On a May morning in the year of grace 1625, a young girl, watching in the ChÀteau of the Louvre in the city of Paris, was awaiting the greatest event which had yet come to disturb the tenor of her life; for, before the sun had set, she, Henrietta Maria of France, would be the betrothed wife of Charles, King of England.

It was a brilliant match for the little Princess, the youngest child of Henry IV, King of France, and of his wife Mary de' Medici of the great Florentine House: she owed it in part to the far-reaching policy of the father she had never known, and in part to the exertions of her mother and of a new favourite of that lady, M. de Richelieu. As she was only fifteen years old[1] she was, perhaps, too young to enter into the political aspect of the matter, but she was fully alive to the social and ceremonial advantages to which it would entitle her: a few years before she had gazed with envy at the honours prepared for her elder sister, Christine, the bride of Savoy: now she could afford to think of them almost with contempt, for, to her, the bride of proud England, far more splendid homage was about to be offered. Nor, though the bridegroom was absent and both betrothal and wedding would have to be by proxy, was he unknown. Henrietta had seen him when he was in Paris on the return journey of his romantic expedition to Spain, and she knew that he was a tall and proper man, handsome in face and royal in bearing, with a certain melancholy persuasiveness of address which not even a slight stammer could spoil. "I do not think he need have gone quite so far as Spain for a bride," she had said then, with the freedom of her tender years; even now, nearly a year later, she felt such an interest in her prospective bridegroom, that by the help of an old servant she borrowed his portrait from one of the English envoys who was accustomed to wear it round his neck, and, having carried it off to her private apartments, she gazed at it for the space of an hour, blushing the while at her own audacity.

Of Henrietta's childhood there is little to record; as one of her biographers sadly remarks, her troubles began before she could know them, for she was not a year old when her noble-hearted father perished by the knife of Ravaillac. Her early years were passed under the care of her mother, who, though she was solicitous for the child's health and education, and reared her with the state due to a daughter of France,[2] is said to have cared much less for her than for her elder sister Christine: a sister still older, the beautiful and high-minded Elizabeth, left her native country to become the unhappy wife of Philip IV of Spain, while Henrietta was still too young a child to retain much personal memory of her; but touching letters remain written from the desolate grandeur of Madrid to show how fondly Elizabeth's heart clung to the pretty child she had left in Paris, for whose portrait she begs, and to whom she sends little gifts such as some toys for the toilet of her dolls, "so that when you play you may remember me."[3] The two sisters never met again, and the Spanish princess who came to France in Elizabeth's stead was a poor exchange for her, even if Henrietta, who was possessed of a sparkling and somewhat biting wit, had not been fond of exercising it upon her brother's demure wife, with whom her mother was never on good terms.

That Henrietta's childhood was, in the main, healthy and happy, cannot be doubted. In person she resembled her father more than did either of her sisters, and she had inherited also his gay disposition. Her days were passed in one beautiful chÀteau or another, either the Louvre or the Luxembourg, or S. Germain-en-Laye, with its beautiful forest and its terrace overlooking the Seine. Her governess was the kind and faithful Madame de Montglas, who had tended not only her, but her brothers and sisters from their earliest years; and if she failed in some degree to win her mother's heart, with others she was more fortunate. Christine left her when her years numbered but ten, but so strong was the tie of the common childhood of the sisters, that they corresponded warmly to the end of their lives. Her relations with her brothers were very affectionate, and the King, in particular, cherished her as his favourite sister, probably on account of her ready wit, a quality which, like many people who are dull themselves, he greatly admired. Finally, her charms invited a suitor while she was still almost a child, in the person of the Count of Soissons, a scion of the royal house, who may well have been as much enamoured of the dark, sparkling eyes which were the little Princess's chief beauty, as of her position as a daughter of France.

There is, however, one sentence in an old biography of Henrietta which shows her youth in another and a sadder aspect. Young as she was at the time of her marriage, it appears that already she had had to learn the difficult art of adjusting her conduct to the requirements of Court factions and family dissensions.[4] Her childhood was cast in the stormy times which followed the removal of the strong hand of Henry IV. Her mother, whose lead she followed in the main, was a foolish woman under the domination of unworthy favourites, until by good fortune she fell in with Richelieu. It would be impossible to give here even an outline of the history of the events which in 1617 drove Mary de Medici in disgrace from her son's Court. It must suffice to point out that until her return in triumph in 1621 her little daughter had some difficulty in reconciling the respective claims of her mother and her brother, and in preserving the favour of both.

