THE EVE OF THE WAR
II
My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow,
And on my soul hung the dull weight
Of some intolerable fate.
ABRAHAM COWLEY
When the Long Parliament met the eyes of Europe were fixed upon England;
the foreign agents who were resident in London had recognized, almost
before the English themselves, the gravity of the crisis.[234] Such a
crisis could not fail to be of European consequence, for though England had
decayed from the great glory of Elizabeth's reign, and during the last few
years particularly had lost much esteem, yet she was of great importance in
the struggle between France and Spain, each party of which had striven for
so long, and neither quite successfully, to win her as an ally.
It was confidently believed at the time, and on both sides of the Channel,
that the troubles of England and Scotland were fomented by Richelieu. "The
Cardinal de Richelieu," wrote Madame de Motteville, whose account, no
doubt, owed something to Henrietta herself, "had great fear of a
neighbouring King who was powerful and at peace in his dominions, and
following the maxims of a policy which consults self-interest rather than
justice and charity to one's neighbour, he thought it necessary that this
Prince [the King of England] should have trouble in his kingdom."[235]
It is now known that if Richelieu stirred up Charles' rebellious subjects,
it was only in the most secret and indirect way; but certainly he was not
sorry for the Scotch troubles, and his attitude both now and later was a
serious addition to the difficulties of the King of England and his wife,
who were reaping the results of their long and reckless defiance of the
all-powerful Cardinal. As early as 1638 Windbank believed that French
influence was working in Scotland, where, on account of the old alliance
between the two countries, it would have a specially favourable field; but
when he wrote for information to the Earl of Leicester, at that time
ambassador in Paris, he received an indecisive and somewhat petulant reply.
"It would be very difficult to give you my opinion about the Scotch
affair," so ran the letter; "for I am as ignorant about it as if I lived in
Tartary. If it is fomented by France it is by means so secret that it will
only be discovered, with difficulty, by the results."[236]
[Illustration: CARDINAL DE RICHELIEU
FROM A PORTRAIT BY PHILLIPPE DE CHAMPAIGNE]
As time went on, and the troubles developed, these suspicions became more
widespread and vivid, until just before the opening of the Long Parliament
there were imaginative people who believed that an army of thirty thousand
Frenchmen was ready to land in England in favour of the Scotch, while the
more sober-minded contented themselves with the old story of help secretly
given to the rebels. Montreuil saw in all this only machinations of the
Spaniards industriously sowing false reports, that thereby they might
render their enemy odious in the eyes of the English Court.[237]
Henrietta's own relations with Richelieu had not improved,[238] though she
still continued to talk of a journey to France, as, after the birth of
Prince Henry, her health continued very delicate. The residence of the
Queen-Mother in England annoyed the Cardinal as much as had that of Madame
de Chevreuse, and Mary de' Medici's conduct was not such as to propitiate
him. Once, for instance, she allowed a priest connected with the Spanish
Embassy to preach before her, and he improved the occasion by comparing her
sufferings to those of Christ, and by eulogizing Cardinal Bérulle, whose
praise was not likely to be agreeable to Richelieu. Moreover, at this time
Charles was more than usually inclined to the Spanish alliance. He had
thoughts of a Spanish marriage both for his son and his daughter, and
rumours were abroad that if France was supplying money to the rebels, Spain
was doing the same by the Court. It was remarked that when the news came of
the taking of Arras by the armies of France, the King could not bring
himself to receive it warmly, though his wife, who was always a good
Frenchwoman, in spite of Richelieu, expressed lively joy.
She had little in England to cheer her. Not only were her husband's affairs
becoming a nightmare to her, but the looks of hatred which she encountered
as she went abroad in her capital, and the vile calumnies which her enemies
were not ashamed to publish and to scatter broadcast among her people were
the beginning of a martyrdom such as only a woman can know. Added to all
this was the growing conviction that her power was insufficient to protect
those who had no other protection. It must have wrung her heart (though she
knew it to be necessary) to see her mother, who had come to England to be
at peace, deprived of half her allowance, and later reduced to such poverty
as forced her to lessen her establishment and to sell her jewels. She
feared increasingly that she would be obliged to send Rosetti away, and she
felt bitterly the scant respect shown to him when, in the cold of the small
hours of a November morning, he was roused to witness the searching of his
house for proofs of his diplomatic status. It did not make it easier to her
that the leading spirit in this matter, as in a general search of the
houses of Catholics which took place about this time, was Sir Henry Vane,
who owed to her favour his promotion to the position of Secretary of State.
She was learning some early lessons in the world's ingratitude. She knew
that even her personal servants, such as the Capuchin Fathers, were
threatened, and that the English Catholics, who had long looked to her "as
the eyes of a handmaiden look to her mistress," were finding her help of no
avail. Most poignant of all was the knowledge that the strong arm which had
upheld her for so long was failing, and that her husband, with all his
love, was obliged to leave her naked to her enemies. She was yet
unpractised in suffering, and it is no wonder that, despite her high
spirit, her misery was apparent to all.
Parliament had hardly met before Windbank was called up before the House of
Commons, and questioned as to the number of priests and Jesuits in London.
