Henrietta Maria Part 3

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 surpa.s.sed 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 a.s.sured 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 superst.i.tion 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 Amba.s.sador, 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 circ.u.mstances 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 Tillieres, 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 a.s.surances 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 pa.s.sion, 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 Berulle.

The Amba.s.sador 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 Ma.s.s at the French Amba.s.sador'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 princ.i.p.al 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 Amba.s.sador 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 a.s.sist 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 pa.s.sage-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 Tillieres 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 Tillieres' 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 Tillieres, 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 gla.s.s. 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 a.s.sembled 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 a.s.sert 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 G.o.d, 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 G.o.d 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 a.s.suaged 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 a.s.sa.s.sination 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 emba.s.sy, and this, it seems, was only decided upon at the instance of the Pope.

Two persons were joined in the emba.s.sy, the Count of Tillieres, whom the English were believed greatly to fear, and his brother-in-law, the Marshal de Ba.s.sompierre, 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 emba.s.sy, 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 Amba.s.sador 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 G.o.dfrey 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 a.s.sured the Earl of Carlisle that they did not belong to the Church of Rome, but to that which was Catholic, Gallican, and "Sorbonique," an a.s.sertion which particularly enraged Ba.s.sompierre, 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 Amba.s.sador. 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 Ba.s.sompierre. 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 Ba.s.sompierre, 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 emba.s.sy 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 emba.s.sies 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 sh.o.r.es 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 Ba.s.sompierre 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 Berulle.

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 _Memoires inedits du Comte Leveneur de Tillieres_, published in 1862, are one of the princ.i.p.al 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: