Loyal in Love: Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I

THE EARLY DAYS

I was born into a troubled world and when I was only five months old my father was murdered. Fortunately for me at that time I was in my nursery and knew nothing of this deed which was said to have had such a disastrous effect not only on our family but on the whole of France.

Everything I knew of him was through hearsay; but I was one to keep my ears and eyes open, and for a long time after his death, he was talked of, so that by cautious questioning and alert observation, in time I began to learn a great deal about the father who had been taken from me.

He had been a great man—Henri of Navarre, the finest King the French had ever known—but of course the dead become sanctified, and those who are murdered—particularly those in high places—become martyrs. My own dear Charles…but that was a long way ahead in the future. I had much to endure before I was overwhelmed by the greatest tragedy of my life.

So my father died. There he was one day in good health—well, as near good health as a man of fifty can be who has lived a life of much indulgence—and the next a corpse brought home to the Louvre and laid on his bed in his closet there while the whole country mourned and the ministers guarded the palace and us children, particularly my brother Louis, who had then become King. And all the time I was sleeping peacefully in my cradle unaware of the action of a maniac which had robbed France of her King and me of my father.

There were seven of us in the nursery at that time. The eldest was Louis, the Dauphin, who was eight when I was born. After him came Elizabeth, who was a year younger than Louis. There was a gap of four years between Elizabeth and Christine and then the family increased with rapidity. There had been the little Duc d’Orléans who had died before there was time to give him a name, and after that Gaston and then myself, Henriette Marie.

My mother may have been unsatisfactory in the eyes of many but she certainly filled the nursery and that is said to be the first and most important duty of a queen. The people disliked her as much as they loved my father. For one thing she came from Tuscany, being the daughter of Francis the Second of that land; and the French had always hated foreigners. Moreover she was fat and not very handsome and was of the Medici family. People remember that other Italian woman, wife of Henri Deux, toward whom they had shown more venom than to any other monarch, blaming her for all the misfortunes of France, including the Massacre of St. Bartholomew and the deaths by poison of many people. They had made a legend of her—the Italian poisoner. It was unfortunate that my mother should bear the name of Medici.

However, while my father had been there my mother was unimportant. She had had to accept his infidelities. He was a great lover of women. The Evergreen Gallant, the people called him, and right up to his death he was involved with women. The Duc de Sully—his very able minister and friend—had deplored this characteristic; but it was no use. Great King that he was he was first of all a lover and the pursuit of women was to him the most urgent necessity of his life. He could not exist without them. While this is doubtless a great weakness in a king, it is a foible which people indulgently shrug aside and indeed often applaud. “There is a man,” they say, with winks, nods and affectionate smiles.

Even at the time of his death he was involved in a romantic intrigue. I learned all about it from Mademoiselle de Montglat, who was the daughter of our governess and who, because she was so much older than I, had been set in charge of me by her mother. I called her Mamanglat as at first she was like a mother to me and later like an elder sister; and I was more fond of her than anyone I knew. Mamanglat became affectionately shortened to Mamie, and Mamie she remained to me forever.

We were all terrified of Madame de Montglat, who was always reminding us that she had the royal permission to whip us if we misbehaved, and as we were the Royal Children of France, higher standards had been set for us than for all other children.

Mamie was not a bit like her mother. Although in a way she was a governess, she was more like one of us. She was always ready to laugh, tell us the latest scandal and to help us out of those scrapes into which children fall and which would have brought down the wrath of Madame de Montglat on our heads if they had come to her knowledge.

It was from Mamie that I began to understand what was going on around me, what it meant to be a child in a royal nursery, the pitfalls to be avoided—the advantages and the disadvantages. It seemed to me that there were more of the latter and Mamie was inclined to agree with me.

“Your father loved you children,” she told me. “He used to say you were all beautiful and he could not understand how two such as the Queen and himself could have begotten you. I used to have to peep out at you because my mother forbade me to appear before the King.”

“Why?”

“Because I was young and not ill favored—good looking enough to catch his eyes, she thought.”

Then Mamie would be overcome with laughter. “The King was like that,” she finished.

Being very young and ignorant of the world I wanted to ask a great many questions, but did not always do so being afraid of exposing my ignorance.

“You were his favorite,” said Mamie. “The baby—the child of his old age. He was proving, you see, that he could still get beautiful children—not that he need have worried. There was constantly some woman claiming that her child was his. Well, what was I saying? Oh…you were the favorite. He was always fond of little girls and weren’t you named for him…well, as near as a girl could be. Henriette Marie. Henriette for him and Marie for your mother. Royal names both of them.”

From Mamie I learned the gossip of the Court—past and present—much that was necessary for me to know and more besides. I heard from her that before he had married my mother, my father had been married to La Reine Margot, daughter of Catherine de Médicis—one of the most mischievous and fascinating women France had ever known. My father had hated Margot. He had never wanted to marry her and it was rather dramatically said that their marriage had been solemnized in blood, for during the celebrations the most terrible of all massacres had taken place—that which had occurred on the Eve of St. Bartholomew; and it was because so many Huguenots had been in Paris to attend the marriage of their leader’s son to Catholic Margot that they had been conveniently situated for destruction.

I supposed something like that would haunt a bride and bridegroom forever. It was a mercy that my father escaped. But all his life—until the last fatal moment—he had had a knack of escaping. He had lived his life dangerously and joyously. Often careless of his royalty he had had an easy familiarity with his men. No wonder he had been popular. He had done a great deal for France too. He cared about the people; he had said he wanted every peasant to have a chicken in his pot on Sundays; moreover he had brought about a compromise between the Catholics and Huguenots and that had seemed an impossible task. He himself had paid lip service to the Catholics with his famous quip of Paris being worth a Mass when he had realized the city would never surrender to a Protestant.

He had been a wonderful man. When I was very young I used to weep tears of rage because he had been taken from me before I could know him.

He had been a good soldier, but it was said that he never let anything—not even the need to fight an enemy—stand in the way of his love affairs.

The object of his passion at the time of his death had been the daughter of the Constable de Montmorency. She was only sixteen years old but no sooner had my father set eyes on her than he declared she must be his “little friend.”

Mamie loved to tell these stories. She had a certain histrionic talent, which she loved to display and which often made me helpless with laughter. She could never tell anything dramatic without acting it. I remember her explaining, dropping her voice to conspiratorial confidence.

“However…before presenting his daughter Charlotte to Court, the Constable de Montmorency had betrothed her to François de Bassompierre who was a very magnificent gentleman of the House of Cleves—handsome, witty, and as he was also a Gentleman of the King’s Bedchamber, he was much sought after. Monsieur de Montmorency thought it an excellent match.

“But when the young lady came to Court and the King saw her, that was the end of her romance with François de Bassompierre.”

How I loved to listen to her as she threw herself into the part she was playing for me!

“The King was determined that Bassompierre should not have her because he was a passionate young man and deeply in love with her and therefore could not be expected to become the kind of accommodating husband whom the King favored because they were always willing to stand aside when the need arose. One morning—so the story goes—when the King was about to rise from his bed, he sent for Bassompierre—remember he was a Gentleman of the Bedchamber. ‘Kneel, Bassompierre,’ said the King. Bassompierre was astonished for the King was never one to stand on ceremony, but if you wish to present some suggestion which may not be acceptable it is always best to reduce the person whom you intend to deprive or displease by stressing your own superiority.”

I nodded. I could understand that.

“The King was full of guile. He knew men well and that meant he could usually wriggle satisfactorily out of awkward situations.” Mamie had thrown herself upon my bed and assumed an air of royalty. “‘Bassompierre,’ said the King, ‘I have been thinking a good deal of you and I have come to the conclusion that it is time you were married.’” Mamie leaped from the bed and assumed a kneeling position beside it. “‘Sire,’ said Bassompierre. ‘I should be married now, but the Constable’s gout has been troubling him of late and for this reason the ceremony has been postponed.’” She was back on the bed, royal again. “‘I have just the bride for you, Bassompierre. What think you of Madame d’Aumale? When you marry, the Duchy of Aumale shall come to you.’ ‘Sire,’ said Bassompierre, ‘have you a new law in France? Is a man then to have two wives?’” She was back on the bed. “‘Nay, nay, François. In Heaven’s name, one is enough for a man to manage at a time. I will tell you all. I know of your commitment to Mademoiselle de Montmorency but the truth is that I myself have become madly enamored of her. If you married her I should begin to hate you…especially if she showed any affection for you. Now I am fond of you, Bassompierre, and I know you would be the last one to wish for a rift in our friendship. Therefore I cannot see you married to this girl. I shall give her to my nephew Condé. That will keep her near me…in the family…and she can comfort my old age. Condé likes hunting better than women. I shall make him an allowance as compensation. Then he can leave the delightful creature to me.’”

Mamie looked at me and raised her eyebrows. She was a little breathless jumping off and on the bed and having to play the two parts in the drama.

“Poor Bassompierre!” She was herself now, the wise storyteller. “He saw that it would be impossible to go against the King’s wishes, and when he told Mademoiselle de Montmorency what was planned she cried: ‘Jesus. The King has gone mad!’ But very soon she grew accustomed to the idea and after a while she quite liked it. The whole Court was talking about the change in bridegrooms, and very quickly Mademoiselle de Montmorency became the Princesse de Condé.

