Henrietta Maria Part 14

As time went on, and the troubles developed, these suspicions became more widespread and vivid, until just before the opening of the Long Parliament there were imaginative people who believed that an army of thirty thousand Frenchmen was ready to land in England in favour of the Scotch, while the more sober-minded contented themselves with the old story of help secretly given to the rebels. Montreuil saw in all this only machinations of the Spaniards industriously sowing false reports, that thereby they might render their enemy odious in the eyes of the English Court.[237]

Henrietta's own relations with Richelieu had not improved,[238] though she still continued to talk of a journey to France, as, after the birth of Prince Henry, her health continued very delicate. The residence of the Queen-Mother in England annoyed the Cardinal as much as had that of Madame de Chevreuse, and Mary de' Medici's conduct was not such as to propitiate him. Once, for instance, she allowed a priest connected with the Spanish Emba.s.sy to preach before her, and he improved the occasion by comparing her sufferings to those of Christ, and by eulogizing Cardinal Berulle, whose praise was not likely to be agreeable to Richelieu. Moreover, at this time Charles was more than usually inclined to the Spanish alliance. He had thoughts of a Spanish marriage both for his son and his daughter, and rumours were abroad that if France was supplying money to the rebels, Spain was doing the same by the Court. It was remarked that when the news came of the taking of Arras by the armies of France, the King could not bring himself to receive it warmly, though his wife, who was always a good Frenchwoman, in spite of Richelieu, expressed lively joy.

She had little in England to cheer her. Not only were her husband's affairs becoming a nightmare to her, but the looks of hatred which she encountered as she went abroad in her capital, and the vile calumnies which her enemies were not ashamed to publish and to scatter broadcast among her people were the beginning of a martyrdom such as only a woman can know. Added to all this was the growing conviction that her power was insufficient to protect those who had no other protection. It must have wrung her heart (though she knew it to be necessary) to see her mother, who had come to England to be at peace, deprived of half her allowance, and later reduced to such poverty as forced her to lessen her establishment and to sell her jewels. She feared increasingly that she would be obliged to send Rosetti away, and she felt bitterly the scant respect shown to him when, in the cold of the small hours of a November morning, he was roused to witness the searching of his house for proofs of his diplomatic status. It did not make it easier to her that the leading spirit in this matter, as in a general search of the houses of Catholics which took place about this time, was Sir Henry Vane, who owed to her favour his promotion to the position of Secretary of State.

She was learning some early lessons in the world's ingrat.i.tude. She knew that even her personal servants, such as the Capuchin Fathers, were threatened, and that the English Catholics, who had long looked to her "as the eyes of a handmaiden look to her mistress," were finding her help of no avail. Most poignant of all was the knowledge that the strong arm which had upheld her for so long was failing, and that her husband, with all his love, was obliged to leave her naked to her enemies. She was yet unpractised in suffering, and it is no wonder that, despite her high spirit, her misery was apparent to all.

Parliament had hardly met before Windbank was called up before the House of Commons, and questioned as to the number of priests and Jesuits in London.

That a.s.sembly further brought pressure to bear upon the King, which resulted in a proclamation banis.h.i.+ng Catholics to a certain distance from London. It was even suggested that new and stricter laws should be made against the recusants, and thorough-going people recommended that all Catholics found in a chapel, either that of the Queen or anybody else, should be immediately seized and hanged. The hatred of the country, and particularly of the city of London, for anything savouring of Popery was further shown by the presentation of the Root and Branch pet.i.tion, which asked for nothing less than the abolition of Episcopacy in the National Church. But these vexations, distressing as they were, sank into insignificance before the new blow which threatened the royal power. On November 11th Strafford was impeached by Pym of high treason and committed to the Tower, whence he was only to come out to his death. It was a poor consolation to the Queen that her old enemy, Laud, the persecutor of the Catholics, was also thrown into prison, for she had learned to see in him, if not a friend, at least a political ally.

No blow could have been more crus.h.i.+ng than that which at this critical moment deprived the King and Queen of the services and counsels of their best friend; but Henrietta was to find herself attacked in more personal matters, matters which a few months earlier would have seemed to her of more consequence than any misfortune which could happen to the Viceroy of Ireland. Experience, however, was teaching her to measure men and things by another standard than that of personal feeling, though to the end the lesson would be imperfectly learned. Indeed, in the very next trial she failed again.

