Loyal in Love: Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I

COLOMBES

The years have now begun to slip by me quickly. I feel that I am no longer a participant but a looker-on, living on the fringe of affairs, which was strange at first as I had for so long been at the center of them.

Henriette had no need of me now. She was the star of the Court. The King was in love with her and sometimes, I suspected, she with him. Philippe…well, we had always known that he would be an indifferent husband, being more attached to his handsome men friends than to any woman. Henriette shrugged that aside; she had become very worldly, quite unlike the quiet little girl who used to cause me so much anxiety.

She seemed indefatigable. She designed and wrote ballets for the King’s entertainments; and she was always at the center of these for she danced exquisitely. The new life she was leading had beautified her considerably. People said that her complexion was like a mingling of jasmine and roses and that she had power in her sapphire blue eyes to command the devotion of all men. Certainly Louis was her admirer, deferring to her decisions until his little Queen was so jealous that she complained to her mother-in-law. Anne had always hated controversy and she spoke to me about Henriette’s friendship with the King. “Henriette must not always be at the King’s side,” insisted Anne. “That is the Queen’s place.”

I listened and commiserated and all the time was secretly pleased that my daughter was now the most attractive and desirable woman at Court. I told Anne that I would tell Henriette what she had said, but was it not the King who set the pace and should she not speak to him?

But I was very contented and there was nothing I liked to hear more than of Henriette’s conquests.

At that time Louis dominated her life and I was sure she did his. I would grow furious contemplating what an ideal pair they would have made. They were always together and people were beginning to say: “Where the King is, there is Madame.”

She was very happy at that time and her happiness was the greater because of the deprivations of her youth. Her beloved brother was safe on the throne, and the King of France was in love with her. She had the deep affection of the two most powerful men in Europe.

She had a great influence over the King. Through her the Court became more intellectual. She had always been interested in writers and musicians and she made Louis so too. She brought Lulli the musician to the Court. She patronized Molière. Madeleine de Scudery’s works were being widely read. The Court was not only becoming more elegant but more cultured. And it was all due to Henriette.

Those were the triumphant days of Henriette’s life and what would have been the outcome I cannot say if she had not become pregnant. I knew enough of her to believe that the child was Philippe’s and not Louis’s. Henriette was like me; she wanted the trimmings of courtship not the culmination. I had never liked that side of marriage, much as I had cared for Charles, and I could happily have dispensed with it altogether had it not been my duty to produce a family. Henriette was the same. When her child was born, it must be that of her husband.

But pregnancy was not easy for her. She became ill. I took her with me to the Palais Royal. Louis came to see her and to avoid gossip we arranged that one of Henriette’s ladies-in-waiting should be seen with him so that it might seem he had come to visit her.

This was an insignificant girl who was a little lame and quiet and unassuming. Her name was Louise de la Vallière; and now we know what the outcome of that was!

In due course Henriette gave birth to a child—a daughter—and neither Philippe nor Henriette could disguise their disappointment that she was not a boy.

Henriette was recovering from her confinement but she was a little sad. Rumors about the King and La Vallière were numerous. Then there was news from England. Charles had married Catherine de Braganza and I knew it was time for me to pay a visit to England.

Henriette accompanied me as far as Beauvais. She was regaining her health rapidly and although she still seemed frail was as beautiful as ever. It was a great wrench for us to part and we both wept bitterly; I think she would have given a great deal to come with me and she sent many messages for me to give to Charles.

I had in my party a young man of about thirteen or fourteen. He was known as James Crofts because when his mother, the notorious Lucy Walter died, he had been put in the charge of Lord Crofts, who passed him off as a kinsman, although everyone knew he was the King’s son.

James himself was well aware of it and if I knew anything he was going to make sure that nobody forgot it. He was extremely handsome and had a decided look of the Stuarts. If Charles had wanted to deny paternity—and he certainly did not—he would have scarcely been able to.

James Crofts was amusing, bright, and with a manner so audaciously regal and at the same time engaging that I could not help liking him.

I was looking forward to meeting my new daughter-in-law. Henry Jermyn had been to England recently and had brought back excellent reports of her, and since she was a Catholic that delighted me. I hoped she would have some influence on Charles.

The crossing was atrocious as it usually was for me. I hated crossing the sea and was going to England as a duty; I much preferred my native land and would never forgive the English for turning us out and the barbarous treatment of Charles. My son might forget it; I never could. He seemed to have cast off all resentments and was perfectly happy; and although he had been forced to travel widely on the Continent, England appeared to be his natural home.

It was a great relief to step onto dry land and we went by stages to Greenwich where the King and his wife were waiting to greet us.

