Henrietta Maria
by Henrietta Haynes · English · Gutenberg #38294 · 692,759 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: Henrietta Maria
Author: Henrietta Haynes
Release date: December 13, 2011 [eBook #38294]
Language: English
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[Illustration: HENRIETTA MARIA
FROM THE PAINTING BY VAN DYCK AT WINDSOR]
HENRIETTA MARIA
by
HENRIETTA HAYNES
With Twelve Illustrations
New York: G. P. Putnam's Sons
London: Methuen & Co. Ltd.
1912
PREFACE
A bibliography of the sources from which this book has been written would
extend to many pages: much information has been derived from the
collections of MSS. preserved in Paris in the Bibliothèque Nationale, in
the Archives Nationales, and in the Bibliothèque Mazarine; from the
valuable series of Roman Transcripts in the Public Record Office, London;
from the curious and interesting documents in the archives of the See of
Westminster, and from the newspapers and pamphlets which form a branch of
the literature of the Civil War.
I have to express my thanks to His Eminence Cardinal Bourne, who kindly
permitted me to consult the archives of the See of Westminster and to print
three of the documents in the Appendix; to Mr. Edward Armstrong, Provost of
Queen's College, Oxford, and to the Rev. H. Thurston, S.J., who have given
me much help and advice; to the nuns of the Convent of the Visitation,
Harrow-on-the-Hill, who lent me the rare _Vie de la Ven. Mère Louise
Eugénie de la Fontaine_; and, finally, to my friend, Miss H. M. Morris, who
with unwearied kindness read through nearly the entire MS. of the book, and
helped me much by her criticisms and suggestions.
ERRATA
Page 65, line 7. For "complimentary" read "complementary."
" 66, " 24. For "neither of whom" read "who, neither of them."
" 69, " 14. For "were" read "was."
" 72, " 16. For "new" read "own."
" 77, " 7. Omit "to" between "turns" and "a street."
" 77, " 32. For "imaginares" read "imaginaires."
" 110, note 1. For "Anglicans" read "Anglicanus."
" 138, " 1. For "Anglians" read "Anglicanus."
" 155, line 28. For "In" read "For."
" 155, note 2. For "Corznet" read "Coignet."
" 155, " 2. For "Bahn" read "Baker."
" 227, " 1. For "Magasin" read "Mazarine."
" 244, " 2. For "trois" read "train."
" 275, " 2. For "Lovel" read "Loret."
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
Introduction xi
I. The Daughter of France 1
II. The Bride of England 28
III. The Queen of the Courtiers 61
IV. The Queen of the Catholics 92
V. The Queen's Converts 130
VI. The Eve of the War. I 141
VII. The Eve of the War. II 167
VIII. The Queen and the War. I 193
IX. The Queen and the War. II 217
X. The Queen of the Exiles 252
XI. The Foundress of Chaillot 276
XII. The End 302
Appendix 321
Index 331
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
HENRIETTA MARIA _Frontispiece._
From the painting by Van Dyck at Windsor
(From a photo by F. Hanfstaengl)
FACING PAGE
HENRY IV 18
From an engraving after the picture by Francis Pourbus
CARDINAL PIERRE DE BÉRULLE 32
From an engraving
OLD SOMERSET HOUSE 68
From an engraving after an ancient painting in Dulwich College
CHARLES I AND HENRIETTA MARIA 90
From the painting by Van Dyck in the Gallerìa Pitti, Florence
(From a photo by G. Brogi)
THE DUCHESS OF CHEVREUSE 146
After the picture by Moreelse, once in the possession of Charles I
CARDINAL DE RICHELIEU 168
From a portrait by Phillippe de Champaigne
(From a photo by Neurdein)
THE QUEEN'S DEPARTURE FROM HOLLAND 200
From an engraving
SIR KENELM DIGBY 232
From an engraving after the painting by Van Dyck
HENRY JERMYN, EARL OF ST. ALBANS 260
From an engraving
HENRIETTA MARIA 278
From an engraving
THE RUE ST. ANTOINE, PARIS (SHOWING THE CHAPEL OF THE VISITANDINES) 304
From an engraving by Ivan Merlen
INTRODUCTION
The woman to whose life and environment the following pages are dedicated
was called upon to play her part in one of the most difficult and
perplexing periods of our history: she lived just on the edge of the modern
world, when the Middle Ages, with their splendid simplicity of
all-embracing ideals, had passed away, and when even the ideals of
nationality and religious freedom which the Renaissance and the Reformation
had brought were becoming modified by the stirring of a new spirit of
liberty. The two countries which Henrietta Maria knew were throughout her
lifetime making their future destiny: the France which cherished her youth
and sheltered her age was becoming the greedy France of Louis XIV, with its
splendid Court, its attempts at territorial growth, its downtrodden,
suffering people; the England of her happy married life was growing in
political self-consciousness and in a stern and repellent godliness which
was to mould the character of the nation, and to educate it to become in
the next century the builder-up of the greatest empire which the world has
ever seen.
Henrietta's life touches both England and France: by race, by education she
was a Frenchwoman; by marriage she was an Englishwoman, and it is on
English history that she has left the impress of her vivid personality; but
the France which she never forgot coloured her thoughts throughout, and
taught her in all probability those maxims of statecraft which she
attempted to apply when the troubles of her life came upon her.
She was the daughter of Henry IV, the great restorer of the French
monarchy, the champion of an unified France, embracing in wide toleration
Catholic and Protestant alike: her youth witnessed the beginning of
Richelieu's continuance of her father's work; under the auspices of the
great Cardinal she was married, and though later her regard for him turned
to hatred, yet the impress which his genius had left upon her mind was not
thereby destroyed.
But her marriage transported her to a very different scene. England, under
the iron heel of the Tudor despotism, had been worn out by no wasting civil
wars; even the Reformation had brought little disturbance, for Henry VIII,
by his amazing force of character, had been able to carry through a
religious revolution almost without the people being aware of it; but the
long peace was teaching men to forget the horrors of war and division. By
the time the crown of the great Elizabeth passed to her Scotch cousin,
Englishmen had ceased to look to the monarchy as the centre of unity. There
was no need of a Henry of Navarre to bind up the wounds of the country. The
old factious nobility had for the most part been slain in the War of the
Roses, and the peaceful generations which followed had allowed of the
growth of a powerful upper and middle class, which, originally fostered by
the Crown as a counterpoise to the decayed feudal nobility, was now
aspiring to a large share in the ruling of the people.
Henrietta wished to see her husband great and powerful, and she could not
appreciate that the day of despotism which in France was beginning, in
England was ending. Charles had not in him the stuff of greatness, but it
is doubtful if even a Henry IV or a Richelieu could have put back the hands
of the clock and realized her ambition. The despotism which was building up
on the other side of the Channel in this country was tottering to its fall
by the development of the intellect and character of the people. Henrietta
clung to the ideals of the past instead of stretching out to meet the
ideals of the future, and so her work failed even as did that of Strafford,
in spite of his greatness.
And this national development was connected with perhaps the most important
aspect of the matter. The Civil War was, more fundamentally than anything
else, a war of religion, another act in the great drama which had been
played in France half a century earlier, and which was still being played
in Germany. Henry VIII and Elizabeth seemed to have saved England from the
common fate of Europe; but it was not so: they only delayed the strife and
gave it a turn unknown elsewhere, adding to the disadvantages of the
champion of tradition this last, that he was a renegade in the eyes of the
party to which by the logic of history he belonged. To many of their
enemies, perhaps to most of them in certain moods, Charles and Henrietta
were not so much the hinderers of political freedom as the supporters of an
alien and blasphemous system of religion. It was the peculiar fortune of
England that it gained liberty by the lever of religion. But for the fear
of Popery it is far from improbable that the nation would not have arisen
to strike down thus violently the despotism of the Tudors. Rather, the
monarchy might have been gradually transformed, and with a very different
and more tardy result, by the character of the people. But Puritan England
could not leave irresponsible power in the hands of a sovereign whose very
Protestantism was not unimpeachable, and thus the victories which were won
by sectarian enthusiasm resulted not in the advancement of a barren
fanaticism, but in the sure laying of the foundations of the liberty of the
people. In France, where, among many differences from England, there was
this great one, that the people and the monarch were substantially agreed
on religious matters, there was discontent, even rebellion, but there was
no revolution, and the people was left for another century and a half to
bear the accumulating load of its misery, until the burden became
unbearable and was cast off with a shock from which Europe still trembles.
Henrietta Maria's life was a failure. She failed to commend either her
person, her religion, or her political ideals, and she brought her husband
a degree of unpopularity which without her he might have escaped. Her
circumstances were hard. She could not help being a Catholic, nor the fact
that under her womanly softness lay the absolutism which was in the Bourbon
blood. Like Charles, she was called upon to weather a storm which she had
not raised, and she had not inherited with her father's temperament and
charm his unrivalled political sagacity. Moreover, she had to win her
private happiness by humouring a despotic and difficult-tempered man, and
she could hardly be expected to recognize that that man, in marrying her,
had made, on public grounds, the greatest mistake of his life. James I,
whose ideas were always too large for his circumstances, had dreamed of
securing England's place in the comity of nations by marrying his son to
the daughter of one of the great Catholic houses. The result was not
increased honour abroad, but hatred at home, such hatred as Henrietta in
her early life was unable even to suspect. Accustomed in her own land to
see Catholic and Protestant dwelling at least outwardly in peace together,
knowing that the Catholic faith was professed at most of the Courts and
among most of the peoples of Europe, she could not appreciate the
insularity of the English mind which saw in every Catholic a political
assassin wearing the colours of the Pope and the King of Spain; nor was she
aware of the historical facts, which if they did not justify, at least
explained this point of view. And as she failed to understand England, so
she failed to understand Europe. The outstanding fact of continental
politics was the long duel which was going on between France and the House
of Austria. France was eventually to be the victor, but it was to be a hard
struggle, and few were sharp-sighted enough to see in the splendid Spain of
Philip IV the signs of a decadence which had already set in. But
Henrietta's blindness was more than a dimness of sight, which she shared
with Cromwell and others of the great ones of her age. It hid from her that
which it was essential to her to know, namely, that this struggle underlay
the whole policy of her native land. Thus she failed to understand the real
causes of the enmity with which Richelieu came to regard her and her
husband, and thus in later days she was unable to grasp the attitude of
Mazarin, or to appreciate why it was impossible that he should give her the
fullness of succour for which she asked.
Had she been a Protestant and a woman of profound sagacity, she might have
saved her husband. As it was, by her reckless defiance of forces whose
strength she was unable to appreciate, she hurried him to his doom. She
lived at a great moment, and she had no greatness to meet it. Herein alone
is her condemnation. She has received more than her fair share of blame,
for she has been made the scapegoat of Charles' faults. The tragedy of her
fate rivals that of Mary Stuart or of Marie Antoinette, but she missed the
historical felicity of a violent death, so that she has failed to touch the
popular imagination. Had she done so, the most charming queen who ever sat
upon the English throne, the daughter of the man whom France still adores,
would have been saved from a verdict at the tribunal of posterity which, if
not altogether unjust, is totally inadequate.
HENRIETTA MARIA
CHAPTER I
THE DAUGHTER OF FRANCE
In this more than kingly state
Love himself shall on me wait.
Fill to me, Love, nay, fill it up;
And mingled cast into the cup
Wit and mirth and noble fires,
Vigorous health and gay desires.
ABRAHAM COWLEY
On a May morning in the year of grace 1625, a young girl, watching in the
Château of the Louvre in the city of Paris, was awaiting the greatest event
which had yet come to disturb the tenor of her life; for, before the sun
had set, she, Henrietta Maria of France, would be the betrothed wife of
Charles, King of England.
It was a brilliant match for the little Princess, the youngest child of
Henry IV, King of France, and of his wife Mary de' Medici of the great
Florentine House: she owed it in part to the far-reaching policy of the
father she had never known, and in part to the exertions of her mother and
of a new favourite of that lady, M. de Richelieu. As she was only fifteen
years old[1] she was, perhaps, too young to enter into the political aspect
of the matter, but she was fully alive to the social and ceremonial
advantages to which it would entitle her: a few years before she had gazed
with envy at the honours prepared for her elder sister, Christine, the
bride of Savoy: now she could afford to think of them almost with contempt,
for, to her, the bride of proud England, far more splendid homage was about
to be offered. Nor, though the bridegroom was absent and both betrothal and
wedding would have to be by proxy, was he unknown. Henrietta had seen him
when he was in Paris on the return journey of his romantic expedition to
Spain, and she knew that he was a tall and proper man, handsome in face and
royal in bearing, with a certain melancholy persuasiveness of address which
not even a slight stammer could spoil. "I do not think he need have gone
quite so far as Spain for a bride," she had said then, with the freedom of
her tender years; even now, nearly a year later, she felt such an interest
in her prospective bridegroom, that by the help of an old servant she
borrowed his portrait from one of the English envoys who was accustomed to
wear it round his neck, and, having carried it off to her private
apartments, she gazed at it for the space of an hour, blushing the while at
her own audacity.
Of Henrietta's childhood there is little to record; as one of her
biographers sadly remarks, her troubles began before she could know them,
for she was not a year old when her noble-hearted father perished by the
knife of Ravaillac. Her early years were passed under the care of her
mother, who, though she was solicitous for the child's health and
education, and reared her with the state due to a daughter of France,[2] is
said to have cared much less for her than for her elder sister Christine: a
sister still older, the beautiful and high-minded Elizabeth, left her
native country to become the unhappy wife of Philip IV of Spain, while
Henrietta was still too young a child to retain much personal memory of
her; but touching letters remain written from the desolate grandeur of
Madrid to show how fondly Elizabeth's heart clung to the pretty child she
had left in Paris, for whose portrait she begs, and to whom she sends
little gifts such as some toys for the toilet of her dolls, "so that when
you play you may remember me."[3] The two sisters never met again, and
the Spanish princess who came to France in Elizabeth's stead was a poor
exchange for her, even if Henrietta, who was possessed of a sparkling and
somewhat biting wit, had not been fond of exercising it upon her brother's
demure wife, with whom her mother was never on good terms.
That Henrietta's childhood was, in the main, healthy and happy, cannot be
doubted. In person she resembled her father more than did either of her
sisters, and she had inherited also his gay disposition. Her days were
passed in one beautiful château or another, either the Louvre or the
Luxembourg, or S. Germain-en-Laye, with its beautiful forest and its
terrace overlooking the Seine. Her governess was the kind and faithful
Madame de Montglas, who had tended not only her, but her brothers and
sisters from their earliest years; and if she failed in some degree to win
her mother's heart, with others she was more fortunate. Christine left her
when her years numbered but ten, but so strong was the tie of the common
childhood of the sisters, that they corresponded warmly to the end of their
lives. Her relations with her brothers were very affectionate, and the
King, in particular, cherished her as his favourite sister, probably on
account of her ready wit, a quality which, like many people who are dull
themselves, he greatly admired. Finally, her charms invited a suitor while
she was still almost a child, in the person of the Count of Soissons, a
scion of the royal house, who may well have been as much enamoured of the
dark, sparkling eyes which were the little Princess's chief beauty, as of
her position as a daughter of France.
There is, however, one sentence in an old biography of Henrietta which
shows her youth in another and a sadder aspect. Young as she was at the
time of her marriage, it appears that already she had had to learn the
difficult art of adjusting her conduct to the requirements of Court
factions and family dissensions.[4] Her childhood was cast in the stormy
times which followed the removal of the strong hand of Henry IV. Her
mother, whose lead she followed in the main, was a foolish woman under the
domination of unworthy favourites, until by good fortune she fell in with
Richelieu. It would be impossible to give here even an outline of the
history of the events which in 1617 drove Mary de Medici in disgrace from
her son's Court. It must suffice to point out that until her return in
triumph in 1621 her little daughter had some difficulty in reconciling the
respective claims of her mother and her brother, and in preserving the
favour of both.
It was not long after this return that negotiations for a matrimonial
alliance with England were opened, and thereupon Henrietta became for the
first time a person of political importance. Her mother learned to
appreciate her wit and beauty, and Richelieu, whose reign was just
beginning, looked upon her with interest as a co-operator in his schemes
for the humiliation of the House of Austria and of the French Protestants,
objects which he thought would be considerably furthered by the union of
Henrietta with the heir of England.
In due time two envoys-extraordinary arrived from England to carry out the
negotiations for the marriage. They were both very fine gentlemen, but the
elder, the Earl of Carlisle, who was a Scotchman and an able diplomatist,
on whom most of the real work of the mission fell, was in social matters
quite outshone by his junior, the Lord Kensington, shortly to become Earl
of Holland,[5] who was the handsomest man of his time and accounted so
fascinating that he was the despair of jealous husbands. He was a great
connoisseur in female beauty, and was smiled upon by Madame de Chevreuse,
the most brilliant woman of the French Court; but he was kind enough to
approve of Henrietta, and he sent home to the bridegroom-elect such glowing
accounts of her beauty as roused that rather cold person to a fever of
expectation. She was, he wrote, "the sweetest creature in France. Her
growth is very little short of her age, and her wisdom infinitely beyond
it. I heard her discourse with her mother and the ladies about her with
extraordinary discretion and quickness. She dances (the which I am a
witness of) as well as ever I saw any creature. They say she sings very
sweetly. I am sure she looks so."[6] To the Duke of Buckingham, who at this
time entirely governed Charles' mind, he wrote an equally enthusiastic
account, praising the Princess as a "lovely sweet young creature," who, if
she was not tall in stature, was "perfect in shape."[7]
Marriage negotiations between royal persons are always lengthy, and in this
case there was the additional difficulty of the difference of religion
between the contracting parties, which necessitated a dispensation from the
Pope. But James of England eagerly desired the alliance, seeing in it a
means of winning back the Palatinate for his daughter's husband, a hope
which was encouraged by the diplomacy of Richelieu, who probably also
worked upon the mind of Mary de' Medici, so that, in spite of her bigoted
attachment to the Roman Catholic Church, the whole weight of her now
powerful influence was thrown on the side of the marriage. Father Bérulle,
the founder of the French Oratory, who was a great friend of hers, was sent
to Rome to procure a dispensation from Urban VIII. Arrangements were made
to secure Henrietta's religion and morals in the heretic country to which
she was going, and it was provided that she should have the bringing up of
her children until they reached the age of twelve years. Finally, secret
articles[8] were inserted in the marriage treaty, in which James of England
and his son promised that toleration should be granted to the English
Catholics. Everything seemed settled, and all was rejoicing both in England
and France, except for two malcontents: the Spanish Ambassador in Paris
stood sullenly aloof, "who, without question, doth not well like that
England and France should bee joyned together with such a firme
alliance,"[9] and the Count of Soissons was so angry and disappointed at
the loss of his bride that he refused to treat Lord Kensington with common
courtesy, savagely declaring that the negotiations went so near his heart
that were the Englishman not the ambassador of so great a King, he would
cut his throat.
Henrietta herself was well pleased, and her cheerful countenance reflected
her content. She exchanged a number of quaint and rather formal
love-letters with her future husband, who sometimes employed as his
intermediary a young protégé of Buckingham, by name Walter Montagu, who was
destined to a singular career and to a lifelong friendship with the
Princess, whom he now saw for the first time. In March, 1625, he left Paris
and returned to England carrying the good news that all was forward, and
that the lady should be delivered in thirty days. He was able to supplement
Holland's description of the charms of the Princess, for, like that
nobleman, he was something of a connoisseur in such matters. "I have made
the Prince in love with every hair on Madame's head,"[10] he wrote
cheerfully to Carlisle. So eager was the bridegroom that he would not allow
the match to be stayed for the final settlement of the details of the
dispensation.
But just as everything was ready an event of another character occurred to
retard matters again. On March 27th, 1625, King James died, and the
question arose as to whether the wedding could be celebrated during the
period of mourning. However, as Henrietta could hardly be expected to feel
acutely the death of an unknown father-in-law which made her a queen, and
as Charles' impatience for his bride overcame any scruples with regard to
decorum, it was settled that the great event should take place in the
ensuing May. The decision that the bridegroom should not be present in
person at the ceremony was probably a disappointment to Henrietta. It had
been suggested that he should come over to France, but the proposal had not
met with approval on either side of the Channel, the English thinking it
beneath their King's dignity to seek his bride in a foreign land, and the
French fearing, with good reason, the expense of such a guest. The
selection of a proxy caused some difficulty. Charles wished that his great
friend, the Duke of Buckingham, should impersonate him on this interesting
occasion, but that nobleman, for private reasons which will be explained
below, was not agreeable to the French Court. The choice finally fell upon
the Duke of Chevreuse,[11] who was at once a high-born Frenchman and a
relative of the King of England, being a prince of the House of Lorraine,
and thus connected with Charles' great-grandmother, Mary of Guise. In spite
of his high rank he was a person of sufficient obscurity, and chiefly
remarkable as the husband of his brilliant wife.