“Now this led to other complications. The Queen accepted the fact that the King must have many mistresses but she hated there to be one who could influence him so much. She had never been crowned and a monarch always feels insecure until the crown has been placed on his—or her—head in solemn ceremony. So the Queen cried: ‘I want to be crowned!’ and because of the guilt he felt about Charlotte de Montmorency the King, who had brushed aside this matter of the Queen’s coronation whenever it was raised, had to give way to save himself from violent recriminations. Then to make matters worse, the Prince de Condé became so enamored of his wife that he decided that he would no longer stand aside. She was after all his wife, and he secretly left the Court with the new Princesse and took her to Picardy, and since that might not be far enough he carried her on to Brussels.

“The King was desolate. He was mad with grief and threatened to follow her. Now a king cannot move far without everyone’s knowing, and who would have believed that a king who had been on most excellent terms with so many women at the same time, should take such steps for one. People were saying that it was a secret move to go to war. So the King found himself in the center of a controversy. The Duc de Sully was worried and he told the King that his conduct over the Princesse de Condé was destroying his reputation…not his reputation for being a rake…that was unimportant and he already had that in any case. It was only when his amours intruded into statecraft that there was danger.

“The affair had made the Queen more restive than ever. She was demanding her coronation, and the King, feeling he owed her some recompense, at length agreed that it should take place.

“Now at this time the King had a strange presentiment. Kings’ lives are always in danger so perhaps it is natural for them to have presentiments. Well, some time before, the King had been told that he would only survive a few days after the Queen’s coronation, and it was for this reason that he had never wanted her to be crowned; and if it had not been for his guilt about the Princesse de Condé, he would never have agreed to it. However, now that she was to be crowned, the feeling of disaster grew and grew and he became so certain of his imminent death that he went to see the Duc de Sully about it, which shows how strongly he felt, for the Duc was not the man even a king would go to with a story like that.

“So the King went to the Arsenal where the country’s weapons were stored and where the Duc de Sully had his apartments.” She was acting again; the same role for the King, but Bassompierre had been replaced by the Duc de Sully. “‘I don’t understand this, Monsieur le Duc, but I feel in my heart that the shadow of death is right over my head.’ ‘Why, Sire, you alarm me. How can this be? You are well. Nothing ails you.’ The Duc de Sully had had a special chair made for the King to sit in when he visited him. It was low and very regal. The King sat in it, and looking very grave, he said: ‘It has been prophesied that I shall die in Paris. The time is near. I can sense it.’”

“Did he really say that?” I asked. “Or are you making it up?”

“It is all true,” Mamie assured me.

“Then he must have been a very clever man to see into the future.”

“He was a very clever man, but this is apart from cleverness. It is the special gift of clairvoyance, and magicians and sorcerers had been saying that the King would meet his death in Paris, and if ever the Queen was crowned, then the blow would fall.”

“Then why did he allow my mother to be crowned?”

“Because she would give him no rest until he did; he felt guilty about the Princesse de Condé and he hated to deny a woman anything—even the Queen. He thought: Once I have given the Queen her coronation—which is what she wants more than anything—she will leave me to pursue my heart’s desire.”

“But if the prophecy was coming true how could he have his heart’s desire with the Princesse de Condé?”

“I can tell you no more than what happened. In fact, the Duc de Sully was so impressed that he declared he would stop the preparation for the Queen’s coronation as the thought of it so filled the King with foreboding. The King said: ‘Yes, break if off…for I have been told that I shall die in a carriage, and where could it be more easily done than at such a ceremony?’ The Duc de Sully gazed earnestly at the King. ‘This explains much,’ he said. ‘I have often seen you cowering in your carriage when you pass certain places, and yet I know that in battle, there is not a braver man in France.’”

“But they did not stop the coronation,” I pointed out, “for my mother was crowned Queen of France.”

Mamie continued with her narrative. “When the Queen heard that the coronation was to be canceled, she was furious.” Mamie did not attempt to imitate my mother. She would not dare go as far as that. But I could imagine my mother’s rage.

“For three whole days the matter was disputed. There will be a coronation. There will not be a coronation. And at last the King gave way in face of the Queen’s demands and the coronation was fixed for the thirteenth of May at St. Denis.”

“Thirteenth,” I said with a shiver. “That is unlucky.”

“Unlucky for some,” agreed Mamie portentously. “So she was crowned and it was arranged that on the sixteenth she should make her entry into Paris. Now…”

She paused and I watched her with rounded eyes for I had heard the story before and I knew that we were approaching the terrible climax.

“Now…on Friday the fourteenth the King said he would go to the Arsenal to see the Duc de Sully. He was not sure whether he wanted to go or not. He hesitated. First he would go and then he thought he would not…but in the end he made up his mind. It was just to be a short visit after dinner. ‘I shall soon be back,’ he said. When he was about to get into his carriage, Monsieur de Praslin, Captain of the Guard, who always attended him even on the shortest journeys, came forward. ‘No need,’ said the King. Mamie waved her hand imperiously. ‘I don’t want any attendance today. It is just to the Arsenal for a brief visit.’ Well, he got into the carriage and sat down with a few of his gentlemen. There were only six of them, not counting the Marquis de Mirabeau and the equerry who sat in the front of the carriage.

“Now comes the dramatic part. As the King’s carriage came into the Rue de Ferronnerie close to that of St.-Honoré, a cart came into the road, and because this blocked the way a little, the King’s carriage had to go near to an ironmonger’s shop on the St. Innocent side. As the carriage slowed down, a man rushed forward and hoisted himself onto the wheel and thrust a knife at the King. It entered right here….” She touched her left side. “It went between his ribs and severed an artery. The gentlemen in the carriage cried out in horror as the blood gushed forth. ‘It is nothing,’ said the King. Then he said that again so quietly that it could scarcely be heard. They took him with all speed to the Louvre. They laid him on his bed and sent for the doctors—but it was too late. To the sorrow of France, the King passed away.”

I had heard the story many times and it never failed to move me to tears. I knew how the Duc de Sully had made everyone swear allegiance to my brother and how the entire country mourned, and that the mad monk Ravaillac was caught and torn apart by four wild horses to whom his body had been attached before they were sent off in different directions.

I knew that my mother had become Regent of France because my brother was only nine years old and too young to govern.

Had my father survived the assassination everything would have been different. As it was, I, a baby in her nursery, was to live my early years in a country torn by strife.

I attended a great many ceremonies of which I was unaware. Mamie told me of these later. Sometimes I tried to delude myself that I remembered—but I could not have done so. I was far too young.

The whole of France was mourning my father and calling vengeance on the madman who had killed him. There must have been a certain relief that he was a madman and that no revolutionary coup was intended. France had been satisfied with her King while he lived and when he was murdered he became a near saint. That was good because it augured well for my brother who was such a boy at the time, and ministers are always afraid of boy Kings. They mean too many people near the throne jostling for power.

I was taken in the procession with my brothers and sisters. People wept, I was told, when they saw us. It was the impression the Duc de Sully wished to create. He was one of the greatest statesmen in the country and my father had recognized him as such. Now all his allegiance was for my brother who had slipped from the role of Dauphin to that of King.

How maddening it is that I cannot remember anything of what passed and had to rely on Mamie’s accounts. She made me see it clearly but I was never sure that she was absolutely accurate; but it is the custom for children, however young, to be present at their dead parents’ obsequies and naturally I, as one of the Children of France, must have been there. “You rode in the carriage in the arms of my mother,” Mamie told me; and I could imagine that child sitting there held firmly by a stern-faced Madame de Montglat and later being with her at the bier on which my dead father lay.

Madame de Montglat would have guided my hand while I sprinkled holy water on my dead father’s face. I hoped I performed the act with dignity, which must have been rather difficult in the arms of Madame de Montglat; but presumably I made no protest which was surely all that could have been expected of me.

My next public appearance was at my brother’s coronation, but as I was then only eleven months old I remember nothing of that either. The ceremony in the Cathedral of Rheims must have been very impressive. Louis was nine years old then and a boy King is always so appealing. I never really knew Louis well for he was no longer in our nursery after he became King. Even my elder sister Elizabeth was almost a stranger to me. Christine was with us for a while, but Gaston and I were closer than any of the others because we were near in age of course.

Mamie told me afterward that on the great occasion I was carried by the Princesse de Condé who, now that the King was dead, had been allowed by her husband to return to Court.

So these great happenings took place when I was too young to know what was going on. It was a little frustrating afterward to have known I was there and have no recollection of it.

But I was not going to remain a baby forever and I began to grow up in the nursery which I shared with Gaston and Christine, presided over by the stern Madame de Montglat and with Mamie there to bring laughter into our days.

My first real memory is of going to Bordeaux with a great cavalcade led by my mother to deliver my eldest sister Elizabeth to the King of Spain that she might marry his son and heir. At the same time she was to receive Anne of Austria, the daughter of the King of Spain, who was to marry our brother Louis. The importance of this occasion can be imagined, but at six years old this was just an exciting adventure to me. I did not know, of course, that the country was seething with discontent.

I loved ceremonies—all the pomp and glitter and the fine clothes, even though these were often uncomfortable to wear. I can remember Gaston often tore off his ruff and cried because it hurt his neck. He was severely beaten by Madame de Montglat who made him wear even stiffer ruffs to teach him a lesson. All people must be taught discipline, said Madame de Montglat, and none more so than royal children.

