus spoke first—
"Shall I gain honour before I die?"
"The answer is—'Great honour.'"
"Who will our wives be?" asked Duke Christopher.
"The answer is—'All three shall die unwed.'"
Louis of Nassau, almost as pale as the skryer, raised his fair face as he put his question—
"Will the House of Nassau endure, or fall into decay?"
"The answer is—'This House will endure as long as there are Princes on earth.'"
William of Orange spoke now; it was the first word he had said since the skryer had commenced—
"What manner of death shall we die?"
"Liliana says she may not tell, but that in the crystal will come visions."
"Enough, enough," cried Adolphus, rising. "I will not meddle with these matters——"
But the others caught him back to his seat.
"Hear it to the end," said Louis.
The strong beam had now disappeared from the globe, which burnt suddenly dim with a sullen fire that lit the red table-cover and left the rest of the room in darkness; the skryer now seemed to be in a trance or swoon, he swayed to and fro the crystal, his face was blank as virgin paper, his eyes like glass.
"I see blood," he muttered, "nothing but blood and black horses—and men. It is a battle—the sun is setting—again the blood, there are four knights trampled under the horses—one is taken from themêléeand his bones laid in holy ground. The other three disappear—there issearch for them, they are not found. They are all young. The blood and smoke clears. I see trees, I see an older man, worn, grey, murdered—there is great lamentation—and now the black curtain falls—falls."
All the light in the globe went out, and the skryer dropped forward across the magic table. William sprang up, opened the door, and called for lights.
A servant instantly brought a lamp.
Louis and Christopher were calmly in their places, but Adolphus had his head bowed forward in his hands and was shuddering.
"Herr Jesus! I saw her!" he murmured. "A little maid—and is there a bloody death for all of us?"
But William's serene laugh, the flood of light, the stir and move of ordinary things about them swept away the sense of dread and mystery; the skryer sighed, stirred from his stupor, and began packing up his appliances. He did not seem disposed to speak and the knights did not urge it; they severally left to change their armour, on which still lay the dust of the tourney.
The Prince lingered last; he put a purse of thalers into Duprès' hand and thanked him courteously.
"Seigneur," said the skryer with emotion, "I will tell no one but I will tell you, who are a very prudent Prince, that those knights I saw slain had the faces of your brothers—of Count Louis, Count Adolphus, and one who is not here, and Duke Christopher."
"And the murdered man?" asked William, turning on him his powerful eyes.
"It was Your Highness," replied Duprès, bowing his head.
"All of us!" said the Prince lightly. "Was it John you saw, or Henry—that third cavalier?"
"It was not His Grace, John, but one younger whom I have never seen."
"It was a fearful vision," said William, "and maybe it was but some distempered fancy. Yet," he added, withsudden gravity, "if honour called, the House of Nassau would make even the sacrifice you saw prefigured."
He smiled at the skryer in the fashion which made all men his friends, and hastened away to the festivals at the town hall.
Again the city belfries rocked with the ringing of the joy-bells, again the summer night was lit with splendid illuminations, and all the sweet languor of this rich season of the year was blended with the magnificence of princely rejoicings.
The young grandee crossing the town square lifted his eyes to the stars and gazed at those three which form a diamond sword in the heavens.
CHAPTER VIIBRUSSELS
After the third day of tourney had completed the marriage festivities, the Prince of Orange, his bride, and their train—swelled now by Anne's attendants—set out for Brussels.
Vanderlinden was among the magnificent assembly who wished them God-speed, and he found occasion to hand Rénèe le Meung a charm in the shape of the figure seven cut in jade and set with little studs of gold. This would, he said, keep her from harm while she resided in Brussels, for seven was the lucky number of that city which was under the direct influence of the seven planets, and owned seven churches, seven gates, and seven senators.
Rénèe thanked him with tears in her eyes and a sad smile on her lips as she turned to leave the land that had been a refuge, even if in exile, and set her face towards her own country which was so full of peril for her and contained unutterable memories.
Already, from those in the Prince's train and from such Saxons as had been in Brussels, she had heard much of the state of affairs in the Low Countries. The Inquisition, which the late Emperor had established in the Netherlands, had always been resisted, notably in Brabant (into two of the provinces it had never been introduced), with such effect that, though an avowed heretic (as was Rénèe's father) was certain to be apprehended, yet many who were not of the orthodox faith had managed to live quietly and unmolested. Now, however, it was being enforced withgreat severity by Philip's orders and Granvelle's warm support, and the chief Inquisitor, Peter Titelmann, was performing his office with the ruthlessness and cruelty of Torquemada himself.