The betrothal was solemnized on May 8th, which happened to be the Feast of
the Ascension. The ceremony took place in the Louvre in the King's own
room, which was elaborately fitted up for the occasion, and where, in the
late afternoon, he appeared as (we are told) "a beautiful sun which shines
above all others."[12] Lesser lights were present in the persons of his
wife, his only brother Gaston, Duke of Orleans, and a crowd of noblemen,
all of whom waited impatiently for the bride-elect, who at last appeared,
attended by her mother and by Madame de Chevreuse. Henrietta entered the
room with a dignity worthy of the occasion and of the great race from which
she was sprung. Her magnificent dress, which perhaps a little eclipsed her
girlish beauty, consisted of a robe of cloth of gold and silver thickly
sprinkled with golden fleurs-de-lis and enriched by diamonds and other
precious stones. This wonderful garment was further adorned by a long train
carried by the little Mademoiselle de Bourbon, the Madame de Longueville of
later days, who at this time was so young that she could only nominally
fulfil her office, while the long, heavy folds were really supported by
Madame de Montglas' daughter, Madame S. Georges, who was to accompany the
young Queen to England.
Henrietta's entry was followed by that of the two English Ambassadors and
the proxy bridegroom. Then, after the signing and countersigning of the
articles of marriage, the betrothal ceremony was solemnized according to
the rites of the Church by Cardinal de Rochefoucault, Grand Almoner of the
King of France. In the evening a ball was held in the Louvre, while outside
the firing of cannon and the letting off of fireworks testified to the
public rejoicing.
It was not until three days later, on May 11th, that the actual wedding
took place.[13] The church chosen for the religious ceremony was the
Cathedral of Notre-Dame, which was adorned with hangings of silk and
tapestry and of cloth of gold, to hide as far as possible the lines of the
Gothic architecture which was condemned by the taste of the day. Every
detail of the ceremony[14] was arranged when an unfortunate difficulty
arose which caused much ill-feeling and considerable trouble.
Jean François de Gondi, a member of one of those Italian families which had
found fortune in France in the wake of a foreign Queen, now occupied the
See of Paris. He was the first of the long line of bishops of the capital
to receive the honours of archiepiscopal rank, and, as his character, which
has been sketched for us by his candid nephew, Cardinal de Retz, was at
once feeble and vainglorious, it is probable that his head was a little
turned. His anger, therefore, may be imagined when he discovered that he
was not to officiate at a wedding which took place at his own cathedral,
but was to be set aside for the Cardinal de Rochefoucault. Mingled with
personal pique was the bitter feeling of the infringement of the rights of
the episcopate. He summoned all the prelates who were then in Paris to a
meeting, and they joined with him in presenting a petition on the subject
to the King. But Louis and the Cardinal (who had provided himself with a
brief from the Pope which, however, was not produced) stood firm; and the
upshot of the affair was that the Archbishop, though he was forced to give
way and was much blamed by his clergy for doing so, was nevertheless so
angry that he went off to the country, refusing to have anything to do with
the wedding, and leaving the nuptial mass to be said by his senior
suffragan, the Bishop of Chartres.
But this was not the worst. The absence of the Archbishop might have been
supported with philosophy, but the strike extended not only to the Chapter,
but even to such indispensable people as the singing-men, who, at the last
moment, had to be hurriedly replaced by singers from the King's cabinet and
chapel.
The English alliance was very popular in Paris. It was remembered that if
the bridegroom was King of England and a heretic, he was also a Scotchman
born and the grandson of the much-loved Mary of Scotland, who, it was
said, was doubtless praying in heaven for his conversion. Another side of
the general satisfaction was expressed by poetic references to the union of
the sister of Mars with Neptune, the King of the Waves, which, it was
hoped, would bring about a happy state of things when
"toute la Terre
Soit aux François et Anglois."[15]
It is not surprising, therefore, that the early hours of the great day saw
the _parvis_ of Notre-Dame crowded with spectators waiting patiently under
the rain of an inclement May morning. The concourse was so great that the
neighbouring streets had to be secured by barriers and patrolled by the
Swiss Guard to make free passage for the coaches of the nobility which were
perpetually arriving at the doors of the cathedral to deposit their loads
of gaily dressed ladies.
Meanwhile, what of the bride for whom all this was prepared? She had spent
the previous day at her mother's favourite convent, that of the Carmelite
nuns whom Bérulle had "fetched out of Spain" to place in a house of the
Faubourg S. Jacques. There her mother's friend, Mother Magdeleine of S.
Joseph, gave her a great deal of advice, seasoned with much piety and some
judgment. Thence she returned to pass the night at the Louvre, and to spend
a quiet morning, until at about two o'clock on the afternoon of her
wedding-day she set out for the Archbishop's palace, which that dignitary,
in spite of his chagrin, had placed at the disposal of the wedding-party.
There in the fine old house overlooking the Seine, which two hundred years
later was to fall a victim to the fury of the Parisian mob,[16] Henrietta
spent several hours in putting on the same magnificent dress which she had
worn at her betrothal, so that five o'clock had already struck when her
brother the King came to fetch her that he might conduct her to the
cathedral.
The procession was drawn up. First came an officer known as the captain of
the gate, behind whom walked a hundred men of the King's Swiss Guard, drums
beating and banners flying. They were followed by the band, which was so
effective that while the hautbois ravished the ears of those who heard
them, the drums would have stirred the most faint-hearted to courage. As to
the trumpets, they made the hearts of the listeners leap for joy within
their bodies.
At last, after heralds, marshals, peers, and dukes, after the proxy
bridegroom and the Ambassadors from England, came the central figure of the
procession, the bride herself, supported by her two brothers, one of whom
was also her King.
The sickly, depressed Louis XIII, notwithstanding his magnificent dress of
_cramoisi_ velvet, so thickly covered with cloth of gold that the
foundation hardly appeared, afforded a sad contrast to the splendid
vitality of his little sister, whose dark curls were adorned by a crown of
gold set with diamonds, and bearing in front an enormous pearl of
inestimable value. The train of her royal mantle, which was of velvet and
cloth of gold, embroidered with fleurs-de-lis, was carried by the
Princesses of Condé and Conti and by the Countess of Soissons, the mother
of the rejected lover, who had asked and obtained leave to absent himself
from the ceremony. So heavy was it that to give the bride greater comfort
an officer walked under it and supported it with his head and hands. Gaston
of Orleans, who was at his sister's left hand, was not allowed to rival his
sovereign in apparel, for a rule had been made that the King, the Duke of
Chevreuse, and the Earls of Carlisle and Holland should be the only
gentlemen to appear in cloth of gold. He had to content himself with silk.
The rear was brought up by the two Queens, the elder plainly dressed in
black, relieved by splendid jewels; the younger magnificent in cloth of
gold and silver. A crowd of highly born ladies followed, among whom may be
mentioned Mademoiselle de Montpensier, the rich heiress whom Gaston of
Orleans was to wed reluctantly a year later, and Madame de Chevreuse, who,
no doubt, cast admiring glances at the handsome face and figure of her
lover, the Earl of Holland.
The wedding ceremony was not to take place in the church but, in accordance
with the old ritual of matrimony, on a platform erected outside the west
door,[17] which was connected with the archiepiscopal palace by a long
wooden gallery upholstered in beautiful tapestry. On this platform, under a
canopy of cloth of gold, Cardinal de Rochefoucault was waiting to receive
the bride, while from the stands which had been put up round the _parvis_,
and from the windows of the tall neighbouring houses, eager heads were
thrust forward to catch a glimpse of the procession as it wound along in
the sunshine which had succeeded the rainy morning. Henrietta, the Duke of
Chevreuse, and the royal party ascended the platform. The short marriage
ceremony was gone through, and immediately on its conclusion an English
gentleman who was present, by name George Goring,[18] set off to carry to
the King of England, as quickly as relays of the swiftest horses would
allow, the tidings of his own marriage.
The new Queen only lingered at the church door to receive the kneeling
homage of the English Ambassadors. Then, accompanied by her mother, her
brothers, and the rest of the wedding-party, she entered the great
church.[19] There awaited her not only the nobility of France, but also
such dignitaries as the provost of the merchants, the aldermen of the city
of Paris, and the rector of the university, while "Messieurs du Parlement"
had, with some difficulty, made good their claim to be present in a body.
All eyes were turned upon the bride as she moved along another richly
decorated gallery, which conducted her to a dais in the chancel from which
she was to hear the nuptial Mass. It was past seven o'clock before the
offertory was reached, an almost unprecedented hour at which to say Mass,
and many may have envied the heretic Ambassadors who were able to retire
for a brief rest, owing to their unwillingness to be present at a popish
service. The only consideration shown for Henrietta was that she was not
required to communicate, as it was thought that to fast until that late
hour and to undergo at the same time so much fatigue and excitement might
prove injurious to her health.
But even when the Mass was over there was no rest to be had. That evening
saw the Archbishop's palace turned into a scene of royal festivity. In the
hall the banquet was spread. At the middle of the table sat the King, with
his mother on his right hand and his sister, the queen of a day, on his
left. The Duke of Chevreuse and the English Ambassadors were privileged to
sit down with the royal party, which was waited on by "our lords the
princes, dukes, peers, and marshals of France," who did not disdain to
bring in the meats for the feast. Outside in the May darkness all Paris was
_en fête_. Bonfires and fireworks were to be seen in every street, so that
it seemed that never had there been such rejoicings as at the marriage of
Princess Henrietta.
It might have been expected that the newly married Queen would have set off
at once for her adopted country, but, on the contrary, there were
considerable delays caused, it was believed, by the Pope's agents, who were
annoyed that the marriage had taken place before the details of the
dispensation had been settled.[20] When these difficulties had been
overcome the King fell ill, and it seems probable that the departure would
have been postponed even longer than was the case had not an event occurred
to hasten it, namely, the arrival in Paris of an unexpected and most
unwelcome guest, George, Duke of Buckingham.
This extraordinary person, whose career reads like a fairy story, was at
this time at the height of his fame. His handsome face and a certain
careless magnificence of manner, which might almost have passed for
magnanimity, were greatly admired, and if he showed at times the insolence
of the parvenu, much was condoned, at least outwardly, in the man who was
the acknowledged favourite of the King of England, and who was able to
appear in almost regal splendour, decked out, it was even said, by the
jewels of England. He was already well known in Paris, and in the few days
he had spent there in 1624, between Madrid and London, he had made an
ineffaceable impression upon at least one heart.
Few royal stories are sadder than that of Anne of Austria, the queen of
Louis XIII. Married as a mere child to an apathetic boy, she neither knew
how to win his love nor how to adapt herself to the requirements of her
position. Neglected by her husband, bullied by her mother-in-law, and later
by Richelieu, she may almost be forgiven for her treasonable correspondence
with the enemies of France. Still less can she be blamed that her heart
clung too fondly to the relatives she had left in Madrid. To the end of her
days she remained a Spaniard, _dévote_ and fanatical beyond the liking of
the lively Parisians; a Spaniard also in her unconquerable coquetry. The
ladies of her mother's Court, shut up in almost monastical seclusion, were
accustomed to amuse themselves during the long hours which intervened
between the various religious exercises by dwelling on and recounting in
every detail their conquests of the men whom they seldom saw except in the
silence of a church or among the crowds of a Court ceremony. Anne, coming
from such a life, was unable to understand at once the greater liberty and
the greater decorum of French manners. She was beautiful, and she was
gifted with a pair of soft, white, exquisitely modelled hands, so that she
was able to command the flattery which she loved. Many a gallant worshipped
at a distance, but none dared to pay her attentions which seriously
compromised her until the English favourite crossed her path.
The true story of the loves of these two is not fully known. It died with
them and with those in whom they confided; but it is probable that during
Buckingham's first visit to Paris something was suspected, and that this
was the real reason of the refusal to receive him as the proxy of the King
of England. When it was known that he had arrived, uninvited, the wrath of
his unwilling hosts was so great that it was only through the intervention
of Madame de Chevreuse, the devoted friend of Queen Anne, and the
representations of the English Ambassadors that he obtained a reception
befitting his rank.
The Duke urged strongly the immediate departure of the bride; and though it
was felt that such a desire for haste was indelicate, yet the French royal
family, with one exception, was so anxious to see the last of him, that
they were fain to comply. Henrietta, probably, was not consulted. She was a
pawn in the political game, and she was still too young to assert herself.
Perhaps she was in no hurry to be gone. She clung to her home and her
country, and the waiting time was made very pleasant by festivities in
which, for the first time, she tasted the pleasures of her queenly rank.
All were splendid; but probably the most magnificent was an entertainment
offered by Richelieu to the three queens during the indisposition of the
King. It took place at the Luxembourg, that monument of the Italian
renaissance within Paris, which was built for Mary de' Medici in her
widowhood to remind her of her own Florentine palace, whose beautiful
gardens, unchanged since her day, remain to witness to the taste of
gardeners before Le Nôtre.[21] On this occasion the spacious rooms were
magnificently decorated. The most skilful musicians which Paris could
furnish had been procured, and the ears of the guests were delighted by
choice music, both vocal and instrumental, while the courtly host employed
all the grace and charm which he had ever at command to fascinate the three
royal ladies, and particularly the young Queen of England, who was inclined
to look upon him with favour as in some sort the author of her marriage.
Finally, at the close of the entertainment all went out into the gardens to
witness a display of fireworks, "the most superb and the most beautiful
invention which had been seen for a long time."[22] The Cardinal, who had
given the fête to mark his satisfaction at the issue of his diplomacy, had
cause to congratulate himself upon its success. As Queen Henrietta said
good-bye to him with grateful cordiality, he bent his keen glance upon her
and saw in her another subservient tool of his ambition, as she saw in him
her protector and her friend. Neither the statesman nor the Queen could
read the secrets of the future, nor know that each would come to regard the
other as an enemy.
At last, when May had passed into June, the day came which witnessed the
Queen of England's departure from Paris. The King, who was still far from
well, determined, nevertheless, to see his sister on her way as far as
Compiègne, and apart from his royal presence she had goodly attendance. It
included the Queen-Mother and her second son Gaston, both of whom intended
to accompany the bride to the coast; the Queen Consort, who, against the
advice of her best friends, could not tear herself from the fascinating
company of Buckingham; the Duke of Chevreuse, and M. de Ville-aux-Clercs,
who were commissioned by the King of France to deliver over his sister to
her royal husband. Finally, Madame de Chevreuse, who had asked and obtained
permission to accompany the bride to her new home for a reason similar to
that which actuated her friend Queen Anne--namely, the love which she bore
to the Earl of Holland.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon when Henrietta left the Louvre to set
out on her journey to England. Her brother, who, perhaps to dazzle the more
homely English, had spared no expense on her trousseau and equipment, had
provided for her personal use a magnificent litter upholstered within and
without in red _cramoisi_ velvet, which was relieved by the gold embroidery
of the cushions and curtains. It was drawn by two fine mules, gorgeous in
their red velvet cloths, and with white aigrettes nodding merrily on their
heads. They were led by a muleteer who was handsomely dressed, and who rode
another richly caparisoned mule. The trappings of the rest of the party
were also splendid in proportion to their rank. A brave escort saw on her
way the daughter of Henry IV. Archers and guards turned out to do her
honour, and by her side rode that great civic dignitary, "M. le prevost des
Marchands." To the sound of martial music went the gay cavalcade, through
the narrow streets of old Paris up to the Porte S. Denys, and so beyond the
wall, which still guarded the city, into the suburbs. Working men and
women, leaving their toil, lined the road, many of whom looking on the fair
child who was leaving them, and having no expectation of seeing her again,
could not restrain their weeping.
[Illustration: FROM AN ENGRAVING AFTER THE PICTURE BY FRANCIS POURBUS]
Half-way to S. Denys the party halted. The provost of the merchants
delivered a weary discourse, "full of matter," and then bidding Henrietta
farewell he turned back to Paris with his escort. The rest pushed on. There
was no time to wait at S. Denys, where the dust of Henrietta's father lay,
and whither her own dead body was to be carried nearly half a century
later. The summer evening was drawing in, and it was thought wiser to go on
to Stains, where a night's rest awaited the bride, who may well have been
fatigued by the toils of this exciting day.
The first considerable town through which the royal party passed was
Amiens. This great city, "the metropolis and key of all Picardy," was
determined, notwithstanding its depressed financial position, to give the
three Queens, no one of whom had ever before been within its walls, a
splendid reception. This resolve was all the more loyal as the
consideration of the King had only indicated a few simple tokens of
respect, such as a reception by the aldermen, as obligatory on the
occasion. It was late in the afternoon before the royal ladies and their
train approached the city, for they were much delayed by the concourse of
people who came out to see them. Not far from the city gates they were met
by the Governor, the Duke of Chaulnes, who brought with him three hundred
horsemen whose steeds, we are told, were of the same race as those sung by
the poets--whose eyes and nostrils emitted flames and fire. Of the
cavaliers each might have been taken for chief and leader, so splendid were
they all. Accompanied by this dashing cavalcade the cortège swept on, to be
met on its way by a troop of archers bearing an ensign with the device of a
cupid, by the youth of the city drawn up in companies, and finally by six
thousand of the mature citizens, whose martial discipline was the
admiration of all. By a wise precaution no salvos were fired until the
royal party was safely passed, for experience had shown that, though only
two or three horses might be frightened, yet they were sufficient to cause
unseemly disturbance.
After the formal greeting had been given to the guests at the gate of the
city by the mayor and aldermen, a ceremony took place specially designed in
compliment to the bride of the island King. Fifty young girls, all pretty
and some very beautiful, dressed up to represent the demi-goddesses of the
sea, came to hail Henrietta as Thetis, queen of the waves, sitting upon the
throne of her litter which had brought her from the banks of the Seine, and
to whom, in token of humble submission, they presented the keys of the
city. So great was the crush to see this sight that the gentleman to whom
we owe the story of the details of the day[23] was unable to get near
enough to hear the speeches of the marine goddesses. The crowds in the
streets were great, and as there were neither archers nor Swiss, as at
Paris, to range the people against the houses and to keep a clear passage,
the confusion was considerable; but it was not allowed to interfere with
the programme drawn up by the loyal people of Amiens. Henrietta saw not
only triumphal arches and columns in abundance, but also curious
allegorical ceremonies in the taste of the times. She beheld Jason, who,
after fighting with fire-breathing bulls, bore off triumphant the golden
fleece, and in whom she was to recognize an impersonation of her husband,
Charles of England. She listened to the hymeneal god, who, attended by
nymphs, stepped forward and, to the accompaniment of sweet music, sang a
wedding-song specially composed for the occasion. The last three verses,
notwithstanding their extravagance of compliment, are so fresh and charming
as to be worthy of the pretty bride to whom they were addressed.
"Mais que fais je par ces carmes
Vous arrestant en ces lieux
C'est que je suis pris aux charmes
Que vous avez dans les yeux.
"Allez, j'ay peur que vous-mesme
Nous emportiez votre coeur;
Vous portez un diademe
Soubs un front toujours vainquer.
"Ne demeurez, ie vieux suyvre
Mon coeur ne sera rétif,
C'est glorieusement vivre
Que d'estre en vos mains captif."[24]
Henrietta looked and smiled and listened. She was new to such honours, and
it was pleasant to be for the moment a greater person than her stern mother
or her stately sister-in-law. But the rejoicings were long-drawn-out, and
she must have been very weary before they culminated in a joyous _Te Deum_
sung in the cathedral, which, like Notre-Dame in Paris, had been disfigured
as much as possible with pictures and hangings. Nor even then were her
toils over. Long and dreary speeches awaited her, to which she had to
listen with some show of interest, before at last she could lie down to
rest.
Henrietta's innocent dreams were perhaps of Jason and the goddesses of the
sea; but there were those about her whose pillows were haunted by visions
of a very different character.
Had all France been searched through it would have been difficult to find a
more undesirable friend and adviser for a young married woman than Marie de
Rohan, once Duchess of Luynes, and now by her second marriage Duchess of
Chevreuse. Beautiful, unscrupulous, and gifted with a remarkable talent for
diplomacy, which enabled her to give effect to her audacious schemes, she
had little difficulty in recommending herself to Henrietta, into whose
young mind she dropped seeds of distrust and of a love of crooked ways
which were to bear fruit in the future. It was not her fault if other seeds
failed to ripen there, and if the purity of the little bride's mind was
proof against the evil example of certain events which occurred during the
few days of the halt at Amiens.
