Marjorie Bowen

“ When the dusk gathered, my lord Grey drew the curtains across the rising mists and lit the candles slowly.
When the last flame rose up, Monmouth entered quietly: he ever had a light step.
Marred as he then was by his inward misery, he was still the loveliest gentleman in England and of a winning beauty impossible to be realised by those who have not seen him; he wore a riding coat of brown cloth and a black hat with a penache of white plumes, being more plainly dressed than ever he had been before, I think, in all his easy life. ”

“ The King himself was swept away by that same power to which he had in vain sacrificed his minister, a greater than the King ruled England and men forgot the Earl of Strafford save to execrate his policies.
But they who come home crowned with laurel from the wars the popular heroes of an hour are not always the only saviours of their country, and they who flatter the people do not always serve them best. History is a hard, often an unreflective, judge; her verdict, dictated by the passion of a moment, lasts too often for centuries. ”

“ Steadily the French knights went past the street, and the chamber was full of the sound of their armour and horses; but Giovanni Pico was in darkness, labouring up to God.
He rose up from his chair and stood erect a moment, the pale light of the fading afternoon clear on his blood-red gown and his fair locks and the dark crucifix he held, as with blind eyes he stared across the room.
“Death is terrible,” he said. He fell on his knees. “Friar, death is terrible.” He fell on his face. “Death is very terrible.” ”

“ For her husband to have fallen from this lofty code, which was the only code that held among those of gentle blood, was a more awful thing than the lapse of a poor obscure knight, for he had blazed so brightly in his chivalry and brought such renown to England that the whole world had echoed with his fame.
The Prince rested his cheek against the arms [66] of England on the coverlet; he felt the lassitude of a man who sees that life is done, and that never more in this world will he perform feats of arms or guide great policies or strive with men or shine before them. ”

“ The stranger came a short step nearer and loosened his hand on his hood so that his face was visible to the Friar, who observed that he wore one of the hideous masks of the Medicean Carnival, mottled and spotted to represent a plague-stricken countenance; he noticed the Friar’s start of aversion and laughed again.
“This should have gone to feed yonder pyre!” he said. “Oh, credulous Friar, do you think that you have burnt all the sins in Florence?”
Girolamo Savonarola answered simply.
“I have done what God put it into my heart to do. Let Him judge me. ”

“ A wind was rising from the sea, ruffling the waves, shaking the cordage of the anchored ships and lifting the little pennons of England that struggled at the main masts. This wind beat at the diamond-shaped leaded casements and scattered the leaves from the poplar tree without in a yellow shower like golden ducats dropped by a reluctant hand across the prospect of sea and town.
The Princess Jehanne came back to the bed with the doctor; he was a Spaniard, who had been in the service of Don Pedro and was renowned for his knowledge of Eastern medicine. ”

“ Thomas Wentworth was of an ancient and noble family of Yorkshire, powerful by intellect, Puritan by tradition, strong by courage and self-belief, above all things deeply desirous of rendering that service to his country which is the way that most readily appeals to a man of an active complexion of satisfying that almost unconscious yearning for glory that is the sign of a great spirit. Mere personal ambition is a proof of either meanness or madness, and the self-seeking of either insanity or vanity has never attained any but a brittle fame and a hollow achievement ”

“ Having fled to London on the first outbreak of the revolution, she had returned to France–not, as her accusers believed, to fetch her jewels with which to succour the emigrants in England, but to put her wealth and her services at the disposal of those who were engaged in a plot to rescue the Queen.
Marie Antoinette had always looked over the head of Madame du Barry; while the old King lived she had afforded her, under compulsion, a frozen tolerance; when she became Queen the favourite had been banished to a convent, utterly ignored and forgotten. ”

“ The priest, seeing he was out of his wits, made no answer, but approached and felt his wrist and brow.
“Poison,” said Don Juan rapidly. “Poison–why not the sword–as with Escovedo? I have made my peace with heaven–but when shall Philip clear himself before God?”
The priest moved away silently as he had come; the sick man lay staring at the partial darkness; his blood was flaming with a returning agony.
“Philip!” he cried. “Philip! Will you bury me in the Escurial? If I die will you put me next my father? My father as well as yours, Philip! Hold my hand, some one–are you all afraid? ”

“ The Friar looked at him earnestly.
“Why should you die, Giovanni? I think you will live.”
“No; death entered my chamber this morning and is here now, waiting his time.”
“Should I bring your friends or your physician?”
“Let me die alone,” answered Giovanni. “I have been too much in crowds all my life.”
“You have no great sins to answer for,” returned the Friar. “You need not be afraid to appear before God, Conte.” ”

“ The weary, sick, disappointed, and defeated knight, with that dark day of Limoges on his soul, stared with a piteous eagerness at the child’s gracious innocency.
[65]
The child who would be King of England soon, surely; it was mere chance who would live the longer, the old King languishing at Westminster in tarnished glory at Alice Perrer’s side, or his famous son who had just resigned his commands and was coming home to die. Edward himself never thought that he would be King; he felt the sands of life running out too swiftly. ”