That assembly further brought pressure to bear upon the King, which
resulted in a proclamation banishing Catholics to a certain distance from
London. It was even suggested that new and stricter laws should be made
against the recusants, and thorough-going people recommended that all
Catholics found in a chapel, either that of the Queen or anybody else,
should be immediately seized and hanged. The hatred of the country, and
particularly of the city of London, for anything savouring of Popery was
further shown by the presentation of the Root and Branch petition, which
asked for nothing less than the abolition of Episcopacy in the National
Church. But these vexations, distressing as they were, sank into
insignificance before the new blow which threatened the royal power. On
November 11th Strafford was impeached by Pym of high treason and committed
to the Tower, whence he was only to come out to his death. It was a poor
consolation to the Queen that her old enemy, Laud, the persecutor of the
Catholics, was also thrown into prison, for she had learned to see in him,
if not a friend, at least a political ally.
No blow could have been more crushing than that which at this critical
moment deprived the King and Queen of the services and counsels of their
best friend; but Henrietta was to find herself attacked in more personal
matters, matters which a few months earlier would have seemed to her of
more consequence than any misfortune which could happen to the Viceroy of
Ireland. Experience, however, was teaching her to measure men and things by
another standard than that of personal feeling, though to the end the
lesson would be imperfectly learned. Indeed, in the very next trial she
failed again.
The contribution of the Catholics in 1639 was a matter of common knowledge.
Parliament, which was already exasperated by the Queen's intervention on
behalf of a priest named Goodman who had been condemned to die, and who was
particularly odious to the Puritans as the brother of the Romanizing Bishop
of Gloucester, determined to strike at those through whom it knew that it
could wound Henrietta. No one at this time was nearer to the Queen than
Walter Montagu, who was her confidant and helper in the correspondence
which she was carrying on with the Court of Rome on the subject of
communications between herself and the Pope. Closely associated with him
was Sir Kenelm Digby, whose departure for Rome was rendered impossible
owing to the rancour of the Puritans. Sir John Winter was the Queen's own
private secretary. These three gentlemen were called to the bar of the
House of Commons to answer for their share in the contribution of 1639, and
it was significantly remarked that the two latter were the sons of "Powder
Plotters," who had lost their lives for complicity in that famous treason.
On Montagu and Digby fell the brunt of the attack;[239] the former appeared
rather frightened and said little, but Sir Kenelm, who was gifted with an
amazing flow of speech on every occasion, answered copiously and apparently
candidly. The scene, though in one respect it was tragical enough, was not
without humour. The eloquent knight began by eulogizing his audience, with
some irony, perhaps, as "the gravest and wisest assembly in the whole
world, whose Majesty is so great that it might well disorder his thoughts
and impede his expressions"; nothing of this awe appears, however, in his
speech. He assured the House that the contribution had a very simple
origin, namely, the wish of the Catholics to follow the example of other
loyal subjects who were helping the King in his necessity, that Con was the
chief agent in the matter, on account of his unrivalled acquaintance among
the English Catholics, persons of whom it was a mistake to suppose that he,
Sir Kenelm, had any particular knowledge, and that the chief motive
appealed to was that of gratitude for the partial suspension of the penal
laws. As to the amount collected, he had no precise information. Sir Basil
Brook was the treasurer, and £10,000 had been paid in at one time and £2000
at another.
Sir Kenelm had played his part well. He had said a very little in a great
many words, and he had kept the real originator of the scheme, the King
himself (who must have been a little nervous of the possible revelations of
the garrulous knight), well hidden. Indeed, the principal point upon which
the Commons fixed was the status of Con, as to whom they may well have been
curious, since their imagination had endowed him with alarming powers, and
with three wives all living at the same time. Montagu was closely
cross-questioned on the matter, but all that he would say was that he
believed Con to be a private envoy to the Queen, in spite of the fact that
he was sometimes called a nuncio. Digby airily asserted that he had no
accurate knowledge of the question under discussion, as he had taken pains
to remain ignorant of these dangerous matters. He added, almost as an
afterthought, that once at Whitehall he had heard Rosetti say that he
renounced any jurisdiction of which he might be possessed.
The Queen was in great anxiety. Not only had her name been brought forward
in this affair, but she was being attacked in other ways. It was suggested
that her beautiful chapel at Somerset House should be closed, and that she
should only be permitted the little chapel at Whitehall, which was more
like a private oratory. Wild stories were abroad as to a great design among
the Roman Catholics of the three kingdoms to subvert the Protestant
religion by force, and the terror was so great that some fanatical spirits
proposed that Catholics should be forced to wear a distinctive badge
whenever they left their houses. This absurd proposition was rejected by
the good sense of the many, but even so it was an ominous token of hatred.
The Queen was new to danger, either for herself or for her friends. She
cared a great deal more to avert the wrath of the House of Commons from
herself and from Montagu than for the welfare of the English Catholics, or
even of Rosetti, who, at this time, was not on good terms with Montagu. She
could think of nothing better to do than to send a message to her enemies,
humble in tone and dwelling on the great desire which she had "to employ
her own power to unite the King and the people"; she apologized for the
"great resort to her Chappell at Denmark House," and promised that in the
future she would "be carefull not to exceed that which is convenient and
necessary for the exercise of her religion." She took upon herself the
responsibility of the Catholic contribution, justifying and explaining it
by "her dear and tender affection to the King and the example of other of
His Majesty's subjects," and pleading her ignorance of the law if
inadvertently anything illegal had been done. She completed her submission
by promising to remove Rosetti out of the kingdom "within convenient
time."[240]
The wrath of the English Catholics, who already looked upon the Queen's
proposed journey to France as a threat of desertion, blazed forth at this
surrender. They remembered, no doubt, that their mistress was a princess of
France, the daughter of the heretic Henry of Navarre. Had she merely
permitted the Parliament to wreak its evil will upon the Church of God, it
would have been bad enough; but had she not gone far beyond this, showing
herself ready to execute its persecuting edicts even before they were
promulgated? The House of Commons, on the other hand, was greatly pleased
at the Queen's submission, and her gracious message was "very well taken."