The city had no house large enough to accommodate the three Queens. The
Queen-Mother, as befitted her age and dignity, was lodged in the episcopal
palace, while Henrietta and her sister-in-law had to find apartments
elsewhere. The bride's domicile is not known, but to Queen Anne and her
attendants was allotted a fine house with gardens sloping down to the River
Somme. In these gardens took place a famous scene destined to influence
several lives, and among them that of Henrietta Maria.
Already at a ball given by the Duchess of Chaulnes the animation and
brilliant looks of the Queen of France had been remarked, and ill-natured
people were not lacking who saw in the English duke, who had danced on that
evening with infinite grace, the magician able to rouse her from the
listlessness which usually spoiled her undoubted beauty. Such public
meetings were safe enough, but Buckingham was constantly at the Queen's
lodgings. One evening, in company with Madame de Chevreuse and the Earl of
Holland, he was paying his respects when Anne, who, remembering the soft,
scented nights of her native land, loved to wander abroad after dusk,
invited him to enjoy with her the cool beauty of the June twilight. Their
companions, who were carrying on their own flirtation under the cloak of
another's, followed, but, perhaps intentionally, they lagged behind, so
that the royal lady found herself alone with her bold admirer in a dark,
winding walk. Suddenly the silence of the evening was broken by a shrill
cry. The Queen's equerry, who was in attendance at a discreet distance,
rushed up to find his mistress in a state of trembling agitation, and the
duke so red and confused that he was glad to make his escape as quickly as
possible. There were, of course, explanations and excuses. The matter came
to the ears of the Queen-Mother, who, worn out by her exertions, was lying
seriously ill; she helped to hush up the scandal, and both Anne and
Buckingham seemed, for the moment, to escape easily; but it was felt that
they must part at once, and the duke, with a tact which he sometimes
displayed, began to talk of the King of England's impatience to see his
bride, and to hint that it was not necessary to wait for the Queen-Mother's
recovery.
Henrietta, the sport of others less innocent than herself, knelt to receive
her mother's last blessing. That lady, touched by some real maternal
feeling, bade her a tender farewell, pressing into her hand a letter which
the girl found, when she came to read it, to be full of the most admirable
sentiments of piety and virtue and of excellent advice as to her conduct in
the married state. She probably knew Mary de' Medici too well to attribute
this composition to her, and perhaps no one attempted to disguise the fact
that its author was the pious Father Bérulle who was going with her to
England in the capacity of confessor.[25]
Through Abbeville, with its soaring cathedral, through picturesque
Montreuil, Henrietta came to Boulogne, whence she was to cross to England,
as the plague was reigning at Calais. Though it was June, the weather was
wild and stormy, and a further delay was inevitable. Buckingham, forgetful
of all propriety, careless of the trust confided to him by his friend and
King, took advantage of this delay to steal back, on a frivolous pretext,
to Amiens, and to Anne. His audacity little availed him. After one brief
agitated interview he had to tear himself from his idol, whom he never saw
again.
During the waiting time at Boulogne, Henrietta made acquaintance with some
of her new subjects who had crossed the Channel to meet her, and who were
greatly disappointed when they found her without her mother and
sister-in-law, for, as one of them wrote, they had looked forward to seeing
beauty not only in the future tense, but in the present and the
preterperfect as well.[26] Buckingham, who up till now had been too
occupied with Anne to pay much attention to the bride, and who was too much
of a man of the world to care for the "future tense" of beauty, now, it
seems, bethought him of winning the favour of the Queen of England.
Certainly he secured a flattering reception for his mother, the Countess of
Buckingham, who improved the occasion of her visit to France by reconciling
herself to the Church of Rome. In later days Henrietta did not like the
lady, but at this first introduction she received her "with strange
courtesy and favour."[27] Nor was she alone in her kindness. Gaston of
Orleans, who, in his mother's enforced detention at Amiens, had adhered to
his plan of escorting his sister to the coast, paid the English lady the
unusual compliment of visiting her, and the haughty and high-born Madame de
Chevreuse actually waived her right of precedence in favour of the
Buckinghams, whose family was of yesterday. It need hardly be said that
such courtesy was greatly relished by the English visitors, who found no
drawback to the happy intercourse with their new friends except in the
Countess' ignorance of the French tongue. But even this difficulty was got
over by the presence at Boulogne of Sir Tobie Matthew, who, though the son
of a Protestant archbishop, was a Catholic and a citizen of the world whose
linguistic talents, which were much admired in continental circles, were
joined to a refined culture which rendered him a fitting intermediary
between these distinguished persons. Fortunately all his time was not taken
up by such duties, and he employed his leisure very profitably in writing a
long letter to a lady acquaintance, which contains the fullest account we
possess of Henrietta in her early youth before the cares of married life
had come upon her.
Sir Tobie's ready and subtle pen drew such a sketch of the young Queen as,
interpreted by the future, shows him to have been a keen analyst of
character. Henrietta had grown a good deal during the past year; and though
she was still small, "she sits," he wrote, "upon the very skirts of
womanhood." Her mind and character were as yet undeveloped; but in the
mingled gentleness and wit of her conversation, in the sweet courtesy shown
to her inferiors, in the faithful affection which clung to the mother she
had left, finally, in the courage and enterprise which, to the despair of
her attendants, tempted her to a sea-trip in an open boat with her brother
Gaston, we recognize the woman of later days, as in the girl of fifteen we
see the beautiful queen of Van Dyck's portraits. "Upon my faith," wrote the
worthy knight, giving utterance to a prophecy which unfortunately was not
completely fulfilled, "she is a most sweet, lively nature, and hath a
countenance which opens a window into her heart, where a man may see all
nobleness and goodness; and I dare venture my head (upon the little skill I
have in physiognomy) that she will be extraordinarily beloved by our nation
and deserve to be so, and that the actions of her life which are to be her
owne will be excellent."[28]
At length, after nearly three weeks of waiting, during which Henrietta's
health and spirits flagged a little, the twenty-second day of June dawned
calm and fair, and it was decided that the voyage should be made.
Heretofore the Queen of England had been her brother's guest, but now, on
the eve of embarking, she was delivered over to the care of the Duke of
Buckingham, and the deed of consignation was signed by that nobleman and by
the two French Ambassadors, to witness that the responsibility of the
latter was ended. After the little ceremony the Queen was escorted to the
quay by her brother. She went on board the beautiful ship, _The Prince_,
which her husband had sent for her. The preparations for departure were
quickly made. The moment came when she clung in a last embrace to Gaston.
Then the sails were unfurled, and _The Prince_ rode proudly out of Boulogne
harbour. As Henrietta stood gazing upon the rapidly receding cliffs of
France, did any foreboding of the future come over her, any presage of
coming grief such as weighed upon the heart of her husband's grandmother,
Mary of Scotland, on a similar occasion? Did any shadow of that day nearly
twenty years later, when, a fugitive pursued by unrelenting foes, she would
see again her native land, darken her spirit? We cannot tell. We only know
that she had a moment's _serrement de coeur_, such as any girl might feel
on leaving home, and that she was a little afraid of sea-sickness.
No inconvenience, however, arose. Charles' care had caused his bride's
cabin to be so beautified that she might have imagined herself in her own
Louvre rather than on the sea; and to complete the illusion a choice
concert of delicate instruments and sweet voices was in readiness to amuse
her. Moreover, no precaution was omitted which might ensure the safety of
so precious a freight. _The Prince_ and the vessels which formed her escort
carried the most experienced pilots that could be obtained, whose work was
so well done (though unfortunately it was never paid for) that in
four-and-twenty hours the Channel was crossed. Dover harbour was safely
made, and amidst a throng of interested spectators Henrietta Maria touched
the soil of her new kingdom. It was noticed that immediately on her arrival
the wind rose again with its former violence, and that the sea was again
troubled as if for her alone they had stilled their raging. It was now
evening, and as the Queen, in spite of the pleasures of the little voyage
which seemed to have restored her health and spirits, confessed to great
fatigue, she was allowed to retire at once and to postpone until the next
day the meeting with her husband. M. de Chevreuse and M. de
Ville-aux-Clercs wrote a formal letter to their master, informing him of
his sister's happy arrival, while the King of England awaited, with as much
patience as he could command, the morrow which was to give to his arms the
bride who had tarried so long.
[Footnote 1: She was born on November 25th, 1609 (November 15th, O.S.).]
[Footnote 2: The elaborate ceremonies of her baptism are described in a
pamphlet entitled _Discours sur le baptême de Monsieur frère du Roy et de
la petite Madame_. 1614.]
[Footnote 3: Bib. Nat., Paris. MS. Français, 3818.]
[Footnote 4: After this marriage (of Christine) Her Majesty durst not
follow her mother, to the displeasure of her brother, lest she might hinder
her own, until June 21st, 1620, when the Queen-Mother and her son were
reconciled.
_The Life and Death of that matchless mirror of Magnanimity and Heroick
Vertue, Henrietta Maria de Bourbon_ (1669), p. 5.]
[Footnote 5: He was created Earl of Holland September 15th, 1624.]
[Footnote 6: _Cabala_ (1691), Pt. II, p. 287.]
[Footnote 7: _Ibid._, p. 290. The following descriptions of Henrietta
shortly after her marriage show the impression she made upon Englishmen:
"We have now a most Noble new Queen of England who in true beuty is beyond
the Long-Wood Infanta; for she was of a fading Flaxen-Hair, Big-Lipp'd and
somewhat heavy Ey'd, but this Daughter of France, this youngest Branch of
Bourbon ... is of a more lovely and lasting Complexion, a dark Brown, she
hath Eyes that sparkle like stars and on her Physiognomy she may be said
to be a mirrour of perfection."--J. Howell: _Epistolæ Ho-Eliamæ_ (1645),
sec. IV, p. 30. " ... I went to Whitehall purposlie to see the queene,
which I did fullie all the time shee sate at dinner and perceived her to
bee a most absolute delicate ladie, after I had exactly surveied all the
features of her face, much enlivened by her radiant and sparkling black
eye. Besides her deportment amongst her women was so sweete and humble,
and her speech and lookes to her other servants soe milde and gracious,
as I could not abstaine from divers deep-fetched sighes that she wanted
the knowledge of the true religion."--_D'Ewes' Diary_: printed in
_Bibliotheca Typographica Britannica_ (1790), Vol. VI, p. 33.]
[Footnote 8: These articles were signed at Cambridge in December, 1624; see
MS. Français, 3692: also the _Mémoirs du Comte de Brienne_ (M. de
Ville-aux-Clercs) (Petitot), 1824, p. 389, who was in England at the time
negotiating the matter.]
[Footnote 9: _Continuation of Weekly News_, No. 43, 1624.]
[Footnote 10: Egerton MS., 2596, f. 49.]
[Footnote 11: The procuration of the King of England authorizing the Duke
of Chevreuse to marry the Princess Henrietta in his name is dated April
11th, 1625.]
[Footnote 12: L'Ordre des cérémonies observés au mariage du roy de la
Grande Britagne et de Madame soeur du roy. Paris, 1625.]
[Footnote 13: Many of the details of the marriage, departure from Paris,
etc., are taken from the official account, MS. Français, 23,600.]
[Footnote 14: The ceremonies followed the precedent of those used at the
marriage of Henrietta's father, Henry of Navarre, with Margaret of Valois.]
[Footnote 15: Part of the song with which Henrietta was greeted at Amiens
on her wedding journey. See pp. 20, 21.]
[Footnote 16: Destroyed in February, 1831.]
[Footnote 17: Cf. Chaucer, _Canterbury Tales_: Prologue.
A good Wif was ther of byside Bath
* * * * *
Sche was a worthy womman al hire lyfe
Housbondes atte chirche dore hadde sche fyfe.]
[Footnote 18: George Goring, Baron Goring, 1628, Earl of Norwich, 1644; d.
1663.]
[Footnote 19: At some point in the ceremony Henrietta Maria renounced all
her rights to the throne and dominions of France, as had been stipulated in
the marriage treaty.]
[Footnote 20: The dispensation is dated December, 1625.]
[Footnote 21: They are smaller, part of them having been built over.]
[Footnote 22: MS. Français, 23,600.]
[Footnote 23: L'Entrée superbe magnifique faite à la Royne de la grande
Bretagne dans la Ville d'Amiens, le Samedy septisme de Juin, 1625. Sur les
fideles relations d'un seigneur de qualité. A. Paris, MDCXXV.]
[Footnote 24: _Ibid._]
[Footnote 25: On the question of the authorship of this letter see Avenal:
_Lettres de Richelieu_, VIII., p. 27. There seems no doubt that it was
written by Bérulle. Among the Bérulle papers (Archives Nationales, M. 232)
is an authenticated copy, whose note of authentication states that "ce
discours à este composé par nostre très révérend père" (i.e. Bérulle), as
the copyist was informed in 1660. Bérulle in 1627 wrote another letter for
Mary de' Medici to send to her daughter. See chap. IV.]
[Footnote 26: Sir Tobie Matthew. Tanner MS., LXXII.]
[Footnote 27: _Ibid._]
[Footnote 28: Tanner MS., LXXII, 40.]
CHAPTER II
THE BRIDE OF ENGLAND
Parents lawes must beare no weight
When they happinesse prevent.
And our sea is not so streight,
But it room hath for content.
WILLIAM HABINGTON
Long years after the events occurred, when many happy years had softened
the memory of their bitterness, Henrietta Maria confessed to her friend
Madame de Motteville that her early married life had not been free from
disappointment and vexation. Charles Stuart was not an easy man to live
with, as all those who had much to do with him found out. He was moral,
conscientious, in many respects admirable; but he was oppressed by a sense
of his own importance, he was entirely without humour, and he was convinced
that he was always, on all occasions, in the right. He did not, as many
royal husbands, break his marriage vow, but he treated his girl-wife with a
harshness which fell little short of unkindness, and that though she was
ever anxious to do her duty and he was always sincerely a lover.
It is probable that the difficulties began almost immediately. Charles, on
his arrival at Dover, did, indeed, greet his beautiful bride with delight,
and when she would have knelt at his feet he prevented her by clasping her
in his arms instead. But the French visitors soon showed that they were
dissatisfied with the Queen's reception. They were ignorant of the more
homely character of the English people and Court; and, contrasting the
poverty of the festivities and welcome offered by the King of England to
his queen with the splendour which the King of France had freely displayed
to do honour to his sister, they concluded a lack of respect and affection
on the part of Charles which had no foundation in fact. Some of the
difficulty was indeed wholly due to national misunderstanding, as, for
instance, the ill-feeling caused by the gloomy splendours of Dover Castle,
where the young Queen spent her first night in England, and, later, by an
antique bed, dating from the reign of Elizabeth, in which she was invited
to repose in London. How could the English know that these relics of a
glorious past were in the eyes of these visitors, accustomed to the
new-fashioned luxuries of the French Court, nothing but relics of
barbarism? "None of us, however old, could remember ever having seen such a
bed," wrote Tillières,[29] in deep indignation. Nor was the public welcome
to London more successful, though the marriage was fairly popular, and
there was much kindly feeling towards the bride. The plague was raging in
the city, so that, for prudence'sake, festivities had to be curtailed;
while, to make matters worse, the entry into the capital took place on one
of those drenching summer days which are not of infrequent occurrence in
these islands. To the French visitors used to Paris, which, if one of the
dirtiest of cities, was, then as now, one of the most beautiful and
magnificent, London, at the best, would have looked rather shabby,[30] in
these circumstances it appeared ugly and squalid. The English were little
more pleased with their guests. "A poor lot, hardly worth looking at," was
the comment of one Englishman on the brilliant train of French ladies who
accompanied the Queen; and if he made an exception in favour of Madame de
Chevreuse, who could hardly have been called plain, it was only to find
fault with her for painting her face. It was perhaps not to be expected
that this remarkable lady should find favour in Puritan eyes, for during
her stay in England, where she remained over the birth of her daughter, the
Mademoiselle de Chevreuse of later French history, she exhibited more than
her usual eccentricity, indulging in such freaks as swimming across the
Thames, an exploit which was celebrated in half-mocking verse by a Court
poet.[31] But such petty national jealousies were annoyances of a trivial
character. The more serious disagreements which arose between the royal
pair may be traced, almost entirely, to two sources: the influence over the
Queen of her French attendants, and the influence over the King of the Duke
of Buckingham.
Among the articles of the marriage treaty was a stipulation that the
Queen's household should be composed of those who were of her own faith and
nation. This body consisted of more than a hundred persons, civil and
religious, chosen by Mary de' Medici and Richelieu, ranging from such great
nobles and ladies as Madame S. Georges, the principal lady-in-waiting, and
the Count de Tillières, the lord chamberlain, to the humble servants of the
royal kitchen and laundry. Certainly the presence of so many of her own
countrymen about the person of the young Queen tended to prevent that
assimilation of English ideas and habits which was so desirable. It is not
surprising that Charles disliked his wife's French servants as standing
between him and his bride, particularly when it is remembered that they
looked upon themselves as the servants of the King of France, who provided
many of them with pensions.
The object of his special dislike was Madame S. Georges, who, as the
daughter of Madame de Montglas, had great influence with Henrietta, and
who, though she had had long experience in Courts,[32] was foolish enough
to show herself aggrieved at not being permitted to ride in the same coach
with the King of England and his bride. Madame de Tillières, who ranked
next to her, was more discreet in her conduct, probably owing to her
husband's intimate knowledge of England, where he had resided a while as
ambassador.
But if the secular part of the Queen's household was objectionable, still
more so was the ecclesiastical establishment, of which the leading spirits
were her confessor, Father Bérulle, who had brought over with him twelve
fathers of the French Oratory,[33] whose long habit, worn on all occasions,
startled the eyes of sober Londoners, and her Grand Almoner, Daniel de la
Motte du Plessis Houdancourt, who had under him four sub-almoners, one of
whom was said to have openly defended at Court the doctrine of tyrannicide
which Ravaillac put into practice. Bérulle, who lived to wear the
Cardinal's purple, left behind him when he died a few years later the
reputation almost of a saint.[34] He was also a very intellectual man,
being one of the early admirers of the genius of Descartes; but he was not
suited either in mind or character for the position which the partiality of
Mary de' Medici had called him to fill; a man of stern and narrow piety,
neither a Fénelon nor even a Bossuet, he knew not how to deal
sympathetically with those whose religion and manners differed from his
own; and the scorn which, as a Catholic ecclesiastic, he felt for "the
ministers," at whom, in his letters, he loses no opportunity of sneering,
as an abstemious Frenchman he felt no less for the gluttonous English. He
recognized Charles' affection for his bride; but when the artistic King
thought to please her by giving her a beautiful picture of the Nativity,
all that the priest found to say on seeing it was that it was older than
the religion of its donor. His very virtues were unfortunate. Though
practised in Courts, he was too sincere to be a successful diplomat, and he
showed a singular lack of enlightened self-interest, both in the just
reproaches with which he overwhelmed Buckingham on the subject of the
Catholics, and also in the friendship which he extended to Bishop Williams,
whose sun was setting before that of the younger favourite. Nor was he
altogether successful in his dealings with the Queen. He did indeed win
Henrietta's respect, and to his teaching may be attributed, in some degree,
the lifelong conduct which distinguishes her so honourably from others of
her rank and day. But a Catholic Puritan himself--it is significant that
the French Oratory a few years later was believed to be infected with
Jansenism--and looking upon all Courts, specially Protestant ones, as
chosen haunts of the devil, he was wont to rebuke his royal penitent for
such natural sentiments as pleasure in her pretty dresses and jewels, and,
forgetting that she was not a Carmelite nun in the Faubourg S. Jacques, he
attempted to force upon her a strictness of manners and observance suited
neither to her nature nor to her position. Charles' complaints of the cold
and unloving conduct of the wife with whom, even by the testimony of his
enemies, he was deeply in love; Buckingham's gibes at a queen who lived "en
petite Mademoiselle," had their foundation in facts, facts for which
Bérulle was largely responsible.
[Illustration: CARDINAL PIERRE DE BÉRULLE
FROM AN ENGRAVING]
The Bishop of Mende was a very different person from the austere Oratorian.
