years of her life, and if the clash of arms and the roar of cannon were
as familiar to her as nursery songs are to more fortunate children, the
echo of the same sounds came to her across the water from England, where
her brother Charles was fighting for his crown. One day when she entered
the room, she found the queen sitting with her head on her hands,
weeping bitterly. The child stood for a moment at the door wondering
what to do, and then went up softly and laid her cheek silently against
her mother's. 'One by one they are going,' cried the poor woman; 'your
sister Elizabeth'—and Henriette wept too for the death of the sister
whom she had never seen. A few weeks later arrived the news that the
queen's son-in-law, William of Orange, had died of small-pox at The
Hague, and in him the family had lost another friend, and a sure refuge
in all their troubles. Henrietta Maria's heart ached for her eldest
daughter, gay, charming, yet melancholy like all the Stuarts, left a
widow at nineteen, with only a baby son to comfort her. Henriette was
very much grieved for her mother's distress, but as her sisters were
merely names to her, she was soon ready to attend to her lessons again,
given to her daily by lady Morton and the good father Cyprian. She would
leave the side of her sad mother and seek her governess, and, sitting at
one of the windows of the Louvre that overlooked the Seine, would sing
some of the songs composed by the loyal Cavaliers who had fought for her
father. And the passers-by beneath would look up at the sound of the
guitar, as the little singer would pour out with all her heart 'My own
and only love I pray,' by the great Marquis of Montrose; or 'When love
with unconfined wings hovers within the gate,' or 'Bid me to live, and I
will live, Thy Protestant to be.' Only she never sang this in the
queen's presence, for Her Majesty did not love Protestants, as Henriette
well knew! But the guitar was not the only instrument the princess was
taught to play. She played too on the harpsichord, which she did not
love as well as the guitar, for one reason because it was a lumbering
thing and she could not carry it about with her. She also learnt to
dance, and when the mob besieged the gates of Paris, or poured shouting
through the streets, in one small room on the top of the old palace a
little girl might have been seen practising the steps of the coranto,
the pavane, the branle, and other dances in fashion at court. And when
she was tired of dancing, lady Morton would read to her tales out of the
old chronicles of Froissart or de Comines, or stories from Malory of
Lancelot and Arthur, or repeat to her some of the poems of days gone by.
So the months slipped by, when one evening a messenger arrived at the
Louvre and asked to see lady Morton, who was at that moment telling
Henriette about the Crusades, in which her ancestors, both French and
English, had borne so great a part. The man was admitted, and bowing low
first to the princess and then to her governess, he held out a letter
bound with a black ribbon and sealed with black wax. Lady Morton turned
pale as she took it, and as she read grew paler still. Her husband was
dead; and there was no one to look after her children; she was therefore
prayed to return at once. That was all. Signing to the messenger to
retire, she hastened to the queen and laid the letter before her. 'Your
Majesty will see that I have no choice,' she said in a quiet voice which
spoke of the pain of the present and that which was to come. Henrietta
stooped and kissed her faithful servant, and answered, 'No, none; but we
shall miss you sorely. Every day and every hour.' And so they did; and
when, three years later, the news of her death was brought to them, it
was the greatest grief that Henriette was to feel until she lost her
little son.
Look which way she would the poor queen could see nothing but disaster.
Charles II.'s expedition proved an absolute failure, and once more he
took refuge in France. But no misfortunes could damp his spirits, and,
as always, his visit was a joy to Henriette. How he made her laugh by
describing his ride on the pillion in woman's clothes, after the battle
of Worcester, and the hours he spent seated in the oak, while his
enemies passed and re-passed beneath him. And about the time he hid in a
cottage, with his hair cropped close like a serving-man, till he could
make his way to London and get on board a vessel bound for France; and
fifty other hairbreadth escapes, which interested even his cousin, the
'Great Mademoiselle,' who usually cared about nothing that did not
concern herself. Soon after this the Fronde ended, and things began to
look a little brighter for France, and also for Henrietta. When Anne of
Austria came into power again, she thought of her unhappy sister-in-law
and her niece, and resolved to do what she could to make them more
comfortable. She begged Henrietta Maria to leave the Louvre, where she
had suffered so much, and come and live with her in the Palais Royal;
and the English queen felt it would be ungracious to refuse such
kindness, though she would have preferred staying where she was. After
that a larger pension was given her, and with this Henrietta was able to
buy a house outside Paris built nearly a hundred years before by
Catherine de Medici, and, after putting aside a few rooms for herself,
she invited some nuns from the convent of Sainte Marie to take up their
abode in the other part, with mademoiselle de la Fayette as their
abbess.