But had that assembly known the hopes with which the discomfited lady was
consoling herself, its satisfaction would hardly have been greater than
that of the Catholics.
One day some weeks earlier Henrietta, in the quiet of her own apartments,
had taken up her pen and, without the knowledge of husband or friend, had
written one of the most remarkable letters ever indited by a Queen of
England.
It was addressed to Cardinal Barberini, and it bore neither date nor name
of the place whence it was written. In it Henrietta poured out her whole
heart. She dwelt upon the sad state of the Catholics, their banishment, the
peril of the priests, the fear lest the harshness of the penal laws, "which
reach even to blood," should be put in force against them. She emphasized
the desperate condition of her husband, which obliged him, who since his
accession had shown his goodwill to the Catholics, and who, indeed, was now
suffering on account of his tenderness to them, to consent to persecution.
After this introduction she came to the gist of her letter, which was
nothing less than a request for a sum of 500,000 crowns, to be used in
winning over the chiefs of the Puritan faction. It was, she said, the only
hope of salvation, "for when the Catholics have once escaped from the
present Parliament, there is everything to hope and nothing to fear in the
future, and the only means to bring this about is that which I
propose."[241] But the greatest secrecy and the greatest promptitude were
necessary. "I ask you very humbly to communicate this to His Holiness, whom
I entreat to consult with you alone; for if the matter became known I
should be lost. I pray him also to send me a reply as quickly as
possible."[242] She did not doubt, she added, that if the response were
favourable the King, her husband, would show his gratitude by favouring the
Catholics even more than he had done in the past. At any rate, whatever the
upshot of the affair, she would have shown her zeal for the good of her
religion.
The letter was finished; but Henrietta, who knew to some extent with what
edged tools she was playing, took up her pen again to add a brief
postscript. "There is no one knows of this yet but His Holiness, you, and
I." After writing this final warning she sealed up the missive and sent it
to the Papal Nuncio in Paris, through whom it reached Rome.
Cardinal Barberini was surprised and somewhat annoyed when he received this
letter. He was already a little displeased with Henrietta, and the simple
arguments which she used had not the influence which she imagined over the
mind of the Protector of England. Moreover, the method of her request was
unfortunate. The Cardinal thought it strange that she should have written
on her own responsibility, without consulting either the accredited agent
of the Papacy, who was at her side, or her own confessor. At first he was
almost inclined to consider the letter a forgery, but he dismissed this
idea in favour of the supposition that the Queen had been persuaded to this
action by some person who sought perhaps to deceive her. He seems to have
suspected that Richelieu had some hand in the matter,[243] and he remarked
significantly in writing to Rosetti that the Queen's letter had been
carried to Paris "by one Forster," an English Catholic believed to be in
the pay of the French Government, who, he doubted not, had given his
employers an opportunity of reading it. Henrietta meanwhile was awaiting in
great anxiety the reply of Barberini, which, when it came at last, was a
disappointment. Again it was intimated that only the conversion of the King
of England would loosen the purse-strings of the Pope and justify the Holy
Father in breaking in on the treasure of the Church stored up in the Castle
of S. Angelo. The promise of toleration for the Catholics which would, it
seems, have been given,[244] was not enough, for, as the Cardinal justly
remarked to Rosetti, that promise had already been made in the secret
articles of the Queen's marriage treaty. Moreover, what security could be
offered that toleration, even if granted, would be permanent in the face of
Parliamentary opposition? Barberini, however, did not wish to be unkind,
and he hoped to soften the hard refusal by instructing Rosetti to tell the
Queen of England that if matters came to the worst he would be willing to
help her to the extent of 15,000 crowns.[245] But neither this promise nor
the many pleasing words which accompanied it availed to save Henrietta from
bitter disappointment, only less bitter, perhaps, than that which she would
have felt had she received the money for which she asked, and had attempted
therewith to bribe John Pym.
But this was not the only negotiation which she was carrying on with the
Holy See. It will be remembered that in her message to the Commons she
promised to remove Rosetti, understanding that his presence was
"distasteful to the kingdom." She was afraid that most unwillingly she
would be obliged to keep her promise. "I cannot sufficiently lament the
pass to which we are come," she wrote to Cardinal Barberini. "I have long
hoped to be able to keep Count Rosetti here, and I have used all sorts of
artifice to do so ... but, at last, there was such an outburst of violence
that there was no means of keeping up our communications except by
promising to remove him."[246] She referred her correspondent to an
accompanying letter written by Montagu to learn the details of a scheme by
which she hoped to make of no effect her promises of submission, and in
spite of her enemies to keep open the communications between England and
Rome.[247] Montagu's letter, which is long and interesting, is less
melancholy in tone than that of the Queen, and shows less of the gnawing
anxiety which was invading her spirit. He even explained cheerfully that
the anti-Catholic promises of the King and Queen had had so good an effect
that affairs seemed in train for "an accommodation to get rid of the Scots,
which is the principal thing that the King ought to regard."[248] As to the
method to be employed for assuring communications, it was similar to that
already practised in Rome, where, in place of Sir Kenelm Digby, a private
Scotchman, by name Robert Pendrick, formerly Hamilton's secretary and a
friend of Con, had been installed as agent. Montagu, however, hoped that,
pending the arrival of an humble substitute, the Queen might be able to
keep Rosetti in England, and, indeed, that the Count might stay "until the
time of her journey to France."
