The difficulties of the religious situation were accentuated by the lamentable want of tact and patience displayed by both sides. The priests in Henrietta’s suite, with the Bishop of Mende at their head, seemed to be eager for battle, nor was Charles inclined to meet them in a conciliatory spirit. The ecclesiastics were importunate to have the Queen’s chapel at St. James’s completed; but the King, according to a news-letter of the time, replied that, if her Majesty’s closet were not large enough, they could say Mass in the great chamber; that were it not wide enough, they might use the garden; if that would not serve their turn, then the park was the fittest place. “So,” adds the writer, “they wished themselves at home again.” On one occasion, when their Majesties were dining together, there was an unseemly dispute between Henrietta’s chaplain and the King’s as to which of them should say grace. The Frenchman stole a march on his rival, upon which Charles rose, and taking the Queen by the hand, left the table, refusing to partake of meat thus irregularly blessed. On another, while they were staying at a country-house, Henrietta and some of her ladies passed, talking and laughing, through the hall where divine service was being held, and, to make matters worse, returned shortly afterwards and caused a fresh interruption.
As the months passed, it became daily more apparent that, so long as Henrietta’s French attendants remained in England, there could be no hope of a good understanding between husband and wife. The Queen’s ladies taught her to look upon the English of both sexes with distrust and dislike. Her priests fomented by every means in their power the indignation with which Charles’s broken promises in regard to his Catholic subjects had inspired her, and encouraged her to make an ostentatious display of her devotion to the observances of her Church. When, on February 2, 1626, Charles’s coronation took place, they persuaded her, not only to refuse to be crowned with him, but even to decline to assist at the ceremony, though a latticed place in the church had been made ready for her. Her absence involved that of Blainville, the French Ambassador, which was regarded as a serious affront to the sovereign to whom he was accredited, and did not serve to increase the cordiality between the two Courts.
When Henrietta was with her ladies she was as gay and light-hearted as might have been expected from one of her age and nation. Her ill-humour was reserved for her husband, in whose presence she gave herself the airs of a martyr. Charles’s patience was rapidly becoming exhausted; more than once he thought of “cashiering his Monsers,” as he expressed it, of packing the whole company back to France; but the marriage treaty protected them, and for a time he held his hand.
Fresh disputes soon arose. The Queen desired to nominate some of her French attendants to take charge of her jointure, to which Charles refused to consent. One night, after the royal pair were in bed, high words passed between them. “Take your lands to yourself,” exclaimed the angry wife. “If I have no power to put whom I will into those places, I will have neither lands nor houses of you. Give me what you think fit by way of pension.” Charles took refuge in his dignity. “Remember,” said he, “to whom you speak. You ought not to use me so.” The Queen declared that she was miserable; she had no power to place servants, and business succeeded the worse for her recommendation. She would have him to know that she was not of that quality to be used so ill. She continued in this strain for some time, refusing to listen to her husband’s explanations. “Then,” wrote Charles afterwards, in giving an account of the scene to Carleton, for the information of the French Government, “I made her both hear me and end this discourse.”
An incident which occurred at the end of June, 1626, brought matters to a climax.
One evening, after spending the greater part of the day in devotions in her chapel at St. James’s, the Queen, with some of her French attendants, amongst whom appear to have been several priests, strolled out to breathe the fresh air in St. James’s Park. From there they made their way into Hyde Park, and, by accident or design, directed their steps towards Tyburn,[50] where stood the gallows on which so many of their co-religionists had died. What happened then is uncertain. Henrietta afterwards denied that she approached within fifty paces of the gallows-tree, but it is possible, as Bassompierre admitted in his speech before the Royal Commissioners appointed to discuss with him the question of the dismissal of the Queen’s French attendants, that some words of prayer for the souls of the Catholics who had suffered there may have risen to her lips.
A week or two passed before the story of that evening walk reached Charles’s ears, much exaggerated, as one may suppose, in its passage, through the mouths of men. The Queen of England, he was told, had been conducted on a pilgrimage to offer prayers to dead traitors who had suffered the just reward of their crimes.[51] The King’s indignation knew no bounds, and, without apparently troubling to inquire into the truth of the matter, he forthwith resolved that whatever the marriage-treaty might say, those who were responsible for this scandal should no longer remain in England.
As, however, he felt that it would be advisable to do something to lessen the indignation with which the news of the expulsion of his wife’s French attendants would certainly be received in France, he found a pretext for sending Carleton on a special mission to Louis XIII, in order that he might be at hand to explain matters; but no sooner did he learn that his Ambassador had crossed the Channel than he proceeded to carry out his intentions.
On July 31 the King and Queen dined together at Whitehall. When they rose from table, Charles conducted his wife into his private apartments, where, having locked the door, he informed her that her attendants must return to France. Meanwhile, Lord Conway was informing the members of the Queen’s Household that it was the King’s command that they should remove forthwith to Somerset House—Henrietta’s dower-palace—where they would learn his Majesty’s pleasure. The Bishop of Mende expostulated, and the women “howled and lamented as if they had been going to execution.” But the Yeomen of the Guard intervened, thrust them all out and locked the doors after them.
Charles’s task was not so easy. No sooner did the Queen realise what was being done than she rushed to the window, in order to bid farewell to her departing attendants. The King attempted to draw her away, bidding her “to be satisfied, since it must be so.” But Henrietta, who was in a violent passion, broke away from him, and since he prevented her from opening the window, contrived to dash the glass to pieces, in her determination to make her voice heard. Charles, it is said, dragged her back, with her hands bleeding from the energy with which she clung to the bars.