The Loves of Charles II (27 page)

The Bishops and their followers then helped him to rise and conducted him to the Cathedral.

As he entered, between the Bishops, Henriette studied this beautiful boy. All eyes were on him; he was sixteen and the eulogists had not greatly exaggerated when they declared that his youthful beauty was unequaled.

Between the Swiss Guards the procession made its way to the chancel where the King’s chair and
prie-dieu
, upholstered in purple velvet decorated with the golden lilies of France, had been placed on Turkey rugs.

As she watched the ceremony, Henriette thought of another man whom she loved very dearly indeed. If he could have been in a similar position, how wonderful that would be! If it were Charles who was being anointed with oil, and this ceremony was taking place, not in France but in England, she told herself, she would have felt complete contentment, for then he would take her home with him, and she would live at his Court where there would be no slights, no humiliations; she need not then be disturbed by her feelings for her cousin Louis; she could give herself up to the pleasure of the King of England’s company and forget those incomprehensible longings which were aroused within her by the King of France.

The Bishops were asking those present if they were willing to have this Prince as their King; and the purple velvet sandals were being put on Louis’ feet while he was helped into the robe and dalmatica, and the great ceremonial cloak of purple velvet embroidered with golden lilies was placed about his shoulders. Now he looked indeed magnificent. He held out his hands that the consecrated gloves might be slipped over them and the ring placed on his finger; then he took the Sceptre in his right hand and the Hand of Justice in his left, after which the great Crown of Charlemagne was set upon his head, and he was led to the throne, there to receive the homage of the peers.

“Long live the King!” echoed through the Cathedral and the streets beyond.

Louis XIV, the
Roi-Soleil
, had been crowned. It was an inspiring ceremony. Tears dimmed Henriette’s eyes. She was praying fervently for the
King of England, but the magnificent image of the King of France would come between her and her prayers.

How tired one grew of exile! thought Charles. How weary of moving from place to place in search of hospitality! One had to suppress one’s finer feelings when one was a beggar.

“Ah,” he said one day, as he looked on the river from his lodgings in the town of Cologne, “it is a mercy that I am a man of low character, for how could one of noble ideals tolerate my position? From which we learn that there is good in all evil. A comforting thought, my friends!”

He smiled at his Chancellor, Edward Hyde, who had joined him in Paris some years ago and had since been his most trusted adviser. He liked Hyde—a grim old man, who did not stoop to flatter the King in case he should one day come into his own.

That amused Charles. “Others,” he said, “wish to ensure their future—not that they have any high hopes that I shall be of much use to them—but flattery costs little. Reproaches cost far more. That is why I will have you with me, Edward, my friend. And if there should come that happy day when I am restored to my own, you shall be well paid for those reproaches you heaped upon me when I was in exile. There! Are you not pleased?”

“I should be better pleased if Your Majesty would not merit these reproaches. I would rather have the pleasure of praising you now, than the hope of rewards in the future.”

“Would all men had your honesty, Chancellor,” said the King lightly. “And would I had a state whose affairs were worthy of your counsel. Alas! How do we pass our days? In vain hopes and wild pleasure. What new songs are there to be sung today? Shall we throw the dice again? Any pretty women whose acquaintance we have not made?”

“Your Majesty, could you not be content with one mistress? It would be so much more respectable if you could.”

“I am content with each one while I am with her. Content! I am deeply content. One leaves me and another appears, and then I find contentment again.”

“If Your Majesty would but occupy yourself with matters of state you would have less time for women.”

“Matters of state! They are things to dream about. Women! They are to be possessed. One woman in Cologne is worth a million imaginary state papers in Whitehall.”

“Your Majesty is incorrigible.”

“Nay, Edward, merely resigned. I will tell you this: You have enemies here at my mock Court and they would seek to drive a wedge between us were that possible. Yesterday one said to me: ‘Your Majesty, do you know what your respected Chancellor said of you? Most disrespectfully he spoke of you. He declared you are a profligate who fritters his time away in vices of all descriptions.’ And how do you think I answered your calumniator, Edward? I said: ‘It does not surprise me that he should say that once in a way to you, for he says the same of me to myself a hundred times a week!’”

Charles laughed and laid his arm about his Chancellor’s shoulders. “There!” he continued. “That is what I think of you and your honesty. I can appreciate other things … I can love other things … besides beautiful women!”

“Let us talk of state matters,” said Edward Hyde. “It would be better if your sister of Orange did not make her proposed visit to Paris to see your mother.”

Charles nodded. “I see that, Edward.”

“Now that we are entering into negotiations with Spain, and Ormonde has gone on a mission to Madrid, we do not wish Spain to think that the bond between ourselves and France is being strengthened. The Spaniards will know that your mother and sister are being treated with scant courtesy in France; therefore they will be more likely to favor us. Any who is out of favor with France should readily find favor with Spain.”

“I will speak to my sister.”

“You should forbid her to make the journey.”

Charles looked uneasy. “I … forbid Mary!”

“You are the King of England.”

