"I was," Henrietta Maria[61] was accustomed to say in the days of her sorrow, "I was the happiest and most fortunate of Queens. Not only had I every pleasure which heart could desire, but, above all, I had the love of my husband, who adored me." The expulsion of her French attendants was the foundation of the Queen's married happiness. Away from the insinuations of Madame S. Georges and the gibes of the Bishop of Mende, she began, in an amazingly short time, to appreciate the good qualities of her husband, to which indeed she had never been totally blind; and, in the words of Madame de Motteville, to "make her pleasure of her duty." "The incomparable virtues of the King," wrote Holland at this time, "are working upon the generosity and goodness of the Queen, so that his Majesty should soon have the best wife in the world."[62] And somewhat later an exceptionally well-qualified witness[63] was able to say that the royal couple lived together with the satisfaction which all their loyal subjects ought to desire.

But still one thing was lacking to her full content. Her husband's nature was such that his full confidence and affection could only be bestowed upon one person at the time, and she knew well who held the first place in his heart and counsels. But she had not long to wait. On August 23rd, 1628, the knife of Felton ended, in a few moments, the dazzling career of the Duke of Buckingham. Charles' grief was deep and lasting. He had loved his favourite like a brother, and he never had another personal friend. But to Henrietta the news, though shocking in its suddenness, cannot have been unwelcome. She showed all due respect to his memory, but, as one of her friends wrote to Carlisle, her lamentations were rather "out of discretion than out of a true sensation of his death. I need not tell you she is glad of it, for you must imagine as much."[64]

Thenceforward there was nothing to check the growth of an affection which became the admiration of Europe. Charles' artistic eye had always dwelt with pleasure upon his wife's beautiful face, and her wit and readiness relieved his sombre nature much as Buckingham's bright audacity had, and now that the latter's hostile influence was removed, he was so completely captivated that the watchful courtiers soon perceived that the advent of another favourite was not to be feared, "for the King has made over all his affection to his wife."[65] The tokens of his love were innumerable. He delighted in making her gifts of jewels, of religious pictures, of anything which he thought would please her. He caused her portrait, painted by the hand of Van Dyck, to be hung in his bedroom, and as early as 1629 it was remarked that he wished always to be in her company. Nor was she behindhand in affection. It is pleasant to read that when the King was away for a few days his wife lay awake at night sighing for his return, and that, on another occasion when she was at Tunbridge Wells drinking the waters which were just coming into fashion, she was so home-sick for her husband after a few days' separation that she cut short her visit and went home to him, arriving after a long journey quite unexpectedly. Such little incidents show that Charles was not exaggerating when, in 1630, he wrote to his mother-in-law that "the only dispute that now exists between us is that of conquering each other by affection, both esteeming ourselves victorious in following the will of the other";[66] and that the virtuous Habington, the poet of wedded love, was not paying one of the empty compliments of a courtier when he appealed to the example of his sovereign to enforce the lessons of virtue:

Of course the Queen's great wish was to give the King, her husband, an heir to his throne. But for several years no children appeared, and it was not until the early spring of 1629 that Henrietta retired to Greenwich for her first confinement, and even then her hopes were disappointed, for the boy who was born only lived long enough to receive his father's name. She herself was very ill; but she showed the brave spirit which never deserted her in suffering, and her physician was able to report that she was "full of strength and courage."[68]

But the next year she was more fortunate, perhaps because, owing to her mother's representations, she had been induced to take great care of herself and to avoid exertion. This time she chose to remain at St. James's Palace, which was considered a very suitable place as being near London, and yet quiet and retired; and there, on May 29th, 1630, the boy was born who was afterwards Charles II. The delight of the parents and of the Court may be imagined, while the people at large, who had not been very anxious for the birth of an heir to the Popish Queen, now remembering that the baby was the first native-born prince since the children of Henry VIII, entered with zest into the public rejoicings, which took the usual form of bell-ringing, bonfires, and fireworks, and which were increased by a general pardon and release of prisoners. The christening, though it was a private ceremony, was worthy of the rank of the child who was the first prince to be born heir, not only of England, but of Scotland also. It took place in the chapel of St. James's Palace, in the middle of which a dais was erected bearing the silver font which the loyalty of the Lord Mayor of London had provided. The chapel and every room through which the christening procession had to pass were hung with choice tapestry, while the greatness of the occasion was marked by the munificent gift of £1000 which was offered to the nurse.

It was a happy day for Henrietta, but marred by one disappointment, and that a great one. It was the King of England's wish that, against the spirit of the stipulations of his marriage treaty,[69] his heir's christening should follow the rites of the Established Church. Nevertheless, two of the baby's sponsors, the King of France and the Queen-Mother, were Catholics. These and the second godfather, the Prince Palatine, were represented by three noble Scots, the Duke of Lennox—a member of a family that the Queen particularly disliked—the Duke of Hamilton, and the Duchess of Richmond; and the King, with characteristic unwisdom, desired to pay yet another compliment to his native land by appointing another Scotchwoman, Lady Roxburgh, to the office of governess to his infant son. But this lady, who was a Catholic and who, as lady of the bedchamber to the consort of James, was supposed to have exercised a baleful religious influence over her mistress, discreetly refused the offered dignity, which was passed on to the Countess of Dorset, whose husband was to fill the complementary position of governor to the royal child.

