Henrietta Maria, Queen, consort of Charles I, King of England, 1609-1669
"Curae leves loquuntur, graves stupent," is the comment of Father Cyprien,
the spectator of this scene. Henrietta was utterly crushed by so awful a
blow, which deprived her, by no ordinary visitation, but in so unheard-of
and terrible manner, of him who had been at once "a husband, a friend, and
a king"; she sank down in what was not so much a faint as a paralysis of
all power and of all sensation except that of grief; she neither moved nor
spoke nor wept, and so long did this unnatural state continue that her
attendants became alarmed, and, in their fear, sent for the Duchess of
Vendôme,[369] a sweet and charitable lady whose whole life was devoted to
doing good and of whom the Queen was particularly fond; she, by her tears
and her gentle sympathy, was able to bring Henrietta to a more normal
condition in which tears relieved her overcharged heart. All the next day
she remained invisible, weeping over the horror which to her at least was
unexpected, for she had never believed until the last that the English
people would permit such an outrage, and recalling, with bursts of
uncontrollable grief, the happy days she had spent with the husband who had
been her lover to the end. "I wonder I did not die of grief," she said
afterwards, and indeed, at first, death seemed the only thing left to be
desired, but
"Jamas muere un triste
Quando convienne que muera."[370]
On the following day, however, she was sufficiently recovered to receive
Madame de Motteville, who was setting out for S. Germain-en-Laye. The Queen
asked her friend to come and kneel beside the bed on which she was lying,
and then taking her hand she begged of her to carry a message to the
Queen-Regent. "Tell my sister," said Henrietta, "to beware of irritating
her people, unless" (with a flash of the Bourbon spirit) "she has the means
of crushing them utterly." Then she turned her face to the wall and gave
way once more to her uncontrollable sorrow. Only one thing could have
increased her grief, and that was the knowledge, mercifully hidden from
her, of the part which she had played in bringing her husband to his
terrible doom.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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