Every one even suspected of heresy, anyone who did not bow low enough when the Host passed, anyone who read the Bible or ventured to criticize the priests or preach any contrary doctrines, was at once seized by Titelmann, accused before his secret Tribunal from which there was no appeal, tortured to force a confession, and finally put to death in the most horrid fashion the monks could devise.
Already this monstrous tyranny was spreading over the Low Countries with a combined force and power impossible to resist, the religious force of the Pope, the secular force of the King behind it. Already Titelmann, Granvelle, the Regent, the King, were rejoicing that they were tearing up by the roots the seed that Martin Luther had planted; already some of the most splendid and prosperous towns in Europe were being devastated with executions, fines, confiscations, and the spectacle of tortured men, women, and children flung living into the flames with Marot's hymns on their lips and the light of undiminished faith in their eyes.
And this was only the beginning.
There was no length to which the King was not prepared to go to re-establish the pure Catholic faith in his dominions. He was willing to depopulate cities, render barren the countryside, ruin the trade from which he drew so handsome a revenue, force into revolt the people who had been his father's faithful subjects—in brief, to utterly destroy and scatter one of the bravest, most prosperous, most intelligent, most thrifty nations of Europe rather than see them tainted with the doctrines of Luther or Calvin.
And to this resolve Cardinal Granvelle gave his enthusiastic support.
Rénèe heard enough of the prelate to realize that he was nearly as dreaded and disliked as Titelmann himself,and that to him was ascribed the enforcing of the Inquisition and the creation of the hated new bishoprics by which the supremacy of the true faith was to be enforced and the organization of the Inquisition maintained. It was from the creation of these bishoprics and his own elevation to the See of Mechlin and then to the Cardinal's Hat, that the growth of the breach between Anthony Perrenot and his one-time patron, the Prince of Orange, might be traced; and Rénèe learnt that William, together with Lamoral Egmont, Prince of Gravern and Stadtholder of Artois and Flanders (abetted by Philip de Montmorency, Count Hoorne, then at the Spanish Court), had actually written a letter to Philip protesting against the increasing insolence and presumption of the Cardinal, and that the King on receiving the message had warmly defended Granvelle, and so abused Count Hoorne that that nobleman had hardly been able, from wrath and amazement, to leave the royal presence. These circumstances, which were common talk in the Netherlands, and rousing immense interest and speculation, caused Rénèe to regard her new master with added curiosity, with a growing respect; from the first moment she had seen him she had felt his charm, now she began to surmise his power.
Along the journey she marked his patience, gentleness, and courtesy with Anne's unreasonable jealous affection, peevish tempers, and fits of hysteric gloom. Some of the other women laughed at so much softness, but Rénèe admired this gentleness in one whom she knew could be masterful and believed could be fierce, but it had the effect of rousing her former half-compassionate indifference towards Anne into active dislike.
Never had the sickly bad-tempered girl seemed so hateful to Rénèe as she did now when plaguing the husband she professed to adore, chattering over her coming triumphs in Brussels, and boasting of her new rank and dignities. She seemed to see in the magnificent and tumultuous scene on to which she was about to enter only a stage onwhich to display her own enormous vanity, and her infinite petty questions and speculations as to her position in relation to the Regent and the ladies of her Court fatigued Rénèe almost beyond endurance, for the waiting-woman's mind was full of the great problems now agitating her native country, and of the coming struggle between Prince and Cardinal, of which Anne was so entirely in ignorance.
When they reached the beautiful plains of Brabant, and the hill-built capital, Anne fell ill from the excess of her own spleen and passions, and it was on a litter that she was carried into her husband's gorgeous home on the heights of Brussels.
This was an establishment that filled Rénèe with astonishment, and was indeed much more splendid then even the Saxon Princess had ever expected.
Situated in the most beautiful part of the ornate and rich city, and amid the residences of other great nobles, the Nassau palace formed a fitting scene for the festivals, the hospitality, the pageants provided by one of the most wealthy and generous Princes in Europe.
The turreted and gabled mansion, crowned by a tower or belfry, and built in the most elaborate style of Gothic art, stood in fine gardens filled with statues, fountains, pleasant walks, exotic shrubs, summer-houses, and fishponds, all laid out at great expense and lavishly maintained.
The rooms, halls, galleries, and cabinets were most handsomely and luxuriously furnished with all the famous rich splendour of the Netherlands; tapestries, hangings, pictures by the most renowned artists; carpets, rugs, objects from the East and the Indies; all the ornate beauty that taste could desire and wealth execute, distinguished the dwelling of the Prince of Orange.
