The Three Crowns

YOUNG WILLIAM

To young William the Palace in the Wood was home. This was a very beautiful house which his grandmother had had built within a mile or so of the state palace. Here he lived with Lady Stanhope, the governess chosen for him by his English mother—a serious little boy whom none were very sure of because he prided himself on keeping his opinions to himself. The fact that he was not strong was a great anxiety to his mother and those whose duty it was to care for him. William in his grave and serious way decided to make the utmost advantage of everything; therefore his weakness seemed an asset rather than a fact to be deplored. Because he was inclined to be asthmatical, his governess was in perpetual terror on his account. He was delicate and because his father was dead and there could be no other of the same line, he was very precious indeed.

William was aware of this, but in his cool judicial manner he knew exactly the reason why. He was small of stature and this hurt his pride; he could not compete with boys of his own age in sport; for one reason he had not the physique, for another his governors and governesses were always in fear of his overtaxing his strength.

“Oh,” he would say, “they will not allow me to do this or that.… It is because I have no father and am the Prince of Orange.”

That was well enough to say to others; but he accepted the true state of affairs. He had been born a Prince but of such weak body that he could not enjoy rough games. One could not have everything in life; therefore he would try to make up for physical imperfections by cultivating wisdom.

He was alert and missed little; he had heard an account of what Mrs. Tanner had seen at his birth. Three crowns! That sounded wonderful; when he stood beside tall strong boys he reminded himself of what Mrs. Tanner had seen at his birth. He would be ready to take the crowns when they came to him as he was sure they would. It would not matter then that he was not very tall and that he sometimes found breathing difficult.

He quickly learned that a country was not happy when its hereditary ruler was a minor. He was descended from great William the Silent who had won the gratitude of the Dutch because of what he had done for them in their struggle against Spain and the Inquisition, but his father was dead, he himself was a child, and de Witte with his Republicans was ruling Holland at this time. The office of Stadtholder had been abolished by the de Witte government soon after young William was born; and although he was the Prince of Orange and the son of rulers, while de Witte was supreme he could not be regarded as the future ruler.

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 plans 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 exclusion 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.

His mother embraced him. “When I return from England we shall have a talk. I shall tell you what it is like to live at the English Court. Now you may go. And I beg of you do not follow the manners of your cousin. Elizabeth Charlotte is a most undisciplined child.”

“I agree with Your Highness.”

The Princess smiled a little wistfully. She was thinking that if a little of Elizabeth Charlotte’s mischief could be transferred to William it might not be a bad thing.

Elizabeth Charlotte was waiting for him.

“What did the Princess want?” she demanded.

“To discuss affairs.”

Elizabeth Charlotte turned a hasty somersault and William stared at a swirl of petticoats in shocked silence. Her round saucy face, red with exertion, was mocking yet curious.

“You do give yourself airs, William,” she said. “To discuss affairs!” She imitated him. “What affairs? Come on. Tell me.”

“You would not understand.”

“Now, William, if I am going to marry you you will have to learn to treat me with respect.”

“But why?”

“Because I shall be your wife. I shall be the Princess of Orange.”

“You will never be that.”

“And why not? Why am I here as your constant companion if it is not to prepare me to accept you?”

William drew himself up to make himself as tall as possible. Mischievously Elizabeth Charlotte came to stand beside him to show that she was taller.

He knew in that moment that he would never marry her.

“Do not be too sure that I shall accept you,” he said. “You have not the qualities which I shall expect to find in my wife.”

“Oh, William, you talk like Grandmamma of Bohemia or your mother or some of her old ministers. If they say we have to marry we shall, and you’ll have to accept me as I shall you.”

“My wife,” said William, “will be very tall, very beautiful … and …” His voice was suddenly so firm that the grin on Elizabeth Charlotte’s face momentarily disappeared, “She will do exactly as I say.”

William knew that he would never forget that morning in early January and that it would stand out as one of the momentous occasions of his life. He awoke as usual in his apartments in the Palace in the Wood, rising early, doing the exercises which he never failed to perform because he believed that they would make him grow and develop his muscles. Every night and morning he prayed that he might grow tall and strong so that he would be a worthy war leader. He never forgot that his first ambition was to regain the office of Stadtholder which had been his father’s and which the de Wittes and their party had taken from him. The duty of the Stadtholder was to lead Holland against her enemies; it had been the prerogative of the Princes of Orange and he was determined to regain it. Therefore he must discipline himself every day for the task and learn to excel in the art of war. Holland was a small country which had suffered persecution because it was vulnerable and he was determined to make it great.

