Loyal in Love: Henrietta Maria, Queen of Charles I

by Jean Plaidy

  Having traveled a great deal he was possessed of a sophistication which made people forget he was a priest. Charles enjoyed his company very much indeed—almost as much as I did; and he was very soon popular at Court. He had some rooms in the house he had acquired made into what he called the Pope’s Chapel, and Catholics from all over the neighborhood went there to worship. George Conn told me that the Pope was delighted with what I was doing in England and as a symbol of his approval sent me a beautiful gold cross studded with exquisite gems. I wore it proudly and told my friends that I regarded it as my most precious possession.

  One day George Conn showed me a beautiful picture of St. Catherine which he said he was going to have framed for me. I loved it on the spot and asked if I might see to the framing myself. I then decided that I would not have it framed after all but have it attached to my bed curtains so that the first thing I saw on opening my eyes was the beautiful serene face of St. Catherine.

  George Conn was very pleased with me but he pointed out that as there was a great deal of work to be done we must not be complacent. I was so delighted that Charles enjoyed talking to George almost as much as I did.

  Once Charles said: “I think I am a Catholic at heart.” And George and I exchanged glances of triumph for I at last believed victory was in sight. I suppose George was too wise to think so.

  But there was no protest when one of the preachers said in a sermon which he gave for the King and the Court that the people who had brought about the English schism were like tailors who cut out garments and find themselves unable to piece them together and become so bemused that they do not know what they are doing.

  I began to feel very proud of myself for there I was, a happy wife and mother, and upon my shoulders had descended the great task of leading the country of my adoption back to salvation. I was seeing myself at that time as one of the great figures of history. I should be remembered as that Bertha of whom some people were fond of reminding me.

  There were setbacks of course. I was sure Charles wanted to become a Catholic. There was nothing of the Puritan in him, but he had at his coronation vowed to uphold the Reformed Faith as all anointed sovereigns must do and which was one of the reasons why I had refused to be crowned with him.

  I had made a habit of taking my son Charles to Mass. It had, after all, been one of the clauses of the marriage settlement that I was to have charge of the children’s religious education until they were thirteen. Charles was only six years old but he was very interested and asked a great many pertinent questions as he did about everything, and he happened to mention something of this when he was with his father.

  Charles was taken aback. “Surely,” he cried, “you did not take the boy to Mass?”

  “But, of course, he must go to Mass,” I said. “He is six years old. I want…”

  Charles laid his hands on my shoulders and looked at me with that half-exasperated, half-tender look which I seemed to inspire so often.

  “My dearest,” he said, “you cannot take the Prince of Wales to Mass.”

  “But why not?”

  “Because, my love, he will one day be King of this country. He will take his oath, as I have, to adhere to the Reformed Faith.”

  “But I am to have charge of his education until he is thirteen.”

  “You must not take him to Mass.”

  “And if I insist?”

  “I hope you will not, my dearest, because if you do I shall have to forbid you and you know how it grieves me to forbid you anything.”

  So of course I had to obey, but in my heart I knew that Charles leaned toward the Faith and, if he had not been the King who had sworn to adhere to the Reformed Faith, I am sure he would have admitted it.

  It was only later that I realized that all these small incidents were like a smoldering pile in which the smoke is only seen in occasional escaping wisps. But the fire is there waiting to break out. I could not see it then though. I was foolish and frivolous, congratulating myself on the work I was doing.

  Quite a number of the ladies of the Court were becoming involved with religion. George Conn was so persuasive and he never talked religion openly, only in the most subtle manner. I had the greatest admiration for him.

  Lucy Hay professed interest, but I thought in my heart that she did so lightly. In fact she had a fondness for George Conn’s company. Quite a lot of the women were like that. They flirted with the ideas as they did with the men, while they had no intention of becoming involved in anything seriously.

  It was different with Lady Newport. She became very involved and I think she had always been a little inclined toward Catholicism, for her sister was a Catholic. George Conn had made a special effort with her and so had Wat Montague, an old favorite of mine who had now returned to England with Sir Toby Matthew, a much traveled and zealous Catholic. We all believed that a little persuasion would bring her to the decision she was longing to make.

  Lady Newport’s husband, who was Master of the Ordnance and a stern Protestant, had forbidden his wife to dabble in idolatry, as he called it; but Anne Newport was a persistent woman and she was growing more and more certain that the true Faith was that of the Catholic Church. Her conversion was delayed, for oddly enough she had become greatly influenced by her glover who, humble though he was, was something of a preacher and a Protestant belonging to that sect of Puritans which had become more and more prominent since such efforts to bring back the Catholic Faith had been made in the country.

  She said to me: “I know he is humble and merely a glove-maker but he has a power…a way with words which can only be inspired.”

  I replied: “Bring him along and let George Conn talk to him. We’ll see how his inspiration stands up to that.”

  Lucy, with the rest of my ladies and friends like Wat Montague and Toby Matthews, was always excited when I proposed something unconventional, and in due course we all assembled and summoned the glover, George having already consented to talk to him.