The contribution of the Catholics in 1639 was a matter of common knowledge.

Parliament, which was already exasperated by the Queen's intervention on behalf of a priest named Goodman who had been condemned to die, and who was particularly odious to the Puritans as the brother of the Romanizing Bishop of Gloucester, determined to strike at those through whom it knew that it could wound Henrietta. No one at this time was nearer to the Queen than Walter Montagu, who was her confidant and helper in the correspondence which she was carrying on with the Court of Rome on the subject of communications between herself and the Pope. Closely a.s.sociated with him was Sir Kenelm Digby, whose departure for Rome was rendered impossible owing to the rancour of the Puritans. Sir John Winter was the Queen's own private secretary. These three gentlemen were called to the bar of the House of Commons to answer for their share in the contribution of 1639, and it was significantly remarked that the two latter were the sons of "Powder Plotters," who had lost their lives for complicity in that famous treason.

On Montagu and Digby fell the brunt of the attack;[239] the former appeared rather frightened and said little, but Sir Kenelm, who was gifted with an amazing flow of speech on every occasion, answered copiously and apparently candidly. The scene, though in one respect it was tragical enough, was not without humour. The eloquent knight began by eulogizing his audience, with some irony, perhaps, as "the gravest and wisest a.s.sembly in the whole world, whose Majesty is so great that it might well disorder his thoughts and impede his expressions"; nothing of this awe appears, however, in his speech. He a.s.sured the House that the contribution had a very simple origin, namely, the wish of the Catholics to follow the example of other loyal subjects who were helping the King in his necessity, that Con was the chief agent in the matter, on account of his unrivalled acquaintance among the English Catholics, persons of whom it was a mistake to suppose that he, Sir Kenelm, had any particular knowledge, and that the chief motive appealed to was that of grat.i.tude for the partial suspension of the penal laws. As to the amount collected, he had no precise information. Sir Basil Brook was the treasurer, and 10,000 had been paid in at one time and 2000 at another.

Sir Kenelm had played his part well. He had said a very little in a great many words, and he had kept the real originator of the scheme, the King himself (who must have been a little nervous of the possible revelations of the garrulous knight), well hidden. Indeed, the princ.i.p.al point upon which the Commons fixed was the status of Con, as to whom they may well have been curious, since their imagination had endowed him with alarming powers, and with three wives all living at the same time. Montagu was closely cross-questioned on the matter, but all that he would say was that he believed Con to be a private envoy to the Queen, in spite of the fact that he was sometimes called a nuncio. Digby airily a.s.serted that he had no accurate knowledge of the question under discussion, as he had taken pains to remain ignorant of these dangerous matters. He added, almost as an afterthought, that once at Whitehall he had heard Rosetti say that he renounced any jurisdiction of which he might be possessed.

The Queen was in great anxiety. Not only had her name been brought forward in this affair, but she was being attacked in other ways. It was suggested that her beautiful chapel at Somerset House should be closed, and that she should only be permitted the little chapel at Whitehall, which was more like a private oratory. Wild stories were abroad as to a great design among the Roman Catholics of the three kingdoms to subvert the Protestant religion by force, and the terror was so great that some fanatical spirits proposed that Catholics should be forced to wear a distinctive badge whenever they left their houses. This absurd proposition was rejected by the good sense of the many, but even so it was an ominous token of hatred.

The Queen was new to danger, either for herself or for her friends. She cared a great deal more to avert the wrath of the House of Commons from herself and from Montagu than for the welfare of the English Catholics, or even of Rosetti, who, at this time, was not on good terms with Montagu. She could think of nothing better to do than to send a message to her enemies, humble in tone and dwelling on the great desire which she had "to employ her own power to unite the King and the people"; she apologized for the "great resort to her Chappell at Denmark House," and promised that in the future she would "be carefull not to exceed that which is convenient and necessary for the exercise of her religion." She took upon herself the responsibility of the Catholic contribution, justifying and explaining it by "her dear and tender affection to the King and the example of other of His Majesty's subjects," and pleading her ignorance of the law if inadvertently anything illegal had been done. She completed her submission by promising to remove Rosetti out of the kingdom "within convenient time."[240]

The wrath of the English Catholics, who already looked upon the Queen's proposed journey to France as a threat of desertion, blazed forth at this surrender. They remembered, no doubt, that their mistress was a princess of France, the daughter of the heretic Henry of Navarre. Had she merely permitted the Parliament to wreak its evil will upon the Church of G.o.d, it would have been bad enough; but had she not gone far beyond this, showing herself ready to execute its persecuting edicts even before they were promulgated? The House of Commons, on the other hand, was greatly pleased at the Queen's submission, and her gracious message was "very well taken."