His zeal was beginning to show results. He could manage a horse with any man; and because of his somewhat short legs he looked bigger on a horse than when standing. That again endeared him to horses. In the saddle he forgot to be concerned with his lack of inches.

He left the Palace for the stables on that morning; his horse was waiting for him and he rode out, galloping with growing excitement. His mother was away at the Court of England making plans for his future. His Uncle Charles was on the throne of England. The de Wittes and their friends had better be wary because he, William, now had some very good and powerful friends who would not be content to see him deprived of offices which were his by right of inheritance.

When he came back to the stables the groom ran out to take his sweating horse and began to stammer words which the Prince could not understand.

William waited coldly for the man to overcome his excitement.

“Your Highness … a visitor to the Palace … They came to the stables searching for you. I told them you had gone out with your horse.”

“Well? And who wished to see me?”

“A very great personage, Your Highness. Mynheer de Witte.”

William did not show that his heart had begun to beat faster. He leaped to the ground and when the groom took his horse left the stables and without hurrying walked into the palace.

A page who was evidently on the lookout for him saw him approaching and ran out to him.

“Your Highness,” he stammered.

“I know,” said William, subconsciously measuring the height of the page—about his own, he reckoned, and the boy younger. “I have a visitor. Take me to him.”

The man who was waiting for the young Prince stood, hands behind his back looking out of the window across the gardens. He turned as William entered the room.

William caught his breath and for a few seconds his habitual calm left him. The man who stood before him was the most talked of, the most influential in Holland; John de Witte, the Grand Pensionary, who more than any had been responsible for the abolition of the Stadtholdership.

John de Witte and his brother Cornelius were names which the Prince had learned to abhor. These two men, brilliant and humane, believed that they could best serve their country by freeing it from hereditary rule; and because the Prince of Holland had died before his son was born they had seen their opportunity to abolish the Stadtholdership which set up one man, the Stadtholder, as supreme ruler. They had affected this because there was no one to defend the title.

Now John de Witte and the deprived Prince of Orange were face to face.

“Your Highness,” said de Witte, coming forward and bowing, “I have tragic news to impart to you, so I have come to do this in person and to convey my deep sympathies. There has been an outbreak of smallpox at the English Court and …”

William, who had been staring at this man, thinking of him as the great enemy, now tried to grasp the importance of what he was trying to tell him. It came to him before the Grand Pensionary could tell him. There was one reason which would bring de Witte to the Palace in the Wood. Smallpox! And his mother at the English Court.

John de Witte’s expression was one of compassion as he went on gently: “Your Highness, it is with sorrow that I have to tell you. Your mother died of the smallpox on the twenty-fourth day of December.”

William did not speak. He stood, a small pathetic figure, trying to realize what this would mean. His father had died before his birth, and his death was merely something that he had heard talked of. True, it meant to him the loss of the Stadtholderate, but this was different. This was the loss of his mother whom he would never see again.

A great sense of loneliness came over him in that moment. It stayed with him for a very long time.

That was indeed a turning point. William was ten years old when his mother died; he had lost his greatest ally, but he had others in his uncles across the sea, for the King of England and the Duke of York let him know that they did not forget him. The Stuarts were a united family; and although he was a Dutchman, he was also English on his mother’s side; he was half-Stuart and the Stuarts’ days of obscurity were over; they were back in favor and they would not forget their own.

He became more reserved than ever; his life seemed governed by one purpose. He was going to regain the Stadtholderate and show the world that a great spirit could burn within a meager frame. He realized quickly that those about him were uncertain of him and that this worked to his advantage. He was no ordinary boy; it was not that his tutors found him brilliant; apart from a natural aptitude for languages he did not excel in the schoolroom. His great strength was in his ability to hide what he was feeling; that almost unnatural calm which appeared to hide a deep profundity of thought. He was not interested in sports; he considered them a waste of time apart from hunting, which was, he believed, necessary to his manhood, and in this he showed that especial equestrian skill in which even he could not hide his pleasure. On a horse he was more, so his attendants said, like a human man than at any other time.

