Loyal in Love: Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I

by Jean Plaidy

  “Will you make it?”

  “If you insist.”

  “I do,” I told him.

  The result was more than failure. It was insulting. As I had never been crowned Queen of England the Parliament did not consider me as such.

  When I heard those words I was so furious that I lost my temper with the Cardinal.

  “Are they suggesting that I was the King’s concubine? Is the King of France going to stand aside and hear that said of his aunt, the daughter of his grandfather….”

  Mazarin said quietly: “They have merely said that as you were not crowned you lack the rights of a queen. I believe the reason that you were not crowned was your own objection to the ceremony.”

  “I can see,” I said, “that you are ready to accept the logic of your dear friend Oliver Cromwell.”

  Anne asked me to see her. She was a good kind woman and I wished that she did not bore me so much for I should be truly grateful.

  She said: “I know how you long for a place of your own…somewhere not too large…somewhere where you could get away from Court and live quietly when you are in the mood to do so.”

  “I have Chaillot.”

  “I did not mean a convent. I meant a little home. I do understand for I often feel I should like to do the same myself. It is impossible for me, of course, though perhaps later when Louis is married and has growing children…who knows? But I have been thinking of you, sister. Life is very hard for you.”

  “You speak truth there. I am poor and dependent, and I and my daughter are the targets for insults.”

  “Oh, that affair of the Grande Mademoiselle. I do not take her very seriously.”

  “Her behavior touches me little. It was the remarks of the Duc d’Anjou….”

  “Philippe sometimes speaks without thinking. I have reprimanded him strongly for his lack of courtesy. I think he was contrite. Let us look round for a suitable place. Do you remember the pleasure we had over Chaillot?”

  “Oh, Anne, dear sister, you are so good and kind.”

  “I understand your feelings so well,” she replied. “I should like to make life a little easier for you.”

  “I could never afford to buy such a place if I found it.”

  “Let us first look for the place and then consider that.”

  The dear generous creature was comforting me again.

  The outcome was that together we discovered the small château in the village of Colombes. It was only seven miles from Paris and yet in the heart of the country. The village was beautiful and peaceful as only such villages can be, brooded over by the church with its twelfth-century tower. The château was small, like a country house rather than a castle and I knew that I could be happy in it.

  I was considerably cheered when Anne and I planned together what furniture would be put in it and when the place was completed it was indeed a haven.

  Perhaps that was the beginning of better days. It was not long after—a beautiful September day in the year 1658—when the messenger came to Colombes where I was staying.

  I knew he had some exciting news to tell me for he could scarcely wait.

  “A message for the Queen,” he cried. “Oliver Cromwell is dead!”

  So England had a new Lord Protector—Richard Cromwell, son of Oliver.

  The Court was buzzing with the news and messages were coming all the time from England. Richard was not the man his father had been; he lacked authority; he had no desire to govern; he was too soft; some said he was more like the martyred King than Oliver’s son.

  What now? everyone was asking.

  After the first months the excitement died down and it seemed as though Charles was no nearer winning his rights from Richard than he had been from Oliver.

  Still, the old ogre was dead and we continued to hear that the new Protector lacked those qualities which had brought victory to his father.

  Anne was growing more and more eager to find a bride for Louis and my niece Marguerite, daughter of my sister Christine, was brought to Paris, on trial as it were. She was a very plain girl and older than Louis. He took an instant dislike to her and I was sorry for Marguerite but relieved all the same on account of Henriette.

  It was quite clear that Louis had a mind of his own. He was both the delight and terror of his mother’s life. But she was beside herself with joy when the Cardinal was able to tell her that his clever diplomacy had not only brought about peace with Spain but the promise of the Infanta Marie Theresa as bride for Louis.

  It was what she had always wanted and she could not hide her joy, although she tried to from me, knowing my aspirations for Henriette.

  But I was accustomed to disappointments and I could not help feeling a twinge of relief that at least my sister Christine’s plain daughter had not been chosen. I now had to accept that Henriette would never be Queen of France.

  The French Court had gone to the Spanish border to meet the Spanish Infanta, and Henriette and I remained in Paris. How glad I was that we did! I had taken Henriette to Colombes with me. She was rather sad. I do believe that she was a little in love with Louis and it must have been painful for her to have been rejected by him, even though she could console herself that the main reason was that she was a dependant on his Court and that had her brother regained his throne there might have been a match between them.

  I was seated in my favorite room with some of my friends when a visitor was announced and a tall dark man came into the room.

  “Charles!”

  It was indeed. Changed after all the years. It must have been six since I had seen him and we had parted not such good friends on account of Henry. In spite of the change in him he had lost none of that charm which was going to smooth his path through life.

  He said: “A fleeting visit, Mam. I do not think it will be long now. I verily believe they are going to ask me to go back.”

  Then he turned and seizing one of my most handsome ladies picked her up in his arms and kissed her fervently. We were all astonished—until he called her his dear sister Henriette. Then I realized that he had mistaken the lady for the Princess. Or had he? I wondered. Or just pretended to? It gave him an opportunity of kissing the pretty girl. I could not be sure. But no matter. He was here and it was wonderful to see him.

