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 ECOLOGY AND THE ARCHITECTURAL IMAGINATION

By including ecological concerns in the design process from the outset,

architecture can enhance life. Author Brook Muller understands how a
designer’s predispositions and poetic judgement in dealing with complex and
dynamic ecological systems impact the “greenness” of built outcomes. Ecology
and the Architectural Imagination offers a series of speculations on architectural
possibility when ecology is embedded from conceptual phases onward, how
notions of function and structure of ecosystems can inspire ideas of architectural
space making and order, and how the architect’s role and contribution can shift
through this engagement. As an ecological architect working in increasingly
dense urban environments, you can create diverse spaces of inhabitation and
connect project-scale living systems with those at the neighborhood and region
scales. Equipped with ecological literacy, critical thinking and collaboration skills,
you are empowered to play important roles in the remaking of our cities.

Brook Muller is Associate Dean of the School of Architecture and Allied Arts,
Associate Professor of Architecture, Director of the Graduate Certificate
Program in Ecological Design and core faculty member of the Environmental
Studies Program at the University of Oregon, USA.
This page intentionally left blank
 Ecology
and the

Architectural Imagination

Brook Muller
First published 2014
by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017
and by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2014 Taylor & Francis
The right of Brook Muller to be identified as author of this work has
been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or
reproduced or utilized in any form or by any electronic, mechanical,
or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks
or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and
explanation without intent to infringe.
Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Muller, Brook.
Ecology and the architectural imagination / Brook Muller.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
1. Architectural design. 2. Architecture–Environmental aspects.
3. Sustainable archtecture. I. Title.
A2750.M85 2014
720'.47–dc23
2013032288
ISBN: 978-0-415-62274-5 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-0-415-62275-2 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-1-315-81692-0 (ebk)
Acquisition Editor: Wendy Fuller
Editorial Assistant: Emma Gadsden
Production Editor: Ed Gibbons
Typeset in Frutiger and Galliard
by Wearset Ltd, Boldon, Tyne and Wear
Humanity’s entry into the Era of Cities necessitates an ecologically regenerative
urbanism. Brook Muller is one of its greatest pioneers.
Robert F. Young, Assistant Professor at University of Texas

This is the luminous re-imagining of architectural possibility that the reeling

world deeply needs, a turn from an anthropocentric to an ecocentric ethos.
Kathleen Dean Moore, co-editor,
Moral Ground: Ethical Action for a Planet in Peril

A stimulating impulse directing architecture beyond green design to a far

broader conversation with natural, political, metaphorical, and historical
ecologies.
W. S. K. Cameron, PhD, Loyola Marymount University

Recognizing that the very meaning of ecological and sustainable design is an

open-ended imaginative experiment, Muller perceptively examines a number of
metaphors for framing design concepts conducive to helping humans, non-
humans, and ecosystems flourish together.
Mark Johnson, Philip H. Knight Professor of Liberal Arts and Sciences,
University of Oregon and author of The Meaning of the Body, and
Metaphors We Live By
This page intentionally left blank
Contents

Preface ix

Introduction 1

Part I
Ecological Architectures within a Broader Context 9

1 Intensification 11

2 Commons 23

3 Ecosystem Models 35

Part II
Conceptual (Eco)architectural Constructs 49

4 Metaphor and Respatialization 51

5 Bodies 61

6 Furnishings 75

7 Landscapes and Machines 87

vii CONTENTS
Part III
Ecoarchitectural Strategies and Orders 103

8 Networks 105

9 Assembling Context 117

10 Continuity of Singularities 128

11 Watermark 141

Epilogue: Narrating Architectural Futures 152

Bibliography 158
Credits 169
Index 171

viii CONTENTS
Preface

By focusing design expression on natural systems processes augmented by the

human hand, through timely engagement of ecological methods, models and
metaphors, architects through their collaborative efforts can expand ideas of the
performance of the city. A deeply ecological architectural intervention is one
that creates more diverse urban habitat frameworks, filters and cleanses
stormwater in order to improve biological conditions in compromised
waterways, fortifies the connective ecological tissue of neighborhoods and
regions, and in other ways supports broader, regenerative landscape processes.
To engage these possibilities is to excite the architectural imaginary, accept
higher levels of unpredictability, and invite heightened aesthetic speculation.

Each chapter offers a vignette of the life of architecture in the realm of ecology;
these can be read in sequence or independently. Subjects shift between
conceptions of environmental problems and problems of design conception.
Part I (Chapters 1–3), “Ecological architectures within a broader context,” looks
to the value of comprehensive environmental problem formulation as a set up
for architectural thinking, the challenges of aligning design and ecological
agendas in stitching projects into the fabric of the city, and the architectural
implications of different models of ecosystem behavior. Part II (Chapters 4–7),
“Conceptual (eco)architectural constructs,” addresses the role of metaphor in
architectural design and explores implications of appropriating and
reinterpreting key metaphorical constructs in formulating more environmentally
responsive design approaches. Part III (Chapters 8–11), “Ecoarchitectural
strategies and orders,” considers ecologically oriented collaborative models,
design processes, and ordering systems and concludes with discussion of
“aqueous architectures” as paradigmatic hybrids of natural and built systems
with potential to transform the expression, function, and journey of water in
the city.

ix PREFACE
I direct these ideas to a next generation of designers concerned with the impact
of urban growth on environmental quality. They are intended to help enable
future architects to play an active and innovative role in reshaping cities. I am
hopeful their powers of creative inventiveness will be sought after in a society
drawn to higher levels of resourcefulness.