Here the queen passed many months of every year, bringing with her the
little princess. How pleased the nuns were to have the child, and how
they petted and spoilt her! Many of them were women of high birth, and
had lived at court before they determined to leave it for good, and the
elder ones could tell Henriette thrilling tales of the War of the Three
Henries, in which _their_ fathers and _her_ grandfather had fought. By
and bye the road which led from Paris would be covered with coaches and
noisy with the tramp of horses, and Henriette would strain her neck out
of the top windows to see which of the great ladies was coming to pay
them a visit and to pray in the chapel. Ah! those were the royal
uniforms surrounding the big carriage drawn by six white horses. It was
her aunt, queen Anne, who was always so good to her! and Henriette ran
joyfully down to tell her mother. These excitements took place very
often, and, in spite of the many services she had to attend, and the
lack of other children to play with, the princess had hardly time to be
dull. Besides, at the end of this same year, 1652, her two brothers,
Charles and James, came to Paris, and of course the English queen and
her daughter had to hurry back to the Palais Royal to receive them.
Charles had been all his life very fond of his little sister, fourteen
years younger than himself, with eyes that flashed with fun at his when
La Grande Mademoiselle gave herself more airs than usual, or allowed
herself to be impertinent to her poor relations, who never seemed to be
aware of their position. Of course outwardly they behaved beautifully
and paid her the compliments that she loved, and as it never entered
into her head that any one could make fun of _her_, Mademoiselle, the
Centre of the Universe, no harm was done. But this time a quarrel broke
out between the good-natured, easy-going young king Charles and his
mother. She had fallen under the influence of Walter Montagu, abbot of
Pontoise, and he had persuaded her to put a stop to the services of the
English Church, which had been held, for the benefit of the many
fugitives from their native country, in a hall of the Louvre, and anyone
wishing to use the form to which he was accustomed had to go to the
house of the ambassador appointed by Charles himself. Very unwillingly
the king was forced to attend this chapel, and his brother James also.
Now the queen's three elder children were very much troubled at little
Henriette being brought up a Roman Catholic, and had several times
entreated vainly that she might be allowed to follow the faith of her
father. This made Henrietta Maria very angry, and although her
confessor, father Phillips, who was a sensible man, contrived for some
years to keep the peace, when he was dead she suffered herself to be led
entirely by the evil counsels of Montagu. Matters were made still worse
a few months later, when her youngest son, Henry, duke of Gloucester,
then about thirteen, arrived to join his family, and in his daily walks
to and from his dancing and riding lessons always stopped at the
ambassador's house to hear morning prayers. Henry's open affection for
the English Church was more than his mother could bear. With the help of
the abbé Montagu she began to persecute the poor boy to change his
religion, which he steadily refused to do. Charles had gone to Cologne,
and only James, duke of York, was left to guard his young brother, whom
Montagu was doing his best to force into a Jesuits' college.
'They cannot send you there without your own consent, and that you must
never give,' said James. 'You are an English subject, and bound to obey
the king'; and then he sat down and wrote letters to the princess of
Orange, to their aunt, the queen of Bohemia, and to Charles, who replied
by upbraiding his mother with more anger than he had ever shown about
anything in his life. But the fact that her children thought her in the
wrong only increased Henrietta's obstinacy. She refused even to admit
Henry to her apartments, and sent a message to him by Montagu that she
would never see him again unless he would do as she wished. The duke of
York tried to soften her heart and bring her to reason, but fared no
better, and when Henry fell on his knees before her as she was getting
into her coach to go to Chaillot, she only waved him out of her path and
bade the coachman drive on. The boy rose up, and turned, his eyes
blazing with anger, to Montagu, who stood watching.