“A King without a kingdom, a man who would often have been without a home but for Mary. What would have happened to us but for her, I cannot think. Holland was our refuge until, with the death of her husband, she lost her influence. Even now we owe the money, on which we live, to her; but for my sister Mary I should not have even this threadbare shirt to cover my shoulders. And you would ask me to forbid her making a journey on which she has set her heart!”

“You are the King.”

“I fear she will think me an ungrateful rogue.”

“It matters not what she thinks of Your Majesty.”

“It matters not! My dear sister to think me an ungrateful oaf? My dear Chancellor, you astonish me! A moment ago you were complaining because the world looks upon me as a libertine; now you say it is a matter of little importance that my sister should find me ungrateful.”

“Your Majesty …”

“I know. I see your point. Ingratitude … intolerance … are minor sins in the eyes of the statesman. If the outcome of these things is beneficial, then it is good statecraft. But to invite a pretty woman to one’s bed … in your eyes, Edward, and in the eyes of Puritans, that is black sin; yet to me—if she be willing—it seems but pleasure. We do not see life through the same eyes, and you would be judged right by the majority, so it is I who am out of step with the world. Perhaps that is why I wait here, frittering away my time with dice and women.”

“I should advise Your Majesty to speak to your sister.”

Charles bowed his head.

“And if I were Your Majesty I would not continue to associate with the woman, Lucy Water, who now calls herself Mistress Barlow.”

“No? But I am fond of Lucy. She has a fine boy who is mine also.”

“She is mistress of others besides Your Majesty.”

“I know it.”

“There are many gentlemen of the Court who share your pleasure in this woman.”

“Lucy has much to give.”

“You are too easygoing.”

“I am content to go where my will carries me. There is no virtue in my easy temper.”

“The woman could be sent to England.”

“To England?”

“Indeed, yes. It would be better so. She could be promised a pension.”

Charles laughed.

“Your Majesty is amused?”

“Only at the idea of such a magnanimous promise from a man in a threadbare shirt.”

“There are some who would help to pay the pension for the sake of ridding Your Majesty of the woman.”

“Poor Lucy!”

“She would enjoy returning to her native land doubtless. If the Spanish project comes to anything, we should leave Cologne. She would not wish to stay here when all her lovers had gone. Have I your permission to put this proposition to her, Your Majesty?”

“Put it by all means, but don’t force her to go back to live among Puritans, Edward.”

“Then sign this paper. It is a promise of a pension.”

Charles signed. Poor Lucy! He had ceased to desire her greatly. Occasionally he visited her in indolence or out of kindness. He was not sure which, and he did not care enough to find out. One never knew, when
visiting her, whether one would startle her with a lover who might be hiding in a cupboard until the royal visitor had departed. Such situations were not conducive to passion.

But as he signed he was really thinking of Mary, and what he would say to her.

Was it possible that Spain might help him to regain his throne?

There were times when some wild scheme would rouse him from his lethargy, and he would once more be conscious of hope.

Mary, the Princess of Orange, had all the Stuart gaiety. She had lost her husband; she was young and alone in a country which did not greatly love her; she was full of anxieties for her baby son; yet when she was with her brother she could fling aside her cares and laugh, dance and make merry.

She was looking forward to going to France as she had not looked forward to anything for a long time.

“Paris!” she cried. “And all the gaiety I hear is indulged in there! I want to enjoy all that. And most of all, I want to see our mother whom I have not seen for thirteen years, and dear little Henriette whom I have not seen at all. Poor Mother! She was always so tender and loving.”

“To those who do her commands!”

“Charles, you have grown cynical.”

“Realistic, my dear. The longer I live, and the farther I wander, the greater grows my respect for the truth. Ask poor Henry to tell you of our mother’s tender love!”

“Poor little Henry! His was a sad experience.”

“And entirely our mother’s doing.”

“You must not dislike her because she is a Catholic.”

“It is not her religion that I hate. It is her unkindness to our brother. The boy was heartbroken when Ormonde brought him to me.”

“Well, Charles, you have made up to him for what he suffered at our mother’s hands. He may have been disappointed in her, but he is not so in his brother. He adores his King; and is it not pathetic to see how he tries to model himself on you?”

“It is more than pathetic—it is tragic. And so bad for his morals.”

“You might try to prevent that by leading a more respectable life yourself, brother.”

“I cannot attempt the impossible—even for young Henry.”

Mary laughed. “Now you are looking stern,” she said. “Now you are preparing to pass on Master Hyde’s orders to me. You are going to forbid me to go to Paris.”

“Mary, who am I to forbid you!”

“You are the King and the head of our house.”

“You are the Princess of Orange, mother of the Orange heir. I am your out-at-elbows brother.”

“Oh Charles, dearest Charles, you are not a very good advocate for your cause. You are a profligate, they say, and I know that to be true; you are careless; you are idle; but I love you.”

“If the reward of profligacy is love, then mayhap I am not such a fool after all.”

“Are you forbidding me to go to Paris?”

“I forbid nothing.”

“But you ask me not to go?”

“’Twill offend the Spaniards.”

“Listen to me, Charles. You and our mother have quarreled over Henry. It is a bad thing in any family to quarrel—in ours it might well be disastrous. I wish to right these matters. For years I have longed to see our mother again.”