A member of one of the noblest houses in France, high-spirited, cultured,
and fascinating, he owed a position to which his twenty and odd years would
not have entitled him to the fact that he was a relative and intimate
friend of Richelieu. He knew how to win the affection of the Queen, who on
one occasion warmly recommended him to the Pope,[35] and who, when he left
her to pay a visit of a few weeks to his native land, wrote requesting his
return, as she could not get on without him; but the King frankly detested
him, and years later, when the Bishop was in his grave, remembered angrily
the arrogance with which the latter was wont to enter his wife's private
apartments at any hour that pleased him. That the charges of indiscretion
brought against him by the English were not unfounded may be gathered not
only from the amazing audacity of his proposal to place the crown on the
Queen's head in Westminster Abbey--a proposal which led to her never being
crowned at all[36]--but also from the reluctant admission of his friend
Tillières that he was too young for his post, and from an admonitory letter
addressed to him by his masters in Paris, urging him to moderate his zeal
and to bridle his fiery tongue.
But there were reasons other than personal, of which Charles and his
subjects were certainly in some degree aware, for disliking and distrusting
Henrietta's household.
One of the causes of the extraordinary success of Richelieu's policy is no
doubt to be sought in the accuracy and range of the information at his
command, which was furnished by persons in every country, who, though a
prettier name might be given to them, were, to speak plainly, his spies.
Some of them were French subjects abroad, others were subjects and often
even servants of the King in whose land they lived, who were persuaded by
the powerful argument of a pension to engage in this traffic in news.[37]
By this means the Cardinal found out most things that it was to his
interest to know, and often, while he was professing goodwill and affection
to some hapless wight who was in his power, he was, at the same time,
collecting information to be used against him.
Richelieu's content at the English alliance has already been referred to.
He was, at this time, at the height of his influence over the Queen-Mother,
and he was rapidly building up the power which was to make him the
strongest and most irresponsible minister that France has ever seen.
Judging perhaps from the precedent of Queen Anne of Austria, he believed
that Henrietta would be the instrument of France and consequently of
himself in England. He was determined that she should have those about her
in whom he could feel confidence; in other words, that the choice and
highly born body of men and women who served the person of the Queen of
England should be also the servants of an alien power. They played their
part well. Even Bérulle, who was too good an ecclesiastic not to know the
duties of the married state, summed up, in a letter to a private friend,
the objects of his mission to England as being "to initiate the spirit of
the Queen of England into the dispositions necessary," not only "for her
soul," but also "for this country,"[38] i.e. France. The Bishop of Mende,
by the testimony of Tillières, detailed everything that occurred to
Richelieu, and abundance of letters written by his hand remain to prove the
truth of this statement. As for Tillières himself, his attitude both to
England and France may be gathered from his own Memoirs, and from the
reputation he earned in this island, where he was considered very
"jesuited."
Such being the state of things, it would not perhaps be difficult, without
seeking for further cause, to account for the irritation of a young and
high-spirited King; but there is another factor to be taken into
consideration.
If we are to believe the testimony of those who on the Queen's behalf
watched the course of events, the real author of the King's harshness to
his wife and of his dislike to her servants was his favourite, the Duke of
Buckingham, whose power over his royal master was so unbounded that he had
but to indicate a line of action for Charles to follow it. This, indeed,
was the deliberate opinion of Henrietta, who years later told Madame de
Motteville that the Duke had announced to her his intention of sowing
dissension between her and her husband, and though it is probable, from
letters of Charles which are still extant, that the French underrated his
independent dislike of them, and consequently exaggerated the guilt of the
favourite, yet the substantial truth of the accusation can hardly be
doubted. Buckingham was acute enough to perceive the naturally uxorious
bent of the King's mind, and also the rare gifts and graces of the young
Queen; and as soon as he discovered that it was impossible to make a slave
of the wife as he had of the husband, he began to regard her as an enemy.
He may well have trembled for an influence which was threatened on another
side by the rising indignation of the people, whose voice did not scruple
to point him out as a public enemy, and even to accuse him of the death of
the late King.
But there was another reason, equally in keeping with his haughty
character, which the gossips of the time freely alleged for his persistent
persecution of the Queen of England. Over in Paris the Queen of France,
with Madame de Chevreuse whispering temptation in her ear, was waiting for
the man to whom she owed the brightest hours of her shadowed life. Unless,
in this case, history lies in no ordinary manner, Henrietta's married
happiness was put in jeopardy as much by the soft glances of Anne of
Austria, as by the austerity of Bérulle or by the audacity of the Bishop of
Mende. Was it not for the sake of this fair charmer that Buckingham,
wishing to discredit her enemies, Mary de' Medici and Richelieu, tried to
nullify the political effects of the match they had made? Was it not that
he might return to France and to her that he stirred up strife between two
great Kings? Was it not, finally, to revenge the smarts of his hindered
love for her that he first persecuted and then expelled those who in the
Court of England were living under the protection of that Court which
refused to receive him as ambassador? To all these questions contemporaries
have replied, and their answer comes with no uncertain sound.
Buckingham hated all the French, but his chief enemy was the Bishop of
Mende. This young ecclesiastic possessed a stingingly sarcastic tongue,
which the favourite, who, like most vain people, detested ridicule, both
hated and feared. The former had, besides, a malicious habit of insisting
with the most courtly grace upon long conversations in the French tongue,
by which means the Englishman, who was not a perfect linguist, appeared, to
his infinite chagrin, to disadvantage by the side of his nimble-tongued
adversary. Nor did the Bishop confine himself to words. Secure in the
favour of Richelieu he dared to oppose the Duke when that nobleman induced
the King to appoint his wife, his sister,[39] and his niece _dames du lit_
to the Queen. Henrietta, though she pointed out that already she had three
ladies in place of the two who had served her mother-in-law, yet weary of
opposition, would have given in, and perhaps the French Ambassadors, who
were still in England and to whom the matter was referred, might also have
been won over by the soft speeches of Buckingham. But the watchful Bishop
was not thus to be tricked. He represented so strongly the danger of
placing "Huguenot" ladies near the person of the young Queen, and spoke so
earnestly of the scandal which such a proceeding would occasion among the
Catholics both of England and the Continent, that the favourite's ambitious
intrigues were defeated. He was unused to such checks, and Tillières was
probably right in seeing in this incident the cause of his hatred to the
man who had thus foiled him.
Nevertheless, there was a moment when the Bishop of Mende hoped to win over
the Duke to France and to Henrietta. In August, 1625, the first Parliament
of Charles I met. It was in no amiable mood, for it was known that the King
had lent ships to be used against the Protestants of Rochelle, and the
concessions to the Catholics, though nominally secret, were more than
suspected. Charles found himself embarrassed by a request to put in force
the recusancy laws, while at the same time he was angered by an open attack
upon his favourite. Now, in the opinion of the Bishop, was the moment to
offer to Buckingham the French alliance, and in a long cipher dispatch to
Richelieu he detailed his hopes. Spain had turned against the Duke, the
English detested him. What course was open to him but to fling himself into
the arms of the most Christian King? But Buckingham had other and opposite
views. He believed that his best chance of political salvation lay in
counselling his master to grant the petition of Parliament. Without abiding
principle, careless which religious or political party he favoured so that
it furthered his own ends, he thought only of his personal safety. He had
not overrated his hold on Charles' heart. The King of England, to save his
unworthy favourite, bowed to the storm. He put in force the recusancy laws,
thus breaking the solemn promise which he had made only a few months before
to a brother-sovereign, and inflicting an almost unbearable insult upon his
young wife.
It was little she could do. Earnestly as she strove to do her duty, Charles
was never satisfied with her, and he not only resented unduly the small
errors of taste and tact inevitable in a girl of her age, left without
proper guidance in a land of which she did not even know the language, but
he exposed her to the almost incredible rudeness of Buckingham, to whom he
commented on her conduct[40] and who chided her like a child, and once even
dared to tell her that if she did not behave better her husband would see
order to her. It is not surprising that her temper sometimes failed her.
Once, even in the opinion of Tillières, she spoke unbecomingly about Madame
S. Georges' exclusion from the royal coach; and another time, in a fit of
girlish anger, she marked her displeasure at the reading of Anglican
prayers in the house where she was staying by attempting to drown the voice
of the minister in loud and ostentatious talk with her ladies outside the
room in which he was officiating. Thus her spirit sometimes rose, but in
the main she was quite submissive, answering sadly and meekly the
reproaches of her husband.
But this last insult was no private matter, and, urged by Bérulle and the
Bishop, Henrietta pleaded for her co-religionists. Her prayers were
unavailing, and only served to anger Charles further. "You are rather the
ambassador of your brother the King of France than Queen of England,"[41]
he said coldly, in reply to her entreaties. Even the diplomatic
representations of Tillières only procured a slight delay in the
publication of the Proclamation putting in force the laws against the
recusants.
The wrath of the French on both sides of the Channel knew no bounds. Not
only was the breach of promise an insult to the Crown of France, which was
thus set at naught to "pleasure the views of Parliament," but political
interests were also at stake.[42] In the opinion of Tillières and the
Bishop, what was needed was a vigorous ambassador to teach Charles his
duty, and to cajole or threaten him into keeping his share of the marriage
contract, "for," wrote the Grand Almoner, with his usual candour, to
Ville-aux-clercs, "you know so well the humour of our English that it would
be superfluous to tell you that one can expect nothing from them unless one
acts with force and vigour." Such attributes were never wanting to
Richelieu's government. Ville-aux-clercs, whom the exiles would gladly have
welcomed, "if we were worthy that God should work for us the miracle of
enabling you to be in two places at once,"[43] could not indeed be spared,
but a substitute was found in the person of "M. le Marquis de Blainville,"
who before he left Paris had a long conversation with Bérulle; for that
ecclesiastic, whose position had been of a temporary nature, had now
returned to his native land, leaving to fill his office one of his trusted
Oratorians, Father Sancy, a priest who, during a previous embassy to
Constantinople, had acquired a profound knowledge of the world which it was
supposed would enable him to advise judiciously the Queen of England.
She, meanwhile, worn by chagrin and unkindness, was losing the bloom and
the high spirits she had brought with her from her native land. The
England, which had been represented to her as a paradise, was a poor
exchange for the home she had lost; and when she looked across the Channel
for help, all that came to her was the advice, in conformity with the
intrigues of the Bishop of Mende, to make friends with Buckingham, whose
overbearing rudeness was hateful to her, and on whom it is probable she
never looked with favour, except perhaps at the very beginning of her
married life, when she thought he might help her to revisit, in the midst
of her miseries, her home and her mother. Now she showed herself restive,
and Richelieu, who was much set on the conciliation of the Duke, discussed
her conduct in a note which contains some of the earliest evidence as to
Henrietta's personal character. The Queen of England, he said, was a little
firm in her opinions, and those about her thought that her mother, whose
displeasure she feared, should write a letter to her, pointing out her duty
in this matter. The trouble might have been spared, for Buckingham at the
time seems to have been as little anxious as herself for a friendly
understanding.
Blainville arrived in the late autumn of 1625. He was received with the
courtesy due to his position as Ambassador-Extraordinary--a title which he
had been given at the instance of Richelieu to overawe the King of
England--but from the first he had little hope of accomplishing the objects
of his mission. The Queen, stung by the harshness of her husband, who
sometimes did not speak to her for days, goaded by the insolence of
Buckingham, and surrounded by those who taught her to despise the language,
the manners, and the religion of her adopted country, seemed to be at the
beginning of the unhappy married life which so many princesses have had to
endure. She was, moreover, more melancholy than usual, owing to the recent
departure of Bérulle, which she regretted so deeply that her attendants
were able to count more than twenty sighs as she sat at the table on the
day he left her. The members of her ecclesiastical household were
correspondingly depressed, for the loss of the distinguished Oratorian
exposed them to even worse treatment than they had experienced before. The
Bishop of Mende himself, on whose young shoulders the burden of
responsibility had descended, could not keep up his spirits. He retired to
his room, where he sat alone brooding upon the hard fate which had brought
him to a barbarous and heretical isle, and whence he refused to move except
to perform his religious duties and to wait upon the Queen.
The King of England was hardly in a happier mood. That he had legitimate
cause of complaint cannot be denied, and a letter which about this time he
wrote to Buckingham proves that he had almost made up his mind to the only
real cure for his troubles. The extraordinarily violent tone of this
epistle suggests that his dislike to his wife's foreign attendants required
by this time no fostering from the Duke. It even seems as if the favourite
were less hostile to them than his master.[44]
With such a state of feeling prevailing at Court, Blainville's position was
not a comfortable one; but he remained there until an incident occurred
which is believed to have occasioned his withdrawal and which deserves a
detailed description, as it illustrates admirably the petty persecution to
which the high-spirited Henrietta, the daughter of a hundred kings, was
subjected.[45]
The second Parliament of the reign, whose short existence was to be ended
by the impeachment of Buckingham, met in the early spring of 1626.
Henrietta, who was anxious to see the opening procession, had made
arrangements to witness it from a gallery situated in the Palace at
Whitehall, and she was annoyed when on the very day of the ceremony her
husband told her that he wished her to go to the house of the Countess of
Buckingham, whence a particularly fine view of the proceedings could be
obtained. Still, she was always compliant in trifles, and at this time she
desired to conciliate Charles by prompt obedience in such commands as her
sensitive conscience could approve. She therefore signified her assent
without, however, considering the matter of grave consequence.
It happened that just before the hour of the procession, when Henrietta was
about to set out for the Countess' apartments, a heavy shower of rain came
on. The young Queen, looking out on the unsheltered court which she would
have to cross to reach her goal, shrank back, fearing for her elaborately
dressed hair, which she did not wish to have done again for the evening
festivities. She told her husband, who was with her, that she thought the
weather too bad to go, and asked him to conduct her to the gallery which
had been her first choice. To her great surprise he was much displeased,
and it was only after a somewhat bitter altercation that he complied with
her request, leading her to her place and taking leave of her with cold
politeness.
Henrietta was sitting quietly, overcoming her vexation, when, to her
surprise, the Duke of Buckingham, from whose bold eye and arrogant bearing
she instinctively shrank, appeared. Rude he always was in his dealings with
her, but on this occasion he surpassed himself, telling her roughly that
the King was exceedingly displeased with her, and that it was surprising
that for a little rain she should have refused to obey the commands of her
husband. The proud young French Princess could not brook such language from
one of her own subjects. Haughtily she made answer that in the Court of
France she had been accustomed to see the Queen her mother and the Queen
her sister use their own judgment in such trifles. Nevertheless (and in
this her real sweetness and desire to please appeared), she mastered
herself sufficiently to plead a woman's dread of bad weather, and to
request Blainville, who was at her side, to lead her again to her husband.
Charles was found to be in a less implacable mood than Buckingham had
represented, and Henrietta went off to the Countess' apartments, hoping
that the storm had blown over. She was soon undeceived. The Duke sought her
again at his mother's house, and with unpardonable insolence again assured
her that her husband was very angry with her, and that he did not wish her
to remain in her present quarters. It was too much. Henrietta's wrath
blazed forth. "I have sufficiently shown my obedience," she cried; "but
unhappy me! obedience in England seems to be a crime." Buckingham, who was
bent on making himself disagreeable all round, disregarding the Queen's
protest, now turned to Blainville and remarked in a meaning way that he
believed there were those who from motives of superstition had hindered her
presence at a ceremony of the Knights of the Bath, and that he was
surprised that her friends should be so injudicious. The French Ambassador,
who knew well what was in the Duke's mind, and who had no wish to disclaim
responsibility, replied with spirit that he would rather advise the Queen
of England to absent herself from fifty ceremonies than counsel her to take
part in one which was of doubtful permission for a Catholic. On receiving
this answer the unwelcome visitor withdrew.
Henrietta had a brave spirit, but the conduct of Buckingham had cut her to
the quick, since it humiliated her in sight of the Court. That night, in
the privacy of her own apartments, she appealed to her husband, whose cold
looks and manners informed her that she was not forgiven. She was, she
said, the most unhappy creature in the world, seeing him thus keep up his
anger against her for so long. She would die rather than give him just
cause for offence, and anyhow, whatever his feelings, could he not treat
her in public with more respect, as otherwise it would be thought that he
did not care for her. Pleadingly the young wife looked at her husband, for
even at the worst she had some faith in the goodness and kindness of his
natural character apart from the influence of Buckingham.
But Charles, with a heavy pomposity, which in happier circumstances would
certainly have made Henrietta laugh, replied that he had grave cause of
offence. The Queen had said that it was raining, and that if she went out
in the rain she would soil her dress and disarrange her hair. "I did not
know that such remarks were faults in England," was her sarcastic answer.
The King left his wife's apartments unappeased, and not all her entreaties,
nor those of Madame de Tillières, whom he regarded with less disfavour than
any other Frenchwoman, could induce him to return. He only sent a most
unwelcome emissary, in the person of the Duke of Buckingham, who reiterated
his assurances of the King's wrath, and informed Henrietta that if within
two days she did not ask pardon her husband would treat her as a person
unworthy to be his wife, and would drive away all the French, Madame S.
Georges included, he thoughtfully added, knowing well that that lady held
the first place in his auditor's affections.
Such words no woman of spirit, much less a Princess of one of the greatest
houses of Europe, could tamely suffer; but the young Queen, though in a
white heat of passion, seems to have kept her temper admirably. Calmly and
contemptuously she wondered that the Duke undertook such a commission as he
was fulfilling. As for her position, only one thing could make her unworthy
of it, and that she was too well-born to think of doing. Nor was she to be
frightened by his threat with regard to her servants. They would be
retained, she felt sure, not for love of her, but on account of the pledge
given to her brother the King of France. As for asking pardon, she could
not do so for a fault she had never committed. Her conduct had been open
and public, and all around her had praised rather than blamed her. No, she
added, she would not ask pardon, unless at the express command of the King.
Buckingham, whose loquacity for once found nothing to reply, returned to
the King, who, it appears, must, on reflection, have appreciated in some
degree the sorry part he had played, for no apology was exacted, and the
matter was quietly allowed to drop. As for the poor young Queen, she was so
overcome by chagrin and misery that she kept her bed, where she was visited
by Blainville, who thought to cheer her by lending her some letters which
he had recently received from Father Bérulle.
The Ambassador felt that it was time to be gone. He had borne annoyances,
such as the interception of his letters, and insults, such as the continued
persecution of the Catholics, but this treatment offered to the sister of
his royal master was the last straw. The English, on their side, were only
too glad to get rid of him, for they considered that he meddled unduly in
private matters between the King and Queen. It is even said that he was
forbidden the Court. But still, he was not to depart without a final brush
with the enemy, for on Sunday, February 26th, a number of English Catholics
who, following their usual but quite illegal practice, had come to hear
Mass at the French Ambassador's chapel in Durham House in the Strand, were
unpleasantly surprised as they came out after the service to find waiting
for them at the door the officers of the King. A free fight followed, which
was only stopped by the appearance and authority of the Bishop of Durham.
Blainville, who in his irritated condition was not likely to reflect that
Charles, after all, was within his legal rights, was roused to fury at what
he considered a violation of the majesty of France. "I wish," he said
vindictively, "I wish that my servants had killed the King's officer."
Thus angrily he departed from the country to bear to France the tidings of
his ill-success.
After this matters went from bad to worse. Henrietta tried to please her
husband, but she always found herself in the wrong, as when, for instance,
she attempted to conciliate him by appointing to the offices created by a
grant to her of houses and lands a preponderance of English Protestants.
She found that her submission was entirely thrown away, because,
injudiciously indeed, she had appointed to the office of Controller, which
was only honorary, the Bishop of Mende. She was curtly informed that the
post was required for the Earl of Carlisle, who was particularly odious to
her on account of the indecent zeal which had prompted him within a few
months of signing her marriage contract to urge the persecution of the
Catholics. Goaded by such treatment, she claimed, with some warmth, the
right to appoint her servants, and thus another cause of dispute arose
between her and her husband, whose unkindness even extended to keeping her
so short of money that she was reduced to borrowing from her own
servants.[46]
So the summer of 1626 wore on amid misunderstandings and recriminations
until, in the month of June,[47] an event occurred which probably
precipitated the inevitable crisis.
One afternoon the Queen and her principal attendants, among whom the
courtly figure of her Grand Almoner was conspicuous, were walking in that
which even then was known as Hyde Park. In their walk they turned aside,
and, to the astonishment of those of the public who observed their
movements, were seen directing their steps towards Tyburn, the place of
public execution, which was near the present site of the Marble Arch.
Arrived at this ill-omened spot, the royal lady and her suite fell upon
their knees as upon holy ground, and so, indeed, in their eyes it was, for
was not this spot, wet with the blood of malefactors, watered also by the
blood of those whom a tyrannical and heretical Government had slain for the
crime of confessing the true faith? The airing of the Court had become a
pilgrimage to the unsightly shrine of the English martyrs.
