So we were back where we were. He was alive and well; he had had great adventures; and, as I had come to expect, all had ended in defeat.
He had become very cynical. I sometimes thought he had given up all hope of winning the crown and had decided to live where he could enjoy life. He liked his friends, good conversation—and women, of course. I was glad to see that he was rid of that brazen Lucy Walter, who had been blatantly unfaithful to him during his absence. I suppose two years was too long for a woman of that kind to wait. But she had the boy. What a pity that was! Charles seemed to have an affection for the child. From what I saw of the infant he was strikingly handsome.
I could not rid myself of the thought of the Grande Mademoiselle’s money lying idle when it might have been equipping an army. I still hoped for the match.
She was in exile from the Court at this time because she had openly helped the Fronde. Her father, Gaston, was a supporter of them too, which was disgraceful as he was going against his own family. Always flamboyant, Mademoiselle had on one occasion gone into battle and it was significant that she had done this at the town of Orléans when the Fronde had taken it by storm.
What was she trying to be? Another Jeanne d’Arc!
She did show a certain interest in Charles. He had become something of a hero since his adventures after Worcester and I had never seen him talk as much as he did about them, for usually he was inclined to silence about his exploits. But these adventures seemed to have a fascination for him and he was ready to talk of them to any who asked him.
Mademoiselle gave a series of what she called “Assemblies.” She was still not able to attend Court but she snapped her fingers at that and made sure that she invited the most interesting people and that the food she gave them was far more delicious than that served at Court.
Charles was always invited to these occasions and I really believed she was considering him as a husband. She must be getting a little anxious now. She was twenty-five, no young girl, and the Emperor had married his third wife and again declined my ambitious niece.
On one of these occasions when I was present she made a point of talking to me. I think she took a malicious delight in raising my hopes that she might take Charles as a husband.
“He has changed since his adventures,” she told me. “He has become more mature…more serious…more mellowed shall we say? It is wonderful what hiding in an oak tree can do for a personality.”
“You too have changed, niece,” I reminded her. “You have also become more…mature. After all it must have been a great adventure to play the Maid of Orléans.”
“It was…indeed it was. I heard that the King of England is too fond of many women to be faithful to one.”
“You speak of women…not of wives.”
“Do you believe then that a man who has been promiscuous in his youth will in marriage become a model husband?”
“It is possible.”
“It would be something of a miracle. Think of your father, dear aunt.”
“I often do, and he was your grandfather, remember. We should both be proud of him. He was the greatest King France has ever known.”
“I trust my little husband will be as great.”
“Your…little husband!”
“Well,” she looked at me maliciously, “there is not much difference in our ages…eleven years and a few months. Louis is already fourteen.”
“He does not seem to be enamored of the prospect since he banished you from Court,” I said sharply.
“Little Louis banish me! Oh no, that was old Mazarin and his Mamma.”
“Nevertheless I doubt…”
She smiled at me sardonically and I dropped the subject for I was afraid my anger would explode.
THE FRUSTRATED MOTHER
Life was not all sorrow. At the end of the year I had word that Cromwell had decided to allow my son Henry to join me. I suppose this was because even Roundheads had some feeling, and the death of my daughter Elizabeth had caused a certain amount of dismay throughout the land. She had always been such a good child—a near saint—and her death had been so pathetic. Whatever the reason, Henry was given permission to leave.
Minette was delighted at the prospect of having a new brother with us. She asked countless questions, which alas I was unable to answer as my little son had been kept away from me for so long.
He arrived in Holland where his sister Mary received him and was so delighted to have him that she wanted to keep him with her. I had no intention of allowing that because I knew that she would endeavor to bring him up as a Protestant, and it was a secret resolve of mine that he should be, like his sister Henriette, Catholic.
He arrived in Paris and was so delighted to be with his own family. He immediately conceived a great admiration for Charles—whose adventures he had followed whenever he was able to—and he and Henriette worshipped him together. There was something about Charles which inspired this fervent devotion. I often wondered whether it was partly due to his height or was it his easygoing manner and superficial charm? In any case these two children adored him.
It was as though when something good happened something bad had to follow quickly. We now heard that the countries of Europe were accepting the new government of England and that Cromwell was making treaties with various countries. France was on the point of making one too, which would mean that the English government would be having a representative in Paris.
Charles said to me: “That would be an intolerable situation as far as I am concerned. You know what would happen. I should be asked to leave.”
“You should tell them to do no such thing.”
He looked at me in exasperation. “Dear Mam,” he said, “if the King of France, the Regent or Mazarin ask me to leave, I have no alternative but to go. There is only one course open to me. I must leave before they ask me to.”
I suppose he was right and in any case he began making arrangements.
Henriette was beside herself with grief; so was Henry. I was sorry to see him go but I reminded myself that when he was not there I could carry out my intentions with regard to Henry’s religious training.
Henry had begged Charles to take him with him. “I am not a boy anymore,” he cried. “I am nearly fifteen. That is old enough to fight.”
Charles hesitated. He was very fond of Henry and he liked the boy’s spirit. But I was against it.
“He is but a child, Charles,” I said. “He needs to be educated and where better than in Paris? It would be a sin to take him away from his lessons at his age.”
Charles saw this in time and Henry suffered bitter disappointment.
Charles said: “I promise you, brother, that in a few years you shall be at my side.”
And Henry had to be satisfied with that.
Before Charles left for Cologne where he had decided to stay for a while, he spoke very seriously to me. “Henry is a Protestant,” he said. “He is a Prince of a Protestant country. He must remain so. You must not try to make him a Catholic, Mam.”
That had been exactly my intention and he knew it.
I hesitated and Charles went on: “If you do not give me your promise, I cannot leave him with you. I shall either take him with me or send him to my sister Mary who, as you know, was loath to part with him.”
So I promised and Charles left. But after he had gone I thought that although I had promised, to bring up my son in the true Faith would be such a good thing that it would outweigh anything that was wrong in breaking a promise.