For on this journey she was at last resolved. Her health had not improved,
and it was thought that she was suffering from the common English
complaint, and was going into a decline. Probably she did not fear a rebuff
from France, but she knew that she would have to fight for her departure
with the House of Commons. Another, and perhaps an unexpected, obstacle
presented itself. Mayerne vindicated his Puritanism by certifying that his
royal patient was in no need of change of air, and that her malady was as
much of the mind as of the body--a diagnosis which was probably correct but
highly inconvenient. In this moment of almost universal reprobation, when
even her co-religionists for whom she had done so much looked coldly on
her, Henrietta may have found some consolation in the kindness of a number
of women of London and Westminster, who, in a petition to Parliament
against the proposed journey, not only dwelt upon the loss to commerce
which would follow the removal of the Queen's Court, but added kind words
of her, praising the encouragement she had given to the calling of
Parliament, and saying, with much truth, that since her coming to England
"she hath been an instrument of many acts of mercy and grace to multitudes
of distressed people."
Richelieu's answer to Henrietta's request for the hospitality of France was
another grave disappointment. Never for one moment had the French
Cardinal's vigilant eye been turned from England or its Queen. Madame de
Chevreuse, Mary de' Medici, the Duke of Valette, the inclinations towards a
Spanish alliance, all he had noted, and now was the day of reckoning. Not
even in these closing years of triumph would he admit into France one who
might scheme against his interests. The refusal was absolute, and in vain
did Henrietta send a special agent to press her claims. The Cardinal was
inexorable, and the excellent reasons which he gave for his decision--such
as the certain ruin of the Catholics by the Queen's absence, and the danger
in such desperate circumstances of leaving the country--failed to convince
his correspondent that her request was refused solely for her own sake. So
great was her mortification that she was unable to hide from her servants
the chagrin which she felt that she, a daughter of France, the child of the
great Henry, was refused in her sickness and sorrow the shelter of her
native land.
But there was no time to grieve long over any single annoyance, for trouble
succeeded trouble, one treading fast on the heels of another. Moreover, as
the spring wore on lesser sorrows tended to become swallowed up in the
terrible anxiety as to Strafford's fate. On March 16th it was decided that
he should be tried for high treason; and it struck like an evil omen on the
Queen's heart that on that very day the Lords and Commons agreed to
petition the King for the removal from Court of all Papists, and
particularly of her four chief friends, Sir Kenelm Digby, Sir Tobie
Matthew, Walter Montagu, and Sir John Winter. A few days later the trial
began. It dragged along while, day after day, its course was watched by the
King and Queen of England, who sat in a gallery, closely screened from
curious eyes, looking down on the stern faces below them, and on the
majestic figure of the man who was there to answer for his life. Not all
the persuasions of the Commons could keep the royal couple away. It was the
only thing they could do to encourage their faithful servant. With them sat
their eldest son, the boy of whom it was said that he had been found
weeping because the father who had received three kingdoms as his heritage
would leave him never an one.
It is needless to repeat the story of Strafford's trial: how all turned
upon an alleged plot to bring over Irish troops to subdue England; how it
was found to be impossible to convict him of conduct which could be brought
within the scope of the Treason Act; how his enemies, determined that he
should not escape, turned the impeachment into an attainder. All that is
necessary is to indicate the Queen's action through these weeks of terror
and struggle.
Everything that she could she did to save the man whom once she had
regarded almost as an enemy. Day after day she found opportunity for secret
interviews with the Puritan leaders, in which she offered all (and perhaps
more than all) that it was in her power to give in exchange for Strafford's
life. Evening after evening, when the dusk had fallen, she sallied forth
alone, lighting her steps with a single taper, to seek her foes in their
own quarters.[249] Such efforts deserved success, and she at least believed
that to them was due the remarkable conversion of Lord Denbigh, the husband
of her dear and faithful lady-in-waiting, who, after being one of
Strafford's bitterest opponents, turned round and defended him with all his
ability in the House of Lords.
Nor were these exertions the sum of Henrietta's activities. The marriage
between little Princess Mary and the Prince of Orange, which took place in
the middle of May, bringing as it did the hope of help in money and perhaps
in soldiers, cheered her spirits and roused her to fresh efforts. It was
now that the army plot was formed, the main object of which was to bring up
to London the army which had been raised against the Scots, and by means of
it to overpower Parliament and to release Strafford.