It was an act of amazing imprudence such as would only have suggested
itself to a man who, like the Bishop of Mende, never summoned discretion to
his council but to eject it ignominiously. It is impossible to say how far
the deed was of premeditation, but it is not unlikely that it was arranged
by the Grand Almoner to give a demonstration to Protestants and to
pro-Spanish Catholics of the devotion of a French Princess. It was even
reported that the stern ecclesiastic had required the pilgrims--Henrietta
included--to walk barefoot; but this, no doubt, was a sectarian
exaggeration. Apart from such extravagances, that which had been done was
in the eyes of the King--and not without justice--unpardonable. Not only
had his wife, the Queen of England, been placed in an undignified position
by those who had permitted her to appear among the memorials of misery and
crime, but a direct and most bitter insult had been offered to him, to his
father, and to the great Queen on whose throne he sat. The Catholics who
laid down their lives at Tyburn with a courage which forced the reluctant
admiration even of their enemies, were indeed, from one point of view,
martyrs of the purest type. From another, and that Charles', they were
traitors executed for the crime of treason in the highest degree. "Neither
Queen Elizabeth nor I ever put a man to death for religion," James had said
on one occasion. This doctrine was one which, in its nice distinctions, a
foreigner and a Catholic could hardly be expected to grasp, yet the hard
fact remained that these victims of Tyburn, however innocent, suffered
under the laws of the land and under the authority of the Crown.
Charles was wounded in his most sensitive feelings, and it speaks something
for his forbearance that, as far as is known, he recognized the innocence
of his girl-wife, and reserved his wrath for her advisers, particularly for
the Bishop of Mende. "This action," he is reputed to have said, "can have
no greater invective made against it than the bare relation. Were there
nothing more than this I would presently remove these French from about my
wife."
Their removal was indeed, as Charles had perceived eight months earlier,
the only solution of the difficulty, and to it events were now rapidly
tending. It was necessary to cajole the French Court. Buckingham, even
before the departure of Blainville, had made fresh overtures to Henrietta,
which the astute Ambassador had advised her to reject. After the failure of
this ruse the adroit Walter Montagu was dispatched to Paris to speak fair
words to Mary de' Medici, and so well did he succeed that cordial letters
were interchanged between the Duke and the Queen-Mother, even while, at the
same time, the young diplomatist was able to carry out the more secret task
which had been confided to him, which was nothing less than to discover
whether the state of French domestic politics was such as to make it safe
for the King of England to offer to the King of France so grave an insult
as the expulsion of his sister's household. Montagu's report was
encouraging. Owing to the great favour with which both Queen Anne and
Madame de Chevreuse regarded him, he was able to pick up a good deal of
information which would have escaped an ordinary envoy; he was thus, no
doubt, able to trace in the ramifications of Chalais' plot, which at this
time was agitating the French Court, and in which both the above-named
ladies, as well as Henrietta's younger brother Gaston, were implicated, not
only the general hatred of Richelieu, but even a positive desire on the
part of some to see the Cardinal humiliated by such an affront to his
policy as would be involved in the violation of the Queen of England's
marriage treaty. And with such discontent at home, what vengeance could be
taken? "The cards here," wrote Montagu in great glee, "are all mixed up,
and Monsieur [Gaston of Orleans] is on the point of leaving the Court."
Charles' decision was taken, and when his mind was made up it was not easy
to turn him from his purpose. He knew, also, that he had the feeling of the
Court and the people with him. English insularity could not brook the
permanent presence of a large body of foreigners in so prominent a
position, and English Protestantism took alarm at a royal establishment
avowedly Catholic, which was considered "a rendezvous for Jesuits and
fugitives,"[48] and whose ecclesiastical head was believed to hold special
powers from the Pope, and to be "a most dangerous instrument to work his
ends here."[49] At the Court feeling ran equally high. Buckingham's
intentions and hopes have been sufficiently indicated, and there were
others who, in a measure, shared them. Carlisle, whose anti-Catholic
bitterness had been conspicuous throughout, and who had cynically remarked
that the religious concessions made at the time of the marriage were only a
blind to satisfy the Pope, and that the King of France had never expected
them to be kept, was statesman enough to appreciate the real objections to
the position in which he had helped to place Charles. There were endless
broils at Court between the two nations, particularly among the ladies.
Altogether Charles, taking into consideration the satisfactory disturbances
across the Channel, was well justified, from the point of view of
expediency, in choosing this moment to carry out that which had
become--even setting aside the desires and influence of Buckingham--the
wish of his heart. He was a man of monopolies, and he believed--and
believed with justice--that the French stood between him and his bride.
He laid his plans with skill. Carleton, a diplomatist of great experience,
was sent over to Paris, not only to assist in the stirring up of strife
there, but also to complain of the conduct of the Queen's servants, and, if
possible, to obtain Louis' consent to their dismission. In case of refusal
he was to intimate, with such tact as he could, that they would be
dismissed all the same. The vigilant Bishop of Mende, who probably knew a
good deal of what was going on, himself proposed to hasten to the French
Court, where his influence with Richelieu rendered him so effective, to
represent matters in their true light. He was told, to his great wrath,
that the King of England would not allow him to cross the sea, and he was
exclaiming that such threats were the very way to confirm him in his
purpose, and that he would start the next day, when the Duke of Buckingham
sought him, and the two enemies had their last passage-of-arms.
"Do not run the risk of this journey," said the Duke with elaborate
friendliness. "I am sorry for the bad impression that you have made on the
King. I myself have tried to remove it without effect." "I thank you for
your kindness," replied the Bishop satirically. "It is indeed unfortunate
that your credit, which stands so high with the King in all other matters,
fails in this. But I am not surprised, as I have noticed that it always
falls short in anything which concerns the Queen of England and her
household."
In the end Tillières went to France, though Buckingham, stung by the
Bishop's biting words, really asked the King to grant him leave of absence.
But the Grand Almoner now thought that his place was at his mistress' side,
and he knew that it would be difficult to detain the Count, however much
Buckingham and the rest might desire to do so, as there was an unanswerable
pretext for his journey in the approaching wedding of Gaston of Orleans,
who was to expiate his share in Chalais' plot by marrying Mademoiselle de
Montpensier.
The danger, indeed, drew on apace. A few days after Tillières' departure
Charles announced his intention to his Council, and any lingering
hesitation he may have felt was swept away by the encouragement given by
Buckingham and Carlisle, both of whom spoke in favour of the project. "The
French," said the latter, "are too busy with their own affairs to make war
on such a pretext."
The die was now cast, and it was necessary to inform the Queen. The Council
had been held in the Palace of Whitehall, and the King, with Buckingham at
his heels, had only to go to another part of the house to find his wife,
who was sitting in her own room with two of her ladies. The King rather
rudely desired her to come to his apartments, but she, not altogether
ignorant of the state of affairs, replied coldly that she begged him to say
his pleasure in the place in which they found themselves. "Then send your
women out of the room," said the King. Henrietta complied with his request,
and her heart sank as she saw her husband carefully lock the door behind
them.
Then, without further preface, he curtly announced to his young wife the
sentence of banishment. He could endure her French people and their
meddling no longer, he said. He was going to send them all back to France,
and she would have in their place those who would teach her to behave as
the Queen of England.
Henrietta first of all looked incredulously at her husband, for she had
never believed, protected as she was by her marriage treaty and by the
Crown of France, that, however dissatisfied he might be, he would push
matters to an extremity. Then, as she saw no relenting on his cold,
handsome face, she burst into tears and wept unrestrainedly. It was long
before she found voice to plead that if Madame S. Georges, whom she knew he
disliked, was too obnoxious, yet that she might keep Madame de Tillières,
against whom no complaints had been brought. But Charles was inflexible.
All were to go. More piteous sobbing followed, until the poor girl--she was
only sixteen--appreciated that her misery was making no impression upon her
husband. Then she stayed her weeping to make a final request. Might she not
see her friends once more, to bid them good-bye, for it had been intimated
to her that sentence would take effect without a moment's unnecessary
delay.
No, was the curt reply. She must see her friends no more.[50]
At this final outrage to her wounded feelings Henrietta's spirit--the
spirit of the Bourbons--rose in revolt. Forgetful of her husband, forgetful
of her queenly dignity, remembering only that those whom she loved were
leaving her for ever, she rushed to the window, that thence she might
obtain a farewell glimpse of her banished compatriots. Such was her
eagerness that she broke the intercepting panes of glass. But even this
poor comfort was denied her. The King pursued her and dragged her back with
such ungentle force that her dress was torn, and her hands with which she
clung to the bars of the windows were galled and grazed.
Elsewhere dismay and consternation reigned. Conway, the Secretary of State,
announced their doom to the assembled French ladies, informing them that
the King wished to have his wife to himself, and that he found it
impossible to do so while she had so many of her own countrywomen about
her. They were begged to retire to Somerset House, whence they would be
sent to France. Madame S. Georges, acting as spokeswoman for the rest, said
that they were the servants of the King of France, they could not leave
their royal mistress without the orders of the Bishop of Mende, who was
their superior. That gentleman arriving, in obedience to a hasty summons,
did indeed at first assert with his usual hauteur that neither he nor any
of the household would depart without the commands of their own sovereign.
But he was soon made to understand, by arguments which not even his spirit
could resist, that no choice was left to him. That evening saw the French
at Somerset House and Henrietta desolate at Whitehall. It was probably
during the few days that had to elapse before her friends were deported to
France that the Queen wrote the following note to the Bishop, which vividly
reflects her loneliness and sorrow:--
"M. DE MANDES,
"I hide myself as much as I can in order to write to you. I am treated as
a prisoner, so that I cannot speak to any one, nor have I time to write
my miseries nor to complain. Only, in the name of God, have pity on a
poor prisoner in despair, and do something to relieve my sorrow. I am the
most afflicted creature in the world. Speak to the Queen my mother about
my miseries, and tell her my troubles. I say good-bye to you and to all
my poor officers, and I charge my friend S. Georges, the Countess, and
all my women and girls, that they do not forget me, and I will never
forget them, and bring some remedy to my sorrow, or I die.... Adieu,
cruel adieu, which will kill me if God does not have pity on me.
"[Ask] Father Sancy to pray for me still, and tell Mamie that I shall
love her always."[51]
Such a letter was not calculated to soothe the excitable Bishop of Mende,
whose spirit had already been roused to fury by hearing the cries and
protestations of the poor young mistress whom he was not permitted to see.
But it was little he could do. His captivity at Somerset House was broken
in upon by the King of England himself, who, with the unfortunate desire
for explanation which was always his, was anxious to point out with his own
mouth to those whom it most concerned the reasons of his action. According
to the Bishop, who occupied his leisure in writing angry letters to the
King of France and the Queen-Mother, Charles acknowledged that he had no
personal fault to find with his wife's servants, but said that it was
necessary, to content his people and for the good of his affairs, that they
should be expelled. This admission, which, if it ever existed outside the
mind of the Bishop, was intended as a courteous softening of unpleasant
truths, did not prevent the King from adding a command (which was obeyed)
that all the French were to be gone within four-and-twenty hours.[52] It
was perhaps some solace to them that before their departure a considerable
sum of money and costly jewels were distributed among them.
It remained to bring Henrietta, who was still weeping angrily in her
apartments, to a state of calm more befitting the Queen of England. Charles
was not cruel, and when the first flush of anger was over he could feel for
his wife's grief. At first he had determined that all the French, whether
lay or ecclesiastic, should go. "The Queen has been left neither confessor
nor doctor, and I believe that her life and her religion are in very grave
peril,"[53] wrote the Bishop. But Charles, though he was not to be moved by
such innuendoes, relented in some degree. In the end one of Henrietta's
ladies, Madame de Vantelet, was permitted to remain with her, and two of
the priests of the Oratory were granted like indulgence; one of whom was
the pious and sagacious Scotchman, Father Robert Philip, who continued the
Queen's confessor until his death, years later, in the days of the
exile.[54]
The French were gone, and on the whole, in spite of the Bishop's protest,
quietly; but Charles and Buckingham knew well that they had to face the
wrath of France for this the audacious violation of the Queen's marriage
treaty. Henrietta naturally looked to her own family to right her wrongs,
and she wrote piteous letters to her brother asking for his help, which
show the sad condition to which sorrow and unkindness had reduced the
bright Princess who had left France little more than a year earlier. "I
have no hope but in you. Have pity on me.... No creature in the world can
be more miserable than I."[55] Mary de' Medici could not turn a deaf ear to
such appeals nor to the complaints of the exiles who were pursued into
France by aspersions on their characters not calculated to soothe their
feelings, such as a charge of taking bribes, which charge their royal
mistress, with characteristic justice and generosity, was at pains, even in
the midst of her misery, to confute.[56] The Queen-Mother's remonstrances
to her son-in-law were, indeed, quite unavailing, but they were dignified
and expressed a surprise at his conduct which probably she did not feel,
since, as the English took care to point out, it was not long since similar
measure had been meted out to the Spanish attendants of Queen Anne. With
her daughter she felt the warmest sympathy. "If your grief could be
assuaged by that which I feel at the news of the expulsion of your servants
and of the ill-treatment to which you are subjected, it would soon be
diminished,"[57] she wrote, and she added, perhaps sincerely, that never
had she felt such grief since the assassination of her husband, Henrietta's
father. As for her son, his indignation was such that he would leave
nothing undone that might procure for his sister redress and contentment.
It is probable that Richelieu, with the Bishop of Mende at his elbow,
shared these sentiments. Nevertheless, Carlisle was right. France had too
much on her hands to pick a quarrel with England, even though her daughter
had been insulted and her authority set at naught. All that could be done
was to send another embassy, and this, it seems, was only decided upon at
the instance of the Pope.
Two persons were joined in the embassy, the Count of Tillières, whom the
English were believed greatly to fear, and his brother-in-law, the Marshal
de Bassompierre, an elderly diplomat of great experience, whose
old-fashioned elegance of manner was already making him a little ridiculous
in the eyes of younger men who despised the Italian grace of the days of
Catherine de' Medici. In the end this exquisite person had to go alone, for
it was intimated that the King of England would not receive his colleague;
he was rather unwilling to undertake the embassy, and his dissatisfaction
was not decreased by the coolness of his reception in London, which
coolness, as he reminded himself, it was clearly a duty to resent as an
insult to the Crown of France.
He found matters in bad case. The King was inflexible in his refusal to
come to terms, and the Queen, though she was still depressed and bitterly
angry with Buckingham, showed herself, since the cession which permitted
her to retain Madame de Vantelet and her old nurse, more reconciled to the
change. About her spiritual welfare the Ambassador expressed himself much
concerned, for she was surrounded by heretics, and in place of the
irreproachable ecclesiastics appointed by her brother she had been forced
to receive two English priests, by name Godfrey and Potter, who belonged to
a school of thought which in his eyes, and in those of the Bishop of Mende,
was little less than heretical, for they had both taken the oath of
allegiance, and they had both assured the Earl of Carlisle that they did
not belong to the Church of Rome, but to that which was Catholic, Gallican,
and "Sorbonique," an assertion which particularly enraged Bassompierre, who
saw in it an insult to the French Church and nation. He was probably little
more moved by the accusation brought against one of them by the Bishop of
bracketing together "the three Impostors, Mahomet, Jesus Christ, and
Moses."[58] Only one person showed any cordiality to the unfortunate
Ambassador. Buckingham, thinking on the Queen of France in Paris, felt that
he had gone too far, and decided that it would be well to conciliate
Henrietta. With this purpose he came secretly, through the darkness of the
night and attended only by his young friend Montagu, to wait on
Bassompierre. He complained bitterly of the hatred of which he was the
victim, and inquired plaintively whether M. de Mende were saying as many
disagreeable things about him on the other side of the Channel as he had
been wont to do in England. To the last question the polite Frenchman must
have found it difficult to frame an answer at once courteous and true, but
he promised to use his influence as intermediary with Henrietta, and he was
so far successful that the young Queen was induced to regard the Duke, at
any rate outwardly, with greater favour.
But the situation, as regarded its real objects, was foredoomed to failure.
Madame S. Georges, the Bishop of Mende, and the Fathers of the Oratory had
so prejudiced Charles' mind that he refused to receive Frenchmen, bishop or
religious, at the Court of his Queen. There was a deadlock, and
Bassompierre, who had made matters worse by his grave indiscretion in
bringing as his chaplain the Queen's late confessor, Father Sancy, with all
his diplomacy could do no more. He was indeed anxious to be gone. The
account of his embassy in England, which he included in his memoirs, is
penned in no flattering spirit towards this island, but the full irritation
of his feelings can only be gathered from the private letters which, during
his sojourn in London, he dispatched to the Bishop of Mende, who was with
Richelieu at Pontoise, watching the course of events.
"I have found," wrote the enraged diplomatist in one of these epistles,
"humility among the Spaniards and courtesy among the Swiss during the
embassies which I have carried on there on behalf of the King, but the
English have abated nothing of their natural pride and arrogance."[59]
The Bishop sent a sympathetic answer, commenting on our national character
in a manner which is worth quoting, as it serves to explain the
unpopularity of that fascinating person in English society.
"I am not surprised," so ran the letter, "that you have found more courtesy
and satisfaction among the Spaniards and the Swiss than in the island on
the shores of which the tempest has thrown you. I myself have always
considered the English less reasonable than the Swiss, and at the same time
less faithful, while I think they are just as vainglorious as the
Spaniards, without possessing anything of their real merit."
This was not all. A report was about that the Bishop wished to return to
England, and he thoughtfully seized the opportunity to set everybody's mind
at rest on the subject. The English were to have no uneasiness, he was only
too willing to fall in with their wishes. "They will not have much
difficulty in carrying into effect the resolution which they have taken to
prevent my return," he wrote, "for both parties are quite of one opinion on
that matter, my humour (setting aside the interests of my mistress) being
rather to fly from than to invite another sojourn in England. It would need
a very definite command to induce me to live there again, while to persuade
myself to remain here I have only to consult my own inclination."[60]
So Bassompierre departed, taking with him, as a slight compensation for his
trouble, some English priests who had been released from prison in
compliment to the King of France. And thus ended the last stage of this
sordid struggle which came near to wrecking the happiness of what was to
prove one of the most loving of royal marriages.
It is hard in such a matter to apportion blame. Charles cannot be acquitted
of harshness and of a certain degree of subservience to Buckingham, while
the act of expulsion was a flagrant breach of the faith plighted only a
year before to a brother-sovereign. But it must be remembered that most of
the information comes from French, and consequently hostile, sources. After
all, the King of England's real fault was that, by his marriage contract,
he had allowed himself to be placed in an impossible position, from which
only violence could extricate him. On their own showing it is difficult to
see how any self-respecting husband, let alone a great king, could have
endured the Bishop of Mende, Madame S. Georges, or even Father Bérulle.
They, for their part, had much to complain of, and they saw in every
approximation of their mistress to English customs and ways of thought a
menace, not only to the interests of France, but to the immortal soul
placed in their charge. As for Henrietta herself, she can hardly be blamed.
She was but a child, and it is not surprising that she followed the counsel
of those whom her mother had set over her. The severest thing that can
justly be said of her is that, at the age of sixteen, she had not
completely learned the lesson of a wife, and, above all, of a royal wife,
"to forget her own people and her father's house."
[Footnote 29: The _Mémoires inédits du Comte Leveneur de Tillières_,
published in 1862, are one of the principal authorities for Henrietta
Maria's early married life: they are very full and vivid, but are coloured
by the writer's dislike to the English, and especially to Buckingham.]
[Footnote 30: Cf. the following description of Paris in a humorous poem of
the day:
"We came to Paris, on the Seyn,
'Tis wondrous faire but nothing clean,
'Tis Europes greatest Town.
How strong it is, I need not tell it,
For any man may easily smell it,
That walkes it up and down."
_Musarum Deliciæ_, by Sir J. M. and Ja. S. (1655), p. 19.]
[Footnote 31: _Musarum Deliciæ_, by Sir J. M. and Ja. S. (1655), p. 49.]
[Footnote 32: She had been in Turin with Henrietta's sister, Christine.]
[Footnote 33: The French Oratory was quite distinct from the better known
Roman Oratory founded by S. Philip Neri.]
[Footnote 34: See the list of miracles attributed to his intercession in
_La Vie du Cardinal Bérulle_. Par Germain Habert, Abbé de Cerisy (1646).
Liv. III, chaps. XIV., XV.]
[Footnote 35: P.R.O. Roman Transcripts.]