But had that a.s.sembly known the hopes with which the discomfited lady was consoling herself, its satisfaction would hardly have been greater than that of the Catholics.

One day some weeks earlier Henrietta, in the quiet of her own apartments, had taken up her pen and, without the knowledge of husband or friend, had written one of the most remarkable letters ever indited by a Queen of England.

It was addressed to Cardinal Barberini, and it bore neither date nor name of the place whence it was written. In it Henrietta poured out her whole heart. She dwelt upon the sad state of the Catholics, their banishment, the peril of the priests, the fear lest the harshness of the penal laws, "which reach even to blood," should be put in force against them. She emphasized the desperate condition of her husband, which obliged him, who since his accession had shown his goodwill to the Catholics, and who, indeed, was now suffering on account of his tenderness to them, to consent to persecution.

After this introduction she came to the gist of her letter, which was nothing less than a request for a sum of 500,000 crowns, to be used in winning over the chiefs of the Puritan faction. It was, she said, the only hope of salvation, "for when the Catholics have once escaped from the present Parliament, there is everything to hope and nothing to fear in the future, and the only means to bring this about is that which I propose."[241] But the greatest secrecy and the greatest prompt.i.tude were necessary. "I ask you very humbly to communicate this to His Holiness, whom I entreat to consult with you alone; for if the matter became known I should be lost. I pray him also to send me a reply as quickly as possible."[242] She did not doubt, she added, that if the response were favourable the King, her husband, would show his grat.i.tude by favouring the Catholics even more than he had done in the past. At any rate, whatever the upshot of the affair, she would have shown her zeal for the good of her religion.

The letter was finished; but Henrietta, who knew to some extent with what edged tools she was playing, took up her pen again to add a brief postscript. "There is no one knows of this yet but His Holiness, you, and I." After writing this final warning she sealed up the missive and sent it to the Papal Nuncio in Paris, through whom it reached Rome.

Cardinal Barberini was surprised and somewhat annoyed when he received this letter. He was already a little displeased with Henrietta, and the simple arguments which she used had not the influence which she imagined over the mind of the Protector of England. Moreover, the method of her request was unfortunate. The Cardinal thought it strange that she should have written on her own responsibility, without consulting either the accredited agent of the Papacy, who was at her side, or her own confessor. At first he was almost inclined to consider the letter a forgery, but he dismissed this idea in favour of the supposition that the Queen had been persuaded to this action by some person who sought perhaps to deceive her. He seems to have suspected that Richelieu had some hand in the matter,[243] and he remarked significantly in writing to Rosetti that the Queen's letter had been carried to Paris "by one Forster," an English Catholic believed to be in the pay of the French Government, who, he doubted not, had given his employers an opportunity of reading it. Henrietta meanwhile was awaiting in great anxiety the reply of Barberini, which, when it came at last, was a disappointment. Again it was intimated that only the conversion of the King of England would loosen the purse-strings of the Pope and justify the Holy Father in breaking in on the treasure of the Church stored up in the Castle of S. Angelo. The promise of toleration for the Catholics which would, it seems, have been given,[244] was not enough, for, as the Cardinal justly remarked to Rosetti, that promise had already been made in the secret articles of the Queen's marriage treaty. Moreover, what security could be offered that toleration, even if granted, would be permanent in the face of Parliamentary opposition? Barberini, however, did not wish to be unkind, and he hoped to soften the hard refusal by instructing Rosetti to tell the Queen of England that if matters came to the worst he would be willing to help her to the extent of 15,000 crowns.[245] But neither this promise nor the many pleasing words which accompanied it availed to save Henrietta from bitter disappointment, only less bitter, perhaps, than that which she would have felt had she received the money for which she asked, and had attempted therewith to bribe John Pym.