It was not long after this return that negotiations for a matrimonial alliance with England were opened, and thereupon Henrietta became for the first time a person of political importance. Her mother learned to appreciate her wit and beauty, and Richelieu, whose reign was just beginning, looked upon her with interest as a co-operator in his schemes for the humiliation of the House of Austria and of the French Protestants, objects which he thought would be considerably furthered by the union of Henrietta with the heir of England.

In due time two envoys-extraordinary arrived from England to carry out the negotiations for the marriage. They were both very fine gentlemen, but the elder, the Earl of Carlisle, who was a Scotchman and an able diplomatist, on whom most of the real work of the mission fell, was in social matters quite outshone by his junior, the Lord Kensington, shortly to become Earl of Holland,[5] who was the handsomest man of his time and accounted so fascinating that he was the despair of jealous husbands. He was a great connoisseur in female beauty, and was smiled upon by Madame de Chevreuse, the most brilliant woman of the French Court; but he was kind enough to approve of Henrietta, and he sent home to the bridegroom-elect such glowing accounts of her beauty as roused that rather cold person to a fever of expectation. She was, he wrote, "the sweetest creature in France. Her growth is very little short of her age, and her wisdom infinitely beyond it. I heard her discourse with her mother and the ladies about her with extraordinary discretion and quickness. She dances (the which I am a witness of) as well as ever I saw any creature. They say she sings very sweetly. I am sure she looks so."[6] To the Duke of Buckingham, who at this time entirely governed Charles' mind, he wrote an equally enthusiastic account, praising the Princess as a "lovely sweet young creature," who, if she was not tall in stature, was "perfect in shape."[7]

Marriage negotiations between royal persons are always lengthy, and in this case there was the additional difficulty of the difference of religion between the contracting parties, which necessitated a dispensation from the Pope. But James of England eagerly desired the alliance, seeing in it a means of winning back the Palatinate for his daughter's husband, a hope which was encouraged by the diplomacy of Richelieu, who probably also worked upon the mind of Mary de' Medici, so that, in spite of her bigoted attachment to the Roman Catholic Church, the whole weight of her now powerful influence was thrown on the side of the marriage. Father BÉrulle, the founder of the French Oratory, who was a great friend of hers, was sent to Rome to procure a dispensation from Urban VIII. Arrangements were made to secure Henrietta's religion and morals in the heretic country to which she was going, and it was provided that she should have the bringing up of her children until they reached the age of twelve years. Finally, secret articles[8] were inserted in the marriage treaty, in which James of England and his son promised that toleration should be granted to the English Catholics. Everything seemed settled, and all was rejoicing both in England and France, except for two malcontents: the Spanish Ambassador in Paris stood sullenly aloof, "who, without question, doth not well like that England and France should bee joyned together with such a firme alliance,"[9] and the Count of Soissons was so angry and disappointed at the loss of his bride that he refused to treat Lord Kensington with common courtesy, savagely declaring that the negotiations went so near his heart that were the Englishman not the ambassador of so great a King, he would cut his throat.

Henrietta herself was well pleased, and her cheerful countenance reflected her content. She exchanged a number of quaint and rather formal love-letters with her future husband, who sometimes employed as his intermediary a young protÉgÉ of Buckingham, by name Walter Montagu, who was destined to a singular career and to a lifelong friendship with the Princess, whom he now saw for the first time. In March, 1625, he left Paris and returned to England carrying the good news that all was forward, and that the lady should be delivered in thirty days. He was able to supplement Holland's description of the charms of the Princess, for, like that nobleman, he was something of a connoisseur in such matters. "I have made the Prince in love with every hair on Madame's head,"[10] he wrote cheerfully to Carlisle. So eager was the bridegroom that he would not allow the match to be stayed for the final settlement of the details of the dispensation.

But just as everything was ready an event of another character occurred to retard matters again. On March 27th, 1625, King James died, and the question arose as to whether the wedding could be celebrated during the period of mourning. However, as Henrietta could hardly be expected to feel acutely the death of an unknown father-in-law which made her a queen, and as Charles' impatience for his bride overcame any scruples with regard to decorum, it was settled that the great event should take place in the ensuing May. The decision that the bridegroom should not be present in person at the ceremony was probably a disappointment to Henrietta. It had been suggested that he should come over to France, but the proposal had not met with approval on either side of the Channel, the English thinking it beneath their King's dignity to seek his bride in a foreign land, and the French fearing, with good reason, the expense of such a guest. The selection of a proxy caused some difficulty. Charles wished that his great friend, the Duke of Buckingham, should impersonate him on this interesting occasion, but that nobleman, for private reasons which will be explained below, was not agreeable to the French Court. The choice finally fell upon the Duke of Chevreuse,[11] who was at once a high-born Frenchman and a relative of the King of England, being a prince of the House of Lorraine, and thus connected with Charles' great-grandmother, Mary of Guise. In spite of his high rank he was a person of sufficient obscurity, and chiefly remarkable as the husband of his brilliant wife.