  When I saw the glover I disliked him on sight simply because here was another of those Puritans in plain black garments and that ridiculous haircut which made their heads look round.

  George Conn looked elegant and handsome and so worldly that I was sure he confirmed all the glover’s suspicions about idolatrous Catholic priests. The result was as we all predicted. The poor man had a certain eloquence, it was true, but to watch him in verbal conflict with George was like watching two combatants fighting with a spade and a sword. George’s rapier thrusts were soon getting home and the poor glover was growing more and more bewildered.

  At length he cried: “Pray give me leave to retire. I must think…think…You bemuse me. I am mazed….”

  George smiled and laid his hand on the poor man’s shoulder. “Go in peace, my friend,” he said. “Go and ponder what I have said. You will find yourself confronted by the Truth at every turn. Never forget that when you leave the tanglewood of ignorance, I shall be the first to welcome you to the paths of Truth.”

  I had rarely seen a man so bewildered. He left us in a daze and we all clustered round George and congratulated him.

  “You were so clever,” I said. “Poor man! It was most unfair of me to set you against him.”

  “It was right for you to do so, Your Majesty,” replied George. “Another of your good deeds.”

  “You were so clearly the victor,” added Lucy.

  “The Truth will always prevail,” answered George.

  That interview was to have startling results. A few days later the glover went mad. He could not reconcile himself to either form of religion and, as religion was the center of his life, he was lost in a maze of beliefs and disbeliefs. We were all very sad to hear of his tragedy, for he was a worthy man and a most excellent glove-maker.

  But the event which caused the greatest stir was the conversion of Lady Newport. She came to me in great uncertainty one day.

  “Madam,” she said, “I need your help. I have been talking to my sister and I am now conv
inced which is the true Faith. I want to be reconciled to the Church of Rome. I want to make my confession and proclaim my beliefs, but how can I do this? If my husband discovers what I am about to do, he will shut me away, send me out of the country…do anything to prevent my conversion.”

  Intrigue ever fascinated me and I was delighted to help her, for bringing people to the true Faith was my great purpose. I was longing for everyone to know that we had a convert in Lady Newport because I guessed that would bring quite a number who were wavering to make a decision.

  So I consulted George Conn.

  He came up with an idea. “Let it be a secret until it is actually done,” he said. “Otherwise there may be powerful people who will do everything within their power to prevent it. Let her visit one of your Capuchin friars at that time when she would normally be returning from some entertainment perhaps.”

  Anne Newport thought it was a good idea and she said that she could go to a performance at Drury Lane and on her way home call at Somerset House and see the friar there.

  So that was what we arranged. Lady Newport went to the theater and on the way home visited the chapel and made her confession to the Capuchin friar; and then she was reconciled to the Catholic Church.

  Another convert! I congratulated myself that I was winning my war against heretics. I was, however, unprepared for the storm which the conversion of Lady Newport brought about. The fact that his wife had become a Catholic enraged the Earl of Newport. He was a clever man, which was not surprising considering that his mother was Penelope Rich, the daughter of Lettice Knollys, Countess of Leicester. Even now people talked about that forceful woman. The fact that Penelope’s son was illegitimate—his parentage was shared with Charles Blount, Earl of Devonshire—had not stopped his inheritance or impeded his advancement. Not only had he been made Master of the Ordnance for life, but he had made considerable profits out of the office and he was not the sort of man to stand quietly by while his wife defied him on a matter which he considered of great importance.

  He went himself to see Charles. He ranted and raged and was clearly distressed. Charles expressed deep sympathy. Newport, of course, dared not say anything to Charles about me, but his implications were that I and my little coterie were infiltrating mischievously and undermining the accepted Faith of the country. He blamed several of my close associates, naming Wat Montague and Sir Toby Matthews.

  “Your Majesty,” he begged, “I pray you send Montague and Matthews out of the country. I am sure that they and some of their friends are at the root of this disaster.”

  Charles was very sorry for Newport’s distress but he knew that I would be rejoicing in my convert. However, he did not think it was good for such a fierce Catholic as Montague to remain at Court in view of growing resentment, but he did nothing for he knew how upset I would be if Montague were sent away.

  Very soon a bigger issue grew out of the matter. When he found the King reluctant to act, Newport went to Archbishop Laud to complain that he feared the King was too much influenced by his wife to take any action which might not be in accordance with her wishes.

  This was the beginning of the antagonism between myself and Archbishop Laud. There had been times when I had had hopes of Laud for he was a man who loved the ceremonies of the Church. I had mentioned to George Conn that if the Pope would give him a Cardinal’s hat he might become our man. I am not sure now whether I was right about that, but in any case he did not get his red biretta. On the other hand he said that he “labored nothing more than that the external public worship of God—too much slighted in most parts of the kingdom—might be preserved and that with as much decency and uniformity as might be, being still of the opinion that unity cannot long continue in the Church when uniformity is shut out.” This implied that he loved all the ceremonies of the Church and it was natural that I should think he was leaning strongly toward us. Had he not amended the Prayer Book and imposed it on Scotland in place of the liturgy which had been prepared by the Scots bishops?

