The Loves of Charles II (152 page)
Read The Loves of Charles II Online
Authors: Jean Plaidy
She thought of Charles, only half conscious in his agony, made more acute by the attention of his doctors. It might well be that now was the time, when he could not be fully aware of what he did.
It must be done. Only thus could Louise serve the King to whose country she must soon return.
She sent for Barrillon.
“Monsieur L’Ambassadeur,” she said, “I am now going to reveal a secret which could cost me my head. The King is at the bottom of his heart a Catholic. There is no one to administer to his need. I cannot in decency enter his room, for the Queen is there constantly. Go to the Duke of York and tell him of this. There is little time in which to save his brother’s soul.”
Barrillon understood. He nodded admiringly. It was in the interests of France that the King should die a Catholic.
By great good fortune, when Bishop Ken had come to the King’s bedside to administer the last rites of the Church of England, Charles had turned wearily away. He had submitted to too much. He had never been a good churchman and he was not the man to change on his deathbed. He had lived his life as he had meant to live it; he had declared that the true sins were malice and unkindness and, within his limits, he had done his best to avoid these sins. He had said that the God he visualized would not wish a gentleman to forgo his pleasures. He had meant that; and he was no coward to scuttle for safety at the last moment.
The Duke of York came into his bedroom. He knelt by the bed and whispered in his ear. “For your soul’s sake, Charles, you must die in the Catholic Faith. The Duchess of Portsmouth has told me of your secret belief. She will never forgive herself if it is denied to you.”
At the mention of Louise’s name Charles tried to turn his glazed eyes to his brother, and a smile touched his lips. Then he said, half comprehending: “James … do nothing that will bring harm to you.”
“I will do this,” said James, “though it cost me my life. I will bring a priest to you.”
Into the chamber of death an altar was smuggled, and with it came a priest, Father Huddleston, a man who had helped to save Charles after Worcester and whom Charles had saved from death during the Popish troubles. In spite of his drugged and dazed state, Charles recognized him.
“Sir,” said James, “here is a man whose life you saved and who is now come to save your soul.”
“He is welcome,” said Charles.
Huddleston knelt by the bed.
“Is it Your Majesty’s wish to receive the final rites of the Catholic Church?”
The glazed eyes stared ahead. Charles was conscious of little but his pain-racked body. He thought it was Louise who was beside him. Louise making her demands on behalf of the King she was really serving.
“With all my heart,” he said wearily.
“Do you desire to die in that communion?”
Charles nodded.
He repeated all that Huddleston wished him to.
His lips moved. “Mercy, sweet Jesu, mercy.”
Extreme unction was administered. Charles could scarcely see the cross which Huddleston held before his eyes. He was conscious for brief intervals before he swooned with the pain and the exhaustion which was in part due to the terrible ordeal through which his physicians had caused him to pass.
When the priest left, those who had been waiting outside burst into the room.
From her house in Pall Mall Nell looked out on the street. She saw the people silently standing about. London had changed. It was somber out there in the streets.
She could not believe that she would never see him again. She thought of the first occasion she had seen him at the time of his Restoration, tall, lean and smiling, the most charming man in the world. She thought of the last time she had seen him when he had taken her hand and promised to make her a Countess that all might know what love and value he had for her.
And now … never to see him again! How could she picture her life without him?
She sat still while the tears slowly ran down her cheeks.
She thought, I shall never be happy again.
Her son came and threw himself into her arms. He was sobbing wildly.
He knew, for how could such things be kept from children?
She held him fast against her, for in those moments of desolate grief she could not bear to look into that face which was so like his father’s.
She did not think of the future. What did the future matter? Life for her was blank since her King and her love would no longer be there.
Charles lay still, uncomplaining. He was aware that he was dying and that those who crowded into his apartment had come to take their last farewell.
They knelt about his bed, his beloved children, and he blessed them in turn. He looked in vain for one, for he had forgotten that his eldest son was still in exile.