The baby inherited neither the stately beauty of his father nor the vivacious prettiness of his mother, though he was rather like his grandfather, Henry IV, whom Henrietta so greatly resembled. But his size and forwardness atoned for his lack of beauty. "He is so fat and so tall," wrote the happy mother to her old friend Madame S. Georges, "that he is taken for a year old, and he is only four months. His teeth are already beginning to come. I will send you his portrait as soon as he is a little fairer, for at present he is so dark that I am quite ashamed of him."[70] And again, somewhat later, her humorous delight in her baby comes out in another letter to the same correspondent. "I wish you could see the gentleman, for he has no ordinary mien. He is so serious in all he does, that I cannot help fancying him far wiser than myself."[71]

Henrietta's happiness was crowned by the birth of her son, which was followed as the years went on by that of other sons and daughters.[72] But apart from these domestic joys, in which she delighted with all the strength of her healthy nature, her life was a very happy one. To the pleasures of love she added those of friendship, and she had the art, all too rare among the great, of treating her friends with openness and confidence without losing her royal dignity. No sooner were her French ladies gone than she turned to those of her new country to fill their place, and perhaps her principal choice was not altogether a happy one.

No woman of that time was more brilliant than Lucy, Countess of Carlisle, whose romantic friendship with the great Strafford, which the imagination of a modern poet has immortalized, is only one of her claims to remembrance. A member of the border House of Percy, she incurred, by her marriage with a Scotch nobleman, the serious displeasure of her father, who, as he said, could not bear that his daughter should dance Scotch jigs. But her union with the distinguished Lord Carlisle, whom Henrietta speedily forgave for his share in her early troubles, was to her advantage at Court, where, in virtue of her ten years' seniority over the young Queen, she wielded the influence which often belongs to a married woman, who, though still in the bloom of her beauty, has had time to acquire a knowledge of life. That she was beautiful her portraits remain to testify; that in the mingled arts of coquetry and diplomacy she was so proficient as to challenge comparison with Madame de Chevreuse herself there is ample evidence in the fascination which she exercised, first over Strafford and then over Pym, who, neither of them were men to be caught by mediocre ability or charm; that she was cowardly, false, treacherous to her heart's core Henrietta's simple and affectionate nature had as yet no means of discovering.[73]

There was another man of less intellectual distinction whom she had once been able to lead captive by her charms, but who had deserted her for a royal mistress across the Channel. The story of her frustrated revenge, though it rests upon the authority of gossiping memoirs,[74] is so characteristic of the lady herself and of others who played a part in Henrietta's life, that it carries with it some degree of conviction, and moreover has an illustrative value apart from its literal truth.

Lady Carlisle was not a woman to forgive a faithless lover, even though that lover were the favourite of her King and had left her for the smiles of a foreign Queen. She determined to take a delicate revenge which should punish both the Duke of Buckingham and the Queen of France; and to compass this end she became one of the earliest of the English spies of Richelieu, who would be only too glad to welcome any proof of the levity of Anne of Austria.

The Countess laid her plans well. She noticed that Buckingham, after his return from France, was accustomed to wear some diamond studs which she had never seen before, and which she conjectured correctly to have been given to him by the Queen of France. She determined to gain possession of one of these jewels, that she might send it to Richelieu, who would be at no loss to draw his own conclusions. A Court ball gave her an opportunity, and before the evening was out she held in her hand the compromising ornament.

But she was to be outwitted after all by Buckingham, who, whatever his failings, was neither a tepid nor a dull-witted lover, and who was able to gauge, pretty correctly, the spite of the woman he knew so well. Taking advantage of his unbounded power with the King, he obtained the closure of all the ports of England for a certain time, during which interval he caused an exact replica of the stolen stud to be made, which, together with the remaining studs, he dispatched to Anne. The Queen of France was thus able to produce the jewels when her husband, their original donor, asked for them, and the accusing stud which the malice of her enemies sent to Paris was deprived of power to injure her.

It is not surprising that there were people at the Court of England who disliked the young Queen's intimacy with Lady Carlisle. That lady, whose talk with those of her own sex was ever of dress and fashion, had already, it was rumoured, taught Henrietta to paint, and she would, no doubt, lead her on to other "debaucheries"; but her influence seemed established. By the royal favour she enjoyed a pension of £2000 a year, and Henrietta's affection was so great that even when the Countess had the smallpox she could hardly be kept from her side. The Queen was the convalescent's first visitor, and a little later she permitted her favourite to appear at Court in a black velvet mask, so that she might enjoy her society at an earlier date than otherwise would have been possible, for it was not to be expected that Lady Carlisle would show her face in the circles of which she was one of the brightest ornaments until its beauty was fully restored. Such a woman could not fail to arouse jealousy. Buckingham's relatives, who served the Queen, feared and distrusted her, and perhaps her most formidable rival in Henrietta's affection was the Duke's sister, the pious and cultured Lady Denbigh, who, distasteful at first, had won her mistress' heart, and whose long fidelity, which neither years nor exile could diminish, contrasts favourably with the self-seeking of the more brilliant Lady Carlisle.