The rewards of teaching in a professional design program are many and include
ongoing correspondence with those in the academy and in practice whose views
inspire and challenge. I am indebted to my students and colleagues in the
School of Architecture and Allied Arts at the University of Oregon motivated to
tackle issues of environmental degradation in an urbanizing world. I am thankful
to student leaders of the Ecological Design Center for their generosity and
dedication. Individuals whose contributions have been most direct, those who I
have worked alongside, coauthored papers with, and served on thesis
committees with include: Stefan Behnisch, Frances Bronet, G.Z. Brown, Mark
Cabrinha, Nancy Cheng, David Cook, Don Corner, Howard Davis, Alan
Dickman, Tom DiSanto, Yianni Doulis, Stephen Duff, Michael Fifield, Tom
Fowler, Corie Harlan, Joanne Hogarth, David Hulse, Bart Johnson, Mark
Johnson, Ron Kellett, Peter Keyes, Alison Kwok, Kaarin Kundson, Nico Larco,
Richard Leplastrier, Anna Liu, Michael Lucas, Margot McDonald, Brian Melton,
Erin Moore, Tom Osdoba, Ken Radtkey, Ryan Ruggiero, Adam Sharkey, Michael
Singer, Shannon (McGinley) Sinkin, Rob Thallon, Christine Theodoropoulos, Roxi
Thoren, Ted Toadvine, Alex Wyndham, Jenny Young, Robert Young, and
Leonard Yui. I am especially grateful to Josh Cerra; his ability to negotiate
multiple disciplinary and professional terrains in both design and the natural
sciences earns my deep admiration.

I wish to thank my family: Mullers, Clagetts, Corletts – pragmatic visionaries all –

and in particular my wife, friend, and creative influence, Cathy Corlett. Her input
has been enormous. I dedicate this book to our son Calder Eames Corlett
Muller. May he grow up in a global city of natural plenty.

x PREFACE
Introduction

All values must remain vulnerable, and those that do not are dead.1

But what the birds cry is what the world cries in the end.2

Ideas can act as forces of nature.3

Value-laden attitudes toward the environment at the outset of architectural

investigations influence processes of design. The profession’s contribution to
environmental degradation through the creation of inefficient and unhealthy
architectures can in part be attributed to these initial predispositions. Awareness
of more diverse and encompassing conceptualizations, with primary
consideration in this book on ecological theories and processes, can shift
architectural practices, and consequently the resourcefulness and life-enhancing
qualities of built outcomes. These premises motivate the following provocations
on how dispositions influence method and what new factors might be brought
into the design and creation of working ecoarchitectures.

In schools of architecture today, where one imagines a high degree of

interdisciplinary outreach commensurate with the enterprise, there is enormous
work to do in comprehending manners and languages of those in other fields.
Architects amplify a necessary fusion of humanities and sciences: physics,
tectonics, history, aesthetics, design communication, sociology, ecology, other.
Emerging and unprecedented environmental challenges demand cultivation of
robust new strategic interdisciplinary alliances that will redefine the contribution
and constitution of the architectural profession and the manner in which
projects are deployed in the urban landscape. Architectural education is poised
uniquely to explore emerging models of intensive, schematic integrated practice,
and in so doing make good on the ecologist and designer Alexander Felson’s

1 INTRODUCTION
 conviction: “Creativity of architecture could serve humanity better if architects
were more aware of ecological knowledge.”4

The destabilizing influence of ecology

The animal world and that of plant life are not utilized merely because they
are there, but because they suggest a mode of thought.
(Claude Lévi-Strauss, Totemism)5

Sustainable architectural discourse centers on embodied energy of materials,

energy efficiency, water conservation, and other aspects of building behavior
that can be measured and simulated and where improvements can be gauged.
A “living systems” vernacular as an important next step, where buildings and
landscapes interact in mutually supporting ways, invites heightened levels of
complexity and contingency; this may explain why ecological considerations
have lagged behind other dimensions of green building. Ecologists, operating at
a great range of spatial and temporal scales, work from multiple paradigms of
how ecosystems function. Less predictable and capable of codification than
other realms of architecture, ecology as a source of meaning proves unstable
and foregrounds the provisional stature of knowledge. As Haila and Levins
claim: “Principles derived from ecology are likely to prove transitory.”6 Climate
change, urbanization, and other human-induced phenomena that accelerate the
simplification and isolation of ecosystems exacerbate epistemological
uncertainty.

In architecture, a gap exists between a stable ground of translatable design

methodologies and a hunch that designers must remain open to the
unforeseen, that the unknown and underrepresented exceed and overflow, leak
from, hover above, or burrow under the totality of any system, no matter how
comprehensive the conceptual framework. Such a reality is reinforced by
engagement with ecological concerns. While current architectural design
protocols often assume as inconsequential anything overlooked, “undiscoveries”
are potentially of great import. To state a conviction of the late German
architect Guenther Behnisch:

2 INTRODUCTION
 Architecture should remain open for as long as possible; it should not be
isolated too soon from factors that are as yet unknown and cannot yet be
known. Areas of freedom must be preserved; to give a chance to the things
that fail to get the attention they deserve in our everyday lives, but still may
mean more to us than those that in any case force themselves upon us.7

With ecological systems in mind, “things that fail to get the attention they
deserve in our everyday lives” include species threatened in part by actions and
unintended consequences of designers and developers. By adopting a posture
of humility and embracing acts of architectural production that invite areas of
freedom and allow for excess, a project acquires, as landscape architect Walter
Hood encourages, a desirable “strangeness.”8

Perhaps the most prudent approach in working with ecologies as fundamentally

open systems, those that are continually stimulated and renewed by outside
influences, is to devise systems of design and collaboration that are themselves
open (openness is very different from being vague). This outlook differs from
certain systems-oriented contemporary approaches to ecological architecture
perpetuating a modernist quest for the all-embracing.

In the introduction to Ecodesign, Ken Yeang makes the case that:

It must be clear that ecodesign is still in its infancy. Humans are tampering
with the biosphere, and from the devastation already inflicted and from
studies by ecologists it is evident that ecosystems and their reaction to human
activities are not fully understood. It is not likely that humans will
understand them in the time period that they have to make decisions.9

Earlier, on the same page, Yeang suggests optimistically:

This manual sets out to . . . provide a clear and useful definition of ecodesign,
and to present a sound, comprehensive and unifying theoretical framework for
a definitive approach and basis for ecodesign to facilitate our production of
built forms and the design of their related systematic properties and functions.10

3 INTRODUCTION
Yeang’s endeavor to furnish a “definitive” approach to designing with
ecosystems “not fully understood” speaks to a wider ambivalence amongst
environmental advocates: on the one hand, recognition of the overwhelming
complexity of ecology; on the other, a wish that it deliver answers about the
world in full resolution. Philosopher of science Bruno Latour reflects on claims of
the truth of ecology assumed by many in the environmental movement, and
cautions against the “total connectivity, the global ecosystem, the catholicity
that wants to embrace everything, all this is what always seems to accompany
the erecting of an ecological way of thinking.”11 In the creation of a unifying
umbrella, overlooked are elements and phenomena of potentially great
significance.