He called his brother to him.
“James,” he said. “James … I am going…. It will not be long now. Forgive me if I have been unkind. I was forced to it. James … may good luck attend you. Look to Louise. Look to my poor children. And, James, let not poor Nelly starve.”
He sank back then; he was conscious of those weeping about his bed. Scenes from his past life flitted before his eyes. He thought he was sore from riding so far to Boscobel and Whiteladies. He thought he was cramped because he was hiding in an oak while the Roundheads searched for him below.
But then he knew that he was in his bed and that soon this familiar room would be his no more.
“Open the curtains,” he said, “that I may once more see the day.”
So they drew them back, and he stared at the window. He listened to the sounds of his city’s waking to life, and he slipped into unconsciousness again.
He was breathing so painfully that his gasps mingled oddly with the ticking of the clocks. His dogs began to whimper. Then, just before noon, he fell back on his pillows and ceased to live.
Bruce, who had loved him dearly, said as the tears rolled down his cheeks: “He is gone … my good and gracious master, the best that ever reigned over us. He has died in peace and glory, and may the Lord God have mercy on his soul.”
The Wandering Prince
My plan is to write the story of Charles II, and as he was a King to whom women were of great importance, I propose to do so through the lives of those few women—among so many—who played the most significant parts, not only in his life, but in history.
It is in his dealings with women that Charles is usually seen at his best, for, rake though he was, he was invariably courteous and kind. He loved women, so naturally women loved him—a universal corollary, since the misogynist is always unpopular with women, while their constant admirer, even if he be as profligate as Charles himself, is treated with indulgence. People—men or women—are generally predisposed to love those who love them. That is why—certainly among women—England’s Merry Monarch is England’s most popular King.
The Wandering Prince
, complete in itself, deals with the early life of Charles II as it is reflected in the lives of two women who were to have a far-reaching effect not only on Charles’ life but on the history of these islands—his sister, “Minette” (Duchesse d’Orléans), and his mistress, Lucy Water.
Among the many books I have read in the course of my research I should like to acknowledge my debt to the following:
History of France.
M. Guizot. Translated by Robert Black,
M.A.
Madame.
Memoirs of Henrietta, daughter of Charles I, and Duchess of Orléans. Julia Cartwright (Mrs. Henry Ady).
Diary of John Evelyn.
Edited by William Bray, Prefatory Notes by George W. E. Russell.
Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys.
Early Life of Louis XIV.
Henri Carré. Translated by Dorothy Bolton.
Political History of England, 1603—1660.
F. C. Montague,
M.A.
History of England.
William Hickman Smith Aubrey.
King Charles II.
Arthur Bryant.
The Gay King.
Dorothy Senior.
Old Paris. Its Courts and Literary Salons.
Catherine Charlotte Lady Jackson.
Lives of the Queens of England.
Agnes Strickland.
British History.
John Wade.
A Health Unto His Majesty
Any novel dealing with the days of the Restoration must inevitably be impregnated with one characteristic which was a feature of the times: licentiousness. Therefore I feel that, when presenting this middle period of Charles’ life beginning with the Restoration, I must remind my readers that England had suddenly emerged from several years of drab Puritan rule. Bull-baiting and such sports had been suppressed, not from any consideration for the animals concerned, but solely because the people were known to enjoy those sports, and, in the opinion of their rulers, enjoyment and sin were synonymous; the taverns had been abolished; the great May Day festival was no more; Christmas festivities—even the Christmas services in the churches—were forbidden; the theaters were closed and their interiors broken up, and anyone caught playacting was tied to a cart and whipped through the streets. It was therefore natural that, when the King returned, there should follow a turnabout, and it was only to be expected that the repressed population should swing violently in the opposite direction. Accordingly, no picture of Restoration days which ignores the fact would be a true one.