But this was not the only negotiation which she was carrying on with the Holy See. It will be remembered that in her message to the Commons she promised to remove Rosetti, understanding that his presence was "distasteful to the kingdom." She was afraid that most unwillingly she would be obliged to keep her promise. "I cannot sufficiently lament the pa.s.s to which we are come," she wrote to Cardinal Barberini. "I have long hoped to be able to keep Count Rosetti here, and I have used all sorts of artifice to do so ... but, at last, there was such an outburst of violence that there was no means of keeping up our communications except by promising to remove him."[246] She referred her correspondent to an accompanying letter written by Montagu to learn the details of a scheme by which she hoped to make of no effect her promises of submission, and in spite of her enemies to keep open the communications between England and Rome.[247] Montagu's letter, which is long and interesting, is less melancholy in tone than that of the Queen, and shows less of the gnawing anxiety which was invading her spirit. He even explained cheerfully that the anti-Catholic promises of the King and Queen had had so good an effect that affairs seemed in train for "an accommodation to get rid of the Scots, which is the princ.i.p.al thing that the King ought to regard."[248] As to the method to be employed for a.s.suring communications, it was similar to that already practised in Rome, where, in place of Sir Kenelm Digby, a private Scotchman, by name Robert Pendrick, formerly Hamilton's secretary and a friend of Con, had been installed as agent. Montagu, however, hoped that, pending the arrival of an humble subst.i.tute, the Queen might be able to keep Rosetti in England, and, indeed, that the Count might stay "until the time of her journey to France."

For on this journey she was at last resolved. Her health had not improved, and it was thought that she was suffering from the common English complaint, and was going into a decline. Probably she did not fear a rebuff from France, but she knew that she would have to fight for her departure with the House of Commons. Another, and perhaps an unexpected, obstacle presented itself. Mayerne vindicated his Puritanism by certifying that his royal patient was in no need of change of air, and that her malady was as much of the mind as of the body--a diagnosis which was probably correct but highly inconvenient. In this moment of almost universal reprobation, when even her co-religionists for whom she had done so much looked coldly on her, Henrietta may have found some consolation in the kindness of a number of women of London and Westminster, who, in a pet.i.tion to Parliament against the proposed journey, not only dwelt upon the loss to commerce which would follow the removal of the Queen's Court, but added kind words of her, praising the encouragement she had given to the calling of Parliament, and saying, with much truth, that since her coming to England "she hath been an instrument of many acts of mercy and grace to mult.i.tudes of distressed people."

Richelieu's answer to Henrietta's request for the hospitality of France was another grave disappointment. Never for one moment had the French Cardinal's vigilant eye been turned from England or its Queen. Madame de Chevreuse, Mary de' Medici, the Duke of Valette, the inclinations towards a Spanish alliance, all he had noted, and now was the day of reckoning. Not even in these closing years of triumph would he admit into France one who might scheme against his interests. The refusal was absolute, and in vain did Henrietta send a special agent to press her claims. The Cardinal was inexorable, and the excellent reasons which he gave for his decision--such as the certain ruin of the Catholics by the Queen's absence, and the danger in such desperate circ.u.mstances of leaving the country--failed to convince his correspondent that her request was refused solely for her own sake. So great was her mortification that she was unable to hide from her servants the chagrin which she felt that she, a daughter of France, the child of the great Henry, was refused in her sickness and sorrow the shelter of her native land.

But there was no time to grieve long over any single annoyance, for trouble succeeded trouble, one treading fast on the heels of another. Moreover, as the spring wore on lesser sorrows tended to become swallowed up in the terrible anxiety as to Strafford's fate. On March 16th it was decided that he should be tried for high treason; and it struck like an evil omen on the Queen's heart that on that very day the Lords and Commons agreed to pet.i.tion the King for the removal from Court of all Papists, and particularly of her four chief friends, Sir Kenelm Digby, Sir Tobie Matthew, Walter Montagu, and Sir John Winter. A few days later the trial began. It dragged along while, day after day, its course was watched by the King and Queen of England, who sat in a gallery, closely screened from curious eyes, looking down on the stern faces below them, and on the majestic figure of the man who was there to answer for his life. Not all the persuasions of the Commons could keep the royal couple away. It was the only thing they could do to encourage their faithful servant. With them sat their eldest son, the boy of whom it was said that he had been found weeping because the father who had received three kingdoms as his heritage would leave him never an one.