The plot seems to have originated with two soldiers, the younger Goring and
an officer named Wilmot. These two separately conceived the idea of turning
the discontent of the army, whose wages had not been paid, to the profit of
the King. Charles and Henrietta, who were consulted, thought that the best
plan would be to endeavour to bring about an understanding between the two
officers, each of whom wished to be commander-in-chief. The difficult task
was assigned to Henry Jermyn, whose gentle manners made him specially
suited to such a mission. But then the Queen's heart began to fail her. She
knew only too well the danger of meddling with such matters, and she was
greatly attached to Jermyn, who was, besides, one of the last of her
faithful servants left to her; for Windbank, Montagu, and many another had
been forced to find safety in flight. "If Jermyn too is lost, we shall be
left without friends," she said piteously to her husband. Charles
considered deeply for some time, for he was struck by this argument; but in
the end he said that he thought the risk worth running, and Jermyn, whose
fidelity was unimpeachable, was asked to undertake the dangerous mission.
Henrietta's courage was indeed giving way. The insults of the mob, the
undisguised hatred of the Puritans whom she believed about to impeach her
of high treason, the wild rumours afloat which culminated in the report of
an imminent French invasion (this time in the royal interest), terrified
her so much that, in spite of her proud boasts of a few days earlier that
she was the daughter of a father who had never learned to run away, she
determined to leave London for Portsmouth. She was only stayed by the
entreaties of the French agent in London, of the Bishop of Angoulême, and
of Father Philip. At Portsmouth was not only the governor, the younger
Goring, but Henry Jermyn, and the Queen's precipitate flight would have
given colour to the scandals which her enemies were industriously
spreading, and to gain evidence for which they did not scruple to
cross-question even her ladies of the bedchamber.
In London, therefore, Henrietta remained to hear that same day that the
army plot, which was already suspected by Pym, had been betrayed by Goring,
whom she trusted almost beyond any of her servants.[250] Neither he nor
Wilmot could reconcile himself to giving up the first place, and the
former, goaded by ambition, opened the whole matter to Parliament. Henry
Percy, who was also concerned in the affair, fled, leaving a letter for his
brother, the Earl of Northumberland, which was read before Parliament. In
spite of the closure of the ports, he managed, after considerable
difficulty, to reach France, while others of the conspirators, among whom
were two poets, D'Avenant and Suckling, made good their escape. Henry
Jermyn ran perhaps the greatest risk. He had set off for Portsmouth at the
Queen's request, knowing that the plot was betrayed, but unwitting that
Goring was the traitor. When he reached his destination he was asked
wonderingly why he had come.
"In obedience to His Majesty's commands," he replied. Goring looked sadly
at his friend. "You have nothing to fear," he said at last, "either for
yourself or for me, for I have sufficient credit to save you. I am sorry to
have done wrong, but I will atone for it with regard to you, and I will die
rather than fail you."
Jermyn perhaps distrusted the man who had already betrayed so grave a
trust; but in this case Goring was as good as his word. He put the orders
sent down by Parliament into his pocket, and helped his friend to escape in
a small boat which took him to join the other exiles in France.
That which the Queen had feared had come upon her, and she was left almost
without friends. Besides, she winced as at the lash of a whip when she
heard the vile attacks upon her honour.[251] But again bad griefs were to
be swallowed up by worse.
For the army plot sealed Strafford's fate. The misgivings of the Puritans
were becoming terror as they appreciated that the King of England would
shrink from no means which might make him supreme. The more well-informed
among them knew that Richelieu wished them well, but there were those who
saw in the welcome which the Cardinal extended to the English exiles an
indication that the influence of France would be thrown on the side of the
King, and there were rumours abroad that Strafford, once rescued from
prison, would find a refuge across the Channel. The Earl's position was
rendered still worse when the Lieutenant of the Tower declared that he had
been offered a large bribe to favour his prisoner's escape. There was now
no room for compromise. Strafford had to pay the penalty of the greatness
which made him feared, and on May 8th, the very day on which the army plot
became known, the Bill of Attainder passed both Houses of Parliament.
Then followed four agonizing days. The King, who had given Strafford a
solemn promise that he should not be harmed, became more and more terrified
(not so much for himself as for those whom he loved, for he was no coward)
as he realized the implacability of those who sought his faithful servant's
life. On the other hand, he felt the shame of the descendant of a long line
of kings at the very thought of breaking his royal pledge. In his struggle
he knew not where to turn for help or comfort. Strafford himself, imitating
the heroic conduct of the simple priest John Goodman, wrote to Charles,
begging to die rather than that his safety should prejudice the King's
interests. As for Henrietta, at this crisis she had no strength to
supplement her husband's weakness. She sat shivering at Whitehall, feeling
around her the atmosphere of hatred, and hearing at last that most terrible
of all sounds, the howling of an infuriated mob. Long Charles hesitated,
but at last he dared do so no longer, for he believed that his wife and his
children would pay the ransom of Strafford. Impelled by fear, justified by
subtle counsellors, he seized his pen and signed the fatal death-warrant;
"and in signing it he signed his own,"[252] commented a Frenchman many
years later.
Strafford did not fear death. His state of health was such that probably in
any case his remaining days would have been few. With one bitter comment,
"Put not your trust in princes," he turned resolutely to the regulation of
his temporal affairs and to preparation for death. His last day on earth
was troubled by the well-meant solicitude of certain Catholics who, by some
means, gained access to him, but when they found their efforts unavailing
they departed, and he was left in peace. The fatal twelfth of May dawned.
