I was so angry with them both that I dismissed them and called in Walter Montague to start all over again and give us a play we could act, which had dancing and singing in it. Wat Montague was the son of the Earl of Manchester and had lived a great deal abroad in France and Italy, and although some people said he had not the wit and panache of Ben Jonson he had a good idea of the sort of entertainment I wanted.

Consequently he produced a masque called The Shepherd’s Paradise, which all my attendants declared was a masterpiece.

Many were going to perform in it and of course there was a part—the main one—for me. I was glad to have a big part but I did flinch when I saw the amount of words I should have to learn. I almost wished that I had retained Ben Jonson who for all his quarrelsome ways was able to say a great deal in a little space.

However we laughed over it and heard each other’s words and there was a great deal of talk of the play we were going to perform both in and outside the Court.

We had an enormous audience because people were allowed to come in from the streets if they could get in. It was not always easy and the Lord Chamberlain had made several rules which kept out certain people. But it was natural, I said, that the people should want to see their Queen perform in a play so I asked the Lord Chamberlain not to be too harsh.

The play went on for eight hours; and there was singing and dancing, which I liked, and in spite of the fact that many people had to sit cross-legged on the floor and quite a number of us forgot our lines and had to be audibly prompted, it was a success and I liked to see the people laughing and having a good time. It would make them like us, I said to Charles afterward.

Then we heard of the odious Mr. Prynne.

He took this very time to publish a book which he called The Histriomastrix; it was over a thousand pages in length. It was a diatribe against immorality, for William Prynne was a Puritan of the worst kind, which I hated so much and grew to hate so much more than any other type of man. Playacting was unlawful, he wrote. It was an incentive to Immorality. Plays had been condemned by the Scriptures and he was condemning them now.

The book was brought to Court and we all pored over it.

Saint Paul had forbidden women to speak in churches. He “Dares any Christian woman to be so more than whorishly impudent as to act or speak publicly on the stage (perchance in man’s apparel and cut hair) in the presence of sundry men and women.”

He went on to rant about women actors who were nothing more than strumpets. As for dancing that was worse still. It should be a criminal offense, and those who performed should be thrust into prison and do penance for their wickedness.

We might have laughed at such fanaticism but he did quote the Bible and the writings of many illustrious Christians; and we all knew that the attack was directed against me because I had acted, I had sung, and more than anything I loved the dance.

When the King read it he was very angry—not because he considered it important but because it was an insult to me. He thought the author should be brought before him and made to apologize. I think that would have satisfied the King, but Dr. Laud, who had become Archbishop of Canterbury, saw something significant in this attack.

He believed it was directed not only against the Court but was a criticism of the vestments of the clergy and ceremonies of the Church.

“Prynne is a dangerous man,” said Archbishop Laud.

As a result Prynne was arrested and stood trial in the Star Chamber. He was sentenced to prison and fined; his degree was taken from him and he was to stand in the pillory and have his ears lopped off.

Charles thought it was a harsh sentence for writing a book but the Archbishop was stern in his condemnation. “Men such as this could ruin the Church and all it stands for,” he said. “There are too many Puritans in the land and inflammatory literature such as this could increase their number. Let them see what happens to anyone who dares criticize the Queen.”

That silenced Charles but I could not sleep for some nights—the least upset gave me insomnia—and I kept seeing that man in my mind’s eye standing in the pillory with his ears dripping blood.

Of course he was an unpleasant creature. He was a miserable old spoilsport and he wanted to make us all be like him. But his ears…

Charles knew that I was worried about him, and Charles was too, for he was a just man. On the other hand Prynne had attacked royalty, for there was no doubt that the Court was his target, and Charles said that he was going against the Lord’s anointed—although, of course, I had never been anointed owing to my firm adherence to my own Faith.

Charles said he would order that pen and paper be taken to Prynne in prison. “That will comfort him,” he said.

“And enable him to write more words directed against us?”

“Poor fellow! He has suffered” was all Charles said; and I agreed with him that he must let Prynne have pens and paper. He would have learned his lesson and not write any more against us I was sure.

Soon after Lucy had appeared to the company so dramatically without her mask a rather unusual contretemps sprang up between some of the notable men of the Court. I was particularly interested because it concerned a letter of mine and one of my favorite friends was involved.

This was Henry Jermyn who had always seemed to me a most amusing gentleman and we had found a great deal to talk about when we met for, although he was quite humble in station, he had most excellent manners. I felt at home with him, perhaps because he had spent a great deal of time in Paris, where he had been sent on an embassy. He was able to give me news of my family and to talk knowledgeably about the life I remembered so well from my girlhood.

Henry was very tall, inclined to be somewhat on the heavy side; he was as fair as I was dark, with a lazy look which I found diverting. Some years before he had been appointed to the post of Vice Chamberlain and before that he had represented Liverpool in Parliament.

He was an inveterate gambler and as different from Charles as one man could be from another. Everything Charles did must be right in his own eyes. I sensed at once that Henry would not have the same regard for duty but liked to do what was most comfortable to him and which did not demand too much effort. As I was equally lazy and pleasure-loving there was an immediate bond between us. He was the sort who slipped in and out of trouble with easy grace, usually relying on his charm to extricate him from anything which interfered too much with an easy life.

There had been a little trouble on the tennis courts of Whitehall when he accused one of the men of attacking him with tennis balls. Henry had become really violent for like many people who are not easily aroused, when he was he seemed to make up for his periods of quietness.

That was a small matter compared with two other scrapes which followed closely on each other and resulted in a term of imprisonment and then banishment.

The first incident rose through the new French ambassador, the Marquis de Fontenay-Mareuil, to whom I had taken an instant dislike as soon as he arrived to replace my dear Marquis de Châteauneuf, who had been in England for some three years. There was at Court at this time a very charming young man, the Chevalier de Jars, who had come into conflict with the devious Cardinal de Richelieu and been exiled. He had come to me and as I knew that Richelieu and my mother were now enemies, naturally I made the Chevalier welcome. He was young, handsome and charming; he danced beautifully and played tennis so well that Charles—who was an excellent player—enjoyed a game with him. I was glad to see my compatriot fitting in so well at Court.

There was one man whom I greatly disliked and that was Richard Weston, Earl of Portland, who was the Lord Treasurer. Now when I try to reason out why I disliked him so much, I suppose it was because Charles thought so highly of him and I could never forget Buckingham and what a hold he had had over the King, and I think I was always afraid that someone else would rise up and maneuver himself into a similar position. Moreover, Weston was always refusing to give me money and at times made me feel like a pauper. When I complained of this to Charles, he gave me his slow smile and said it was Weston’s duty to look after the exchequer and make sure there was always enough money for the country’s needs. I said that was all very well but need he be so parsimonious? In any case there was enough money for the country’s needs so why be so miserly about my little request.

Charles said that was female logic and kissed me.

However, I was not to be put off so easily and I talked to my friends like Lord Holland and the Chevalier de Jars about it.

The Marquis de Fontenay-Mareuil was aware that I confided in the Chevalier de Jars, and men such as he always imagine that conspiracies are being hatched. One day the Chevalier came to me in great distress. He told me that his chambers had been ransacked and his papers taken away.

I took him to Charles at once, who looked very grave and asked him who he thought was responsible for this action.

“I feel sure it is someone who wishes to do me harm,” said the Chevalier.

I said: “We must find this thief, Charles, and he must be punished.”

Charles said the best thing to do was summon the French ambassador. This he did and I begged to be present at the interview because I thought that it might be necessary to defend my dear friend, the Chevalier.