It is needless to repeat the story of Strafford's trial: how all turned upon an alleged plot to bring over Irish troops to subdue England; how it was found to be impossible to convict him of conduct which could be brought within the scope of the Treason Act; how his enemies, determined that he should not escape, turned the impeachment into an attainder. All that is necessary is to indicate the Queen's action through these weeks of terror and struggle.

Everything that she could she did to save the man whom once she had regarded almost as an enemy. Day after day she found opportunity for secret interviews with the Puritan leaders, in which she offered all (and perhaps more than all) that it was in her power to give in exchange for Strafford's life. Evening after evening, when the dusk had fallen, she sallied forth alone, lighting her steps with a single taper, to seek her foes in their own quarters.[249] Such efforts deserved success, and she at least believed that to them was due the remarkable conversion of Lord Denbigh, the husband of her dear and faithful lady-in-waiting, who, after being one of Strafford's bitterest opponents, turned round and defended him with all his ability in the House of Lords.

Nor were these exertions the sum of Henrietta's activities. The marriage between little Princess Mary and the Prince of Orange, which took place in the middle of May, bringing as it did the hope of help in money and perhaps in soldiers, cheered her spirits and roused her to fresh efforts. It was now that the army plot was formed, the main object of which was to bring up to London the army which had been raised against the Scots, and by means of it to overpower Parliament and to release Strafford.

The plot seems to have originated with two soldiers, the younger Goring and an officer named Wilmot. These two separately conceived the idea of turning the discontent of the army, whose wages had not been paid, to the profit of the King. Charles and Henrietta, who were consulted, thought that the best plan would be to endeavour to bring about an understanding between the two officers, each of whom wished to be commander-in-chief. The difficult task was a.s.signed to Henry Jermyn, whose gentle manners made him specially suited to such a mission. But then the Queen's heart began to fail her. She knew only too well the danger of meddling with such matters, and she was greatly attached to Jermyn, who was, besides, one of the last of her faithful servants left to her; for Windbank, Montagu, and many another had been forced to find safety in flight. "If Jermyn too is lost, we shall be left without friends," she said piteously to her husband. Charles considered deeply for some time, for he was struck by this argument; but in the end he said that he thought the risk worth running, and Jermyn, whose fidelity was unimpeachable, was asked to undertake the dangerous mission.

Henrietta's courage was indeed giving way. The insults of the mob, the undisguised hatred of the Puritans whom she believed about to impeach her of high treason, the wild rumours afloat which culminated in the report of an imminent French invasion (this time in the royal interest), terrified her so much that, in spite of her proud boasts of a few days earlier that she was the daughter of a father who had never learned to run away, she determined to leave London for Portsmouth. She was only stayed by the entreaties of the French agent in London, of the Bishop of Angouleme, and of Father Philip. At Portsmouth was not only the governor, the younger Goring, but Henry Jermyn, and the Queen's precipitate flight would have given colour to the scandals which her enemies were industriously spreading, and to gain evidence for which they did not scruple to cross-question even her ladies of the bedchamber.

In London, therefore, Henrietta remained to hear that same day that the army plot, which was already suspected by Pym, had been betrayed by Goring, whom she trusted almost beyond any of her servants.[250] Neither he nor Wilmot could reconcile himself to giving up the first place, and the former, goaded by ambition, opened the whole matter to Parliament. Henry Percy, who was also concerned in the affair, fled, leaving a letter for his brother, the Earl of Northumberland, which was read before Parliament. In spite of the closure of the ports, he managed, after considerable difficulty, to reach France, while others of the conspirators, among whom were two poets, D'Avenant and Suckling, made good their escape. Henry Jermyn ran perhaps the greatest risk. He had set off for Portsmouth at the Queen's request, knowing that the plot was betrayed, but unwitting that Goring was the traitor. When he reached his destination he was asked wonderingly why he had come.

"In obedience to His Majesty's commands," he replied. Goring looked sadly at his friend. "You have nothing to fear," he said at last, "either for yourself or for me, for I have sufficient credit to save you. I am sorry to have done wrong, but I will atone for it with regard to you, and I will die rather than fail you."

Jermyn perhaps distrusted the man who had already betrayed so grave a trust; but in this case Goring was as good as his word. He put the orders sent down by Parliament into his pocket, and helped his friend to escape in a small boat which took him to join the other exiles in France.

That which the Queen had feared had come upon her, and she was left almost without friends. Besides, she winced as at the lash of a whip when she heard the vile attacks upon her honour.[251] But again bad griefs were to be swallowed up by worse.

