Considering the activity of the Catholics at the Court of Charles I and his Queen, it is not surprising that from time to time some one, man or woman, abjured the national faith to enter what it was so confidently asserted was the one true fold. When this occurred Protestant feeling was apt to run high, and the King, to whose indulgence the trouble was certainly in some measure due, usually expressed himself greatly shocked and indignant, and for a time, at least, withdrew his favour from the offender.

Perhaps the most remarkable of these cases was that of the Queen's friend, Walter Montagu. This gentleman, who had improved his natural talents by travels which led him to Madrid, to Paris and to Rome, was also much noticed by the King, to whom he was recommended by the fact that he had been a friend of Buckingham, and had actually been with the Duke when he was assassinated at Portsmouth. He was employed a good deal on secret service, and once he was able to render an important service, destined to influence both their lives, to Queen Anne of Austria. He had been sent by his own sovereign to stir up Savoy and Lorraine against France, and not even his position as envoy of England could save him or his dispatches from the emissaries of Richelieu or from the Bastille. Anne was implicated in these intrigues against her husband's country, and in an agony of terror, haunted by visions of the ignominious return to Spain with which she had several times been threatened, she sent to Montagu to learn the extent of her danger. The young Englishman, who had long worshipped the beautiful Queen,[185] gladly seized the opportunity of proving his devotion. Let the Queen have no fear, came back his chivalrous answer; she was not mentioned in the dispatches, and rather than that she should come to harm he would lay down his life. This sacrifice was not required, but Anne escaped detection and Montagu earned her lifelong gratitude. On his return to England after his enlargement, he made rapid progress in the favour of Henrietta Maria in spite of the connection with Buckingham, which can hardly have been a recommendation to her. So great was the kindness with which she regarded him, that no courtier seemed to have before him a more prosperous career, when towards the end of 1635 the Court was startled by the news that he had joined the Church of Rome. "Sure the Devil rides him,"[186] was the pithy comment of one of his acquaintance, John Ashburnham.

Walter, who at this time was living in Paris, defended his action in a highly argumentative letter which he addressed to his father, but which he took care to have distributed among his friends in many copies. The Earl of Manchester, who was said to be the best-tempered man in England, does not seem to have been able to support this vexation with equanimity, and he sent a somewhat acrid reply to his son, whose apologetics were also refuted by Lucius, Lord Falkland. Montagu had often enjoyed the intellectual hospitality of Great Tew, where men of wit and learning were accustomed to gather round this accomplished young nobleman, who was the more fitted for his task of controversy, inasmuch as his mother, his brothers and his sisters were among the "revolters to Rome," while his own fidelity to the Church of England had been for a while gravely in question.

But before Montagu received the remonstrances and arguments of his friends (which, as usually happens in such cases, proved quite unavailing), he had met with an adventure which connects his change of faith with one of the most curious episodes in the religious history of the period.

At this time all France was talking of the terrible fate of the Ursuline nuns at Loudun, who were manifestly possessed by the devil, and of the wonderful exorcisms whereby certain holy men were able to overcome his wiles and machinations. It was quite a fashionable amusement to ride out to Loudun, visit the "possessed," and witness the ceremonies of exorcism; and one day at the end of November, 1635, Montagu, accompanied by Thomas Killigrew, a literary friend whom he had met in Paris, set off and arrived in due course at the convent of which Satan had made his stronghold. There the two Englishmen, who were provided with a letter of introduction from the Archbishop of Tours, saw some of the marvels which are recorded in the Histoire des Diables de Loudun. The poor possessed nuns crawled about before them gnawing and bellowing like wild beasts and uttering fearful blasphemies, until the devil was forced to relinquish his prey by the application of various relics and the recitation of appropriate prayers. Strangers were always welcome at these spectacles, though sometimes they came away calling the poor nuns "impostorious," an epithet applied to them by honest John Evelyn, who knew them but by repute; but Montagu, as an Englishman of noble birth high in the favour of the Queen of France, was treated with special distinction, Father Surin, the exorcist, who had been told by the Archbishop of Tours "so to manage matters that the English lord might receive edification,"[187] even permitting him to hold the hand of one of the most distinguished of the patients, Mother des Anges, from whom eventually four demons were chased. On this occasion she was possessed by an evil spirit named Balaam, who had boasted that on his exit he would print his name upon his victim's hand. But the good Father, "judging it more proper that a religious person should bear on her hand the name of a saint than that of a devil,"[188] forced him to another course of action. As Montagu gazed upon the poor struggling woman, who required several persons to hold her in her paroxysm, he beheld, as he had been led to expect, the name of Joseph write itself on the back of her hand in small red dots. This strange occurrence, which seemed to him explicable on no natural ground, impressed his mind as much as it was intended that it should,[189] and he convert returned to Paris with an increased appreciation of the advantages of belonging to a Church which held in her hand the power of such marvels. He hastened to communicate his impressions to Richelieu, who took an interest in the nuns, and who was wont to extend a condescending patronage to the Englishman, whom in his heart he despised and distrusted. "I have seen at Loudun," wrote the new convert after relating his experiences, "proofs so miraculous of the power of the Church that above my belief I owe to God perpetual gratitude"; nor, he added, was he alone in his admiration. Several Englishmen "who were possessed by a spirit of falsehood and contradiction"[190] had come away confessing with him that the matter was miraculous. His friend Killigrew was not, it seems, one of these convicted gainsayers. The poet left Loudun quite unconvinced and rather sceptical about the whole affair, though he confessed that he could not account for the print on the nun's hand.[191]