The household, with stewards, secretaries, clerks, musicians, chaplains, falconers, huntsmen, gardeners, cooks, valets, pages, servants, and now augmented by Anne's women, amounted to over a thousand persons, andone of the most lavish and famous features of the establishment was the perpetual banquet kept in one of the halls, from which extravagant hospitality was indiscriminately extended to all comers at any hour of the day and night. The dishes, fruits, confectionery, and wines were constantly replenished, but never removed.
In this household, beside which that of the Elector was simple indeed, Rénèe felt herself utterly alien and overwhelmed; but during the first days of her residence there, while in attendance on Anne's nervous illness, she observed, as closely as she was able, him who had already so excited her curiosity, namely, the Prince.
She found he was good-tempered with all, loved by all, extravagant, reckless of his own interests, and very much the master.
From her high window, round which the pigeons flew, she would wait for a glimpse of those who came to wait on him: Egmont, the Stadtholder of Artois and Flanders, as magnificent a lord as William himself, and of almost as proud and ancient descent; Count Hoorne, another great seigneur, but a sombre and gloomy man; Brederode, handsome, reckless, usually inflamed with wine; Count Hoorne's brother, the Seigneur de Montigny; and De la Marck, the Seigneur de Lumey.
And Rénèe soon perceived that these great nobles were all animated with one object, and that object hatred of Cardinal Granvelle.
How far the Prince was heading these malcontents she could not tell; she noticed that though he was so gay, and appeared so open, he was not reckless in speech, and she divined that he was reserved and prudent in all serious matters; she believed, too, that his position was difficult, even perilous. If so, certainly his new wife contributed nothing to soothe either difficulties or perils; indeed, her behaviour would have hampered any man. In her vanity and arrogance she was ungracious to his friends; she quarrelled with Egmont's wife, who was the sister of theElector Palatine, on the question of precedence; and she chose to consider herself injured because the Regent kept her waiting when she first went to pay her duty.
But though she was behaving like a fretful child, she could not fail to be an important pawn in the great game that was beginning to be played in the Netherlands, and Rénèe wondered who would try to rouse her to a sense of her position, for at present she was showing capricious favour to the Cardinal's party by patronizing the wives of his creatures, Aerschot and Barlaymont.
The warning, or advice, came most unexpectedly from Sabina of Bavaria, Countess of Egmont, Princess of Gravern—the lady whose only previous acquaintance with Anne had been haughty disputes as to their order of precedency.
But Egmont's wife was not the woman to endanger her husband's interests by feminine vanities; she came personally to offer her friendship to Anne and to instil the good counsel the Saxon Princess so sorely needed.
Anne, though tolerably flattered at the visit, received her rival with the haughtiness she deemed due to her station, retaining with her Rénèe and a little German girl who waited on her, and barely rising when the Countess (she was generally known, as was her husband, by her prouder title of Egmont) entered her presence.
Rénèe had been told by her mistress that Sabina of Bavaria was an old woman, ill-favoured, but the waiting-woman found that the Countess was as splendid as Anne was mean, as courtly as Anne was rude, as fascinating as Anne was unattractive. After the first few moments of commonplace compliments, it was plain that the Princess of Orange did not know how to behave; she sat in the window-seat eating nuts, which she held in the lap of her brilliant blue satin gown, and the shells of which she cast from her window.
The Countess of Egmont, leaning back in her dark chair, her delicate tired face framed in the high rich ruff,her soft hair threaded with pearls, in all graceful, composed, and gracious, surveyed the Princess through half-closed long eyes and, seeing that all subtlety would be wasted on Anne, came directly to the point.
"Your Highness has already some knowledge of how matters stand in Brussels?" she asked.
"None at all," replied Anne flippantly.
"Naturally Your Highness has had little opportunity," said the Countess pleasantly. "I have been some while at the Court and can enlighten you on some particulars."
"It is best for ladies not to meddle in these matters," remarked Anne.
"Truly, we women play a poor small part in these great affairs," smiled the other lady. "None the less we may be of some use and help. You have observed the great discontent there is against Cardinal Granvelle, how all the seigneurs are against him, especially your lord and mine?"
"The Prince does not talk business with me," said Anne.
The Countess bit her pretty lip.
"I speak as a sister of a Protestant to a Protestant," she continued. "Your ladies are of the Reformed Faith?" she added, glancing at Rénèe and the other girl.
"Oh yes," said the Princess, roused at last, "but I assure Your Grace that we shall give no trouble. I have promised to live Catholicly, and I will keep my word."
"I did not mean to speak of that," returned the Countess gently, "only to say that his princely Highness, your husband, has always been considered too lenient to those of the Reformed Faith, has always Count Louis with him, and continually others of his relations who are Lutheran, and this has been used as a handle against him by the Cardinalists, and will be even more so now that he has a Protestant wife."
