King Charles II (2 page)

First and foremost this book has been a labour of love. I have always been fascinated by the character of King Charles
II
, sharing the view of Queen Victoria, who told Dean Stanley that, for all his moral failings, she regarded Charles
II
as one of the most attractive of her predecessors. I wanted to discover for myself whether he merited this long-held sympathy.

Romantic curiosity was the start. Curiosity of a different sort spurred me on when I was working on the life of Oliver Cromwell. What happened next to the ‘young gentleman’, as Cromwell himself sometimes described the exiled Charles
II
? The Restoration of 1660 is such a convenient starting-point for historical studies: it is sometimes forgotten that Charles
II
was already thirty at the time of his return, with one whole dramatic existence behind him. I have hoped in my biography to span both periods of his life before and after 1660 and show their relation to each other.

Thirdly, as a historical work, this biography is in the nature of a re-assessment, based on the workings of many scholars in the field. There are surprisingly few biographies of any note of Charles
II
compared to some popular figures; paradoxically, we have been extremely fortunate in our historians of the period. Osmund Airy’s life (1901) should still be mentioned and Sir
Arthur Bryant’s biography, concentrating on the reign itself (1931, revised 1955), is enduringly splendid. The most recent life, by Maurice Ashley (1972), is especially strong on the tortuous diplomacy of the period. Since that date there has been still more research made public – and such valuable additions to our knowledge will undoubtedly continue to flow forth. In making my reassessment I gratefully acknowledge my debt to all scholars of the period, past and present. Finality is impossible – fortunately, in my opinion, for who would wish the last word on King Charles
II
to have been spoken?

I have taken the usual liberties in correcting spelling and punctuation where it seemed necessary to make sense to the general reader today. For the same reason I have ignored the fact that the calendar year was held to start on 25 March during this period and have used the modern style of dates starting on 1 January throughout. There was a ten-day difference in dating between England and the Continent during this period – England used Old Style (O.S.) and the Continent New Style (N.S.); once again, to avoid confusion, I have dated letters according to their source, occasionally giving both dates where necessary. Charles
II
was, of course, King of Great Britain, as we should term it today, but I have often used the term England to denote this area, as people did at the time.

I wish to thank Her Majesty the Queen for gracious permission to work in the Royal Archives at Windsor, Sir Robert Mack-worth-Young, the Royal Librarian, and Miss Langton of the Royal Library. I also wish to thank Dr Stephen R. Parks, Curator of the Osborn Collection, Yale University; the Director of the Pierpont Morgan Library, New York; Mr Richard W. Couper, President and Chief Executive, and Mr James W. Henderson, Director of Research Libraries, of the New York Public Library; Mr T. I. Rae, Keeper of the Department of Manuscripts, National Library of Scotland; and Dr A. L. Murray, Assistant Keeper of the Scottish Record Office, for allowing me to see the various manuscripts in their care.

I am most grateful to the following for assistance in different ways, representing the extraordinary variety displayed in the life of King Charles
II
: Lord Aberdare; Mr Howard Adams; Lt-Col.
David Ascoli; Mr E. K. Barnard of the Cathedral Office, Portsmouth; Mr Neal Beck, Secretary of the King Charles Spaniel Club; Lord Clifford of Chudleigh; Lt-Col. A. Colin Cole, Garter King of Arms; Mr C. R. H. Cooper, Keeper of Manuscripts, and Mr M. V. Roberts of Enquiry Services, Guildhall Library; Mr Timothy Crist; Dr Chalmers Davidson; Mr Barry Denton of Northampton; Sir John Dewhurst, former President of the Royal College of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists; Mr J. F. Downes of Hook Norton; Mr Peter Foster, Surveyor of the Fabric of Westminster Abbey; Mr Eric J. Freeman, Librarian of the Wellcome Institute for the History of Medicine; Mr. J. R. Goulsbra, Secretary of the Royal Hospital, Chelsea; Mr John Gross; Mr Nigel Hamilton; Mr J. W. Hele, High Master of St Paul’s School; Dr Albert E. J. Hollaender; Squadron-Leader L. R. Horrox; Mr Cyril Humphris; Mr Jonathan Israel; Mr Simon Jenkins; Mr R. C. Latham; Mr Raphael Loewe for translating the Sasportas letter; Mrs D. Maclaine, Secretary of the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel Club; Mr N. H. MacMichael, Keeper of the Muniments, Westminster Abbey; Mrs W. E. Macready, Honorary Secretary, Société Jersiaise; Sir Iain Moncrieffe of that Ilk; Dr G. C. R. Morris; Mr Ferdinand Mount; Mrs P. M. O’Connor, Honorary Secretary, Marlipins Museum, Shoreham; Miss Jane O’Hara-May; Mr Richard Ollard; Mrs Julia Parker for her horoscope of King Charles
II
; Mr George Pinker; Mr Anthony Powell; Lady Violet Powell; Mr John Sales, Curator of the Bridport Museum; Mr Edgar Samuel; Mr A. Schishca; Mr Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr; Dr Jan Den Tex; Miss Audrey Williamson; Professor I. Tishby of Jerusalem for permission to quote from the unpublished letter of Rabbi Jacob Sasportas; and Mr Steen Vedel for the unpublished diary of his ancestor Corfitz Braëm.