Montagu's prospects of a great career in the service of the King were over. He loudly asserted his loyalty, but probably he hardly needed his father's stern reminder that though "the King's benignitie and goodnesse is always to interpret the best," yet "his Majestie hath a better opinion of those that are bred such [i.e. Catholics] than of those who become such by relapse."[192]

In effect, the King from that moment turned his back upon his servant, whom, it seems, he had never personally much liked. Not even the memory of Buckingham could cover such a failure of loyalty and patriotism.

But Walter was not to suffer by a change of faith, which some people, and among them Cardinal Richelieu (whom the convert's account of his experiences left untouched), were not slow to attribute to self-interest rather than to religious feeling. The Queen had always been fond of him on account of his singular charm of manner, which often fascinated even his enemies, and after his conversion she admitted him to a degree of intimacy and confidence which more than made up for the coldness of the King. It was felt, indeed, that for a while he had better remain upon the Continent, and he spent a pleasant time in Paris, where he showed his zeal for his new-found faith by professing himself ready to die for it, and by accompanying the King of France to Mass with a rosary hung round his neck. Thence he passed on to Turin, where he met with a warm reception from Henrietta's sister Christine, whose acquaintance he had made some years earlier when he was in Savoy as secret agent for the King of England. Now he was able to present to the Duchess a warm letter of introduction from her sister, and it appears that he did her some trifling service which led to a pleasant correspondence between the Courts of England and Savoy.

"Pardon me," wrote Henrietta, "that I have not written to you earlier ... to thank you ... for the favours which you have shown to Wat Montague. I know that you have done it for my sake, though truly he merits them for his own. He does nothing but praise the honours which you have done him, and I believe that he for his part would gladly lose his life for your service.... I am very glad that Wat has been able to do you some service. I am sure that he has done it with all his heart. As for his melancholy humour, that is perhaps some scruple of conscience which he will lose at Rome. Besides, he is not naturally very gay."[193]

He went to Rome, and whether he lost his scruples there or not he enjoyed himself very much, keeping a household of seven servants, dining at the English College with the prestige of a recent convert, and cultivating the further acquaintance of the Barberini who, when he was in the city before, had shown him distinguished attentions, which they now felt had not been thrown away. The Pope, who "was as much a pretender to be oecumenical patron of poets as Head of the Church,"[194] liked a convert who was also a wit, while Cardinal Francesco honoured his visitor with so warm a friendship that henceforth the two men carried on a frequent correspondence.[195] Still, despite these distractions, Montagu's eyes all the time were fixed upon England. His return thither was much desired by the papal party, and particularly by Con, who was aware of his influence over the Queen. She, for her part, used all her power with her husband to win his recall; but Charles, who never got over an affront, was not easily to be persuaded, and it was not until 1636 that the offender was allowed to return to take his place among Henrietta's servants and friends.