But the society of friends of her own sex was only one among the many joys which were Henrietta's during the happy years which elapsed between the troubles of her youth and the storm of the Civil War. For a few months after the departure of the French her husband seems to have kept her short of money,[75] but in 1627 she enjoyed the income of £18,000, which was guaranteed to her by the terms of her marriage contract. Moreover, large grants of manors and lands were made to her. Thus came into her possession the park of East Greenwich, whither she was wont to retire when she wished for country air and quiet, and yet could not be far from town; thus she acquired Oatlands in Surrey, the pleasant country-house of which nothing now remains, where she spent many happy days with her friends and children; thus she was able to call her own Somerset or Denmark House, her much-loved and beautiful London home which stood with other noblemen's houses facing the Strand, while behind lovely pleasure gardens sloped down to the still silver Thames. None of her other houses, probably, was as dear to her as this, where she kept an establishment befitting her rank as Queen-Consort, and where she frequently gave entertainments which reflected the taste and grace of their hostess, and to which she had the pleasure of inviting her husband, the King.

Henrietta was not a lady of literary tastes, and in spite of the fact that the Scotch poet, Sir Robert Ayton, was her private secretary, her patronage of general literature was confined to smiling on poets, such as Edmund Waller, who presented her with copies of complimentary verses, and to receiving the dedication of devotional works, usually translated from foreign originals. But to the drama she was devoted, and she specially liked the pretty and fashionable plays known as masques, of which the veteran laureate, Ben Jonson, wrote a number, and of which a younger poet, John Milton, produced in Comus, the most famous example. Henrietta was delighted with the great pageant and masque offered to their Majesties by the Inns of Court in 1633,[76] and even the grave Laud, when he entertained royalty at Oxford in 1638, provided a play, Cartwright's Royal Slave, for the amusement of his guests. But the Queen's pleasure was not only as a spectator. As a child she had been accustomed to take her part in private theatricals acted in the spacious salons of the Luxembourg, where Rubens' voluptuous women looked down upon the royal actresses. She brought the taste for these amusements with her to England. The first Christmas after her marriage she and her ladies acted a French pastoral at Somerset House, in which she took the leading part. "It would have been thought a strange sight once,"[77] commented sourly her new subjects.

But she was not to be deterred from her pleasures. She was always too careless of public opinion, and, as an acute and sympathetic observer remarked somewhat later, she was a true Bourbon in her love of amusement. To a lady whose dancing was something quite unusual, and whose sweet voice and skill in touching the lute testified to real musical taste, dramatic representations were naturally attractive. Her second English Christmas was enlivened by a masque, in which, as her French attendants were gone by this time, she had the assistance of her English friends. Her own band of players was always ready, and played for her amusement, now at Hampton Court, now at Somerset House, and it was owing to her influence and patronage that theatres increased to such an extent in the capital that the Puritan feeling of the City was aroused, which produced an order in Council "for the restraint of the inordinate use and company of playhouse and players." The playgoers were to content themselves with two theatres, of which one was to be in Middlesex and the other across the river in Surrey, while no plays were to be acted on Sunday, in Lent, or in times of common infection.

But the merrymakings of the Court became more instead of less as the years went on. In 1631 the Queen was so taken up with her Shrovetide play that she had no thoughts to spare for important news which came from France, and the next year she took the principal part in an elaborate play, The Shepherd's Paradise, which was written for her by Walter Montagu, who added to his fine manners and diplomatic skill some pretensions (if nothing more) to literature. This play, which is of the allegorical type so dear to the heart of the seventeenth century, is indeed a very poor one, and hardly contains a line which rises above the level of an indifferent verse-maker. It is, moreover, fatiguingly long, and the Queen must have found her part a great labour to learn, specially as, notwithstanding her seven years' residence in England, she was not yet perfect in the English tongue, and indeed was acting partly in order to improve herself in this necessary accomplishment.[78] Her companions in the play were her ladies, for not a man was admitted even to take the male parts. But in spite of difficulties, when the night of the representation came, everything went off merrily at Somerset House; all acted with great spirit, and the Queen was able to speak with playful conviction the oath of the new queendom to which she had been elected:—

The author of these lines was in high favour, not only with the Queen, but with the King, who went out of his way to congratulate his father, the Earl of Manchester, on such a son. This approval more than compensated for the castigation of the pastoral by another poet, whose verses, unlike Montagu's, still retain power to charm:—

There was another slight annoyance connected with the play which was, perhaps, even less felt than Suckling's wit, for what did it matter to Henrietta, to Montagu, or to any of the brilliant company, if a cross-grained puritanical lawyer such as William Prynne chose to insult the Queen by base and indiscriminate charges against actresses, thereby bringing upon himself the just punishment of the loss of his ears?

