Henrietta Maria Part 1

Henrietta Maria.

by Henrietta Haynes.

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 Bibliotheque Nationale, in the Archives Nationales, and in the Bibliotheque Mazarine; from the valuable series of Roman Transcripts in the Public Record Office, London; from the curious and interesting doc.u.ments 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 doc.u.ments 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. Mere Louise Eugenie 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.

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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.dliness 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 pa.s.sed 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 n.o.bility 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 cla.s.s, which, originally fostered by the Crown as a counterpoise to the decayed feudal n.o.bility, 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 acc.u.mulating 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 circ.u.mstances 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 circ.u.mstances, 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 a.s.sa.s.sin 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 att.i.tude 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 n.o.ble fires, Vigorous health and gay desires.

ABRAHAM COWLEY

On a May morning in the year of grace 1625, a young girl, watching in the Chateau 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 ent.i.tle 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 s.p.a.ce 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 n.o.ble-hearted father perished by the knife of Ravaillac. Her early years were pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sed in one beautiful chateau 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 Berulle, 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 Amba.s.sador 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 amba.s.sador 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 protege 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 n.o.bleman, 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 r.e.t.a.r.d 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 n.o.bleman, 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 n.o.blemen, 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 Amba.s.sadors 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 Francois 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 pet.i.tion 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 ma.s.s 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 Francois 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 pa.s.sage for the coaches of the n.o.bility 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 Berulle 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 pa.s.s 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 Amba.s.sadors 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 Conde 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.