Poor Gaston! He was very rebellious in those days but I was even worse and gave way to my infantile furies by kicking, screaming, biting any hand that came near me, and lying on the floor and kicking.

“Disgraceful!” said Madame de Montglat. “What would the Queen say?”

Those words could always sober us. “I am afraid,” Madame de Montglat would warn, “that if your behavior does not improve I shall have to tell the Queen.”

The Queen paid visits to the nurseries very rarely and when she did it was a great occasion. She seemed enormous to me and was like a great battleship—invincible. One knew that she was the Queen as soon as one set eyes on her. When she arrived everybody changed—even Madame de Montglat—and became watchful, making quite sure they observed every trick of etiquette. They dared not forget for one instant that they were in the presence of the Queen. Not that she would let them! Gaston and I would come forth and bow low. She would incline her head, accept our homage and then take us onto her ample lap and kiss us.

Sometimes we thought she loved us dearly. She would ask what we were learning and remind us that we must never forget that we had had the good fortune to be brought up in the Holy Catholic Faith. I learned later that there was trouble in the country between the Catholics and the Huguenots and that when my father had been alive he had held that trouble in check. Now that he was dead the same leniency was not shown to Huguenots and in view of the fact that the country was less prosperous than it had been—owing to my mother’s less effective rule—trouble loomed.

But what did a six-year-old girl sheltered in her royal nursery know of these matters?

Gaston and I would vie for our mother’s interest while she was with us, and talk about her for days after her visit; we looked up expectantly every time a visitor came but after a while we ceased to expect her. I never did understand my mother. She was fond of us, that was clear—but whether as her children or the Children of France, I was never quite sure. But I was fascinated by her—and Gaston was too. She was the Queen as well as our mother and we saw the effect she had on everyone in the nursery and we thought it must be wonderful to have people bow when you came into a room and show such respect for you.

It was always impressed on us that we must not forget that we were the children of a King and a Queen—and a King of France at that. Royal dignity must be maintained throughout our lives; and we must never forget that we were Catholics and we must uphold the true Faith wherever we found ourselves.

In our games we played Kings and Queens, and Gaston and I used to fight over which one should sit on the throne—an improvised chair—and receive the homage of the other.

“A King,” said Gaston, “is more important than a Queen. In France a Queen cannot be Queen in her own right, because of the Salic Law.”

I was not going to allow that.

“A Queen is more important,” I said.

“No, she is not.”

My temper flared up. There were times when I hated Gaston. Madame de Montglat said I must learn to curb that temper of mine or it would destroy me one day. That made me think. I wondered what it was like to be destroyed. She made it sound terrible and sometimes when I remembered her words they did sober me a little—but not for long. I could never resist the joy of letting myself fall into a rage. It was the only way I could express my anger.

But I had an irrefutable case on this occasion and I let my rage simmer. “What of our mother, eh? She is a Queen and the most important person in the land. She is greater than the Duc de Sully who used to be so important and is no longer so. Why? Because our mother does not like him. A Queen can be as great as a King…greater perhaps. What about wicked Queen Elizabeth of England who defeated the Spanish Armada?”

“You mustn’t speak of her. She was a…” He put his lips to my ear and whispered the terrible word: “Heretic!”

“Queens can be as good as Kings and this is my throne, so kneel to me or I shall send you to the torture chambers. But first I will tell our mother that you think Queens are of no importance.”

It would have been wiser to play at puss-in-the-corner or blind-man’s-buff.

But for all our quarrels we were fond of each other.

Monsieur de Breves, who was a very learned man, came each morning to give us lessons in the nursery. These were for my elder sisters Elizabeth and Christine, but Gaston and I took part. Perhaps Monsieur de Breves was too learned to understand young children; perhaps Gaston and I were incapable of giving our minds to anything for long. (My sister Elizabeth said our minds were like butterflies flitting here and there and seemed incapable of settling anywhere long enough to absorb everything.) In any case Gaston and I were not academically inclined and while we sat listening to Monsieur de Breves and making futile attempts to grapple with the problems he set us, we were waiting impatiently for the time when we could go off to our dancing lessons.

At least our dancing master was pleased with us—and particularly with me. “Ah, Madame Henriette,” he would cry folding his arms across his chest and raising his eyes to the ceiling, “but that was beautiful…beautiful. Ah, my dear Princesse, you are going to enchant the Court.”

I was never happier than when dancing—unless it was singing.

I noticed one day when we were in the schoolroom listening—or trying to listen—to Monsieur de Breves, and I was thinking how pretty Christine’s dress was and wondering whether I might ask Madame de Montglat if I could have one like it, that Elizabeth was looking rather sad and very preoccupied and was not paying any attention at all to Monsieur de Breves.

I thought: I believe she has been crying.

How strange! Elizabeth was seven years older than I. She and Christine were great friends although Christine was a good deal younger than she was. Elizabeth had always treated Gaston and me with a kindly tolerance. She had always seemed far beyond us—almost grown up. It was difficult to imagine her crying. But yes. Her eyes were red. Something had happened. I wondered what.

Monsieur de Breves was standing close to me and had picked up the paper on which I was supposed to have written something—I was not sure what and I had been so concerned with Elizabeth that I had not thought to look at Gaston’s and copy his, although this was always risky for what he wrote invariably displayed as great an ignorance as mine.

“Ah, Madame la Princesse,” said Monsieur de Breves sadly, shaking his head, “I fear we are never going to make a scholar of you.”

I smiled at him. I had for some time realized that when I smiled in a certain way I could melt the anger or disappointment of a number of people. Alas, neither my mother nor Madame de Montglat was among them.

I said: “No, Monsieur de Breves, but my dancing master says that my dancing will delight the Court.”

He smiled faintly and patted my shoulder. That was all. No reprimand. What a smile could do! If only I could turn the magic on Madame de Montglat.

My thoughts went back to Elizabeth and later on I came upon her sitting alone.

She had gone back to the schoolroom expecting no doubt to find no one there at this hour, and she was sitting on a window seat, her hands covering her face.

I was right. There were tears.

I put my arms about her neck and kissed her.

“Elizabeth,” I said. “Dear sister. What ails you? Tell Henriette.”

There was a brief silence during which I thought she was about to order me away angrily. I gave her my conquering smile and suddenly she put her arms about me.

“There!” I said. “There!” I patted her back, marveling that I, the baby, should be comforting my elder sister.

“Dear little one,” said Elizabeth, more kindly than she had ever spoken to me before—not that she had ever been unkind, only seeming to be unaware of my existence.

“You are unhappy. What is wrong?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t understand.”

“I would. I would.”

Elizabeth sighed. “I am going away…. Away from you all.”

“Away? Why? Where?”

“To Spain.”

“Why are you going to Spain?”

“To marry the King’s son.”

“The son of the King of Spain! Oh, Elizabeth, when the King dies you will be the Queen of Spain!”

“Does that surprise you?”

“No,” I said. “I know we all have to marry. What surprises me is that you are sad when you are going to be Queen of Spain.”

“And you think that is worth…losing everything else for?”

“It must be wonderful to be a queen.”

“Oh, Henriette, what of your family? Suppose you had to go and leave us all…. Go to a new country…”

I considered it. Giving up everything…Mamie, Gaston, Madame de Montglat…my sisters…my mother…. And all in exchange for a crown!

“You are too young to understand, Henriette,” went on Elizabeth. “It will come to you one day. You must be prepared for it.”

“When?”

“Oh there is a long time to wait yet. How old are you? Six. I am seven years older than you. In seven years your time will come.”

Seven years! It was too far in the future to be considered. It was longer than the time I had been on Earth.

“Louis will be married too,” said Elizabeth. “Lucky Louis, he will not have to leave his home.”

“Do you hate going so much?”

“I don’t want to leave my home. To go into…I do not know what. It’s frightening, Henriette. It will be easier for you. You will have seen my going…and Christine’s before your time comes, so it won’t be such a shock.”

She set me down and blinked away the tears.

“Don’t tell anyone that you found me like this. Not even Mamie or Gaston.”

I promised.

“Our mother would be angry. She thinks it is wonderful that she has brought about this match with Spain. Some of the people are not too pleased.”

“Who isn’t pleased?”

“The Huguenots.”

“Huguenots! What concern is it of theirs?”

She took my face in her hands and kissed me. It was rare affection from Elizabeth.

“You are so young,” she said. “You don’t know anything of what is going on outside.”

“Outside where?”

“In the world…beyond the Court. Never mind. You will in time.”

She had stood up and, straightening her dress, became the Elizabeth I knew, inclined to be disdainful of her little sister’s youth.

“Run along now, dear,” she said, “and forget what I have said.”

But of course I was not going to forget. Many times I was on the verge of telling Mamie or Gaston. I felt it very difficult to restrain myself for I should have felt very superior for once to have discovered something they did not know. But I remembered my promise.

I did not have to wait long, for a few days after my encounter with Elizabeth our mother arrived in the nursery. Gaston and I did our ceremonious bows, and when she held out her hand to us we approached and stood one on either side of her. I found myself staring at her bosom, which always fascinated me. It was one of the biggest bosoms I had ever seen and very different from that of Madame de Montglat, which was almost nonexistent.