There may be some who will feel that my portrait of Charles is too flattering. I would say that excuses must be made for Charles’ weaknesses as for those of his people. His fortunes had been subjected to a similar abrupt change; he had grown cynical during his exile and was determined never to “go a-travelling again.” He was the grandson of Henri Quatre, the greatest King the French had ever known, the man who had united France and put an end to the civil wars of religion when he had declared that “Paris was worth a mass.” It was understandable that Charles should regard his grandfather as an example to be followed. Henri Quatre had the same good nature, the same indifference to religion; he was known to have declared that conquest in love pleased him more than conquest in war, and he had more mistresses than any King of France had ever had—or ever has had—including the notorious François Premier. I would say that Charles was unlucky in living when he did. The great plague and the great fire ruined the commerce of the country while it was engaged on a major war. If he appeared flippant and preoccupied with his mistresses, while his country was in danger, he was not really so. His demeanor of indifference had been acquired during the hardening years of exile when disappointments had quickly followed one another; he did not show his feelings, but the real man is to be seen when, during the fire, he worked as hard as any, standing with water up to his ankles, passing buckets, shouting orders and witty encouragement, so
that it was said that what was left of the City owed its survival to Charles and his brother. Charles wins my sympathy as the man whose kindness makes him unique in his times, the man who declared he was weary of the hangings of those men who had killed his father and been responsible for his own exile, as the man who visited Frances Stuart to comfort her when he no longer desired her and her friends had deserted her, and again as the husband who held the basin when his wife was sick—the kind and tolerant King. For this King, careless and easygoing as he might be, and licentious as he certainly was, remains unique in his age on account of his kindness and tolerance.
In the research I have undertaken to write the book I have read a great number of works. I list below those which have been most helpful:
The National and Domestic History of England.
William Hickman Smith Aubrey.
Bishop Burnet’s History of his Own Time.
King Charles II.
Arthur Bryant.
Diary of John Evelyn.
Edited by William Bray.
Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys.
Edited by Henry B. Wheatley.
The Diaries of Pepys, Evelyn, Clarendon and other Contemporary Writers.
Personal History of Charles II.
Rev. C. J. Lyon.
Beauties of the Court of Charles II.
Mrs. Jameson.
Lives of the (Queens of England.
Agnes Strickland.
Great Villiers.
Hester W. Chapman.
Titus Oates.
Jane Lane.
Political History of England.
F. C. Montague,
M.A.
British History.
John Wade.
The Gay King.
Dorothy Senior.
Here Lies Our Sovereign Lord
It is so generally believed that Charles died a Catholic that I feel I must explain why I do not hold that belief. The deathbed scene has always worried me a great deal because I have felt it to be out of line with Charles’ character. Therefore I was anxious to find a convincing explanation.
It is true that Father Huddleston came to him on the night before he died, and that Charles made no protest when it was suggested that he be received into the Catholic Church; but when all the facts are considered I think there is a viewpoint, other than the accepted one, which serves to explain his acquiescence.
On that Sunday, February 1, 1685, he ate little all day; he passed a restless night and next morning, while he was being shaved, fell down “all of a
sudden in a fit like apoplexy.” He never fully recovered, although he had periods of consciousness during the next five days, which were spent in great pain aggravated by the attention of his physicians who, not knowing what remedies to use, applied most of those of which they had ever heard. During those five days, hot irons were applied to the King’s head, pans of hot coals to all parts of his body, and warm cupping glasses to his shoulders while he was bled. Emetics, clysters, purgatives, blistering agents, foul-tasting drugs, and even distillations from human skulls were given to him—not once but continually. Spirit of sal ammoniac was put under his nose that he might have vigorous sneezing fits, and when he slipped into unconsciousness cauteries were applied to revive him. So that in addition to the pain of his illness he had these tortures to endure.