For the army plot sealed Strafford's fate. The misgivings of the Puritans were becoming terror as they appreciated that the King of England would shrink from no means which might make him supreme. The more well-informed among them knew that Richelieu wished them well, but there were those who saw in the welcome which the Cardinal extended to the English exiles an indication that the influence of France would be thrown on the side of the King, and there were rumours abroad that Strafford, once rescued from prison, would find a refuge across the Channel. The Earl's position was rendered still worse when the Lieutenant of the Tower declared that he had been offered a large bribe to favour his prisoner's escape. There was now no room for compromise. Strafford had to pay the penalty of the greatness which made him feared, and on May 8th, the very day on which the army plot became known, the Bill of Attainder pa.s.sed both Houses of Parliament.

Then followed four agonizing days. The King, who had given Strafford a solemn promise that he should not be harmed, became more and more terrified (not so much for himself as for those whom he loved, for he was no coward) as he realized the implacability of those who sought his faithful servant's life. On the other hand, he felt the shame of the descendant of a long line of kings at the very thought of breaking his royal pledge. In his struggle he knew not where to turn for help or comfort. Strafford himself, imitating the heroic conduct of the simple priest John Goodman, wrote to Charles, begging to die rather than that his safety should prejudice the King's interests. As for Henrietta, at this crisis she had no strength to supplement her husband's weakness. She sat s.h.i.+vering at Whitehall, feeling around her the atmosphere of hatred, and hearing at last that most terrible of all sounds, the howling of an infuriated mob. Long Charles hesitated, but at last he dared do so no longer, for he believed that his wife and his children would pay the ransom of Strafford. Impelled by fear, justified by subtle counsellors, he seized his pen and signed the fatal death-warrant; "and in signing it he signed his own,"[252] commented a Frenchman many years later.

Strafford did not fear death. His state of health was such that probably in any case his remaining days would have been few. With one bitter comment, "Put not your trust in princes," he turned resolutely to the regulation of his temporal affairs and to preparation for death. His last day on earth was troubled by the well-meant solicitude of certain Catholics who, by some means, gained access to him, but when they found their efforts unavailing they departed, and he was left in peace. The fatal twelfth of May dawned.

He was led out to meet first the blessing of his fellow-prisoner, Archbishop Laud, and then the angry faces of the populace, which he despised to the end, but to which was pa.s.sing the power he was unable to hold. There were a few moments of tension, of waiting for death; then the axe fell, and the one man who might have saved Charles' throne was for ever beyond the reach of warring factions. "They have committed murder with the sword of justice,"[253] cried out one Englishman, expressing the silent thoughts of others less courageous than himself.

"The people," commented Salvetti, who was not unworthy to be the countryman of Machiavelli, "now that it knows its own strength, and that nothing is denied to it, will not stop here, but will claim more."[254] Indeed, the revolution came on apace. The power was in the hands of Pym and his friends, and behind them were the London mob and the Scotch army. The abolition of the Star Chamber and High Commission Courts was only one among the many blows which were shattering Charles' throne.

These were some of the darkest days of Henrietta's life. She was fully aroused from the levity of her youth, but at this first touch of adversity she had not learned the courage and resignation of later times. Strafford had no truer mourner than she, unless, indeed, it were her husband. Then there were griefs more personal to herself. Some of those whom she had most trusted, such as Lady Carlisle and the Earl of Holland, turned against her, and she still believed that her enemies meant to humiliate her by an impeachment. She had to see the Catholics hated and persecuted as they had not been since the days of the Powder Plot, finding only a sorry consolation in the heroism which kept most of the priests at their post of danger. It added to her misery that she had to bear it alone. Even the Bishop of Angouleme left his royal mistress, for somewhat characteristically he discovered the urgent need of his presence in Paris.