“Now, my children,” she said. “I have come to tell you some very good news. Your dear brother the King is about to be married.”

I gasped and stopped myself just in time from blurting out: “But I thought it was Elizabeth who is going to be married.”

We saw little of our brother Louis. Now that he was the King he was too important to be in our nursery and had to be taken away to have special tuition.

The Queen went on: “His dear little wife will come here to be with you for a while…but only until she is old enough to go to her husband. We are going to Bordeaux where we shall meet the new little Queen of France, whose father is giving her into our care. She is to be married to your brother. And now that we are taking his daughter from the King of Spain we think he might be a little unhappy so we are giving him our Princess Elizabeth. She is to be the wife of the son of the King of Spain. You were both at the proxy ceremony. You don’t remember. You were too young. It took place three years ago at the Palais Royal. You were only four then, Gaston, and you were three, Henriette.”

“I remember,” cried Gaston. “There was dancing and a banquet….”

“I remember too,” I put in, although I did not, but I was not going to be outdone by my brother.

“Well, that is good,” went on our mother. “There will be a real marriage now. So we are all going to Bordeaux and I have decided that it will be good for you children to come too.”

Our mother drew away to look at us closely.

I could see the questions trembling on Gaston’s lips, but he was always afraid to speak too freely in our mother’s presence.

The Queen went on: “It is a most happy occasion. It is an alliance with Spain. The daughter of a Spanish King will be a Queen of France and our daughter a Queen of Spain. Fair exchange, eh? Spain will be our ally and my daughter…Queen of Spain. She has married well, and what delights me as much as her crown is that she is going into a Catholic country.”

I was afraid then that our mother was going to ask how we were getting on with our religious instruction and I was just as scatterbrained with that as I was with other subjects.

But, however, she did not. She was clearly too excited by the marriages she had arranged.

“There will be many preparations to be made,” she said. “You will have new clothes.”

I clasped my hands in joy. I loved new clothes and I knew that those we would have to attend a grand wedding would be very grand indeed.

The preparations for this great occasion went on. I learned afterward that there were murmurings in the streets against my mother but I did not know of them then.

We seemed to spend long periods being fitted. I laughed at Gaston in his scarlet velvet coat and broad-brimmed beaver hat. He looked like a miniature cavalier. And I was like a lady of the Court in my puffed sleeves and wide cuffs, looped-up skirts and laces and ribbons. Everyone in our household came in to admire us and we loved our clothes—apart from the ever-present ruffs. “I shall never get used to them,” I declared; and Gaston hated them even more than I did.

Elizabeth’s gown was more glorious than anything we had ever seen. I heard my mother say that she must impress the Spaniards with our infinitely better taste. Poor Elizabeth, in spite of the fact that she was going to be a queen in a Catholic country she stood with a look of cold indifference on her face while she was fitted with the most sumptuously trimmed gowns; and I could not forget the sight of her sad face above all that splendor.

In due course we left for Bordeaux. On some occasions I rode on one side of my mother, Gaston on the other.

I heard two people whispering. I think they were minor attendants. “She thinks the people will so like those two pretty children that they will forget how much they dislike her.”

And there was no doubt that the people liked us. I smiled and lifted my hand in acknowledgment of their cheers just as I had been taught to do.

They cheered Louis too. After all he was the King, and I heard Elizabeth say to Christine that he was too young to have done anything the people did not like.

“All their blame is for our mother and the Maréchal d’Ancre,” said Elizabeth.

I wanted to know more. Why should they blame my mother, and who was the Maréchal d’Ancre, that Concino Concini about whom I had heard people whispering?

Although I hated to learn lessons I was avid to gather information about what was happening around me. The trouble is that when you are six no one considers you seriously enough to talk to you.

We stayed at castles and great houses on the way to Bordeaux and there we were entertained lavishly. Gaston and I were allowed to dance on certain occasions and I sang, for singing was another of my accomplishments and my singing master said I had the voice of a nightingale.

My mother was very pleased with us, and I kept wondering whether it was because she loved us or because it was necessary to make the people pleased with the children she had brought into the royal nurseries so that they would forget those mysterious things she appeared to have done which annoyed them.

However neither Gaston nor I was given to introspection—certainly not at the ages of seven and six; and we were going to enjoy ourselves.

“This is an exciting life!” I said to Gaston; and he agreed wholeheartedly.

In due course we reached Bordeaux.

We were not present at the important ceremony of handing over the two Princesses, but we did dance at the celebrations which followed; and when we left Bordeaux we had lost our sister Elizabeth and had gained a sister-in-law who was known as Anne of Austria and, as she was married to our brother Louis, she was Queen of France.

When we returned to Paris the excitement increased. We had to show Anne of Austria and her attendants how much more cultured we were in France than they were in Spain.

As we came into the city, the narrow streets were crowded with people who had come to see the new Queen. Nobody loves pageantry more than the Parisians and they evidently liked the look of Anne as she rode beside Louis at the head of the cavalcade. She was a tall girl with a good figure and as fair as I was dark. Moreover she was young—just about the same age as Louis. She had beautiful hands, which she was fond of bringing into display, and she seemed very sure of herself. I thought we might get on well together for I had already discovered that she was not very good at learning but enjoyed singing and dancing as much as I did.

We rode past the new house of the Place Royale and the Place Dauphine which my father had caused to be built. I had been watching Anne to see if she was impressed by our grand city. My father had believed in building and he had made great improvements in Paris.

“Ah, Madame la Princesse,” the old ones used to say, “you are lucky to live in such a city. In my day it was a very different place. Thanks to your great father we have now the finest city in the world.”

I had heard how he had completed the old Arsenal—that building to which he had been making his way when he was murdered—and he had built the Hôtel de Ville also. I had been taken to see it on one occasion and I had been completely overawed by the magnificent staircase, the molded ceilings, the sculptured doors and the most wonderful fireplace in the throne room.

My father had done all that. People constantly said, when speaking of him: “What a tragedy! Oh what a tragedy for France!”

And sometimes I felt a flash of uneasiness because I realized that criticism of the present rule was implied—and present rule was, of course, my mother, for Louis was too young to be blamed for anything.

I was so proud as we approached the Louvre. We called it the New Louvre because the ancient one had become so unhealthy and decrepit that François Premier, who had loved fine buildings, had decided to rebuild it. It was hardly begun when he died, but the next King, Henri Deux, and his wife Catherine de Médicis also loved fine buildings and they went on with it. I, too, love beautiful things and until the day I left France I was always thrilled by that glorious façade of Jean Bullant and Philibert Delorme every time I went past the New Louvre.

Now the celebrations began in real earnest. We could be so much more lavish in Paris than they could be in provincial towns, and we were going to show these Spaniards how rich and clever we were.

For a while everyone must forget his or her grievances and enjoy the occasion. I had rarely seen my mother so happy. She was so pleased with the marriages. Later she began to imbue me with a firm belief in the true Faith and the determination to preserve it wherever I was. There were two precepts which must be upheld at all cost: the true Faith and the determination to enforce it on all people for their own good; and the other was the importance of royalty, the right to rule which had been bestowed on Kings and Queens by God: The Divine Right of Royalty.

But stern as she was on these two points, she did enjoy feasting, banquets and fêtes; and she was determined to indulge these pastimes no matter what old Sully would say. Not that that mattered. He could grumble away to his heart’s desire in retirement. He had been shown the door as soon as he had lost his master.

No expense was to be spared. Everyone was going to rejoice in the marriage which she—the Queen Mother now that there was a new Queen—had brought about.

For me it was a wonderful time. I forgot lessons, the dull routine, the admonitions of Madame de Montglat—they were all in the past. Here we were celebrating the marriage of our King, and I was going to enjoy every minute of it.

I danced. I sang. “What an enchanting creature little Madame Henriette is!” I heard that more than once and I was quick to see the pleasure in my mother’s face.

Such happiness! I prayed that it would go on forever.

There was Spanish influence in quite a number of our entertainments—in honor of the Queen, of course. Some of our gentlemen performed the Galanterie Castellane and there were quadrilles and Spanish dances. Gaston and I learned a little Spanish pas de deux which we performed together to the delight of everyone at Court. Some of the company dressed up as gods. I sat round-eyed watching while Jupiter led in Apollo and Diana; and then came Venus, who knelt before our young King and Queen and chanted verses about La Belle Espagnole. Poor Louis hated it all and found it very hard to smile and pretend he was happy. Perhaps he had not wanted to marry and was a little worried about all it entailed…just as Elizabeth had been. The Queen however threw back her long fair tresses and flourishing her pretty hands quite clearly enjoyed it.

At one point my hand was taken by an old woman who made me sit beside her.

I did not know who she was at first but I was intrigued by her and considerably overawed. She had a regal air so I guessed she was of importance but I could not think what she could want with me.

Her old hands clawed mine and she studied me intently. I could not take my eyes from her. Her face was wrinkled; her eyes were deeply shadowed; but she wore so much rouge and white lead that from a distance she might have been quite young. She had a wig of luxuriant black curls, and her clothes struck me as belonging to an earlier age. Her gold-braided houppelande was certainly out of date.

She said: “So you are the little Madame Henriette.”

I agreed that I was.