[Footnote 36: The English Catholics were anxious lest she should allow
herself to be crowned by a heretic: Fr. Leander de S. Martino, an English
Benedictine, wrote a long letter to Bérulle on the subject in June, 1625,
expressing his anxiety. Archives Nationales, M. 232.]
[Footnote 37: As, for instance, Sir Lewis Lewknor, an official charged with
the reception of ambassadors: he received £2000 per annum from Richelieu,
and he was particularly useful to the French, whom he did not openly
favour, because, being a Catholic, he received the confidences of the
Spaniards and the Flemings.]
[Footnote 38: Bérulle to P. Bertin, Superior of French Oratory at Rome.
Arch. Nat., M. 232.]
[Footnote 39: La Hermana y Mujer [of Buckingham] son Eresas muy
perniciosas. Spanish news-letter, P.R.O. Roman Transcripts.]
[Footnote 40: "My Wyfe beginnes to mend her maners."--Harleian MS., 6988,
f. 5.]
[Footnote 41: _Verissima relacion en que se da cuenta en el estado en que
estan los Catholicos de Inglaterra, ete Sevilla_ (1626).]
[Footnote 42: See chapter IV.]
[Footnote 43: Bishop of Mende to Ville-aux-clercs. MS. Français, 3693.]
[Footnote 44: "Seeing daylie the malitiusness of the Monsers by making and
fomenting discontentments in my Wyfe I could tarie no longer from
adverticing of you that I meane to seeke for no other grounds to casier my
Monsers,"--Harleian MS., 6988, f. I.]
[Footnote 45: Arch. Nat., M. 232, from which the account in the text is
taken: perhaps an account written by Charles or Buckingham would have been
somewhat different: it is printed in an article entitled "L'Ambassade de M.
de Blainville," published in _Revue des Questions Historiques_, 1878, t.
23.]
[Footnote 46: Bishop of Mende to (apparently) Richelieu, June 24th, 1626.
"La Royne ma maitresse est reduite de fouiller dans nos bourses, si ces
choses dureront sa maison durera fort peu."--Affaires Etrangères Ang., t.
41, f. 133.]
[Footnote 47: The date is not certain, it was probably at the time of the
Jubilee, June, 1626: in February Henrietta had written to the Pope asking
that she, her household, and the Catholics of England might share in the
privileges of the Jubilee.--P.R.O. Roman Transcripts.]
[Footnote 48: Archives of See of Westminster. See Appendix, Doc. I.]
[Footnote 49: _Court and Times of Charles I_, I, 119.]
[Footnote 50: Such petty malice was part of Charles' character: cf. his
refusal to allow Sir John Eliot to be buried at his home in Cornwall.]
[Footnote 51: Aff. Etran. Ang., t. 41: it is endorsed "copie," and is
perhaps a rough draft; it is apparently in Henrietta's handwriting. "Mamie"
is Madame S. Georges.]
[Footnote 52: Charles wrote a violent note to Buckingham, commanding him to
see to the departure of the French. "If you can by faire meanes (but stike
not longe in disputing) otherways force them away, dryving away so manie
wild beasts untill you have shipped them and so the Devill go with them."
The French landed at Calais, August 3/13, 1626.]
[Footnote 53: Bishop of Mende to Mary de' Medici. Aff. Etran. Ang., t. 41.]
[Footnote 54: The second Oratorian who remained was Father Viette, who
became the Queen's confessor on Father Philip's death. She was allowed to
keep also a few inferior French servants, and Maurice Aubert, who appears
in a list of her servants made at the time of her marriage, continued with
her; he was the companion of Windbank's flight to France in 1641.]
[Footnote 55: Baillon: _Henriette Marie de France, reine d'Angleterre_
(1877), p. 348.]
[Footnote 56: She said, probably with truth, that the money they had
received was in part payment of the debts incurred by her to them: her
statement is confirmed by the fact that Charles requested the French
Government to pay the debts owing to his wife's servants out of the half of
her _dot_, which had not yet been paid.--Aff. Etran. Ang., t. 41.]
[Footnote 57: Mary de' Medici to Henrietta Maria, August 22nd, 1626. MS.
Français, 3692. She wrote on the same day to Charles.]
[Footnote 58: Bishop of Mende to King of France, August 12th, 1626. Aff.
Etran. Ang., t. 41.]
[Footnote 59: Bassompierre to Bishop of Mende, October 17th. MS. Français,
3692.]
[Footnote 60: Bishop of Mende to Bassompierre, October 29th, 1626. MS.
Français, 3692.]
CHAPTER III
THE QUEEN OF THE COURTIERS
Let's now take our time
While w'are in our prime,
And old, old Age is a-farre off:
For the evill, evill dayes
Will come on apace
Before we can be aware of.
ROBERT HERRICK
"I was," Henrietta Maria[61] was accustomed to say in the days of her
sorrow, "I was the happiest and most fortunate of Queens. Not only had I
every pleasure which heart could desire, but, above all, I had the love of
my husband, who adored me." The expulsion of her French attendants was the
foundation of the Queen's married happiness. Away from the insinuations of
Madame S. Georges and the gibes of the Bishop of Mende, she began, in an
amazingly short time, to appreciate the good qualities of her husband, to
which indeed she had never been totally blind; and, in the words of Madame
de Motteville, to "make her pleasure of her duty." "The incomparable
virtues of the King," wrote Holland at this time, "are working upon the
generosity and goodness of the Queen, so that his Majesty should soon have
the best wife in the world."[62] And somewhat later an exceptionally
well-qualified witness[63] was able to say that the royal couple lived
together with the satisfaction which all their loyal subjects ought to
desire.
But still one thing was lacking to her full content. Her husband's nature
was such that his full confidence and affection could only be bestowed upon
one person at the time, and she knew well who held the first place in his
heart and counsels. But she had not long to wait. On August 23rd, 1628, the
knife of Felton ended, in a few moments, the dazzling career of the Duke of
Buckingham. Charles' grief was deep and lasting. He had loved his favourite
like a brother, and he never had another personal friend. But to Henrietta
the news, though shocking in its suddenness, cannot have been unwelcome.
She showed all due respect to his memory, but, as one of her friends wrote
to Carlisle, her lamentations were rather "out of discretion than out of a
true sensation of his death. I need not tell you she is glad of it, for you
must imagine as much."[64]
Thenceforward there was nothing to check the growth of an affection which
became the admiration of Europe. Charles' artistic eye had always dwelt
with pleasure upon his wife's beautiful face, and her wit and readiness
relieved his sombre nature much as Buckingham's bright audacity had, and
now that the latter's hostile influence was removed, he was so completely
captivated that the watchful courtiers soon perceived that the advent of
another favourite was not to be feared, "for the King has made over all his
affection to his wife."[65] The tokens of his love were innumerable. He
delighted in making her gifts of jewels, of religious pictures, of anything
which he thought would please her. He caused her portrait, painted by the
hand of Van Dyck, to be hung in his bedroom, and as early as 1629 it was
remarked that he wished always to be in her company. Nor was she behindhand
in affection. It is pleasant to read that when the King was away for a few
days his wife lay awake at night sighing for his return, and that, on
another occasion when she was at Tunbridge Wells drinking the waters which
were just coming into fashion, she was so home-sick for her husband after a
few days' separation that she cut short her visit and went home to him,
arriving after a long journey quite unexpectedly. Such little incidents
show that Charles was not exaggerating when, in 1630, he wrote to his
mother-in-law that "the only dispute that now exists between us is that of
conquering each other by affection, both esteeming ourselves victorious in
following the will of the other";[66] and that the virtuous Habington, the
poet of wedded love, was not paying one of the empty compliments of a
courtier when he appealed to the example of his sovereign to enforce the
lessons of virtue:
"Princes' example is a law: then we
If loyalle subjects must true lovers be."[67]
Of course the Queen's great wish was to give the King, her husband, an heir
to his throne. But for several years no children appeared, and it was not
until the early spring of 1629 that Henrietta retired to Greenwich for her
first confinement, and even then her hopes were disappointed, for the boy
who was born only lived long enough to receive his father's name. She
herself was very ill; but she showed the brave spirit which never deserted
her in suffering, and her physician was able to report that she was "full
of strength and courage."[68]
But the next year she was more fortunate, perhaps because, owing to her
mother's representations, she had been induced to take great care of
herself and to avoid exertion. This time she chose to remain at St. James's
Palace, which was considered a very suitable place as being near London,
and yet quiet and retired; and there, on May 29th, 1630, the boy was born
who was afterwards Charles II. The delight of the parents and of the Court
may be imagined, while the people at large, who had not been very anxious
for the birth of an heir to the Popish Queen, now remembering that the baby
was the first native-born prince since the children of Henry VIII, entered
with zest into the public rejoicings, which took the usual form of
bell-ringing, bonfires, and fireworks, and which were increased by a
general pardon and release of prisoners. The christening, though it was a
private ceremony, was worthy of the rank of the child who was the first
prince to be born heir, not only of England, but of Scotland also. It took
place in the chapel of St. James's Palace, in the middle of which a dais
was erected bearing the silver font which the loyalty of the Lord Mayor of
London had provided. The chapel and every room through which the
christening procession had to pass were hung with choice tapestry, while
the greatness of the occasion was marked by the munificent gift of £1000
which was offered to the nurse.
It was a happy day for Henrietta, but marred by one disappointment, and
that a great one. It was the King of England's wish that, against the
spirit of the stipulations of his marriage treaty,[69] his heir's
christening should follow the rites of the Established Church.
Nevertheless, two of the baby's sponsors, the King of France and the
Queen-Mother, were Catholics. These and the second godfather, the Prince
Palatine, were represented by three noble Scots, the Duke of Lennox--a
member of a family that the Queen particularly disliked--the Duke of
Hamilton, and the Duchess of Richmond; and the King, with characteristic
unwisdom, desired to pay yet another compliment to his native land by
appointing another Scotchwoman, Lady Roxburgh, to the office of governess
to his infant son. But this lady, who was a Catholic and who, as lady of
the bedchamber to the consort of James, was supposed to have exercised a
baleful religious influence over her mistress, discreetly refused the
offered dignity, which was passed on to the Countess of Dorset, whose
husband was to fill the complimentary position of governor to the royal
child.
The baby inherited neither the stately beauty of his father nor the
vivacious prettiness of his mother, though he was rather like his
grandfather, Henry IV, whom Henrietta so greatly resembled. But his size
and forwardness atoned for his lack of beauty. "He is so fat and so tall,"
wrote the happy mother to her old friend Madame S. Georges, "that he is
taken for a year old, and he is only four months. His teeth are already
beginning to come. I will send you his portrait as soon as he is a little
fairer, for at present he is so dark that I am quite ashamed of him."[70]
And again, somewhat later, her humorous delight in her baby comes out in
another letter to the same correspondent. "I wish you could see the
gentleman, for he has no ordinary mien. He is so serious in all he does,
that I cannot help fancying him far wiser than myself."[71]
Henrietta's happiness was crowned by the birth of her son, which was
followed as the years went on by that of other sons and daughters.[72] But
apart from these domestic joys, in which she delighted with all the
strength of her healthy nature, her life was a very happy one. To the
pleasures of love she added those of friendship, and she had the art, all
too rare among the great, of treating her friends with openness and
confidence without losing her royal dignity. No sooner were her French
ladies gone than she turned to those of her new country to fill their
place, and perhaps her principal choice was not altogether a happy one.
No woman of that time was more brilliant than Lucy, Countess of Carlisle,
whose romantic friendship with the great Strafford, which the imagination
of a modern poet has immortalized, is only one of her claims to
remembrance. A member of the border House of Percy, she incurred, by her
marriage with a Scotch nobleman, the serious displeasure of her father,
who, as he said, could not bear that his daughter should dance Scotch jigs.
But her union with the distinguished Lord Carlisle, whom Henrietta speedily
forgave for his share in her early troubles, was to her advantage at Court,
where, in virtue of her ten years' seniority over the young Queen, she
wielded the influence which often belongs to a married woman, who, though
still in the bloom of her beauty, has had time to acquire a knowledge of
life. That she was beautiful her portraits remain to testify; that in the
mingled arts of coquetry and diplomacy she was so proficient as to
challenge comparison with Madame de Chevreuse herself there is ample
evidence in the fascination which she exercised, first over Strafford and
then over Pym, neither of whom were men to be caught by mediocre ability or
charm; that she was cowardly, false, treacherous to her heart's core
Henrietta's simple and affectionate nature had as yet no means of
discovering.[73]
There was another man of less intellectual distinction whom she had once
been able to lead captive by her charms, but who had deserted her for a
royal mistress across the Channel. The story of her frustrated revenge,
though it rests upon the authority of gossiping memoirs,[74] is so
characteristic of the lady herself and of others who played a part in
Henrietta's life, that it carries with it some degree of conviction, and
moreover has an illustrative value apart from its literal truth.
Lady Carlisle was not a woman to forgive a faithless lover, even though
that lover were the favourite of her King and had left her for the smiles
of a foreign Queen. She determined to take a delicate revenge which should
punish both the Duke of Buckingham and the Queen of France; and to compass
this end she became one of the earliest of the English spies of Richelieu,
who would be only too glad to welcome any proof of the levity of Anne of
Austria.
The Countess laid her plans well. She noticed that Buckingham, after his
return from France, was accustomed to wear some diamond studs which she had
never seen before, and which she conjectured correctly to have been given
to him by the Queen of France. She determined to gain possession of one of
these jewels, that she might send it to Richelieu, who would be at no loss
to draw his own conclusions. A Court ball gave her an opportunity, and
before the evening was out she held in her hand the compromising ornament.
But she was to be outwitted after all by Buckingham, who, whatever his
failings, was neither a tepid nor a dull-witted lover, and who was able to
gauge, pretty correctly, the spite of the woman he knew so well. Taking
advantage of his unbounded power with the King, he obtained the closure of
all the ports of England for a certain time, during which interval he
caused an exact replica of the stolen stud to be made, which, together with
the remaining studs, he dispatched to Anne. The Queen of France was thus
able to produce the jewels when her husband, their original donor, asked
for them, and the accusing stud which the malice of her enemies sent to
Paris was deprived of power to injure her.
It is not surprising that there were people at the Court of England who
disliked the young Queen's intimacy with Lady Carlisle. That lady, whose
talk with those of her own sex was ever of dress and fashion, had already,
it was rumoured, taught Henrietta to paint, and she would, no doubt, lead
her on to other "debaucheries"; but her influence seemed established. By
the royal favour she enjoyed a pension of £2000 a year, and Henrietta's
affection was so great that even when the Countess had the smallpox she
could hardly be kept from her side. The Queen was the convalescent's first
visitor, and a little later she permitted her favourite to appear at Court
in a black velvet mask, so that she might enjoy her society at an earlier
date than otherwise would have been possible, for it was not to be expected
that Lady Carlisle would show her face in the circles of which she was one
of the brightest ornaments until its beauty was fully restored. Such a
woman could not fail to arouse jealousy. Buckingham's relatives, who served
the Queen, feared and distrusted her, and perhaps her most formidable rival
in Henrietta's affection was the Duke's sister, the pious and cultured Lady
Denbigh, who, distasteful at first, had won her mistress' heart, and whose
long fidelity, which neither years nor exile could diminish, contrasts
favourably with the self-seeking of the more brilliant Lady Carlisle.
[Illustration: OLD SOMERSET HOUSE
FROM AN ENGRAVING AFTER AN ANCIENT PAINTING IN DULWICH COLLEGE]
But the society of friends of her own sex was only one among the many joys
which were Henrietta's during the happy years which elapsed between the
troubles of her youth and the storm of the Civil War. For a few months
after the departure of the French her husband seems to have kept her short
of money,[75] but in 1627 she enjoyed the income of £18,000, which was
guaranteed to her by the terms of her marriage contract. Moreover, large
grants of manors and lands were made to her. Thus came into her possession
the park of East Greenwich, whither she was wont to retire when she wished
for country air and quiet, and yet could not be far from town; thus she
acquired Oatlands in Surrey, the pleasant country-house of which nothing
now remains, where she spent many happy days with her friends and children;
thus she was able to call her own Somerset or Denmark House, her much-loved
and beautiful London home which stood with other noblemen's houses facing
the Strand, while behind lovely pleasure gardens sloped down to the still
silver Thames. None of her other houses, probably, were as dear to her as
this, where she kept an establishment befitting her rank as Queen-Consort,
and where she frequently gave entertainments which reflected the taste and
grace of their hostess, and to which she had the pleasure of inviting her
husband, the King.
Henrietta was not a lady of literary tastes, and in spite of the fact that
the Scotch poet, Sir Robert Ayton, was her private secretary, her patronage
of general literature was confined to smiling on poets, such as Edmund
Waller, who presented her with copies of complimentary verses, and to
receiving the dedication of devotional works, usually translated from
foreign originals. But to the drama she was devoted, and she specially
liked the pretty and fashionable plays known as masques, of which the
veteran laureate, Ben Jonson, wrote a number, and of which a younger poet,
John Milton, produced in _Comus_, the most famous example. Henrietta was
delighted with the great pageant and masque offered to their Majesties by
the Inns of Court in 1633,[76] and even the grave Laud, when he entertained
royalty at Oxford in 1638, provided a play, Cartwright's _Royal Slave_, for
the amusement of his guests. But the Queen's pleasure was not only as a
spectator. As a child she had been accustomed to take her part in private
theatricals acted in the spacious _salons_ of the Luxembourg, where Rubens'
voluptuous women looked down upon the royal actresses. She brought the
taste for these amusements with her to England. The first Christmas after
her marriage she and her ladies acted a French pastoral at Somerset House,
in which she took the leading part. "It would have been thought a strange
sight once,"[77] commented sourly her new subjects.
But she was not to be deterred from her pleasures. She was always too
careless of public opinion, and, as an acute and sympathetic observer
remarked somewhat later, she was a true Bourbon in her love of amusement.
To a lady whose dancing was something quite unusual, and whose sweet voice
and skill in touching the lute testified to real musical taste, dramatic
representations were naturally attractive. Her second English Christmas was
enlivened by a masque, in which, as her French attendants were gone by this
time, she had the assistance of her English friends. Her own band of
players was always ready, and played for her amusement, now at Hampton
Court, now at Somerset House, and it was owing to her influence and
patronage that theatres increased to such an extent in the capital that the
Puritan feeling of the City was aroused, which produced an order in Council
"for the restraint of the inordinate use and company of playhouse and
players." The playgoers were to content themselves with two theatres, of
which one was to be in Middlesex and the other across the river in Surrey,
while no plays were to be acted on Sunday, in Lent, or in times of common
infection.
But the merrymakings of the Court became more instead of less as the years
went on. In 1631 the Queen was so taken up with her Shrovetide play that
she had no thoughts to spare for important news which came from France, and
the next year she took the principal part in an elaborate play, _The
Shepherd's Paradise_, which was written for her by Walter Montagu, who
added to his fine manners and diplomatic skill some pretensions (if nothing
more) to literature. This play, which is of the allegorical type so dear to
the heart of the seventeenth century, is indeed a very poor one, and hardly
contains a line which rises above the level of an indifferent verse-maker.
It is, moreover, fatiguingly long, and the Queen must have found her part a
great labour to learn, specially as, notwithstanding her seven years'
residence in England, she was not yet perfect in the English tongue, and
indeed was acting partly in order to improve herself in this necessary
accomplishment.[78] Her companions in the play were her ladies, for not a
man was admitted even to take the male parts. But in spite of difficulties,
when the night of the representation came, everything went off merrily at
Somerset House; all acted with great spirit, and the Queen was able to
speak with playful conviction the oath of the new queendom to which she had
been elected:--
"By beauty, Innocence, and all that's faire
I, Bellesa, as a Queen do sweare,
To keep the honour and the regall due
Without exacting anything that's new,
And to assume no more to me than must
Give me the meanes and power to be just,
And but for charity and mercies cause
Reserve no power to suspend the Lawes.
This do I vow even as I hope to rise
From this into another Paradise."[79]
The author of these lines was in high favour, not only with the Queen, but
with the King, who went out of his way to congratulate his father, the Earl
of Manchester, on such a son. This approval more than compensated for the
castigation of the pastoral by another poet, whose verses, unlike
Montagu's, still retain power to charm:--
"Wat Montague now stood forth to his trial,
And did not so much as suspect a denial;
But witty Apollo ask'd him first of all
If he understood his new Pastoral.