Latour’s reservations resemble those many feel about sustainable architecture as

conventions and measures pertaining to it normalize. According to philosopher
Helen Mallinson: “One might argue that, for all its claims to represent a new or
different attitude, sustainable architecture is likely to beget a more, not less,
coercive environment than that traceable in the march of modernism.”12

“Coercion” is conformity to a narrowing set of languages and images of

sustainable architecture, embedded assumptions about the primary subject of a
designer’s attention, and the stable submissiveness of environmental
background. Latour offers the designer words of caution:

The human–nonhuman pair does not refer us to a distribution of beings of

the pluriverse, but to an uncertainty, to a profound doubt about the nature
of action, to a whole gamut of positions regarding the trials that make it
possible to define an actor.13

“Profound doubt” and great uncertainty need not paralyze but rather prompt
exploratory, trial-like forward movement, with a view to projects as speculations
on architecture’s life-enhancing potential. Rather than confirming so many
“givens,” ecological architectures as open experiments may help designers, as I
hope to demonstrate and as Latour suggests, “associate the notion of external
reality with surprises and events rather than with simply ‘being-there.’ ”14

4 INTRODUCTION
 Viewing nature as an actor becomes a means to imbue cultural constructs –
including works of architecture – with natural powers.

New metaphors for green architectures

If the objects of the environment were only as plastic as the materials of

poetic art, men would never have been obliged to have recourse to creation in
the medium of words.15
(John Dewey, Human Nature and Conduct)

Mosaics of habitat structures, processes of riparian ecosystem formation,

vegetated canopy networks, the journey of water from clouds to the river, and
open, events-driven systems: ecological phenomena, biological entities, and
descriptions thereof offer unlimited sources of inspiration for design: for space-
making, symbolizing, and synthesizing and for calling attention to dynamic
processes and temporal dimensions of architecture. Explorations in this book
have as much to do with expanding the designer’s creative potential, the
nimbleness and richness of her vision, as with concerns over environmental
quality. Both are critically important in travelling over the depths of sustainable
architecture and most readily advanced in concert.

The poetic potential of greener architectures prompts consideration of the role

of metaphor in design. More than architects care to admit, metaphors operate
as formidable tools, highlighting awareness of attributes often overlooked or
undervalued in the design process. Further, metaphors viewed broadly as
indicators of a larger conceptual orientation, a “horizon of expectation” of
cherished aesthetic and ethical commitments, encourage use of particular tools
over others.16

Philosopher Richard Rorty offers a dramatic take on the dynamism of metaphor

that relates to previous considerations of ecology and openness:

A metaphor is, so to speak, a voice from outside logical space, rather than an
empirical filling-up of a portion of that space, or a logical-philosophical

5 INTRODUCTION
 clarification of the structure of that space. It is a call to change one’s
language and one’s life, rather than a proposal about how to systemize
either.17

With a goal to advance more deeply green approaches to architecture, how

might evolving metaphorical predispositions alter a designer’s range of vision as
to what is achievable? What explains growing interest among contemporary
architects in landscape-focused and ecologically derived metaphors and terms as
formative design inspiration? In what ways might architects appropriate
provocative conceptual framings emerging from landscape ecology, landscape
architecture, environmental philosophy, and ecological restoration, disciplines
that embed uncertainty in systems of knowledge production?

The emphasis in what follows will be to scrutinize understandings of ecology

and landscape as embedded in the metaphorical constructs of designers, to
entertain and put in motion hybrid conceptual drivers that may assist in aligning
the highly efficient and the fantastically earthbound, above all to summon
prospects for creating works of architecture as choreographies of urban
ecological performance.

This project is both descriptive and prescriptive; weighing in on the rhetoric of

sustainable architecture, it adds to the balance. In attempting to move between
several camps (discourses), in using fuzzy, accommodating terms that offer
designers a desirable degree of what architect Ken Radtkey would describe as
“loose precision,” I open myself to criticism.18 Perhaps offering a degree of
sophistication relative to how architects usually invoke ecology-related terms,
my treatment of these may strike an ecologist, landscape architect, or
environmental philosopher as problematic. These shortcomings may have to do
with more than terminology: natural scientists may find speculative architectural
proposals for intervening in degraded urban sites to be less than optimal relative
to the particular and exacting natures of their domains of inquiry. My goal is to
advance dialog as to how to align architecture and ecology and to welcome
critique of design prospects motivated out of environmental concern. To be
sure, designers in their creative excitement frequently borrow concepts from

6 INTRODUCTION
 science with insufficient rigor. And yet, given pressing environmental challenges
and the need for disciplinary alliance, this borrowing has value: scientists can
help set designers straight and at the same time inventive and informed design
speculation can aid in furthering and applying ecological knowledge.

Philosophers of language have every right to debate my inclusive treatment of

metaphor as both a specific linguistic utterance and an indicator of a larger
conceptual frame. Further, my focus on metaphor may seem disproportionate
relative to its significance in architecture, and I acknowledge the shortcomings
of highlighting one aspect of design inquiry over others. That said, because I
concentrate on the propitious formative stages of design – what dimensions
enter into designers’ conceptual inspirations and what consequences these have
for making ecological architectures – a detailed discussion of metaphor as
design provocation is warranted. Here I owe a debt to my students who,
through curiosity and insight, continually generate the most striking and
playfully inventive of terms.

Notes

1 Bachelard 1994, 59.

2 Williams 1973, 52.
3 Takacs 1996, 105.
4 Personal correspondence with Alexander Felson, March 1, 2011.
5 Lévi-Strauss 1963, 12.
6 Haila and Levins 1992, 7.
7 From the transcript of a lecture that Guenther Behnisch delivered at the
University of Oregon School of Architecture and Allied Arts, May 1990.
8 From a lecture that Walter Hood delivered at the HOPES EcoDesign Arts
Conference at the University of Oregon, April 13, 2012.
9 Yeang 2006, 24.
10 Yeang 2006, 24 (italics added).
11 Latour 2004, 22.
12 Mallinson 2004, 177.
13 Latour 2004, 73.

