Yet how I longed for those earlier days — but I had to look ahead.
I was taking a few of my household with me, among them the Countess of Fingall. It showed the depth of their affection for me that they wanted to come. They could not be sure what would happen in my native land — and I was not able to tell them.
On landing in France, I was received with honor at Louis’s command. He invited me to break my journey with a stay at his court.
I sent a grateful message back to him, but I told him I could not stay with him, as I must not disappoint my brother who was expecting me. I knew Louis’s methods. He would want to control me in matters of state.
I must be free of that. I wanted peace. I often thought of the Villa Viçosa and how my father had longed to return to it. I understood his feelings well — more now than I ever did. I, too, just wanted to live quietly.
Moreover, I had not been in the best of health. During the journey I suffered from an attack of erysipelas — a most distressing, disfiguring disease which made me feel that I wanted to shut myself away and see no one.
My brother had sent a party to meet me and accompany me across Spain, so when I felt so ill I had help at hand. Pedro had had news of my indisposition and sent Dr. Antonio Medes, his chief physician, to me. That was a great relief, for I soon recovered under his care, and by the time I reached Lisbon I was entirely well.
I was greeted with great acclaim by the people of my homeland. I was deeply moved. It was wonderful to know that they wanted me here. The people of England had never really liked me. How different this was! Here they still remembered that it was my marriage to England which helped free Portugal from the grip of the tyrant Spain.
And there was Pedro. He had changed…naturally he would, in thirty years. He had become a man with cares and responsibilities, and this had left its mark. There was a new dignity about him, though.
We gazed at each other in silence for a few moments before we embraced.
“Catherine,” he said. “I am so happy to see you. At last you have come home.”
“And you, little brother, you have become a king.”
He lifted his shoulders…and a look of regret crossed his face. I guessed he was thinking of Alfonso — as I was.
He said: “There is much to talk of. First I must present you to the Queen.”
This was not the wife of Alfonso, whom he had married when Alfonso was sent to the Azores, leaving his kingdom and his wife to Pedro. She had died some years before, and he was now married to Maria Sophia of the Palatinate of Neuburg.
We exchanged greetings. She was very pleasant and I felt that I could be her friend.
Then Pedro insisted that I must sit in his coach with him and his Queen so that we might ride into the capital together.
What a triumph that entry was! I knew then that I had been right to come.
Later my brother and his Queen took me to the palace they had prepared for me. I was delighted with the Quinta de Alcantara, and when I saw how eager my brother and his wife were that I should have every comfort there, I believed I could be at peace.
* * *
AND SO I CAME HOME.
The years are passing, as they do quickly as one grows old.
I am surrounded by good friends. My dear Countess of Fingall left me at the turn of the century. She was longing for her home but she wept at our parting. I shared her sadness, but I understood her need to return. In her place there came my dear Donna Inez Antonia de Tavora, who has become very close to me.
My brother’s wife, Maria Sophia, has become a dear friend, and we spend much time together. Pedro is determined that I shall have every comfort and be treated with honor wherever I go. He need have no concern about this. The affection shown me by my countrymen and women is spontaneous and comes from the heart. They have known the horrors of war and they can never be grateful enough to me, for they always consider that it was due to my marriage that we emerged from the yoke of oppression.
I am happy now…in my way. Frequently I think of Charles. It is almost as though he is with me. I often say to myself: “What would he have said to that?” And I try to conjure up some witty remark. But of course, I could never match his wit.
I try not to think of him, laughing with Barbara Castlemaine, joking with Nell Gwynne, gazing longingly at Frances Stuart, in deep conversation with Louise de Keroualle. Instead I remember him by my bedside when he thought I lay dying. I remember his tenderness when my enemies sought to destroy me. I would think of the song he once wrote, and I felt that the last verse was meant for me:
But when I consider the truth of her heart
Such an innocent passion, so kind, without art
I fear I have wronged her, and hope she may be
So full of true love to be jealous of me
O then ’tis I think no joys are above
The pleasures of love.
I was the innocent one. He wanted my love. He could never be faithful to any one woman, but that did not mean he did not love.
I heard news from England. Mary died a few years after I left and William remained to reign alone.