De Witte selected his tutors and watched his progress uneasily, realizing that the people would never forget the magic name of Orange. William the Silent would always be one of their greatest national heroes; and this young Prince bore the same name and was of the same heroic branch.

Throughout Holland the people talked of the young Prince and all they heard of him was to his advantage. When he was seen—on horseback—they cheered him, and as he passed into adolescence he became so popular that de Witte realized that sooner or later something would have to be done for him.

Meanwhile William became more and more reserved with the years, keeping his own counsel, never forgetting for a moment his intention to show the world that diminutive William of Orange was one of the greatest figures of the time.

He had his eyes on his uncles across the water! Charles, the King, who would help him one day when he was of an age to fight for his rights, and Uncle James, the great Admiral.

When William was sixteen a plot was made to restore him to the Stadtholderate. William could not be blamed for taking part in it but John de Witte, seeing the direction in which public opinion was turning, decided it was wise to admit him to the Council of State.

In his quiet manner William distinguished himself, and his popularity was growing.

William was nineteen years of age when his uncle invited him to pay a visit to the English Court.

The English Court. What a scene of vice! Sodom and Gomorrah! thought William.

The manner in which the women painted their faces and exposed their bosoms appalled him; the men he considered to be even worse. Their satins and silks, their laces and scents, their conversation, their boasting of their conquests, their descriptions of their amatory adventures, were all very shocking to a young man who drank little wine, rose early and retired early, rarely laughed, and whose only indulgence was a love of the chase.

And this was the English Court from which he hoped for so much. The King sporting with his mistresses—not one but several; the Duke of York notoriously unfaithful to his wife—she who had shocked his mother so much during that visit which had resulted in her death.

He had come to talk seriously to the King about his prospects, and although Charles greeted him kindly and did not appear to think the less of him because he was so small and his back was not quite straight, he did not appear to wish for serious conversation with his nephew. William began to believe that they had invited him merely to take a look at him; and that because he was not like them—which God forbid—they despised him.

One day Charles invited him to walk with him in the park of St. James’s. William felt a disadvantage walking beside his uncle, who was some six feet tall and in his feathered hat seemed a giant. Charles was kindly though; he seemed to understand William’s feeling for when they had walked a little distance he said, “We will sit a while, nephew. There we can talk at our ease.”

He asked William questions about life at The Hague and talked with affection and humor of the days when he had been an exile there. Occasionally he would ask a shrewd question and William realized that while Charles was discovering what he wanted to know, he, William, had little chance of asking the questions he had had in his mind.

But William was not one to be put off. When his uncle stopped speaking for a while, he began to tell him of the difficulties of his position and how he feared he would never regain his rights while the de Wittes were in power. William believed his uncle would understand the advantages to England of a Holland ruled solely by his own nephew who would be forever grateful for the help he received.

“We are a grateful family, we Stuarts,” said Charles, smiling warmly. “We stand together, which shows that as well as being a united family we are a wise one. Why look, there is Buckingham. Buckingham! Come and amuse the Prince of Orange.”

George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, came languidly to the seat on which the King and his nephew sat. The King signed to him to be seated and he placed himself on the other side of the Prince of Orange.

Between these two William felt immediately at a disadvantage. Buckingham was decidedly handsome; he was arrogant, and not inclined to hide the fact even from the King who seemed to delight in his company and to show no resentment at being treated as an equal. How could the King make a favorite of a man of such a reputation? William asked himself. The scandals concerning this man had reached Holland and William knew that the Earl of Shrewsbury had challenged him to a duel because of his guilty intrigue with his, Shrewsbury’s, wife. Shrewsbury had been wounded and two months later had died; and afterward Buckingham had lived openly with the Countess. And all this the lazy good-natured King had known and shrugged aside. Men must settle their own affairs, was his verdict.

It was no way to rule.

William’s thin lips were drawn up into an expression of disdain as Buckingham took his seat; and both the Duke and the King were aware of this. William did not see the glances which flashed between them. Buckingham’s said: Watch. We’ll have some sport with the Dutch boy.

“Ah, Your Highness,” he said, “and how is The Hague? I remember The Hague. Never shall I forget it. Surely the neatest trimmest town in the world. And the neatest trimmest people. I always felt a little more wicked in The Hague than I did anywhere else. The comparison, you see, Your Highness.”