7 INTRODUCTION
14 Latour 2004, 79.
15 Dewey 2002, 255–256.
16 See Gross 2010, 32.
17 Rorty 1991, 13.
18 Radtkey uses the “loose precision” to describe a proper mindset in the
preliminary stages of design, where priority is placed on inclusiveness of
possibility. I worked beside Ken Radtkey for seven years. This is one of his
many memorable and apt figures of speech.

8 INTRODUCTION
Discovering Diverse Content Through
Random Scribd Documents
 Portland got the King to his feet; the others stood awkward and
still; William looked round and saw Dr. Burnet.
"Did you hear?" he asked, under his breath—"did you hear?"
He sank into the chair by the table. The Bishop approached with
some faltering words of comfort, but the King cut him short.
"They say there is no hope of the Queen!" he broke out. "No
hope! I was the most happy creature upon earth, and now shall be
the most miserable! There was no fault in her, not one—you know
her as well as any, but you could not know her as I did—there was a
worth in her none could know but I!"
With that he burst into a passion of tears, and hid his face on
the table in an abandonment of agony which amazed those about
him, who knew neither what to say nor do in face of this overthrow
of the Master whom they had always regarded as one who would
preserve a decent control in the face of any sorrow, since he was a
soldier and a statesman, and had kept his countenance in many a
bitter crisis, and always shown a singular pride in controlling his
passions—so much so, as to be stately and cold even to those he
loved; yet here he wept before the very staring servants and gave
no heed. Lord Portland thought there was something womanish and
unworthy in this desperate grief; he went up to the King and spoke
with a kind of heat.
"Will you give way thus? Where is your trust in God?"
He was speaking not to the King of England, but to William of
Nassau, at whose side he had faced so many years of danger, his
companion in arms, his truest friend.
"She will go to everlasting peace," he said, with energy. "You,
who have faced so much, can face the loss of her—for her sake, for
her eternal good."
If the King heard these words they did not touch him; he raised
his head a little, and broke into incoherent lamentation in a misery of
tears.
Portland spoke to Dr. Radcliffe.
"How long," he asked, "will it be?"
"She may," answered the doctor, in a lowered voice, "live
another day, my lord, no more; the smallpox are now so sunk there
is no hope of raising them."
"Should she not be warned of her danger?"
"That is as the King wishes."
"The King!" echoed Portland, in a tone of despair. He turned
again to his master. "Sire," he said gently, "will you have the Queen
told?"
William looked up; the tears were streaming down his face for
any one to see; he continually shuddered violently, and spoke so
hoarsely Portland could with difficulty catch the words.
"I'll not believe it yet—I cannot—these doctors—must save her
——"
"Dr. Tenison," answered Portland, "is with her now—it were best
that he should tell her of her condition——"
The King broke out into ejaculations of anguish.
"There was none like her in all the world—none! No one could
know her great goodness. O God, my God, this is more than I can
bear!"
Portland turned his eyes away, broken himself.
"I am amazed," whispered Dr. Burnet; "for surely I never
thought him capable of such emotion."
 Dr. Radcliffe touched Portland on the arm.
"Look to His Majesty," he said. "I think this will prove beyond his
endurance—I will to the Queen."
He took his leave softly. The King lifted his head and looked
after him.
"He said there was no hope!" he cried. "No hope!"
"God is your hope," answered Portland strongly.
"Talk not of God, for this is death and damnation to me—if she
leaves me nothing matters on earth or in heaven—what have I done
—what have I done that the Devil is let loose on me?" He cast his
eyes round wildly, and staggered to his feet. "She was all I had—all
—I should have died first—I might have died happy—I have not lived
so wickedly I should be punished thus—but they mistake, these
doctors—she cannot die—no, it is not possible."
They were all silent. The scene was painful almost past bearing.
The King's agonies went beyond all bounds. None of them, though
they were all men who had known him most of his life, had believed
that his temper was capable of such passion. Dr. Burnet's fluent self-
assurance was checked—he stood dumb and staring; the Dutch
nobles gazed in horror and dismay at this spectacle of a proud man's
utter overthrow. Portland remained beside him, and the King
supported himself by holding heavily on to his arm.
"Doctors mistake, do they not?" he cried, between the long
shudders that shook him. "How often have they not said—I should
die—but I lived."
"Alas," answered Portland unsteadily, "I would not have you
deceive yourself—Radcliffe was very certain. But you will command
yourself——"
 "I—I have no strength," gasped the King; "my soul is broken
within me. O God!" he sobbed, "save her or let me go!"
He turned about and threw out his hand like a blind man feeling
his way, then fell back into Portland's arms.
"Fainted," said my lord laconically. With the help of M. Zulestein
he laid him on the stiff couch between the windows. One of the
servants hurried for a doctor, and in the moment's confusion my
Lord Leeds entered unnoticed.
Portland, as he moved from the King's couch, was the first to
see him.
"Ah, my lord," he said sorrowfully, "what is to become of us all?"
"The King," murmured Portland, much moved, "is incapable of
anything—do you take the direction of affairs."
"Nay, you, my lord," answered Leeds. "You are His Majesty's
nearer friend."
"And your Grace is English—it will be more politic should you
take this office—what of the Queen?"
"I have just come from her antechamber—even the pages and
serving-maids are in tears—this is a heavy business." He himself
seemed like a man utterly overcome. "She is certainly sinking—she is
in private discourse now with the Archbishop."
"Doth she know?"
Leeds shook his head.
"Dr. Tenison waiteth the King's commands to tell her—but I
think she hath an inner knowledge."
M. Auverqueverque came from the group by the window and
whispered Portland that the King was conscious.
 At this Leeds, ever warm-hearted and impulsive, went on his
knees beside the couch and pressed the King's cold hand
affectionately to his lips.
William sat up with his head drooping; his back was to the light,
and his thick curls almost concealed his face; he held his
handkerchief to his lips and shivered continually.
"The Queen," said Leeds, very low, "hath asked for Your
Majesty."
The King murmured something incoherent.
"And the Archbishop," continued Leeds, with a grave
gentleness, "thinketh she should be told of her danger."
"I would not have her deceived—in so important a matter,"
whispered the King—"tell him so." He leant forward and took Leeds
by the shoulders. "Is it not an awful thing that she should die—she—
to die—you ever loved her—God bless you for that, my lord—she
had a sad life"—his voice became very indistinct—"she will not be
sorry—but as for me——"
His hands loosened on the Duke's shoulders, and with a little
moan he fell into another fainting fit, so long and deathlike that they
feared for his reason or his life; it seemed, indeed, as if he would
scarcely survive her whose danger caused his despair.