The betrothal was solemnized on May 8th, which happened to be the Feast of the Ascension. The ceremony took place in the Louvre in the King's own room, which was elaborately fitted up for the occasion, and where, in the late afternoon, he appeared as (we are told) "a beautiful sun which shines above all others."[12] Lesser lights were present in the persons of his wife, his only brother Gaston, Duke of Orleans, and a crowd of noblemen, all of whom waited impatiently for the bride-elect, who at last appeared, attended by her mother and by Madame de Chevreuse. Henrietta entered the room with a dignity worthy of the occasion and of the great race from which she was sprung. Her magnificent dress, which perhaps a little eclipsed her girlish beauty, consisted of a robe of cloth of gold and silver thickly sprinkled with golden fleurs-de-lis and enriched by diamonds and other precious stones. This wonderful garment was further adorned by a long train carried by the little Mademoiselle de Bourbon, the Madame de Longueville of later days, who at this time was so young that she could only nominally fulfil her office, while the long, heavy folds were really supported by Madame de Montglas' daughter, Madame S. Georges, who was to accompany the young Queen to England.

Henrietta's entry was followed by that of the two English Ambassadors and the proxy bridegroom. Then, after the signing and countersigning of the articles of marriage, the betrothal ceremony was solemnized according to the rites of the Church by Cardinal de Rochefoucault, Grand Almoner of the King of France. In the evening a ball was held in the Louvre, while outside the firing of cannon and the letting off of fireworks testified to the public rejoicing.

It was not until three days later, on May 11th, that the actual wedding took place. [13] The church chosen for the religious ceremony was the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, which was adorned with hangings of silk and tapestry and of cloth of gold, to hide as far as possible the lines of the Gothic architecture which was condemned by the taste of the day. Every detail of the ceremony[14] was arranged when an unfortunate difficulty arose which caused much ill-feeling and considerable trouble.

Jean FranÇois de Gondi, a member of one of those Italian families which had found fortune in France in the wake of a foreign Queen, now occupied the See of Paris. He was the first of the long line of bishops of the capital to receive the honours of archiepiscopal rank, and, as his character, which has been sketched for us by his candid nephew, Cardinal de Retz, was at once feeble and vainglorious, it is probable that his head was a little turned. His anger, therefore, may be imagined when he discovered that he was not to officiate at a wedding which took place at his own cathedral, but was to be set aside for the Cardinal de Rochefoucault. Mingled with personal pique was the bitter feeling of the infringement of the rights of the episcopate. He summoned all the prelates who were then in Paris to a meeting, and they joined with him in presenting a petition on the subject to the King. But Louis and the Cardinal (who had provided himself with a brief from the Pope which, however, was not produced) stood firm; and the upshot of the affair was that the Archbishop, though he was forced to give way and was much blamed by his clergy for doing so, was nevertheless so angry that he went off to the country, refusing to have anything to do with the wedding, and leaving the nuptial mass to be said by his senior suffragan, the Bishop of Chartres.

But this was not the worst. The absence of the Archbishop might have been supported with philosophy, but the strike extended not only to the Chapter, but even to such indispensable people as the singing-men, who, at the last moment, had to be hurriedly replaced by singers from the King's cabinet and chapel.

The English alliance was very popular in Paris. It was remembered that if the bridegroom was King of England and a heretic, he was also a Scotchman born and the grandson of the much-loved Mary of Scotland, who, it was said, was doubtless praying in heaven for his conversion. Another side of the general satisfaction was expressed by poetic references to the union of the sister of Mars with Neptune, the King of the Waves, which, it was hoped, would bring about a happy state of things when

"toute la Terre
Soit aux FranÇois et Anglois."[15]

It is not surprising, therefore, that the early hours of the great day saw the parvis of Notre-Dame crowded with spectators waiting patiently under the rain of an inclement May morning. The concourse was so great that the neighbouring streets had to be secured by barriers and patrolled by the Swiss Guard to make free passage for the coaches of the nobility which were perpetually arriving at the doors of the cathedral to deposit their loads of gaily dressed ladies.

