The Queen's Devotion: The Story of Queen Mary II (25 page)

To understand is to forgive, they say. If one has tender feelings toward another, one makes excuses. I wished I had understood then. I need not have felt so wounded, but I told myself that what I had thought of as William's tenderness for me was transient. He had been carried along by the poignancy of the occasion and the possibility that that meeting might be our last on earth.

I heard how William had made his entry into London and thousands had come out to see him. I could visualize their disappointment. I remembered when he had come to London on a previous occasion and how somber he had seemed beside the King and his friends. William would have no smiles for the people. He did not look like a king. The people were silent. There were no cheers for the dour-looking Dutchman. What had he to recommend him, except that he was a Protestant and the husband of their new Queen Mary? Where was Queen Mary? She should be the one who was riding the streets.

Bentinck, mourning the death of his wife, but first of all slave to William, tried, so I heard, to remonstrate with William, to which William had replied that it had been hinted to him that he was but the consort of Queen Mary and he was not the sort of man to play gentleman usher to his wife.

These little scraps of information came to me gradually and I knew that this was what had affected William's conduct toward me more than anything else.

William Herbert, Duke of Powis, held a meeting of ministers in his bedroom because he was suffering from the gout and unable to leave his bed. Bentinck had been allowed to join them on behalf of his master, and reported what had happened.

Bentinck put forward the view which he had been sent there to state, that the best plan would be for the Prince to be crowned King and myself take the rank, not of Queen Regent, but Queen Consort.

At that, Herbert, infuriated by the suggestion, forgetting his gout, leaped out of bed, seized his sword which he kept close by and, brandishing it, cried that if the Prince of Orange treated his wife so, he would never draw a sword for him again. After that display, he sank back on his bed in acute pain.

Bentinck said that when the Prince heard this he was overcome with melancholy.

He had turned to Bentinck and said: “You see how the people think? I am tired of these English. I shall go back to Holland and leave their crown to whoever can catch it.”

After that William scarcely emerged from St. James's Palace. Ministers called on him constantly; he listened to what they said but rarely made any comment.

It was not surprising that they wondered what kind of a man they had brought to England.

And as he had intended, when he considered the time was ripe, and they were growing uneasy, he asked the Marquis of Halifax and the Earls of Shrewsbury and Danby, whom he believed to be his friends, to come to him, and he explained the reasons for his serious deliberations.

“The English plan to set Queen Mary on the throne and wish me to reign by her courtesy. I must make it clear to you that no man could esteem a woman more than I esteem my wife, but I am so made that I could not hold power by apron strings.”

The three men looked at him in consternation. Then Danby said he understood his dilemma but, in view of the fact that Queen Mary was the rightful Queen, they could see nothing else that was acceptable.

William then told them that Dr. Burnet had discussed the matter with me and would be prepared to tell them what had taken place at that interview.

As a result of this, Dr. Burnet was sent for and he gave an account of our talk together when I had most emphatically said that I believed a wife should be obedient to her husband and would be ready to resign sovereignty to William.

Lord Danby's reply was that it would be necessary to have my confirmation of this and no steps could be taken until this was in the hands of Parliament.

As a result I received a communication from Lord Danby stating the case with a request that I should let him know my decision with as little delay as possible.

I immediately wrote back that, as the Prince's wife, I was never meant to be other than in subjection to him and I should feel no gratitude to anyone who would seek to set up an interest dividing me from my husband.

That satisfied them.

The Lords and Commons were assembled and it was agreed that the Prince of Orange should be offered the three crowns of England, Ireland and France. Scotland, of course, was a separate kingdom and the title of France was a relic from the past. However, the three crowns were William's now. I was to be offered a joint sovereignty and royal acts would be signed in both our names, but the executive power was William's. Any children we should have would be heirs to the throne and if we failed to have them the succession would go to the Princess Anne and her children.

William had achieved what he had always wanted.

While this was happening Christmas had come and passed and we were nearly at the end of January. Then news came from William. I was to leave Holland and come back to England. We were to be crowned King and Queen and the reign of William and Mary was about to begin.

The Queen of England

CORONATION

The wind was behind us as we left Brill and our journey was swift. I was feeling very emotional and my thoughts were of my father, but I warned myself that I must stand wholeheartedly behind my husband, and that, but for my father's folly, he might not now be in exile with his sorrowing queen.

I must smile, be merry, pretend to rejoice. William was safe, his mission accomplished, his dream come true. The three crowns were his and I was to share them.

I watched the approach of my native island and thought of that terrified and tearful child who had left it in such misery. I was still young—not yet twenty-seven. I had survived those first years of marriage and had learned to accept what cannot be changed, which I suppose is one of the most important lessons of life.

I was Queen of England, but it was an honor which I wished had not come to me in this way.

