The Queen of the Irises

Do you remember, my love, the first time we saw each other? On the court of Edward VI, with a thousand candles mounted on the walls, casting flickering shadows across our jewels and finery and powdered hair, until we all looked like ghosts? Do you remember how the music floated over our heads like an angel’s serenade, how you took my hand and swept me out onto the floor before I had the chance to say yes? You spun me about until I was dizzy, and then you pressed your hand against my back to keep me steady, while my heart raced against your chest. 

What do you suppose they thought when they saw us, perfect strangers clutching each other on the dance floor like lovers? It didn’t matter to us what they thought then, when we were young and beautiful and could dance all night without tiring under a hundred crystal chandeliers. You led me out onto the balcony, and do you remember what a beautiful night it was? The sky was filled with endless stars that seemed close enough to touch. I was looking at the stars, and when I turned you were looking at me, as though I was far more beautiful than the night sky. 

I had never seen you before, and you told me that you were a French marquis who had just come to court, and all I could think as you spoke was that your accent sounded like a river on a spring morning, water gently cascading across smooth stones. Do you remember how we danced on the balcony that night together, the music drifting in from the hall and the stars painting us in silver? If I could have chosen one moment to last forever it would have been that one, when we were still innocent to what would come, to the shadows that were in our path. I would hold that moment in my heart so tightly that it could never end, and you would look at me as though I was made of starlight for a thousand eternities, while I would lose myself again and again in your eyes. 

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Do you remember when you came to call on me at my father’s house, how you stood in the courtyard with the sun lighting your auburn hair like fire? I watched you from the window as you spoke with my father, and I could not tear my eyes away from your face, from your easy smile that did nothing to lessen my father’s disdain of your accent and foreign name. I would have gone with you then no matter what my father said, but he let me go with you because you were the first man to stand in that courtyard and ask for me. 

Do you remember how you took me in your carriage to the countryside, and how we left it on the side of the road and took just your horses? We rode together through meadows filled with honeysuckle whose sweetness filled the air; through stretches of forest where the sunlight filtered in to create lovely mosaics on the leaves below. You told me stories about life in the French courts: beautiful ladies who wore jewels in their hair and seduced men until they told them their secrets, endless green fields of pale purple irises, a king who took and took and never gave. 

I picture you there, you said to me, standing in that field of irises. You would look like la reine, with the flowers your subjects. 

That sounds lovely, however this is my home, I had said to you, even though I knew in my heart that I would go anywhere with you.

Do you remember how we stopped on the edge of a meadow, by a little brook with banks of ferns and dogwood? You helped me down from my horse, and we sat beneath a weeping willow whose soft white flowers lay on the ground about us. 

Do you remember what you said to me then, as you brushed the hair away from my face?

My lady, you said, you have the face of Helen, to sail a thousand ships to Troy, and I would kiss you now, if you would have me.

What was I supposed to say to you, when you were looking at me with those brilliant hazel eyes, when your lips were almost brushing against mine? Was I supposed to know what would happen, was I supposed to see the future in your smile, read an omen in the wind? Should I have pushed you away from me then, climbed onto my horse, and rode away as fast as I could so you could never find me again? Would that have saved me, would it have changed everything?

You kissed me under the weeping willow, or maybe it was I that kissed you, and perhaps it didn’t matter who it was at all. After a while you pulled away and looked at me while I tried to remember how to breathe.

I feel like a fool, you said, for I believe that I have been waiting for you all my life when I do not even know you. 

No, I am the fool, I said, because when I am with you I feel I would do anything to never have you leave.

Then perhaps we are both fools, you said, taking my hand, and if we are I am regretful of all the years that I have spent a sane man. 

You kissed me again, and we sat with the sunlight coming in through the branches of the willow like a benediction, and the flowers falling down around us as the tree wept. 

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There is no sunlight in your house now, where your halls are empty and dark and the windows are shuttered to the sun. I haunt your hallways and drift lonely across thresholds of rooms filled with dusty paintings. I whisper your name until I can almost believe that you hear me, that you know I am here, waiting. 

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Do you remember when you asked my father if you could marry me? It was in the courtyard again, but it was raining this time, and I watched from my window while the droplets fell across the glass until I felt I was watching through a chapel window. 

When you asked my father he struck you across the face and shouted things that I could not hear through the glass and the rain, but I knew were cruel and unfeeling. He did not believe that you were good enough to marry me, being a Frenchman. I believed that you were a thousand times the man my father was. 

You came back that night, and I was waiting for you in the courtyard in the rain, my hair wet and loose down my back like a goddess in an ancient sculpture. You appeared out of the misty rain like a ghost, and took my hand.

I’m so very sorry, you said, before I could say anything.

No, I said, before you could go on, I am sorry. And maybe it was the rain or the way you were holding me, or the deep ache inside of me when I thought of you leaving, but I felt brave suddenly, brave and reckless and beautiful in your arms, like sometime out of a tragedy played in a theatre by overwrought performers. 

Come away with me, you said, come back to France with me and I’ll give you anything you could ever want.

I don’t want anything but you, I said, and do you remember how you kissed me then, like I was a siren, and you a drowning man, clinging to me for breath?

I’ll come back for you, you promised, and slipped away into the night like a shadow, leaving me to stand with the gentle rain brushing my cheeks, and my fingers pressed against my lips where you had been, where your touch had left an indelible scar. 