Meanwhile, what of the bride for whom all this was prepared? She had spent the previous day at her mother's favourite convent, that of the Carmelite nuns whom BÉrulle had "fetched out of Spain" to place in a house of the Faubourg S. Jacques. There her mother's friend, Mother Magdeleine of S. Joseph, gave her a great deal of advice, seasoned with much piety and some judgment. Thence she returned to pass the night at the Louvre, and to spend a quiet morning, until at about two o'clock on the afternoon of her wedding-day she set out for the Archbishop's palace, which that dignitary, in spite of his chagrin, had placed at the disposal of the wedding-party. There in the fine old house overlooking the Seine, which two hundred years later was to fall a victim to the fury of the Parisian mob,[16] Henrietta spent several hours in putting on the same magnificent dress which she had worn at her betrothal, so that five o'clock had already struck when her brother the King came to fetch her that he might conduct her to the cathedral.

The procession was drawn up. First came an officer known as the captain of the gate, behind whom walked a hundred men of the King's Swiss Guard, drums beating and banners flying. They were followed by the band, which was so effective that while the hautbois ravished the ears of those who heard them, the drums would have stirred the most faint-hearted to courage. As to the trumpets, they made the hearts of the listeners leap for joy within their bodies.

At last, after heralds, marshals, peers, and dukes, after the proxy bridegroom and the Ambassadors from England, came the central figure of the procession, the bride herself, supported by her two brothers, one of whom was also her King.

The sickly, depressed Louis XIII, notwithstanding his magnificent dress of cramoisi velvet, so thickly covered with cloth of gold that the foundation hardly appeared, afforded a sad contrast to the splendid vitality of his little sister, whose dark curls were adorned by a crown of gold set with diamonds, and bearing in front an enormous pearl of inestimable value. The train of her royal mantle, which was of velvet and cloth of gold, embroidered with fleurs-de-lis, was carried by the Princesses of CondÉ and Conti and by the Countess of Soissons, the mother of the rejected lover, who had asked and obtained leave to absent himself from the ceremony. So heavy was it that to give the bride greater comfort an officer walked under it and supported it with his head and hands. Gaston of Orleans, who was at his sister's left hand, was not allowed to rival his sovereign in apparel, for a rule had been made that the King, the Duke of Chevreuse, and the Earls of Carlisle and Holland should be the only gentlemen to appear in cloth of gold. He had to content himself with silk. The rear was brought up by the two Queens, the elder plainly dressed in black, relieved by splendid jewels; the younger magnificent in cloth of gold and silver. A crowd of highly born ladies followed, among whom may be mentioned Mademoiselle de Montpensier, the rich heiress whom Gaston of Orleans was to wed reluctantly a year later, and Madame de Chevreuse, who, no doubt, cast admiring glances at the handsome face and figure of her lover, the Earl of Holland.

The wedding ceremony was not to take place in the church but, in accordance with the old ritual of matrimony, on a platform erected outside the west door,[17] which was connected with the archiepiscopal palace by a long wooden gallery upholstered in beautiful tapestry. On this platform, under a canopy of cloth of gold, Cardinal de Rochefoucault was waiting to receive the bride, while from the stands which had been put up round the parvis, and from the windows of the tall neighbouring houses, eager heads were thrust forward to catch a glimpse of the procession as it wound along in the sunshine which had succeeded the rainy morning. Henrietta, the Duke of Chevreuse, and the royal party ascended the platform. The short marriage ceremony was gone through, and immediately on its conclusion an English gentleman who was present, by name George Goring,[18] set off to carry to the King of England, as quickly as relays of the swiftest horses would allow, the tidings of his own marriage.

The new Queen only lingered at the church door to receive the kneeling homage of the English Ambassadors. Then, accompanied by her mother, her brothers, and the rest of the wedding-party, she entered the great church.[19] There awaited her not only the nobility of France, but also such dignitaries as the provost of the merchants, the aldermen of the city of Paris, and the rector of the university, while "Messieurs du Parlement" had, with some difficulty, made good their claim to be present in a body. All eyes were turned upon the bride as she moved along another richly decorated gallery, which conducted her to a dais in the chancel from which she was to hear the nuptial Mass. It was past seven o'clock before the offertory was reached, an almost unprecedented hour at which to say Mass, and many may have envied the heretic Ambassadors who were able to retire for a brief rest, owing to their unwillingness to be present at a popish service. The only consideration shown for Henrietta was that she was not required to communicate, as it was thought that to fast until that late hour and to undergo at the same time so much fatigue and excitement might prove injurious to her health.

But even when the Mass was over there was no rest to be had. That evening saw the Archbishop's palace turned into a scene of royal festivity. In the hall the banquet was spread. At the middle of the table sat the King, with his mother on his right hand and his sister, the queen of a day, on his left. The Duke of Chevreuse and the English Ambassadors were privileged to sit down with the royal party, which was waited on by "our lords the princes, dukes, peers, and marshals of France," who did not disdain to bring in the meats for the feast. Outside in the May darkness all Paris was en fÊte. Bonfires and fireworks were to be seen in every street, so that it seemed that never had there been such rejoicings as at the marriage of Princess Henrietta.