  I sent at once for Henriette. She ran to him and they embraced. The affection between those two had not diminished with his absence.

  My little Henriette was almost in tears to see the brother whom she adored. There was complete devotion between those two. I envied it in a way. I should have liked to be on such terms with Charles but I really could not completely forgive him for taking Henry’s side and I knew he could not forgive me for my behavior toward the boy.

  But it was too great an occasion for resentments.

  He was excited. He was receiving letters from General Monck. The people were tired of Puritan rule. They looked for the color and gaiety of a Court. They yearned for the old days. In fact they wanted the King to come home.

  I dismissed all my attendants and sent them to make as grand a meal as they could for this most honored arrival; and when I was alone with Charles and Henriette, Charles talked of the state of affairs.

  “I do not wish to say too much about this just yet,” he said, “in case it fails as so many attempts have before. But this is different. This is not war. This is peace. It is not a challenge. It is an invitation. I have a very good friend in General Monck. He was a supporter of Cromwell at one time, but I don’t think he ever took to the way of life the Roundheads established. Oliver Cromwell did not trust him…and rightly so. Monck is a great character, a rough soldier perhaps, but with a love for royalty. He shall be rewarded when I am back. He married his washer-woman….” He gave me an odd look when he said that. “Ah, that shocks you, Mam, but I believe the lady had many desirable attributes and one of these was that she was always an ardent royalist.”

  “Do you mean he will help you regain your kingdom…this General?” I asked.

/>   “He is the General, the Head of the Army. He does not like the Roundheads’ rule since Oliver died. He endured it then he said because Oliver was a good ruler and a strong man. Now it is different. I will have to be asked to go back. I have no intention of making a false start. I promise myself that when I go home it will be to stay. I have no intention to go wandering again.”

  We were too excited to eat. I was glad we were at Colombes so that we could be alone…just a family…to talk and talk…and wait.

  And so, after all our abortive attempts, all the selling of precious possessions to raise money for arms, all the tragedies and defeats and disappointments, it had happened in a totally unexpected manner.

  Charles was invited to go home and on that glorious May day of the year 1660 he landed at Dover where he was greeted by General Monck, and all the way to London the people assembled in their crowds to throw flowers at his feet, to cheer him, to welcome him home from his exile.

  This was the happiest day I had known since our troubles began.

  The Restoration was truly here and I knew that life would be different for us all from now on.

  HENRIETTE

  Oh yes, life had changed. My dream had come true. My son was now the King of England. I knew it could not be all joy and happiness but the great tragedy was at an end. I had no doubt that Charles would be able to hold the throne. He was not like his father. He lacked the strong moral attitudes; he had shown more than once that he would never cling rigidly to controversial doctrines if by doing so he endangered himself and his throne. He had said he had no intention of wandering again and he meant it. The people adored him already as they never had his father. How strange life was! The good man—moral, religious, virtuous in every way—failed to win them, and yet my son with his ugly looks and excessive charm of manner, his easygoing acceptance of whatever life had to offer, won their hearts in a matter of days. They loved him for his sins—for his love affairs were notorious—as they had never loved his father for his virtues.

  It was wonderful for me and for Henriette to hold up our heads again.

  Henriette was longing to go to London but I held off for a while as a very interesting situation had arisen.

  I had greatly enjoyed the entry into Paris of Louis and his bride Marie Theresa—a rather insipid girl who made me feel how much happier it would have been for everyone if Louis and Anne had not been in such a hurry and had waited until Charles’s restoration which would have made my Henriette an acceptable bride.

  However, in spite of that disappointment it was a great joy to be no longer a poor supplicant.

  Henriette and I sat with the Queen on a balcony of the Hôtel de Beauvais, the canopy of crimson velvet over us—completely royal now. I was proud to be of a similar rank to Anne—mothers, both of us, of reigning sovereigns and nothing to choose between us.

  What a magnificent procession it was—magistrates, musketeers, heralds and the grand equerry holding the royal sword in its scabbard of blue velvet decorated with the golden fleurs-de-lis. And then there was Louis—a king for any country to be proud of, looking magnificently regal seated on his bay horse with a brocaded canopy held over him.

  The people cheered him wildly. I felt proud of my nephew and I was thinking of course of that other King who had made such another entry into his capital city a short time ago. Louis looked like a god in silver lace covered with pearls, the elegant plumes in his hat—which was pinned on by a large diamond brooch—falling over his shoulders. Behind him rode Philippe and I could not look at him without speculation. He was not the first prize, of course, but he was a worthy second. He looked very handsome; he was in fact better looking than his brother though he lacked Louis’s manliness. He was also in silver most beautifully embroidered with jewels scintillating from his person. I looked sharply at Henriette. She was gazing ahead at Louis. Perhaps a little wistfully. I was not sure.

  The bride came next—not nearly beautiful and elegant enough for Louis. And to think it might have been Henriette riding there, Queen of France! If only they had had the good sense to wait. My Henriette was not such an undesirable proposition now.