All disagreeable matters were, indeed, shut out from the brilliant drawing-rooms of Henrietta Maria, where the hostess set an example of free amiability at which strict persons looked a little askance. Those were most welcome who could most contribute by beauty, wit, or conversation to the entertainment of all. Lord Holland,[81] the most elegant dandy of the day, was often to be seen there chatting with the Queen about France or Madame de Chevreuse, to whom he was known to be devoted. Walter Montagu's ready wit and charming conversation always availed to win him a few smiles from his royal hostess. Henry Percy was welcomed as much, perhaps, for the sake of his sister, Lady Carlisle, as for any shining qualities of his own. Above all, Henry Jermyn, the Queen's greatest friend—and she was a woman of many men friends—was constantly to be seen at her side, building up a friendship which only death was to end.

It is hard to account for Henrietta's affection for this man—an affection so great that from that day to this scandal has been busy with their names. Henry Jermyn was not particularly well born, and he was neither radiantly handsome like Holland, nor clever and witty like Montagu. His abilities, which were severely tested in the course of his life, did not rise above mediocrity; his religion, such of it as existed, was of a very nebulous character, and his morals were of a distinctly commonplace type; indeed, one of his early achievements at Court was to run off with a maid of honour. To set against all this we only know that he was a man of very soft and gentle manners, such as made him a fitting agent in delicate negotiations, and that when the day of trouble came he showed considerable fidelity to the interests of a losing cause. That Henrietta should have lavished on such a man an affection and a confidence which some of her best friends, both now and later, thought exaggerated, is surprising; but she was never a good judge of character, and it must be remembered that personal charm is one of the most evanescent of qualities which cannot be bottled for the use of the historian.

That in these happy days Henrietta was one of the brightest ornaments of her own Court cannot be doubted. Old men, who remembered the later years of Elizabeth, must have contrasted the forced compliments offered to her faded charms with the free devotion laid at the feet of this young and beautiful woman,

Her beauty soon reached its prime and soon faded a little, so that in later days she used to say with a touch of pique that no woman was handsome after two-and-twenty. Though she was not tall, her figure was good, and her sweet face with its animated expression attracted all beholders. Fastidious critics did, indeed, find fault with her mouth, which was rather large, but they had nothing but praise for her well-formed nose, her pretty complexion, and, above all, for her sparkling black eyes which, as in the days of her girlhood, were her most striking beauty; so lovely were they that the Puritan Sir Simonds d'Ewes was fain to lament that their owner should be in the thraldom of Popery.[83]

With such beauty to adorn, no woman, much less a Frenchwoman and a queen, could be indifferent to dress. Henrietta took a great interest in the subject, and loved to deck herself in the beautiful robes which were then in fashion and which we know so well from the portraits of Van Dyck. The trousseau which she had brought with her to England bore witness to her brother's generosity, and was so ample and magnificent[84] that it may well have lasted her life, as trousseaux did in those days. Four dozen embroidered nightgowns with a dozen night-caps to match, four dozen chemises with another "fort belle, toute pointe coupe" thrown in for special occasions, and five dozen handkerchiefs seem an ample allowance of linen even for a queen, while the five petticoats which were provided made up in splendour what they lacked in number. The dozen pairs of English silk stockings, to which was added a dainty pair of red velvet boots lined with fur, were a luxury to which few could have aspired. But it was in the matter of gowns that Henrietta was most fortunate. No less than thirteen did she possess, apart from her "royal robe," and all were very magnificent, four being of gold and silver cloth on a satin foundation, whether of black, crimson, green, or "jus de lin," those of the two last-named colours being provided with a court train and long hanging sleeves. As for the robe of state, which perhaps is the same as that which had already done duty at the wedding, it surpassed the rest in splendour, being of red velvet covered with fleur-de-lis. A heavy mantle of the same material and colour lined up with ermine was evidently intended to be worn with it on ceremonial occasions.

Such toilettes would have been incomplete without magnificent jewels, of which the taste of the time allowed great display. With Mary de' Medici they were a passion, and her daughter, though she had no avarice in her nature and was to show herself capable of sacrificing jewels or any other material good for those she loved, yet was far from indifferent to the sparkle and colour of these beautiful ornaments. Many and valuable were the jewels which on her departure from France were handed over to the care of her dame d'atours, who must have found them an anxious charge. Fillets of pearls, chains of precious stones, diamond ear-rings, a magnificent diamond ring, all these were provided for the young Queen, besides such fine jewels as a cross of diamonds and pearls, an anchor studded with four diamonds, and a "bouquet" of five petals made of diamonds, together with a quantity of lesser trinkets, including several dozen diamond buttons to be used as trimmings for dresses. It may be safely conjectured that the Queen found plenty of use for a "grand mirror, silver-backed," which she brought over with her from Paris, and it is not surprising to learn that Father BÉrulle thought her rather too fond of dress.

A very girl Henrietta remained for several years after her marriage. Politics did not greatly interest her, and her trust in her husband was such that she turned aside from serious matters to employ herself in bright trifles, for, to the joye de vivre, which came to her from her father, she added a delight in all that was pretty, which recalls her descent from Florence and the Medici. She had, also, a taste for the grotesque which was common in her day, and she long kept at her Court a pugnacious dwarf, by name Geoffrey Hudson, who, later on, during the exile, caused her considerable embarrassment by killing a gentleman in a duel. There is ample evidence of her interest in dainty possessions and amusements. Now she is writing to Madame S. Georges for velvet petticoats from her Paris tailor, or "a dozen pairs of sweet chamois gloves and ... one of doe skin." Now she is receiving "rare and outlandish flowers," or asking her mother to send her fruit trees and plants for her gardens, whose "faire flowers" she so cherished as to merit the dedication by Parkinson the herbalist of his Paradisus Terrestris. Or, again, she is setting out with her lords and ladies to celebrate in good old English fashion the festival of May Day, and to witness all those pretty rights of country festivity over which the withering wind of the Civil War had not yet passed.