CHAPTER XI
THE BITTER PARTING
The Queen's bed stood out into the room, facing the long windows
which looked on to the winter twilight; it was hung with four curtains
of gold and blue damask sewn with many-coloured wreaths of
flowers that Mary and her maids had worked when seated under the
alley of wych-elm at Hampton Court.
The coverlet was of crimson satin embroidered with great roses
of England and fringed with bullion. The Queen lay so still that the
heavy folds were scarcely disturbed about her limbs. The curtains
round the head of the bed had been drawn forward, and the pillows
and the face of the Queen were in shadow.
She wore a lace cap with long lappets fastened beneath her
chin and a little jacket of blue silk over her muslin nightgown. She
was not disfigured, it being the most deadly symptom of her disease
that there was no sign of it beyond the deep purple marks that had
told Dr. Radcliffe—black smallpox—from the first, and the constant
internal bleeding of her throat that had so exhausted her; that had
stopped now, and she lay quite free from pain quiet for several
hours; not sleeping; sleep, she said, gave her no ease.
To the right of the bed the King knelt with his face hidden in the
quilt. There were several prelates and doctors in the room, and by
the head of the bed Lady Temple, Madame Nienhuys, Basilea de
Marsac, and Lady Portland, the Earl's second wife and Lady Temple's
daughter.
At a whispered word from Dr. Radcliffe, Tenison, the new
Archbishop of Canterbury, successor to the saintly Tillotson, so
beloved by the King and Queen, approached the bed.
As his footfall broke the tense silence Mary lifted her languid
eyes; he came round to her left, and stood, in a sorrowful attitude,
looking down on her.
"Be seated, my lord," she faltered.
But out of respect to her and the presence of the King he
remained standing.
Mary made a feeble motion with her right hand, which lay
outside the coverlet, and sweetly stammered her repeated
commands that he should sit.
Dr. Tenison obeyed, and with a heavy heart. Her gentle patience
made his duty the harder. Dr. Radcliffe had just told him that since
she now seemed tranquil and in full consciousness he might tell her
of her approaching end.
The Bishop, a good heavy man, set about his task with pain and
tenderness.
"Your Majesty will forgive me plain speaking, but I am entrusted
by the King——"
She lay with her face towards him, and her brown eyes
narrowed. He hesitated, fearing to greatly agitate her, and sought
for a form of words in which to cast his speech.
"I am greatly grieved to see that Your Majesty is no better," he
said. "Your consolation will come from heaven, not earth."
She instantly perceived his drift.
"You are come to tell me that I am dying?" she asked faintly.
He was startled that she had so instantly understood, and could
not, for the moment, speak.
"I thank my God," continued the Queen, "that I have had this in
my thoughts from the first. And there is nothing to be done. Search
for a little escritoire in my cabinet and give it to the King. That is the
end of earthly matters."
 She closed her eyes and gave a little sigh.
"Will it please Your Majesty receive the Sacrament?" asked the
Archbishop.
"Yes," she said at once. "Yes."
He left her, and she turned her head languidly and gazed before
her at the window.
Lady Temple came forward lovingly, and looked down at her
with sorrowful eyes.
"Before you light the candles," whispered Mary, "will you draw
the curtains a little that I may see the sky?"
Lady Portland crossed the floor delicately and pulled back the
heavy gold thread and scarlet damask from the December twilight.
A pale glow of colourless light fell across the glittering bed, the
wan face of the Queen, and the motionless kneeling figure of her
husband.
She could see loose grey clouds, an indistinct trail of yellow fire
low behind the leafless trees which tossed slowly in a feeble wind.
She gave another little sigh and again closed her eyes. Lady
Portland, weeping, drew the curtains. Basilea de Marsac and
Madame de Nienhuys lit the candles on the mantelshelf, on the table
between the windows, and the crystal lamp ornamented with the
rose, the shamrock, and thistle in silver that hung from the centre of
the ceiling.
The Queen lay still all this while; she did not speak till Dr.
Tenison approached her bed again, and all the prelates in the
chamber went on their knees.
"I doubt if I can swallow the bread," she murmured anxiously.
 The bishops in the room took the Sacrament with her; they
were all heavy with grief, and the Primate faltered in his
ministrations, but she was utterly calm; she followed the holy office
clearly with no hesitation. Despite her fears, she swallowed the
bread without difficulty, and thanked Dr. Tenison sweetly when he
had done, and lay for awhile, praying it seemed. She was so
resigned that it seemed she rather desired to die than live.
Presently she whispered, "I would speak to the King."
They all withdrew from the bed to the far end of the room and
the antechamber. Mary put out a trembling hand and touched the
bent dark head that rested on her quilt.
"Ah, love!" she said.
He raised his face, moving for the first time since she had fallen
asleep, two hours ago.
"They have told me," whispered Mary, "that I must say farewell
—I always knew—forgive me that I had not the courage to tell you."
She smiled. "I am so tired, and I have so much to say."
With her right hand she drew a small gold key from the bosom
of her gown and gave it him.
"The little escritoire," she explained. "I asked him to give it you
—only a few trifles—but you will understand."
He took it with a shudder, her left hand he held between his
tightly; he did not speak; his face was as white, as hallowed, as
shadowed by death, it seemed, as hers.
"I have not done much," she said; "but I have had such a little
time, and it was difficult—indeed difficult. God will know I did my
poor best. And I never failed in love, and I tried to do His will, but I
have done nothing, and I meant to do so much——"
 The King forced his voice.
"You have been a creature we were none of us fit to touch," he
muttered. "You—you—oh, Marie!"
He hid his face upon her hand, and she felt his hot tears on her
fingers.
"Do not grieve," she whispered. "There is still so much for you
to do——"
"No more," he answered passionately; "that is over now—I shall
never do anything again—never——"
Mary half raised herself on the pillows; a feverish colour came
into her cheeks.
"You are rebelling against God," she said, between agitated
breaths. "You must go on—your work is not finished; but the
