The Three Crowns epub Read online

  His mother was a Princess of England; but alas, what help could be expected from a country which had executed its King and was now ruled by a commonwealth under a man such as Oliver Cromwell?

  William was serious; William was determined; he realized at a very early age all that was expected of him, all that would be required of him. He had to win back the Stadtholder and make the House of Orange supreme again.

  This he was certain he would do.

  He was never driven to work at his lessons because it was feared that too much study might be bad for his health. He worked when he thought he would; and this was not infrequently. His mother’s maids of honor would often play games with him which were always sedate.

  He would never forget the day when he was summoned to his mother’s apartments and told to expect an important visitor.

  “Your cousin,” she told him, “is coming to stay with you for a while. I trust you will like her. She is Elizabeth Charlotte, and I want you to make her welcome.”

  He expressed his willingness to do so, and wanted to hear more of this cousin.

  “Her great-grandfather was James I of England and he was, as you know, also your great-grandfather, so you are cousins. She is a very gay little girl and I am sure you will enjoy her company. Sometimes, my dear boy, I think you are a little too serious.”

  “Should I try to be more gay then, Mother?”

  “Oh no, no, William. You must not over-excite yourself. But I think the company of Elizabeth Charlotte will be good for you.”

  William was inclined to distrust that which was supposed to be good for him and was already thinking of his cousin with suspicion.

  When she arrived, however, he could not help but be excited by her. She was a tomboy; she was pretty and she was determined on mischief.

  “Of course,” she told him, when they were alone together, “you know why I am here?”

  It was because they believed he should have a companion who would be “good” for him, he answered.

  Elizabeth Charlotte laughed aloud and gave him a push which made him stagger. “They are planning to marry us. Depend upon it.”

  “But they have said nothing to me.”

  Elizabeth Charlotte put her hands on her hips. “And tell me, do you expect them to? No, we are children. We do as we’re told. And now they are putting us together that we may become accustomed to each other. Sooner or later it will be announced. The betrothal between William Prince of Orange, and his cousin Elizabeth Charlotte.”

  “How can you know this?”

  The little girl put her fingers to the tips of each ear, which she pulled out as far as it would go. “Oh,” she said lightly, “I use these. It’s what they’re meant for, Cousin William.”

  William studied her intently, asking himself whether he wanted her for a wife. It would depend, of course, on what she had to bring him; but he supposed his mother would have thought of that.

  “Have you seen my mother?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I am only a child, cousin. I am not presented to the Princess of Orange. I am in the care of my aunt Sophia who must do as she is told. She has brought me here to present me to the Princess of Orange.”

  “Why must your aunt do as she is told?”

  “William, how little you know! I can see I shall have a great deal to do if I am going to prepare you to be my husband. Aunt Sophia married for love—which it seems is a very silly thing to do. They have little money or position—her husband being one of the young princes of the House of Hanover. Poor Aunt Sophia! She is poor, and grandmamma, who is Queen of Bohemia, tells her what she must do. This is her latest duty to bring me here and to present me to the Princess of Orange.”

  “And to see that you and I become good friends.”

  “That is not important. Whether we are friends or not, they will marry us … unless you or I get a better offer before we reach the right age. But in case we do have to marry, we may as well get to like each other, do you not agree? After all, no harm will be done. We can always be good friends and then if I am somebody else’s Queen and you are Prince of Holland, we can help each other. Send men and arms to help fight our enemies. Do you not think that is an excellent idea, William?”

  He said slowly that he had heard one could not have too many friends.

  “Then we will begin … without delay … being friends.”

  This was his first meeting with his cousin Elizabeth Charlotte.

  He found her entertaining, but he doubted whether she would make a good wife. She would wish to have everything done as she wanted it; and when he married he would want to be the master. That was one thing of which he was absolutely certain. It was all the more necessary because he was slight and delicate. He must show everybody that bodily weakness was more than made up for by mental ability and strength.

  Elizabeth Charlotte was an amusing companion but she would not, he believed, make a good wife for a man such as he was.

  She had an imperious habit of instructing him.

  “Now, William,” she would say, “you must be more gallant. You must look pleased even when you do not win a game. You should really be pleased that I have won because after all if I am to be your wife, you will have to love me beyond all else … even beyond yourself—so you may as well start getting used to it.”

  “And what of you? Will you not be obliged to love me better than anything else …”

  But Elizabeth Charlotte had already dismissed that subject and was thinking of something else.

  “I am to be presented to the Princess of Orange,” she said. “Aunt Sophia has warned me that I have to be very careful and remember to speak only when spoken to.”

  “That,” said William, “will put a great tax on your memory.”

  She agreed that it would.

  “Well, I do not see why it should be such an ordeal. After all she is my own kinswoman. Perhaps she will be as pleased to see me as I’m supposed to be to see her. She is English they tell me.”

  “I am too, because she is my mother.”

  “But you are half Dutch, William. You are the Prince of Orange, which is why of course they want you to marry me.”