“And how old are you?”

“Six years.”

“A baby,” she commented.

“Indeed not.”

She laughed and touched my cheek. “Beautiful soft skin,” she said. “Mine was like that…once. When I was your age I was the prettiest girl in the whole of France…and I was the cleverest too. I was old for my years, they said. Are you, little one?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then you can’t be, can you? Little Margot knew everything. She was born with knowledge.”

“Are you…La Reine Margot?”

“Ah, so little Madame Henriette has heard of me! Yes, you might have been my daughter—think of that. I was your father’s wife before he married Marie de Médicis.”

I was overawed. I had heard of her, of course, but never had I thought I would meet her. She had been notorious in her youth…and after.

She said: “Your father and I hated each other. We fought like two wild cats. Then we divorced and he married your mother. If he had not, you would not be here, would you? What a calamity! Can you imagine a world without Madame Henriette?”

I remarked that it would be rather difficult for me to do that if I were not here.

She laughed.

“He hated me, but he hated his second wife even more, they say. Strange is it not, that a man who loved women more than any other man in France should have had two wives whom he hated.”

“You should not talk about my mother like that.”

She came close to me. “La Reine Margot always says what she means and cares not whom it may offend. So do you think little six-year-old Madame Henriette will stop me?”

“No,” I answered.

“I like you,” she said. “You are very pretty. I will tell you something. You are prettier than the new Queen. I don’t think our lord Louis is very impressed with her, do you?”

“My mother would not wish me…”

“To give an opinion? But, little Henriette, when you grow up you are going to state your opinions whether people like it or not. Don’t you agree with me?”

“Yes, I expect I shall. But I have to get a little older first.”

“You are getting older every minute while you talk to me. Oh, little one, do I look very old to you?”

“Very old.”

“Look at my beautiful skin. Look at my lovely hair. You do not know what to say, do you? Once I had beautiful luxuriant hair. Many men loved me. Oh yes, I have had many lovers…and still do. But not so many now. I don’t remember ever having been innocent as you are, my beautiful child. When I married your father I was not innocent. It was an ill-fated marriage. The streets ran with blood. Have you ever heard of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew’s Eve?”

I said I had.

“Catholics and Huguenots—and your father coming very near to death then. They meant to get him. But he survived. He would. Like a country boy, he was…crude…rough…no mate for an elegant Princesse…not cultured as I was. We disliked each other from the start. Catholic and Huguenot…I wonder if they will ever live in harmony.”

“I hope that the Huguenots will give up heresy and come to the true Faith.”

“You are repeating what you have heard, little one. Don’t do that. Think for yourself as I always did. Do I frighten you?”

I hesitated.

“I do,” she went on. “Well, now go, little one. You are a beautiful child and I hope you will have as vivid a life as I have had.”

I said: “I like sitting here talking to you.”

The hand pressed mine and she smiled.

“You must go. Your mother would not wish you to talk too long with me. I think she has noticed us…or one of her spies has. The King is her son but I have as much right as anyone to be here when there is a wedding in the family.”

A young man was approaching and I saw her interest in me fade.

He came and bowed before her.

“Ma belle Margot!” he said softly and she smiled and held out her hand.

I knew it was then time for me to leave.

I never forgot her and was extraordinarily moved when a year later I heard that she had died. She was sixty-three years old then and I found it hard to believe that anyone could live so long. When Mamie came to us she told me lots of stories about La Reine Margot; her life seemed to have been one long succession of lovers and wild adventures. I was surprised to hear that she and my mother had been quite friendly.

“I should have thought she would have hated my mother who took her place,” I commented to Mamie.

“Oh no,” Mamie corrected me. “She liked her because of it. Every time she saw her she would say how lucky she was to be rid of your father. And your mother was in sympathy with her because they had both had to—as they would say—‘put up with him’ and knew what a troublesome matter that could be. It made a bond between them.”

So she was dead, and that wild and exciting life was over forever.

Those celebrations were certainly an important event in my life. I ceased to be a child during them. For instance it was the first time I saw the Maréchal d’Ancre about whom people were constantly talking. Christine pointed him out to me. “Look,” she said, “there is the Maréchal talking to our mother. I don’t think our brother likes him very much.”

“Why not?” I asked.

Christine was about to speak when she looked at me and I guessed she was reminding herself that I was only a child.

“Oh, he has his reasons, I’ll swear,” she said, and then she left me.

I noticed my brother, the King, was sitting looking at the proceedings with a disconsolate air. His Queen was beside him, smiling, fluttering her fan and now and then putting up one of her hands to touch her mantilla—not to adjust it but to bring her pretty hands into prominence. She looked very Spanish and I wondered whether the people were going to like that. Louis spoke very little to her. He stammered quite a bit when he was in a temper or alarmed about something. I suspected he was in one of his stammering phases now.

Then he was smiling suddenly because Charles d’Albert had come to sit beside him and it was immediately clear that he enjoyed the company of Charles d’Albert better than that of his Queen.

I knew a little about Charles d’Albert because there was a great deal of talk about him around the nurseries.

“Another of those Italians,” I heard one of the attendants say. The man was standing beneath my window at the time and even though I had to take a few paces back to hide myself, I was able to hear what was said.

The man to whom he was talking replied: “We have had our fill of them since the King went to Italy for a wife.”

“And married one of the Medicis at that! It would have been better if he had stayed with La Reine Margot.”

They said something about La Reine Margot which I did not understand and they laughed heartily. I could tell by the sound of their feet on the gravel that they were pushing each other to make their point.

“Well, we wouldn’t have had a new King if he had not married her.”

“No, no. For all her tricks Margot was no hand at producing the goods.”

More laughter and jostling.

“They say he’s getting a real hold on the young King….”

“Won’t do him much good with Maman in control. Concini will see to that.”

“Another Italian! Isn’t it time France was for the French?”

“Yes, I agree. But don’t worry about Albert. The King is in leading strings and likely to remain there as far as I can see. He’s no Henri Quatre.”

“Ah, there was a man!” There followed what I guessed to be more shuffling and jostling, but to my chagrin they moved away. I should have liked to hear more about Charles d’Albert.

I was interested though and kept my ears open. It was no use asking questions—everyone either considered I was too young to understand or they did not want to waste time on me.

So I listened and at the time of the wedding I did know that Charles d’Albert was originally Alberti and he had come to France from Florence to make his fortune. When he found he could do this he decided to become French and changed his name to Albert. He came to the King’s notice because he was clever with birds and trained hawks. He loved to hunt with them and as the King did too that made a bond between them and they soon became very friendly. My brother made him his very special falconer and they were constantly in each other’s company training birds and making nets and thongs for hawking. Albert could train other birds and he was very clever with little sporting birds like pies grièches which, I discovered later, in England, were called butcher birds.

It was very interesting to see the young man of whom I had heard so much. He was considerably older than my brother Louis and he had certainly made his fortune at the Court of France. He had married, through the King’s graces, Mademoiselle Rohan Montbazon, who was recognized as one of the beauties of the Court.

Watching them now it was easy to see that he was on very familiar terms with the King.

I sat on a stool close to them. It was sometimes an advantage to be so young that one was ignored. I listened to their talk. They were discussing hunting, and Albert was asking the King to come as soon as he could to see a new falcon which he had acquired and of which he had high hopes.

They talked of falconry for some time and then Albert said suddenly: “Look at Concini over there. What airs that man gives himself!”

“You are right,” said my brother. He was not stammering now that he was talking to Albert which was a sign that he was completely at his ease.

“Your royal mother seems besotted by the man. I believe he thinks himself more royal than she is.”

“I dislike him, Charles. He tries to tell me what to do.”

“What impertinence! You should not allow that, Sire.”

I looked up and saw the pleased look on my brother’s face. He loved people to recognize his royalty. They did in the streets, of course, and cheered him as the King out of loyalty to our father, Christine said; but there were always those to tell him what to do. It must be a trial to be a king in name and not old enough to be one in fact.

“There’ll come a time,” said Louis.

“And I pray the saints it will not long be delayed,” added Charles d’Albert.

“Concini and the Queen Mother will delay it as long as possible you may be sure.”

“Indeed they will. They want to rule, and how can they do that if the King is in his rightful place?”

“I won’t always be a boy.”

“If you will forgive my saying so, Sire, you have the attributes of a man already.”

I could see why Louis was fond of Albert. This was the way he liked people to talk to him. “The time will come…” he said.

“Soon, Sire, soon.”

Someone had come forward and was bowing to Louis. I slipped away.

I realized later that I had been listening to the beginning of a plot.

Those wedding festivities were a turning point in my life. My mother seemed to realize that I was growing up, and because I was dainty and pretty and could sing and dance well, the people liked me. It was necessary for her to be seen with us children because the people always cheered Gaston and me and she could pretend the cheers were for her. In fact the only way she could get the people to cheer when her carriage rode by was to have us in it.

My mother loved displays of any sort—banquets, ballets, any kind of dancing and singing; she loved fine clothes too and was determined to have them because she believed that entertainments of a lavish nature made the people forget their grievances. It was no wonder that she had forced the Duc de Sully into retirement. He would have been horrified to see the exchequer, which he had always kept under his control and that of my father, dwindling away.