Nor was the Queen merely an idle spectator. No sooner did the first snowy May bush catch her eye than, with all the zest of a village maiden, she leaped from her fine coach, and breaking off a bough placed it merrily in her hat.

In all the revels of the Court Henrietta's was the moving spirit, but her sweetness of temper prevented her energy from degenerating into domineering. She was never really popular with the people at large, on account of her race and her religion, and there were murmurs now and then at Court about her undue preference for the Scotch. But that in her own circle she was tenderly loved there can be no doubt. Innocent,[86] yet so sprightly that she sometimes gave scandal without suspecting it; gay, yet with moments of sadness which only solitude could relieve; open and talkative, yet faithful to conceal secrets, "for a queen should be as a confessor, hearing all yet telling nothing"; sympathetic with sorrow, yet chaffing unmercifully the malades imaginaires of a luxurious Court; delicate in consideration for the feelings of the meanest of her servants, yet gifted with a caustic tongue used at times rather unsparingly. Such was Henrietta Maria, Queen of England.

But it is time to turn from the merely social and decorative aspect of Henrietta's married life to consider the interests and intrigues which, behind the brilliant show, were working and struggling.

One of the first questions which came up for settlement on the conclusion of peace between England and France in 1629 was that of the Queen's household, and the ambassador sent to London to arrange this matter turned out to be one of those fascinating but factious persons whom ill-fortune threw so often in Henrietta's path. To make things worse he found already in England another Frenchman more fascinating and more factious than himself, with whom he formed a close friendship. The Chevalier de Jars,[87] whose exile was the result of Anne of Austria's affection and of Richelieu's dislike, added to all his other charms a skill in the game of tennis, which commended him to the King of England, himself a proficient in the game.

Charles de l'AubÉpine, Marquis of Chateauneuf, arrived in London in 1629. He was a finished gentleman, and he was able quickly to win the confidence of the Queen whose heart always turned kindly to those of her own nation. But the ambassador was not slow in discovering that instead of having to defend an ill-used and discontented wife, as perhaps he had expected, he must adapt his diplomacy to the requirements of a happy married couple. "I am not only the happiest princess, but the happiest woman in the world,"[88] said Henrietta to him triumphantly, while Charles was careful to show his affection for his beautiful wife by kissing her a hundred times in the course of an hour as Chateauneuf looked on. "You have not seen that in Piedmont," said the King, turning to his foreign guest, "nor," he added, sinking his voice to a discreet whisper, "in France either."

Such news was gratifying to Mary de' Medici's maternal affection, and Chateauneuf dwelt in his dispatches upon the kindness of the King, on the pretty gifts of jewellery which he gave to his wife, and on the general happiness of the royal marriage. But the real objects of his mission, despite the personal favour with which he was regarded, were not advanced, for Henrietta had now no wish to receive a French establishment such as she had wept for so bitterly three years earlier.[89] She was now an English queen, and she was well content with the attendance which her husband provided for her. She confessed, however, that she should like to have a lady of the bedchamber to whom she could talk in her own language and who could come to church with her, "for the Countess of Buckingham and Madame Savage are often away, and the rest of my ladies are Protestants," she said.

She took a favourable opportunity of expressing her views to her brother's ambassador with the frankness she was accustomed to show towards those she liked. She invited him to stay with her at Nonsuch "as a private person serving the Queen," and one evening there, after supper, when Charles had ridden away to hunt, she requested her guest to walk with her in the park, to enjoy the coolness of the July evening. A long conversation followed. Chateauneuf spoke to the Queen of the great affection which her mother had for her, the daughter whom she had kept longest at her side, and whose marriage was her own work. Henrietta assented, and confessed that the jealousy she had once felt of her sister Christine was unfounded, but she quickly went on to speak of the happiness of her married life and of the religious freedom which she enjoyed. "I do not want another governess," she declared at last. "I am no longer a child to allow myself to be ruled."[90]

There were indeed many difficulties to be smoothed if Mary de' Medici was to realize her hope of bringing her young daughter again into tutelage. Both Charles and Henrietta saw what the aim of the French Government was, and they quietly defeated it. The ecclesiastical question, which will be discussed elsewhere, was, indeed, settled by a compromise favourable to Catholic interests, but no gouvernante arrived to oust the Countess of Buckingham, who held the position formerly occupied by Madame S. Georges; and the doctor, "a Frenchman and a Catholic," who came to supplant the excellent Mayerne, a learned French Protestant who served Henrietta faithfully for many years, found his position at the English Court so intolerable that he begged to be recalled.

