History of the United Netherlands, 1595-96 | Page 6

and presented them early in the
year at Coucy (Feb. 13, 1596). No man in the world knew better the
tone to adopt in his communications with Elizabeth than did the
chivalrous king. No man knew better than he how impossible it was to
invent terms of adulation too gross for her to accept as spontaneous and
natural effusions, of the heart. He received the letters from the hands of
Sir Henry, read them with rapture, heaved a deep sigh, and exclaimed.
"Ah! Mr. Ambassador, what shall I say to you? This letter of the queen,
my sister, is full of sweetness and affection. I see that she loves me,
while that I love her is not to be doubted. Yet your commission shows

me the contrary, and this proceeds from her, ministers. How else can
these obliquities stand with her professions of love? I am forced, as a
king, to take a course which, as Henry, her loving brother, I could never
adopt."
They then walked out into the park, and the king fell into frivolous
discourse, on purpose to keep the envoy from the important subject
which had been discussed in the cabinet. Sir Henry brought him back to
business, and insisted that there was no disagreement between her
Majesty and her counsellors, all being anxious to do what she wished.
The envoy, who shared in the prevailing suspicions that Henry was
about to make a truce with Spain, vehemently protested against such a
step, complaining that his ministers, whose minds were distempered
with jealousy, were inducing him to sacrifice her friendship to a false
and hollow reconciliation with Spain. Henry protested that his
preference would be for England's amity, but regretted that the English
delays were so great, and that such dangers were ever impending over
his head, as to make it impossible for him, as a king, to follow the
inclinations of his heart.
They then met Madame de Monceaux, the beautiful Gabrielle, who was
invited to join in the walk, the king saying that she was no meddler in
politics, but of a tractable spirit.
This remark, in Sir Henry's opinion, was just, for, said he to Burghley,
she is thought incapable of affairs, and, very simple.
The duchess unmasked very graciously as the ambassador was
presented; but, said the splenetic diplomatist, "I took no pleasure in it,
nor held it any grace at all." "She was attired in a plain satin gown," he
continued, "with a velvet hood to keep her from the weather, which
became her very ill. In my opinion, she is altered very much for the
worse, and was very grossly painted." The three walked together
discoursing of trifles, much to the annoyance of Umton. At last, a
shower forced the lady into the house, and the king soon afterwards
took the ambassador to his cabinet. "He asked me how I liked his
mistress," wrote Sir Henry to Burghley, "and I answered sparingly in
her praise, and told him that if without offence I might speak it, I had
the picture of a far more excellent mistress, and yet did her picture
come far from the perfection of her beauty."
"As you love me," cried the king, "show it me, if you have it about

you!"
"I made some difficulty," continued Sir Henry, "yet upon his
importunity I offered it to his view very secretly, still holding it in my
hand. He beheld it with passion and admiration, saying that I was in the
right." "I give in," said the king, "Je me rends."
Then, protesting that he had never seen such beauty all his life, he
kissed it reverently twice or thrice, Sir Henry still holding the miniature
firmly in his hand.
The king then insisted upon seizing the picture, and there was a
charming struggle between the two, ending in his Majesty's triumph.
He then told Sir Henry that he might take his leave of the portrait, for
he would never give it up again for any treasure, and that to possess the
favour of the original he would forsake all the world. He fell into many
more such passionate and incoherent expressions of rhapsody, as of one
suddenly smitten and spell-bound with hapless love, bitterly
reproaching the ambassador for never having brought him any answers
to the many affectionate letters which he had written to the queen,
whose silence had made him so wretched. Sir Henry, perhaps
somewhat confounded at being beaten at his own fantastic game,
answered as well as he could, "but I found," said he, "that the dumb
picture did draw on more speech and affection from him than all my
best arguments and eloquence. This was the effect of our conference,
and, if infiniteness of vows and outward professions be a strong
argument of inward affection,