'I owe this to you,' he said, 'and I will repeat to you the queen's
message to me. Take heed that I see your face no more,' and, sorely
distressed, he went straight to the chapel at the Embassy for comfort.
When he returned to the Palais Royal he found that his bed had been
stripped of its sheets, and that by the queen's orders no dinner had
been cooked for him. Not knowing what to do, he went to the house of
lord Hatton, where he was warmly welcomed, and bidden to stay as long as
he liked. But by the advice of the duke of York it was settled that he
should quit Paris at once and put himself under Charles's protection at
Cologne. This counsel seemed good, but where was the money to be got for
the journey? No one had any, for the queen held the purse. Then the
marquis of Ormonde stepped forward and pointed to the George, which hung
from the blue ribbon of the Garter on his breast. 'I will get the
money,' he said. It was the last thing he had to sell, and he sold it.
[Illustration: "She only waved him out of her path"]
That evening, in the early dusk, Henry crept into the Palais Royal to
say good-bye to his sister.
'But where are you going?' asked she, clinging to him, 'and when will
you come back?'
'Never, I think,' he answered bitterly. 'My mother has bidden me see her
face no more, and I must begone before she returns from vespers.'
'Oh me! my mother! my brother!' cried Henriette, clasping him more
tightly to her, and sobbing wildly as she spoke, 'What shall I do? what
shall I do? I am undone for ever.'
Thus Henry disappeared from her life, and though she did not forget him,
many other things happened to occupy her thoughts. First there were her
lessons, which she loved, and then the regent Anne, who pitied her
loneliness, often gave parties at the Louvre, at which Henriette was
present. Her mother thought her too young for these gaieties, as indeed
she was according to our notions; but queen Anne would listen to
nothing, and of course the princess herself enjoyed it all heartily. At
the Louvre there were masques and balls and fancy dances, at which
Henriette's future husband, the duke of Anjou, appeared dressed like a
girl; but the most brilliant festivity of all was given in 1653 by
Cardinal Mazarin, when his niece Anne-Marie Martinozzi married the
king's cousin, Armand, prince de Conti. Henriette, who was only nine,
and small for her age, was escorted by her brothers James and Henry, and
her beautiful dancing won her the praise of all. Three months later a
court ballet, or what we should call now a musical comedy, was performed
in a theatre, the music being written by the famous Lulli himself. The
young king, who was then about fifteen, played several different
characters, but appeared at the end as Apollo, with the Nine Muses
grouped around him. While the little theatre rang with applause there
stepped from their ranks, the princess Henriette as Erato, the muse of
poetry, crowned with myrtle and roses. Holding a lyre to her breast, she
recited some verses written expressly for her by the court poet
Benserade and the pathos of the words and the beauty of the child drew
tears from the eyes of the spectators.
During the next two years queen Anne's beautiful rooms in the Louvre
were the scene of many small dances, and none was thought complete
without Henriette. With practice her dancing became more and more
graceful, and fortunate indeed was the young man who was allowed to be
her partner in the coranto or the branle. All but king Louis; for it was
noticed that he alone never asked his cousin to dance. This was, of
course, observed by his mother, who was much grieved at his rudeness,
though for a long while she said nothing, fearing lest he should take a
dislike to the child, whom in her secret heart she might have been glad
to welcome as a daughter-in-law. But one evening in the year 1655 the
slight was so marked that the queen-regent could contain herself no
longer. One of the usual small dances was to take place in the Louvre,
and queen Anne begged her widowed sister-in-law for once to come out of
her solitude and to see the king perform some new steps. Henrietta,
touched both by the queen's kindness and the entreaties of her daughter,
consented, especially as the ball was to be very private, and queen
Anne, who had been ill, announced that she herself did not intend to
wear full dress, and that no one else need do so. When the little
company had assembled the signal was given, and the branle was struck up
by the violins. At the first note Louis XIV., who by this time was about
seventeen years old and very handsome, advanced to the side of madame de
Mercoeur, one of the cardinal's nieces. 'The queen,' says an eye witness
of the scene, 'astonished at his want of manners, rose quickly from her
seat, drew away madame de Mercoeur, and told her son he must take the
English princess for his partner. Queen Henrietta, who saw that queen
Anne was really angry, went up to her hastily, and in a whisper begged
her to say nothing to the king, for her daughter had hurt her foot, and
was unable to dance.