“Comparisons are odorous,” murmured the King.

“Not in Holland, Sire. In Holland all is scrubbed free of odor. I believe that to be why there is such an abundance of canals?”

“You are mistaken,” began William.

Charles laid his hand on the young man’s arm. “Buckingham intends to joke. It’s a poor joke, my lord. You should try to do better.”

“I stand reproved in the sight of Your Majesty and Your Highness. And I fear my stupidity may spoil my chances of having a favor granted.”

“Well, let us hear what favor you ask before you lose heart,” suggested Charles.

“It was an invitation from some friends for His Highness. A little supper party—which we would try to make worthy of the Prince.”

“I do not attend supper parties …” began William.

But Charles intervened, by tightening his grasp on his nephew’s arm and smiling benignly. “Oh, come, nephew. You must not decline the hand of friendship. Join the revels. You must get to know us. We are friends, are we not? Then we must understand each other’s customs.”

It seemed to William that there was a promise in that.

He turned to Buckingham. “I thank you. I accept your invitation. And … thank you.”

Buckingham inclined his head and as he lifted it, his eyes met those of the King. Charles’s were sardonic. Some little joke was being planned. It would be a good one, since it was Buckingham’s idea. He looked forward to hearing what happened to William at the Duke’s supper party.

William entered the small chamber which seemed to be full of extravagantly clad men, laughing gaily and drinking. He looked about him anxiously and saw with relief that there were no women present. He did not know what to expect, but knowing the morals of this court greatly feared he might have been invited to an orgy for the sexes. The thought of this had filled him with terror; and yet at the same time had awakened thoughts in him of which he would not have believed himself capable. He had begun to ask himself whether if he had not such a destiny to fulfill he might not have enjoyed a little dalliance with women. And might it not be part of a great soldier’s life to indulge in amatory adventures? Women to admire him, to tell him that he was the most attractive man in the world, that men such as his uncle were tolerated for their rank while he …

But what was happening to him since he had come to the English Court? Did he not despise these men with their effeminate lacy garments, and to whom the whole meaning of life seemed to be the seduction of women?

Buckingham was greeting him with more reverence than he had shown in the garden and in the presence of the King.

“Your Highness, our little gathering is honored indeed.”

Others were crowding round him, and he recognized them as some of the biggest rakes and libertines of his uncle’s court: Rochester, Dorset, Charles Sedley, and Henry Savile. His nose twitched in disdain as he remembered some of the almost incredible stories he had heard of their exploits. Nothing, it seemed, was too wild for them. Theirs was no company in which the Prince of Orange should find himself. He should never have accepted Buckingham’s invitation.

“We are greatly favored,” murmured Rochester.

“My lords,” replied Sedley, “we must have such sport this night as we have not had since those days when His Majesty first returned to his kingdom.”

“I am not much given to sport,” said William dourly.

“We have heard reports of Your Highness’s decorum,” Savile murmured. “A lesson to us all.”

“We shall all be better men from this night onward,” declared Buckingham, “for it is our great desire to learn from you how a gentleman can restrain his fancies.”

“I do not understand,” began William.

“Will Your Highness be seated and allow us to sit with you?”

“Certainly.”

William sat down and Buckingham cried, “Wine … wine for His Highness.”

“Not wine for me. I drink little and then only when thirsty. Perhaps a little ale?”

“Or Hollands Gin?” suggested Buckingham. “A right goodly drink, I’ll swear. Shall we drink to the future prosperity of the House of Orange in Hollands Gin?”

“His Highness must certainly drink to the friendship between our two countries,” said Sedley. “And it is the custom here that if we drink in his country’s drink, he drinks in ours.”

“I have told you that I take little drink.”

“For a custom, Your Highness.”

William felt uneasy; he looked into that circle of faces aware that all eyes were on him. He fancied they were laughing at him, at his lack of worldliness, at his inability to drink as they and most certainly at his meager body—they who apparently worshipped their bodies, decking them out in silks and satins, indulging their appetites.

“For a custom then,” he said rashly.

“Done!” cried Buckingham.

They stood and raised their glasses. “Hurrah for Orange, Stadtholder of Holland!”

“Hurrah for Orange!”

There was a slight flush in William’s face; they were all smiling at him as though they were in truth his friends. They would help him to regain his rights. This was what he had dreamed of. Was it not for this that he had come to England?