At the Court of the Queen he found plenty to occupy him. He was, above all things, a ladies' man—un petit fou, only fit to amuse ladies[196]—as Richelieu rudely wrote of him; and it was to be expected that in the religious struggles of the Court women should take a considerable part. Such a war always appeals to feminine feelings and logic, and in this case the leader of the army was a woman, and one who, though clever and energetic, was essentially feminine both in heart and mind. The agents of the Papacy were far too acute to neglect so obvious a source of influence. Not only was the Queen flattered in every way, but skilful efforts were made to win the noble ladies who surrounded her. The Anglicans were not blind to the danger, as appears from the fact that John Cosin, who spent most of his life in fighting the Catholics and in being accused of Popery by the Puritans, published a little book of Hours of Prayer, which the latter called by the pretty name of "Mr. Cozens his cozening devotions," to counteract the influence of the HorÆ, used by Henrietta's Catholic ladies. But the attacking party had certain advantages to which those of the defence could not aspire. The pictures, the relics, the medals, which Panzani and Con took care to distribute, were greatly valued by their recipients, and pleased even such great ladies as the Marchioness of Hamilton and the Countess of Denbigh. The latter of these ladies had long been unsettled in the established religion. It was indeed for her guidance and at her request that Cosin had written his Book of Hours. Many years were to elapse before she finally abandoned the Church of England, but no doubt these fascinating trifles played their part in preparing her spirit for the eventual change.

But there were women at the Court who were not to be won by such methods, but who entered into the thorny path of controversy. Such an one was Lady Newport, a relative of the late Duke of Buckingham. She had Catholic relatives, and, thinking perhaps to reclaim them, she attempted argument with no less a person than Con himself. The result was not very surprising. Lady Newport was no match for the subtle and insinuating envoy, and the upshot of her discussions with him was that one night, as she was returning home from the play in Drury Lane, she turned aside to Somerset House, where one of the Capuchin Fathers quietly reconciled her to the Church of Rome. Her feet were caught in the snare from which she had hoped to rescue others.

A storm of indignation arose. The irate husband hurried off to Lambeth to enlist the sympathy of Laud, who, nothing loath, laid the matter before the King and the Council. "I did my duty to the King and State openly in Council,"[197] wrote the Archbishop complacently to Wentworth. The names of Sir Toby Matthew and of Walter Montagu were freely mentioned in connection with the conversion, and though well-informed persons believed that Con alone was to blame, these two gentlemen did not escape a considerable measure of unpopularity. Laud, who, though he was anxious not to offend the Queen, was becoming alarmed at the boldness of the Catholics, went down on his knees to the King, praying for the banishment of Montagu, and for leave to proceed against Sir Toby in the High Commission Court. As for Con, he said bitterly, he knew neither how he came to Court nor what he was doing there, and therefore he would say nothing of him.

The King did not grant the Archbishop's modest request, but at the Council table he spoke so bitterly of both the culprits that "the fright made Wat keep his chamber longer than his sickness would have detained him, and Don Tobiah was in such perplexity that I find he will make a very ill man to be a martyr, by now the dog doth again wag his tail."[198]

The storm, indeed, quickly blew over. Lord Newport forgave his wife, who discreetly retired to France for a time. Even the Queen, who had been greatly angered at the treatment of the Catholics, particularly of Montagu, forgave the Archbishop and received him with the modified favour which was all she ever had to bestow upon him. Everything seemed to be as before, only perhaps Laud kept a more watchful eye upon the recusants, and two years later he was able to take a revenge at once upon the Queen and upon her priests by causing "two great Trusses of Popish books,"[199] coming from France for the use of the Capuchins, to be seized by the officers of the Court of High Commission.

But unfortunately the troubles which had been occasioned by the conversion of the Countess of Newport did not deter other susceptible ladies from following in her steps. "The great women fall away every day,"[200] sighed a good Protestant, writing to a friend in May, 1638. That his plaint was not without cause is evident from the following portion of a letter which was written by a foreigner who was then resident in England:—

"The Queen's Majesty has frequented her chapel of Somerset House all Holy Week with great concourse and rejoicing of these Catholics, to the great chagrin of the Puritans. Besides the accustomed ceremonies and devotions of this week, on Holy Saturday a score of ladies of the Court, of whom the chief was the Duchess of Buckingham, were seen to receive all the ceremonies of baptism (except the water) at the hands of a Capuchin Father, and afterwards the sacrament of confirmation at those of the Bishop of AngoulÊme, the Grand Almoner of the Queen. All was done within the chapel in the tribune of Her Majesty ... and in her presence. These ladies desired this kind of second baptism because they received the first at the hands of Protestant ministers, which they hold to be valid in a certain sense, and yet nevertheless mutilated."

The narrator goes on to speak of the anger of the Puritans, who complained bitterly of such proceedings and of the indifference of Charles to their clamour. "They will have to calm themselves," he adds, for "to-day the Queen has greater authority with the King than any one else."[201]

This was in the spring of the year 1638, a few months after the beginning of the Scotch troubles and two years and a half before the meeting of the Long Parliament.