"And what is the upshot of this speech?" asked Anne, hardly pretending to disguise her impatience.
Egmont's wife replied with the serene grandeur that was so infinitely patient.
"To explain I must weary Your Highness with some business. Cardinal Granvelle is already endeavouring to enforce the Inquisition in the Netherlands—some hundreds have already suffered under his instigation. Now the late Emperor, and the Queen Mary, the late Regent, did promise this should not be, and to break those oaths is against the conscience of many good Catholics and of most of the great lords, save only Aerschot, Barlaymont, and Meghem, who fawn on the Cardinal; but Granvelle wishes to enforce the edicts issued by the late Emperor against heretics, and this the seigneurs consider a fatal course. So there is a powerful party against this priest, and a letter has already been writ to the King against him."
"I hear he is very upstart and of low birth," remarked Anne, who was incapable of grasping the wide aspects of the question put before her.
"That is no matter," smiled Sabina; "he is favourite at Madrid. Andherules the Netherlands, not Madame Parma."
"I heard the Seigneur Brederode speak of him the other day," said Anne, with an affected laugh. "He made some fine jests on him! He said he wore those fox-tails in his cap as a memory of the old fox, as he called Granvelle, and frequented the masks in a Cardinal's gown to do His Eminence a spite!"
"The Seigneur Brederode is reckless," returned the Countess gravely, "and does us little good."
"Oh, I think he is amusing," said Anne perversely. "He told me some fine stories of the Cardinal," and she laughed coarsely.
Sabina knit her brows.
"Beware of laughing at the Seigneur Brederode's tales," she said. "I tell you his pastimes are dangerous."
Anne shrugged her shoulders as she replied—
"What has your princely Grace to say at the end of this?"
Egmont's wife flushed; she was not used to the rudeness she was so patiently enduring from this ill-bred girl.
"I wish Your Highness to be one of us," she said, "to help us. To be ductile, circumspect, to submit to the Regent—to give no confidences to Aerschot's wife."
"She is my husband's kinswoman," interrupted Anne.
"She is of the Cardinal's party," flashed the Countess, "and they are none of them to be trusted. I appeal to you," she added with dignity, "to stand by us, who are standing by those of your faith. I tell you, King Philip is only waiting for the decision of the Council at Trent to force all his subjects into conformity with the ancient faith—yea, even at the price of depopulating the Netherlands. I tell you no liberty, no charter, no privilege will be safe, nay, not 'the joyous entry' itself, and we must all turn into persecutors—scourgers in Granvelle's hand—or be ruined."
Anne was now a little frightened; she dimly wondered what her own position would be if all these fearful edicts against heretics were enforced.
"What can I do?" she asked foolishly.
"Bear yourself discreetly—flatter the Regent, eschew the Cardinalists—do not encourage Seigneur Brederode."
"I am sure no one takes any notice of what I do," returned Anne. In her heart she was sorry she was not an orthodox Catholic; the sufferings of fellow-heretics did not move her in the least, but she was alarmed at the thought of being involved in any of their misfortunes.
"The actions of the daughter of the Prince who forced the Peace of Passau from the late Cæsar must always be important."
Anne was flattered at this; she was always inordinately proud of her famous father, while not sympathizing in the least with the principles or the actions that had made him glorious.
"I will do what I can in the matters you tell me of," shesaid, "but it was never my husband's wish that I should be troubled with grave business of any kind."
Sabina took this ungracious concession as the utmost she was likely to get; she rose, feeling that the whole interview had been rather useless.
Anne rose too, and as she stood, the bright cruel light of the window over her, the other woman noted afresh how crooked she was, how sickly, how plain, and was sorry.
And over Anne's shoulder she glanced into the gardens which showed through the open casement, and saw the Prince playing tennis in the sunlit court; his gay spirits, his splendid health, his pleasant handsomeness formed a bitter contrast with his wife. The Countess, with the generosity of the woman who has everything, felt sorry indeed for this woman who had nothing but a position she could not hold, and a husband she could not please.
The ladies parted, and Anne called for wine and sugar, mixed herself a sweet drink, and presently fell into a flushed sleep in the window-seat. She was still asleep when the Prince came up from his game.
He looked at her in silence, rather sternly, rejected Rénèe's offer to wake her, and went away.
The waiting-woman kept her distasteful vigil during the rest of the long sunny afternoon. The little German girl crept away; the sounds of the palace came dimly through the shut doors, without the pigeons flew to and fro with a sharp flap of wings, and Rénèe sat motionless, with locked hands and compressed lips, her mind and soul in the struggle between Granvelle who stood for the tyranny of Philip and the power of Rome, and the great nobles who stood for the liberty of the Netherlands and the protection of the wretched heretics.