  Marie Theresa’s coach was covered in gold lace and she herself was dressed in material which looked like gold. She looked quite beautiful—and who would not, so attired and in such a setting?—but a little coarse if one looked closely. And how elegant and ethereal my little one would have looked. I should not have dressed her in gold either. It was faintly vulgar and the bride wore too many jewels of contrasting colors. I should have dressed Henriette in silver and her only jewels would have been diamonds.

  But what was the use? The prize had gone to that little Spanish Infanta. They would regret it, I knew.

  Now I was laughing to myself for behind the bride’s coach came that of the Princesses of France and there sat the Grande Mademoiselle. She glanced up as she passed so that we were able to exchange glances. I smiled at her sardonically and managed to infuse a certain condolence into the smile. She would have interpreted it and not been very pleased, I knew. I was implying: “My poor dear niece, so you have missed again. Dear, dear, are we ever going to find a husband for you?”

  I guessed now that she would have her eyes on Philippe. Oh no. That must not be. The daughter of a king is of far greater standing than the daughter of the brother of a king—particularly one who had disgraced himself by becoming involved with the Fronde.

  The King was on a level with the balcony now and he paused to salute us. I noticed that his eyes lingered on Henriette and hers on him. They smiled at each other almost tenderly.

  I was filled with chagrin.

  Too late, I thought angrily. This is another mocking trick which fate has played on me.

  Queen Anne embraced me warmly. It was the day after Louis’s entry with his bride. She was smiling as she did when she had something pleasant to convey.

  She said: “I have been made so happy. My son Philippe has been talking to me. He is in love and wishes to marry.”

  My heart started to bounce about in a most uncomfortable way. It must be Henriette. If it were not she could not look so happy.

  I tried to steady myself and she went on: “He wishes to marry Henriette.”

  I was wildly happy. If it could not be Louis—and that was now quite out of the question—then Philippe was the next best chance. My little Henriette would be the third lady in France and if Louis were to die without heirs—but that little Spaniard did look as though she might be fertile—my Henriette could still be Queen of France.

  “I am so delighted,” Anne was saying, “and he is so much in love.”

  It was hard to imagine Philippe’s being in love with anyone but himself, although he might spare some affection for that close friend of his, the Comte de Guiche, a young and extremely handsome nobleman, who had been married at a very early age to the heiress of the House of Sully though he had never shown much interest in his bride, except with regard to her fortune, and was delighted to be Philippe’s close friend.

  However he was the brother of the King—next in line to the throne at the moment, and Henriette had known him for most of her life. When she married she would not have to go away. I should not lose her. To say the least I was delighted with the prospect.

  Anne knew I should be and rejoiced with me.

  “Louis has given his consent to the match and the Cardinal is in favor of it.”

  Of course he would be, the old fox, I thought. Close ties with Spain through Louis’s marriage and with England through that of Henriette and Philippe.

  It was what I wanted though, what I had angled for, and I had learned most bitterly through the latter part of my life that if you cannot get your heart’s desire you must settle for the next best thing.

  There was another reason for my pleasure. I knew the Grande Mademoiselle had wanted Philippe when Louis was out of her reach, so this was a blow for her. I really did believe she was never going to get a husband and I could not wait to see her face when s
he heard that Philippe and Henriette were betrothed.

  Henriette was less enthusiastic about the proposed marriage. It was often difficult to know what my daughter was thinking. She looked rather sad and said: “Does Philippe really want to marry…and to marry me?”

  “Of course he wants to marry. It is his duty. Why, if his brother died tomorrow he could be King of France.”

  “Dear Mam, you should not say such things.”

  “So even you are telling me now what I should say and what I should not say. I begin to believe that I have brought a family of tutors into the world.”

  She kissed me and said she knew how I had always loved and cared for my family and if I wished it and Philippe wished it she supposed she must marry him.

  “My dear daughter,” I cried, “you do not sound very appreciative of the second best match in France.”

  “I think I would have chosen not to marry for a while. I have a great fancy to go to England and to be near Charles.”

  “Charles is the King and it is right that you should love and admire him, but he is only your brother, remember. You have your own life to lead.”

  “But we are going to England.”

  “We are. As soon as I have made sure that the betrothal is firm, we shall visit your brother and then we shall come back for the wedding…your wedding, my dear child. I shall see my son on his throne and my best-loved child married. I really begin to see a great deal of brightness in the sky. It has been so dark…so very dark…for such a long time.”

  Enjoyable weeks followed. I reveled in the preparations and tried not to think of the sea voyage which I always loathed. But it would be worthwhile this time. I had had the pleasure of a little conversation with Mademoiselle who was beside herself with jealousy of Henriette. She called on me and I was sure there was a purpose in this for in view of the betrothal I should have thought she would have wanted to keep out of the way.

  “You have come to congratulate me,” I said slyly, knowing it was the last thing she would come to do.

  “You must be very pleased that your plans have at last borne fruit,” she said.