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.]