The Duke of Buckingham was calling for more wine. Sparkling wine! Now they would drink to the friendship between their two countries.

“It is our custom, Your Highness, to drain the glass. To leave a little in the bottom is an insult.” He rose to his feet. “My friends, we are greatly honored tonight. Come, the toast! Our Sovereign Lord the King and his nephew the Prince of Orange—friends and kinsmen. May they never forget the bond between our two countries.”

William drained his glass. He felt a little light-headed, but Buckingham was at his side.

“Your Highness, this is a happy night for us all …”

Sedley had leaned forward and filled the Prince’s glass. “I see Your Highness is a man who knows how to hold his drink. Now I propose the toast. Victory for His Highness of Orange in all that he endeavors.”

William drained the glass.

He was beginning to feel pleasantly at ease. A warm glow had settled on him; he no longer believed that his companions were laughing at him. Far from it. He felt six feet tall, a man among men; they were his friends, his kind respectful friends. They wanted to please him, Buckingham was telling him. In fact it was the object of this party—in honor of the Prince, to please the Prince.

No one in Holland had ever accorded him such respect; and never had he felt quite as he did on this day.

He was lolling back in his chair. Buckingham was telling him how he had fought a duel with Shrewsbury. It seemed very funny, although William had, only that day when he had been regretting that he had accepted Buckingham’s invitation, recalled that incident with distaste.

Buckingham was talking of his mistresses—familiarly and again amusingly; and he spoke as though William were as knowledgeable in these matters as he was.

Sedley and Rochester joined in, capping each other’s stories. Every now and then one of them would stand and lift his glass, mention a woman’s name and they would all drink. The more William drank of the wine, the more he liked it; and the less sleepy he became. He heard someone laughing uproariously and to his amazement discovered that it was himself.

“His Highness is cleverer than any of us,” said Buckingham.

He liked that. The sense of power was with him. He was cleverer than any of them. He needed to be.

“So solemn. So serious. Ah, but what is he like in my lady’s bedchamber?”

William joined in the laughter.

“Oh, His Highness admits it among his friends.” Buckingham sighed. “Would that I had had the wit to hide my weakness. What a lot of trouble I should have been saved.”

“His Highness could teach us much.”

“Oh, depend upon it.”

“Did you see that pretty maid of honor. The new one. A ripe young virgin, I’ll swear. Not more than sixteen. Ha, I see His Highness is listening intently. I’ll warrant he has already marked her for his own?”

“Seen her, smiled on her! Then what is the betting she is a virgin no more?”

“I’ll take you up there, Sedley.”

“One hundred.”

“Make it two.”

“But how test the truth?”

“I’ll warrant His Highness will tell us how.”

Buckingham bent closer to William. “Your Highness,” he said, “we promised you good sport tonight.”

“Lead me to it,” said William in slurred voice.

The others exchanged glances. The plot was a wild success. Charles was going to laugh at this; and there was nothing that he liked so much as to be amused by the wild adventures of his roystering courtiers. And this one was going to please him more than most. He had said that William was like a eunuch and he often wondered whether those clever de Wittes hadn’t made him one just to make sure of the end of the House of Orange.

Buckingham had countered. “Would Your Majesty wager on the matter?”

“Right gladly,” the King had replied. “And to have it proved that my nephew was indeed a man would give me such pleasure that I’d be willing to be the loser.”

“All in good time. I can see Your Highness is a man who does not like to wait when the urge is on him,” Buckingham was telling William.

All the others were laughing; so was William. They knew him better than he knew himself. They were sure he was a success with women. He thought of Elizabeth Charlotte who had quite clearly wanted the marriage between them far more than he had. His dear friends knew more about him than he knew himself. He would be the greatest ruler in Europe—wise, shrewd, successful in all campaigns—yes, every one he undertook, on the battlefield or in the bedchamber.

“As His Highness is in no mood for waiting, let us be gone,” suggested Sedley.

Buckingham rose and put his fingers to his lips. The others did the same. Then William stood up and he too put his fingers to his lips.

The room reminded him of the ship on which he had crossed to England, so unsteady was the floor. He laughed aloud. He was so happy to be in England because the English understood him as no one in Holland ever had.

Buckingham took one of his arms, Rochester the other, and with exaggerated caution they left the apartment.