Among the women surrounding me was Elizabeth Villiers. I had never felt at ease in her company and now she filled me with apprehension. I was jealous of her. She was an enigma to me, as William himself was. They were two strange people. Perhaps that was why they were attracted to each other. I could believe she had witch-like qualities. Unprepossessing as she was, wherein lay her power to enslave him as she did? He had been her lover for years. Wherein lay this strange fascination?

She was without doubt extremely clever. She understood state affairs; she spied for him, carried information to him . . . and William was capable of devotion, as I had seen with Bentinck. These two were the ones he loved. Bentinck had saved his life and I could understand that. But there were many beautiful women at court. Why had he chosen Elizabeth?

My efforts to be rid of her had failed: she had outwitted me, as I fancied she always would. And here she was, on her way to England because William would never give her up.

There was a crowd of distinguished people waiting for us at Gravesend. I had dressed with care for the occasion because I knew all eyes would be on me, and I must stand up and face the scrutiny. I must show them that I stood beside my husband in all things, and I was happy because he was here to rule over them with wisdom and strength. I must not let them see how sad I was because, to do my duty toward them, my husband must destroy my father.

I was wearing an orange-colored velvet skirt and my page stood by holding my coat of the same colored velvet. My pearl decorated bodice was low cut and there were pearls and orange ribbons in my hair.

I walked to the richly caparisoned horse which was waiting for me and mounted the purple velvet saddle.

The people cheered me as I rode with my entourage to Greenwich Palace.

There I was greeted by my sister Anne, and I could not restrain my joy on seeing her. We discarded all ceremony and clung together in rapturous joy.

“I have missed you, sister,” I said.

“I am so happy that you have come home,” replied Anne.

She was eager to present her husband to me. I could see at once that she was happy in her marriage and that she and George of Denmark were suited to each other. He had an open face and the reports I had heard of him appeared to be true. He was good-looking, good-natured and easygoing. My father had said he was no conversationalist and was given to repeating certain phrases at intervals, which could be rather irritating.
“Est-il possible?”
was a favorite one. In fact, my father had named him
“Est-il possible.”

It was clear that George of Denmark had made little impression on the court. I was prepared to like him, for he had obviously won Anne's affection, and she his; and it was good to see how happy they were together.

I talked a great deal to Anne while she listened. I had forgotten how fat she was. I, myself, had put on a certain amount of flesh. We were like our mother in that respect. But beside Anne I looked almost slender. Moreover, she was pregnant.

We were all going to Whitehall together and the royal barge was waiting to take us.

As I stepped into it I experienced another pang of conscience. This was now my barge . . . the royal barge, but a short time ago it had been my father's. I braced myself. I must stop these foolish thoughts. The old refrain kept hammering in my mind. It need never have happened. It was his fault.

He could not really have wanted to rule. If he had, he would never have thrown his crown away. He would go to some quiet retreat where he could practice his religion in peace. That was what he wanted.

I must rejoice. William had succeeded and I had come home.

The people cheered as we sailed along the river to Whitehall.

I ascended Whitehall Stairs and walked into the palace. How familiar it was! How memories flooded back! I was smiling brightly. I must show no emotion but pleasure, for I was being closely watched. So I exclaimed with delight as I walked through those familiar rooms.

Anne was beside me, smiling.

“You are home now, sister,” she said.

“And happy to be here.”

I was aware then of Sarah Churchill. She had never been one to hide her feelings, and there was a look of cold criticism in her eyes.

How dare she! I thought. She was thinking how heartless I was. She knew how much my father had cared for me, and here I was, exulting in taking his possessions which were now mine because my husband, with me at his side, had turned my father from his throne.

It was she who had persuaded my sister to desert him! Her husband had led the army to revolt against him! And Sarah Churchill could stand by with that look of condemnation in her eyes!

I hated Sarah Churchill. She might have domination over my sister, but she would have to remember that I was Queen of England.

So I took possession of the royal apartments. I remembered going to see Mary Beatrice there. I recalled her kindness to the poor frightened child who was to be married and sent away from home. Poor Mary Beatrice, how was she faring now? I thought of her with her little baby—the Warming-pan Baby, as malicious people called him—and her futile husband. What was she thinking now? She had loved and trusted her “dear Lemon” who was now flaunting orange petticoats and had come in to take possession of her apartments.

Now that I was installed at Whitehall, William came to see me. It was the first time we had met since we had said good-bye in Holland. He looked tired and strained, and stooped more than I remembered. But it was always like that when I saw him after an absence. I think in my imagination I changed my image of him—making him taller, straighter, more amiable.

After our last parting I expected more tenderness from him, but he seemed to have reverted to the man he had been. I was hurt and disappointed.

It occurred to me, in one of those flashes of disloyalty which I had known in the past, that he wanted me to come to Whitehall before he did because, unsure of the people's reaction, I should be the one to take possession of it.

Nonsense, I told myself. This was the natural way; and yet I had hoped that he would be at Gravesend to meet me.