Paris was becoming a very beautiful city; and my mother liked to call attention to all that she and the late King had done to make it so. She wanted to give balls and fêtes throughout Paris. This she did and the people certainly loved to see the carriages passing through the streets and to catch glimpses of the nobility in all their splendor. On summer evenings the whole Court would go to the Place Royale where my father had begun to build what he intended to be a bazaar, lined with shops rather like St. Mark’s in Venice. My mother was very enthusiastic—possibly because of its Italian associations, and as my father had died before it was completed, she had had it finished in time for the wedding. There was a promenade known as the Cours de la Reine because she had planted several rows of trees along it and in an attempt to win the people’s favor had opened it to the public.

They thronged there and were delighted to catch glimpses of the grand seigneurs and ladies walking in the gardens.

Alas, it needed more than that to win the people’s favor, and even if my mother had been the best of rulers, she could not have hoped for great popularity, because she was an Italian.

Many of the nobles lived in the houses of the Place Royale and they all had magnificent gardens with wonderful examples of the skill of topiary, and the sculptured figures and glistening fountains were a splendid sight.

“See what a wonderful city we have given you!” That was what my mother was saying.

But the people continued to dislike her and they complained bitterly about the rise of Concini.

It was about this time that Mamie was brought into the nurseries to help her mother with the children. That meant chiefly Gaston and me, for Christine was at that time nine years old and so considered herself to be very grown up.

Mamie did not seem old to me although most people over fourteen usually did. She was even older than that—in her middle teens, I believe—and I loved her from the moment I set eyes on her.

She exuded an air of wisdom; she was serene; and she did not treat me as a child, so that I could ask her questions without fearing to expose my ignorance as I did with most people.

Then there was Anne, the new Queen, who was only thirteen and not quite old enough to be a wife, so I saw a great deal of her too.

We liked each other in a mild kind of way—not as I liked Mamie, of course, but although Anne gave herself certain airs and was a little coquettish in a rather prim way, she was not clever and hardly ever looked at a book, and this endeared her to me; she was lazy and did all she could to evade lessons; and she loved dancing and singing and we discussed ballets and danced and sang together; and she, with Gaston and me, arranged a dance which we said we would perform together whenever we had the opportunity to do so.

So I had two welcome additions to my life in Anne and dear Mamie. The days seemed to have become full of pleasure. I had no notion of the storms which were gathering in the country.

Then I began to learn, through Mamie, something of what was going on.

“You should know,” she told me. “It is a time of great events and as the daughter of a king you may well have your part to play in it.”

That made me feel very important.

It was then that she told me about the murder of my father and that ever since his death my mother had been Regent and would doubtless remain so until it was considered that my brother Louis was of an age to rule.

“When will that be?” I asked. “Poor Louis. He is not much like a king.”

“It might be sooner than you think.”

She pursed her lips and looked mysterious, glancing over her shoulder in a manner which I found most exciting. That was Mamie’s way. She created intrigue and made mystery around it.

I remember flinging my arms about her—it must have been some six months after she had come to the nursery—and making her promise that she would never go away.

She had stroked my hair and rocked me to and fro. “I’ll never go until they force me to,” she promised.

For all her exciting outlook on life, Mamie was a realist. “It could be that the time will come when I shall have to go. But for now…we are safe. I don’t think anyone wants to part us. To tell the truth my mother finds me too useful here with you children.”

“Gaston loves you too,” I told her. “And Christine also…although she doesn’t show it as I do.”

“Poor Christine! She thinks a great deal about the Princesse Elizabeth, and she fears that one day what has happened to her sister will happen to her.”

“Will it?”

Mamie nodded slowly. “Almost certainly,” she said. “Princesses usually marry.”

“I am a princesse….”

“A little one. You have a lot of growing up to do.”

She was comforting me, but I knew what was in store for me although it had not yet appeared on the horizon. But it would come, because it came to all Princesses.

“We shall always be together,” I said fiercely.

And she did not deny that we should.

She changed my life for me. Although it would soon have changed after the wedding in any case, she put something beautiful into it. I realized for the first time that I wanted a mother—someone to care about me, to scold me at times, to tell me about life, to comfort me when I needed comfort, someone who was the most important person in the world to me—and I to her. I felt I was beginning to get somewhere near that relationship with Mamie. And how strange it was that only then I knew that I had missed it.

She began to make me aware. She told me what was happening all around me. It was by no means what it seemed, and sometimes it was a little frightening, but as conveyed by Mamie always exciting.

“Who is Concini?” I asked, and instead of telling me it was no concern of mine, and that I should know all I needed to know when I was older, she told me.

My mother had brought Italians with her when she came to France. It was inevitable. Usually attendants were dismissed when a young princess came into a new country, but Marie de Médicis had kept some of hers, and many were saying that it was to the detriment of France.

“She brought with her Elenora Galagaï,” Mamie told me, “who was the daughter of her nurse and who had been brought up with her. They grew up to be very fond of each other…like two sisters.”

“As we are…you and I, Mamie,” I put in.

“Yes,” agreed Mamie. “It is very like that. Well, when she came to France to marry the King, your mother refused to be parted from Elenora Galagaï and brought her with her. Then because she wanted to see her settled she arranged for her to be married to a man for whom she had the greatest regard. This was another Italian who had come with her to France—Concino Concini. He was the son of a notary from Florence and she had made him her secretary. They were married and, of course, being such favorites of the Queen, they planned to make their fortunes.”

“And did they?” I asked.

“My dear Princesse! Did they indeed! Concini became the Maréchal d’Ancre. You know of him.”

“I saw him at the wedding celebrations with my mother. Charles d’Albert, who was with my brother, did not seem to like him very much.”

“Oh Charles d’Albert! It is said that the King listens to him more than he does to his mother.”

Gradually I began to learn more and more of what was going on outside the nursery. Mamie was such a vivid talker and I never ceased to marvel that she had made me her special friend. That honor might so easily have been reserved for Christine who was so much older than I, or even Gaston who could give me a year. But no! I was the one, and for that I promised myself that I would be grateful to her forevermore.

“At times,” she said, “I forget how young you are. Never mind,” she went on as though to excuse herself. “You will have to play a part in all this one day so it is as well that you should be prepared.”

I remember the great excitement just after the wedding. The Prince de Condé was at the center of it. Mamie had already told me how he had married Mademoiselle de Montmorency when my father had wanted her to be his “little friend” and how the Prince had turned out to be not quite the indifferent husband my father had hoped he would be. Apparently when my father had died, the Prince had brought his wife back to Paris because there was no need then for him to keep her hidden away.

“It had been a very stormy marriage,” Mamie told me. “Many marriages are.”

I was not surprised to hear this and remembered what I had heard of my father’s marriages to La Reine Margot and to my mother.

“The Princesse was very angry because he had taken her away from Court. She had quite looked forward to being your father’s “little friend.” She would have had all the advantages of being a queen and none of the disadvantages. And what had Henri de Condé done? Dragged her away. For what? His indifferent attentions? She has held that against him ever since.”

I had seen them at one of the fêtes at the time of the wedding. The Princesse was very beautiful and I could understand why my father had been attracted by her.

A week or so after the wedding festivities the Prince de Condé was arrested.

“He has plotted to overthrow the Maréchal d’Ancre,” said Mamie, “and has tried to assemble the nobles of France against the man he calls the Italian Schemer.”

“Arrested!” I cried. “But he is a royal Prince!”

“Royal Princes can be arrested for plotting against the Queen Mother.”

“He has really plotted against my mother?”

“Dear Princesse, he has plotted against the Maréchal d’Ancre, and that can be said to be plotting against the Queen Mother. There is a great deal of excitement in the streets. They are saying that a great many wish the plot had succeeded. But the Italian is too wily for that.”

“What will happen to the Prince?”

“I doubt they will dare execute him. He may well be sent to prison.”

“At least,” I said, “the Princesse de Condé will be rid of him now.”

She hugged me suddenly. “Oh, my dear Princesse, we live in dangerous times.”

Everybody was talking about the coup that had failed and there was a surprising sequel. The Prince was exiled to Vincennes and instead of congratulating herself that she was rid of him, the Princesse de Condé declared her intention of joining him there in captivity and living with him as his faithful wife.

“People are very strange,” commented Mamie. Then she laughed and kissed me. “It is good that they are,” she went on. “It makes life more interesting.”

About this time Mère Magdalaine, a Carmelite nun, was chosen to look after my spiritual welfare. I spent long sessions with her; we prayed together; we asked for help; and she made me realize—as my mother did—that the most important motive in one’s life was to promote the Catholic Faith, bringing all those who were outside it to the Truth.

The days sped by…religious instruction from Mère Magdalaine, lessons from François Savary de Breves, playing games with Gaston and the children of noblemen, dancing, singing, happy hours with Mamie…they were the pleasant days.

It was only just beginning to occur to me that they could change.

There was more talk than ever about Concini after the Prince de Condé went into confinement.

“There is a great deal of dissatisfaction with Concini,” Mamie told me, “and the King is getting older. He is with Charles d’Albert more than ever, but Albert is only as powerful as the King is, whereas Concini walks with the Queen Mother.”

“You talk as though my mother and the King are enemies.”

“Perhaps that is because they are,” said Mamie.