But there is another aspect of Chateauneuf's brief stay in England which requires careful consideration. The French ambassador was believed to be devoted to the interests of Richelieu, or else, assuredly, he had never set foot in the English Court; but even Richelieu was sometimes mistaken, and the man whom he had chosen to represent him was probably already jealous of his patron, and already falling under the influence of the bright eyes of Madame de Chevreuse, the friend of Queen Anne, the ally of Spain.

It is probable also that Henrietta was beginning to look coldly upon Richelieu even before she met Chateauneuf, for other influences were working against him in her mind. The day of Dupes was fast approaching, when her mother would leave for ever the Court of France. Gaston of Orleans' persistent hostility to the Cardinal was not without its weight with his sister. BÉrulle, whose memory she deeply revered, had died in 1628, summing up the experience of a lifetime in his dying words, "As for the Court it is but vanity"; it was well known that he was at enmity with the man who had raised him from the simple priesthood to the dignity of the cardinal's purple. Taking all these things into account, it is not surprising that the young Queen of England turned no unwilling ear to the insinuation of Chateauneuf and the hints of Jars, and the result was an intrigue which only became apparent when the ambassador had returned to France, leaving the fascinating Chevalier to carry on the work which he had begun.

The interaction of French and English politics now becomes of great importance. Charles never allowed another to occupy the place of Buckingham, either in his heart or in his counsels; but at this time his chief dependence was upon the Treasurer, Richard Weston, who became Earl of Portland in 1633; a dull, safe man, who could be trusted to prevent the disagreeable necessity of calling a Parliament. He was, certainly at the beginning of his career, rather pro-Spanish in his sympathies, and he died a Catholic; but his aversion from war so recommended him to Richelieu, who knew that while he held the reins of power England would not interfere in his continental designs, that an understanding and almost a friendship gradually grew up between them.

Henrietta never liked Weston. Perhaps she was jealous of her husband's regard, and saw in him a potential Buckingham; certainly she disliked his close-fisted ways, which curbed her extravagance, always considerable, in money matters. She allowed a cabal of discontented spirits to gather round her, whose double aim was the overthrow of the powerful minister in England and of the far greater statesman across the Channel. That cabal, founded in French opinion by Chateauneuf,[91] included most of the Queen's personal friends. Holland,[92] who was jealous of Weston, and whose devotion to Madame de Chevreuse accounted for his attitude to Richelieu, without taking into account a warm friendship with Chateauneuf; Montagu, who laid such portion of his homage as he could spare from Queen Anne at the feet of the same seductive lady, and who had been and was "very well" with Monsieur the factious Duke of Orleans; Jermyn and Henry Percy—these are some of those[93] implicated in Henrietta's first attempt at the fascinating game of diplomatic chicanery. To them must be added Madame de Vantelet, whom Chateauneuf thought a little neglected, but who, as the only French lady of the royal household, had considerable influence over her mistress, and whose partisanship became so marked that the pension assigned to her by the King of France was taken away.

The difficulties began with the arrival of Chateauneuf's successor, the Marquis of Fontenay-Mareuil, who threw himself on the side of Weston, and who soon found that he had to reckon with a foe in the person of the Chevalier de Jars. He met with little less opposition from Madame de Vantelet and from Father Philip, who disliked the ecclesiastical policy of the ambassador, and who was himself disliked by the party of Richelieu, because as a subject of King Charles he was quite independent of France and could not be persuaded to use the great influence over the Queen which his position gave him in the interests of a foreign Government.[94] The Queen proved even more intractable. She refused to dismiss Father Philip at her eldest brother's request, and it was an ominous sign that in 1631 an agent of Monsieur was in England, even though Charles took care that his presence should be reported to the French authorities. When the news arrived of the execution of the gallant Montmorency, Henrietta spoke with pity of his fate, while her husband, who had many of the instincts of absolutism, readily allowed that it was a painful necessity.

Her friendship for Jars continued unabated in spite of the open enmity which that worthy showed to Fontenay-Mareuil, whose position was only rendered tolerable by the kindness of the King, who had not yet fallen under the domination of his wife in affairs, however much he might kiss and caress her. As for Henrietta, she was openly rude to the hapless ambassador. She frankly told him that though she was obliged to receive him in his official capacity, out of respect for her brother, she would not discuss her private affairs with him, and wished to have as little to do with him personally as possible. It is not surprising that he was anxious to return to his own country.

Nor is it surprising that he took steps to clear himself from the name freely bestowed upon him. Apart from the clique of Chateauneuf's personal friends, of whom the chief perhaps were Holland and Montagu, he was fairly liked at Court, and he believed that, could he but unmask the intrigues of the Chevalier and of his patron Chateauneuf, he might yet triumph over his enemies. With this object in view he descended to a trick hardly in keeping either with his rank or with his office. One evening when he knew that the Chevalier would be away from home, he caused two of his servants to enter the rooms of his rival, where they carried on a burglarious search, which ended in a small cabinet containing letters finding its way into the hands of the ambassador.