It was a wonderful moment to stand face to face with him and to feel his kiss on my hand and cheek. He always startled me when I saw him after a lapse of time. It was his imposing height, I think, and that dark ugly face which always baffled me because it was so charming.

And there was his Queen! I embraced her warmly. Henry had not lied. She was delightful.

I said to her: “I should not have come to England but for the pleasure of seeing you. I shall love you as my daughter and serve you as a queen.”

The soft eyes filled with tears and she looked surprised and relieved and I wondered whether her life in England was all that a happy wife’s should be.

She replied that in love and obedience none of my children—not even the King—should exceed her. Which I thought charming.

Charles smiled at her indulgently and I could see that she was in love with him as I supposed most women would be. I hoped that he would make her happy; but I had heard many rumors about the life he led and I knew that he had always been promiscuous. When he was wandering in Europe perhaps he could be forgiven, but it must be different now that he had a Queen and was restored to the throne.

He was absolutely delighted and amused by James Crofts and made much of him, which I thought he should not have done quite so openly before the Queen. I promised myself I would point this out to him when we were alone.

During his brief stay at Greenwich, Charles asked if I would like to have Somerset House as a residence while I was in England. “I know you were always fond of the place,” he said; and I told him I should like that very much.

In due course Charles and the Queen returned to Hampton Court and it was arranged that I should follow later. I would need a little rest, Charles said, after the rigors of the journey, for he knew how I loathed those sea crossings.

I was not sorry to have a quiet time to myself.

James Crofts had gone off with the King’s party and just a few of my intimates remained so I looked forward to a few peaceful days before we moved on. It was pleasant to sit quietly overlooking the river and talk in a desultory way to Henry, whose conversation I always found so amusing.

Henry was a man who always seemed to know what was going on. He could sniff out scandals and rumors and devote himself to the task of discovering the truth behind them; and it was only to be expected that he must know of the troubles between the King and his new Queen.

I said that I thought Charles was extremely lucky in his Queen and how delighted I was that they seemed so happy.

“Ah,” said Henry, “I am not sure that the Queen is so happy.”

“What do you mean?” I demanded.

Henry’s eyes were sparkling. He loved imparting gossip, although as this concerned my son he was quickly looking rather grave.

“The Queen is hurt and angry.”

“She did not appear to be so.”

“She would not wish you to know of her troubles as soon as you arrived.”

“What troubles are these?”

“The King’s mistress. It is Barbara Castlemaine who is at the root of the trouble.”

“I have heard her name.”

“Dearest Majesty, who has not heard of her name? She has completely enslaved the King. She is a most handsome woman…the most beautiful in England, some say…and a virago into the bargain. It is she who is causing the trouble between the King and the Queen.”

“She was his mistress…was she not?…before the Queen arrived in England?”

“Before and after, dear lady. And now the King wants to make her one of the women of the bedchamber.”

“No! Surely not.”

“I will tell you what happened. When the list was presented to the Queen, Barbara Castlemaine’s name was at the top of it. She struck it through. Later the King led in the Castlemaine and presented her to the Queen, who received her graciously and gave her her hand to be kissed. She was not familiar with English, and although she must have heard of the Castlemaine and her place in the King’s affections, she did not recognize her name when it was written down and so behaved in a welcoming way. Then one of her women whispered to her who the lady was, and the Queen was so shocked and tried so hard to restrain her feelings that the blood gushed from her nose and she fell to the floor in a fit.”

“The poor child! Charles should have known better.”

“Charles was horrified at her behavior. You see, Madam, he is completely under the spell of the Castlemaine. He said the Queen had behaved badly and incorrectly and should make amends to the lady.”

“Charles said that!”

“I agree that it was most unlike him but when the best of us are in the wrong we seek to make our actions right and perhaps act as we would not in other circumstances. Catherine however refused to receive the lady, and Charles insists that she should.”

“It is monstrous!” I cried.

“Clarendon tried to persuade the King that he was acting unkindly and the King doubtless knew it and it was against his nature to act so, but as I said he is the slave of my lady Castlemaine.”

I was very angry because I had taken a great liking to the Queen on sight. I thought she was a gentle woman who would be amenable and want to learn; moreover she was an ardent Catholic and I thought that she would be a good influence on Charles.

What a situation to find as soon as I arrived in England! I sat for a long time talking it over with Henry.

“Whenever I come to this country there is trouble,” I said. “Oh, Henry, how I long to be back at Chaillot or Colombes.”