  She was incorrigible and it was impossible to suppress her.

  Sophia, who had herself been suppressed since her marriage to a minor prince, despaired of instilling the necessary good manners into the child.

  “Elizabeth Charlotte,” she said severely, “I am depending on you not to disgrace me.”

  Elizabeth Charlotte threw her arms about the aunt for whom she was sorry.

  “I never will,” she declared.

  “You must behave very discreetly when you pay your homage to the Princess of Orange. Remember that she is not only the Princess of Orange but the daughter of a King of England.”

  “Oh, him,” said Elizabeth Charlotte. “They chopped off his head.”

  “Hush, my child. Where do you learn such things?”

  “Well, you see, Aunt Sophia, it’s history and you know how they are always telling me I must learn my history. Those are the things I can learn best.”

  “Elizabeth Charlotte, you must try to be more serene. You should be more like William.”

  “Like William! And not be able to breathe properly. And I don’t think, Aunt Sophia, that he stands up very straight. I shall be taller than he is, I am sure; and that is not a very good thing for a wife to be. Should I stoop? Should I wheeze to be a little more like William?”

  “You are deliberately mischievous. I implore you not to be. You must be William’s good friend. If you are and come to love him while you are young, it will be so much easier when you are grown up. But who has told you you are to marry him?”

  “Something in here …” She tapped her heart with a dramatic gesture. “Something in here tells me.”

  “You imagine too much, my dear. And you have imagined this. You should be thinking of how you will conduct yourself before the Princess of Orange instead of dreaming of marriage plan
s which exist only in your imagination.”

  “I am pleased. I do not think I want to marry William. I want to have a love match like yours. I think they are the best really.”

  “Hush, child, hush. Go now to your room; your maids will prepare you. Remember all I have said.”

  “I will remember, dear Aunt Sophia.”

  From the Palace in the Wood to The Hague. Elizabeth Charlotte riding beside Aunt Sophia and her grandmother the Queen of Bohemia.

  Elizabeth Charlotte sat upright. This was a very solemn occasion because of the presence of her grandmother—the Queen of Bohemia—who had once been so beautiful and was the sister of that poor King Charles I who had had his head chopped off.

  Dreamily watching her, Elizabeth Charlotte was thinking of that King: and how the wicked Oliver Cromwell had not only killed him but driven his family out of their country. They were wandering about on the Continent, she had heard, being entertained by any Court that would have them. She imagined them as gypsies—barefooted, dark-skinned, singing a song or two and for their trouble being given the scraps that were left after the banquet.

  “You must curtsy deeply to the Princess of Orange when you are presented,” Aunt Sophia was reminding her.

  “Yes, dear Aunt.”

  “And when the Queen of Bohemia leaves the Palace you must be ready to leave with her. Do not go off and hide with William, who will be there.”

  “No, dear Aunt.”

  Grandmother, Queen of Bohemia, nodded at her absently, and Elizabeth Charlotte imagined she was thinking of her poor brother having his head cut off.

  When they arrived at the Palace she saw William and immediately called to him. The Queen of Bohemia and her daughter Sophia smiled at each other with gratification; it pleased them to see the friendship between the children.

  “William wishes to show me the gardens,” said Elizabeth Charlotte. “May I go with him?”

  When the children went off together William said: “But I did not wish to show you the gardens.”

  “William,” chided Elizabeth Charlotte, “you will have to be sharper when you are my husband. I wanted to get away. Do you not see?”

  “I see,” said William, a little sullenly, “that you wish everyone to dance to your tune.”

  Elizabeth Charlotte pretended to play a pipe and called: “Dance, William, dance.”

  He was annoyed and went into the palace; she followed him.

  “Now,” she said, “we will play hide-and-seek. I shall hide and you shall seek.”

  “You have come here to pay homage to the Princess of Orange. Have you forgotten?”

  Elizabeth Charlotte clapped her fingers over her mouth.

  “No. But they did give us permission …”

  “Only to look at the gardens. Come along. I will take you to the reception chamber.”

  Elizabeth Charlotte followed him. The reception chamber was an exciting place. The decorations were magnificent and there were so many people, and one woman with a very long nose who fascinated her. She tried not to stare but could not prevent herself.

  That must be one of the longest noses in the world, she told herself. I wonder whose it is? I must know.

  “Who is that woman?” she whispered to a man who was standing nearby. He did not seem to have heard for he took no notice.

  Then she saw William, who had moved some little distance away from her.

  “William,” she whispered. “Come here, William.”

  William regarded her stonily and kept his distance.

  “William,” she said a little louder. “I want to speak to you.”

  This was not the manner in which to speak to the Prince of Orange. When they were alone he endured a good deal; but he would not in public.

  “William,” she cried in a loud voice, “I want to ask you something.”

  Still he ignored her.

  “William,” she screamed, “who is that woman with the long nose?”

  There was a hushed silence all about her. The long-nosed woman did not appear to have heard the interruption.

