Henrietta Maria

by Henrietta Haynes

The procession was drawn up. First came an officer known as the captain of the gate, behind whom walked a hundred men of the King's Swiss Guard, drums beating and banners flying. They were followed by the band, which was so effective that while the hautbois ravished the ears of those who heard them, the drums would have stirred the most faint-hearted to courage. As to the trumpets, they made the hearts of the listeners leap for joy within their bodies.

At last, after heralds, marshals, peers, and dukes, after the proxy bridegroom and the Ambassadors from England, came the central figure of the procession, the bride herself, supported by her two brothers, one of whom was also her King.

The sickly, depressed Louis XIII, notwithstanding his magnificent dress of cramoisi velvet, so thickly covered with cloth of gold that the foundation hardly appeared, afforded a sad contrast to the splendid vitality of his little sister, whose dark curls were adorned by a crown of gold set with diamonds, and bearing in front an enormous pearl of inestimable value. The train of her royal mantle, which was of velvet and cloth of gold, embroidered with fleurs-de-lis, was carried by the Princesses of Condé and Conti and by the Countess of Soissons, the mother of the rejected lover, who had asked and obtained leave to absent himself from the ceremony. So heavy was it that to give the bride greater comfort an officer walked under it and supported it with his head and hands. Gaston of Orleans, who was at his sister's left hand, was not allowed to rival his sovereign in apparel, for a rule had been made that the King, the Duke of Chevreuse, and the Earls of Carlisle and Holland should be the only gentlemen to appear in cloth of gold. He had to content himself with silk. The rear was brought up by the two Queens, the elder plainly dressed in black, relieved by splendid jewels; the younger magnificent in cloth of gold and silver. A crowd of highly born ladies followed, among whom may be mentioned Mademoiselle de Montpensier, the rich heiress whom Gaston of Orleans was to wed reluctantly a year later, and Madame de Chevreuse, who, no doubt, cast admiring glances at the handsome face and figure of her lover, the Earl of Holland.

The wedding ceremony was not to take place in the church but, in accordance with the old ritual of matrimony, on a platform erected outside the west door,[17] which was connected with the archiepiscopal palace by a long wooden gallery upholstered in beautiful tapestry. On this platform, under a canopy of cloth of gold, Cardinal de Rochefoucault was waiting to receive the bride, while from the stands which had been put up round the parvis, and from the windows of the tall neighbouring houses, eager heads were thrust forward to catch a glimpse of the procession as it wound along in the sunshine which had succeeded the rainy morning. Henrietta, the Duke of Chevreuse, and the royal party ascended the platform. The short marriage ceremony was gone through, and immediately on its conclusion an English gentleman who was present, by name George Goring,[18] set off to carry to the King of England, as quickly as relays of the swiftest horses would allow, the tidings of his own marriage.

The new Queen only lingered at the church door to receive the kneeling homage of the English Ambassadors. Then, accompanied by her mother, her brothers, and the rest of the wedding-party, she entered the great church.[19] There awaited her not only the nobility of France, but also such dignitaries as the provost of the merchants, the aldermen of the city of Paris, and the rector of the university, while "Messieurs du Parlement" had, with some difficulty, made good their claim to be present in a body. All eyes were turned upon the bride as she moved along another richly decorated gallery, which conducted her to a dais in the chancel from which she was to hear the nuptial Mass. It was past seven o'clock before the offertory was reached, an almost unprecedented hour at which to say Mass, and many may have envied the heretic Ambassadors who were able to retire for a brief rest, owing to their unwillingness to be present at a popish service. The only consideration shown for Henrietta was that she was not required to communicate, as it was thought that to fast until that late hour and to undergo at the same time so much fatigue and excitement might prove injurious to her health.

But even when the Mass was over there was no rest to be had. That evening saw the Archbishop's palace turned into a scene of royal festivity. In the hall the banquet was spread. At the middle of the table sat the King, with his mother on his right hand and his sister, the queen of a day, on his left. The Duke of Chevreuse and the English Ambassadors were privileged to sit down with the royal party, which was waited on by "our lords the princes, dukes, peers, and marshals of France," who did not disdain to bring in the meats for the feast. Outside in the May darkness all Paris was en fête. Bonfires and fireworks were to be seen in every street, so that it seemed that never had there been such rejoicings as at the marriage of Princess Henrietta.

It might have been expected that the newly married Queen would have set off at once for her adopted country, but, on the contrary, there were considerable delays caused, it was believed, by the Pope's agents, who were annoyed that the marriage had taken place before the details of the dispensation had been settled.[20] When these difficulties had been overcome the King fell ill, and it seems probable that the departure would have been postponed even longer than was the case had not an event occurred to hasten it, namely, the arrival in Paris of an unexpected and most unwelcome guest, George, Duke of Buckingham.

This extraordinary person, whose career reads like a fairy story, was at this time at the height of his fame. His handsome face and a certain careless magnificence of manner, which might almost have passed for magnanimity, were greatly admired, and if he showed at times the insolence of the parvenu, much was condoned, at least outwardly, in the man who was the acknowledged favourite of the King of England, and who was able to appear in almost regal splendour, decked out, it was even said, by the jewels of England. He was already well known in Paris, and in the few days he had spent there in 1624, between Madrid and London, he had made an ineffaceable impression upon at least one heart.

Few royal stories are sadder than that of Anne of Austria, the queen of Louis XIII. Married as a mere child to an apathetic boy, she neither knew how to win his love nor how to adapt herself to the requirements of her position. Neglected by her husband, bullied by her mother-in-law, and later by Richelieu, she may almost be forgiven for her treasonable correspondence with the enemies of France. Still less can she be blamed that her heart clung too fondly to the relatives she had left in Madrid. To the end of her days she remained a Spaniard, dévote and fanatical beyond the liking of the lively Parisians; a Spaniard also in her unconquerable coquetry. The ladies of her mother's Court, shut up in almost monastical seclusion, were accustomed to amuse themselves during the long hours which intervened between the various religious exercises by dwelling on and recounting in every detail their conquests of the men whom they seldom saw except in the silence of a church or among the crowds of a Court ceremony. Anne, coming from such a life, was unable to understand at once the greater liberty and the greater decorum of French manners. She was beautiful, and she was gifted with a pair of soft, white, exquisitely modelled hands, so that she was able to command the flattery which she loved. Many a gallant worshipped at a distance, but none dared to pay her attentions which seriously compromised her until the English favourite crossed her path.