One of a braver spirit remained as ever faithful, but Father Philip, who was specially obnoxious to the Puritans, because being a subject of the King of England he came within the scope of the recusancy laws, found his constancy rewarded by a severe interrogation before the House of Commons and a short sojourn in the Tower. It was, however, no doubt a satisfaction, both to him and to the Queen, that Richelieu, whose name had been freely mentioned in the examination, expressed himself much annoyed at the liberty which the leaders of Parliament had taken.[255]

And in July Henrietta lost another friend. Rosetti had stayed, with admirable courage and almost beyond the limit of safety, but now the condition of affairs was such that the Queen would not even permit Piombini, the humble agent who had been sent to replace him, to remain in England. She and her husband, with desperation in their hearts, held a last interview with the papal envoy. Charles, who in Rosetti's words spoke of the injuries which religion was receiving, "not as a heretic king, but as a Catholic,"[256] was by this time ready to promise, in return for help from the Pope, even liberty of conscience in the three kingdoms, together with the extirpation of Puritanism, thus leaving the field to the Catholics and the Protestants. He was, moreover, willing to forgo any help from Rome until the free exercise of the Catholic religion had been granted in Ireland. These terms, countersigned by his own royal hand, were to be carried across the sea by Mary de' Medici, who was on the point of leaving England, and delivered to Rosetti, who, by that time, would be on the way to Rome.

But the King of England humiliated himself in vain. Rosetti and those who directed him were aware of both the circ.u.mstances and the character of the man with whom they had to deal. They knew that only one thing could irrevocably bind Charles to the Catholic cause, and to the performance of his difficult promise. "The true way of getting help from the Holy See,"

said Rosetti severely, "is the conversion of the King." It was of no avail that Henrietta hastily a.s.serted that such a step was impossible, not from any dislike on her husband's part to their holy religion, but because it would cost him his crown. The King's acts, and not his motives, were the envoy's concern, and he offered no comment on this wifely explanation, but hastened to bid the Queen farewell. He left England immediately, and Henrietta never saw him again.

A month later, in the August of this sad summer, Henrietta wrote a letter to her sister Christine, which is the best description of the despair which was taking possession of her. "I swear to you," so it runs, "that I am almost mad with the sudden change in my fortunes. From the highest pitch of contentment I am fallen into every kind of misery which affects not only me but others. The sufferings of the poor Catholics and of others who are the servants of my lord the King touch me as sensibly as can any personal sorrow. Imagine what I feel to see the King's power taken from him, the Catholics persecuted, the priests hanged, the persons devoted to us removed and pursued for their lives because they served the King. As for myself, I am kept as a prisoner, so that they will not even permit me to follow the King, who is going to Scotland." She goes on to speak of one of the chief aggravations of her misery, the utter helplessness which she felt. "You have had troubles enough," she exclaims to her sister, "but at least you were able to do something to escape them; while we, we have to sit with our arms folded, quite unable to help ourselves. I know well," she adds sadly, commenting on her little daughter's marriage, which might have seemed rather beneath the dignity of the eldest daughter of England, "I know well that it is not kingdoms that give contentment, and that kings are as unhappy and sometimes more so than other people."[257]

During the King's absence in Scotland Henrietta retired to her country house at Oatlands, to find what consolation she could in the society of her children. Even there she was not at peace. The leaders of the Parliamentary party, wis.h.i.+ng to gain possession of the young Princes, requested that they might be placed in their hands, for the benefit of their education, and because they feared that the Queen, their mother, would make them Papists.

"You are mistaken," replied Henrietta proudly. "The Princes have their tutors and governors to teach them all that is proper, and I shall not make them Papists, for I know that that is not the wish of the King."

Nevertheless she was so alarmed at this request that she sent the children to another country house, whence they came to visit her but occasionally.

She believed that she herself was in some danger of being carried off by her enemies; at least, that they wished her to think so, in order to drive her from the kingdom. After a while she left Oatlands and went to Hampton Court, where she was in greater safety, and where she was able to work for her husband by winning over some doubtful spirits, of whom the chief was the Lord Mayor of London.

Thus the summer wore on, and with the autumn came another blow. In the early days of November, while Charles was still in Scotland, London was startled by the news of the sudden and horrible rebellion of the long-oppressed Irish Catholics, who rose to avenge upon their Protestant neighbours the wrongs of generations. Stories, not unfounded, of the reckless barbarity of the rebels were in the mouth of every Englishman, and the victorious Puritans found in them an easy means of fanning the popular hatred of the Catholics, which was already at white heat. "This is what they have done in Ireland, this is what they would do, if they had the chance, in England," was a ready and convincing argument. This rebellion added another difficulty to those which were overwhelming the King and Queen; for not only did it thus give a handle to their enemies, but there were those who did not scruple to insinuate that the Queen was concerned in it.