'Very well,' replied queen Anne, 'if the princess cannot dance, the king
shall not dance either.' Upon this the queen of England gave way, and
allowed her daughter to dance, in order not to make a fuss, though she
felt very much annoyed with the king for his behaviour. After the ball
was over, queen Anne spoke to him very seriously about his behaviour,
but he only answered sulkily.
'I do not like little girls.' Henriette did not, however, trouble
herself about the king's lack of attention and respect to her position
as his cousin and a princess, but 'took her pleasures wherever she found
them,' according to the counsel of the wise French proverb. The court
was never dull in Louis XIV.'s early years, and he was always planning
something new, in which he could play the important part, for nobody in
the world could ever be so great as Le Grand Monarque thought himself to
be! When he got tired of balls, he arranged a band of nobles for the old
sport of Tilting at the Ring. He divided them into parties of eight, and
himself headed the troop, dressed in white and scarlet liveries
embroidered in silver. The duke of Guise was the chief of the second set
in blue and white and silver, and the duke of Candale of the third,
whose colours were green and white. They wore small helmets with plumes
to match, and their horses were decorated with fluttering ribbons. The
three bands assembled in the gardens of the Palais Royal, and every
window was filled with ladies, each waving to her special knight. We are
not told where the tilting actually took place, nor who won the prize,
though we may feel pretty sure that it was arranged that the king should
be the victor. Unluckily madame de Motteville who describes it all,
cared more for the fine sight than for the game itself.
Now that there was once more a court in Paris, it was visited by all
kinds of distinguished people, and on these occasions Henriette was
always present. But of all the guests that came to the Louvre, none was
so strange as Christina, queen of Sweden, daughter of the great Gustavus
Adolphus. Christina was very clever, and could read Greek, Latin and
Hebrew, as well as several other languages, but she dressed as much like
a man as she was able, and hated ceremonies and rules of courts. She was
received by the duke of Guise when she entered France, and very much
surprised was he at the curious sight she presented. 'The queen wore,'
he writes, 'a man's wig, very high in the front and full at the sides,
but the back of her head was dressed with some resemblance to a woman.'
Her bodice was always laced crooked, and her skirt hung to one side, and
was half open, showing her underclothes. 'She uses a great deal of
pomade and powder; never puts on gloves, and her shoes exactly resemble
those of a man.' Yet the queen, who had recently abdicated her throne in
favour of her cousin and her liberty, was only now a little past thirty
and not bad looking. But her untidiness seems to have struck everybody,
for a little later madame de Motteville speaks of a visit she paid the
king and his mother at Compiègne, when she arrived with her wig uncurled
and blown about by the wind, looking for all the world like a crazy
gipsy. In spite of her odd appearance and ways, however, she was very
popular with the French people; but we are not told what King Louis
thought about her, and no doubt Henriette's sharp eyes saw many a funny
scene, when the royal politeness of both Louis and Christina was
severely taxed. Happily for her during that year the widowed princess of
Orange was paying her mother a long visit, so that the girl had someone
to laugh with. Everybody was charmed with the princess royal, and she on
her part was enchanted to get away from her stiff Dutch court, and enjoy
herself with the young sister whom she had never seen. Balls were given
in her honour, to all of which she took Henriette; and very unwillingly
she herself was obliged to play the part of a spectator, as her aunt,
queen Anne, had forbidden all widows to dance in public. However, there
were plenty of private fêtes, and here she could dance as much as she
liked—and that was a great deal! Then plays were given at the Louvre
for her amusement, and the young king wrote and acted a ballet on Cupid
and Psyche, which everyone said was 'wonderful,' though perhaps nobody
thought it quite so 'wonderful' as the king himself. 'I have scarcely
time to snatch a piece of bread,' the princess of Orange exclaims
happily, and even Mademoiselle has a good word for her cousin and for
the jewels which she wore. It was a great holiday for princess Mary, but
she did not suffer all the pleasure and admiration to spoil her or turn
her head. We find her still thinking of how she can help her brothers,
and making time to mourn her husband and to keep the day of his death
sacred, though it was several years since his death. On Sundays she
never missed going to the service at the English ambassador's, though
her mother would fain have had her company in her visits to the convent
of the Carmelites. Thus the year passed away till the illness of the
little prince of Orange, afterwards William III., obliged her to return
to the Hague.