I was sad to hear of Mary’s death and I regretted that we had not been good friends at the end. I believed she realized that I cared too much for her father to like what she and William had done in robbing him of his throne. I reminded myself that she had stood beside her husband. I wondered whether she was haunted by what she had done to the father who had loved her and her sister so devotedly.
I was even more saddened by the death of James himself in the year 1701.
I thought of his life…his romance with Anne Hyde, mother of Queen Mary and possibly another Queen, for since William and Mary had had no offspring, Anne would be next. Clarendon’s daughter — the mother of Queens. And there was poor Mary Beatrice. What of her son? He must have been thirteen years old at that time.
And what was Princess Anne thinking? I feared she must have felt some remorse at her father’s death.
So many deaths…so many changes. And there could not be many more years left to me.
I suffered from bouts of ill health. Maria Sophia had felt that the Quinta de Alcantara might not be healthy and I moved for a while to Santa Martha; and after that, as she liked to have me close at hand, I went to Belem near Lisbon.
One day I had a message from my brother. He asked me to come and see him.
I went in some trepidation, for the messenger appeared grave, and I had been worried about Pedro’s health for some time.
Before I went to him I saw Maria Sophia. She told me how anxious Pedro was. His responsibilities weighed heavily upon him. She feared he needed rest and he must leave the country in capable hands while he took it.
“He wishes to talk with you about this.”
I wondered what advice he expected me to give him.
I sat by his bed. He looked strained and very pale.
“Catherine,” he said. “I wish to speak to you most seriously. I am not strong enough to continue. My son is young yet. He could not take over the government…I want you to do that…for the time being.”
“I? You cannot mean that!”
“I do. Remember our mother. What would Portugal have done without her? You remind me of her.”
“I…remind you of her! Pedro, you cannot mean that. She was a great woman.”
“Catherine, you are too.”
This seemed preposterous, and if I had not been so anxious about him I should have laughed.
“Always you have been too modest,” he said. “Listen to me. The people love you. They admire you. They call you their savior.”
“It was the English who saved the country, not I.”
“Without you there could have been no alliance. They do not forget. If you will not do this, I shall have to rouse myself and…I know I cannot last long without rest.”
“I cannot believe this.”
“You must.”
Maria Sophia was watching me. “You do not rea
lize how the people regard you,” she said. “They will say you saved them once and they will believe you can do it again.”
“Then they endow me with qualities I do not possess.”
“It is what they believe,” she said. And I remembered a remark of Charles’s. “If the people believe it, then it is the truth…at least to them.”
I had been living in comfortable peace…serenely quiet. How could I…innocent and without art — the words of Charles’s song came back to me — how could I take on this tremendous task?
“You must,” said Maria Sophia. “If you do not, what will become of us? What will become of our country?”
“You will have your advisors.”
“You mean I shall be a sort of figurehead?”
“You have wisdom, Catherine,” said Pedro. “You are our mother again. Remember her. God will help you and with His help you will do it.”
* * *
HOW STRANGE IT WAS.
I, Catherine, Regent of Portugal. On every occasion the people cheered me in the streets. They proclaimed their belief in me.
History repeated itself. When my mother had been Regent, the Spaniards attacked; and now here again was a woman, and they attacked once more.
Those days were filled with activity. I gave myself entirely to the task. I felt as though my mother were beside me, applauding. She had believed once that I would save Portugal by my marriage…and Portugal had been saved. Now I was to save my country through my government.
I swear that God was on my side. He gave me the wisdom. I could not believe this was myself…that Catherine who had made so little impression on the English court. But at least that Catherine had won the love of the most amorous man in the world — a special love — a tender love which I allowed myself to believe he never gave to any other.
Our armies were victorious. When I rode through the streets, I was treated with something like idolatry.
I wished that Charles could have lived to see this. How he would have delighted in my achievement.
Pedro recovered his health and came out of retirement. He and Maria Sophia showed their gratitude and love in every way.
How fortunate I was at the end of my life to come to glory!
That can happen to few.
* * *
I AM NOW IN BELEM and well into my sixties. It has been a long life, and when, through my pen, I recall it all…the dreams…the disillusion…the humiliations of the past…the triumphs of the present…I long to be back in Charles’s court, the most licentious of Europe — dominated as it was, and I shall ever be, by the King and the pleasures of love.
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