The Loves of Charles II (139 page)

There was an expectant hush when the King finished reading. A man must indeed have a lively sense of humor to be able to laugh at what he knew to be so true of himself.

There was Rochester in the background, debonair and reckless, not caring if the verses earned him another banishment from the Court he loved to grace. How could he, his expression demanded, refrain from writing such neat and witty verses when they occurred to him and happened to be so true?

The King laughed suddenly and loudly.

“Why, my friends,” he said to the company, “‘tis true, what he says, but the matter is easily accounted for—my discourse is my own, my actions are my Ministry’s.”

Indeed it was a very merry Court during those months.

Nell gave a musical party in her finely furnished house; it was looking particularly grand, for if the King could not give her the titles she craved for her sons, he tried hard to make up for that with his gifts.

Nell, looking round the room, could hardly believe that this was now her home. It was not easy to conjure up the memory of that hovel in the Cole-yard now. Yet when she went up to that room where her mother would now be sleeping, the gin bottle not far out of reach, it was not so difficult.

But what a sight this was, with the candlelight gleaming on the rich dress of ladies and Court gallants! Nell glanced at her own skirts covered in silver and gold lace, at the jewels glittering on her fingers.

She, little Nell Gwyn of the Cole-yard, was giving a party at which the principal guests were the King and his brother, the Duke of York.

This was a particularly happy evening for Nell, because during it she would have a chance to do a good turn to a poor player from the theater. He had a beautiful voice, this young Bowman, and she wanted the King to hear it and compliment him, for the King’s compliments would mean that London
playgoers would crowd into the theater to hear the man; and it was a mighty pleasant thing, thought Nell, having had one’s feet set on the road to good fortune to do all in one’s power to lead others that way.

She watched the King’s expression as he listened to the singing. She sidled up to him.

“A good performer, Nell,” he said.

“I am delighted so to please Your Majesty,” she told him. “I wish to bring the singer to you that you may thank him personally. It will mean much to the boy.”

“Do so, Nell, if it be your wish,” said Charles and, as he watched her small figure whisk away, he thought affectionately that it was like Nell, in the midst of her extravagant splendor, to think of those less fortunate. He was happy with Nell. If she did not continuously plague him about those boys of hers he would know complete peace with her. But she was right, of course, to do what she could for their sons. He would not have her neglectful of their welfare. And one day she should be rewarded. As soon as it was possible he would give young Charles all that he had given Barbara’s and Louise’s.

Nell was approaching with young Bowman, who nervously stood before the King.

“I thank you heartily for your music,” said Charles warmly. He would not deny Nell the appreciation which she wanted. That cost nothing, and he wanted her to know that, were he in a position to do so, he would grant all her requests. “I thank you heartily again and again.”

Nell was at his side. “Sir,” she said, “to show you do not speak like a courtier, could you not make the performers a worthy present?”

“Assuredly yes,” said the King, and felt in his pockets. He grimaced. He was without money. He called to his brother.

“James, I beg of you reward these good musicians in my name.”

James discovered that he, too, had left his purse in his apartments.

“I have nothing here, Sir,” he said, “naught but a guinea or two.”

Nell stood, arms akimbo, looking from the King to the Duke.

“Od’s Fish!” she cried. “What company have I got into?”

There was laughter all round; and none laughed more heartily than the King.

Nell was happy, delighting in her fine apartments, the favor she enjoyed with the King, and the love she bore him.

All the same she did not forget to make sure that the musicians were adequately rewarded.

It was a successful evening among many.

Thus it was while Louise nursed herself back to health.

Louise was recovered, and now the King was dividing his time between her and Nell. Barbara, Duchess of Cleveland, although no longer in favor with the King, continued to fight for the rights of those children whom she declared were as much his as her own. Louise felt that by some divine right her own son should have the precedence over Barbara’s. The King was pestered first by one, then by the other. Barbara’s sons were to be the Dukes of Grafton and Southampton; Louise’s was to have the title of Duke of Richmond, which was vacant on the death of Frances Stuart’s husband. But Charles must arrange that the patents be passed all at the same time, to avoid jealousy.

Still there were no titles for Charles and James Beauclerk. Nell was unable to conceal her chagrin. She could not refrain from insulting Louise on every possible occasion. “If she is a person of such rank, related to all the nobility of France,” she demanded, “why does she play the whore? I’m a doxy by profession, and I do not pretend to be anything else. I am constant to the King, and I know that he will not continue to pass over my boys.”

But Louise had now managed to win Danby to her side, and Danby’s position was high in the country. Charles could not ignore him because his wizardry in matters of finance had made such marked improvements in Charles’ affairs. Nell knew that she owed her own and her sons’ lack of honors to the Danby-Portsmouth league, and she was also wise enough to know that while Danby remained in power she would find it very difficult to get the recognition she so eagerly desired.

Danby was fast building up the Court party of which he was the head. He wanted to revive the Divine Right of Kings and the absolutism of the monarchy as in the days of Charles I. In opposition, the Country party, led by Shaftesbury with Buckingham as his lieutenant, aimed to support the Parliament. Danby’s party called Shaftesbury’s party Whigs, which was a term hitherto only applied to Scottish robbers who raided the border and stole their neighbors’ goods under a cloak of hypocrisy. Shaftesbury retaliated by dubbing Danby’s party Tories, a term used in Ireland for those who were superstitious, bloodthirsty, ignorant, and not to be trusted.