Then she went on to tell me about Concini’s vast possessions. “He has several beautiful châteaux in the country as well as two in Paris. He has vineyards and farms. They say he is one of the richest men in France and the people do not like that because they say that when he came here he had nothing.”

“He has worked hard for my mother,” I said.

“And for himself,” added Mamie.

One day, in an unguarded moment, she said: “There is something in the air. I feel it in the streets. There are two factions now: the King with Charles d’Albert and the Queen Mother with Concini. Albert and Concini…both Italians…and the people don’t like either of them.”

“Well,” I pointed out. “My mother is Italian so both I and my brother are half Italians.”

“You are French,” cried Mamie fiercely. “You are your father’s children and he was one of the greatest Frenchmen who ever lived.”

It was all very puzzling to me but I enjoyed hearing the news and I must confess to a certain disappointment when life continued smoothly. Sometimes I felt I wanted things to happen, and even tragic horrible things were better than nothing. They brought excitement into the monotony of my daily life.

“Concini and his wife are shipping their wealth to Italy, so I heard,” Mamie told me one day. “That looks to me as though they intend to flit. It would be a wise thing for them to do that from what I hear in the streets. The people are gathering against them…sharpening their knives….” She laughed at me. “Oh, I did not mean that literally, my child. I mean they are preparing to drive him out of the country.”

It could only have been a few days after that when the trouble started. Secretly Charles d’Albert had been plotting with the King and their idea was to get rid of Concini, for without him the Queen Mother would be powerless. She was not interested in statecraft—which had been obvious since the Regency—and she looked to Concini to see to all that for her—with the aid of his friends, of course. She liked food and had grown fat; she liked gaiety, religion, and parading her royalty. People said unkindly that that was all that could be expected of a banker’s daughter.

It seemed that Charles d’Albert had decided that the moment had come to strike. The King was growing up. He should exert his rights or he would remain a puppet for years.

The King signed a warrant for Concini’s arrest, which was delivered by six of the King’s guards. I can imagine Concini’s astonishment when he—who had been supreme—was suddenly confronted by the King’s men. He must have wished that he had followed his inclination and left for Italy. We learned afterward that he would have gone but for his wife who had insisted that the time was not yet ripe and that there were many more pickings to be had and thus they could augment their wealth.

Elenora Galigaï was proved wrong.

It was natural that such an important person as the Maréchal d’Ancre should demand to know on what grounds he was being arrested, and that when he was told to be silent and that they must leave right away, he should resist arrest. He drew his sword and that was the signal for which they had all been waiting. The guards fell upon him with their daggers and within seconds it was a bleeding corpse which lay at their feet. In the meantime, having seen the guards going into the residence of the mighty Maréchal d’Ancre, a crowd had gathered and when the guards appeared on the balcony dragging out the dead body of the once-powerful Maréchal, the mob became frenzied with excitement.

One of the guards cried out: “Here is the body of the Italian Concini, Maréchal d’Ancre, for whose pleasure you have been paying dearly through your taxes.”

With that they threw the body over the balcony and the mob seized it, savagely mutilating it, calling vengeance on all Italian schemers, and declaring that from henceforth France was to be for the French.

That was the signal. The people had spoken.

“Now,” prophesied Mamie, “there will be change.”

How right she was! My brother lost no time in appointing Charles d’Albert as Chief Minister and created him Duc de Luynes. Concini’s wife was arrested. The rumor was that she was a sorceress for only such a person could have such complete control over the Queen Mother. Mamie said it was a waste of time to make her stand trial for her judges had already decided on the verdict beforehand. The charge against her was that only by spells could she have wielded the influence she had had over the Queen Mother.

“There were no spells,” was her rejoinder. “If I have had the power to influence the Queen, it is that of a strong mind over a weak one.”

My mother would not have liked to hear that, of course, but she had already been sent into exile and was more or less a prisoner in the Château of Blois.

Poor Madame la Maréchale, as they called her. She did not long survive her husband. She was judged guilty, and in accordance with the law against sorceresses was beheaded and her body condemned to the flames.

“At least,” said Mamie, “they did not burn her alive. She was lucky in that.”

Lucky! Poor Elenora Galigaï who had enjoyed such favor and amassed such wealth and power. What were her thoughts when they led her to the scaffold? How she must have reproached herself, for if it was indeed true that her husband had wished to leave France, and it was she who had persuaded him to remain a little longer to make themselves more wealthy, she was certainly in a way responsible.

I remembered well the pall of smoke which hung over the Place de Grève. I thought then how short a time ago it was when we were all rejoicing there among the crowds who had come to see the processions. Now it had become a place of horror. I had never actually seen La Maréchale but I could imagine her horrible death.

I forgot her after a while but I remembered her later, and when I was lonely and filled with remorse, certain incidents from my childhood would flash into my mind and I would see those events more clearly than I had done at the time when they happened.

Louis was now sixteen years old. He had changed. He had looked so happy when my mother was leaving the Court for Blois. He really had been greatly in awe of her and she had never won his affection. He had never forgiven her for being so strict with him when he was a boy for often she had given orders that he was to be whipped for some trivial offense. Kings, she had said, had to be brought up very carefully; they must be chastised more severely than ordinary people. Sometimes she even administered the cane with her own hands. He had hated that more than ever. And when after my father died and she became Regent and he was King and yet not King and so much restraint was put on him, he blamed her for that. I could understand why he responded to people like Charles d’Albert.

So I suppose it was not surprising that he had been so pleased on the day she left for Blois.

He lost his stammer and I heard him say in a clear loud voice, full of the utmost satisfaction: “Enfin me voici Roi!”

The nobles gathered round the King, and it was clear that they approved of what had happened. The Prince de Condé was released from confinement and he came to Paris to be with my brother.

There was another matter of significance which I think perhaps none of us realized at the time. The Bishop of Luçon, Armand du Plessis, who had held office with the Maréchal d’Ancre, hastily left for Avignon and declared he intended to occupy himself with study and writing.

After all the excitement we settled down to a normal routine again. I did not miss my own mother, for, in fact, she had never given me much loving attention.

“It was very interesting while it lasted,” said Mamie.

Queen Anne had joined her husband and was living with him now. Louis had grown up overnight when my mother was removed from Court. There were fewer entertainments now because it had been my mother who had loved them. Louis had never greatly cared for them, preferring his horses and dogs and hunting. Anne loved dancing so she was not very pleased by the change, and I believed she preferred being a juvenile in our nurseries to wife to Louis.

In her rather impulsive way Mamie whispered to me that they were not really suited to each other and it was not a happy marriage; and then she put her fingers to her lips and said: “Forget I said that.”

That was the sort of thing which endeared her to me. We grew more and more friendly and I often felt that I was in a cozy cocoon guarded by my dear Mamie. Since she had come, Madame de Montglat had more or less passed me over to her, only making sure that I attended my lessons and was getting my religious instruction. She did not mind so much about Monsieur de Breves. The most important duty was religious study; I had to learn to be an unswerving Catholic, to believe blindly in the Faith and to remember, no matter what happened, that I was the daughter of a king and queen and that such a state was bestowed by God.

Sometimes I went to Court to enjoy some ball or entertainment devised by Anne. She and I often danced together for we made a very successful pair.

I was to wish in later life that I had paid more attention to Monsieur de Breves and that I had had more than superficial knowledge of the history of my country and of the world. If I had had this I might not have made so many miscalculations. Often in my days of loneliness I look back and think how much I could have learned from the experiences of those who went before me.

But I was impatient with serious matters for I was frivolous by nature and my mind was filled with the tune of a new song or an intricate dance step.

Two years passed. My mother was still at Blois and Armand du Plessis was acting as a sort of go-between. He had been my mother’s adviser until the death of Maréchal d’Ancre, and after a spell in Avignon he had emerged and was now professing a desire to serve the King. He was endeavoring to bring about a reconciliation between my mother and Louis. Du Plessis was a brilliant man. We did not realize how brilliant then, but in later years when he became the Duc de Richelieu and later Cardinal, he made his mark on the history of France.

It was two years after Louis’s marriage that Christine left us to become the Duchesse de Savoy. She had grown so accustomed to the idea of leaving home that she did not seem to mind as much as Elizabeth had done. There were festivities and banquets, but they were not as grand as those with which we had celebrated Louis’s wedding—naturally not, I supposed, because he was the King, but the real reason was that they lacked my mother’s extravagant hand.

I was now ten years old—getting alarmingly near that time when my own future would be decided. I fancied that I was beginning to be noticed more. I was next in line for a husband and I began to dream romantically of what he would be like. I should like a king if possible. Elizabeth was Queen of Spain, Christine only Duchess of Savoy. What would be the fate of Henriette Marie? I talked about it with Mamie. We used to conjure up bridegrooms for me. It was a great game of mine and I always ended by saying, “And where I go, you shall be with me.”

“But of course,” Mamie always said.

I saw less of Gaston now. At eleven years old he was quite a little man. He was as indolent as I was and liked to be near the King. Louis was quite tolerant to him and Gaston was longing to cast off his youth—even as I was.

There was an uneasy situation in the country as I suppose there always is with a king who is young and inexperienced and who has favorites jostling for the highest posts. The bitter Catholic–Protestant antagonism had been kept in check by my father but it was always simmering near the surface and ready to break out at any moment.