It might have been expected that the newly married Queen would have set off at once for her adopted country, but, on the contrary, there were considerable delays caused, it was believed, by the Pope's agents, who were annoyed that the marriage had taken place before the details of the dispensation had been settled.[20] When these difficulties had been overcome the King fell ill, and it seems probable that the departure would have been postponed even longer than was the case had not an event occurred to hasten it, namely, the arrival in Paris of an unexpected and most unwelcome guest, George, Duke of Buckingham.

This extraordinary person, whose career reads like a fairy story, was at this time at the height of his fame. His handsome face and a certain careless magnificence of manner, which might almost have passed for magnanimity, were greatly admired, and if he showed at times the insolence of the parvenu, much was condoned, at least outwardly, in the man who was the acknowledged favourite of the King of England, and who was able to appear in almost regal splendour, decked out, it was even said, by the jewels of England. He was already well known in Paris, and in the few days he had spent there in 1624, between Madrid and London, he had made an ineffaceable impression upon at least one heart.

Few royal stories are sadder than that of Anne of Austria, the queen of Louis XIII. Married as a mere child to an apathetic boy, she neither knew how to win his love nor how to adapt herself to the requirements of her position. Neglected by her husband, bullied by her mother-in-law, and later by Richelieu, she may almost be forgiven for her treasonable correspondence with the enemies of France. Still less can she be blamed that her heart clung too fondly to the relatives she had left in Madrid. To the end of her days she remained a Spaniard, dÉvote and fanatical beyond the liking of the lively Parisians; a Spaniard also in her unconquerable coquetry. The ladies of her mother's Court, shut up in almost monastical seclusion, were accustomed to amuse themselves during the long hours which intervened between the various religious exercises by dwelling on and recounting in every detail their conquests of the men whom they seldom saw except in the silence of a church or among the crowds of a Court ceremony. Anne, coming from such a life, was unable to understand at once the greater liberty and the greater decorum of French manners. She was beautiful, and she was gifted with a pair of soft, white, exquisitely modelled hands, so that she was able to command the flattery which she loved. Many a gallant worshipped at a distance, but none dared to pay her attentions which seriously compromised her until the English favourite crossed her path.

The true story of the loves of these two is not fully known. It died with them and with those in whom they confided; but it is probable that during Buckingham's first visit to Paris something was suspected, and that this was the real reason of the refusal to receive him as the proxy of the King of England. When it was known that he had arrived, uninvited, the wrath of his unwilling hosts was so great that it was only through the intervention of Madame de Chevreuse, the devoted friend of Queen Anne, and the representations of the English Ambassadors that he obtained a reception befitting his rank.

The Duke urged strongly the immediate departure of the bride; and though it was felt that such a desire for haste was indelicate, yet the French royal family, with one exception, was so anxious to see the last of him, that they were fain to comply. Henrietta, probably, was not consulted. She was a pawn in the political game, and she was still too young to assert herself.

Perhaps she was in no hurry to be gone. She clung to her home and her country, and the waiting time was made very pleasant by festivities in which, for the first time, she tasted the pleasures of her queenly rank. All were splendid; but probably the most magnificent was an entertainment offered by Richelieu to the three queens during the indisposition of the King. It took place at the Luxembourg, that monument of the Italian renaissance within Paris, which was built for Mary de' Medici in her widowhood to remind her of her own Florentine palace, whose beautiful gardens, unchanged since her day, remain to witness to the taste of gardeners before Le NÔtre.[21] On this occasion the spacious rooms were magnificently decorated. The most skilful musicians which Paris could furnish had been procured, and the ears of the guests were delighted by choice music, both vocal and instrumental, while the courtly host employed all the grace and charm which he had ever at command to fascinate the three royal ladies, and particularly the young Queen of England, who was inclined to look upon him with favour as in some sort the author of her marriage. Finally, at the close of the entertainment all went out into the gardens to witness a display of fireworks, "the most superb and the most beautiful invention which had been seen for a long time."[22] The Cardinal, who had given the fÊte to mark his satisfaction at the issue of his diplomacy, had cause to congratulate himself upon its success. As Queen Henrietta said good-bye to him with grateful cordiality, he bent his keen glance upon her and saw in her another subservient tool of his ambition, as she saw in him her protector and her friend. Neither the statesman nor the Queen could read the secrets of the future, nor know that each would come to regard the other as an enemy.