prospects are so splendid——"
"What is that to me?" he answered, in bitter despair. "I am a
poor weak creature—I can do nothing—it was always you, your
hope, your faith—I am no better than a thing of nought; in taking
you God mocks me——"
"No—no," cried Mary, with a desperate strength. "You are going
on—you will conquer—do not make it hard for me to die——"
She sank on to her pillows, coughing a little.
"I have prayed God not to let you despair—I have asked Him to
comfort you——"
"There is no more comfort for me," he answered. "I want you—
nothing but you on earth or in heaven——"
Mary turned her face towards him; the dark auburn hair,
beneath the fine veiling of lace, hung over the edge of the tumbled
pillow and touched his hand.
 "Oh, my husband," she said faintly; "I have loved you with a
passion that cannot end with death. You cannot—ever be alone
again—I shall be there——"
Her voice sank and died; she made an effort to lean towards
him. He caught her to his bosom and kissed her cold forehead with
lips as cold.
"Go on," she stammered, "do not give up—the goal is nearly
won——"
She became slack in his arms; he laid her back on the pillow,
and rose.
She was smiling up at him, but there was an awful change in
her face.
He put his hand before his eyes, and fell down beside her bed,
motionless, along the shining floor.
Mary clasped her hands on her bosom, and her head drooped to
one side; she continually coughed, and her lids closed heavily.
Lady Temple had run forward as the King fell; Portland and
Leeds raised and carried him, easily enough, into the antechamber.
Dr. Radcliffe gave the Queen a cordial; she thanked him, and
seemed a little revived.
"Let me sit up," she whispered. Her ladies raised her against the
piled-up cushions. "The King"—she added—"the King?—my eyes are
weak—I thought—he left me——"
"Dear Lady," answered Dorothy Temple, commanding her own
tears, "he is in the next chamber——"
She knew while she spoke that he had fallen into a succession
of fits so terrible that not one doctor there thought he could live.
 "Perhaps," gasped Mary, "it were better if we—were spared—a
final farewell—I could not well bear it——"
She leant against Lady Temple's shoulder, and her lips moved in
prayer. Her face was very troubled, and she continually sighed.
"Madam, are you at peace?" asked Lady Temple.
"I am not sorry to go to God," she answered; "but I am weak
about the King—I would I might have been spared a little longer
with him."
Presently she fell asleep, peacefully it seemed, and still with
prayers on her lips.
Lady Temple crept from the bed where Lady Portland pulled the
curtains to shield the Queen from the light, and asked Dr. Radcliffe
how long it might be now?
He shook his head sadly.
"A few hours, my lady."
Dorothy Temple burst out into subdued grief.
"We have the greatest loss in this lady! I have known her since
she was a child, and she had never a fault—this is a bitter thing for
all of us, and for England."
The doctor answered grimly—
"A more bitter thing even than you imagine, my lady. I do not
think the King will live."
She looked at him in utter terror, and at that moment Portland
came out of the antechamber.
"Will you go to His Majesty, doctor?" he said, in a shaking voice.
"Millington doth not know what to do."
Radcliffe left them, and Lady Temple desperately seized hold of
Portland's arm.
 "Oh, William," she whispered; "how is the King?"
"Sorely stricken," he answered. "Is this to be the end?—that he
should die for a woman!"
Lady Portland came softly from the bed to her mother and her
husband.
"Doth it not seem cruel that the Queen should die?" she
murmured. "They say there is no hope——"
"The Queen!" echoed Portland. "I think of the King——"
"Can you not," urged his wife anxiously, "rouse him and bring
him back to her? When she wakes she will surely ask for him——"
Portland, with a little sigh of despair and weariness, went into
the antechamber.
It was well lit and full of people. The King was seated on his
camp-bed—a dishevelled, pitiful figure—lamenting to himself with a
violence and boundless passion that had the force and incoherence
of insanity.
The only one of the company who had the courage to approach
him was a new-comer, my Lord Sunderland; pale, quiet, elegantly
dressed, he stood between the King and the wall, and gazed down
on his master with an extraordinary expression of resolution and
consideration.
Portland went up to him, not without a sense of jealousy for the
King's dignity, that was so shattered before these foreigners and a
man like Sunderland.
"Sire," he said firmly. "Sire!"
William did not even look up; he was twisting his hands
together and staring at the floor, breaking out into the bitter protests
of a mind deranged.
 Sunderland looked sharply at Portland.
"What do you want of him, my lord?" he asked,
"I would recall him to himself that he may take farewell of the
Queen," answered Portland sternly. "But he, it seemeth, is no longer
William of Nassau."
Sunderland made no answer to this; he laid his hand lightly on
the King's shoulder.
"Your Highness!" he said.
The ancient title struck some chord of memory. The King raised
his head; Sunderland was certainly startled at his face.
"Who spoke to me?" asked William thickly.
"The Prince of Orange," answered the Earl, "cannot fail before
anything—the King of England must not——"
"Fail?" muttered the King. "Fail? Have I failed? They put too
much upon me. Did they tell you of the Queen? My enemies may be
satisfied now, for I shall never lift my head again——"
"The Queen," said Sunderland, "will not depart in peace unless
she leaveth you calm. Sire, for her sake will you not recall your
ancient courage?"
The King shook his head in a faint, exhausted fashion.
"You would not have thought that she would die so young," he
murmured, "would you—she was gay, too—there was to have been
a ball to-night—and she cannot live till morning——"
Lady Temple came from the Queen's room and whispered
something to Lord Portland, who instantly addressed the King.
"Sire, the Queen is awake."
William rose; his cravat and waistcoat were undone over his
shirt, his eyes bloodshot and dim, his hair dishevelled and damp on
his forehead; he seemed to be making a tremendous effort for
control; he noticed his disordered clothes.
"I would not frighten her"—it was Sunderland and not Portland
to whom he spoke. The Dutchman drew back a pace. It was ironical
that at such a moment the King should turn to such a man; but
William had first roused at Sunderland's address, and seemed to
look to him for guidance as he had looked, almost unconsciously, to
