University of Virginia Library

6. VI.
HORSES FOR FRANCE.

Her majesty Queen Henrietta Maria—or “Mary,”
as King Charles and his followers always called her—
seemed to labor under great emotion.

She was a very beautiful person of about thirty,
of an exquisite clear brunette complexion, with glossy
brown hair, and large black eyes which sparkled like
stars. It was impossible not to admire her extreme
delicacy of features and the noble and imposing air
of her whole person. I am not skillful in costume, and
rarely recall what a human being wears, but I remember
the rich brocade the queen wore that day, the full lace
ruffles, the little cape, called a berthe, I think, and the
bodice finished around the bosom and at the waist
with a purple band. A string of pearls confined her

magnificent brown hair; on her bosom lay a cross suspended
from a necklace: it was in this very costume,
I think, that she was drawn by the great painter Vandyke,
and inspired in Mr. Edmund Waller, the poet,
the fine lines,—
When I first saw “the whole world's mistress,” on that
autumn day at Hampton Court, she was in a rage;
the fine eyes flashed, and the clear brunette face was
crimson with anger.

“The messengers!” she said, without looking up,
and continuing to write rapidly.

The usher respectfully approached and uttered a few
words. The queen raised her head, and one of her
slender and beautiful hands went rapidly and nervously
to the cross upon her bosom. She had opened her
lips to speak, when a second usher entered and
asked an audience for some one whose name I did not
hear.

“The magistrate! the very one! Admit him!”
came from the queen, quickly.

The usher hastened out, and soon returned with a
portly, red-faced justice, who bowed low.

“I crave permission to lay this order before your
majesty,” said the justice. “It is from the parliament,
and directs me to summon the militia and patrol Oatlands
Park.”

“Obey your order, sir!” exclaimed the queen.

“I must disobey your majesty. Nothing will ever

induce me to obey any order other than her own or
the king's.”

The queen rose with a brilliant flash of her proud
eyes.

“Thanks, sir! thanks! His majesty shall know of
this. But return and do exactly what the parliament
has dictated, and be tranquil. We shall further explain
this: at present return and obey your orders.”

There was no room for reply. The magistrate left
the apartment, and the queen resumed her seat and
wrote a few more lines.

“This to Lord Digby, in London,” she said, extending
a paper towards Harry, who bowed low as he
received it.

“This to its address,” the queen added; and as she
held out the paper her eyes met my own.

I thought I heard at the same moment a faint murmur
from Miss Villiers, who stood near the queen.

“It is well; lose no time, Mr. Cecil.”

I retired blushing with delight at this utterance of
my name by the queen. She was so beautiful as she
sat there with that ring of rose-buds, her maids of honor,
around her, that the sternest Puritan, I think, would
have flushed with pleasure as I did.

Harry and myself left the court-yard at the same
moment, at a gallop.

“Huzza for Queen Mary!” he cried, as he disappeared.

The note to Lord Digby, as I afterwards ascertained,
contained an urgent request that his lordship would
muster his friends and proceed on that very night
to Oatlands Park. The letter borne by myself was

addressed to a gentleman residing some miles from
Hampton Court, who possessed a stud of horses
famous for blood and speed,—the queen designing to
make use of them in bearing off her children, if necessary,
to France.

I soon reached the old manor-house of the gentleman
in question,—Colonel Edward Cooke, of the royal
forces. Colonel Cooke was a tall and stately old
cavalier, with piercing eyes, a stern expression, but
slightly ameliorated by the ghost of a smile, and the
bearing of a thorough soldier.

“Say to her majesty, sir,” he said, with a bow, as
he read the note in his great hall, “that all I possess
is at her command,—including my heart and sword,—
both by day and by night.”

With this reply, which I saw, from the sudden flash
of the eye, came from the speaker's heart, I returned
to Hampton Court; and the response of Colonel Cooke
was conveyed to her majesty by Miss Frances Villiers,
who was installed in the antechamber as a sort of
adjutant-general.

“Her majesty bids me thank you, Mr. Cecil,” the
young lady said, coming out again and gazing at me
with her great calm eyes. “I counsel you to sup now:
the Guards will move in half an hour.”

As she spoke, the trumpet sounded “To horse!”
the Guards rapidly drew up in the court-yard; and, with
a decided gnawing in his stomach, Mr. Edmund Cecil
took his place in the line.

Every man was fully armed, and an expedition of
some sort was evidently on the tapis.