Then I thought of all that was happening in France and of my dear Henriette, whose life was presenting many problems, and suddenly I felt old and for the first time in my life indifferent to the actions of my family. They were men and women now—no longer children. I felt a great urge to cut myself off from trouble, to live in that little château of Colombes where I could surround myself with trusted friends. Most of them were as old as I—or almost. We understood each other. There we could live in peace.

My great desire now was to go back there. I did not want conflict with Charles for I had a feeling that he would always get the better of me. I did not want to quarrel with James and I knew we should if I attempted to tell him where he was wrong. And Henriette had shown me that even she would go her own way. They were the only ones left to me and I did not want to quarrel with any of them.

It seemed a wise decision. Charles and Catherine sorted out their differences about Lady Castlemaine. He had his way—I have come now to think he always did—and Catherine, while accepting Lady Castlemaine and his other mistresses, did not seem to love him any less.

Charles had arranged for me to stay at Greenwich until Somerset House could be ready. Like many beautiful places in England it had been ravaged by Oliver Cromwell and for a while I lived between Greenwich Palace and Denmark House. I was pleased when I could get into Somerset House which was not until late summer. I found that since I had decided to let them all go their own way and not worry too much about the mistakes they were making, they all seemed to like me so much better.

I was very fond of the Queen and she visited me often. She was a sad little creature and I am sure felt very much alone. She longed for a child but although she had miscarriages and so could not be barren, she did not seem to be able to produce a healthy one. It was a great disappointment to Charles but far more so to her. He knew he was not at fault because he had numerous bastards and he never refused to recognize any of them.

I longed to be in my native land. I hated the London winters which seemed so cold, but most of all I disliked the fogs. They affected my chest and I told myself that I must get back to France before long. I was expected to live in England mainly because Charles had given me a pension and Clarendon had wanted the money spent in England to give employment to English people. To have spent it in France would have been tantamount to the English crown’s paying money to that country. So although there was no objection to my visiting France now and then, it was expected of me to make my home in England.

I was a little happier when I was installed in Somerset House. The Roundheads had actually occupied it and at first that made it distasteful to me. They had broken up the beautiful rooms but as was to be expected their most devastating work had been in my chapel; but a great deal of reconstruction had been done and I began to take an interest because I was introducing my own designs. I had the ceilings exquisitely painted and chandeliers of gilded brass installed. It was becoming magnificent and I was able to live there royally. I had crimson silk hung at the windows and beautiful screens made to keep out the draughts which blew in from the river. There was one room with a domed roof overlooking gardens which ran down to the river and from this there was a private staircase which led to a room where I could take hot and cold baths. Gardeners had set to work in the grounds, making paths down to the river so that I could walk without getting my feet muddy. I wanted to make it as different as it possibly could be from when those men had filled it with their ugly presence.

Then I had my household with my dear Henry Jermyn, Lord St. Albans, as Chancellor, at the head of it; I had my Gentlemen of Music, Master of Games and Buckhounds and Bows. Whenever I went out it was in my Sedan chair or coach and I was accompanied by my halberdiers in black cassocks with embroidered gold badges; I had my twelve liveried bargemen to row me when I decided to travel by river. I lived royally. I thought I owed that to myself and to Charles. I wanted to wipe out forever the indignities I had suffered; and for so long I had lived parsimoniously saving everything I could to bring back the King to England.

Well, now it was done and it was my turn to enjoy luxury, to remind myself that I was no longer a poor relation. I was a royal Queen and now I would live like one.

I was very much in debt when Somerset House was finished and that disturbed me a little. Then I saw that it gave me an excuse to live quietly which I had discovered was what I wanted.

Many people came to see me and boats were constantly passing along the river. I gave concerts and in summer evenings the strains of sweet music would float along the river. There was always plenty to see from my windows because there was so much activity on the river. I was finding that I could be much happier if I did not allow myself to be tempted to tell people how they should act. I enjoyed my new role—observer rather than participator. Henry Jermyn agreed with me. When I looked back I realized that he had always been like that. Perhaps that was why he was a happy man. He had become fat and suffered from gout but he was the dearest companion and I enjoyed his company better than that of any other person.

I rarely made a decision now without first consulting him. I suppose that was why there were rumors about us. There were many who were absolutely sure that we were married. Some even credited me with having had a child by him. We laughed together at these rumors but we took no heed of them and continued to enjoy our pleasant relationship.

The Duchess of York had a daughter. She was called Mary and it seemed as though she, unlike her brother who had lived only a few months, would survive. I did hope so. It is so tragic when children cannot seem to get a grip on life and I had to agree that Charles was right when he had said that Anne was a good woman. Unfortunately James had tired of her and he had his mistresses just like his brother. Their behavior really did give the Court a reputation for immorality. But it was none of my business. I had learned to hold myself aloof from it now. I was still wondering how I could get back to Chaillot and Colombes. I longed to see Henriette and my good friend Queen Anne.