"For if he could do it, 'twould plainly appear
He understood more than any man there,
And did merit the bayes above all the rest;
But the mounsieur was modest, and silence confest."[80]
There was another slight annoyance connected with the play which was,
perhaps, even less felt than Suckling's wit, for what did it matter to
Henrietta, to Montagu, or to any of the brilliant company, if a
cross-grained puritanical lawyer such as William Prynne chose to insult the
Queen by base and indiscriminate charges against actresses, thereby
bringing upon himself the just punishment of the loss of his ears?
All disagreeable matters were, indeed, shut out from the brilliant
drawing-rooms of Henrietta Maria, where the hostess set an example of free
amiability at which strict persons looked a little askance. Those were most
welcome who could most contribute by beauty, wit, or conversation to the
entertainment of all. Lord Holland,[81] the most elegant dandy of the day,
was often to be seen there chatting with the Queen about France or Madame
de Chevreuse, to whom he was known to be devoted. Walter Montagu's ready
wit and charming conversation always availed to win him a few smiles from
his royal hostess. Henry Percy was welcomed as much, perhaps, for the sake
of his sister, Lady Carlisle, as for any shining qualities of his own.
Above all, Henry Jermyn, the Queen's greatest friend--and she was a woman
of many men friends--was constantly to be seen at her side, building up a
friendship which only death was to end.
It is hard to account for Henrietta's affection for this man--an affection
so great that from that day to this scandal has been busy with their names.
Henry Jermyn was not particularly well born, and he was neither radiantly
handsome like Holland, nor clever and witty like Montagu. His abilities,
which were severely tested in the course of his life, did not rise above
mediocrity; his religion, such of it as existed, was of a very nebulous
character, and his morals were of a distinctly commonplace type; indeed,
one of his early achievements at Court was to run off with a maid of
honour. To set against all this we only know that he was a man of very soft
and gentle manners, such as made him a fitting agent in delicate
negotiations, and that when the day of trouble came he showed considerable
fidelity to the interests of a losing cause. That Henrietta should have
lavished on such a man an affection and a confidence which some of her best
friends, both now and later, thought exaggerated, is surprising; but she
was never a good judge of character, and it must be remembered that
personal charm is one of the most evanescent of qualities which cannot be
bottled for the use of the historian.
That in these happy days Henrietta was one of the brightest ornaments of
her own Court cannot be doubted. Old men, who remembered the later years of
Elizabeth, must have contrasted the forced compliments offered to her faded
charms with the free devotion laid at the feet of this young and beautiful
woman,
"In whom th' extremes of power and beauty move,
The Queen of Britain and the Queen of Love."[82]
Her beauty soon reached its prime and soon faded a little, so that in later
days she used to say with a touch of pique that no woman was handsome after
two-and-twenty. Though she was not tall, her figure was good, and her sweet
face with its animated expression attracted all beholders. Fastidious
critics did, indeed, find fault with her mouth, which was rather large, but
they had nothing but praise for her well-formed nose, her pretty
complexion, and, above all, for her sparkling black eyes which, as in the
days of her girlhood, were her most striking beauty; so lovely were they
that the Puritan Sir Simonds d'Ewes was fain to lament that their owner
should be in the thraldom of Popery.[83]
With such beauty to adorn, no woman, much less a Frenchwoman and a queen,
could be indifferent to dress. Henrietta took a great interest in the
subject, and loved to deck herself in the beautiful robes which were then
in fashion and which we know so well from the portraits of Van Dyck. The
trousseau which she had brought with her to England bore witness to her
brother's generosity, and was so ample and magnificent[84] that it may well
have lasted her life, as trousseaux did in those days. Four dozen
embroidered nightgowns with a dozen night-caps to match, four dozen
chemises with another "fort belle, toute pointe coupe" thrown in for
special occasions, and five dozen handkerchiefs seem an ample allowance of
linen even for a queen, while the five petticoats which were provided made
up in splendour what they lacked in number. The dozen pairs of English silk
stockings, to which was added a dainty pair of red velvet boots lined with
fur, were a luxury to which few could have aspired. But it was in the
matter of gowns that Henrietta was most fortunate. No less than thirteen
did she possess, apart from her "royal robe," and all were very
magnificent, four being of gold and silver cloth on a satin foundation,
whether of black, crimson, green, or "jus de lin," those of the two
last-named colours being provided with a court train and long hanging
sleeves. As for the robe of state, which perhaps is the same as that which
had already done duty at the wedding, it surpassed the rest in splendour,
being of red velvet covered with fleur-de-lis. A heavy mantle of the same
material and colour lined up with ermine was evidently intended to be worn
with it on ceremonial occasions.
Such toilettes would have been incomplete without magnificent jewels, of
which the taste of the time allowed great display. With Mary de' Medici
they were a passion, and her daughter, though she had no avarice in her
nature and was to show herself capable of sacrificing jewels or any other
material good for those she loved, yet was far from indifferent to the
sparkle and colour of these beautiful ornaments. Many and valuable were the
jewels which on her departure from France were handed over to the care of
her _dame d'atours_, who must have found them an anxious charge. Fillets of
pearls, chains of precious stones, diamond ear-rings, a magnificent diamond
ring, all these were provided for the young Queen, besides such fine jewels
as a cross of diamonds and pearls, an anchor studded with four diamonds,
and a "bouquet" of five petals made of diamonds, together with a quantity
of lesser trinkets, including several dozen diamond buttons to be used as
trimmings for dresses. It may be safely conjectured that the Queen found
plenty of use for a "grand mirror, silver-backed," which she brought over
with her from Paris, and it is not surprising to learn that Father Bérulle
thought her rather too fond of dress.
A very girl Henrietta remained for several years after her marriage.
Politics did not greatly interest her, and her trust in her husband was
such that she turned aside from serious matters to employ herself in bright
trifles, for, to the _joye de vivre_, which came to her from her father,
she added a delight in all that was pretty, which recalls her descent from
Florence and the Medici. She had, also, a taste for the grotesque which was
common in her day, and she long kept at her Court a pugnacious dwarf, by
name Geoffrey Hudson, who, later on, during the exile, caused her
considerable embarrassment by killing a gentleman in a duel. There is ample
evidence of her interest in dainty possessions and amusements. Now she is
writing to Madame S. Georges for velvet petticoats from her Paris tailor,
or "a dozen pairs of sweet chamois gloves and ... one of doe skin." Now she
is receiving "rare and outlandish flowers," or asking her mother to send
her fruit trees and plants for her gardens, whose "faire flowers" she so
cherished as to merit the dedication by Parkinson the herbalist of his
Paradisus Terrestris. Or, again, she is setting out with her lords and
ladies to celebrate in good old English fashion the festival of May Day,
and to witness all those pretty rights of country festivity over which the
withering wind of the Civil War had not yet passed.
"Marke
How each field turns to a street: each street a Parke
Made green and trimm'd with trees: see how
Devotion gives each house a Bough
Or Branch: each Porch, each doore, ere this
An Arke a Tabernacle is
Made up of white thorn neatly enterwove
As if here were those cooler shades of love."[85]
Nor was the Queen merely an idle spectator. No sooner did the first snowy
May bush catch her eye than, with all the zest of a village maiden, she
leaped from her fine coach, and breaking off a bough placed it merrily in
her hat.
In all the revels of the Court Henrietta's was the moving spirit, but her
sweetness of temper prevented her energy from degenerating into
domineering. She was never really popular with the people at large, on
account of her race and her religion, and there were murmurs now and then
at Court about her undue preference for the Scotch. But that in her own
circle she was tenderly loved there can be no doubt. Innocent,[86] yet so
sprightly that she sometimes gave scandal without suspecting it; gay, yet
with moments of sadness which only solitude could relieve; open and
talkative, yet faithful to conceal secrets, "for a queen should be as a
confessor, hearing all yet telling nothing"; sympathetic with sorrow, yet
chaffing unmercifully the _malades imaginares_ of a luxurious Court;
delicate in consideration for the feelings of the meanest of her servants,
yet gifted with a caustic tongue used at times rather unsparingly. Such was
Henrietta Maria, Queen of England.
But it is time to turn from the merely social and decorative aspect of
Henrietta's married life to consider the interests and intrigues which,
behind the brilliant show, were working and struggling.
One of the first questions which came up for settlement on the conclusion
of peace between England and France in 1629 was that of the Queen's
household, and the ambassador sent to London to arrange this matter turned
out to be one of those fascinating but factious persons whom ill-fortune
threw so often in Henrietta's path. To make things worse he found already
in England another Frenchman more fascinating and more factious than
himself, with whom he formed a close friendship. The Chevalier de Jars,[87]
whose exile was the result of Anne of Austria's affection and of
Richelieu's dislike, added to all his other charms a skill in the game of
tennis, which commended him to the King of England, himself a proficient in
the game.
Charles de l'Aubépine, Marquis of Chateauneuf, arrived in London in 1629.
He was a finished gentleman, and he was able quickly to win the confidence
of the Queen whose heart always turned kindly to those of her own nation.
But the ambassador was not slow in discovering that instead of having to
defend an ill-used and discontented wife, as perhaps he had expected, he
must adapt his diplomacy to the requirements of a happy married couple. "I
am not only the happiest princess, but the happiest woman in the
world,"[88] said Henrietta to him triumphantly, while Charles was careful
to show his affection for his beautiful wife by kissing her a hundred times
in the course of an hour as Chateauneuf looked on. "You have not seen that
in Piedmont," said the King, turning to his foreign guest, "nor," he added,
sinking his voice to a discreet whisper, "in France either."
Such news was gratifying to Mary de' Medici's maternal affection, and
Chateauneuf dwelt in his dispatches upon the kindness of the King, on the
pretty gifts of jewellery which he gave to his wife, and on the general
happiness of the royal marriage. But the real objects of his mission,
despite the personal favour with which he was regarded, were not advanced,
for Henrietta had now no wish to receive a French establishment such as she
had wept for so bitterly three years earlier.[89] She was now an English
queen, and she was well content with the attendance which her husband
provided for her. She confessed, however, that she should like to have a
lady of the bedchamber to whom she could talk in her own language and who
could come to church with her, "for the Countess of Buckingham and Madame
Savage are often away, and the rest of my ladies are Protestants," she
said.
She took a favourable opportunity of expressing her views to her brother's
ambassador with the frankness she was accustomed to show towards those she
liked. She invited him to stay with her at Nonsuch "as a private person
serving the Queen," and one evening there, after supper, when Charles had
ridden away to hunt, she requested her guest to walk with her in the park,
to enjoy the coolness of the July evening. A long conversation followed.
Chateauneuf spoke to the Queen of the great affection which her mother had
for her, the daughter whom she had kept longest at her side, and whose
marriage was her own work. Henrietta assented, and confessed that the
jealousy she had once felt of her sister Christine was unfounded, but she
quickly went on to speak of the happiness of her married life and of the
religious freedom which she enjoyed. "I do not want another governess," she
declared at last. "I am no longer a child to allow myself to be ruled."[90]
There were indeed many difficulties to be smoothed if Mary de' Medici was
to realize her hope of bringing her young daughter again into tutelage.
Both Charles and Henrietta saw what the aim of the French Government was,
and they quietly defeated it. The ecclesiastical question, which will be
discussed elsewhere, was, indeed, settled by a compromise favourable to
Catholic interests, but no _gouvernante_ arrived to oust the Countess of
Buckingham, who held the position formerly occupied by Madame S. Georges;
and the doctor, "a Frenchman and a Catholic," who came to supplant the
excellent Mayerne, a learned French Protestant who served Henrietta
faithfully for many years, found his position at the English Court so
intolerable that he begged to be recalled.
But there is another aspect of Chateauneuf's brief stay in England which
requires careful consideration. The French ambassador was believed to be
devoted to the interests of Richelieu, or else, assuredly, he had never set
foot in the English Court; but even Richelieu was sometimes mistaken, and
the man whom he had chosen to represent him was probably already jealous of
his patron, and already falling under the influence of the bright eyes of
Madame de Chevreuse, the friend of Queen Anne, the ally of Spain.
It is probable also that Henrietta was beginning to look coldly upon
Richelieu even before she met Chateauneuf, for other influences were
working against him in her mind. The day of Dupes was fast approaching,
when her mother would leave for ever the Court of France. Gaston of
Orleans' persistent hostility to the Cardinal was not without its weight
with his sister. Bérulle, whose memory she deeply revered, had died in
1628, summing up the experience of a lifetime in his dying words, "As for
the Court it is but vanity"; it was well known that he was at enmity with
the man who had raised him from the simple priesthood to the dignity of the
cardinal's purple. Taking all these things into account, it is not
surprising that the young Queen of England turned no unwilling ear to the
insinuation of Chateauneuf and the hints of Jars, and the result was an
intrigue which only became apparent when the ambassador had returned to
France, leaving the fascinating Chevalier to carry on the work which he had
begun.
The interaction of French and English politics now becomes of great
importance. Charles never allowed another to occupy the place of
Buckingham, either in his heart or in his counsels; but at this time his
chief dependence was upon the Treasurer, Richard Weston, who became Earl of
Portland in 1633; a dull, safe man, who could be trusted to prevent the
disagreeable necessity of calling a Parliament. He was, certainly at the
beginning of his career, rather pro-Spanish in his sympathies, and he died
a Catholic; but his aversion from war so recommended him to Richelieu, who
knew that while he held the reins of power England would not interfere in
his continental designs, that an understanding and almost a friendship
gradually grew up between them.
Henrietta never liked Weston. Perhaps she was jealous of her husband's
regard, and saw in him a potential Buckingham; certainly she disliked his
close-fisted ways, which curbed her extravagance, always considerable, in
money matters. She allowed a cabal of discontented spirits to gather round
her, whose double aim was the overthrow of the powerful minister in England
and of the far greater statesman across the Channel. That cabal, founded in
French opinion by Chateauneuf,[91] included most of the Queen's personal
friends. Holland,[92] who was jealous of Weston, and whose devotion to
Madame de Chevreuse accounted for his attitude to Richelieu, without taking
into account a warm friendship with Chateauneuf; Montagu, who laid such
portion of his homage as he could spare from Queen Anne at the feet of the
same seductive lady, and who had been and was "very well" with Monsieur the
factious Duke of Orleans; Jermyn and Henry Percy--these are some of
those[93] implicated in Henrietta's first attempt at the fascinating game
of diplomatic chicanery. To them must be added Madame de Vantelet, whom
Chateauneuf thought a little neglected, but who, as the only French lady of
the royal household, had considerable influence over her mistress, and
whose partisanship became so marked that the pension assigned to her by the
King of France was taken away.
The difficulties began with the arrival of Chateauneuf's successor, the
Marquis of Fontenay-Mareuil, who threw himself on the side of Weston, and
who soon found that he had to reckon with a foe in the person of the
Chevalier de Jars. He met with little less opposition from Madame de
Vantelet and from Father Philip, who disliked the ecclesiastical policy of
the ambassador, and who was himself disliked by the party of Richelieu,
because as a subject of King Charles he was quite independent of France and
could not be persuaded to use the great influence over the Queen which his
position gave him in the interests of a foreign Government.[94] The Queen
proved even more intractable. She refused to dismiss Father Philip at her
eldest brother's request, and it was an ominous sign that in 1631 an agent
of Monsieur was in England, even though Charles took care that his presence
should be reported to the French authorities. When the news arrived of the
execution of the gallant Montmorency, Henrietta spoke with pity of his
fate, while her husband, who had many of the instincts of absolutism,
readily allowed that it was a painful necessity.
Her friendship for Jars continued unabated in spite of the open enmity
which that worthy showed to Fontenay-Mareuil, whose position was only
rendered tolerable by the kindness of the King, who had not yet fallen
under the domination of his wife in affairs, however much he might kiss and
caress her. As for Henrietta, she was openly rude to the hapless
ambassador. She frankly told him that though she was obliged to receive him
in his official capacity, out of respect for her brother, she would not
discuss her private affairs with him, and wished to have as little to do
with him personally as possible. It is not surprising that he was anxious
to return to his own country.
Nor is it surprising that he took steps to clear himself from the name
freely bestowed upon him. Apart from the clique of Chateauneuf's personal
friends, of whom the chief perhaps were Holland and Montagu, he was fairly
liked at Court, and he believed that, could he but unmask the intrigues of
the Chevalier and of his patron Chateauneuf, he might yet triumph over his
enemies. With this object in view he descended to a trick hardly in keeping
either with his rank or with his office. One evening when he knew that the
Chevalier would be away from home, he caused two of his servants to enter
the rooms of his rival, where they carried on a burglarious search, which
ended in a small cabinet containing letters finding its way into the hands
of the ambassador.
Jars, as was only to be expected, was exceedingly angry, but he believed
that his influence with the King and the Queen would ensure his redress.
They did indeed take up the matter with great zeal, and, for a few days,
nothing else was talked of at Court. But when Charles came to question
Fontenay-Mareuil, the affair assumed a different complexion. The ambassador
did not attempt to deny the theft. He only said coolly that since Jars was
a subject of the King of France, and since he had reason to believe that he
was compromising his sovereign's interests, he was at liberty to take any
steps which seemed good to him to discover the truth. The King of England
was much struck by this reply, which fitted in well with his own theory and
practice of statecraft. Moreover, much as he personally liked Jars, he
distrusted the political party to which he belonged. He therefore
determined to take no steps in the matter. He showed marked cordiality to
Fontenay-Mareuil, and the Chevalier, to his infinite chagrin, had to submit
to the loss of his papers, which were probably sent to Richelieu to help
forward the disgrace of Chateauneuf.
For in the early spring of 1633 the Court of England was startled by the
news of the arrest of that nobleman and of the Chevalier de Jars, who had
returned to France after the above incident. In a moment the power of those
who were the Queen of England's friends in her native land seemed
destroyed. Chateauneuf was sent into captivity at Angoulême. His fair
charmer, Madame de Chevreuse, was forced into uncongenial retirement, which
ended in her dramatic escape, dressed up as a man, across the Pyrenees into
Spain. While for Jars was reserved a still harder lot. Two years of
rigorous imprisonment in the Bastille were followed by a sentence of death,
pronounced by one who was known as the "bourreau du Cardinal." It was only
as the victim kneeled upon the scaffold awaiting the stroke of the
executioner that he received, by the tardy mercy of Richelieu, a reprieve
from death, a reprieve so sudden and startling that for many minutes he was
too stunned to appreciate his good fortune, which, however, was none too
great, for he was reconducted to his prison, whence all the efforts of his
friends, headed by the Queen of England, were long unavailing to drag him.
It was not indeed likely that Richelieu would look favourably on a request
proferred by Henrietta, for he was beginning to feel that distrust of her
which never left him to the end of his life. Among the letters which the
_affaire_ Chateauneuf placed in his power were many written by English
hands, those of Holland, of Montagu, of the Queen herself. He knew also
that the royal lady had spoken slighting words of him, saying that
Chateauneuf was no participant of the evil counsels of the Cardinal, and
that after the death of the latter he would be able to fill his place much
more worthily. This information, moreover, came from an unimpeachable
source, none other than the Treasurer of England. Weston indeed watched
with no ordinary interest the course of events in France, and it is not
surprising that he did not scruple to report to the Cardinal the
uncomplimentary remarks of the Queen of England. The enemies of Richelieu
were his own, and their overthrow prepared the way for his victory, which,
though on a smaller scale and of less dramatic quality, was equally
decisive.
In the spring of 1633, not long after the fall of Chateauneuf, Jerome
Weston, the son of the Treasurer, was on his way home from Paris, whither
he had been as ambassador. On the journey he happened to fall in with a
letter which he thought to be written by the Earl of Holland, and
remembering the hostility of that nobleman to his father, he took
possession of it. On opening the packet he found within a letter addressed
in the Queen's handwriting, which he did not presume to unfold; but on his
arrival in London laid it, just as he had found it, in the hands of the
King.
It appears that the letter was of trifling importance, being nothing more
than one of the many which, at different times, Henrietta Maria wrote on
behalf of the Chevalier de Jars to Cardinal Richelieu. But Holland, not
unnaturally perhaps, felt that he had been insulted, and he probably
thought that the King would see in Jerome Weston's conduct an affront to
his wife. In a moment of imprudence he sent a challenge by the hands of
Henry Jermyn to the Treasurer's son, asking for satisfaction. The latter,
instead of sending an answer in the way usual in such cases, informed his
father of what had occurred, and Portland without delay laid the matter
before the King. This trifling incident thus became the touchstone of the
respective influence of the Treasurer and of the cabal which was trying to
ruin him. It was the former who came off victorious. Charles' trust in his
minister was not to be shaken, while he was exceedingly angry with Holland.
To his punctilious mind it seemed intolerable that a nobleman of his own
council should send a challenge to one of his servants on account of an act
performed in his official capacity. His orders were sharp and stern.