him for support fifteen years ago, in the bitter days before his
marriage.
The proud, stern, lonely, and scorned young Prince had then
opened his heart to the dishonest, worldly, and cynical minister, and
the bond of sympathy that must have been between them then
showed now, when the King, fainting with mental agony, clung
blindly to Sunderland's unmoved, gentle strength.
Portland marked it then and marked it now; he felt his own love
useless in the face of my lord's charm. William had not even noticed
his presence. He left him in the arms of Sunderland and returned to
the Queen's chamber.
Dr. Tenison had been reading the Scriptures to her, and stood
now by her bed with the Bible in his hand.
Lady Temple and her daughter were behind him. The younger
woman was crying sadly.
Portland went up to the other side of the Queen's bed.
Mary raised her deep brown eyes and looked at him earnestly.
"My lord," she whispered—he bent over her and she caught his
stiff cuff with feverish fingers—"do not let the King despair ... do not
let him give up ... I shall have indeed lived in vain if he gives up ...
so near too..." She paused to gather strength, and he was too
moved to answer. "At first I was so afraid of you," she added
wistfully, "so fearful of intruding on you and him—you were his
friend before ever I came, and will be when I am gone—but of late
you have tolerated me—only a woman, but I have not hindered his
destiny—I let nothing stand in the way of his service—indeed, if I
have ever vexed you, forgive me——"
"Madam," responded Portland tenderly, "you have been the
great comfort of all of us, and we shall be utterly undone without
you."
She shook her head on the tumbled pillow.
"I was only a foreigner—a stranger; you were ever
extraordinarily kind to me—do not let the King stop—for this."
She fell on to silence, being greatly weakened by this effort of
speech, and Portland withdrew to the end of the bed to allow Dr.
Radcliffe to approach.
The Queen's words had roused curious memories in the mind of
William Bentinck. It did not seem so many years ago since the fair,
thoughtless, timid English girl had come, as she said, a foreigner—a
stranger—to The Hague, unwanted, mistrusted, despised for her
youth and her kinsman's treachery, regarded by her husband as an
interruption—a vexation—the mere burden of a marriage of
convenience that had been a political failure; and now she had
grown to be the support of all his designs, and he was brought to a
madness of despair because she lay dying, and those same aims and
endeavours which her coming had intruded upon, to his anger, were
now nothing to him if she should no longer be there to share them.
It was now past midnight. The Queen, having swallowed Dr.
Radcliffe's cordial, spoke again, and took farewell of her ladies.
 "This was to have been our dance to-night," she murmured. "I
am sorry to have spoilt your pleasure——"
"There will never be any more pleasure for me," answered
Dorothy Temple, who loved her exceedingly, "until I meet Your
Majesty in Heaven——"
Mary was silent, lying very still. There was a little stir in the
chamber as the King entered, followed by Lord Sunderland, who
kept his eyes on him keenly.
The King went straight to his wife's side, and lifted the glittering
curtain up.
The silence was heavy as these two looked at each other.
"Tell me," he said, "what to do—what you would have me do
——"
The Queen tried to answer; but speech was beyond her power;
and when she found that she could no more speak to him, for the
might of death on her tongue, two tears rolled down her hollow
cheeks, and, by the size of them, it was seen that she was dying
indeed, for they were large as the grey pearls in her ears.
"Give me one word," said the King, and he bent low over her.
She made a second attempt, but in vain. A long shudder shook her,
blood came to her lips, and the tears on her face rolled off on to the
pillow.
"She cannot speak!" exclaimed the King; he fell along the bed
and laid his face against her hand. Sunderland touched him. He gave
a sighing sob like a woman, and fainted.
My Lord Leeds helped lift and carry him to the back of the
chamber; the others remained about the Queen, who was sinking so
rapidly that they feared she would go before the King recovered his
senses.
She put up her hands in the attitude of praying, then dropped
them and turned her head about on the pillow as if she looked for
the King; not seeing him, she moaned and fell into a little swoon,
breathing heavily.
The watchers held painful vigil thus for near an hour, when she
opened her eyes suddenly and began to speak, in a distinct though
low voice; but the words she used showed that her thoughts began
to break.
"We have such a short time," she said, "what can any of us do?
—I hope this will show you cannot expose yourself with impunity—I
shall give God thanks as long as I live for having preserved you—
think of me a little and be more careful—Lord Nottingham saw my
tears, I could not restrain—my father, my father, there is such a
great light here, like the sun at Twickenham, no, The Hague—a
letter at last—he loves, after all——"
She moved and half sat up; the lace had fallen from her head,
and her hair hung in a dark mass over her shoulders; an
extraordinary look of ecstasy overspread her wan face.
"Give me the child," she whispered, and held out her arms; then
she coughed a little and dropped back.
A slight convulsion shook her; her breath clove her lips apart,
and her lids fluttered over her eyes.
The clergymen were on their knees reading the prayer for the
dying. As they finished, Dr. Radcliffe put out the candle, on the table
by the bed, that shone over the Queen's face.
"It is over," he said; "Her Majesty is dead."
 The Palace clock struck the four quarters, and then the hour of
one.
The King opened his eyes and looked about him on the hushed
kneeling figures. Portland endeavoured to restrain him, but he rose
from the couch and moved slowly and languidly towards the bed.
No one dared speak or move.
When he saw the still, disordered coverlet, the shadowed face,
the white hand on which the wedding-ring glowed ghastly bright, he
put his hand to his breast, and stood for a full minute so, gazing at
her; then his senses reeled back to oblivion and he fainted again,
falling at the feet of the Archbishop, as that clergyman rose from his
knees.
As he lay along the floor they marked how slight and frail he
was, and, when they lifted him, how light his weight, and how
reluctantly and slowly the heart that had beaten so high stirred in his
bosom.

