I was convulsed with amusement when the man said in a very confidential whisper: “Your Majesty, I thought you should know that a dangerous man has arrived secretly in England.”
The King said: “A dangerous man! Who is this?”
“Your Majesty, it is one of the Pope’s men. I have information that his name is Panzani. I decided it was something you should know at once.”
Although I could scarcely keep a straight face, the King managed to.
“Thank you for warning me,” he said.
And our round-headed Puritan went on his way convinced that he had done his duty.
How I laughed about that afterward—but not with the King. He admired the man for coming to tell him that he thought he was in danger.
“I could see that he thought the manner in which we live somewhat sinful,” I commented. “I saw his eyes roaming round the tapestries and some of the furnishings. I think he thought they were symbols of the Devil.”
“Poor fellow,” said Charles. “It must be a sad thing to be blind to beauty.”
I laughed over the incident with Panzani. He was a very sophisticated gentleman, and pious as he was, could still compliment me on my gowns and scents. Father Philip was very pleased with me and he told Panzani that he reckoned in three years or so the King would become a Catholic and then it would only be a short time before the country followed. When this happy state of affairs occurred the religious world would have to be grateful most of all to the Queen of England.
They were intoxicating words, and foolishly I believed them. How was I to know that it would be a very different story and that I should play quite a big part in bringing about not triumph but disaster?
But it really did seem as though we were going to succeed because, although Panzani did not come until December, the following March Richard Weston, Earl of Portland, the Treasurer who had been at the heart of the trouble over my letter, died and in his final moments he sent for a Catholic priest to administer the last rites.
Then there was Wat Montague, the poet who had written The Shepherd’s Paradise, which had caused Prynne the loss of his ears. Wat had been abroad and recently returned to England announcing that he had seen the light and become a Catholic. He was proposing to go to Rome and join the Fathers of the Oratory.
Ah yes, I thought, we were indeed making progress.
Then I discovered I was pregnant again.
While I was awaiting the birth of my child, my new chapel in Somerset House was completed. What a joyous day that was when it was consecrated. It was so beautiful with a wonderfully painted dome in which archangels, cherubim and seraphim appeared to be floating above our heads; and it was my happy task to draw the curtains and reveal all this beauty.
I was so moved when Mass was celebrated that there were tears in my eyes. It seemed to me the ultimate triumph that I had made this corner in a land alien to the Truth. Soon, I promised myself, there should be chapels everywhere—not so grand as this, of course, because this was a royal chapel, but places where Catholics could go freely to worship. I would not rest until I had turned the heresy of England to true belief.
Charles could not be there to worship with me, of course, but as a connoisseur of art and beauty he came to admire the work, and his eyes glistened with appreciation.
Panzani congratulated me in private. “But,” he said, “this is not enough. What we need is conversions…of men in high places.”
I was a little cast down for I thought I had done very well. He comforted me and said that the Holy Father was delighted with my efforts. I had done more than he had thought possible at the time of my marriage, but there was a great deal to be done yet and we must not be complacent.
To tell the truth I was not feeling any great desire to do anything but rest, for my baby was shortly due to arrive, and however frequently one gives birth—and in my case it seemed to be an event which began again as soon as one was ended—one does every time have to face an ordeal.
It was a cold December day when Elizabeth was born. I had spent an exhausting day in labor and as night was falling—at ten o’clock to be precise—my daughter made her appearance.
However irksome the waiting has been, it always seems worthwhile at that moment when the little one is there and one’s inconvenience is over…for the time being. I loved the child at once and I was rather glad that it was a girl. The only one who gave me cause for anxiety was Mary, who seemed to be delicate and had given us one or two frights. My eldest, Charles, flourished, although he did not grow any less unprepossessing. Perhaps that is the wrong word, but he was definitely lacking in beauty, though it did seem that he had a great deal of charm to make up for that. I had never seen a child win people to his side as Charles did. James, for all his innocent beauty, could not compete, and I could not be anything but surprised and delighted by my still rather swarthy eldest. He said the most amusing things and he was so serious contemplating the world with those large dark eyes and clearly finding it diverting.
I sometimes wished that I could go right away to Oatlands with the children and Charles and live like a simple noblewoman. Should I really want that for long? I was not sure. My frivolous nature did enjoy the masques and balls and all the beautiful clothes and jewels that seemed part of them. I was by nature an intriguant, I suppose. I loved to be in the thick of adventure. I had so enjoyed Panzani’s visit and that enjoyment had been greater because of the secret understanding between us which I knew would be against the wishes of those serious puritanical people who were springing up everywhere.
A new baby was an additional expense. She was put into the care of the Countess of Roxburgh, who was already looking after her elder sister Mary; but she had to have her suite of attendants befitting a royal child—her dresser, her watchers, her nurses, her rockers and quite a number of minor servants. Moreover, Charles’s nephews—the sons of his sister Elizabeth—came to visit us and that meant lavish entertainments. Charles Louis, the elder, was a little dull, but Rupert was a very attractive young man of about seventeen. Charles took a great fancy to him and he to Charles. It was fun to have the young men at Court and there was one entertainment which stands out in my memory. Lady Hatton gave a wonderful show at her place in Ely Court, and the masques, plays and balls and firework displays lasted for a whole month. Lady Hatton closed her entertainment with a ball for the citizens of London. It was not for people of the Court, she said.
It was Henry Jermyn who suggested that we go incognito and I thought it was an excellent idea.
“But how?” I asked.
“We shall have to dress as citizens,” said Henry. “I’ll be a merchant. Your Majesty can be a shopkeeper’s wife.”
What fun we had! I instructed one of the seamstresses to make me a suitable gown and a bonnet which hid my face to a certain extent because it was just possible that someone might recognize me. I sent for my lace woman who kept a shop somewhere in the city and let her into the secret. She promised to take us in with her.
It was so amusing dancing with the citizens and interesting to listen to their talk although a little disconcerting that there were some who had harsh things to say about the way in which Catholics were getting a footing in the country. There were even one or two comments against me, but I didn’t take them very seriously. They only seemed to add to the fun as I was intent on enjoying the evening and Henry Jermyn was so amusing posing as a merchant and Lord Holland—always good for adventure—was excellent company.
Charles was at this time in good spirits, for to celebrate the birth of the new baby, Louis and Rupert had brought with them presents from Charles’s sister Elizabeth and the Palatine her husband, and these happened to be four paintings of great beauty and nothing could have pleased the King more. He was delighted to add the two Tintorettos and Titians to his collection, and I often found him gloating over them. The Arab horses—snow white in color—which had accompanied the paintings, Charles had presented to me.