[Illustration: 'Here, Madame' said Mazarin 'are prizes for a lottery']
Henriette spent a dull time during the next two years, and her life
seemed more dismal after the gay time of her sister's visit. Her mother
grew more and more ill, and lived chiefly at Colombes or Chaillot. Every
now and then, however, queen Anne begged leave for Henriette to come to
a ball at the Louvre, or to a specially brilliant fête such as that
given by Séguier, where Mademoiselle, with her accustomed rudeness,
tried to take precedence of Henriette, which the queen of France would
by no means allow. During the spring of 1658 cardinal Mazarin invited
the royal families of France and England, Monsieur, the king's uncle,
and his daughter Mademoiselle to be present at a supper and small dance
held in his private apartments. As it was Lent, of course nothing but
fish was eaten, but never had so many sorts of fish been seen before,
cooked in so many different ways. After supper, and while the remainder
of the guests were dancing, the two queens, Henriette and Mademoiselle,
were conducted into a long gallery, filled with all kinds of beautiful
things—jewels, china, furniture, rich stuffs of gold and silver, plate,
gloves, fans, scent-bottles and a thousand other objects—for the
cardinal's collection was famous throughout Europe.
'Here, Madame,' said Mazarin, bowing low before the queen, 'are the
prizes for a lottery in which no one will draw blanks.' Mademoiselle
drew a big diamond, but the first prize of all was a diamond bigger
still, worth four thousand crowns, and this was won by a lieutenant in
the King's Guards, called La Salle.
---------------------
It was towards the close of 1659 that the marriage of the king with his
cousin Marie Thérèse, daughter of the king of Spain, was decided upon.
In the country house of Colombes on the Seine tales of the preparations
floated to the ears of Henriette, who would have enjoyed nothing so much
as being in Paris in the midst of all the talk. In her secret heart she
longed to go south with the royal cavalcade; and gladly would her aunt
have taken her, but queen Henrietta was ill and out of spirits, and
greatly agitated by the news from England, where, Cromwell being dead,
parties were divided as to the prospects of the accession of Charles II.
She needed her daughter, and Henriette, though she loved amusement, was
very tender-hearted and did not let her mother guess how great was her
disappointment. The princess was now passed fifteen, and was looked on
by the French people as their adopted child. She was taller than anyone
had expected her to become, and had the long face of the Stuarts. Her
hair was a bright brown, her skin was fair, and her eyes, unlike her
mother's, were blue, while her hands and arms were famous for their
beauty. Many women were more beautiful than she, but none had her charm,
or could, like her, point a jest which left no sting behind it. Her aunt
saw with pleasure that the eyes of her younger son frequently rested on
her niece, whom a short time before he had been tempted to despise,
following in this the example of the king. If this marriage could be, as
well as the other—ah, how happy it would make her! To Anne of Austria
it mattered little that the princess was an exile and entirely dependent
on France for the bread she ate and the clothes she wore. Such trifles
might be of consequence to the duke of Savoy and the grand duke of
Tuscany, both of whom had hastily rejected the timid proposals put forth
by the English queen, but the duke of Anjou (soon, by the death of his
uncle, to become 'Monsieur' and duke of Orléans) was rich enough and
distinguished enough to take a bride without a dowry. So the
queen-mother set forth on the journey southwards which was to end in
that other wedding, and before that was celebrated Charles II. had been
called to his father's throne and his sister was a match for any king.
---------------------