Foolish child’s talk! When he regained the throne she should still be here. Queen of France. I wanted nothing less for my favorite child. She was the only one who had not disappointed me—except Elizabeth, who had in a way disappointed me by dying, poor darling.
The great day came. How charming my little Henriette looked! Her dress might not have been splendid—La Grande Mademoiselle would have smiled at its simplicity had she been present and I was thankful that she was not. How I should laugh if my Henriette carried off the prize which she—ridiculous old spinster—was hoping to catch. Louis would never agree to marry a woman older than himself. It was becoming clear that Louis would have his way. “He is young yet,” I had said to Anne. “But you wait. That one has a will of his own and knows what is due to him.”
“He always did have,” said Anne proudly; and she recalled the incident when he had been taken to see the Carmelite nuns—which I had heard at least twenty times—when he had turned his back on them and showed great interest in the latch of the door. Anne loved to relate it because of his words. She had ordered him to stop playing with the latch and pay attention to the nuns. “But it is a good latch,” he had said, “and the King likes it.” “I reproved him,” said Anne, “for his ill manners toward ladies and holy nuns at that. ‘Come, say a word of greeting to them,’ I pleaded. Louis replied. ‘I will say nothing. I wish to play with this latch. But one day I shall speak so loudly that I shall make myself heard.’” Whether he actually said that or whether Anne embellished it to make it sound prophetic I was not sure. She was really besotted with her little King.
Well, he was not so little now and he was going to dance with Henriette. He must. Etiquette would demand that he ask first the lady of highest rank and as neither I nor his mother would dance, it would have to be Henriette.
I was seated beside Anne on a small dais. Henriette was just below us; the musicians were there but no one could dance until the King did and he had not yet made his entrance. It would be such a pleasure to sit here beside Anne while we watched our beloved children together. She would have her eyes on Louis all the time but I would point out to her the grace of Henriette and what a charming couple they made…so graceful…so royal.
Louis had arrived. He really did look quite magnificent. He was growing up. He was very sure of himself, very much the King. I glanced at Anne whose eyes were glowing with pride.
Everyone stood up as he entered except Anne and myself and he came to the dais and took first his mother’s hand, which he kissed, and then mine.
Now that the King had arrived the musicians began to play. Louis looked round the company; he seemed just a little bored. Nobody of course could dance until he did and everyone was eager for him to select a partner—which must be Henriette—and open the dance.
Louis did not seem in any hurry. I was watching him closely and I saw his eyes alight on Henriette but instead of approaching her he selected some relation of Cardinal Mazarin—a good-looking woman several years his senior.
The Queen was not very easily aroused to anger but she had always been adamant that etiquette should be observed. Not to do so was one of the few things which could really upset her.
She could not allow this to pass although it would have been easier for us all if she had. She rose rather unsteadily; like myself she had got cramped through sitting too long. She was beside the King just as he was offering his arm to the woman.
“Dearest,” she whispered but so that all those around could hear, “you have forgotten that the Princess Henriette is here. Your first dance should be with her.”
“I shall dance with whom I wish,” retorted Louis.
I could bear no more. This was an insult to my daughter. It had to stop at once. I dashed out onto the floor and laid a hand on Anne’s arm. I said quickly and so that all could hear: “My daughter cannot dance tonight. She has hurt her foot.”
Anne, who rarely lost her temper, did so at that moment. She had, out of the kindness of her heart, arranged this gathering for Henriette. That there should have been a breach of etiquette on such an occasion was more than she could endure and that it should have been caused by her son, who was the very center of her life—with his brother, of course—was enough to make her anger break through her usual lethargy.
I had never seen her so angry. She said: “If the Princess is unable to dance tonight then the King cannot either.”
With that she called Henriette to her. My poor child, overcome with shame, must of course obey the summons. When she was close enough Queen Anne took her hand and rammed it into that of Louis.
“Dance!” she commanded.
Louis looked at the frightened little girl whose hand he held and I think he felt some contrition for he was not naturally unkind and he must suddenly have realized how he had slighted her in the presence of many people.
They danced—but there was no life in either of them. He gave my daughter a rather wintry smile and said: “It is not your fault, Henriette. It is just that I am in no mood for children tonight.”
He was in a somber frame of mind for the rest of the evening. What did that matter? It was spoilt in any case.
The incident had a deep effect on Henriette. More than ever she wanted to get away and join her brother Charles.
The months passed. There was no good news from Charles; he was living that unsatisfactory life of peregrinations to which his fate had driven him. Henry was with him and, said Charles, very happy to be there. He was going to make a fine soldier. I did not want to hear of Henry.
My children were a disappointment to me…except Henriette, and if I could get her married to Louis I would snap my fingers at everything else and say that all I had done was worthwhile.
Meanwhile we went on in this monotonous and most unsatisfactory manner.
Then my daughter Mary proposed to come to Paris.
I was not very pleased with Mary since she had defied me over naming her son. William! What a dreadful name! It could not compare with Charles. I knew that the House of Orange was spattered with Williams but how much more appropriate Charles would have been…in loving memory of her father and in hope for her brother. But Mary had to be obstinate, as her brothers were. She had to have her way and was more influenced by that overbearing mother-in-law of hers than by me. So naturally I was not feeling very pleased with my daughter.
She had written that she had not been well for some time and thought a trip to Paris would be beneficial to her. I wrote back and said that she would probably like to stay at Chaillot which was ideal for an invalid who needed to rest.
Mary very soon made it clear that she had not come to Paris to rest. She had brought with her a collection of clothes and jewels with which she hoped to impress the French Court. They must have cost a great deal, I commented; I did not add that it was money which might have gone to her brother’s cause, but I implied it. Of course I had to admit that Mary had done a great deal to help Charles and she had always made her Court a haven for him when he needed it. I was, naturally, a little angry with her still about being so insistent in getting her own way over the name of her son.
I had to admit that she was very pretty; she had lovely brown hair with a tinge of red in it and eyes like topaz. Not only did she not wish to stay at Chaillot but expressed only the mildest interest in my beautiful retreat. Her gaiety and good looks made her very popular and the Queen immediately liked her and made sure she was invited to meet all the most interesting people at the Court.
I was pleased that she was popular and then I noticed that in her retinue was Edward Hyde’s daughter and I thought it most inconsiderate of Mary to have brought the girl to Paris.