“They will be in bed now,” whispered Sedley.

“All the better,” retorted Rochester.

“All locked up securely for the night, chastity belts securely fastened, but His Highness the Prince of Orange will know the password. He will have the key.”

Such laughter—all the more hilarious because it must be suppressed. Buckingham put his fingers to his lips and they all did the same.

William felt the cool air on his face and this was the only intimation he had that he was out of doors. The fresh air revived him a little, made him feel as strong and brave as a lion.

He stood with the group looking at the row of lighted windows.

“How do we get in?” asked Rochester. “My Prince, pray tell us.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” said Buckingham. “Could it be through the windows?”

“Yes,” said William and his voice sounded muffled. “Through the windows.”

Sedley pressed a stone into his hands. “You will lead your men, Sire,” he said.

William had never felt so happy. He forgot that he was smaller than most men, that he suffered from that humiliating asthmatical wheeze, that his clothes had to be cut in a special way to hide his deformities.

He was a leader of men—and not in battles. These rakes of his uncle’s Court, who were noted for their brilliant wit and fascination were looking to him to lead them.

He threw the stone. Laughing triumphantly he scrambled up the wall to the broken window.

There were cries of alarm from within and faces appeared at the windows.

Buckingham’s voice came from a long way off: “His Highness of Orange … a little merry. Looking for the ladies.”

William had seen the girls’ faces and they seemed very fair and inviting. He was irresistible. Buckingham and his friends had said so.

“I’ll not disappoint them,” he cried. “I’m going in.”

The girls began to scream. There were the sounds of shouting and a lantern appeared among the revelers below. Then Buckingham seized the Prince’s legs and pulled him to the ground.

“Your Highness, you are waking the Palace.”

“I will not disappoint them. The maids are waiting for me. I will not disappoint them.”

“Your Highness, we know of your reputation, but you are waking the Palace.”

“I will share the bed of the fairest this night …”

Sedley and Rochester took his legs, Buckingham and Savile his arms, and he was lifted off the ground.

Now he was angry. He no longer cared for these men. They had promised him good sport and now they were standing in his way of getting it. He wanted to seduce a maid of honor. He knew now that he did not find women as uninteresting as he had believed; tonight had been an education and he wanted to complete it.

The governess of the maids of honor had put her head out of the window.

“Disgraceful!” she cried. “Her Majesty the Queen shall hear of this!”

“Madam,” answered Buckingham, “we have done all we can to restrain His Highness. We fear he is a desperate fellow where the ladies are concerned.”

“Then take him away from here,” was the answer. “Rest assured he will have to answer to Her Majesty.”

The laughing courtiers, the shouting governess, and the struggling Prince of Orange made, declared all those who saw it, as goodly a sight as they had seen outside the playhouse. But what was most amusing was that the solemn prudish young Dutchman should be at the center of it.

The King smiled sardonically at his nephew. A chastened William this, who understood that the previous night he had, for the first time in his life, become intoxicated and shown himself to be what no one—including himself—had suspected he might be: a budding libertine.

“Sire,” said William, “I cannot express my sorrow …”

“Then do not attempt to achieve the impossible, nephew. It is a waste of good time. But let me assure you, this is not a matter which causes me great sorrow—so nor should it you. A broken window is a small price to pay for experience; and last night you learned that nature has not denied you the normal instincts of a man. Would that the old lady had not awakened; then you might have enjoyed the fruit of your labors. I am sure you have made a good impression on the maids and doubtless one—at least—will find some means of assuring you that it is not necessary to break more windows.”

“I fear, Sire, that my reputation is ruined.”

“On the contrary, it is enhanced. A little light-heartedness is a blessing on all occasions.”

“Your Majesty, I believe it is time that I had a wife.”

“You are young yet. Why not enjoy the advantages of marriage and none of its disadvantages for a while?”

“I shall not shirk the responsibilities of marriage, Sire,” answered William primly. “An alliance with my mother’s country would I believe be advantageous to both hers and mine.”

“I’ll warrant you are thinking of your cousin Mary. Yes, of a surety, Mary! God’s fish, man, you would have to wait too long for the child. Do you know she is as yet eight years old?”

“I would be prepared to wait.”

Charles pretended to consider. What would his nephew say if he knew that he was on the point of signing an agreement with Holland’s greatest enemy, Louis XIV of France, one clause of which was that together they should declare war on the Dutch?