He was led out to meet first the blessing of his fellow-prisoner,
Archbishop Laud, and then the angry faces of the populace, which he
despised to the end, but to which was passing the power he was unable to
hold. There were a few moments of tension, of waiting for death; then the
axe fell, and the one man who might have saved Charles' throne was for ever
beyond the reach of warring factions. "They have committed murder with the
sword of justice,"[253] cried out one Englishman, expressing the silent
thoughts of others less courageous than himself.
"The people," commented Salvetti, who was not unworthy to be the countryman
of Machiavelli, "now that it knows its own strength, and that nothing is
denied to it, will not stop here, but will claim more."[254] Indeed, the
revolution came on apace. The power was in the hands of Pym and his
friends, and behind them were the London mob and the Scotch army. The
abolition of the Star Chamber and High Commission Courts was only one among
the many blows which were shattering Charles' throne.
These were some of the darkest days of Henrietta's life. She was fully
aroused from the levity of her youth, but at this first touch of adversity
she had not learned the courage and resignation of later times. Strafford
had no truer mourner than she, unless, indeed, it were her husband. Then
there were griefs more personal to herself. Some of those whom she had most
trusted, such as Lady Carlisle and the Earl of Holland, turned against her,
and she still believed that her enemies meant to humiliate her by an
impeachment. She had to see the Catholics hated and persecuted as they had
not been since the days of the Powder Plot, finding only a sorry
consolation in the heroism which kept most of the priests at their post of
danger. It added to her misery that she had to bear it alone. Even the
Bishop of Angoulême left his royal mistress, for somewhat
characteristically he discovered the urgent need of his presence in Paris.
One of a braver spirit remained as ever faithful, but Father Philip, who
was specially obnoxious to the Puritans, because being a subject of the
King of England he came within the scope of the recusancy laws, found his
constancy rewarded by a severe interrogation before the House of Commons
and a short sojourn in the Tower. It was, however, no doubt a satisfaction,
both to him and to the Queen, that Richelieu, whose name had been freely
mentioned in the examination, expressed himself much annoyed at the liberty
which the leaders of Parliament had taken.[255]
And in July Henrietta lost another friend. Rosetti had stayed, with
admirable courage and almost beyond the limit of safety, but now the
condition of affairs was such that the Queen would not even permit
Piombini, the humble agent who had been sent to replace him, to remain in
England. She and her husband, with desperation in their hearts, held a last
interview with the papal envoy. Charles, who in Rosetti's words spoke of
the injuries which religion was receiving, "not as a heretic king, but as a
Catholic,"[256] was by this time ready to promise, in return for help from
the Pope, even liberty of conscience in the three kingdoms, together with
the extirpation of Puritanism, thus leaving the field to the Catholics and
the Protestants. He was, moreover, willing to forgo any help from Rome
until the free exercise of the Catholic religion had been granted in
Ireland. These terms, countersigned by his own royal hand, were to be
carried across the sea by Mary de' Medici, who was on the point of leaving
England, and delivered to Rosetti, who, by that time, would be on the way
to Rome.
But the King of England humiliated himself in vain. Rosetti and those who
directed him were aware of both the circumstances and the character of the
man with whom they had to deal. They knew that only one thing could
irrevocably bind Charles to the Catholic cause, and to the performance of
his difficult promise. "The true way of getting help from the Holy See,"
said Rosetti severely, "is the conversion of the King." It was of no avail
that Henrietta hastily asserted that such a step was impossible, not from
any dislike on her husband's part to their holy religion, but because it
would cost him his crown. The King's acts, and not his motives, were the
envoy's concern, and he offered no comment on this wifely explanation, but
hastened to bid the Queen farewell. He left England immediately, and
Henrietta never saw him again.
A month later, in the August of this sad summer, Henrietta wrote a letter
to her sister Christine, which is the best description of the despair which
was taking possession of her. "I swear to you," so it runs, "that I am
almost mad with the sudden change in my fortunes. From the highest pitch of
contentment I am fallen into every kind of misery which affects not only me
but others. The sufferings of the poor Catholics and of others who are the
servants of my lord the King touch me as sensibly as can any personal
sorrow. Imagine what I feel to see the King's power taken from him, the
Catholics persecuted, the priests hanged, the persons devoted to us removed
and pursued for their lives because they served the King. As for myself, I
am kept as a prisoner, so that they will not even permit me to follow the
King, who is going to Scotland." She goes on to speak of one of the chief
aggravations of her misery, the utter helplessness which she felt. "You
have had troubles enough," she exclaims to her sister, "but at least you
were able to do something to escape them; while we, we have to sit with our
arms folded, quite unable to help ourselves. I know well," she adds sadly,
commenting on her little daughter's marriage, which might have seemed
rather beneath the dignity of the eldest daughter of England, "I know well
that it is not kingdoms that give contentment, and that kings are as
unhappy and sometimes more so than other people."[257]
During the King's absence in Scotland Henrietta retired to her country
house at Oatlands, to find what consolation she could in the society of her
children. Even there she was not at peace. The leaders of the Parliamentary
party, wishing to gain possession of the young Princes, requested that they
might be placed in their hands, for the benefit of their education, and
because they feared that the Queen, their mother, would make them Papists.
"You are mistaken," replied Henrietta proudly. "The Princes have their
tutors and governors to teach them all that is proper, and I shall not make
them Papists, for I know that that is not the wish of the King."