Because poor Queen Catherine did not seem to be able to get a child, Charles created James Crofts Duke of Monmouth. It was in a way an insult to Catherine, calling attention to the fact that the fault must be hers as he could get a handsome healthy boy like James Crofts from another woman.

There was a great deal of speculation about Charles’s making Monmouth his heir. He would have had to legitimize him for that but I supposed he could easily do so.

Nothing came of that. Charles had a habit of shelving controversial matters and when I think how he came through I wonder whether that is not the wisest way.

Lady Castlemaine, I was glad to see, was losing her hold on him, which must have been good news for Catherine, but he was obsessed by a new beauty—Frances Stuart. It would always be like that with Charles and I wished Catherine could accept that fact. But it was difficult for her and I knew full well that had I been young again and in her place I should never have done so. I daresay I would have made his life a misery. He would never have had that calm resignation from a woman like me.

The winter which began in 1664 and went on into 1665 was a cold one. I became ill and had to take to my bed for a long time. My doctors told me that I should get out of England if possible and that was my excuse.

I begged Charles not to close my chapel if I left and he promised he would not do so and he was most eager for me to take the waters at the Bourbon springs which had been so beneficial to me before.

War with the Dutch had broken out and I was deeply concerned about that. Charles said that the French might decide to join with the Dutch and he believed that I might do good work for him in France, so I think he was rather glad that I was going. There was another matter. There had been some cases of plague in London and he feared if the summer was hot they might increase.

There were several good reasons why I should go besides my health.

I was due to leave at the end of June but before I left there came news of a great sea battle in which my son James had defeated the Dutch. James was the hero of the hour but I was afraid for him and begged Charles not to allow him to expose himself too rashly. There was something very rash about James which his impetuous marriage had proved.

As I sailed down the Thames I wondered if I should ever come back.

So there I was—after another dismal sea crossing—back in my native country. My spirits rose as soon as I set foot in it, but there was bad news awaiting me. Henriette was very ill. She had heard a false rumor that her brother James had been killed in battle and the shock had brought about the premature birth of the child she was carrying. She was delighted to see me and I do believe that my arrival helped to pull her through. She was far from happy and I began to wonder whether great titles were worth all one had to pay for them. I had found a crown and a happy marriage although it had ended in tragedy, but all through that marriage Charles and I had meant everything to each other.

I thought of Charles and his poor little Queen who had to accept his mistresses and could not get the child she longed for. I thought of James and Anne Hyde who had married so romantically and were now no longer in love; I thought most of all of Henriette who had married Philippe, Duc d’Orléans, brother of the King of France, and who was the most wretched of them all.

She confided to me that Philippe flew into jealous rages which were incomprehensible as he was not interested in her himself; but he simply could not bear her to enjoy the society of other men. Moreover he had brought his lover, the Chevalier of Lorraine, into the house and they conducted their amour openly for all to see and laugh at.

There was sad news from London. Two of my priests had died of the plague. The Court was no longer there and red crosses were put on the houses of the plague-stricken to warn people to keep away. Throughout the night the dismal knell of the death cart was heard in the deserted streets with the cry: “Bring out your dead.”

I went to see my old friend Queen Anne. She was in a desperate state and suffering excruciating pain for she had a malignant growth in her breast which she knew would kill her.

Early the next year she died and I could not be sorry because, poor soul, she who had done so many kindnesses had suffered greatly. I could only be relieved that she had found peace at last.

To my dismay France declared war on England in support of the Dutch. Louis had no wish for it, I knew; and although the people of France hated the English and the people of England hated the French, both Charles and Louis were trying to come to some agreement. It was during this time that the Dutch fleet, smarting under the humiliation of the English victory at sea, sailed up the Medway and burned several men-of-war including the Royal Charles, which was lying at Chatham.

That was a year of disaster and the biggest of all was the great fire of London when two-thirds of the city was burned to the ground. Eighty-nine churches including St. Paul’s Cathedral were destroyed, with more than thirteen thousand dwelling houses. I was so pained when I heard that the Catholics had been accused of starting the fire and for the first time in years felt the old fighting spirit rising in me. I wanted to go to England to tell them how false that accusation was. I wanted to tell them how wicked and cruel they were to suggest it.

England was in a sorry state. The terrible plague had brought trade almost to a standstill; the war had crippled its finances even more. My pension was reduced and I was indignant and wrote to Charles to tell him so. I was trying so hard to live within my means and my greatest pleasure was to give to the poor and needy and at the same time bring those who had strayed from it back to the Catholic Faith.