Jars, as was only to be expected, was exceedingly angry, but he believed that his influence with the King and the Queen would ensure his redress. They did indeed take up the matter with great zeal, and, for a few days, nothing else was talked of at Court. But when Charles came to question Fontenay-Mareuil, the affair assumed a different complexion. The ambassador did not attempt to deny the theft. He only said coolly that since Jars was a subject of the King of France, and since he had reason to believe that he was compromising his sovereign's interests, he was at liberty to take any steps which seemed good to him to discover the truth. The King of England was much struck by this reply, which fitted in well with his own theory and practice of statecraft. Moreover, much as he personally liked Jars, he distrusted the political party to which he belonged. He therefore determined to take no steps in the matter. He showed marked cordiality to Fontenay-Mareuil, and the Chevalier, to his infinite chagrin, had to submit to the loss of his papers, which were probably sent to Richelieu to help forward the disgrace of Chateauneuf.

For in the early spring of 1633 the Court of England was startled by the news of the arrest of that nobleman and of the Chevalier de Jars, who had returned to France after the above incident. In a moment the power of those who were the Queen of England's friends in her native land seemed destroyed. Chateauneuf was sent into captivity at AngoulÊme. His fair charmer, Madame de Chevreuse, was forced into uncongenial retirement, which ended in her dramatic escape, dressed up as a man, across the Pyrenees into Spain. While for Jars was reserved a still harder lot. Two years of rigorous imprisonment in the Bastille were followed by a sentence of death, pronounced by one who was known as the "bourreau du Cardinal." It was only as the victim kneeled upon the scaffold awaiting the stroke of the executioner that he received, by the tardy mercy of Richelieu, a reprieve from death, a reprieve so sudden and startling that for many minutes he was too stunned to appreciate his good fortune, which, however, was none too great, for he was reconducted to his prison, whence all the efforts of his friends, headed by the Queen of England, were long unavailing to drag him.

It was not indeed likely that Richelieu would look favourably on a request proferred by Henrietta, for he was beginning to feel that distrust of her which never left him to the end of his life. Among the letters which the affaire Chateauneuf placed in his power were many written by English hands, those of Holland, of Montagu, of the Queen herself. He knew also that the royal lady had spoken slighting words of him, saying that Chateauneuf was no participant of the evil counsels of the Cardinal, and that after the death of the latter he would be able to fill his place much more worthily. This information, moreover, came from an unimpeachable source, none other than the Treasurer of England. Weston indeed watched with no ordinary interest the course of events in France, and it is not surprising that he did not scruple to report to the Cardinal the uncomplimentary remarks of the Queen of England. The enemies of Richelieu were his own, and their overthrow prepared the way for his victory, which, though on a smaller scale and of less dramatic quality, was equally decisive.

In the spring of 1633, not long after the fall of Chateauneuf, Jerome Weston, the son of the Treasurer, was on his way home from Paris, whither he had been as ambassador. On the journey he happened to fall in with a letter which he thought to be written by the Earl of Holland, and remembering the hostility of that nobleman to his father, he took possession of it. On opening the packet he found within a letter addressed in the Queen's handwriting, which he did not presume to unfold; but on his arrival in London laid it, just as he had found it, in the hands of the King.

It appears that the letter was of trifling importance, being nothing more than one of the many which, at different times, Henrietta Maria wrote on behalf of the Chevalier de Jars to Cardinal Richelieu. But Holland, not unnaturally perhaps, felt that he had been insulted, and he probably thought that the King would see in Jerome Weston's conduct an affront to his wife. In a moment of imprudence he sent a challenge by the hands of Henry Jermyn to the Treasurer's son, asking for satisfaction. The latter, instead of sending an answer in the way usual in such cases, informed his father of what had occurred, and Portland without delay laid the matter before the King. This trifling incident thus became the touchstone of the respective influence of the Treasurer and of the cabal which was trying to ruin him. It was the former who came off victorious. Charles' trust in his minister was not to be shaken, while he was exceedingly angry with Holland. To his punctilious mind it seemed intolerable that a nobleman of his own council should send a challenge to one of his servants on account of an act performed in his official capacity. His orders were sharp and stern. Jermyn, as an accessory, was to be confined in a private house, while Holland was ordered to retire to the beautiful mansion at Kensington, which he had acquired with his wealthy wife Isabel Cope, and there to remain during His Majesty's pleasure. All believed that the day of the brilliant Earl was over, and that his friends, particularly Montagu and Madame de Vantelet, would share in his fall. Holland House was indeed a gilded prison, but the prisoner was made to feel that the sentence had not been pronounced in play, for when he showed a disposition to amuse himself with his friends, Charles sent a stern rebuke, forbidding him to receive company. Everything pointed to a complete withdrawal of royal favour.

But Henrietta, as she proved in the case of Jars and of many others, was a good friend. She was truly attached to Holland, who was not only possessed of unrivalled grace of person and manner, but was connected in her mind with the happy memory of her marriage. Exerting all the strength of her growing influence over her husband—an influence which was increased by the fact that she was about again to become a mother[95]—she succeeded in winning the pardon of the now repentant Earl. Handsome and brilliant as ever, Holland reappeared in the drawing-rooms of the Queen, and his accomplices, Jermyn, Montagu, and Madame de Vantelet, seemed to be in as high favour at Court as before the occurrence of this untoward event.