Nevertheless she was so alarmed at this request that she sent the children
to another country house, whence they came to visit her but occasionally.
She believed that she herself was in some danger of being carried off by
her enemies; at least, that they wished her to think so, in order to drive
her from the kingdom. After a while she left Oatlands and went to Hampton
Court, where she was in greater safety, and where she was able to work for
her husband by winning over some doubtful spirits, of whom the chief was
the Lord Mayor of London.
Thus the summer wore on, and with the autumn came another blow. In the
early days of November, while Charles was still in Scotland, London was
startled by the news of the sudden and horrible rebellion of the
long-oppressed Irish Catholics, who rose to avenge upon their Protestant
neighbours the wrongs of generations. Stories, not unfounded, of the
reckless barbarity of the rebels were in the mouth of every Englishman, and
the victorious Puritans found in them an easy means of fanning the popular
hatred of the Catholics, which was already at white heat. "This is what
they have done in Ireland, this is what they would do, if they had the
chance, in England," was a ready and convincing argument. This rebellion
added another difficulty to those which were overwhelming the King and
Queen; for not only did it thus give a handle to their enemies, but there
were those who did not scruple to insinuate that the Queen was concerned in
it.
Later in the same month Charles came home, and he had one day of pleasure
and triumph, for the city of London, partly through the exertions of the
Queen, gave him a royal welcome, which seemed like the beginning of better
things. It was, however, but a passing gleam of hope. The presentation on
December 1st of the Grand Remonstrance, with its sombre catalogue of
grievances, with its acrid religious and political tone, marked another act
of the tragedy. Then at the beginning of the New Year (1642) came the
King's fatal attempt to arrest five members[258] of the House of Commons
and one member of the House of Lords, whom he knew to have been in
communication with the Scots, and whom on this ground he wished to impeach
for the crime of high treason.
The House of Commons showed a disposition to resist, and on January 4th
Charles went down himself to seize the offending members. He had concerted
his plan overnight with his wife and with George Digby,[259] a cousin of
Sir Kenelm, one of those who had rallied to the royal cause at the time of
Strafford's trial, and who henceforward appears among the Queen's special
friends. With morning the King's spirit quailed before the task he had
undertaken, but Henrietta, whose anger was roused because she believed that
these ringleaders of the Commons intended to impeach her, would allow no
shrinking. "Go, poltroon, pull the ears of these rogues, or never see me
again," she cried, with that touch of insolent scorn into which her
husband's weakness or scruples sometimes betrayed her. As ever, Charles was
unable to stand against her stronger will. He took her in his arms,
assuring her that in an hour's time he would come back master of his foes;
and so he left her and went to his destruction. She awaited his return in
the highest spirits, thinking that now, at last, by one brilliant _coup_
her troubles would be ended. She continually consulted her watch, as she
listened eagerly for the footsteps of a messenger. At last she could
contain herself no longer. Lady Carlisle, who probably gathered that some
great matter was stirring, came into the Queen's private room to be greeted
with an excited exclamation, "Rejoice, for now I hope the King is master in
his kingdom," and to be told the very names of the intended victims. Lady
Carlisle showed no surprise or annoyance. She quietly left the room and
wrote a note to Pym, with the consequence that Charles, who had been
delayed, entered the House of Commons to find, in his own words, "the birds
flown." Henrietta, when she discovered the Countess' treachery, reproached
herself most bitterly for her failure to keep silence, and confessed her
fault freely to her husband, who as freely forgave it. But, culpable as she
was, it is probable that her indiscretion did little harm. Her real fault
she could not appreciate. It was Charles' attempt to seize the leaders of
Parliament, not his failure in so doing, which precipitated the revolution.
Henceforward there was no hope of averting the revolution. Charles and
Henrietta had to face the wrath of their people, and they knew that they
were alone. The Pope, from whom they had hoped so much, left them to their
fate, and Richelieu, though his attitude had been sometimes a little
ambiguous, was the friend of their foes, and felt towards them an hostility
the result of the history of the last fifteen years, which was a continual
encouragement to those who were arrayed against them. It is true that many
Englishmen, terrified at the extremes to which the Puritans were rushing,
rallied round the King,[260] seeing in him, as he ever saw in himself, the
defender of the ancient constitution; but even so the horizon was dark, and
it was to grow darker to the end. "A northern King shall reign," ran the
prophecy of Paul Grebner, who was in England in the great days of
Elizabeth, "Charles by name, who shall take to wife Mary of the Popish
religion, whereupon he shall be a most unfortunate Prince."[261]
[Footnote 234: See particularly the dispatches of Montreuil (MS. Français,
15,995) and Salvetti (Add. MS., 27,962), and Rosetti's remark in a letter
to Cardinal Barberini (August 10th, 1640) that if something were not done
the Puritans would so increase "che metteranno un giorno in pericolo di
distruggere la monarchia di Inghilterra!"--Roman Transcripts P.R.O.]
[Footnote 235: Mme de Motteville: _Mémoires_ (1783), I, 244. Cf. Montglas:
_Mémoires_ (1727), t. II, p. 67. "Il [Richelieu] avoit toujours des sommes
d'argent entre les mains pour distribuer à l'insu de tout le monde à gens
inconnus qui faisoient ensuite des effets mervellieux qui surprenoient tout
le monde: comme depuis par la guerre civile d'Angleterre dont il étoit
auteur et qu'il fomentoit pour empêcher les Anglois jaloux de la prosperité
de la France de traverser ses desseins."]