“ History of England.
December darkened over the dark flats outside Schloss Ahlden; the sluggish gray river, the barren gray road stretched into the bitter mist; above the stunted alders and broken reeds the plovers circled mournfully.
It was the saddest season of the year; but all seasons were sad at Schloss Ahlden. Spring and summer brought little change, save that the monotony of damp cold was changed for the monotony of dusty heat. The Schloss had gloomy towers and careless unadorned rooms; the scanty furniture was old and worn; the servants were old, too, and had a repressed silent air. ”

“ At the foot of the bed stood a beautiful woman, Sophia Dorothea, opulent in charms and happiness; her black hair rolled in curls between a braid of pearls and fell on her soft shoulders. White and crimson mingled ravishingly in her face and her dark eyes were soft, yet sparkling.
She wore a gown of white brocade, cut low on the bosom and laced across the muslin shift with a pink cord; the skirt was embroidered with little wreaths of blue roses; the petticoat glimmered with gold thread.
The candles were lit. ”

“ If I were discovered I should be murdered, and that would be better than to starve in Rome.”
“Your name?” interrupted Frà Girolamo. “Are you one whom I know?”
“You know me,” was the haughty response; “but my name is not pleasing to your ears. You I hate, ay, and all your works; but there is a day soon when all hates shall be satisfied.”
Girolamo Savonarola made quiet answer.
“If you are a follower of Piero de’ Medici, I warn you to quit Florence, for I cannot and would not save one of the tyrant’s tools from the just anger of the People–the People! ”

“ The light hurt her eyes; she was glad when he dropped the curtain and turned away.
How she had lied to Monsieur and laughed at him–especially laughed at him–never with malice; now she was prostrate, helpless before him.
She called Madame de la Fayette.
“Cannot you do anything for me?” she whispered desperately.
She was told that they had sent to Paris for a doctor, to Versailles for the King’s physician.
“Versailles,” she repeated; her eyes lit.
Madame de la Fayette put her arm about her and held her up in bed; she seemed for the moment a little eased of her agony. ”

“ The sun had left even the tops of the buildings now, and the lucid light was fading from the heavens where an early star hung chill and pale above the Duomo; the black foliage of the cypress and the sharp, long leaves of the laurel showed clearly over the wall and against the argent flush of twilight; a little fear crept into the Friar’s heart, not base fear, or cowardice, or any trembling for himself, but the shadow of some coming doubt lest after all he had not saved Florence ”

“ He had dreamt that he might be King of many countries, even King of England with Marie Stewart for wife, but he had never attained even recognition as a Prince of Spain.
All Philip’s promises, all Philip’s flatteries had amounted to nothing. While he was useful he was caressed; when he grew too great he was forsaken, left without arms, without money, without men, left with Farnese watching him night and day.
And they had killed the man he loved, his friend, his confidant Escovedo. ”

“ This young man, who sat alone gazing at Florence this November midday was one of the most famous people in Italy. The “Phoenix of Genius,” they called him, and he had early been renowned for his precocious learning, his vast industry, his beauty and his noble nature. To all his qualities his princely rank gave lustre; he had been one of the most intimate friends of Lorenzo il Magnifico, and there was no one who could excel the brilliance of his reputation. As a prince who preferred letters to arms and distinction in the arts to any other ambition, he was unique ”

“ Sir Anthony Van Dyck painted Lord Strafford as a dark, handsome man of a robust type dictating to his secretary; the picture shows a personality such as is in accordance with what we know of the man, and when looking at the proud, half-frowning face it is easy to imagine how he stood during his trial, pale, composed, erect, scornful of them, seeing very surely the axe ahead, having no trust save in the sad-eyed King at whose ear the Bourbon Queen whispered hatred of him, yet using all his magnificence of eloquence to save himself as one who is conscious that his life is worth defending. ”

“ Amid all the press of turning strife one man was calm–the prisoner in the Tower who saw every day how he had failed in his scheme of government and how he had been the means of embroiling the King with the people instead of establishing a great man over a great nation and making a light in Europe of Charles Stewart.
Of all bitter failures, what can be more bitter than that of a great statesman who hugely stakes and hugely loses beyond redemption, beyond hope? ”

“ I pulled at the dagger in my wrist, and I heard the Emperor Michael lamenting within.
At the sound of it all save the woman drew back.
“I struck his hands off,” said John of Chaldia, “and he fell on the ground.”
Eudocia Ingerina looked at Basil.
“Will you be Emperor or no?” she asked. “If that man in there is not dead–what are you?”
His flushed blue eyes rolled towards her; she twitched her robe from his grasp and lifted the thin silk curtains from the carved door. ”