Later in the same month Charles came home, and he had one day of pleasure and triumph, for the city of London, partly through the exertions of the Queen, gave him a royal welcome, which seemed like the beginning of better things. It was, however, but a pa.s.sing gleam of hope. The presentation on December 1st of the Grand Remonstrance, with its sombre catalogue of grievances, with its acrid religious and political tone, marked another act of the tragedy. Then at the beginning of the New Year (1642) came the King's fatal attempt to arrest five members[258] of the House of Commons and one member of the House of Lords, whom he knew to have been in communication with the Scots, and whom on this ground he wished to impeach for the crime of high treason.

The House of Commons showed a disposition to resist, and on January 4th Charles went down himself to seize the offending members. He had concerted his plan overnight with his wife and with George Digby,[259] a cousin of Sir Kenelm, one of those who had rallied to the royal cause at the time of Strafford's trial, and who henceforward appears among the Queen's special friends. With morning the King's spirit quailed before the task he had undertaken, but Henrietta, whose anger was roused because she believed that these ringleaders of the Commons intended to impeach her, would allow no shrinking. "Go, poltroon, pull the ears of these rogues, or never see me again," she cried, with that touch of insolent scorn into which her husband's weakness or scruples sometimes betrayed her. As ever, Charles was unable to stand against her stronger will. He took her in his arms, a.s.suring her that in an hour's time he would come back master of his foes; and so he left her and went to his destruction. She awaited his return in the highest spirits, thinking that now, at last, by one brilliant _coup_ her troubles would be ended. She continually consulted her watch, as she listened eagerly for the footsteps of a messenger. At last she could contain herself no longer. Lady Carlisle, who probably gathered that some great matter was stirring, came into the Queen's private room to be greeted with an excited exclamation, "Rejoice, for now I hope the King is master in his kingdom," and to be told the very names of the intended victims. Lady Carlisle showed no surprise or annoyance. She quietly left the room and wrote a note to Pym, with the consequence that Charles, who had been delayed, entered the House of Commons to find, in his own words, "the birds flown." Henrietta, when she discovered the Countess' treachery, reproached herself most bitterly for her failure to keep silence, and confessed her fault freely to her husband, who as freely forgave it. But, culpable as she was, it is probable that her indiscretion did little harm. Her real fault she could not appreciate. It was Charles' attempt to seize the leaders of Parliament, not his failure in so doing, which precipitated the revolution.

Henceforward there was no hope of averting the revolution. Charles and Henrietta had to face the wrath of their people, and they knew that they were alone. The Pope, from whom they had hoped so much, left them to their fate, and Richelieu, though his att.i.tude had been sometimes a little ambiguous, was the friend of their foes, and felt towards them an hostility the result of the history of the last fifteen years, which was a continual encouragement to those who were arrayed against them. It is true that many Englishmen, terrified at the extremes to which the Puritans were rus.h.i.+ng, rallied round the King,[260] seeing in him, as he ever saw in himself, the defender of the ancient const.i.tution; but even so the horizon was dark, and it was to grow darker to the end. "A northern King shall reign," ran the prophecy of Paul Grebner, who was in England in the great days of Elizabeth, "Charles by name, who shall take to wife Mary of the Popish religion, whereupon he shall be a most unfortunate Prince."[261]

[Footnote 234: See particularly the dispatches of Montreuil (MS. Francais, 15,995) and Salvetti (Add. MS., 27,962), and Rosetti's remark in a letter to Cardinal Barberini (August 10th, 1640) that if something were not done the Puritans would so increase "che metteranno un giorno in pericolo di distruggere la monarchia di Inghilterra!"--Roman Transcripts P.R.O.]

[Footnote 235: Mme de Motteville: _Memoires_ (1783), I, 244. Cf. Montglas: _Memoires_ (1727), t. II, p. 67. "Il [Richelieu] avoit toujours des sommes d'argent entre les mains pour distribuer a l'insu de tout le monde a gens inconnus qui faisoient ensuite des effets mervellieux qui surprenoient tout le monde: comme depuis par la guerre civile d'Angleterre dont il etoit auteur et qu'il fomentoit pour empecher les Anglois jaloux de la prosperite de la France de traverser ses desseins."]

[Footnote 236: Aff. Etran. Ang., t. 47.]

[Footnote 237: MS. Francais, 15,995.]