At last, when May had passed into June, the day came which witnessed the Queen of England's departure from Paris. The King, who was still far from well, determined, nevertheless, to see his sister on her way as far as CompiÈgne, and apart from his royal presence she had goodly attendance. It included the Queen-Mother and her second son Gaston, both of whom intended to accompany the bride to the coast; the Queen Consort, who, against the advice of her best friends, could not tear herself from the fascinating company of Buckingham; the Duke of Chevreuse, and M. de Ville-aux-Clercs, who were commissioned by the King of France to deliver over his sister to her royal husband. Finally, Madame de Chevreuse, who had asked and obtained permission to accompany the bride to her new home for a reason similar to that which actuated her friend Queen Anne—namely, the love which she bore to the Earl of Holland.

It was three o'clock in the afternoon when Henrietta left the Louvre to set out on her journey to England. Her brother, who, perhaps to dazzle the more homely English, had spared no expense on her trousseau and equipment, had provided for her personal use a magnificent litter upholstered within and without in red cramoisi velvet, which was relieved by the gold embroidery of the cushions and curtains. It was drawn by two fine mules, gorgeous in their red velvet cloths, and with white aigrettes nodding merrily on their heads. They were led by a muleteer who was handsomely dressed, and who rode another richly caparisoned mule. The trappings of the rest of the party were also splendid in proportion to their rank. A brave escort saw on her way the daughter of Henry IV. Archers and guards turned out to do her honour, and by her side rode that great civic dignitary, "M. le prevost des Marchands." To the sound of martial music went the gay cavalcade, through the narrow streets of old Paris up to the Porte S. Denys, and so beyond the wall, which still guarded the city, into the suburbs. Working men and women, leaving their toil, lined the road, many of whom looking on the fair child who was leaving them, and having no expectation of seeing her again, could not restrain their weeping.

Half-way to S. Denys the party halted. The provost of the merchants delivered a weary discourse, "full of matter," and then bidding Henrietta farewell he turned back to Paris with his escort. The rest pushed on. There was no time to wait at S. Denys, where the dust of Henrietta's father lay, and whither her own dead body was to be carried nearly half a century later. The summer evening was drawing in, and it was thought wiser to go on to Stains, where a night's rest awaited the bride, who may well have been fatigued by the toils of this exciting day.

The first considerable town through which the royal party passed was Amiens. This great city, "the metropolis and key of all Picardy," was determined, notwithstanding its depressed financial position, to give the three Queens, no one of whom had ever before been within its walls, a splendid reception. This resolve was all the more loyal as the consideration of the King had only indicated a few simple tokens of respect, such as a reception by the aldermen, as obligatory on the occasion. It was late in the afternoon before the royal ladies and their train approached the city, for they were much delayed by the concourse of people who came out to see them. Not far from the city gates they were met by the Governor, the Duke of Chaulnes, who brought with him three hundred horsemen whose steeds, we are told, were of the same race as those sung by the poets—whose eyes and nostrils emitted flames and fire. Of the cavaliers each might have been taken for chief and leader, so splendid were they all. Accompanied by this dashing cavalcade the cortÈge swept on, to be met on its way by a troop of archers bearing an ensign with the device of a cupid, by the youth of the city drawn up in companies, and finally by six thousand of the mature citizens, whose martial discipline was the admiration of all. By a wise precaution no salvos were fired until the royal party was safely passed, for experience had shown that, though only two or three horses might be frightened, yet they were sufficient to cause unseemly disturbance.

After the formal greeting had been given to the guests at the gate of the city by the mayor and aldermen, a ceremony took place specially designed in compliment to the bride of the island King. Fifty young girls, all pretty and some very beautiful, dressed up to represent the demi-goddesses of the sea, came to hail Henrietta as Thetis, queen of the waves, sitting upon the throne of her litter which had brought her from the banks of the Seine, and to whom, in token of humble submission, they presented the keys of the city. So great was the crush to see this sight that the gentleman to whom we owe the story of the details of the day[23] was unable to get near enough to hear the speeches of the marine goddesses. The crowds in the streets were great, and as there were neither archers nor Swiss, as at Paris, to range the people against the houses and to keep a clear passage, the confusion was considerable; but it was not allowed to interfere with the programme drawn up by the loyal people of Amiens. Henrietta saw not only triumphal arches and columns in abundance, but also curious allegorical ceremonies in the taste of the times. She beheld Jason, who, after fighting with fire-breathing bulls, bore off triumphant the golden fleece, and in whom she was to recognize an impersonation of her husband, Charles of England. She listened to the hymeneal god, who, attended by nymphs, stepped forward and, to the accompaniment of sweet music, sang a wedding-song specially composed for the occasion. The last three verses, notwithstanding their extravagance of compliment, are so fresh and charming as to be worthy of the pretty bride to whom they were addressed.

