Et mes ecrits lisez et entendez,
Pour voir comment
D’un desloyal service me rendez:
Las, punissez-le, ou bien luy commandez
Vivre autrement—
and see his fine blushes over the words. But although he had never heard of Maître Clément, he was in love without him, and could take an Englishman’s reasonable pleasure in hearing himself called ‘Venus’ boy,’ or Rose-cheekt Adonis.’
Certainly he must have been in love. He told Antony Standen so every night over their cups; and little Forrest, a pert child who slept (like a little dog) at the foot of his great bed—he knew it too; for it had thrust a new duty upon him and many stripes. All the Court knew that when Forrest had red eyes the prince had overslept himself.
It was the Queen’s romantic device: she was full of them at this time. From her wing of the house you could see the prince’s; her bedchamber windows gave right across the grass-plat to his. Now, at an early hour, she—who woke still earlier, and lay long, thinking—stirred Mary Fleming from her side by biting her shoulder, not hard. Sleepy Fleming, when she had learned the rules, slipped out of bed and pulled aside the curtains to let in the day; then robed the Queen in a bedgown of blue, with white fur, her furred slippers, and a hood. Armed thus for the amorous fray, as Mr. Randolph put it—at any rate, with shining eyes and auroral hues, Queen Mary went to watch at the window; and so intent did she stand there, looking out over the wet grass, that she heeded neither the rooks drifting in the high wind, nor the guards of the door who were spying at her, nor the guard by the privy-postern, who beckoned to his fellow to come out of the guard-house and witness what he saw. Not only was she heedless, but she would have been indifferent had she heeded.
After a time of motionless attention, this always occurred. She raised her hand with a handkerchief in it, and signalled once—then twice—then three times—then four times. Then she dropped her hand and stood stone-still again; and then Fleming came to take her away, if she would go. The guards, greatly diverted, were some time before they found out that the appearance of the prince at his window was the thing signalised, and that he duly answered every dip of the handkerchief. It was, in fact, a flag-language, planned by the Queen soon after she came to Wemyss. One meant, ‘Oh, happy day!’ two, ‘I am well.—And you?’ three, ‘I love you’; four, ‘I would kiss you if I were near’; and five, which was a later addition, and not always given, ‘I am kissing you in my heart.’ To this one was generally added a gesture of the knuckles to the lips. Now, it was the business of young Forrest to awaken his lord in time for this ceremony: obviously, her Majesty could not be left to a solitary vigil for long. The prince was a heavy sleeper, to bed late, and lamentably unsober. Forrest, then, must needs suffer; for my lord was furious when disturbed in his morning sleep. But the lad found that he suffered more when, by a dire mischance, one day he did not wake him at all. For that he was beaten with a great stick; nor is it wonderful. There had been wild work in the corridors the morn: maids half-dressed with messages for men half-tipsy; and the Queen in her chamber, sobbing in Mary Fleming’s arms.
I think that the young man is to be excused for believing himself overweeningly loved. I think he was at first flattered by the attention, and believed that he returned ardour for ardour. But either he was cold by nature, or (as the Italian held) assotted of himself: there is little doubt but he soon tired of the lovers’ food. Clearer facts are these: that he was not touched by the Queen’s generous surrender, and did not see that it was generous. ‘You may say, if you choose,’ writes he of Le Secret des Secrets, ‘that a vain man is a gross feeder, to whom flattery is but a snack; but the old half-truth takes me nearer, which says that every man is dog or cat. If you stroke your dog, he adores the stooping godhead in you. The cat sees you a fool for your pains. So for every testimony of the submiss heart given him by my lady, my lord added one cubit to his stature. I myself, Jean-Marie Des-Essars, heard him speak of her to my Lord Ruthven, and other friends of his, as “the fond Queen.” Encouraged by their applause, he was tardy to respond. He danced with her at her desire, and might not, of course, ask her in return: that is, by strict custom. But my mistress was no stickler for Court rules; and if he had asked her I know she would have been moved. However, he never did. He danced with Mary Seton when he could; and as for Madame de Sempill, when she returned after her marriage, if ever a young lord was at the mercy of a young woman, that was his case. Handsome, black-eyed lady! his knees were running water before her; but she chose not to look at him. Failing her, therefore, he sought lower for his pleasures; how much lower, it is not convenient to declare.’