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I watch you sometimes, when you are sitting in the chair by the window, looking out with hollow, sad eyes. You do not have any of the light that you used to have, you are shadows and loss and regret. I stand by your shoulder, but you do not notice me. I try to touch you, but my hand slips right through you, like there’s nothing more than smoke holding me together. Once, you turned and faced me, but you did see me, your eyes staring right through me. I wept then, but of course you could not hear me, did not know that I was right there, just beyond what you could see. 

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Do you remember the day that we wed? It was not a marriage befitting a marquis and a lady, but that didn’t matter. You had taken me from my father’s house, and we rode far from the court, far from wide eyes and loose lips that would surely see and hear regardless. Do you remember how I wore a white gown with irises sewn into the bodice, and you called me your petite reine des fleurs, your little queen of flowers. 

We were wed by a priest who did not care that there was no blessing over us, because you had slipped golden promises into his hands. You spoke your vows in French, and it did not matter that I couldn’t understand a word, because your eyes were telling me all that I needed to know. Was it too late then, or could I have still walked away, still saved us both? Or was I already far too lost in you to ever dream of leaving; for how could I have left you then with the light pouring through the stained glass windows of the chapel until you looked like a man in a Nicolas Poussin painting, all light and angels and beauty.

Do you remember how you took me to a quiet, nondescript inn, carried me over the threshold of the room, and set me down on the bed like I was made of glass? Do you remember how you touched me like I was something precious and fragile, how you stole my breath away? I gave you all that I had to give, and in return you gave me your promises, your love. And when you filled me, I wondered how I hadn't known how empty I was before you. 

I wonder, if I could go back, would I change it? If I knew then what would become of it all, would I have left you that first night, slipped out of your arms and stolen off while you slept? I know, however, that I would not have, that I could not have, because that night you became a part of me, and nothing in the world could take me away from you.

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In this empty house I pass the hours, watching you and dreaming about a young woman and man who believed that their love was stronger than the darkness. 

I wear a white lace gown and press my palms against the windows, hoping that you will see and know that I am here, so you will come looking for me, so I will not have to be alone anymore. 

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Do you remember the house that you bought for us, with it’s white stone walls and pale pink curtains and elegant chandeliers? Do you remember the parties that we had in the hall, when all the people of the court would come and drink spiced wine and dance until the dawn came in through the windows? We never danced with anyone but each other, and you never let me out of your sight; you were always holding my hand, or stroking my back with one hand while you talked to someone else. 

Of course, my father never came, and neither did any of the people who his influence reached, but I was glad that was the case. I did not care what he thought about us, not then, when it didn’t seem to matter at all. We would ride out into the countryside together, and find secret, magical places that were only for us. Sometimes you would take me out to the moor, and we would ride for hours across the empty land where heather sprung up all around us and filled the air with it’s sweet, dusty scent, where the sky seemed endless over our heads. Out on the moor we would talk about our deepest secrets and fears, say the things that we had never before spoken aloud. 

Do you remember how the last time we went on the moor together, we talked about death?

I did not used to be afraid to die, you told me, and yet now I am, because I couldn’t bear to not be with you. 

I took your hand in mine, and smiled at you, Don’t worry, love, I will not let you die. I need you here with me.

You would not be dissuaded that easily, however. What about you? What would I do if something happened to you? 

Nothing’s going to happen to me, I said, I promise that I will never leave you, I couldn’t, not when my soul is here with you.

You promise? You asked me, and I kissed you in reply, trying to tell you all that I couldn’t with my words in my caress.

When we finally parted, you traced the lines of my face with your finger, and whispered, When our time does come, we will be together; I will be holding your hand, and neither of us will be left here without the other. 

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I do not sleep in your house, but I lay in your bed and imagine that you are with me, that you are touching me, that we are together again. You stand in the doorway of the bedroom in the middle of the night, and I reach out to you, pray that you will see me here in the dark; that you will reach out too, and take my hand, and this time, it will not slip through mine. 

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Do you remember the day that it happened? It was a beautiful day, almost six months since we had first met and danced together in the court. It was my father, and all the men who believed the words that my father said, a number that had greatly grown. 

How could we not have noticed the whispers, the rumors? How could we not have seen the eyes that followed us in court, the voices that rose behind our backs? We did not see, because all we saw were each other, and so we were blinded to those who wanted to pull us apart.

They said that you were a French spy, that you had been sent to collect English secrets; that I was giving them to you, whispering them into your ear when we lay in bed. They took us both away so quickly that we could not even say goodbye, but there was one moment where our eyes met, and I heard your frantic I love you, as clearly as if you had spoken aloud. 

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I wore the white dress with the irises that I had worn when we were wed, and I was beautiful and tragic and you could not take your eyes off of me. I believe that you thought I looked like a queen then, la reine, even though I was, in that moment, completely powerless. 

I did not look away from you once. I memorized your eyes and the lines of your face so I would never forget, so I would have something to take with me. I looked at you as they held me, as they cut out my heart that was so full with you it broke easily. I stared into your eyes that whole time, and you were the last thing that I saw when the darkness came, and took me away. 

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I walk through these halls of this house that are full of memories of you, and I watch you sit in the chair by the window and stand on the threshold of my chamber. I wait for you to see me, for my footsteps to awaken you, and yet it is like I am the ghost, instead of you.

I will wait here forever, for as long as it takes for you to come to me. For as long as it takes for you to remember that I am here, with this heart that has been broken since that day I saw you hanged; with this heart that is yours, and always will be.

I wear white, and leave irises strewn across the floor so their scent might reach you, wherever you are, and remind you of me, remind you of us. And I am still here, waiting, waiting for you to keep your promise.