It was disturbing to have a queen mother in captivity and a young King dominated by a minister who had been born Italian and was beginning to give himself far too many airs—as such people always did. The people were getting as irritated with the Duc de Luynes as they had with the Maréchal d’Ancre.

Soon after Christine’s wedding there were rumors and whispering throughout the Court, so I knew something was happening, and heard what it was eventually from Mamie.

“The Queen Mother has escaped from Blois!” she said in a hushed whisper. It was like Mamie to get the utmost drama out of a situation. She described it to me graphically. “The Queen Mother could no longer endure captivity and with the help of her friends, she made a plan of escape. How could this be brought about? There were guards all over the place. Well, she had made up her mind that she was going to try and you know that when your mother decided on something it was as good as done. A ladder was placed up against her window and she alighted to a terrace. But you know Blois. She was still very high up. So they got another ladder to take her to the next terrace. She was so exhausted by the first descent that she would not undertake the second so they let her down by means of a rope. At last she reached the ground, but she still had to get out of the castle, so she wrapped herself in a cloak and marched right past the sentries between two equerries. The equerries winked at the sentries and whispered something….”

“What did they whisper?”

“That the woman had come in to provide a little light entertainment for some of the men. So as they winked and nodded and made a few crude remarks, the Queen Mother passed on. The Duc D’Épernon had a carriage waiting for her and they sped away to Angoulême.”

“But what does this mean?”

“That your mother is no longer a prisoner. Something will have to be done now or there will be war.”

“War between my mother and my brother! That’s impossible.”

“Nothing is impossible in France…or anywhere else for that matter, little Princesse. Always remember that.”

How her words had a habit of coming back to me during my troubles. It was no use saying: That could never happen. She had been right. Anything could happen in France…or in England.

We did not know very much of what was taking place in the Angoumois. It was a very uneasy time. The last thing my brother wanted was to be at war against his mother and I am sure she did not want to be at war with him. Fortunately Richelieu was able to convince them both that what the people wanted was a reconciliation. There were a few skirmishes and a great deal of negotiation and in time a meeting between my mother and brother took place in Paris. It was an occasion. The people did not want a civil war. My brother embraced my mother publicly to the people’s cheers and it was another excuse for balls and banquets.

My mother declared that she was delighted to see me and kissed me more fervently than ever I remember her doing before. Then she looked at me speculatively.

“You are growing out of girlhood, Henriette,” she said.

I knew what that meant, and the prospect excited me while it filled me with apprehension.

Elizabeth gone. Christine gone. It must be my turn next.

I was nearly fifteen when I first became aware of the existence of the Prince of Wales. It came about in an unusual way.

Queen Anne was devising a ballet as she so often did and as she and I danced well together she was arranging for a part to be written in for me. I was always excited at the prospect of a new dance and called in the seamstress to make a dress for me which would be suitable for the occasion.

Anne and I practiced together and each complimented the other on the lightness of her step and the grace with which she twirled. Earnestly we discussed how we could make the dance more beautiful as—so Mamie said—two generals might plan a campaign which was going to result in the conquest of the world.

I laughed at her. One of the few things about me which she did not fully understand was my passionate commitment to dancing.

We rehearsed together and each time we were more enchanted by our performance. As we neared perfection we would sometimes have an audience from people who could persuade or bribe the guards to let them into that part of the palace where we were dancing.

I enjoyed an audience, as did Anne, so we looked forward to these rehearsals almost as much as we did to the grand performance in the presence of the King.

I did not know at that time that there was anything unusual about that performance, but it seemed that all the Court was laughing about it and in due course Mamie told me what had happened.

“The audacity!” she cried. “Guess who was in the audience at your rehearsal?”

“Many people it seemed.”

“There were two gentlemen there calling themselves Tom Smith and John Brown. They asked the Queen’s Chamberlain so pleadingly to be given seats for the ballet and, because they were English, he let them in. He said he thought it only courteous to show hospitality to foreigners, and he was so proud of the way in which his Queen danced that he wanted foreigners to see it for themselves. So they came. They applauded the ballet, but somehow it became known who they were. Now, Henriette, guess who our discreet visitors were.”

“How should I know? What did you say their names were? Tom…Smith and John what…?”

“Their assumed names. The gentlemen masquerading under those very undistinguished names were none other than the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Buckingham.”

“Why did they not come as what they are and be treated with the respect due to them?”

“Because, my Princesse, that is exactly what they did not want to do.”

“But why not?” I cried. “Why did they come?”

“To see the Queen.”

“But they did not make themselves known to her. She would have received them warmly.”

“They did not want to make themselves known and now that the secret has leaked, it is really very romantic. The Prince of Wales is to marry the Infanta of Spain. She is the Queen’s sister. He is on his way to woo her because he believes that husbands and wives should know each other before marriage. He thinks they should not be thrust at each other without having a chance to see whether they can like each other or not.”

“I think that is right. Elizabeth might have been much happier if she could have seen her husband first.”

“Well, the Prince of Wales was on his way to Spain and, of course, he must pass through France and the romantic young gentleman could not resist the temptation of getting a glimpse of the Queen, but he did not want her to know for what purpose. He thinks that her sister must be a little like her, and if the Queen is beautiful, her sister might have a good chance of being so too.”

“Was he…satisfied?”

“He must have been because he has gone on to Spain.”

“It sounds very romantic. I wish I had been able to catch a glimpse of him.”

“He caught a glimpse of you no doubt.”

“He wouldn’t be looking at me, would he? All his attention would be for Anne.”

“You’re pretty enough for him to take a second look.”

The incident was talked of for some time. Everyone was amused by it and thought it was a very daring thing to do.

Anne mentioned it to me when we were at our next rehearsal. She said: “Did you hear about the outrageous behavior of the Prince of Wales and the Duke of Buckingham?”

“I did,” I answered. “Everyone is talking about it.”

“He will now be in Madrid.” Anne looked a little wistful. She enjoyed her position here in France but I sometimes thought she was a little homesick. “Somehow,” she went on, “I don’t think this marriage will come to anything.”

“Oh surely it will. Such a bold young man will surely succeed with your sister.”

“It is not a matter of succeeding with her. I agree she may like him well enough. But nothing is likely to come of this. In the first place the Prince is a heretic from a heretic country. My sister is deeply religious—far more so than I ever was—and one of the terms of the marriage is to restore the Palatinate to Frederick who is the son-in-law of the King of England and brother-in-law to this Prince Charles. They ask too much, and I will tell you something: The Parisians may laugh at two young men who come in disguise on a romantic mission, but the Spaniards will not. They are very formal. No, I feel sure this is a mission doomed to failure.”

“It seems a pity. But you never know what governments will do. They take the strangest decisions sometimes. I think it is rather charming and romantic to come in disguise to court a lady.”

“Oh, I can see he has taken your fancy. It is a pity he did not come to court you.”

“Me? What do you mean?”

“Well, we shall have to find a husband for you, and don’t forget that whoever marries that young man will be the Queen of England.”

“But you just said your sister could not marry him because he is a heretic. I am Catholic too.”

Anne crossed herself. “As all right-thinking people are. But—apart from his religion—he is the most eligible bachelor in Europe…at least one of them. He has a crown to offer. Oh, I wish he had seen you better. The light wasn’t very good and he would have been seated rather far away. I wish I had known who they were….”

“But, Anne, he is going to woo your sister. I am only fourteen.”

“I was married when I was fourteen.”

I shivered slightly but I thought that if ever I was married I should like the young man to take the trouble to come and court me.

I often wondered what the Prince of Wales had thought of the Infanta and what happened to him when he reached Madrid. It was strange—almost as though I had a presentiment of what was to come—but I could not get him out of my mind.

War had broken out in France—the sort of war everyone dreaded—with Frenchmen fighting against Frenchmen. When my father had been alive he had appeased both Catholics and Huguenots. It was different now.

The war was remote from Paris and I thought little about it. I was so completely involved with my singing and dancing. I did gather that the King’s armies were winning, but as long as what was happening outside did not interfere with my pleasure I dismissed it from my mind.

But there was change in the air and in time even I could not ignore it.

Charles d’Albert, Duc de Luynes, died…but not in battle, although he was in camp at Longueville when he was struck down by a malignant fever.

He had been so powerful and so eager that everyone should know how important he was—as people often are when they have risen from small beginnings to high honors. And now he was dead.

I heard that he had been very ill for three days and during that time, because they knew he was dying, his attendants had not bothered to come to his aid. So, as he had been no longer in a position to do them harm or good and was obviously close to death, he was ignored and left to die in agony with no one to give a hand to help him.

I felt rather sorry for the Duc de Luynes.

When he died they put his body on a bier to carry it away and so little did they reverence him that some of the servants actually played piquet on his bier while they waited for their horses to be watered and fed.

Of course his death changed everything. Louis was too weak to reign on his own. My mother came back into power and with her came Richelieu who had done so much to keep the peace between my mother’s party and that of my brother.

My mother was jubilant. She saw herself holding the reins again and ruling, with the help of Richelieu.

What she did not see was that in Richelieu, who had now become a Cardinal, she had found a man who was determined to take complete charge and guide a weak King in the way he should go.

It was a blow for my mother, but good fortune for France. But that was later, of course.

In the meantime envoys from the King of England had arrived in France and what they proposed was of the utmost importance to me.