The Merry Monarch's Wife (4 page)

The English were restive. Under Oliver Cromwell they had been kept under control. Now the resistance grew. The truth was that they were tired of Puritan rule, which was alien to them. It must soon have become clear that the majority of them wanted the return of the monarchy.

Charles was in Breda when an emissary was sent to him to discover whether he would come back to England and take the crown. With the offer came a gift of 50,000 pounds, that he might discharge any debts and equip himself for the journey.

I can imagine his joy. He was now asked to accept that for which he had fought and struggled for more than ten years.

He accepted with alacrity.

And what a welcome he received! I could picture it all so clearly when later he talked to me of that day. I know he never forgot it.

The people were exultant. I can picture his riding among them. He would have looked—all six feet of him—the perfect king. I knew how he could mingle that quality of regality with familiarity which enchanted all. I doubt whether there was ever a king of England so loved by his people.

He always called himself an ugly fellow, and when one considered his features that could be true, but his charm was overwhelming. There could never have been a more attractive man. I know that I loved him and one is apt to be unaware of the faults of the object of one's devotion, but I can vouch for it that I was not alone in my opinion.

He used to talk of the ringing of bells, the flowers strewn in his path, the women who threw kisses at him, the shouts of loyalty.

“Odds fish!” he said. It was a favorite oath of his. “They gave me such a welcome home that I thought it must have been my own fault that I had stayed away so long.”

But he was home, and from that moment the excitement grew.

My mother was exultant. She had known, she said, that this must be. She had planned for it since my seventh birthday when the matter had first been raised. Keeping me from suitors, which had amazed so many, had proved to be right. She had not been fanciful, as so many had thought. She had been shrewd and realistic. She had one regret—that my father was not alive to see how she had been vindicated.

But we were not there yet. A king restored to his throne, fêted by his people, having learned the lesson of his father's downfall, being determined—in his own phrase—“never to go wandering again,” seemed secure on the throne. He would need to be married, of course—and such a king was a very desirable
parti.

My mother was very much aware of that. And, being herself, she immediately took action. Don Francisco de Mello was already in England.

She talked to me a good deal, for indeed I was at the very center of her plans. She watched me anxiously, wondering, I was sure, how well I should play my part. She took me into her confidence as she never had before.

One day I said to her: “England is an important country. There will be many eager to marry the King.”

“That is true,” she replied. “The King of Spain will have his protégées. But I trust Don Francisco. He is an able man. He knows the importance of this match to us. I tell you, Catherine, we need this marriage. I wonder if you realize how much.”

“I have always known that you wanted a union between our two countries.”

“It does go deeper than my personal hopes for you, my daughter. At this time we have freed ourselves from the hated Spaniards, but our hold on freedom is frail. We must remember that they have the might. We have been fighting for our freedom which has given us great strength. That is good, but it is not everything. They are a mighty nation. We shall live in fear until we have strong allies to support us.”

“You mean the English.”

She nodded. “The nation the Spaniards fear most is the English. They do not forget, though it is some hundred years ago, the ignoble defeat of their so-called invincible armada. They still talk of El Draque—the Dragon—their name for Sir Francis Drake who drove them to disaster and destroyed their dreams of conquest. They will say it was the storm which defeated them, but they were defeated before the storm arose, and they know it was the English sailors and El Draque who beat their armada. If England were allied to us, they would not dare attack us. So, my dear daughter, you must marry the King of England to strengthen the alliance we already have with them. Your country needs this.”

“Do you think I shall?”

She looked fierce. “Anything else is unthinkable. It would be the happiest day of my life if I could see you Queen of England.”

“Countries always look for gain in marriages,” I said.

“Our country would gain a good deal from this. I may tell you that the English will not be without gain. I have sent a good offer by Don Francisco. I believe it will be one which the impoverished King of England will not be able to refuse.”

I waited and she seemed to be convincing herself that, as I was deeply involved, I should be told the facts.

She said: “Five hundred thousand pounds in ready money, the possession of Tangiers, which is on the African coast, and Bombay in India, shall be part of your dowry. We shall grant them the right to free trade in Brazil and the East Indies. Of course, the possession of Tangiers and Bombay will give the English immense opportunities for increasing their trade.”

“Am I worth so much?”

“This alliance with England is worth everything we could reasonably give. In it lies the security of our nation and the final triumph over our enemy Spain.”

“I see,” I said slowly, “that it must succeed.”

         

THE TIME WAS PASSING.
There were prolonged delays, for, in spite of my tempting dowry, there was hesitation.

My mother was watchful of the Spanish. The last thing they wanted was an alliance between Portugal and England and they were going to do everything in their power to stop it.

Vatteville, the Spanish ambassador at Charles's court, was spreading evil tales about me. I was deformed; I was ugly; I was barren. I did not know then of Charles's great admiration for female beauty, otherwise I might have been alarmed.

I was passably good-looking. My eyes were dark and large; my hair was abundant and chestnut brown. I had always disliked my teeth which protruded in the front—not a great deal, but too much for beauty. I was short in stature, which made me lack grace. But I was certainly not ugly, only just not handsome.

The delays must mean that our offer had not been entirely acceptable and my mother could not hide her anxiety.