PART III
THE KING

"Man is God's masterpiece."

FRANCIS QUARLES.
 CHAPTER I
VITA SINE AMOR MORS EST

Henry Sidney, Lord Romney, and the Earl of Portland were walking
up and down the cloisters of Westminster Abbey. It was the end of
April—a bitter spring following a severe winter; constant clouds
blotted out the sun, and sudden falls of snow had left the square of
grass in the centre of the cloisters wet and white.
The Earl, muffled to the chin in a red mantle, and carrying a
great muff of brown fur, was talking earnestly to Lord Romney, who,
though a feather-head and useless in politics, was more loved by the
King than any Englishman, and of unimpeachable loyalty to the
throne.
"This," said Portland, with energy, "is death or madness—nay,
worse than either, for he is but a figure of himself that deceiveth us
into thinking we have a King."
"God knoweth," returned Romney, who looked old and worn,
sad and dejected, "never have we so needed his wisdom and his
courage. Whom can we trust since the death of Her Majesty? Not
even my Lord Nottingham."
"Sunderland," said the Earl, "is creeping back to favour—the
knave of two reigns, who would get a third King in his clutches—and
the Lord Keeper is very active in the House. Now I have done what I
can to transact necessary business since the Queen's death—but I
cannot do much, for the malice against foreigners is incredible——"
"No one but the King can do anything!" broke out Romney.
"I at least can do no more," admitted Portland. "And certainly
my heart misgiveth me that this is going to be the end—in miserable
failure."
"Why—not failure," protested the Englishman.
Portland paused by the clustered pillars which divided the open
windows; a few ghastly flakes of snow were falling from a disturbed
sky against the worn, crumbling, and grey masonry.
"Miserable failure," repeated the Earl; his fine fair face was pale
and stern in the colourless shadows of the heavy arches. "Parliament
needeth a leader, the Republic needeth her magistrate, the allies
their commander—there is very much to do—with every day, more—
and the man who should do it is as useless as a sick girl."
"I think," said Romney, with some gentleness, "that his heart is
broken."
"A man," flashed Portland, "hath no right to a broken heart.
Good God, could we not all discover broken hearts if we took time to
probe them? I know the Queen's worth, what she was to him, and
all of us—but is she served by this weakness of grief? He would best
commemorate her by making no pause in his task."
"That is a hard doctrine," answered the Englishman half sadly.
"It is a hard fate to be a great man, my lord—the destinies of
nations are not made easily nor cheaply. When the King began his
task he was prepared for the price—he should not now shirk the
paying of it——"
"It is higher than he thought would be exacted, my lord."
Portland answered sternly—
"You surely do not understand. What was she, after all, but an
incident? He had been ten years at his work before she came."
The snow fell suddenly, and, caught and whirled by a powerful
wind, filled the air with a thick whiteness like spreading smoke; it
blew against the two gentlemen, and in a second covered their
mantles with glittering crystals.
Romney stepped back and shook it from him.
"Shall we not go into the church," he said, with a shiver, "and
persuade the King return?"
"It doth not matter if he be at her grave or in his cabinet,"
answered Portland gloomily, "since his temper is the same wherever
he be."
Romney turned towards the low door that led into the Abbey.
"Did you mark," he said irrelevantly, "that the robin was still on
her gravestone?"
"Yes," replied Portland; "it hath been singing there since she
was buried."
They entered the large, mysterious church. The snowstorm had
so obscured the light from the tall, high windows that the columns,
roof, and tombs were alike enveloped in a deep shade; it was very
cold and the air hung misty and heavy.
Above the altar, to their right, swung a red burning lamp that
gave no light, but showed as a sudden gleam of crimson.
On the altar itself burnt four tall candles that gleamed on the
polished gold sacred vessels and faintly showed the sweep of marble
and the violet-hued carpet beyond the brass rails which divided the
altar from the steps.
There was only one person visible in this large, cold, dark
church, and that was a man in the front pew, entirely in black, who
neither sat nor knelt, but drooped languidly against the wooden rest
in front of him, with his face hidden in his right hand.
 Portland and Romney took off their hats and approached the
altar; they had nearly reached it before they noticed the King, whom
they had left at his wife's grave.
Their footsteps were very noticeable in the sombre stillness. The
King looked up and rose, holding heavily to the arm of the pew.
Romney hesitated, but Portland stepped up to William.
"We had best return, sire."
The King was silent, his eyes fixed on the altar and the
fluttering gold light that dwelt there—a radiance in the gloom.
Portland touched his arm and he moved then, with no sign of
animation, towards the Abbey door; his two friends followed
shivering in the great spaces of the church that were more bitterly
cold than the outer air.
The King's eyes turned to the shadowed dark aisles which led to
the chapel of the seventh Henry and the spot where the Queen, a
few months ago young, and beautiful, and gay, now lay among her
royal kinsmen, dust with dust.
The King opened the heavy door and stepped out into the bitter
light of the snowstorm which hid sky and houses, whitened the
coach waiting and the liveries of the impatient footmen who walked
about in the endeavour to keep warm. The King himself was in an
instant covered from head to foot; he gave a lifeless shudder as one
so sick with life that sun and snow were alike to him.
He entered the coach and the two lords followed him; there was
no word spoken; his friends had lost heart in the fruitless endeavour
of comfort; he had scarcely spoken since the Queen's death,
scarcely raised his eyes; for six weeks he had remained in his
chamber, and now he came abroad it was to no purpose, for he took
no interest in anything in life.
He gave himself much to religious observances, and was often
closeted with the Archbishop; he uttered no word of complaint,
never even had mentioned his wife's name, which was the more
remarkable after the first frantic passion of his grief; he would
attend to no business and see no one; he replied to the addresses of
the Houses only by a few incoherent words; his answers as they
appeared in the Gazette were written by Portland.
He fainted often, and his spirits sunk so low that the doctors
feared he would die of mere apathy, for all their devices were
useless to rouse him to any desire to live.
Portland could do nothing. M. Heinsius, Grand Pensionary of
Holland, wrote in vain from The Hague; that long, intimate, and
important correspondence was broken by the King for the first time
since his accession; the allies clamoured in vain for him whose
guidance alone kept the coalition together; factions raged in
parliament with no authority to check them; the Jacobites raised
their heads again, and, the moment the breath was out of the
Queen, began their plots for a French invasion and the assassination
of the one frail life that stood for the forces of Protestantism; this
was generally known, though not proved, but the King cared for
none of it.
The home government, since the retirement of Leeds after the
East India scandal, was in many hands, mostly incompetent; foreign
affairs fared worse, for these the King had always kept almost
entirely in his own control, and had scarcely even partially trusted
any of his English ministers on these matters, that, as he was well
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