  The son of a Reading clothier, Laud was indeed a clever man to have climbed so far; such are always the most difficult to bend to one’s wishes. I have always recognized that they are possessed of a very special cleverness to have risen up and overcome their handicaps and one must in assessing them—particularly as an enemy—have a special respect for them.

  There was another point: many people suspected that his attitude to the ceremonies of the Church meant that he was a secret Catholic and as he was aware—far more than I was—of the growing resentment in the country, he was eager to prove himself staunchly Protestant. He therefore complained at a meeting of the Council that since the coming of the Papal agents, Panzani and Conn, there had been many conversions to Catholicism and there was too much favor shown to Catholics and he thought that both Walter Montague and Toby Matthews should be prosecuted.

  When I heard this I was enraged, and from then on the Archbishop was my enemy. Poor Charles was in a dreadful dilemma. He could quite understand Lord Newport’s fury; he saw the Archbishop’s point; but he was very eager not to upset me.

  I realized then—and I think so did many others—how important I was becoming in the country. I had had such success with the Pope’s agents; I had done so much to make life easier for our Catholic subjects that I was beginning to be thought of not so much as the frivolous pleasure-loving Queen as the power behind the throne. My husband listened to me because he loved me so much and hated to disappoint me so that I was almost in the position of being his most favored and influential minister.

  I heard that Laud had said to Thomas Wentworth, whom the King greatly favored and who had just returned from his duties in Ireland: “I have a very hard task and God, I beseech Him, to make me very good corn, for I am between two great factions very like corn between two mill stones.”

  I was made fully aware of the importance of this by George, who came to me in great haste to tell me what was happening at the Council.

  “I think we have gone a little too far too quickly,” he said. “Laud has suggested to the Council that the Catholic chapels should be closed down, including yours of Somerset House, and the counselors have agreed with enthusiasm that this should be so.”

  “I will never allow that,” I cried.

  “I beg of you be careful,” begged Conn. “Do not ruin the good work we have done so far.”

  “Nothing can ruin that,” I assured him. “We have saved souls and that is our endeavor. Do not take this threat too seriously. I know Charles. He would never agree to a step which he knows would make me very unhappy.”

  When Charles came to me he was really distressed. “Laud wants all the Catholic chapels to be closed down,” he said.

  “What!” I cried. “That man is a monster. Let him go back to his father’s clothier’s shop.”

  “He is the Archbishop of Canterbury,” he reminded me gently.

  “But he loves the ceremonies of the Church. He hates these miserable Puritans as much as I do.”

  “He supports the Protestant Church, my love.”

  “I will not allow him to shut my chapels. Charles, you will not allow this. You have promised me…. Oh, Charles, promise me now. Not my chapel…!”

  He soothed me and swore that my chapel should not be closed, although he added: “There is no alternative for the others. They will have to be closed wherever they have sprung up.”

  The controversy went on for a long time and it did show how thoroughly the people disliked the Archbishop. It has always amazed me to see how the common people dislike to see one of their own rise to great heights. One would have thought they would be delighted. But no. His humble birth was continually flung at Laud, more so by the common people than by the nobles. It was said that he was at heart a Catholic and ought to admit it. At least, they said, the Catholics like myself and George Conn made no secret of their idolatrous beliefs.

  Poor Charles, he did not know which way to act. He was advised that he could not ignore the growing feeli
ngs against the Catholics, and on the other hand, how could he hurt me?

  In the end he compromised. He agreed that there should be a proclamation threatening Catholics in the country; but at the same time he had so weakened the laws against them that they did not amount to very much. He tried to do what he had to do without offending either protagonist.

  I laughed and told him he was very clever. He was serious though and seemed to be looking into the future with very melancholy eyes.

  Dear Charles! He was only vaguely aware of the dangers which were springing up around him—but he was not quite so blind as I was.

  There was sad news from my mother. She was in great distress. It seemed that she had quarreled irrevocably with Richelieu, and that he governed France. He had made it clear to her that she was not wanted there; in fact he had actually sent her into exile.

  I worried a great deal about her. It was dreadful that she, who had always been such an imposing figure during my childhood, should now be reduced to this.

  “Who is this Richelieu?” I cried to Charles. “Merely a priest—a Cardinal it is true—and yet he has set himself up as the ruler of France, and he has decided that there is no place there for my mother.”

  The King said something very strange then. It was almost like a prophecy, but he did not know that, and I certainly did not. “Yes,” he said slowly, “it is strange. And what is happening here? I often think there are some who would like to do the same to me.”

  I laughed disbelievingly, but he went on seriously: “There is trouble brewing, my dearest. Scotland….”

  “That awful country,” I cried impatiently. “Haven’t the Scots always been troublesome?”

  He agreed with that. Then he went on: “There is something about these Puritans. I can understand the situation when there is a desire to supplant one king by another who it might be thought has a greater claim to the throne. But these people seem to have set themselves against Kings and all that Kingship means. They seem as though they want to abolish that rule and set up their own.”