I went to Colombes and lived as quietly as I could there. I had my friends about me—chief of all dear Henry without whom I should have been desolate indeed.

I had my music; my reading; my chapel. I prayed constantly and thought a good deal about the past.

I began to grow introspective, reliving those long-ago scenes and asking myself what might have happened if I had done, or not done, this and that. Such thoughts intruded and I found sleep difficult. My cough was worrying me and sometimes I felt very ill indeed.

Henriette came to see me and she expressed her horror at the sight of me. She said she was going to call in the doctors in whom she had great faith.

I said: “There is nothing wrong with me. When I feel a little better I will go to Bourbon for the waters. Please do not make such a fuss, Henriette.”

“But, Mam,” she cried anxiously, “I can see you are not well. You might as well admit it because it is obvious.”

“I do not want to be like those women who cry for a little pain in the head or a cut finger,” I retorted.

“Dear Mam, I am not going to ask your permission. I am going to call in the best doctors we have in France.”

I had to give way; and I certainly was feeling ill. “If only I could sleep soundly,” I said. “But I simply cannot. As soon as my head is down, I am going over the past and I am blaming myself so much, Henriette.”

“They will give you something to make you sleep.”

“And I shall not take it. Old Mayerne said I was never to take anything like that.”

“We will hear what the doctors have to say,” Henriette insisted firmly.

They were the leading doctors in France. M. Valot was one and he was the first physician to Louis. M. Espoit was first physician to Philippe and M. Juelin to Henriette. They came to Colombes to consult with M. d’Aquin, my own doctor.

I submitted to their examination and lay back listening while they talked to Henriette in a far corner where they had gone so that I should not hear too much of what they said.

I felt rather indifferent and impatient with them. I was old; I had had a long and arduous life; I must die soon and I was ready.

M. Valot was saying: “By the grace of God the Queen has no fatal malady. Inconvenient…but not dangerous. She would be so much better if she slept and put whatever it is on her mind out of her thoughts. Now I am going to add three grains to the prescription you are giving her, M. d’Aquin. That will ensure sleep and when she is rested we shall find her disorder clearing.”

Grains! I thought. That means opium. I had never taken opium and I was not going to now.

They came to my bedside and I said: “I am not taking your grains.”

“Your Majesty,” said M. Valot, “they will do you no harm, only great good. They will bring you sleep.”

“Sir Theodore Mayerne said I was never to take any such things.”

“He was old and out of date, Your Majesty. Medicine has improved since then.”

They were all talking to me, including Henriette.

“Dear Mam, you will take it. You will feel so much better….”

“I do not promise,” I said. “I shall try to sleep without it.”

It has been a good day. I have worked a little, prayed a good deal and conversed with my friends.

At supper we were quite merry and Henry amused us all with some scandalous stories he had gleaned about people at Court.

I had had a good meal and could not help laughing at him. I am so tired. If I could only sleep, but however tired I am when I am in bed thoughts come between me and sleep.

I was prepared for bed as usual and the nearer the time came to say goodnight to my friends the more wide awake I became.

I am very thoughtful tonight. More than ever the past comes back—haunting me, robbing me of peace. I can see everything in especial clarity tonight—my coming to England, my quarrels with Charles. Oh what a foolish girl I was then! And then our great joy in each other…but the troubles came too quickly. I am very uneasy tonight. Something is telling me that everything might have been so different and I cannot stop myself wondering what would have happened to Charles if he had had a different Queen. How much had I contributed to that murder in Whitehall?

What has happened to me in the last years? I have become more myself than I ever was before. Had I in the past been living other people’s lives? I had constantly told them what they should do. I had been estranged from my son Henry and he had died without a reconciliation. Mary and I had not been good friends. I had quarreled with James and should have done so with Charles if he had been of a nature to quarrel.

I cannot endure this feeling of doubt which envelops me. I had always felt before that I knew, that I was right in everything I did.

Now I am haunted by fears. Perhaps I was not right. Perhaps I was tragically wrong.

These thoughts are tormenting me. They have completely chased away sleep. I am frightened. In the last years I have seen events more clearly than I did when they were happening and a fearful sense of guilt is settling on me. I had been so sure of my place in Heaven. I had loved my husband deeply; I had loved my children. But what had I done to them?

I must sleep. I will call in one of my attendants and tell her that I give in. I will take M. Valot’s grains for I must sleep. I cannot endure this burden of guilt. I will take the grains…and sleep.

Now I will lay down my pen and call the attendant.