Jermyn, as an accessory, was to be confined in a private house, while
Holland was ordered to retire to the beautiful mansion at Kensington, which
he had acquired with his wealthy wife Isabel Cope, and there to remain
during His Majesty's pleasure. All believed that the day of the brilliant
Earl was over, and that his friends, particularly Montagu and Madame de
Vantelet, would share in his fall. Holland House was indeed a gilded
prison, but the prisoner was made to feel that the sentence had not been
pronounced in play, for when he showed a disposition to amuse himself with
his friends, Charles sent a stern rebuke, forbidding him to receive
company. Everything pointed to a complete withdrawal of royal favour.
But Henrietta, as she proved in the case of Jars and of many others, was a
good friend. She was truly attached to Holland, who was not only possessed
of unrivalled grace of person and manner, but was connected in her mind
with the happy memory of her marriage. Exerting all the strength of her
growing influence over her husband--an influence which was increased by the
fact that she was about again to become a mother[95]--she succeeded in
winning the pardon of the now repentant Earl. Handsome and brilliant as
ever, Holland reappeared in the drawing-rooms of the Queen, and his
accomplices, Jermyn, Montagu, and Madame de Vantelet, seemed to be in as
high favour at Court as before the occurrence of this untoward event.
But, nevertheless, Portland was the victor. Charles' eyes had been opened
to see the machinations of the enemies of his minister who, notwithstanding
the smothered hostility of the Queen and her circle, preserved his
confidence until his death. Henrietta's first attempt to play the game of
politics--an attempt into which she had been drawn by her friends with
probably little volition or comprehension of her own--had ended on both
sides of the Channel in sorry failure. In France her friends were scattered
and exiled, and the great Cardinal was stronger than ever; in England she
had proved her power to touch her husband's heart, but not to rule his
counsels.
But other days were coming. In March, 1635, Portland died. As Charles grew
older his disposition to keep the direction of affairs in his own hands
grew also, and as Buckingham had had no real successor so Portland had
none. Instead, his heritage of influence and power was divided among
several heirs, one of whom was the Queen of England. Hardly was the
Treasurer in his grave when Henrietta Maria began to show an interest in
political concerns which she had not previously displayed.
She was now twenty-five years of age, and her early marriage had brought
with it an early development of character. She had outgrown the levity of
extreme youth, and her acute and energetic mind was beginning to feel and
respond to the stimulus of affairs. She had not lived for ten years with
her husband without being aware of the difficulties of his sombre and
obstinate character,[96] but she knew also his great love for her, and she
was encouraged by the fact that her devoted servant the Earl of Holland had
been restored to more than his former place in Charles' confidence. Perhaps
the hostile influence which she most feared was that of Laud, for whom the
King had a regard not only as an ecclesiastic after his own heart, but as a
friend and protégé of Buckingham. There was also another and a stronger
mind from which she instinctively shrank, but Wentworth was far away in
Ireland, and, at the time, seldom came into personal relation with her. But
though it is unquestionable that the disappearance of Portland marks a
change which came over the spirit of the Queen, yet that change may easily
be exaggerated. It was, moreover, very gradual, and only became complete in
the dark days which preceded the Civil War. For the present, though the
instincts of intrigue inherent in the Medici blood were aroused, yet her
chief interests remained those of the normal young married woman, her
husband, her babies, her home. If she entered into political matters, as
she had not done in earlier years, yet her efforts were intermittent, and
two independent witnesses attest with regret the indifference of her
attempts to win over the Ministers of State, and the slightness of the part
which she played in public life.[97] Nevertheless, as the death of
Buckingham gave her ascendancy over her husband's heart, so that of
Portland paved the way for the ascendancy which she gradually acquired over
his mind.
It was not to be expected that Henrietta's development of character, slight
and gradual though it might be, would escape the vigilant eyes fixed upon
her from across the Channel. Portland's death was a blow to Richelieu, who,
with a European war about to begin, could not afford the hostility of
England. He did not like Henrietta, but he was too acute not to appreciate
that her character was of the feminine type, which is largely dependent
upon personal influence, and he hoped that the removal of Chateauneuf and
Jars would lead to a return on her part to such sentiments as he conceived
to be fitting towards her native land, in other words, towards himself, for
to the Cardinal even more than to Louis XIV "l'Etat c'est moi." When he
heard how all the courtiers of England, and even the Archbishop of
Canterbury himself, were trying to win her favour, he felt that he must
take some pains to recapture her. His schemes--the details of which may be
read in the dispatches which he wrote and received--were not quite
unsuccessful. Henrietta, for a few years, did show a certain friendliness
towards him, and perhaps, had he complied at once with her wishes in
releasing Jars, he might have won her real friendship.[98] Her friends in
England were not neglected. The unstable Montagu, who at this time had
great influence over her, and who was attempting, quite unsuccessfully, to
make Richelieu forget the part he had played in Chateauneuf's schemes, was
rewarded for his shuffling by the offer of a pension, which, however, the
Queen thought it prudent he should refuse.[99] Certainly grievances of her
French servants were removed. Madame de Vantelet's pension was restored,
while in 1637 Francis Windbank, one of the Secretaries of State, who was
becoming involved in her schemes, was delicately asked to accept a present
in lieu of the less respectable pension.[100]
[Illustration: CHARLES I AND HENRIETTA MARIA
FROM THE PAINTING BY VAN DYCK IN THE GALLERIA PITTI, FLORENCE]
But Richelieu, in spite of all his schemes, was by now aware of one fact,
which redounds greatly to Henrietta's credit: he recognized that she would
never be an Anne of Austria, an alien and spy in the Court of her husband,
and that all he could hope for was to win her as a friendly ally who should
counteract in some degree the pro-Spanish tendencies of the King. "The
Queen of England," ran the instructions given to an ambassador who was
starting for London, "shows herself always very well disposed towards
France. But care must be taken, and she must not be required to act beyond
that which she considers may contribute to the common good of the two
crowns."[101]
For as the years rolled on the union between Charles and Henrietta proved
to be no passing affection born of youth and beauty, but the deep and
increasing love of true marriage. It was as impossible for Henrietta as for
any other good wife, whether princess or peasant, to consider a course of
action apart from the interests of her husband, and those who had dealings
with her had to learn, sometimes painfully, that her first consideration
must always be he of whom she was accustomed to write, with pretty
formality, as "le roi Monseigneur."
She is considered, and rightly, to be a Queen of Tragedy. But in any
estimate of her life it must be remembered that she had at least twelve
years of such happiness as seldom falls to the lot of a royal woman. If
later she was to find out that
"There is no worldly pleasure here below
Which by experience doth not folly prove,"
now she was learning
"But among all the follies that I know
The sweetest folly in the world is love";[102]
and thus rank and riches, which to the unhappy are but an aggravation of
their misery, could yield to her their truest pleasure. Moreover, she never
had to learn, like poor Anne of Austria, how
"Rich discontent's a glorious Hell."[103]
Sorrow, when it came, stripped her bare of the mocking accessories of joy.
[Footnote 61: In England Henrietta Maria was known as Queen Mary, but she
always used the signature "Henriette Marie."]
[Footnote 62: _Cal. S.P. Dom._, 1625-6, p. 415.]
[Footnote 63: Sir Theodore Mayerne.]
[Footnote 64: Henry Percy to Earl of Carlisle. _Cal. S.P. Dom._, 1625-49,
p. 292.]
[Footnote 65: _Cal. S.P. Dom._, 1628-9, p. 412. (Dec., 1628.)]
[Footnote 66: Green: _Letters of Queen Henrietta Maria_, p. 15.]
[Footnote 67: William Habington: "Castara."]
[Footnote 68: Sir Theodore Mayerne: _Cal. S.P. Dom._, 1628-9, p. 548.]
[Footnote 69: See chapter IV.]
[Footnote 70: Green: _Letters of Queen Henrietta Maria_, p. 17.]
[Footnote 71: _Ibid._, p. 18.]
[Footnote 72: Mary, who married the Prince of Orange; James, afterwards
King of England; Elizabeth; Henry, Duke of Gloucester; Henrietta Anne,
Duchess of Orleans; Anne, who died as an infant, and another daughter, who
also died in infancy.]
[Footnote 73: Her character is described at length in "The Character of the
Most Excellent Lady Lucy of Carlisle," by Sir Tobie Matthews, prefixed to
_A Collection of Letters made by Sir Tobie Matthews, K.C._ (1660).]
[Footnote 74: Those of Rochefoucault.]
[Footnote 75: In 1626 she was in debt to the amount of £6662 16s. 9d. to
various tradesmen; it was her custom, as that of former Queen-Consorts, to
employ chiefly foreign tradesmen and workmen.]
[Footnote 76: The Queen saw it twice; the music was written by Simon Ivy
and Henry Lawes.]
[Footnote 77: _Cal. S.P. Dom._, 1625-6, p. 273.]
[Footnote 78: In later days Henrietta Maria could say with Katharine of
Aragon,
"I am not such a truant since my coming
As not to know the language I have liv'd in."
for her children grew up unable to speak French, and Mme de Motteville says
that she had spoilt her French by talking English. Perhaps even now it was
only the accent which was at fault. Probably she never wrote English with
ease. Her first letter written in that language is to Lord Finch; the date
is about 1641. Green: _Letters of Queen Henrietta Maria_, p. 28.]
[Footnote 79: _The Shepherd's Paradise: a comedy_ (1659).]
[Footnote 80: Sir John Suckling: "A Session of the Poets."]
[Footnote 81: He was the Queen's Lord Steward.]
[Footnote 82: Edmund Waller.]
[Footnote 83: The following description of the Queen is written by a
Catholic hand: "Seremissima Maria Regina quinque ac viginti circiter
annorum, figurâ corporis parvâ, sed venustissimâ, crine cum suo Rege
consimili [dark chestnut] constitutione corporis primâ, de qua hac virtutum
Epitome quod formosissima, quod in ætatis vere, quod Regina, in Aula
deliciis, et voluptatibus affluente, atque etiam Religionibus dispari, nec
vel lerissimam offensionem dederit."--Archives of the See of Westminster:
Status Angliæ, 1635.]
[Footnote 84: The official list of the clothes, jewels, furniture, etc.,
which the Queen brought to England and from which the above account is
taken, forms part of MS. Français, 23,600. Among the furniture are
mentioned "trois tapis de velours" and "deux grands tapis de Turquie."]
[Footnote 85: Robert Herrick: "Corinna's going a-Maying."]
[Footnote 86: The evidence of Father Philip on this point is conclusive.
See Con to Barberini: Add. MS., 15,389, f. 196.]
[Footnote 87: He was in England at the time of Bassompierre's mission.]
[Footnote 88: Aff. Etran. Ang., t. 43.]
[Footnote 89: In a secret article of the treaty between France and England,
made in 1629, it was recognized by the King of France that it was
inadvisable that Henrietta should have a large French household. Aff.
Etran. Ang., t. 43.]
[Footnote 90: Aff. Etran. Ang., t. 43.]
[Footnote 91: Fontenay-Mareuil to Richelieu (apparently). "Vos actions sont
en telle veneration par tout le monde que le Roy de la Grande Bretagne
animé d'un si bon exemple s'est enfin resolu de ruiner la Cabale qui estoit
en sa Cour dont il estime que le Roy ni vous Monsieur ne serez pas marris
puis-qu'elle avoit esté fondée par M. de Chasteauneuf et sur les mesmes
desseins que celle de France très préjudiciables aux deux royaumes.... 14
April, 1633."--Aff. Etran, Ang., t. 45.]
[Footnote 92: Richelieu thought that Mme. de Chevreuse, swayed by her love
for Holland, induced Chateauneuf to act against Weston, whom Holland hoped
to supplant.]
[Footnote 93: This clique was considered "Puritan" as against the
"Protestantism" of Portland. See chap. IV.]
[Footnote 94: "Père Philippe qui possêde la conscience de la Reyne de la
Grande Bretagne est subject du roy son Mary et establi par luy de sorte
qu'il est impossible d'y prendre aucune confiance pour les interests de
France à laquelle il ne se tient point oblige."--Letters of
Fontenay-Mareuil, French Transcripts P.R.O.]
[Footnote 95: Her son James was born October 14th, 1633.]
[Footnote 96: "La Reyne de la Grande Bretagne ne fait que commencer aussy a
se mesler des affaires laquelle bienque son Mary layme extremement il fault
de l'humeur qu'il est quelle use de grandes maniers avec luy et quelle y
aille très doucement."--Letters of French Ambassador (Senneterre). May
24th, 1635. MS. Français, 15,993.]
[Footnote 97: "J'ay beaucoup loué et remercié la Reyne de la Grande
Bretagne de son election qui est un esprit qu'elle doive conserver à elle
pour prendre plus de part dans les affaires quelle n'a fait iusques
ici."--Letter of Senneterre, February, 1636. MS. Français, 15,993.
"Al futuro applica poco confidata tutta nel Re. Bisogna che prema più di
guadagnare li ministri dello Stato de quali può essere Padrona
volendo."--Con to Barberini, Aug. 25, 1636. Add. MS., 15,389, f. 196.]
[Footnote 98: "... La reyne d'Angletera qul prendra entierement
Vostre party sy vous luy donnez la liberté du chevalier de
Jars."--Fontenay-Mareuil to Richelieu. Aff. Etran. Ang., t. 45.]
[Footnote 99: MS. Français, 15,993.]
[Footnote 100: The Queen's Grand Almoner, Du Perron, was the intermediary
in this matter. Windbank's name is not mentioned in Du Perron's letters,
but there is little doubt he is intended. Aff. Etran. Ang., t. 46.]
[Footnote 101: Aff. Etran. Ang., t. 46]
[Footnote 102: Sir Robert Ayton]
[Footnote 103: William Habington.]
CHAPTER IV
THE QUEEN OF THE CATHOLICS
They knew not
That what I motioned was of God; I knew
From intimate impulse and therefore urged
The Marriage on, that by occasions hence,
I might begin Israel's deliverance,
The work to which I was divinely called.
JOHN MILTON
Among all the activities of Queen Henrietta Maria's life none deserves more
careful study than those connected with her work for her co-religionists in
England.
The French marriage of Charles I represented, in a measure, a compromise
between the hopes of the English Catholics and the fears of the English
Puritans. From the point of view of the latter an alliance with any
Catholic Princess was a misfortune; but, nevertheless, Henrietta was
regarded as a modified evil by those who had feared a Spanish Infanta.
Spain was the old enemy, the land which had sent out the Great Armada, and
which in every way had fostered the most militant and uncompromising
elements of English Catholicism; France, if unfortunately it had not
fulfilled the promise it had once given of becoming a Protestant country,
was Catholic in another and a far less rigid sense, and it was remembered
that Henrietta was the daughter of the man who had been at one time the
hope of the Reformers, and who, if he had deserted his faith with a
light-hearted cynicism not often to be paralleled, had found at the end
that the Mass which gained Paris for him could not save him from the knife
of the man who was believed to be the pupil of the Jesuits. The qualified
satisfaction which was general in England is well reflected in the
following paragraph which appeared in a newsletter when it was known that
the negotiations for the marriage were approaching completion:--
"The first tidings of this joyfull newes were welcome unto all except
Jezuited English who have not so much hope to accomplish their ambitious
projects, allwayes hurtfull to the good and tranquillity of this Kingdome
by this Marriage of France, as they had by that of Spaine, since all men
know who know any thing at all, how all true-hearted Frenchmen detest and
hate this cruell king-killing Ignatian order since the death and murther of
two Burbonian Henries kild by them and their accomplices."[104]
But, on the other hand, the substitution of a French for a Spanish Queen
was a severe blow to the English Catholics. These heroic men who, hiding
their heads "mid ignomy, death and tombs," had kept alive through years of
persecution the faith of their fathers, had acquired something of the
harshness and narrowness which belongs to a persecuted remnant. The more
liberal type of Catholicism prevalent in France was not congenial to
them,[105] and they had, moreover, good reason to be grateful to the House
of Austria. The King of Spain not only permitted English seminaries and
religious houses to be established in Spain and in the Low Countries, but
he even supported some of them with pensions, and during the negotiations
with James I for a matrimonial alliance he showed both his will and his
power to protect the English Catholics at home, where a peace of the Church
was then enjoyed which was long remembered in less happy times. All
persecution ceased, and at St. James's Palace a Catholic Chapel was seen in
course of building, designed for the use of the Spanish Queen who never
came.
It was not likely that the eyes of Richelieu,[106] which saw everything,
should fail to observe the unfortunate predilection of the English
Catholics for the enemies of France, and there is no doubt that one of the
reasons for which Henrietta was sent into England was to detach them from
this alliance. During the period of negotiations Richelieu wrote a friendly
letter to the Catholic body in England,[107] and the French ambassadors
were charged to do all in their power to win the confidence of its
principal members, and to combat the wiles of the Spaniards, who tried to
persuade them that the French had no true regard for religion.
Ville-aux-clercs, when he was in London, was on one occasion obliged to
attend a service at Westminster Abbey. He was careful to behave with the
utmost rudeness, in order to show the uncompromising character of a
Frenchman's Catholicism.[108] Tillières took great pains to conciliate the
chiefs of the English Catholics, and to persuade them that his master was
as good a Catholic as the King of Spain. But it was no easy task, and it
was not until Louis XIII had stayed the passage of an anti-Catholic law in
the English Parliament that they began to feel some confidence in him. Then
a letter of thanks was sent to Paris,[109] and even the Jesuits, who were
considered peculiarly pro-Spanish, wrote to express their desire for the
coming alliance. Matters were the more satisfactory inasmuch as William
Smith, who had recently been consecrated Bishop of Chalcedon, and who, in
the teeth of the Jesuits, claimed the jurisdiction of an ordinary in
England, was well known in France, where he had resided for many years in
the household of Richelieu. It was, moreover, with the same object that the
French Government insisted upon the promise to suspend the execution of the
recusancy laws as a _sine qua non_ of the marriage, "otherwise," wrote
Tillières frankly, "the English Catholics will be lost to France and
assured to Spain."[110] Thus Richelieu's action in this particular fits
into his general scheme of anti-Austrian policy, and he is cleared from any
suspicion that he was actuated by weak religious scruples in thus setting
himself against the Protestant prejudice of England.
Henrietta was probably not unconscious of the dubious reception which would
be afforded to her by her co-religionists, and her advisers were still more
alive to the necessity of her making a good impression upon the English
Catholics. At first all went well. Those who were unaware of the religious
revival which was taking place in France were surprised at the piety of
Bérulle (who was one of the leaders of the revival), and at the zeal of the
Bishop of Mende,[111] who, with great diplomacy, took care to interest
himself in the general affairs of his co-religionists in England. The young
Queen herself, who in Paris had not been remarkable for devotion, seemed on
entering the heretic country to be dowered with a new piety and zeal. She
showed great compassion for her Catholic subjects, and such devotion to her
religious duties that she heard Mass every day, even when she was on one of
the frequent progresses of the English Court, and on Sundays listened to a
sermon and attended Vespers, which was usually enlivened by instrumental
music. "Can such good things come out of Galilee?" was the wondering
question of the pro-Spanish English Catholic; and if he suspended his
ultimate judgment, he at least rejoiced for the time in the edifying
conduct of those whose presence was the guarantee of his peace.
Even some of the Protestants seemed softened. Henrietta, in her earlier
days, before sorrow deepened and hardened her character, was far from a
bigot, and indeed the daughter of Henry IV never had in her the true stuff
of fanaticism. When just after her marriage some one was rude enough to ask
her if she disliked Huguenots, she answered gently, "Why should I? My
father was one"; and some of Bérulle's enemies, "the ministers," presuming
on such girlish kindliness, boasted that in six months she would be at
their preachings. Others, less sanguine, contented themselves with admiring
the decorum of the services to which curiosity led them, and with praising
the outward regularity of the lives of the Oratorian Fathers. Thus the
Catholics had ground for hope, but not for exultation. "These are flowers
of hopes," wrote the cautious Bérulle, "but nothing but flowers and,
moreover, flowers surrounded by thorns. These are hopes, but they have need
of a greater maturity in the Queen and more persevering conduct on the part
of France."[112]
It was therefore the greater disappointment when the persecution of 1625
fell. Nor was it a slight and passing storm. Never, even in the days of
Edward VI or Elizabeth, had the Catholics been in such evil case, except
that the death penalty, to which the King had an invincible repugnance, was
not exacted.[113] But the most loyal of laymen, such as the Marquis of
Winchester, suffered in their goods, while the prisons became veritable
cloisters of religious. It is n
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