Henrietta Maria

by Henrietta Haynes

All France hoped that the death of the Cardinal would mean a reversal of his policy, for the nobles were discontented, while the people were overtaxed and miserable. Already the faint grumblings of discontent could be heard, which became articulate a few years later in the rebellions of the Fronde. Such hopes were strengthened by the fact that Louis XIII was evidently following to the grave the minister who had made him, almost against his will, a great and victorious monarch. But France was not to escape so easily the influence of the mighty personality which had dominated her for so long.

Louis XIII died in May, 1643, and Anne of Austria, after a lifetime of neglect, found herself at the head of affairs as regent for her little son Louis XIV. The past career of this lady, her affection for Spain, her not uncalled for hatred of Richelieu, pointed to a complete reversal of the Cardinal's policy. His enemies began to come back to Court, and Madame de Chevreuse herself left her retreat in Flanders, and was seen at the side of the Queen-Regent.

But Anne soon found out the difficulties of her position. She was an idle woman who had never been accustomed to use her mind, and she craved instinctively for a stronger arm and brain on which to lean. She found them in the low-born Italian adventurer Jules Mazarin, whom Richelieu had trained to be his successor. Mazarin had not his master's dislike to the English nation or its Queen. Moreover, he owed much to Walter Montagu, whose influence with Queen Anne was greater than ever, and who had been instrumental in introducing the Cardinal to her favour. It is probable that when Henrietta heard the turn which affairs had taken in France she rejoiced. She had some cause to do so, but yet in the years that were coming she was to learn that Mazarin, like Richelieu, only cared, in his heart, for the interests of France, and that his desire was so to hold the balance of power between her and her enemies that he might be able to pursue unmolested the task of humbling the House of Austria, which had been bequeathed to him by his great predecessor.

In the autumn of 1643 an event occurred which caused much annoyance to Henrietta, and resulted in the removal from the French Court of the man most able and willing to advance her interests there.

It is probable that the Queen-Regent was really anxious to succour the King and Queen of England. She was grateful to them for the kindness which they had shown to Madame de Chevreuse, and she remembered their common hatred of Richelieu. Mazarin did not fail in polite condolences, and he thought that it would be a good thing to send over an ambassador to England, to see at least that Henrietta was properly treated, and that the interests of France were duly considered. To this post the Count of Harcourt was appointed, whose way was to be prepared by an agent of inferior rank, M. de Gressy.

Under cover of this embassy Walter Montagu thought that he would be able to reach Oxford unobserved. He did not travel with the ambassador, but joined himself to Gressy's company in England in a disguised dress and a large wig, which he hoped would be sufficient to conceal the identity of a person better known in France than in England; but either he overdid his disguise, or else he went about with injudicious openness in search of amusement, for at Rochester he was recognized. The sharp eyes of a Parliamentary officer spied him out, took him in charge and carried him off to London, where he was put in the Tower and there kept, in spite of the remonstrances of the French ambassador, the entreaties of the Queen-Regent of France, and the somewhat lukewarm representations of Mazarin, who perhaps saw in him a possible rival.[290] All that the two Houses of Parliament would do was to deliver up to Harcourt the letters of Queen Anne, which were found on the prisoner. They regarded him as a "grand Jesuiticall English Papist," and they urged "that he hath been a great incendiary of this unnatural war against the Parliament, was formerly banished by Act of Parliament, and no letter from a foreign Prince can defend him."[291]

Henrietta was deeply chagrined, the more so as this vexation came upon the top of others.

She was not unaware of the feelings with which her husband's enemies regarded her. The comments and slanders with which she had been pursued in Holland would have been sufficient to enlighten her, without the reception which met her at Burlington Bay. The proposal of her enemies, couched in specious language, to escort her to London, where she should be "lovingly entertained," roused her to fury, for she who did not fear the bullets or the waves shrank with a feeling of almost physical repulsion from falling into the hands of her foes. But a further insult was to come. In May, 1643, she was impeached of high treason as the greatest papist in the land, and that her cup of humiliation might be full she was not allowed the title of Queen of England, on the pretext that, as she had never been crowned, she had no legal right to it. Truly the mistakes of her youth were returning upon her head. "You will give a share of all these news to all our friends, if any dare own themselves such after the House of Commons hath declared me traitor, and carried up their charge against me to the Lords,"[292] she wrote sadly to the Duke of Hamilton. It was indeed no advantage to be known as her friend, specially in London, where the Puritan hatred, of which she was the chief object, was beginning to attack the priceless memorials of the past. Stained-glass windows were smashed in the churches, and "Cheapside Crosse, which at her Majestie's first coming into England was beautified in a glorious and splendid manner ... as it dazzlled a many eyes to behold the gods, Popes, and saints thereon,"[293] and which was boasted of by the Catholics even in Rome as one of the chief relics of the ancient religion, was torn down, and it was decided that "the Lead about the Crosse" should "be cast into Bullets, and bestowed on the Papists in armes."[294] This was bad enough, but even more trying to the Queen's feelings were the piteous accounts which came of the sufferings of her poor Capuchins, who, after more than a year of terrified waiting, saw themselves and their property in the hands of a ruthless mob, which was none the better because it acted in the name of the House of Commons, and which was led by Henry Martin, a man of unusually violent character, who was afterwards one of the regicides. All the remonstrances of the French agent and the House of Lords, "whose members have learned by their travels that there are other countries besides England,"[295] were brushed aside. Hideous orgies and blasphemous revels were witnessed, testifying to the anti-Catholic hatred of the populace. The beautiful chapel which had been built with such high hopes only a few years earlier was sacked, and the ornaments, pictures, and vestments destroyed, except such of the latter as Martin carried off for his mistress. The picture by the brush of Rubens which adorned the High Altar was wantonly spoiled; the seat of the Queen was broken up with peculiar violence. Outside in the garden some of the rough soldiers played at ball with the heads of a Christ and of a St. Francis, while others indoors trod underfoot the escutcheons of Henry IV and his wife, which were kept for use on their anniversaries. Only one consolation had the unhappy Fathers. Such a scene would not have been complete without its miracle, and they had the satisfaction of tracing the hand of Providence in the blindness of their spoilers to a small box of consecrated hosts hidden away in a cupboard, whose contents were turned upside down by rough hands of the mob.

Henrietta's wrath may be imagined when she heard of this fresh insult offered, not only to her but to her parents and to her country under whose protection the Capuchins lived. It probably outweighed the grief she felt for the destruction of her beautiful chapel. As for her husband, he was so incensed that he is said to have specially excluded from pardon all those concerned in the riot. Again, just as the Queen entered Oxford, another trouble fell upon her, which was another proof of the remorseless hatred of the Puritans. Edmund Waller, who in happier days had made verses to her charms, raised a plot in London in the King's interest. It was discovered, and among its victims was a faithful servant of Henrietta, Master Tomkins, who, condemned by "a new counsell of war (consisting of Kimbolton, Mainwaring, Venn, the Devill, and a few others),"[296] was executed outside his own door in Holborn by the common hangman.