Professor J. P. Kenyon read the manuscript at an early stage and made many helpful criticisms. Peter Earle and Gila Falkus also read the manuscript and made suggestions. Dr Maurice Ashley kindly read the proofs. I was delighted to get to know Sir Arthur Bryant through our shared interest in King Charles
II
, and to receive his encouragement. Anne Somerset gave me vital assistance in checking references and making good any
omissions; my daughter, Flora Fraser, carried on the good work. Above all, Christopher Falkus of Weidenfeld’s was a tower of strength at every stage.

Lastly I should like to thank my secretary Mrs Charmian Gibson, Mrs Patsy Parsons, and Mrs V. Williams and her staff for heroic typing.

‘This year Heaven was liberal to his Majesty in giving him a son to inherit his dominions.’

W
hen in the summer of 1630 a healthy son was born to the King and Queen of England, it seemed that their happiness was complete. Henrietta Maria, wife of Charles, the first Stuart monarch of that name, had presented him with an heir. King Charles was twenty-nine years old, his French wife twenty. He loved her passionately.

It had not always been so: at the time of their marriage five years earlier the young King had preferred the companionship of his father’s favourite, the dazzling Duke of Buckingham. The death of Buckingham had brought the little Queen into her husband’s confidence and favour, never to leave it. Their married love was now total. Only a family – an heir – was needed, and the last traditional ambition of a royal couple would be fulfilled. Unfortunately their first child, Charles James, was a weakling who was born and died in May 1629.

Almost exactly a year later, on 29 May 1630, at noon with Venus the star of love and fortune shining high over the horizon, Henrietta Maria gave birth to a second son, also named Charles. Unlike his brother, this baby was enormous and healthy, and, even in that age of appalling infant mortality, clearly destined to survive. Verses on a contemporary engraving referred to the brothers as two sweet May-flowers, only one of which remained
‘in our garden, fresh to grow’. The child of 1629 was shown being borne away to celestial spheres.

Of happy 1630 it was written in contrast, ‘This year Heaven was liberal to his Majesty in giving him a son to inherit his dominions.’
¹
And as the bells rang out, later giving way to bonfires in the summer night, the King proceeded immediately to St Paul’s for a service of thanksgiving. It was incidentally the patronal feast of St Augustine of Canterbury, he who had brought Christianity to the Angles: it must be said that the appearance of Venus would prove the more relevant portent of the young Prince’s character.

As the good news spread outwards across the King’s widespread dominions, so the spokesmen of his power rejoiced. In far-off Scotland, from which his Stuart father James had come, the King’s deputies lit fires; in Ireland too there was official rejoicing; across the water the Court of Louis
XIII
were content to hear that a daughter of Bourbon France had fulfilled the natural function of a Queen.

The child thrived. At the time it seemed like the end of a fairy-tale.

Only a few years later, it would become apparent that Charles had been born at the zenith of his unfortunate father’s short arc of happiness. Far from marking the end of a fairy-tale, the birth of the future Charles
II
marked the beginning of the most troubled period that man could remember in the history of the realm. By the time Charles was eight years old, war had broken out with his father’s northern kingdom; by the time he was twelve, the whole of England was plunged in civil war. A few years more and the young Prince himself was penniless and a fugitive.

At the time poets were fascinated by the presiding presence of Venus at the Prince’s birth. One of the most graceful expressions of this preoccupation was given by Robert Herrick in his ‘Pastoral’ on the occasion, set by Nicholas Lanier for presentation to the King:

And that his birth should be more singular,

At noon of day, was seen a silver star,

Bright as the wise men’s torch, which guided them

To God’s sweet babe, where born at Bethlehem;…

Later astrologers were morbidly obsessed by the significance of that delusive star in his chart.
^fn1
So paradoxically dreadful were the early fortunes of Charles Stuart the second, compared to the golden expectations at his birth, that they would ponder helplessly on the subject. If the heavens themselves had been misleading, was it a wonder that mere mortals had erred in predicting for him a destiny both splendid and serene?

It was fortunate that the young father and mother, as they gazed into a cradle garnished with taffeta and ribbons, could not foresee even their own future: separation, violent death for one, desolate widowhood for the other. Yet Charles
I
and Henrietta Maria might have been comforted by knowing the end of the story. The fairy-tale element persisted. The boy himself would pass through every vicissitude known to a prince in such stories, but ultimately he would survive them all.

Unlike his father, unlike his grandfather Henri Quatre, unlike his great-grandmother Mary Queen of Scots, unlike his great-grandfather Lord Darnley, unlike his brother James and his exiled descendants, Charles
II
would die in his own royal bed. And he would die as the dominating monarch his father, grandfather James and brother all dreamt of being without success. He would die master in his own house, confessing the religion his mother was harried for practising and for which Mary Stuart was executed and James
II
driven out. He would die the last absolute King of Great Britain.

So perhaps the auspicious star, whose celestial rays duly ornamented the medal commemorating his ‘singular birth’, was not so delusive after all.

The marriage of this baby’s parents in May 1625 had brought
together a disparate pair – at any rate in terms of religion. The King
^fn2
was not only the supreme governor of the Protestant Church in his own country, but was emotionally committed to Anglicanism as such. He eschewed equally the Roman Catholic tenets which lay, as it were, beyond the right wing of Anglicanism, and the Puritan practices which increasingly permeated its left. His father had been raised under the influence of Scottish Calvinism, but had later grafted onto its theology a belief in proper episcopal organization best summed up by that crude and effective phrase, ‘No Bishop, no King.’ His mother had passed from the Lutheranism of her youth to the comfortable Catholicism of her later years without being allowed to make any impact on her children’s religion. Both surviving members of her family, the King himself and Elizabeth of Bohemia, were brought up as and remained Protestants.