  Elizabeth Charlotte felt her arm gently but firmly taken by a plump young woman and she was led out of the hall.

  In the anteroom Elizabeth Charlotte tried to struggle free. “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “Her Highness’s lady in waiting, Anne Hyde,” was the answer.

  “Then how dare you lay hands on me? How dare you force me where I do not want to go?”

  William had come into the apartment; as soon as he entered he smiled, which was strange for it was not a habit with him.

  “William …” began Elizabeth Charlotte imperiously.

  But William interrupted her. “You asked me a question in there. I’ll answer you now. Who is the long-nosed woman? You wanted to know. Well, she is my mother, the Princess of Orange.”

  The Princess of Orange had sent for her son and as he stood before her she studied him intently. She wished that he could add a few inches to his stature. It would later be such a handicap for him if he remained small. She wished too that he could throw off that wheeziness of his, which really alarmed her. He must learn to stand up straight, for his stoop was growing more pronounced each week.

  William guessed what she was thinking; it made him resentful—not against her, but against life which had given him the title of Prince and withheld all that was outwardly princely.

  One day, he thought, I will show them that it is not necessary to be tall to be a king. Small men can be as brave—or braver—than big ones. He would show them … one day.

  The Princess had no idea that her son read her thoughts; she said: “Pray be seated, William. I wish to speak to you about very important matters.”

  He thought that she was going to reproach him for the behavior of Elizabeth Charlotte, not realizing that when events of such magnitude were happening in her family, the lack of decorum of a child was of small importance to his mother.

  “Your uncle has returned to his kingdom.”

  William said in his correct manner which was more suited to a diplomat than a boy of nine: “Your Highness refers to King Charles II?”

  The Princess smiled, thinking of her brother—so tall and charming, so graciously expressing his gratitude for what she had been able to do for him. As if she would not have given all she had to help him! Fleetingly she wished William was a little more like his uncle Charles … not that she wished William to grow into a libertine; but she would have liked to have passed a little of the Stuart charm to William. Poor William! That was what he had so missed. Charm? That naughty little playmate of his had more than he had. Not that she would have wished her son to have so disgraced himself as Elizabeth Charlotte had. She must speak to the Queen of Bohemia about the child. But it was no great concern of hers, for now that Charles was back on the throne she saw marriage possibilities for her son which did not include Elizabeth Charlotte.

  “Certainly I am referring to your Uncle Charles,” she said. “I hear the people gave him such a welcome as has rarely been given to a King before. They were tired of puritan rule in England. And now … your uncle is back where he belongs.”

  “That is good, Your Highness.”

  She wanted to shout at him: Oh, you little Dutchman. Smile. Do not be so reserved … at least with your mother.

  She wondered whether she might take him to the English Court. It would do him good to learn a little grace. But she would not want him to adopt the manners of his uncle. One forgave Charles his lechery; but one naturally did not want a son to be the same. No, all William needed was to be less serious, more charming.

  “It is very good; and I am going to England as his guest. While I am away I wish you to behave … as though I were here.”

  She paused. He would naturally be well behaved. When had he ever been otherwise?

  She said quickly: “But of course you will, William. I am merely telling you what a matter for rejoicing this is in the family. It was that villain Cromwell who insisted on your e
xclusion from the Stadtholderate. One of your uncle’s first acts was to repeal that. Do you see what this means? While your uncle is firmly on the English throne … we have a strong ally against our enemies.”

  “Let us pray that he remains on his throne,” said William solemnly, “and that his father’s fate never overtakes him.”

  The Princess smiled. “Oh, William,” she said, “you behave as though you are indeed the Stadtholder. You will be, in due course. I know that your uncle will look after your affairs as though he were your father. He has the kindest heart, and if I ask it as a special favor to me he will look to your interests.”

  “I thank Your Highness.”

  “The King will marry now and doubtless have children. If he does not …”

  William waited, and she went on quickly: “Well, my son, you are in the line of succession to the English throne, though some way back. James’s children come before you, but one can never be sure what is going to happen. When you marry it must be a match which will bring you every possible advantage.”

  William was watching her eagerly. Perhaps, she thought, I am saying too much; but he is so serious that he makes me forget he is little more than a child.

  “Well,” she said briskly, “I shall be praying for you while I am away. And you must pray for me, William. Remember that what is happening in England is a good augury for the future.”

  “I will remember, Mother.”

  “I shall speak of you to your uncle. I doubt not we shall discuss your future.”

  William bowed his head. My marriage? he thought. Whom would they choose for him? He knew that his uncle, James, Duke of York, had two girls—Mary and Anne. Would it be one of these? He hoped that his bride would be tall. She must be to make up for his being so small. She must be the most beautiful woman in the world; she must be witty and clever; but there was one quality above all others which she must possess: Meekness. Having all the virtues, being clever, she must yet realize that there was one whom she must obey. She must be a docile wife ready to adore her husband.