Henrietta looked and smiled and listened. She was new to such honours, and it was pleasant to be for the moment a greater person than her stern mother or her stately sister-in-law. But the rejoicings were long-drawn-out, and she must have been very weary before they culminated in a joyous Te Deum sung in the cathedral, which, like Notre-Dame in Paris, had been disfigured as much as possible with pictures and hangings. Nor even then were her toils over. Long and dreary speeches awaited her, to which she had to listen with some show of interest, before at last she could lie down to rest.

Henrietta's innocent dreams were perhaps of Jason and the goddesses of the sea; but there were those about her whose pillows were haunted by visions of a very different character.

Had all France been searched through it would have been difficult to find a more undesirable friend and adviser for a young married woman than Marie de Rohan, once Duchess of Luynes, and now by her second marriage Duchess of Chevreuse. Beautiful, unscrupulous, and gifted with a remarkable talent for diplomacy, which enabled her to give effect to her audacious schemes, she had little difficulty in recommending herself to Henrietta, into whose young mind she dropped seeds of distrust and of a love of crooked ways which were to bear fruit in the future. It was not her fault if other seeds failed to ripen there, and if the purity of the little bride's mind was proof against the evil example of certain events which occurred during the few days of the halt at Amiens.

The city had no house large enough to accommodate the three Queens. The Queen-Mother, as befitted her age and dignity, was lodged in the episcopal palace, while Henrietta and her sister-in-law had to find apartments elsewhere. The bride's domicile is not known, but to Queen Anne and her attendants was allotted a fine house with gardens sloping down to the River Somme. In these gardens took place a famous scene destined to influence several lives, and among them that of Henrietta Maria.

Already at a ball given by the Duchess of Chaulnes the animation and brilliant looks of the Queen of France had been remarked, and ill-natured people were not lacking who saw in the English duke, who had danced on that evening with infinite grace, the magician able to rouse her from the listlessness which usually spoiled her undoubted beauty. Such public meetings were safe enough, but Buckingham was constantly at the Queen's lodgings. One evening, in company with Madame de Chevreuse and the Earl of Holland, he was paying his respects when Anne, who, remembering the soft, scented nights of her native land, loved to wander abroad after dusk, invited him to enjoy with her the cool beauty of the June twilight. Their companions, who were carrying on their own flirtation under the cloak of another's, followed, but, perhaps intentionally, they lagged behind, so that the royal lady found herself alone with her bold admirer in a dark, winding walk. Suddenly the silence of the evening was broken by a shrill cry. The Queen's equerry, who was in attendance at a discreet distance, rushed up to find his mistress in a state of trembling agitation, and the duke so red and confused that he was glad to make his escape as quickly as possible. There were, of course, explanations and excuses. The matter came to the ears of the Queen-Mother, who, worn out by her exertions, was lying seriously ill; she helped to hush up the scandal, and both Anne and Buckingham seemed, for the moment, to escape easily; but it was felt that they must part at once, and the duke, with a tact which he sometimes displayed, began to talk of the King of England's impatience to see his bride, and to hint that it was not necessary to wait for the Queen-Mother's recovery.

Henrietta, the sport of others less innocent than herself, knelt to receive her mother's last blessing. That lady, touched by some real maternal feeling, bade her a tender farewell, pressing into her hand a letter which the girl found, when she came to read it, to be full of the most admirable sentiments of piety and virtue and of excellent advice as to her conduct in the married state. She probably knew Mary de' Medici too well to attribute this composition to her, and perhaps no one attempted to disguise the fact that its author was the pious Father BÉrulle who was going with her to England in the capacity of confessor.[25]

Through Abbeville, with its soaring cathedral, through picturesque Montreuil, Henrietta came to Boulogne, whence she was to cross to England, as the plague was reigning at Calais. Though it was June, the weather was wild and stormy, and a further delay was inevitable. Buckingham, forgetful of all propriety, careless of the trust confided to him by his friend and King, took advantage of this delay to steal back, on a frivolous pretext, to Amiens, and to Anne. His audacity little availed him. After one brief agitated interview he had to tear himself from his idol, whom he never saw again.

