Her majesty the queen :: :: University of Virginia Library

of sixteen; caught her in his arms when she offered to
kneel; and, in reply to her address, “Sire, I am come
into this your majesty's country to be at your command,”
exclaimed, “You have not fallen into the
hands of enemies and strangers, and I will be no longer
master myself than while I am servant to you.” And
then what the French call enfantillages followed. The
king, noticing that her head reached to his shoulder,
glanced at her feet to ascertain if her height were not
due to her high-heeled shoes. Whereupon the little
queen drew aside her skirt, exhibited her small feet
with all the coquetterie of a French girl, and said,
“Sire, I stand on my own feet; I have no help from
art: thus high am I, neither higher nor lower!”

This joy and laughter of the little daughter of the
famous Henry of Navarre was truly a strange contrast
to her after-woes. But then all was bright and smiling.
The fatal conflicts of the future threw no shadows before.
The youthful pair were greeted by great crowds upon
the Thames, and fêted everywhere; and no raven
croaked from the hollow tree to interrupt the joy,
romance, and sunshine of their nuptials.

I have seen the portrait of Queen Henrietta at this
period, painted by Vandyke, and the face and form
are exquisite. In the picture she has a fair complexion,
fine dark eyes, and hair of a chestnut color. The
slight and delicate figure is clad in a dress of white
satin, with a tightly-fitting bodice decorated with pink
ribbon; the sleeves full, with ruffles; the arms encircled
by bracelets. Around her neck she wears a fine
pearl necklace; a red ribbon twisted with pearls is
woven amid her glossy hair behind the head. 'Tis a

gracious, smiling maiden, full of youth and joy, on
whose forehead grief has never cast its shadow.

The shadow was approaching: private infelicities
preceded the public; the fond lovers were to come to
angry words, and criminations and recriminations.

All arose from the Catholic attendants of the queen,
who fostered in every manner the religious differences
between the pair, and went so far as openly to defy
the king. Under this he was restive; and one morning
his wrath burst forth. He came to the queen's
apartments at Whitehall, and found the French ladies
curveting and dancing in the presence of her majesty.
The scene shocked his ideas of dignity and ceremony:
he took the hand of the queen and conducted her to
his own apartment, where he locked her majesty in;
then he sent word by Lord Conway to the French
ladies to leave Whitehall and repair to Somerset House,
where they were to await his pleasure. Thereupon
rose a grand lament and the din of angry female
voices. Loud cries arose; defiant words were heard,—
in the midst of which a guard appeared, and with little
ceremony caused them to vacate the apartment, the
door of which was inexorably locked behind them.

A sad scene ensued between their majesties thereupon.
The queen ran to the window to bid her dear
French attendants farewell. The king drew her back,
saying, “Be satisfied; it must be so.” The queen
broke from him and rushed to the window, the panes
of which she struck so violently with her clenched
hands that the glass flew to pieces and crashed down
into the court. The king succeeded at last in drawing
her majesty away from the window,—the shocking

scene ended,—and the king wrote his grace the Duke
of Buckingham, “I command you to send all the
French away to-morrow out of the town,—if you can, by
fair means, but stick not long in disputing; otherwise
force them away, driving them away like so many wild
beasts, until you have shipped them, and so the devil
go with them.”

The command was obeyed: in the midst of a great
mob, hooting at and cursing the Frenchwomen, the
ladies were ejected from Somerset House. They retreated,
raging, scolding, gesticulating, and were sent
out of the country. The king had conquered.

There were other painful scenes. The king himself
related how, after retiring to bed with her majesty one
night, they had a passionate altercation as to the appointment
of the queen's revenue-officers. Read the
narrative: 'tis painful. The king, falling into a rage,
bade her majesty “remember to whom she spoke!”
To which she replied, with passionate weeping, that
“she was not of such base quality as to be used so!”
There is a long distance, you see, reader, between this
state of things and the scene I witnessed at Hampton
Court. In the one case it is husband and wife squabbling
and scolding like Jack and Gill fallen out; in
the other it is the fond pair embracing each other,
with “Dear heart!” “Sweet heart!” heard between
their kisses!

We old people have seen that often on our journey
through life! Alas! men and women grow angry,
are unjust and unkind, often; but happy are the married
pairs who truly love and cherish each other. The
sunshine comes after the storm; all clouds disappear;

and even after that scene in which their majesties
struggled at the broken window in Whitehall, 'tis said
that the king and queen made friends speedily and
“were very jocund together!”