I wanted to tell him how pleased I was to see him and for him to say the same to me. He did nothing of the sort. He merely kissed me coolly.

I said: “William, you are well? Your cough?”

It was tactless. He hated references to his weaknesses. He said: “I am well.”

“You do not ask how I am?” I said a trifle archly.

“I can see that you are in good health,” he replied.

“It has been such an anxious time.”

“It was what we expected.”

“And now you have succeeded all is well.”

“We cannot yet say that all is well.”

“But the people want us, William. They know that you will rule them well.”

“They were not so eager. They wanted to make you the Queen and me . . .” He shrugged his shoulders in disgust.

“I know. But I made my wishes clear, did I not?”

He nodded. “The sooner we have their Bill of Rights and are proclaimed King and Queen the better. I want to get out of this city. It oppresses me. I believe there is a fine palace at Hampton.”

“Hampton Court. Yes, I remember it well.”

“As soon as this matter is settled, I shall leave for Hampton, and if it is all I heard—and the situation, I know, is away from the city—we shall take up residence there.”

THE CEREMONY TOOK PLACE
on the next day. It was Ash Wednesday—not perhaps the best day for such an occasion, but William was anxious that there should be no delay—and with him I went to the Banqueting Hall in the Palace of Whitehall where we were proclaimed King William and Queen Mary.

There was rejoicing in the streets. People put lighted candles in their windows and bonfires were lighted before the doors of the houses. Some of the bonfires were very big and I was told that that was a good sign, for the size of the fire was an indication of the owners' loyalty to the crown.

I had a feeling that night that the people wanted us. William might be austere, as unlike King Charles as a man could be, but he had a reputation for wisdom: he was a Protestant—the most important reason of all—and I was his loyal wife, even if I had betrayed my father to support him.

The new reign had begun; the country was at peace, and we should go on from there.

WILLIAM WAS EAGER
to get on with ruling the country and establishing the Protestant faith throughout the land. He was impatient of all the pomp and ceremonies that were thrust upon him. I was beginning to understand that this was because he had not the physical stamina to endure them. He grew very tired standing. I knew that his bones ached and his body was too frail to endure that which affected those around him not at all. William's mind was active, shrewd, brilliant, but his body was frail.

I made excuses for his behavior. His terseness bordered on rudeness, but it was due to pain and discomfort. I wished that I could explain to these people but, of course, that would be the last thing he wished.

Now that I had grown buxom, and I was in fact slightly taller than he was, his meager statue was emphasized when he stood beside me; and my healthy looks accentuated his pallor and fragility.

He was often morose and rather graceless, which did not endear him to the people, and wherever we went together there were cries of “Long live Queen Mary” while King William scarcely received a mention. He was deeply aware of this. He complained bitterly of the London air. It had improved considerably since the Plague and Great Fire and the coming of the wide new streets and new buildings of Sir Christopher Wren, but William found it stifling, malodorous and not good for his health.

He had liked Hampton Court from the moment he saw it. The river and the open country reminded him of Holland and one of his great interests—as with my uncle Charles—was architecture.

Bentinck was anxious; he must have wondered what effect William's demeanor would have on his new subjects. They had been accustomed to a colorful court. I remember how they used to see King Charles sauntering in the park with one of his mistresses on his arm, surrounded by witty courtiers, and how the King's remarks were commented on and passed round for all to enjoy. And this new king, whom they had invited to their shores to restore the Protestant faith, was small, without charm, without grace. It was a great price to pay for ridding the country of the Catholics.

However, it was said that he was a clever man and it was early yet; and William did make Bentinck realize that his health would not permit him too public a life. For that reason, Hampton seemed just what was needed, for it was not too far from London and ministers could easily travel there. The air suited William, and he could make the place his headquarters, for a time at least.

He was very critical of the old Tudor palace and soon decided he was going to demolish the main apartments and rebuild them.

The gardens were unattractive and he made plans for these which he allowed me to share.

We spent some time—when he could spare it from state duties—looking at plans, and I was delighted to be able to join in this and even offer suggestions which, on some occasions, were considered. I found a great interest in the gardens, on which work was started immediately, and they were laid out in the Dutch style.

But of course our main occupation must be with the coming coronation, for William said that a king and queen were not accepted by the people as such until they had been crowned.

Therefore it was important that there should be no delay in performing that ceremony.

THE CORONATION WAS FIXED FOR EARLY APRIL
—the eleventh in fact—but it was not going to run as smoothly as we had hoped. In the first place, Archbishop Sancroft, whom we should have expected to officiate, declined to do so.

He declared that he had taken an oath of allegiance to King James II and in no way could he break that oath. Four of those bishops who had been sent to the Tower by James took the same view as Sancroft, even though my father had been no friend to them, and their imprisonment, as much as the birth of the young Prince, had been the final blow which had unseated the King.