During the waiting time at Boulogne, Henrietta made acquaintance with some of her new subjects who had crossed the Channel to meet her, and who were greatly disappointed when they found her without her mother and sister-in-law, for, as one of them wrote, they had looked forward to seeing beauty not only in the future tense, but in the present and the preterperfect as well.[26] Buckingham, who up till now had been too occupied with Anne to pay much attention to the bride, and who was too much of a man of the world to care for the "future tense" of beauty, now, it seems, bethought him of winning the favour of the Queen of England. Certainly he secured a flattering reception for his mother, the Countess of Buckingham, who improved the occasion of her visit to France by reconciling herself to the Church of Rome. In later days Henrietta did not like the lady, but at this first introduction she received her "with strange courtesy and favour."[27] Nor was she alone in her kindness. Gaston of Orleans, who, in his mother's enforced detention at Amiens, had adhered to his plan of escorting his sister to the coast, paid the English lady the unusual compliment of visiting her, and the haughty and high-born Madame de Chevreuse actually waived her right of precedence in favour of the Buckinghams, whose family was of yesterday. It need hardly be said that such courtesy was greatly relished by the English visitors, who found no drawback to the happy intercourse with their new friends except in the Countess' ignorance of the French tongue. But even this difficulty was got over by the presence at Boulogne of Sir Tobie Matthew, who, though the son of a Protestant archbishop, was a Catholic and a citizen of the world whose linguistic talents, which were much admired in continental circles, were joined to a refined culture which rendered him a fitting intermediary between these distinguished persons. Fortunately all his time was not taken up by such duties, and he employed his leisure very profitably in writing a long letter to a lady acquaintance, which contains the fullest account we possess of Henrietta in her early youth before the cares of married life had come upon her.

Sir Tobie's ready and subtle pen drew such a sketch of the young Queen as, interpreted by the future, shows him to have been a keen analyst of character. Henrietta had grown a good deal during the past year; and though she was still small, "she sits," he wrote, "upon the very skirts of womanhood." Her mind and character were as yet undeveloped; but in the mingled gentleness and wit of her conversation, in the sweet courtesy shown to her inferiors, in the faithful affection which clung to the mother she had left, finally, in the courage and enterprise which, to the despair of her attendants, tempted her to a sea-trip in an open boat with her brother Gaston, we recognize the woman of later days, as in the girl of fifteen we see the beautiful queen of Van Dyck's portraits. "Upon my faith," wrote the worthy knight, giving utterance to a prophecy which unfortunately was not completely fulfilled, "she is a most sweet, lively nature, and hath a countenance which opens a window into her heart, where a man may see all nobleness and goodness; and I dare venture my head (upon the little skill I have in physiognomy) that she will be extraordinarily beloved by our nation and deserve to be so, and that the actions of her life which are to be her owne will be excellent."[28]

At length, after nearly three weeks of waiting, during which Henrietta's health and spirits flagged a little, the twenty-second day of June dawned calm and fair, and it was decided that the voyage should be made. Heretofore the Queen of England had been her brother's guest, but now, on the eve of embarking, she was delivered over to the care of the Duke of Buckingham, and the deed of consignation was signed by that nobleman and by the two French Ambassadors, to witness that the responsibility of the latter was ended. After the little ceremony the Queen was escorted to the quay by her brother. She went on board the beautiful ship, The Prince, which her husband had sent for her. The preparations for departure were quickly made. The moment came when she clung in a last embrace to Gaston. Then the sails were unfurled, and The Prince rode proudly out of Boulogne harbour. As Henrietta stood gazing upon the rapidly receding cliffs of France, did any foreboding of the future come over her, any presage of coming grief such as weighed upon the heart of her husband's grandmother, Mary of Scotland, on a similar occasion? Did any shadow of that day nearly twenty years later, when, a fugitive pursued by unrelenting foes, she would see again her native land, darken her spirit? We cannot tell. We only know that she had a moment's serrement de coeur, such as any girl might feel on leaving home, and that she was a little afraid of sea-sickness.

No inconvenience, however, arose. Charles' care had caused his bride's cabin to be so beautified that she might have imagined herself in her own Louvre rather than on the sea; and to complete the illusion a choice concert of delicate instruments and sweet voices was in readiness to amuse her. Moreover, no precaution was omitted which might ensure the safety of so precious a freight. The Prince and the vessels which formed her escort carried the most experienced pilots that could be obtained, whose work was so well done (though unfortunately it was never paid for) that in four-and-twenty hours the Channel was crossed. Dover harbour was safely made, and amidst a throng of interested spectators Henrietta Maria touched the soil of her new kingdom. It was noticed that immediately on her arrival the wind rose again with its former violence, and that the sea was again troubled as if for her alone they had stilled their raging. It was now evening, and as the Queen, in spite of the pleasures of the little voyage which seemed to have restored her health and spirits, confessed to great fatigue, she was allowed to retire at once and to postpone until the next day the meeting with her husband. M. de Chevreuse and M. de Ville-aux-Clercs wrote a formal letter to their master, informing him of his sister's happy arrival, while the King of England awaited, with as much patience as he could command, the morrow which was to give to his arms the bride who had tarried so long.