Every day we had news that Spanish troops were massing on the border. They were waiting for the match to founder. Then they would attack. I began to wonder whether even my mother's optimism was beginning to wane.

Dispatches reached us from England. My mother was taking me more and more into her confidence because the matter so deeply concerned me.

“It is that villain Vatteville who is doing everything he can to stop the match. It shows clearly how much Spain is afraid of this alliance. If it were to fail…but it will not…but if it were to, they would immediately attack us. We need more troops…we need ammunition. It must not be…It would be the end of all our endeavors. Oh, why is there this delay?”

I went to her one day and found her laughing.

“Vatteville is a fool,” she said. “I think he has gone too far this time. Francisco writes of this. Until now I did not realize how very much those Spaniards are set on breaking this match. They are really alarmed. Did I not say they were still in awe of the English? Oh, Catherine, this must come to pass. How right I was to hold out. Listen to this. They can be arrogant, those Spaniards. It blinds them to the truth. They are powerful…very powerful…but not quite as powerful as they believe themselves to be. Vatteville had the temerity to tell Charles that if he went through with this marriage to a daughter of the rebel Duke of Braganza he, Vatteville, had been ordered by his master, the King of Spain, to withdraw from the court and war would be declared on England.”

“Could that really be so?” I asked.

She snapped her fingers. “It was nonsense. He could have had no such orders. He was just a little too clever that time.”

“And what did Charles say to that?”

“He replied that Vatteville might be gone as soon as he wished, for he, the King of England, did not receive orders from the King of Spain as to whom he might marry.”

I clasped my hands and said: “He is so wise, so brave, so clever…”

“Well, of course, Vatteville realized he had gone too far. He immediately became ingratiating, and I am sure the King must have been amused. But that wretched Vatteville is still fighting hard to stop the marriage and the alliance between our countries. He dared to make a suggestion that the King should marry the Princess of Orange and that, if he did, the King of Spain would give her a marriage portion to equal that of a princess of Spain. She is reputed to be a beauty.”

My heart sank. I pulled my lower lip over my teeth—a habit I had formed when I was conscious of my physical defect.

“And what said the King?” I faltered.

“There again Vatteville showed his folly. There had already been negotiations for a match between the King and the Princess of Orange some years before. The Dowager Princess, whose daughter she was, had stood firmly against the match. The King of England was a king in name only, she said, and she saw no sign that he would ever be anything else. Naturally the King's pride would not allow him to accept a princess who had scorned him in the past. So nothing came of that.”

“But still there is this delay.”

My mother frowned. “It must be decided soon. Don Francisco is hopeful. He is certain that all will be well in the end.”

And still we waited.

The days seemed long. We watched for messengers from England. Meanwhile, the Spaniards were gathering on all fronts for the attack. My mother would not give up hope. She dared not. This was not only the marriage of her daughter, for which she had schemed for so many years; it was also the salvation of her country.

Then there came a glimmer of hope.

Louis XIV of France had seen an advantage in a marriage between England and Portugal. He realized that if the marriage did not take place, Portugal most likely would become a vassal state of Spain, increasing the power of that country. That was the last thing Louis wanted. Spain was too powerful already. Moreover, an alliance between England and Portugal would be to the detriment of Spain, so he advised Charles to marry me and declared his support for the match.

Another supporter was the King's mother, Henrietta Maria. Her reasons were different. She was an ardent Catholic and she wanted her son to marry a Catholic. And who better than the Infanta of Portugal?

Then came the day of triumph.

My mother summoned me to her, and when I came she forgot all formality and waved a paper at me.

She was between laughter and tears, and my delight to see her so was great.

“It is a letter from the King of England,” she said. “He is eager that your marriage should take place as soon as possible.”

She took me in her arms and held me tightly.

“The day is won,” she said. “Let us get onto our knees and thank God.”

This we did, and there was joy in my heart.

DON FRANCISCO DE MELLO
had returned to Lisbon where he received a warm welcome. He was given the title of the Conde da Ponte for his services. His assiduous care and shrewd diplomacy had helped to bring about this happy result, said my mother.

She was in his company constantly and the matter that now concerned them was that of religion.

There must be a clause in the treaty to give me freedom of worship. It was not easy to be a Catholic queen in a Protestant country; and much as my mother desired this match, necessary as it was to preserve us from defeat at the hands of the Spaniards, duty to God must come first in all things.

It seemed that no sooner had we overcome one obstacle than another one presented itself.

One of the most lovable facets of Charles's character—which I was to discover later—was his lack of dogmatism and his tolerance of the views of others. It was really due to the fact that he had an inherent abhorrence of conflict; he hated trouble and difficulties were often smoothed over in order to avoid it. He was lazy in a way; he liked life to flow smoothly. He immediately confirmed that I should have freedom to worship and I might have my own chapel fitted up wherever I lived.

My mother was immensely relieved.

But no sooner had that matter been settled than a more serious one arose. It was from Donna Maria that I first heard of this.

“There will have to be a proxy marriage,” she said. “You cannot leave the country without it.”

“Why not?” I asked. “I am going to marry Charles. Why should I need a proxy?”

“The King cannot come here and you cannot go into a strange country as an unmarried woman.”

“What harm would it do?”