“I can see you are a very patient young man.”

William was excited. The King did not refuse him Mary. His thoughts ran on; he had to have an ambitious goal to help wash out last night’s disgrace. He was after all in the line of succession and marriage with Mary would put him several jumps ahead.

Ever since he had come to England he had become obsessed by a desire to rule the country. He would sweep clean the Court of all its vice. England was a great country, with advantages denied to Holland, and he could be King of England, Scotland, and Ireland if he married Mary.

And the King was not dismissing the idea.

“Your Majesty, could I see my cousin?”

Charles nodded. “I see no reason why you should not. She is at Richmond with her family. When you see her you will realize how young she is. Oh, William, do you want to wait some six or seven years for marriage?”

“A good match is worth waiting for, Your Majesty.”

“I see that you are a very wise young man; and judging by your nocturnal adventures you will know how to amuse yourself during the waiting.”

Charles began to laugh and William allowed the corners of his own mouth to turn up. He had secretly decided never to come under the influence of wine again; but he was not displeased to be thought something of a gay gallant.

When the King was riding with the Prince of Orange they found themselves near to Richmond, so it was natural that they should stop there.

A pleasant family party was being enjoyed. The Duke of York, who had been indisposed, was spending most of his time at Richmond with his Duchess, who was clearly very ill, and their children were with them there.

Charles strode into the Palace and there was the immediate bustle which was an essential part of a King’s arrival.

But this, said Charles, was an informal occasion; he wanted no ceremony.

He embraced his brother and his sister-in-law.

“And where are the children?” he wanted to know.

“They had all been playing a game together,” James explained, and sent one of the attendants to bring the little girls to His Majesty. Edgar had a slight fever and was in bed.

William watched her as she came forward; a pretty girl, with dark ringlets and almond-shaped eyes, she was not in the least shy and appeared to be very sure of an affectionate welcome from her uncle.

She kissed the King’s hand, at which he drew her to him. It was clear to William which one of the girls was the King’s favorite, although he was obviously fond of both of them.

“Mistress Anne, you grow plumper every time I see you,” said Charles. “Tell me, what do you do when you are not eating?”

Anne tried to think. “I wonder what I shall have for dinner, Sire,” she said at length, which made them all laugh.

“And now I’ll warrant you’re wondering who is this handsome young man whom I have brought to see you.”

“He is not very handsome,” said Anne.

“You are not old enough to appreciate his charms, my dear niece.” Charles was smiling at Mary who had seen the tightening of the young man’s lips; she knew what was expected of her.

“Anne is a child,” she said. “She and I never agree.”

The King’s hands gripped her shoulder and his dark face gleamed with pleasure.

“Mary,” he said, “one day you shall have a seat on my Council. I knew that you and your cousin of Orange would be good friends. Take him to sit over yonder and talk to him. He would like to talk to you, and I must perforce speak to Mistress Anne and endeavor to persuade her that honey flavors words as pleasantly as sweetmeats.”

As Mary smiled up at her cousin she heard Anne protesting: “But, uncle, we should always tell the truth, you know.”

And Charles’s reply: “The truth is a slippery eel, Anne. When we use it toward others we call it honesty; when they use it toward us we call it bad manners.”

Mary said: “You are my cousin from Holland. I knew that you were here.”

“I am glad to meet you.”

“I hope that you will stay long with us.”

He liked her. She was tall, but as yet not as tall as he was—being only eight. She was physically attractive with her long almond eyes; a certain gaiety mingled with her gravity which he found pleasant.

He wondered if she had heard about the escapade with the maids of honor, decided that she had not, and liked her better than ever.

Her little brother was in bed with a fever; he had heard that he was a sickly child. The duchess was very ill, and looked to have death at her elbow; as for the King, he had been married ten years and had no child—although he had plenty of illegitimate sons and daughters.

England was a powerful country; he was in the line of succession, but not so close as this girl.

As he talked to Mary he made up his mind that, in due course, he might be very pleased to do her the honor of making her his wife. There was only one thing that caused him a little uneasiness. She was rather sure of herself. The manner in which she spoke to the King and her father betrayed that. Of course she had been indulged. Would she be a meek and docile wife, for he would accept no other.

Yes, he believed he could mold her. Mary would, when she was of age, please him well as a wife.