He knew that he was dying on the Monday, yet he made no effort to see a priest. When Bishop Ken begged him to receive the rites of the Church of England he turned away; but this was a natural gesture, for he was suffering great pain and discomfort, and he had never been a religious man. All through Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday he had been, as he said, “an unconscionable time a-dying,” and on Thursday night the Duke of York and the Duchess of Portsmouth (who both had their reasons) brought Huddleston to his bedside; and at this late hour, according to those few people who were present, Charles joyfully received Huddleston’s ministrations.
I believe that Charles was too ill to resist the importunings of his brother and his mistress. I believe that in that easygoing manner which had characterized his entire life he gave way as he had so often before. That is if, after four days of acute agony, discomfort, and intermittent unconsciousness, he was even aware of what he was doing.
According to Burnet, Ken pronounced the absolution of his sins over the King’s bed, and in his last hours Charles said that he hoped he should climb to Heaven’s gate; “which,” goes on Burnet, “is the only word savoring of religion that he was heard to speak.”
Charles’ attitude to religion had always been constant. He had modeled himself on his maternal grandfather, Henri Quatre, who had ended religious strife in France when he changed from Huguenot to Catholic, declaring that Paris was worth a Mass. Charles believed that religious toleration was the way to peace. He was tolerant to Catholics, not because he was a Catholic, but because they were being persecuted. He had said of Presbyterianism: “’Tis no religion for gentlemen.” This was during his stay in Scotland when he had been forced to hear long prayers and sermons every day, and repent of so many sins that he said: “I think I must repent that I was ever born.” He had declared: “I want every man to live under his own vine and fig tree.” But this did not mean he was a Catholic.
His attitude to the Church was often frivolous. He had in his youth been hit on the head by his father for smiling at the ladies in church; and as Cunningham says, “he had learned to look upon the clergy as a body of men who had compounded a religion for their own advantage.”
To his sister Henriette he wrote: “We have the same disease of sermons that you complain of. But I hope you have the same convenience that the rest of the family has, of sleeping most of the time, which is a great ease to those who are bound to hear them.” He greatly regretted that he had not been awake to hear delivered to Lauderdale a reproof from the pulpit: “My lord, my lord, you snore so loud you will wake the King.” Burnet, who was a large and vehement man, had once when preaching thumped his pulpit cushion crying: “Who dares deny it?” to which Charles answered audibly: “Nobody within reach of that devilish great fist.”
It was Charles’ belief that God would never damn a man for a little irregular pleasure; and he had declared his conviction that the greatest sins were malice and unkindness. Such a man would, in my opinion, never “play safe” at the eleventh hour. He had borne great pain with immense courage and patience which astonished all who beheld it. He was not afraid of death. If he believed that malice and unkindness were the greatest sins he must also have believed that he had sinned less than most men of his age.
I list below some of the books which have been of great help to me:
Bishop Burnet’s History of his Own Times, with notes by the Earls of Dartmouth and Hardwicke and Speaker Onslow, to which are added The Cursory Remarks of Swift.
Diary of John Evelyn.
Edited by William Bray.
Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys.
A History of English Drama.
(Restoration Drama 1660—1700.) Allardyce Nicoll.
The Private Life of Charles II.
Arthur Irwin Dasent.
Royal Charles—Ruler and Rake.
David Loth.
King Charles II.
Arthur Bryant.
The Court Wits of the Restoration.
John Harold Wilson.
The Story of Nell Gwyn.
Peter Cunningham.
Nell Gwynne, 1650—1687. Her Life Story from St. Giles’s to St. James’ with some account of Whitehall and Windsor in the Reign of Charles II.
Arthur Irwin Dasent.
Nell Gwyn. Royal Mistress.
John Harold Wilson.
Great Villiers.
Hester W. Chapman.
Louise de Kéroualle.
H. Forneron.
Rival Sultanas: Nell Gwyn, Louise de Kéroualle and Hortense Mancini.
H. Noel Williams.
Lives of the Queens of England.
Agnes Strickland.
British History.
John Wade.
History of England.
William Hickman Smith Aubrey.
