[ [60]Bishop of Mende to Bassompierre, October 29th, 1626. MS. Français, 3692.
CHAPTER III
THE QUEEN OF THE COURTIERS
Let's now take our time While w'are in our prime, And old, old Age is a-farre off: For the evill, evill dayes Will come on apace Before we can be aware of. Robert Herrick
"I was," Henrietta Maria[61] was accustomed to say in the days of her sorrow, "I was the happiest and most fortunate of Queens. Not only had I every pleasure which heart could desire, but, above all, I had the love of my husband, who adored me." The expulsion of her French attendants was the foundation of the Queen's married happiness. Away from the insinuations of Madame S. Georges and the gibes of the Bishop of Mende, she began, in an amazingly short time, to appreciate the good qualities of her husband, to which indeed she had never been totally blind; and, in the words of Madame de Motteville, to "make her pleasure of her duty." "The incomparable virtues of the King," wrote Holland at this time, "are working upon the generosity and goodness of the Queen, so that his Majesty should soon have the best wife in the world."[62] And somewhat later an exceptionally well-qualified witness[63] was able to say that the royal couple lived together with the satisfaction which all their loyal subjects ought to desire.
But still one thing was lacking to her full content. Her husband's nature was such that his full confidence and affection could only be bestowed upon one person at the time, and she knew well who held the first place in his heart and counsels. But she had not long to wait. On August 23rd, 1628, the knife of Felton ended, in a few moments, the dazzling career of the Duke of Buckingham. Charles' grief was deep and lasting. He had loved his favourite like a brother, and he never had another personal friend. But to Henrietta the news, though shocking in its suddenness, cannot have been unwelcome. She showed all due respect to his memory, but, as one of her friends wrote to Carlisle, her lamentations were rather "out of discretion than out of a true sensation of his death. I need not tell you she is glad of it, for you must imagine as much."[64]
Thenceforward there was nothing to check the growth of an affection which became the admiration of Europe. Charles' artistic eye had always dwelt with pleasure upon his wife's beautiful face, and her wit and readiness relieved his sombre nature much as Buckingham's bright audacity had, and now that the latter's hostile influence was removed, he was so completely captivated that the watchful courtiers soon perceived that the advent of another favourite was not to be feared, "for the King has made over all his affection to his wife."[65] The tokens of his love were innumerable. He delighted in making her gifts of jewels, of religious pictures, of anything which he thought would please her. He caused her portrait, painted by the hand of Van Dyck, to be hung in his bedroom, and as early as 1629 it was remarked that he wished always to be in her company. Nor was she behindhand in affection. It is pleasant to read that when the King was away for a few days his wife lay awake at night sighing for his return, and that, on another occasion when she was at Tunbridge Wells drinking the waters which were just coming into fashion, she was so home-sick for her husband after a few days' separation that she cut short her visit and went home to him, arriving after a long journey quite unexpectedly. Such little incidents show that Charles was not exaggerating when, in 1630, he wrote to his mother-in-law that "the only dispute that now exists between us is that of conquering each other by affection, both esteeming ourselves victorious in following the will of the other";[66] and that the virtuous Habington, the poet of wedded love, was not paying one of the empty compliments of a courtier when he appealed to the example of his sovereign to enforce the lessons of virtue:
"Princes' example is a law: then we If loyalle subjects must true lovers be."[67]
Of course the Queen's great wish was to give the King, her husband, an heir to his throne. But for several years no children appeared, and it was not until the early spring of 1629 that Henrietta retired to Greenwich for her first confinement, and even then her hopes were disappointed, for the boy who was born only lived long enough to receive his father's name. She herself was very ill; but she showed the brave spirit which never deserted her in suffering, and her physician was able to report that she was "full of strength and courage."[68]