But, nevertheless, Portland was the victor. Charles' eyes had been opened to see the machinations of the enemies of his minister who, notwithstanding the smothered hostility of the Queen and her circle, preserved his confidence until his death. Henrietta's first attempt to play the game of politics—an attempt into which she had been drawn by her friends with probably little volition or comprehension of her own—had ended on both sides of the Channel in sorry failure. In France her friends were scattered and exiled, and the great Cardinal was stronger than ever; in England she had proved her power to touch her husband's heart, but not to rule his counsels.

But other days were coming. In March, 1635, Portland died. As Charles grew older his disposition to keep the direction of affairs in his own hands grew also, and as Buckingham had had no real successor so Portland had none. Instead, his heritage of influence and power was divided among several heirs, one of whom was the Queen of England. Hardly was the Treasurer in his grave when Henrietta Maria began to show an interest in political concerns which she had not previously displayed.

She was now twenty-five years of age, and her early marriage had brought with it an early development of character. She had outgrown the levity of extreme youth, and her acute and energetic mind was beginning to feel and respond to the stimulus of affairs. She had not lived for ten years with her husband without being aware of the difficulties of his sombre and obstinate character,[96] but she knew also his great love for her, and she was encouraged by the fact that her devoted servant the Earl of Holland had been restored to more than his former place in Charles' confidence. Perhaps the hostile influence which she most feared was that of Laud, for whom the King had a regard not only as an ecclesiastic after his own heart, but as a friend and protÉgÉ of Buckingham. There was also another and a stronger mind from which she instinctively shrank, but Wentworth was far away in Ireland, and, at the time, seldom came into personal relation with her. But though it is unquestionable that the disappearance of Portland marks a change which came over the spirit of the Queen, yet that change may easily be exaggerated. It was, moreover, very gradual, and only became complete in the dark days which preceded the Civil War. For the present, though the instincts of intrigue inherent in the Medici blood were aroused, yet her chief interests remained those of the normal young married woman, her husband, her babies, her home. If she entered into political matters, as she had not done in earlier years, yet her efforts were intermittent, and two independent witnesses attest with regret the indifference of her attempts to win over the Ministers of State, and the slightness of the part which she played in public life.[97] Nevertheless, as the death of Buckingham gave her ascendancy over her husband's heart, so that of Portland paved the way for the ascendancy which she gradually acquired over his mind.

It was not to be expected that Henrietta's development of character, slight and gradual though it might be, would escape the vigilant eyes fixed upon her from across the Channel. Portland's death was a blow to Richelieu, who, with a European war about to begin, could not afford the hostility of England. He did not like Henrietta, but he was too acute not to appreciate that her character was of the feminine type, which is largely dependent upon personal influence, and he hoped that the removal of Chateauneuf and Jars would lead to a return on her part to such sentiments as he conceived to be fitting towards her native land, in other words, towards himself, for to the Cardinal even more than to Louis XIV "l'Etat c'est moi." When he heard how all the courtiers of England, and even the Archbishop of Canterbury himself, were trying to win her favour, he felt that he must take some pains to recapture her. His schemes—the details of which may be read in the dispatches which he wrote and received—were not quite unsuccessful. Henrietta, for a few years, did show a certain friendliness towards him, and perhaps, had he complied at once with her wishes in releasing Jars, he might have won her real friendship.[98] Her friends in England were not neglected. The unstable Montagu, who at this time had great influence over her, and who was attempting, quite unsuccessfully, to make Richelieu forget the part he had played in Chateauneuf's schemes, was rewarded for his shuffling by the offer of a pension, which, however, the Queen thought it prudent he should refuse.[99] Certainly grievances of her French servants were removed. Madame de Vantelet's pension was restored, while in 1637 Francis Windbank, one of the Secretaries of State, who was becoming involved in her schemes, was delicately asked to accept a present in lieu of the less respectable pension.[100]

But Richelieu, in spite of all his schemes, was by now aware of one fact, which redounds greatly to Henrietta's credit: he recognized that she would never be an Anne of Austria, an alien and spy in the Court of her husband, and that all he could hope for was to win her as a friendly ally who should counteract in some degree the pro-Spanish tendencies of the King. "The Queen of England," ran the instructions given to an ambassador who was starting for London, "shows herself always very well disposed towards France. But care must be taken, and she must not be required to act beyond that which she considers may contribute to the common good of the two crowns."[101]

For as the years rolled on the union between Charles and Henrietta proved to be no passing affection born of youth and beauty, but the deep and increasing love of true marriage. It was as impossible for Henrietta as for any other good wife, whether princess or peasant, to consider a course of action apart from the interests of her husband, and those who had dealings with her had to learn, sometimes painfully, that her first consideration must always be he of whom she was accustomed to write, with pretty formality, as "le roi Monseigneur."

She is considered, and rightly, to be a Queen of Tragedy. But in any estimate of her life it must be remembered that she had at least twelve years of such happiness as seldom falls to the lot of a royal woman. If later she was to find out that

now she was learning

and thus rank and riches, which to the unhappy are but an aggravation of their misery, could yield to her their truest pleasure. Moreover, she never had to learn, like poor Anne of Austria, how

Sorrow, when it came, stripped her bare of the mocking accessories of joy.