The King watched the rivalry with seeming indifference, but he was alert. He recognized the skill of Shaftesbury—the cleverest and most formidable member of the Opposition party. Charles and his brother James had nicknamed him “Little Sincerity.” He was a small man who suffered much from ill health at this time; he had changed sides many times during the course of the last few years. When the civil war had started he had been cautious
and retiring, waiting to see which side could serve him best. When it seemed the Royalists were winning he hastily joined them, and then was forced to desert to the other side with the greatest speed. He became a Field Marshal in Cromwell’s armies; but while he kept close to Cromwell he took the precaution to marry a woman who was of a Royalist family. She died early, which was to the good, for Cromwell then became Lord Protector and the lady’s background might have been an encumbrance to an ambitious man. Afterwards he married an heiress. He was clever enough to join none of the Royalist risings, but he was one of the first to present himself at Charles’ exiled Court to welcome him back to England. He took a great part in the downfall of Clarendon, who held a post which he coveted. When the Great Seal was his, he was quick to see that the Opposition was likely to be very powerful; he had no wish to commit himself too hurriedly to support that which might prove to be a lost cause. But he was forced at this time to waver no longer. His way was clear. He must make Parliament supreme, for he clearly saw that his destiny lay therein. If Parliament were supreme, then Shaftesbury should be its head.

He did not underrate the King. Charles was lazy. As Buckingham had once said, “he could if he would,” and never had Buckingham said a truer word. It was only poor James of York who “would if he could.” Between lazy Charles and aspiring James, one must walk with caution.

Charles had once said to him: “I believe you are the wickedest dog in England.”

Shaftesbury, whose tongue was as quick as his mind, retorted: “May it please Your Majesty, of a subject, I believe I am.”

Charles could never resist a witty rejoinder; he knew “Little Sincerity” for a man without scruples, but he had to respect that quick and clever brain; in his continual tussles with his Parliament it was men such as Shaftesbury whom he must needs watch.

Nell, looking on, understanding little of politics, accepted Danby as her enemy because he and Louise were friends; Buckingham, friend of Shaftesbury, had been the means of bringing her to the attention of the King; so she looked upon Buckingham as her friend. The reckless Rochester was Buckingham’s friend and therefore inclined to support the. Shaftesbury party. So to her house these men came, and it was at her table they sat and discussed their plans. One of these, which was formulating in the agile brain of Shaftesbury, was to have Monmouth proclaimed legitimate and, on the King’s death, set upon the throne as a puppet who would do his bidding; Shaftesbury and Buckingham were formidable enemies of the Duke of York.

Monmouth, too, came to Nell’s parties, and an affection sprang up
between them. Nell continued to refer to the proud young man as Prince Perkin and the Pretender, but Monmouth had to accept such inroads on his dignity as “Nelly’s talk.”

Charles knew of Nell’s Whig friends, but he knew Nell. She was completely loyal to him as a man. She saw him, not only as the King, but in that inimitable way of hers which made him feel half husband, half son. She was lustily ready for passion, but the maternal instinct was always there; and Charles knew that Nell was the one person in his kingdom who could be relied upon for disinterested love. It was true she pestered at times: titles for her sons, a grand title for herself. But he always remembered that she had not done this until her sons were born, and it was that maternal instinct which prompted her to do so now. Honors for her sons she must have. And she wanted the boys not to be ashamed of their mother.

He made no effort to stop those entertainments she gave to these men whom he knew were trying to shatter the doctrine of the Divine Right of Kings. Nell was careless; she did not realize that she was dabbling in high politics. Often unconsciously she gave away little bits of information which were useful. His affection for her, as hers for him, burned steadily, no matter what he felt now and then for others.

As for Louise, he had not felt the same for her since their enforced separation. She had forgotten her gentle manners when she realized that she had caught the sickness. She had railed against him in her fury; it had been necessary to give her a handsome present to pacify her. Not, she had declared, that anything could pacify her for the loss of her health, and for the terrible indignity of being forced to suffer from such a disease, and he believed that her manner of fretting, her anger and railings had impeded her recovery.

He would not have been altogether displeased if Louise had told him she intended to return to France. He could not, of course, suggest that she should go. That would offend Louis, and he dared not do that at this stage. Moreover it was well for Louis to believe he had a spy close to the King of England.

Charles would employ tactics not new to him in his relationship with Louise. He would placate and promise; but it did not mean that he would keep his promises.

He brooded on these matters as he attended race meetings at Newmarket or sat fishing at Windsor, or strolled in St. James’ Park, feeding the ducks, his dogs at his heels, sauntering with the wits and ladies who delighted him.

He heard that Clarendon had died in Rouen, and that saddened him a
little, for he had never forgotten the old man who had served him so well in the days of his exile. John Milton, who had written
Paradise Lost
, died also. No one greatly cared. The witty and scurrilous verses of Rochester were more widely read than Milton’s epic poetry. These reminders of death turned the King’s thoughts into melancholy channels. He recalled Jemmy’s unhealthy thoughts. If it were true that Shaftesbury planned to make Mon-mouth heir, what of James, Duke of York? James was at heart a good man, but he was by no means a clever one. James would deem it his duty to fight for what he believed to be right, and he was a Stuart who believed that kings ruled by Divine Right and that they were God’s anointed.

Trouble lies ahead, thought the King uneasily. Then characteristically: But it is my death that sets light to the train of powder. When I am dead what concern shall it be of mine?

So he fished and sauntered, divided his time between Louise and Nell, vaguely wished that Louise would go back to France, vaguely hoped that he could give Nell her heart’s desire and make her sons the little lords she would have them be.