[Footnote 236: Aff. Etran. Ang., t. 47.]
[Footnote 237: MS. Français, 15,995.]
[Footnote 238: Bellièvre, the French ambassador in England, wrote, in
August, 1639, of a _femme de chambre_ of the Queen who was going to France,
that she was "très bien sans l'esprit de la Reine sa maitresse."--Aff.
Etran. Ang., t. 47.]
[Footnote 239: The following account is from a private letter written by a
Catholic: "Mr. Montague and Sir Kenelme appeared, the former said little
but what was barely necessary to answer their interrogations which were
about superiours of orders engaged in that business and his answers were
soe sparing and wary that they told him he squiborated with them and
co[~m]anded him next day to attend again. The latter spake soe home and soe
frankly as he left them little to saye against him but to co[~m]and his
attendance the next daye: the su[~m]e of what he said was being the Scotts
were declared rebells by the Kinge and Counsell his Ma^{tie} actively in
the field against them, that all the Nobility, Counsell, Bishops, Judges
and Innes of Court having contributed voluntarily to the warre, he could
make noe doubt but hee and all Catholickes were obliged to followe their
examples, and this the rather because her Ma^{tie} was pleased to aske
parte of all that his Ma^{tie} might have taken without askinge such being
the condition of Catholickes in England whereof he confessed himselfe to be
one."--Archives of See of Westminster.]
[Footnote 240: The Queen's message to the House of Commons is printed in
Green: _Letters of Queen Henrietta Maria_, p. 36.]
[Footnote 241: P.R.O. Roman Transcripts. See Appendix, No. II.]
[Footnote 242: P.R.O. Roman Transcripts. See Appendix No. II.]
[Footnote 243: Barberini also refers to the reports which were about
concerning the complicity of France in the Scotch rebellion.]
[Footnote 244: It is probable that the offer was made by the Queen alone at
this time, as Barberini says that security from the Parliament or in some
other way would be necessary. "Non parendo bastante la promessa della
Regina."--Barberini to Rosetti, February l6th, 1641. P.R.O. Roman
Transcripts.]
[Footnote 245: The tenor of the Cardinal's answer is gathered from his
letter to Rosetti. P.R.O. Roman Transcripts.]
[Footnote 246: P.R.O. Roman Transcripts. Henrietta Maria to Barberini,
February 6th, 1641.]
[Footnote 247: "Je vous remest à Montagu pour faire savoir le particulier
de tout et les moyens que je propose pour continuer l'intelligence ce que
je desire passionement."--Henrietta Maria to Barberini, February 6th, 1641.
P.R.O. Roman Transcripts.]
[Footnote 248: P.R.O. Roman Transcripts. Walter Montagu to Barberini,
February 6th, 1641.]
[Footnote 249: This statement rests on the authority of Mme de Motteville.
It seems incredible that the Queen went out alone into the street; it is
probable that she went to the apartments of noblemen living in the palace.]
[Footnote 250: "Cette princesse dict à plusieurs personnes qu'elle n'avoit
que Mr. Goring et son fils en qui elle se pût asseurer si les Escossais
continuent leur manche en Angleterre." April 18th, 1641. MS. Français,
15,995, f. 226.]
[Footnote 251: "Che la ferisce al vivo."--Salvetti. Add. MS., 27,962, I, f.
232.]
[Footnote 252: François Faure, in his funeral sermon on Henrietta Maria.
Mme de Motteville in her memoirs makes almost the same remark (ed. 1783).
I, 261.]
[Footnote 253: Diurnall Occurrences, May, 1641.]
[Footnote 254: Add. MS., 27,962, I, f. 233. Cf. the remark of Giustiani,
May 24th, 1641: "Li piu savii pero pronosticano a piena bocca che l'habbi
ben tosto a reduirsi questa monarchia a governo interamente
democratica."--P.R.O. Venetian Transcripts.]
[Footnote 255: A little later (October 30th, 1641) the French ambassador in
England, remembering that Father Philip belonged to the anti-Richelieu
party, wrote asking if he should work for his "l'esloignement." Aff. Etran.
Ang., t. 48.]
[Footnote 256: Charles left the room after a few words with Rosetti,
leaving his wife to make the offers described above, but there is no reason
to doubt that she had his authority.]
[Footnote 257: _Lettres de Henriette Marie à sa soeur Christine_, August
8th, 1641, pp. 57-9.]
[Footnote 258: Pym, Hampden, Haselrig, Holles, Strode, in the Commons; in
the Lords, Lord Kimbolton, the brother of Walter Montagu, who had been the
King's personal friend and had accompanied him to Spain in 1624.]
[Footnote 259: George Lord Digby, eldest son of the Earl of Bristol.]
[Footnote 260: The narrow majority by which the Grand Remonstrance passed
the House of Commons marked the formation of the constitutional Royalist
party.]
[Footnote 261: This version is a corruption of the real prophecy of
Grebner, which was contained in a book given by him to Elizabeth and by
Elizabeth to Trinity College, Cambridge. See "Monarchy or no Monarchy in
England: Grebner his prophecy by William Lilly, student in Astrology"
(1651).]