TWO
I
She had wept so much that she could weep no more. She had confided her miseries to her young sister-in-law, Mary Stuart, herself a bride of less than a year. Mary was kind, for the two girls had been brought up together and were great friends, rivals in beauty and learning, and so happy until the news had come of this great honor which had fallen to Elisabeth.
“It is so different for you!” cried Elisabeth to Mary. “Such a marriage as yours could not but please all concerned. You married Francois, and you and Francois have loved each other ever since you came to live with us, and it is all as it was before, except that you are his wife; and when he is King of France you will be Queen. Your life is easy; you see whither it is leading. Whereas I must go away … right away from France to this land of Spain where they never laugh, and dance only in the most solemn manner. And I must marry an old man—nearly twenty years older than I. He is thirty-two, Mary. Think of that! And he has already had two wives. They say he is gloomy and that it is all prayers with him.”
“But think, dear Elisabeth,” said Mary. “You will be the most important Queen in the world … the Queen of Spain.”
“I would rather be Queen of France than of any country in the world.”
“But you will be Queen of Spain as soon as the ceremony is over. I can only be Queen of France if dear Papa dies, and that could do nothing but bring unhappiness to us all. And, Elisabeth, being Queen of France is not always so very pleasant. Think of Queen Catherine, your mother.”
Elisabeth glanced over her shoulder. She was always afraid of talking about her mother, who would come so silently into a room, watching and listening, so that one turned and found her there. It was said that she had strange powers, and Elisabeth often felt that she knew what was being said even when she was not there.
“She is not here,” said Mary now, following her gaze.
“No; but she might be.”
Mary was very bold, conscious of that beauty which attracted all at court. She had often been careless before the Queen, showing a lack of respect which she would not have dared show Diane, Duchesse de Valentinois, the King’s mistress, who ruled the court as Queen. Mary was careless, and Elisabeth feared that one day she would be sorry for behaving as she had toward Queen Catherine.
“Well,” went on Mary, “you have seen how a Queen may be humiliated. It is Madame Diane de Poitiers—I beg her pardon, Duchesse de Valentinois—who is the real Queen of France. But they say that King Philip would not keep a mistress to humiliate his wife. You may be sure that the Queen of Spain will be treated with more respect than your
Elisabeth went to the window. “I hate it,” she said. “All these people … all these foreigners … all the ceremonies and the preparation. Oh, Mary, how wonderful it would be if we were all young again without thought of marriage!”
“There are always thoughts of marriage with people like us.”
“I mean if we were in the schoolroom. You remember? Vying with each other, trying to write better Latin verses than one another? And Papa’s coming in to see how we were progressing? …”
“Coming in with Diane; and we all had to kiss her hand, do you remember, and she would fuss over us as though she were our mother?”
“I remember.”
“And the Queen, your lady mother, would come in, and …”
“I remember that, too,” said Elisabeth. “And once you called her a merchant’s daughter. You should not have done that, Mary.”
“But I did, and she is …”
“I should not listen to you.”
“Elisabeth, you are afraid of life. That is your weakness. You are afraid of your mother, and now you are afraid of Philip. You are beautiful—almost as beautiful as I am! Never fear. You can enjoy life at the court of Spain … if you are wise.”
“I wish I were as gay as you. But it is so easy to be gay when you are married to dear Francois and may spend the rest of your life here … with Papa and all the family.”
Elisabeth looked down on the gardens, where her young sister Margot was walking arm in arm with her special playmate, young Henry of Guise. Margot was only six, yet self-assured; they were like a pair of lovers, those two. Francois and his young brother Charles came into the gardens; they were looking for Mary, Elisabeth knew, for they both adored her.
“Oh, why cannot I stay here!” cried Elisabeth. “This is my home. This is where I belong. Mary, Francois and Charles are looking for you.”
Mary came to the window and rapped on it; the boys looked up. Young Margot and Guise paid not the slightest attention; they were absorbed in each other.
“Go to them,” said Elisabeth. “Do not let them come here. I wish to be by myself for a while.”
Mary kissed her tenderly. “Do not fret so, little sister.”
When Mary had gone, Elisabeth sat down and covered her face with her hands. She was trying so hard not to think of what was before her. She had been given Philip’s picture. Such a cold face, she thought it; she did not know whether it was cruel or not. He had fair hair and blue eyes; and when the picture had been formally given to her she had had to kiss it.
Her father had said: “This is the greatest honor that could befall any Princess. The great Philip of Spain has chosen you for his wife.” Oh, why had he not married the Queen of England? Why could she not have stayed just a little longer with her family? Her sister Claude had been married recently, and Claude was even younger than she was; but Claude had been married to the Duke of Lorraine, and that meant that she would not go right away from
